by S A Ison
She turned back and finished sawing the hand off. She took the hand and cut off the fingernails, and then tossed the whole hand into the pot. She then pulled up the wooden stool and sat on it. There was a bowl in her lap to catch the blood. She cleaned the wound and began to sew it up quickly. She put ointment on it and got up. She went back to the small stove and looked in the pot. She stirred the contents and then added some spices and then put a lid on the pot and turned the flame down.
She let out a satisfied breath and went to her lounger and picked up her knitting. She looked up at Hobo, who was looking at the unconscious man. She shook her head and started knitting, waiting for her dinner and her new guest to wake up.
֎
Wilber and Boney had separated from the larger group they would go on to their targets tonight. Each man had chosen a target, the Edison twins were very happy about that. They’d each chosen a man. The old men were like boys, giggling and making jokes, shoving each other. They sniggered and acted silly, they were all in high spirits.
Wilber knew that they all felt young again and useful. He’d not told Alan what was going on tonight, he didn’t want his grandson to worry. He’d left out just after midnight, his grandson passed out in his room. He’d looked in on the boy before he’d left and smiled softly. The kid was dead to the world. He envied that kind of sleep. Now a days, he was up and down all night. Aches and pains kept him awake most nights.
Tonight however, he felt no pain, his heart racing in anticipation. They all knew what was at stake and knew also that they may well be killed, but to go out in a blaze of glory, instead of rotting in a chair. They had all been in battle, well except for Collins, he was a Squiddly Diddly and didn’t do diddly and they didn’t count he sniggered to himself. Well, Collins was in Vietnam, but he wasn’t really shot at. Well, not much.
Wilber lifted his hand in farewell, he had chosen the bastard who’d shot that kid who’d flipped off the mayor. He’d found out where the peckerwood lived and was heading there now. He lived in an apartment, so it would be a tricky kill. In his pocket was a brick, he carried it with him. He’d thought about it a lot and he figured if he threw the brick through the peckerwood’s window, it was sure to lure him out. He’d have to get his aim right the first time. He’d not get a second chance.
He didn’t need anyone seeing him after the initial shot. That would give the game away. His face had ash and bootblack, so his features were hidden, but his body was old and he didn’t move as fast. He didn’t need a bullet in the back form a sympathizing pecker-head friend. The shit-heel was a cockroach, and where there was one cockroach, there were more. He hoped he’d have a good vantage point at the kill site.
Alan had gone to visit his friends the previous day, he was glad the boy had a safe place to go. If anything were to happen, he’d left a letter for the boy, telling him to go and live with his friends. He also wrote in the letter, don’t grieve, I will die with valor and honor, doing what needs to be done. Wilber wasn’t an overly sentimental man, but he loved his grandson dearly.
Wilber inhaled deeply and pulled a cigarette out and lit it. He inhaled a long drag of the cigarette, he held it in his lungs and then let it out slowly. He loved the damn things, didn’t give a shit that they’d kill him eventually, something in this life would. No one got out alive in this world, no matter how rich or how poor, how smart or stupid. He hoped he could meet death bravely. He’d hate to think after all these years, that he was a coward.
He was getting close to the complex and dropped the butt and crushed it. He listened intently, but heard nothing. It was quiet, but for the insects and the rustling of the branches above in the trees. There was a breeze blowing and he could feel the chill of it. Autumn wasn’t far off and then the snow would come. He shivered thinking about the coming winter.
He found an abandoned car that was directly across from the apartment door. He calculated the distance between the car and the window, about twenty feet. He thought he could run it pretty quick for a short distance. He first went to the abandoned car and set his rifle on the roof of the car. He flipped up the night optics on the weapon and zeroed in on the door.
He looked up and around then back to the scope. It felt comfortable. He laid the rifle on its side on the roof of the car and went around. He stood roughly ten feet from the apartment. Pausing, he looked around once more, into the windows and around him. He heard and saw nothing. He pulled back his arm, hurled the brick with all his might. As it left his hand, he’d already turned and Wilber bent at the waist and ran like hell to the car.
