Текст книги "Poisoned Soil"
Автор книги: Tim Young
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
Chapter 10
Blake walked through the front door of his A-frame home just as Angelica hung up the kitchen phone. He breathed in the nostalgic smell of southern cornbread and smiled. Angelica’s eyes dropped, her lips not returning his smile as she said simply, “Hi,” with no discernible inflection.
Hmm, gonna be one of those nights, Blake thought to himself as he strolled through the kitchen. The kitchen opened into an extended family room with a stone-walled fireplace on the far end. The dark, hardwood floor throughout gave the kitchen and family room the shape and appearance of a long and narrow alleyway. Blake plopped on the sofa and grabbed the remote. “Who was that on the phone?” he called to the kitchen, hoping for an innocuous way to break the ice.
“Rose.”
Blake didn’t want any drama, any stress. Couldn’t handle any more stress. In that moment he realized that he just wanted a sanctuary with Angelica. Just the two of them, the way it had been when they first got married. The way she said she wanted it to be and the way he—yes, he too now wanted. “Hey, you wanna watch a movie tonight?” Blake managed a smile with the question that Angelica couldn’t see, but she picked up on the tone. She turned her head from the stove back to Blake.
“Sure!”
Blake admired Angelica’s ability to forgive and forget as much as he was jealous of it. He hadn’t found a way to do that in life no matter how hard he tried, but Angelica didn’t even have to try. It took no effort and seemed unfair to him. “You can pick it out,” Blake said partly to be generous, but mainly because he just didn’t care.
Angelica drained potatoes in a colander over the sink. The evening was starting to get better and she thought of asking Blake if he wanted to help with dinner but quickly thought better of it. She put the potatoes back in the pot and cut off some home-churned butter, adding it to the pot with one hand as she grabbed the hand mixer with the other. On numerous occasions, she had thought of getting an electric hand mixer, but could never bring herself to do it. She just cranked her grandmother’s hand mixer and slowly drizzled warm cream into the potatoes.
The phone rang. Angelica put the mixer down and answered since it was next to her.
“Blake, it’s for you.”
The stress boiled in Blake’s gut and billowed to his chest almost instantly. He had no idea why he got upset so quickly, but tried to calm himself by taking a deep breath. He rarely got a phone call at home and sure as hell didn’t want one now when he had mentally checked out for the day. If it was a telemarketer, Blake swore to God that he’d let him or her have it.
Blake walked to the phone, footfalls heavy on the hardwood floor.
“Yep,” Blake answered. There was nothing on the other end of the line, only a faint scratching sound. “Hello,” Blake said.
“Blake,” the voice on the other end was out of breath and difficult to understand. “You got–a g– -p h-re!”
“What? Who the hell is this? You’re breaking up,” Blake said.
“You gotta get – here!”
“Who is this? Jesse?” Blake tried lowering his voice, but there was no place to hide.
“No -t’s Terry. I on-y got one b-r on my ph-ne. Y-u gotta get up –re now,” he said gasping for breath.
“Damn it,” Blake began, then tried to compose himself in front of Angelica. “What is it that can’t wait til tomorrow?”
“Jesse and Shane are missing, haven’t been back since midday,” Terry shouted. “And that’s not all—we got some escapees.”
Blake fumed. “Where are you now?” he asked between clinched teeth.
“I’m,” Terry began, “I’m – t-e wo-ds, at the sheds.”
“I’ll be right there.” Blake slammed the phone on the cradle and dropped his head, preparing himself for disappointment both inside the house and out.
Blake was about to speak, but Angelica did it for him.
“I know,” Angelica said, looking the other way. “You’ve gotta go. I’ll leave your dinner on the stove.”
***
Terry sat on a log in the darkness outside shed number one and watched the headlights from Blake’s F-150 fishtail up the mountain road. Blake drove right to the shed, putting Terry in his high beams. Blake’s farm truck was sitting there around the cul-de-sac facing down the mountain. There was no sign of Jesse or Shane.
Blake jumped out and looked in the direction of the main fence charger as he approached Terry. “Why is the goddam fence off?” Blake asked.
“What?” Terry replied dumbfounded.
“The green light is on,” Blake barked. “Hell the fence ain’t even turned on!” Blake threw the lever up turning the fence back on, the red light glowing. The fence was hot again. A five-joule charger was powered by a large solar panel that Blake had installed, which in turn juiced a bank of twelve-volt batteries. There was no electrical power on the mountain and no lights.
“Where are Jesse and Shane?” Blake asked as he stormed by Terry and headed back to his truck.
