by Ison, S. A.
He watched as the people backed up and scurried back into their homes. His breaths were coming in harsh pants as he turned and bent down on his knee to look at Earl’s body. He placed a gentle hand on the barely recognizable face and jerked back and fell on his butt when Earl moaned.
“Earl! Earl, can you hear me?” he nearly shouted. Earl groaned a little louder, and Harry opened the passenger-side door to the truck. He put his hands under Earl’s armpits, hoisted the semiconscious man up, and leveraged him into the truck. He swung Earl’s upper legs up and into the truck, eliciting a loud cry from Earl.
“Sorry brother, I know it hurts, I’ll get you home A.S.A.P.,” he murmured.
He looked franticly around for Earl’s prosthetic leg and saw it lying under the trailer. He ran to the trailer, bent down and pulled the leg out, then threw it onto the floorboard. He slammed the door hard enough to rock the truck. He ran around and climbed into the driver’s seat, then peeled out of the trailer park, rock, dirt, and trash flying out behind him.
Harry’s hands were gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles where white and the tendons corded along the bone. Harry looked over to Earl and could see the blood flowing again; he must have opened up the wounds. Bloody bubbles were coming out of the man’s mouth as he breathed.
Harry flew down the residential streets, the truck fishtailing along the turns and curves of the roads. Once on the straightaway, he floored it, the wind blowing through the truck’s open windows like a storm. The sun was setting and the clouds were gathering in angry consultation, their thunderous voices loud and menacing.
Large drops of water splashed against the windshield and the heavens opened up, letting a rush of precipitation fall in sheets. Harry flipped on the wipers, and streaks blurred his view. Brilliant light flashed across the sky, leaving a negative image in the back of Harry’s retina. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes.
Harry squinted through the windshield, the rain coming into the truck cab to soak both of them. He bit the inside of his cheek when he had to slow down on hairpin curves. He tried to speed up, only to slow down again to maneuver around the abandoned cars. He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, frustration rising along with his fear.
He had to slow even more due to the hard rain; he didn’t want to fishtail off the side of the mountain. He’d also not belted Earl in, and was afraid the man would be knocked around too much.
Soon he was nearly home and began to breathe a little easier. He saw a flash of something and felt a thump on the left front bumper. He hit the brakes and the truck fishtailed, then came to a rocking stop. Harry jumped out and went to see what he’d hit.
A large buck lay on the far side of the road, its hind legs broken. The poor creature continued to struggle up and tried to run, only to fall once more. The animal’s dark liquid eyes rolled in panic and its front legs kicked wildly. Harry was sorry the beautiful animal, had been hit.
Pulling his Glock, he quickly ended the creature’s suffering. Then he grabbed the hind legs and pulled the buck to the back of the truck. Putting down the tailgate, Harry grabbed a coil of rope from the bed of the truck and tied the rope around the deer’s legs, running the other end of the rope through a metal loop at the back of the truck bed. He pulled on the rope, hoisting the deer.
His adrenaline still pumping, he pulled hard, grunting with the effort, and guided the deer into the bed of the truck. The copper tang of blood and cordite filled his nostrils. He pushed and pulled and cursed, wanting to get the carcass into the truck as fast as he could.
Once the deer was in the truck, Harry got back into the cab and drove the rest of the way home. He kept wiping the blood from his hands onto his jeans. It was near full on dark now and the rain heavy. He drove up to the barricade, jumped out and moved the structure, then pulled the truck in and replaced the blind.
He drove up to the house, beeping the horn. The truck shimmied and rocked heavily as he came to a stop. The house was dark, but he saw a flashlight heading toward him. It was Willy, and Marilyn was behind her.
“Earl’s been hurt. Can you help me?” Harry called. Boggy came from around the side of the house. Everyone helped to ease Earl out of the truck and into the house. They took him into the living room and laid him on the floor. Willene went to the fireplace and retrieved the hurricane lantern from the mantle, then lit it with the box of matches that usually sat by the lantern.