There was a satisfying crash of the window shattering. He picked up his gun and aimed it for the door. He waited, double checking his aim. It was maybe ten seconds later that a squat fat man ran out in his underwear. His hair was wild from sleep and he jerked, looking around. He had a weapon and he was looking around wildly. Wilber took careful aim, this had to count. He pulled the trigger and the man jerked back like a puppet with his strings cut and went down in a crumpled bloody heap.
Wilber stood and turned, retreating back the way he came, walking quickly, but not running. He didn’t need to trip in the dark. Keeping to the shadows, he looked back over his shoulder. He saw people looking through their windows, but no one came out, fear keeping them caged in their homes. All the better, no collateral damage and no witnesses.
Wilber felt elated, he’d avenged that boy, he’d gotten another target. This was great, if they could go out every once and a while, nothing too organized, they could make a dent in these peckerwoods. He then heard some shouts, and knew someone was aware of the kill. He picked up his pace and headed for the nearest tree line. He needed to get out of the area fast.
He knew the area well, he’d lived and worked in Beattyville all his life. He went through another apartment complex, slipping easily out of range and sight of the other apartment complex. In the distance, he heard an engine. But it was far away. He shook his head grinning. It took nearly twenty minutes, but he made it back to the truck. He got in and sat back and sighed happily. He hoped the other boys were getting their targets.
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Vern began to wake, he felt a throbbing pain in his head and his hand. He couldn’t remember what had happened. He could see light, but it was all blurry, like there was petroleum jelly over his eyes. He blinked rapidly and tried to shake his head, but that hurt like hell and made him groan.
“Hey Vern, howya doin?” a voice sniggered. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Who’s there?” he asked, his mouth dry as cotton and he swallowed hard. He gritted his teeth in pain, it was as though he were trying to swallow a stickaburr.
“It’s me, Hobo. You’uns is fucked.” Hobo said and started laughing hard.
“Now Hobo, don’t be naughty.” A woman’s voice said.
“Who is there? Who are you?” He asked the woman.
“That thar be Karma.” Hobo said, and the woman laughed.
“What?” Vern said confused. He kept blinking, furiously and then he noticed that he couldn’t move. He tried to wiggle, but nothing moved. His ass hurt, and it felt numb. Slowly, his vision began to clear. In front of him was a naked man with an arm missing and part of another arm, cut off at the elbow. His brain was trying to figure that out, when he recognized Hobo. He’d arrested the shit three times, and three times he’d vomited on him.
“Hobo? What the hell you doin neked?” Vern asked, and thought maybe he was hallucinating. Or perhaps he was having a nightmare, though he’d never had anything so real like this, nor as bizarre as this.
Hobo was chained to a steel post and sitting in a chair. Then his eyes shifted and he saw an old woman in a lounger, knitting. It was so inexplicable to him, he laughed. He knew he must be having a dream. He shivered, his body feeling cold, but he was dreaming. He couldn’t remember if in his other dreams he felt cold or not.
“What’s so funny?” Hobo asked.
“I’m dreaming.” Vern said, smiling.
/> “No you’uns ain’t boy, you’uns is fucked, just like me.” Hobo said, a wide crazed grin on his face.
Vern looked over to the old woman who nodded, a beaming smile on her withered face. He now remembered she’d been the woman he’d been talking to about food. He didn’t remember what had happened, but there she was, knitting. It occured to him then to look down and he was shocked and embarrassed that he was naked.
Then he realized he had chains around his body, his arms and legs and he was duct taped as well and then he saw his hand and screamed, long and loud. Hobo began to laugh hysterically, spittle dripping from his open mouth, his meth teeth crusted with scum.
Vern stared at him in horror, his eyes wide as the screams kept coming out. He saw that Hobo was laughing and he glimpsed madness in those laughing eyes. He couldn’t stop screaming, when he saw the stump where his hand should have been. And his body felt colder, dread and terror bumping up on his skin as it rippled across his body like an avalanche.