“Hell if I know,” Terry snorted. “I got my damn ear bit off and was knocked unconscious for a bit. I came to about 1:00 this afternoon or so and nobody was here, but the truck still was. Jesse, he’s got the keys. I don’t know what the hell happened!”
Blake fumbled through his center console until he found a flashlight. He shined the light at the right side of Terry’s head and grimaced. Dried blood painted the side of Terry’s head like Gorbachev’s stain, with the back center of his ear completely bitten off. His ear had the shape of the number nine.
“D-A-M-N,” Blake said. Terry looked up, anger and disbelief in his eyes.
Blake went back and cranked the truck so that the battery wouldn’t die as the high beams lit up everything in their path. He walked toward the old, beat-up F-100 farm truck. Just as Terry said, there was no sign of Shane or Jesse. Blake shined the light inside the truck. The keys weren’t in it, but two cell phones were on the seat.
“Do you have your cell phone, er, do you have a cell phone?” Blake asked Terry.
“Yeah, got mine. It was in the truck with theirs and I used it to call you. I waited an hour before I even got a bar on it.”
Blake walked along the fence and moved the light inside as the corner of his eye caught a large black mass on the ground. Eduardo lay dead, just as they left him. “Why’d you guys leave him here?” Blake shouted, almost instantly realizing that must have been when the trouble began. “Never mind,” he said.
Terry followed Blake as they walked around the perimeter into the woods and followed the back fence lines. The fence was on and it was tight all around. Made no sense to Blake.
“You said some escaped,” Blake said, “how do you know that?”
“When Jesse and Shane didn’t come back I had some time to kill since I didn’t have no way to get down the mountain,” Terry said, “so I did a count. One black fella missing from this cell, one red head missing from up top. That’s it.”
“GODDAMN IT!” Blake said. “You know what’ll happen to us if someone finds out we’re holding them on this land? We can’t take that chance!”
“You figure that’s where Jesse and Shane went?” Terry asked. “To fetch ’em?”
Blake stared at Terry and wanted to tell him what a dumb shit he thought he was. How he was no different than that running back that missed the block on the safety, only this time the safety took off Terry’s ear before trying to wreck Blake’s life. Again. Can’t catch a friggin’ break, Blake thought to himself.
“Maybe they chased them and came out somewhere else,” Blake said to Terry, seeking approval of his idea.
“I figured they’d have found a phone and called if they’d done that,” Terry quickly surmised.
Of course they would have, you dumb shit, Blake said to himself.
They walked along the back fence line to the top of the encampment and shone the light into the woods. The harsh light made it surprisingly difficult to see. It brightly illuminated the face of each tree while plunging the backsides into utter blackness, casting long dark shadows on the ground. Blake took a few steps forward and Terry followed close behind, looking over his shoulder all the while to make sure he could see the truck lights. Blake realized almost instantly how pointless it was. He had no idea where to go, what to do. He stopped to think for a moment.
A shriek from above pierced their ears as a huge raven descended and swooped at them. Blake and Terry ducked just in time to see the raven fly into the headlights of Blake’s truck before ascending, out of sight.
“Shit!” Terry said, already heading back toward the truck lights. “That scared the hell out of me!” Blake followed, knowing there was nothing he could do, not now. This was serious and he needed time to think.
“I’ll take you to the hospital,” Blake said, acknowledging the obvious but wishing there was another, any other way.
“What’ll I tell ’em?” Terry asked. He knew he was sworn to secrecy; Blake had made that crystal clear when spelling out the terms of the three thousand dollars in cash he was going to receive the next month. Cash. More money than Terry had ever had in his hands. Who needs to get a GED, Terry had thought when Jesse hired him, thrilled that he had found a way to earn so much money.
Blake thought about it and figured a dog attack was the most likely answer, but they’d want to know where it was and what kind of dog so they could go after it. Then the doctors would call the police. Just more questions that he didn’t want Terry to have to deal with.
“You know, hospitals are slow,” Blake said as he led the witness. “What if I take you to someone who could clean that up for you without having to go to a hospital or to see the police?”
Terry wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say.
“Tell you what,” Blake continued. “There ain’t nothing they can do for you anyway except put antibiotic cream on it. How about I go get you some from the drugstore and a splint for your fingers so you can doctor it yourself. You can tell whoever asks that a Rottweiler attacked you but you kicked him good. Just tell them it was away from here...over on Wolf Creek or something. That way we can finish all this up here and I can give you the three thousand bucks I promised you in a few weeks.”
“Yeah,” Terry said, hearing nothing other than the words three thousand bucks.
“C’mon. I’ll take you home,” Blake offered. “You’ll have to show me where you live.”
