Red Runs the River

by Tony Urban

  "Uh huh."

  "And don't get me wrong, I always thought the biggest extent of the population sucked ass. I guess I just hoped something this terrible might pull people together. Instead it pushed them further apart." Mead grabbed some fertilizer and aluminum powder and started mixing. "You think there's any chance that Grady fellow's right? That he's really got God on the speed dial?"

  That surprised Wim. He'd never heard Mead talk much about God, but when he did it was usually in a derisive or disbelieving manner. "No. I don't. Not at all."

  "Do you even believe in God, Wim?"

  Wim thought about his answer before saying it aloud, but even with time to think it was hard to find the right words. "I was never a church-going man even when my Mama tried to make me. I didn't care much for the people there. They were all right outside of church, good folks the lot of them, but put 'em in side that box and they took on airs. They'd judge what you were wearing or gossip about you if you came in late or if you drifted off to sleep during one of Pastor Warren's long sermons."

  "Speaking from personal experience there?"

  Wim grinned. "They'd laugh, in a mean way, if you couldn't pronounce the words right when you were picked to read a verse or two. Or if you couldn't name all the descendants of Moses forwards and back. It was like they viewed piety as a contest."

  Wim fell silent a bit. Long enough for Mead to prod him. "That's interesting and all, but you ducked my question."

  "I thought you might not notice."

  "I'm too sharp for that."

  "Well then, far as God goes, I always assumed he was there. I prayed, maybe not every day, but I tried to thank him when the notion came to mind. I did believe, in my own way."

  "That's past tense though."

  These were thoughts Wim had been wrestling with for months, maybe even years, but he'd never verbalized them and had never intended to. He thought about brushing Mead's version of twenty questions to the side, but felt he owed him honesty. "I haven't seen any evidence of God down here for a good, long while now."

  "Does that mean you've lost faith?"

  "No. Not entirely. Maybe he's just taking one of those - what do you call them, sabbaticals?"

  Mead laughed. "I never thought about that. I wonder how much vacation time God gets."

  Wim shrugged his shoulders. "Or maybe he's the one that lost faith in us."

  Mead's smile faded, and Wim felt bad for possibly putting a damper on the man's good mood. "But what do I know? I'm nothing but a below average farmer."

  "You're a lot more than that Wim. A whole lot more."

  Wim thought he felt his face get hot and turned away in case a blush was coming. "How about you answer your own question. Do you believe?"

  "I believe in myself. The man upstairs? Well, I guess I'll find out when my time runs out."

  "Let's hope that's not soon."

  Mead's smile returned, along with a spark in his eyes. "Yeah. Let's."

  Wim decided that hoping wasn't quite enough. Instead he said a silent prayer to a God he was no longer sure existed.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Aben knelt on the floor and sliced open the bag of dog chow. After sifting through it for a few seconds to ensure there weren't any bugs or worms, he was relieved to find it was critter free, as locating a fifty-pound bag had been hard scrabbling. He'd already filled up the bathtub with water, along with several buckets and pails of varying sizes. It seemed like he should do more, but he was out of ideas.

  He looked over at Prince who laid on the tile floor in Saw's kitchen, his head resting on his paws. When Prince caught him looking, his tail began to thud.

  Aben smiled. "I've got you set up about as good as possible. It's up to you to pace yourself."

  Prince's tail turned into a whip at the sound of the man's gruff voice.

  "Yeah, I like you too." He reached over and scratched Prince's right ear, then his left. The dog rose to its feet, then climbed onto him, his front paws on Aben's shoulders.

  "You're the best thing that's happened for me in a good, long while. Maybe even forever. That's why I'll do my damnedest to come back here for you."

  Prince cocked his head. Aben doubted the dog could understand what he was saying, but he did a good job of faking it.

  "I think the term 'good boy' is overused when it comes to dogs, but you're the real deal, Prince. And I love ya." Aben put his hand behind the dog's neck and pulled him in close, tilting his forehead into the dog's face, not even minding how his fur tickled. He felt a little weepy but knew giving in to that would mean he was more skeptical about this coming battle than he was ready to admit, and he pushed them away.

  He stood, because he never liked long goodbyes, and headed to the door. Prince moved to follow but Aben pointed. "Stay." His voice was firm, and the dog plopped its hindquarters onto the floor. He remained that way when Aben stepped out of the house and was still sitting when Aben closed the door and locked the dog inside. He half expected the dog might be sitting that exact same way when he got back. Then he realized the situation to be much more a case of if than when.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  After Aben and Mitch had returned, they’d shared all the information they'd gathered. Grady was heading to the Rio Grande to baptize the members of his flock who were still human. They estimated there were about four or five dozen of them.

  Once that was finished, they’d head to Shard End to save everyone who lived here. After that, no one knew, and Wim supposed that it didn't really matter. Either they'd stop Grady's army before then, or they'd all be dead. And, if the latter became reality, the ultimate plan was none of their concern.