“That’s enough Hobo, leave him be.” The woman said. She got up and walked over to Vern, and grabbed his chin and drew his attention to her. She squeezed painfully on his jaw and he stopped screaming.
“Vern, I’m Bella May. You are in my basement.” She said calmly.
“Why, why am I here in your basement.” Vern asked, his brown eyes frantic, desperately trying to grasp some kind of sanity in this nightmare.
“You’uns don’t wanna knowed that.” Hobo giggled, in a sing song voice.
“Hobo.” Bella May warned, her voice still soft. Hobo didn’t say another word.
“Vern, you came into my home, you didn’t even ask to come in, you just barged into my home. You demanded food and shoved me around. You didn’t even ask and you called me stupid. Did you know that stupid is my trigger word? My father used to call me stupid. And it has always made me want to kill.” She said, her green eyes boring savagely into his brown eyes, that were large and frightened.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said, his voice shaking.
“I know you are Vern, but it is too late for sorry. You see, Hobo over there, he came uninvited into my home as well. He’ll never leave, and neither will you. You’re both my protein.” She said.
“Pr.. protein?” Vern stammered, spit hitting his chin.
“Yes, Vern, you see, I need an inordinate amount of meat. I’m too old to go hunting anymore, so like a spider, I have to wait for something to come into my web. You Vern Smalls, barged into my web.”
Vern began to cry and looked at his stump and then her and then Hobo. “Please no, please no. I’ll leave, I won’t come back an I won’t tell anyone. Please, let me go. I’ll even bring you meat, I swear, I’ll hunt for you.” Vern begged, his lips pulled back in a grimace of utter fear.
“Now that’s an idea. But no, I know what kind of man you are, just like my dear old dad. Well, dear old dad didn’t make it out of here on his last visit.” She smiled and that smile sent a shiver down to his internal vestigial tail. He could feel it tingle there and felt his scrotum pull up into his body from the primordial fear.
“Vern, I can see you’re much brighter than yonder there.” She said, nodding her head toward Hobo, who was biting his lower lip.
“Vern, you and Hobo are my protein, I’ll be eating you. As you can see, Hobo has been here a while. Now that you’re here, he gets a break. Sorry, that’s just how it goes. Guess you shouldn’t have knocked on my door and barged.” She said, a soft smile on her mouth.
Vern looked at her mouth and then his hand. He wanted to weep, he couldn’t get out of this. He didn’t believe it, but he couldn’t get out of this. He tried to move his body, but he was tightly secure. He looked at his stump where his missing hand used to be. He saw the redness and the neat stitching. It glistened obscenely with ointment.
“Will you at least numb it up?” he asked, his voice cracking, he could feel hot tears cascading down his face.
“Sorry Vern, but I don’t have anything to numb it, but don’t worry, when I start to saw, you’ll pass out.” She grinned and went back to her recliner to pick up her knitting. Stunned, he stared at her and then he looked over at Hobo, who was rocking slightly, grinning. He could do nothing except let the tears fall and stare.
֎
Danny Yates sat at his desk, and looked up when Grady came running in. “Sheriff, we got trouble, there’s a group of strangers that’s come into town. They’s got weapons, an they ain’t given over.”
Yates blew out a breath, he’d been afraid of this. Lexington was an hour or better away by car, but people could still make their way here. They couldn’t afford to have strangers just show up, they didn’t have the resources to absorb them.
“Get your people, have’em bring their weapons, we got to kill’em. Can’t let them leave or they’ll be back.” He said resigned. He grabbed his service revolver and checked it. He then opened a drawer and pulled out a Glock, which had been confiscated. He checked the magazine and put it back. Both weapons smelled of gun oil. He’d cleaned them the previous week. He’d not had to use them since he’d shot Deets.
Grady had disappeared and Yates walked out of his office and made his way to the street. He had a cigar clamped tight in his teeth. He saw several of the towns people and nodded to them, but they turned and ran in the opposite direction. He laughed softly and shrugged. It was then he realized he was carrying the Glock. He walked up the street, looking down side streets as he went. He didn’t know where the new comers were, but he was sure they were close by.