Blake and Terry descended the mountain in silence. This was serious, Blake knew that much. Terry’s ear was nothing, the least of his worries. If any forest authorities caught sight of those escapees and were able to find out where they came from...that Blake was holding them captive on federal land! If something unspeakable happened to Shane and Jesse or, worse yet, even if they were all right but they spilled the beans on him...
It was only in that moment as he slithered down the mountain that Blake realized what a snake he was. Somehow, he had seen only dollar signs. He was no different from Jesse, no different from Terry just a moment before, and hadn’t seriously considered the risks of what he was doing. At least he had the good sense to not tell Angelica about any of it so that he could keep her protected, but still...
All of Blake’s worst thoughts and fears ran across his mind like an old fashioned ticker tape. His first thought was that he might not get the money he had worked so hard for during the past two years, the money he had counted in his sleep and dreamed of. Then he thought that maybe, somehow, he could be in trouble with the law.
“I’ll go out first thing in the morning and look for Jesse and Shane,” Blake said to Terry. “You just take the day off and recover.”
“Fine by me,” Terry said. “Hell, I’ll need some time to mend up anyway.”
“I never asked you, but how well do you know them fellas?” Blake asked.
“Shane and Jesse?” Terry answered. “Not at all. They’re Rabun County High fellas and I live up near Sky Valley, closer to Highlands than Clayton. I just happened to see one of Jesse’s posts on Facebook one night when he was was fishing for a helper. I shot him a message once I caught wind of it, that’s all.”
“So you don’t know them at all? Their families, where they live...nothing?” Blake asked.
“Nope. Don’t know jack shit about ’em.”
Somehow hearing that put Blake at ease. Maybe he had overreacted. He’d probably find Jesse and Shane just fine the next day, but if he didn’t, he was relieved that Terry didn’t know their families or where they lived any more than Blake did.
“Them boys better hunker down tonight,” Terry said as they drove north on 441 through Dillard. “There’s panthers in them hills.”
Blake chuckled. “There ain’t no mountain lions or panthers around here no more,” Blake said, his mountain accent coming on stronger every minute he talked to Terry.
“Well...ain’t no mountain lions no more I reckon,” Terry conceded, “but there sure is heck is panthers. We got pictures of them with our deer cam on the Sky Valley side of Rabun Bald. DNR tells folks they ain’t no panthers cause if they admit it folks’ll want to hunt and kill ’em. Then there won’t be none.”
Blake listened to pass the time, wondering as he drove the winding road up to Sky Valley what really did lurk in the woods on that mountainside...what came out at night. He had hunted the hills a fair amount growing up in Rabun County and felt pretty comfortable in the woods. Comfortable enough to know one thing for sure. He wouldn’t want to be in those woods alone at night.
Chapter 11
Smoke wafted through the air and carried with it a symphony of odors. Yeast, burnt corn, fire: smells commingled with sounds, the crackling of a nearby fire, and the sizzling sound that accompanied another smell, bacon.
Ozzie’s eyes twitched open and quickly blinked shut, not ready to accept the harsh, late morning sunlight. He opened them again, squinting, feeling as if he were in a dream. He was lying on the ground and everything appeared sideways to him. Rolling his neck to the right, he was able to take in more of his surroundings. Above was a wooden structure, the underside of a porch. A cabin. Ozzie tilted his head back to see an open door that went into the cabin. A hard, wooden floor lay beneath him as he turned his attention to what lay across him. It had been a long time since Ozzie had felt anything as soft as the blanket that someone had draped over him. Slowly he regained consciousness, not yet thinking of how he came to be there. Rather, just painting a relaxed picture of his environment. Like someone on a morphine drip, conscious to the world, but absent of reason. He let his neck roll to his left. A few feet from him a fire ring encircled a well-tended fire, above which a flat, metal surface rested. Smoke rose from the surface, as did the sound of meat sizzling.
“Howdy,” a voice said from the other side of the fire. Ozzie’s focus shifted from the fire to the man the way an auto-focus camera resets its focus on a distant object. The feeling of sedation began to wear off as Ozzie saw the man. He labored with great difficulty to remember what happened, how he got here, but was able to string together only memory fragments. Hunting mushrooms with mom, running through the woods, getting shot! Coyotes! The fragments stopped there, not remembering Eduardo, Felipe, who this man was, or how he got here.
“The name’s Hal,” the man said. “Hal Skinner.”
Hal leaned forward and stoked the fire, and then sat silently for a second, not sure what else to say. He had not spoken to another human being in almost five years. In all that time he had spoken to himself countless times, concluding ultimately that that was all thinking really was; someone talking to himself. He had tested his new theory once a few years back trying to see if he could think without a voice in his head speaking. He wasn’t able to.
