Summer Nights

3: ambush

TW: Foul language & brief mention of an LGBTQ+ slur (the word will be censored)

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Ralph slipped out of his tattered shorts and dove into the crystal blue water. He came up shortly for air, smoothing out his wet golden locks. Simon sat on a rock above him, fashioning a flower crown out of vines and purple lilies.

"He said you're gonna be 18?" Simon asked.

"Mhmmm," Ralph floated on his back. "I didn't even know. Figured it was around that time. But damn..."

"You're a man now, Ralphie," Simon smiled at the chief bobbing up and down in the calm waves. "It's time for you to put on your big boy panties!"

Ralph smirked and flipped him off, diving back underwater. Simon laughed and returned to his weaving. He was running short on vines. He got up from the rock and walked to the opening of the forest.

Simon searched the forest floor for vines. His last resort would be to ask Ralph for his pocket knife and cut them from trees, but the thought of that made his stomach turn. He was always scared he'd be hurting the tree or depriving it of its resources.

As the dark haired boy walked further into the woods, the sunlight and warmth from the beach began to fade away. Simon shivered, hugging his arms close to his chest. He hated the darkness of the jungle. It creeped him out. He continued to scour the forest floor for materials, wanting to return to the glowing sunlight as soon as possible. He had just found a long vine when he started to hear an awful, quiet sound.

Soft cries emitted to the far left of Simon. It sounded like the person was choking on their tears, struggling to breathe. Simon felt distressed hearing someone struggle. He needed to help. He followed the cries cautiously, peering out from behind a big tree. There he saw a littlun crouched up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth slowly. His face and body was bruised and beaten. He had a black eye. Vomit was dried on his chest. The worst thing of all was the poor boy's back, slashed wide open and gushing blood. Simon gagged, covering his mouth in shock. He ran to the boy and lifted his head into his lap. He called for Ralph repeatedly.

Within seconds, Ralph was bounding towards Simon and the boy, kicking up sand with each great stride. His shorts were thrown back on, his hair and chest still dripping wet from swimming. The fair haired boy slid down next to Simon. He gently lifted the boy's head to examine it. "Jesus Christ," Ralph breathed. Simon silently cried. Seeing this young, innocent boy so badly hurt made his chest ache.

Leaves rustled, breaking the silence. Both Ralph and Simon jolted upright. There was a heavy unsettling feeling lingering around them, circling like a tiger does its prey. It felt like they were being watched. Ralph realized with dread an instant before it happened. "Fuck," he muttered.

Hunters emerged with such force from behind the surrounding brush that they pulled the undergrowth from its roots. They chanted and shrieked like mad hyenas. Their faces were painted in bold white, black, and blood red. Ralph shot up and threw the boy into Simon's arms. "SIMON! RUN!" he pushed Simon out of the forest, sending him stumbling forward. The dark haired boy took off without looking back. He carried the unconscious littlun across the beach toward the safety of Ralph's tribe.

A hunter came straight for Ralph, brandishing a sharpened spear. The fair haired boy swung his fist hard, making direct contact with the hunter's jaw. A loud crack was heard as the boy's face snapped sideways. He fell into the dirt, dropping his spear. Ralph snatched the stick and pointed it violently at the surrounding hunters.

A hunter with dark, unruly hair charged Ralph and the two boys clanged spears. As they fought, Ralph recognized the boy to be Roger. The blonde could barely identify him underneath the layers of freaky war paint on his face. Roger had always been emotionless and detached, but his eyes appeared hollow and dead after years of living on Castle Rock.

Roger punched Ralph in the stomach. Ralph wheezed as he hit the ground, coughing up clouds of dust. He forced his eyes open and saw the crazed hunter lifting his spear menacingly to strike. Ralph kicked the hunter's arm, causing the spear to fly out of his grasp. He swiftly reached for Roger's waist and pulled him down. The two boys began wrestling in the dirt. The other hunters trapped them in a circle, cheering on Roger and cursing Ralph.

"Get 'im roger!"

"Fuck him up!"

"Stab that f*ggot!"

Roger punched Ralph hard. The blonde felt his eye puff up, knowing it'd be purple the next morning. The hunter got on top of Ralph and wrapped his hands around his neck. Ralph struggled to breath, tears stinging his eyes. He tried to fight back but was held down by Roger and the other hunters closing in on them. He had tried hitting roger to break free, but nothing worked. He was growing frantic.

Adrenaline kicking in, Ralph kneed Roger in the crotch. Roger hissed, drawing back from his position on the chief's chest. Ralph wasted no time drawing his pocket knife from his shorts. He pushed Roger on the ground and sat on his back, holding the knife close against his pale skin.

The two stayed still in their position for a moment, only their chests rising and falling rapidly from the struggle. The other hunters stared in awe, unsure of what to do. "Bloody hell." Maurice muttered under his breath.

"STAY THE FUCK BACK!" Ralph shouted. He felt a warm liquid drip onto his lip, and soon realized his nose was bleeding.

The hunters stepped backwards cautiously, spears still drawn. Ralph panted, feeling somewhat accomplished. He had defended Simon and the little boy. He did what was expected of him as chief. But a small vain part of him couldn't wait to tell the boys back at the tribe this story. He disarmed and defeated Roger, one of and if not the most bloodthirsty hunter of the bunch. Besides him.

"Bravo," a deep voice sounded from behind a crowd of hunters.

Ralph felt his heart sink.

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Speak of the devil. ;) Thanks again for reading! The next chapter's gonna be interesting...