Grady came running back, with five men, each had a weapon. One had an AR15. Another a shotgun, the other three had hunting rifles. The men walked silently, Yates and Grady in the lead.
He said over his shoulder to the other men. “Make damn sure you don’t shoot me or Grady for Christ’s sake. Check for crossfire.”
Up the street, they heard yelling and then a gunshot sounded and Yates picked up his speed. At the Quick-Mart, one of his people lay dead on the sidewalk, the group of eight people were walking into the store. Taking aim, Yates began to fire with the Glock, dropping three people before they could turn around.
He had not won the annual regional championship target shoot for nothing. He smiled, the cigar still clamped, but to the side of his mouth. He chewed on the end of it and switched it to the other side of his mouth. His eyes scanned the area.
The man with the AR15 began to pepper the people who tried to scatter, and Grady and the other men began to pick them off, they stood behind abandon vehicles. From inside the store, there was shooting and Yates took cover behind an abandoned truck.
“Get around back and pick them off. If they come out this way, we’ll get them.” He ordered Grady and two men with the hunting rifles.
Grady and the two men ran across the street, fifty feet up and to the right of the store. Yates watched as they kept low and used the vehicles as barriers. Yates waited patiently, and then he heard shots from the back of the store. Then a man came running out, a big man and he took careful aim and shot him, dropping him.
He stood and sauntered over and looked down. The man was wheezing and bubbling blood from his nose and mouth. Yates smiled and looked down into the man’s eyes. He lifted the Glock and fired once more.
He looked up as Grady came through the door and smiled. “Have your people clean this shit up. Good work.” He said, looking around at the dead men and women. He didn’t recognize any of them, they weren’t from town.
“Once this is cleared, take the bodies to the main roads leading into town. Set up road blocks, and put these bodies there as a warning. Make up a sign, Outsiders Not Welcome and leave the bodies to rot. I want two men at each road block.”
“But Preside…” Grady was saying, before Yates cut him off.
“I don’t give two rat fucks what he wants, I said do it. I’ll worry about the mayor.”
Yates turned and looked down and spat on the big man’s face and turned and walked back to his office. He need
ed a drink. He knew that there would be more outsiders coming their way. This was simply the first. He was surprised that it had taken as long as it had. He suspected these idiots had eaten their way to Beattyville.
He was getting tired of having the tug of war with the men. Audrey wanted to be surrounded, but with all the recent deaths of their men, they were becoming dangerously thin. They needed to find who was picking them off. It could be anyone with a rifle. There were many hunters in this community. Heck, most men lived for hunting season. He’d have to get with Audrey and pry some of his men lose to go on patrols.
He shook his head at the thought of Audrey, he was useless, worse than useless. The bastard was eating up supplies and assets. Something had to give. He couldn’t do all this on his own. Where the hell was Vern? The man had gone missing a couple of days ago. He wondered if the man had deserted camp. He’d not be surprised. Confidence was low.
֎
David and the crew stepped off the bus, they’d brought the last two children, Steven and Boyd, Gideon, Julia’s boys. The boys walked into the house to be cleaned and fed. The guards had finally been drawn to their side. It seemed that one of the guards, Richard Bibs’s mother was a Patterson, and third cousin to Clay Patterson, who was sixth cousin to Boney Patterson.
On their last visit, Richard grew a conscience, when he also found out, that Mary was related by marriage by a forth cousin, he’d wept at her feet, pleading for forgiveness. Both he and Bill Hawkins had gone over to the right side. Bill had let it slip that his wife was also pregnant, and he’d gone to the mayor for more food and had been denied. When Jutta had kindly given him food for his pregnant wife, Bill had wept. He’d asked Mary for forgiveness, as had Richard.
When Mary had asked them why they hated blacks so much, neither men knew why. David shook his head, and had wondered at the parents of so many people.
“It’s juss always a been thatta way since I’s a young’un.” Bill said, turning bright red. “I always heard my ma and pa, an granny and grandpa too. They’s allus say bad things. I’s just learned it.”