It surprised him a little that he was able to speak so easily to Ozzie. He thought of movies he had seen years before, in which people were stranded or isolated for years and almost forgot how to speak. Then again, Hal had never really stopped talking. He simply ranted to animals now. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten his own name, but hearing himself say the name “Hal Skinner” almost startled him, as if he had come to believe his identity had been erased along with his physical being in the civilized world.
Ozzie stared at Hal, not feeling afraid and unable to act on his fear if he had. The frazzled hood of a wool jacket loosely covered greasy, scraggly hair that draped over the man’s weathered blue eyes, the bangs shielding the dirt-encrusted crow’s feet around his left eye. His unkempt beard, a scruffy mixture of rust, gray, black, and dirt rose to meet his hair, giving his face the look of a soiled egg. His cheeks were well worn, stained with dirt, age, and tears. Indeed, he had his reasons to cry, to live here alone in the woods and to leave the rest of society behind.
“You probably smelled that batch of moonshine I got brewing over there,” Hal said. Ozzie said nothing and kept staring as Hal struggled to compose his next sentence. Ozzie understood none of Hal’s words, but did understand his tone. He wasn’t like any of the other men. He seemed kind, more like his mother.
“Got some bacon frying too,” Hal paused, thinking of something to add. “Not pork bacon, mind you. Venison bacon. I don’t—” Hal fought for words, not used to having to say anything. “I don’t care for pork too much, you understand. Hell, can’t get it much around here anyway. Isn’t like there’s a Piggly Wiggly in these woods.”
Ozzie stared at Hal.
Hal looked at Ozzie then back at the fire, poking it some. “Hell, I figure you probably can’t understand a word I’m saying,” he said. “You ain’t exactly answering back, but what the hell do I know? Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Ozzie stared at Hal and farted. Hal laughed for the first time in over five years, since before his wife’s funeral. “Good idea,” Hal said, and matched Ozzie one. Ozzie blinked, but said nothing. He rolled his head again to look at the door, staring at the top of the entrance. A strange inscription caught his eye and Ozzie tried to turn to make it out.
“TEOTWAWKI” were the letters that had been carved and burnt into the cabin wall.
Hal caught Ozzie looking up.
“Tee Ought Walk E,” Hal said. “That’s how you say that, you know. It means The End Of The World As We Know It. Tee Ought Walk E. That’s why I came out here after,” Hal blurted, his blood boiling as the memory of his wife rose to the surface. He paused, realizing that no one had forced him to bring it up. He had almost volunteered to bring it up. Don’t go there Hal, please don’t relive that, he counseled himself, too late as the cork was set to pop and spill his bottled emotions. Hal’s grip on the poking stick tightened as he jabbed the fire and went back in time, unable to differentiate if he was merely thinking or talking aloud, as they had become one and the same to him by now.
“There was just nothing left to me, for me, after she died. Still isn’t. It’s like I’m trapped in a different world. Landscapes are in black and white, food has no taste, flowers have no smell. I see it all but everything is void of virtue,” Hal blurted, without knowing it. He was in some place else now, that other place he went to so often, where he kept himself right after she died, the time and place where suffering and isolation was the greatest.
“I imprisoned myself the minute the funeral was over. Didn’t take calls, allowed no one to see me, wouldn’t even talk to her parents. Just shut down, shut the world out,” Hal continued, spewing his stream of recollection as if on the sofa at a shrink’s office.
Ozzie stared into the fire. The realization that Ozzie couldn’t understand a word he was saying encouraged Hal to continue. “I took a month to get everything in order. You know, accounts, property, bills and all that bullshit. I decided I’d go into the woods and disappear. Don’t really know why. Figured I could suffer and die here, I guess I wanted that most of all. Didn’t have it in me to commit suicide. Just didn’t feel that was my right. But I wanted it to all be over. The hate, the suffering, the anger, the loss.”
Ozzie tried to reposition himself, but his pain was getting worse. He grunted and grimaced as he tried to move. Hal snapped out of his diatribe and realized Ozzie was in pain. “Careful there Ozzie, you’ve had a rough go,” he said.
Ozzie stared at him, unsure of what to think.
“Oh yeah,” Hal said, “I know your name. Right there hanging on that tag they stuck on you, like military dog tags or a prison tag. OZZIE, it says. Can’t imagine where you came from though. Don’t care none, neither.”
