Devil's Pass by Sigmund Brouwer Page B

idiot carries rocks in his backpack?” He grinned and picked one up in his right hand. “But thanks,” he said. “You’re making it too easy.”
    He fired the rock at Webb’s head. Webb ducked.
    There was a crash as glass shattered. To Webb, it was a very satisfying sound. The rock must have hit the only glass nearby—the side window of Brent’s truck, which was directly behind Webb.
    Webb didn’t turn to admire the damage though. Not when Brent had a pile of rocks within reach.
    Besides, it wasn’t necessary. The expression on Brent’s face—or what Webb could see beyond the bandages—said it all. Horror and rage. Obviously the sound of broken glass had been a lot less satisfying to Brent than to Webb.
    â€œArrgghhh!” Brent dropped his head and charged at Webb again.
    Webb began to feel cold rage engulf him, the cold rage that sustained him whenever his stepfather had hurt him. It was a horrible feeling, being certain that, if given the chance, he would take Brent’s truck and drive over Brent without any remorse or regrets. Just the way he knew that, if given the chance, he would hurt Elliott in ways far worse than anything Elliott had ever done to him.
    As Brent charged, Webb stepped aside again, but this time left his leg in the way. Brent, blinded by alcohol, anger and bandages, tripped and fell forward, his head thunking into the side of the truck’s door.
    Webb was surprised that Brent didn’t just drop. Instead, he wheeled in a tight circle, as if one of his feet was nailed to the ground, holding his head with both hands.
    The head-shaped dent in Brent’s door was impressive.
    â€œCome in, come in.” Corey spoke into the walkie-talkie. Excited. “Everybody, get here as fast as you can. You have to see this. Brent Melrose is beating the crap out of his own truck.”
    Webb grabbed a rock and, filled with rage, was ready to move in on Brent and smash him in the head. He stopped when he noticed Sylvain heading toward them in the police truck with his blue-and-reds flashing.
    Webb dropped the rock and concentrated on letting his sanity return.

THIRTEEN
    About half an hour later, Webb walked back into The Northern with his backpack on.
    Joey gave him a big grin. “Heard about you and Brent Melrose. Heard he lost a fight with his truck.”
    Small town. News traveled fast. But really, it was no different than being in a big city where a small group of people all knew each other. If someone got busted or beat up, everyone knew about it right away.
    â€œIt was a nice truck,” Webb said. “Now, not so nice.”
    â€œHe’s not going to quit,” Joey said.
    â€œI’ll be away,” Webb said. “I’m not worried.”
    Webb pointed at all the gear Joey had set aside for him. “Thanks for your help.”
    â€œSure,” Joey said. “All together, it costs—”
    â€œSorry,” Webb interrupted him. “First we need to weigh something. You got bathroom scales?”
    Joey was obviously puzzled, but he pointed Webb to the household goods aisle.
    Webb set a brand-new bathroom scale on the floor and pulled his boots off. “Don’t want to get it dirty,” he told Joey.
    In his socks, with his backpack on, Webb stepped on the scale and noted the weight. He’d refilled his pack with rocks after his encounter with Brent.
    Then he took the backpack off and weighed himself again. The difference was fifty-four pounds.
    â€œAll I’m going to allow myself is fifty-four pounds,” Webb said to Joey. “So if the gear you put together weighs more than that, we need to pull out what’s least important.”
    Joey still looked puzzled, so Webb explained. “I spent an hour walking around with rocks in my pack to find out how much I could carry without hurting myself. I don’t want to carry any more than that out there on the trail. I’ll be walking