Placing the lantern on the table, Willene turned to Harry. “Go get more lanterns, and put them on the table, let’s get this room lit up. Marilyn, in my bedroom closet is an emergency kit. Can you bring it here please?” Willene ordered, the nurse in her taking charge.
Harry hurried back to the living room with two lanterns, lit them, and then went to the coat closet and pulled out another. The room was now bright, and he turned to see Marilyn coming down the stairs with a large duffle bag. She brought it to Willene and knelt down to help.
Both women began to gently cut the clothes away from Earl’s body. The man groaned, tears sliding down his bruised and bloodied face. Harry went to the upstairs linen closet and pulled out some old sheets and a quilt. He returned to the living room and gave them to Willene.
“We got this, Harry. Go eat something,” Willene order her brother.
Boggy and Harry went to the kitchen. There were strips of fried steak and cornbread in a cast iron skillet. Harry went to the sink and dipped water out of the small bucket that sat beside the sink. He poured it over his hands and reached for a bar of soap.
Once clean, he noticed his hands were still shaking. He walked over to the stove. Beside the fried steak and cornbread was a pot of soup beans with a large ham hock. The food was good and filling.
Willene was still using the last of the food from the freezer. They would be tightening their belts soon enough. Thankfully, if they used the food in the cave wisely, harvested crops and hunted meat, or hit them like the deer, they should eat well.
“What happen ta Earl? Who done did stoved his head in?” Boggy asked, sipping on warm sweet tea, his eyes large and luminous in the candlelight.
“I don’t know, but someone nearly beat him to death. Worse, his neighbors didn’t even lift a finger to help him,” Harry said, his anger coming through in his voice. He could feel the rage beginning to build again and tried to tamp it down.
“I’s spect they’s probably still in shock. I Swanee, them there folks maybe titched in they’s head, taint able to thank straight,” Boggy said.
“Maybe, but still, I can’t believe they didn’t at least help him a bit, give him water or shade him,” Harry said.
“I ’spect it’s good that it was cloudy, I knowd that’s good fer him. He’d like to have died,” Boggy replied.
“True, Boggy. I got a deer in the back of the truck, hit it on the way back. Can you help me get it to the barn to hang it? I need to bleed it and then butcher it,” Harry said, stifling a belch.
“Dang, you’uns good, Harry. Plum save a man an’ bag a deer.” Boggy grinned, placing his plate in a pan full of soapy water. He washed his plate and fork, then rinsed them off in the sink with clear water. He placed his dish in the rack to dry. Harry followed suit.
Pulling the truck to the barn, he and Boggy hauled the deer off the back and dragged it into the barn. He left the truck’s lights on to illuminate the interior. They hung the deer from its hind legs from a tackle rig on a beam. Harry went back into the house and retrieved a knife. It was sharp; both Willene and Peapot kept the knives sharpened.
Boggy dragged a large galvanized bucket over and placed it under the deer, his dark skin glistening with sweat and mist. Boggy held the head as Harry took the knife and slit the neck on each side. Blood slowly began to empty into the pan. Then Harry carefully made a slit, beginning between the hind legs, and pulled the skin outward: he didn’t want to puncture the membrane that held the guts of the deer.
It took some time, but with Boggy’s help the deer was soon skinned and the guts neat
ly removed. Harry then took a five-gallon bucket and walked down to the well and filled it. Bringing it back to the barn, he and Boggy cleaned up the carcass and themselves.
“Why don’t you’uns take a peek on Earl,” Boggy suggested. “I kin finish. I’ll take this critter ta the root cellar, hang it an’ let it rest.”
“Thanks, Boggy, I appreciate that. Then come on in and we’ll see what’s what for the rotation watch tonight,” Harry said.
Harry walked back to the house. He didn’t need a flashlight, knowing the path by heart as he did. He wondered once more what had happened to Earl. They had removed his leg and beaten the man to within an inch of his life. Had Earl walked into some kind of trap, or had these people come through while he was home?