Hal leaned over, grabbed his jug of corn whiskey and walked to Ozzie. His approach frightened Ozzie and he tried to get up, but a sharp pain from his rear made it impossible. He grimaced again. “Easy there,” Hal said. “Like I said, you’ve had a rough go. Them coyotes clean broke your leg and bit right through it and your shoulder. I’ve been wanting to blast them suckers to smithereens for some time now. They was hooting and hollering up the ridge there not a hundred yards from here so I walked up with my shotgun and there they were beating you like you was Rodney King. Didn’t look like a fair fight to me so I took two of them down. The other two scattered off and I brought you back here. That was...let’s see...don’t really know what day today is, but that was three or four days ago, I reckon. I’ve been keeping you fed on this moonshine to take the edge of that pain off.”
Hal stopped talking for a moment to look at Ozzie’s wounds.
“I had to leave these wounds open, son, to let them drain. Made you a bandage out of some sphagnum moss I took from a mountain bog not too far from here. They used to use this stuff in the Civil War, you know, when they ran out of sterile dressings. Healed wounds faster than the cotton did! That’s cause this stuff doesn’t let bacteria grow.”
Hal let the moss bandage do its work and held the back of Ozzie’s head to pour a little shine into his mouth. Ozzie drank it, vaguely remembering it. Hal gently placed his head back down and stroked it before returning to the fire.
“That right there’s the whole problem with this world,” Hal said, on the verge of a rant. “The answer to most things is right there in nature. But you can’t put a patent on that moss so there ain’t no money in it. Instead we just whip up some concoctions made of who knows what, put it in a pill, give it a stupid name so a pharmaceutical company can sell it. Only, if you listen to the fast-talking snake oil salesman on the commercial, it creates all kinds of side effects that need another pill. So people buy that pill! Ain’t no need for none of it!” Hal concluded out of breath, his face becoming flustered. He thought for a moment as he checked the bacon.
“Bacon’s done,” he said. “I’ll just put it over here. You can try some later if you’d like.”
Hal sat back down, looked at Ozzie, and shook his head at all he had said in the last few minutes. He didn’t want to talk, had become used to not talking, but the words just bubbled out as if someone had shaken the soda bottle violently before opening it. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” Hal said, his words still bubbling out. “I just didn’t want to live without her. Didn’t want to have to talk to anyone, hear them say shit like “oh we’re so sorry” and “she was such an amazing woman” and whatever. Hell, I know how amazing she was. We did everything together, and I mean everything. Worked together, slept together, played together. No other friends, just her. And I was her one and only friend. And then...one of us is gone, leaving the other all alone.”
Hal looked at Ozzie and realized that he too must be alone.
“Well, like I said, I just wanted to die, to be gone. But I couldn’t pull the trigger. Couldn’t jump off the bridge, if you catch my meaning. So I just hightailed it to the woods figuring if I had to be alone without her I’d just as soon be alone without anyone. Besides, the world’s going to hell in a hand basket anyway. So I grabbed the things I needed to live out here and came and found my spot. To tell you the truth I figured for sure I’d be dead by now. Hoped I would, anyway, but death hasn’t taken me.”
Hal stopped, realizing that he had been talking nonstop, and wanting to extend an opportunity to Ozzie if he had something to say. Ozzie’s eyes were sealed as the moonshine had coaxed his pain away and his body to sleep.
Hal continued ranting, half drunk now.
“Hey...I’m a quarter Cherokee, you know. Yep, Skinner, you can look the name up on the Dawes Roll of 1906, it’s right there. My ancestors were run off this land, did you know that?”
Drool oozed from Ozzie’s mouth as he lay on the porch.
“Back in 1838,” Hal continued. “Made to march on foot about a thousand frigging miles, you believe that? White men like the other three quarters of me imprisoned them and took their land. A frigging crime!” Hal took a stick and stirred the fire as he continued his rant. “Then again, the Cherokee ended up keeping some slaves of their own, so I guess we’re all either captor or captive depending on what day it is. Can’t just let every creature live freely I reckon.” Hal exhaled as he concluded his rant and stopped talking, realizing that he had put his first audience in five years to sleep.
Hal walked over to Ozzie and checked on his blanket. He had been badly hurt and would need time to heal, but for the first time in a very long time, Hal felt a twinge of purpose. For so long his life had no meaning and he wanted only for his body and soul to fade into the forest soil, becoming lost amidst the winter leaf litter. To just end it all already. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and all that.
In Hal’s barren field of despair a lone seed of hope now germinated, and its name was Ozzie. He had nurtured it for days, nursing it to its next phase of recovery, and he would continue nursing it. Hoping for it the happiness that eluded him and perhaps tasting a bit of happiness for himself once more.
