Guzman’s Labyrinth
“Where are you boy?”
The voice came bounding through and over the hedges, losing strength and urgency as it neared. Simeon estimated that Mr. Lankford was four or five rows over, but he lowered his voice anyway.
“I’m here Lankford. But you won’t find me.”
He looked down the path before him, then back to the path behind. They were identical dirt and rock aisles, each cutting straight through the hedge walls for 30 yards before turning the same direction into the next aisle. Simeon hoped he had reached the outer wall of the maze.
Assuming it was a maze. He’d woken up in the center of this walled garden an hour ago with no memory of where he was or how he’d gotten here. His first sight was the blue sky above, with clouds that seemed frozen in place. He’d stared at those clouds — trying to spot their movement — but gave after only a moment and blamed his pounding skull for an inability to focus.
Clever story with a clever man. Guzman had told both of them, “Listen carefully, Simeon. If he gets his gun on you,…” Guzman had all of his bases covered.
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