The thought of the neighbors standing around not lifting a hand enraged Harry once more. He sucked in a breath, knowing it was pointless. It certainly wouldn’t help Earl if Harry’s head exploded from rage. But those people had just stood by and watched a man be beaten nearly to death and hadn’t lifted a finger to help. To hell with them all.
The world had always been a violent place, he knew that very well. He’d seen it at many of his duty stations. The violations had been horrific and gave him nightmares. He’d seen fist fights, and been in a few himself, but he’d not seen someone he knew beaten to within an inch of his life.
To know that the people who knew Earl had just stood there and watched, not giving a damn…Harry couldn’t wrap his mind around that. Maybe Boggy was right, maybe they were in a state of shock.
It snapped something within him. A dark small voice said it was glad the world had gone to hell, that those assholes would not survive. He was immediately ashamed of himself. He’d not been raised like that, and he knew his grandfather would be ashamed of him.
Angry, he wiped the tears away. He’d not even known he’d been crying, or perhaps it was rain. He was fighting to gain control of himself. The death of his grandfather and near-death of his friend so close together was just too much to take in, not to mention the loss of Fran. He took in a deep breath, held it and blew it out.
He entered the house. It was dark and quiet, but the light in the living room was still on. He grabbed a chunk of cornbread and ate it, then found his coffee. It was cold, but he didn’t care. The cornbread was good and he washed it down; it went well with the cold coffee. He sighed heavily and felt his nerves settling.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dr. Katherine Lee sat in her office. She’d not been home since the power had gone out and the world as she knew it had ended. So many people needed her help. They’d lost five elderly people and one child that had been on life support. The backup generators had never come on and all equipment had stopped. The hospital was eerily quiet.
She rubbed her face hard, exhaustion settling over her. She’d been going for over twenty-four hours now and saw no end in sight. She worried for her parents, knowing they worried for her. They were second-generation Korean Americans, her grandparents’ exiles from North Korea. South Korea hadn’t been that welcoming, so her grandparents had emigrated to America. They had ended up in Lexington, Kentucky, where there was a small North Korean community.
Her father had met her mother in Lexington, married, and had helped his parents with their Korean restaurant. When Katherine came along, she was their pride and joy and hope for the future. They saved money for medical school and Katherine thrived and excelled. She and her parents had come to Beattyville, where she’d set up practice. She was a good doctor and her patients loved her.
Katie stepped into a darkened room where a candle was burning. She could make out the patient, a saline bag hanging from the hook next to him. There wasn’t much they could do for the patients now except keep them hydrated and sedated. She went over and felt the young man’s head; his head was cool. She didn’t want to wake him, as he’d been in terrible pain earlier in the day. She left the room and walked up the hall.
She couldn’t give up on them now. Dr. Walton Blue had disappeared sometime during the night and no other doctors had come to relieve her. There were few nurses left, and a couple orderlies. Her friend Willene Banks was on her time off. Would she be able to even make it in?
Willene lived over thirty minutes away and her grandfather was dying. She knew Marilyn had been going over to help in her role as a hospice nurse. She was glad, as Marilyn was a compassionate nurse. They needed more like her.
No, Willene won’t be here. She has a lot on her plate, Katie thought. She couldn’t blame her. She couldn’t blame the others for leaving. Her phone no longer worked, the computers were dead, and the toilets no longer flushed. The rancid stench of sewage was starting to permeate the hospital corridors. The CNAs had left and so had maintenance. Something had to change soon, as keeping the patients clean was getting harder. They had to be careful of disease and infection.
For the one-hundredth time she asked herself what in the hell was she going to do? What was going on? What had happened, and where were the police, or maybe even the military or National Guard? No one had any answers.
For now, it was quiet. She found an empty room and lay down in the bed. It was raining outside, which sounded wonderful. She shifted onto her side and looked out into the dark night, her eyes growing heavy. And then she was asleep.
Ӝ
Clay’s feet were killing him, even with the shoes Pops had given him. He looked up to the sky. The clouds had been threatening all day. He looked down at Brian and bent to pet the dog’s head. He looked up and down the road. Deserted, unnervingly silent but for the insects that buzzed in the brush along the road. He’d seen only one vehicle all day, and that had been disabled like his own.
“Brian, where the heck did everybody go?” Clay asked the dog, who tipped his head from side to side. Clay grinned at Brian, then sat down in the middle of the road. Gravel bit into his rear end, so he shifted a bit until he was comfortable. Then he opened his pack and pulled out a bottle of water and Brian’s water dish.
Pouring the clear liquid into the dish, he shoved it toward the dog, who began to lap up the water greedily. Clay tipped the bottle and drank heavily. He looked into gray, angry sky again. He was still another day or two from town. He’d have to look for another home to sleep in. He hoped someone would allow him to.
Pops had been very nice, giving him more water from his hand pump out in the back yard. It had been an ancient thing but pulled the water up readily. The man had also made him several peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on stale bread; they’d finished the other loaf over breakfast.
Clay pulled out one of the sandwiches and began to eat it, thankful for the energy. He’d eaten the beef jerky, which made him thirsty. He’d also eaten the three apples Pops had given him, along with a fruit cup.
The apples had been from the grocery and didn’t have the sweetness of those fresh off a tree. He was hungry, though, and had chewed through them, even eating the cores. He was a big man with a big appetite. The extra food had gone a long way in quieting the rumblings. It was too early yet for wayside berries; he’d seen them along the road, plump but green.
He dug around in the pack and pulled out Brian’s dry dog food and dumped some into the empty dish. Clay inhaled deeply and rotated his head from side to side, easing the muscles in his neck. He wiped the sweat from his face, glad there was a cool breeze. Some blue jays squabbled loudly in a nearby bush. He squeezed his feet and stretched them, easing the muscles. The sneakers fit okay, but the long day of walking was wearing on him. He looked into the pack and laughed; Pops had also given him a roll of toilet paper.
He groaned as he got up, and he heard his vertebrae pop like soft gunfire. His knees didn’t thank him either, popping loudly. “Come on, boy, we need to find a place to lay our heads. Let’s hope they are as nice as Pops.”
Brian cocked his head and wagged his tail and grinned once more at Clay. Clay laughed and patted the dog’s head.
Ӝ
Harry finished the cornbread
and finished wiping the rain and crumbs from his face. Taking a deep breath, he went into the living room. Earl was now on the couch, an old butter soft quilt pulled up around him. The women were out on the porch; he could hear the swing creaking softly.
Harry knelt down beside Earl and looked into the beaten face. It was bad, and he wondered if Earl’s bones were shattered. He laid a large hand on Earl’s shoulder and felt the man stir under his touch.
“I already know the answer, but how are you feeling?” Harry asked.
“Like hammered dogshit,” Earl mumbled, and laughed weakly.
“Do you know who beat you, Earl?” Harry asked, his voice low and calm.
“Yeah, couple friends, or ex-friends. Them thar peckerwoods was little high off meth. Wanted food an’ my truck. When I ain’t have no food, they done beat the tar outta me. I ’spect they took my leg an’ beat me with it.” He laughed, though no humor was evident.
“Bastards. I got your leg. I don’t think they broke it,” Harry said, tamping down the anger that threatened to take his breath away.
“I thought I was done for, Harry. Ain’t nobody even try ta help me. I just lay on that thar ground, all stove up, gettin’ the tar kicked out of me an’ them neighbors of mine just stood watchin’.” Earl choked, a sob rising from his chest.
“Don’t worry about that, Earl. You’re safe now among friends,” Harry said, laying his hand on the broken man’s shoulder. “Get some rest. We got you and we’ll keep you safe, brother.”
Harry left Earl to heal in his slumber and walked out onto the porch. It was dark and the rain fell heavily now, thundering on the metal roof of the farmhouse. Talking was impossible, so he sat in the rocker near the women and looked out into the valley. It was dark as pitch, and the rain obscured all else.