  Some time ago, one of the men in Shard End had arrived with a mule and another had found a scraggly, malnourished stallion that made Gypsy look spry. Still, when it came to transportation, they were of the begging, not choosing, variety and both animals were enlisted for the coming journey. Saw took the Mule and Mitch the old horse, which he quickly named Rip Van Winkle. Wim thought that an even worse name than Gypsy.

  As they were the only five with animals to ride, Wim, Mead, Aben, Mitch, and Saw chose to take the lead while the other couple dozen men and women followed on foot. One thing they weren't short on were weapons. There were more than enough to go around multiple times over. As Wim looked upon them, he thought they looked like a medieval army, ready to take on the world even though the odds were heavily stacked against them.

  It took a day and a half of riding before the river came into view beyond them. Wim was surprised at how wide it was, but the water looked calm and on the shallow side. More like a long lake than any river he'd seen before.

  "That should be the spot," Aben said from the side. He pointed to how the land on the opposite side seemed to funnel into the waterway. "That's how Juli described it and this is pretty much a straight shot from the route they were taking."

  "You think there's much of a chance their plans changed?" Wim asked.

  "No. From as much as I could gather, they might as well have been carved in stone. I don't expect any deviation."

  Mitch pushed his old horse into the fray. "I still don't like going all in based on what she told us. She could have been lying."

  "I'd be surprised if she was."

  "I wouldn't. How about me and Saw ride ahead, like a scouting mission."

  Wim thought the boy seemed too eager to play soldier, but on the flip side, it might not be a bad idea. He saw Aben looking at him.

  "What are your thoughts?" Aben asked.

  "I think I'll go along with whatever you decide."

  Aben scratched his beard absentmindedly. "Well, I don't fancy being in charge. Especially of this lot."

  "Aw right then," Saw said. "If none of you want to make a decision, I will. Like Mitchy said, we'll ride out and see what that goose has got cooking. While we're gone, you set the bombs--"

  "They're not really bombs," Aben said.

  "They go boom don't they?"

  "That's
the plan."

  “Then they're bombs. You put em on that side of the river." He pointed to the opposite shore. "Stagger em out and try to hide em a little. Don't need a big fookin sign announcing what the fook's up, now do we?"

  No one responded.

  "If my people get here before we return, you tell em to wait back that way." He pointed again, behind them. "Keep em outta sight." Saw looked each man in the eyes. "Everyone good with that?"

  "What makes you the strategical mastermind?" Mead asked.

  "I took on the Ark, didn't I?"

  Wim raised an eyebrow. "And ran once the going got tough."

  Saw gave a wide, nauseating grin. "Maybe I did. But is there anything worthwhile left of it?"

  Wim didn't answer. Saw was right about that much.

  "That's what I thought. So, unless anyone's got a better plan, let's get on with it."

  He kicked his mule into action, trotting down the hillside toward the river, and Mitch followed.

  The three others watched as they reached the water and pushed their four-legged beasts into the gentle currents. It was two to three feet deep, and they had no trouble crossing, then starting up the opposite side.

  Wim, Aben, and Mead exchanged glances.

  "He talks too much," Mead finally said.

  Aben rolled his eyes. "Talk about the pot and kettle."

  Wim smiled as he watched them. Despite it all he thought he was tremendously lucky to be surrounded by men such as these. He only hoped, buy some miracle, they could all come out of it alive.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Aben had placed eight five-gallon buckets of explosives, camouflaging them with debris and rocks, anything he could find to make their presence less obvious. It was all going well until bucket number nine.

  He used a knife to dig about a foot into the loose soil and placed the bucket inside. For cover, he spotted a wiry, dead piece of sagebrush. It was almost the perfect size to conceal the pail, so he reached underneath it and grabbed hold of the trunk.

  That's when he was bit. Then bit again. And again.

  He jerked his hand back, thinking he’d stuck his hand into a nest of ground wasps. Or maybe a passel of scorpions. But a moment later he heard the rattle and he knew he'd made a terrible mistake.

  Rather than doing the smart thing and getting away, Aben's temper took over and he yanked the bush out of the ground. That gave him a perfect view of the rattlesnake nest. There was a big one, probably three and a half feet and he guessed it was the matriarch. Two small ones curled at her side. They were somewhere between olive green and tan in color with a series of dark, multicolored blotches running down their backs. As they neared the tails, the blotches gradually morphed into cross bands.

  Aben thought they might be a kind of beautiful, but he also suspected they were Mohave rattlesnakes which, if his memory was correct, were just about the most deadly snakes in North America. He considered killing them, mostly out of spite, but he knew they were just doing what came naturally and that he was the stupid one, so he let them be.

  He took the sagebrush with him as he left. May as well get something out of this mess. He covered the bucket with the bush, then took a reluctant look at his hand. There were three sets of bite marks. One in the fatty bit between his thumb and forefinger, one on the back of his hand, and the third on the underside of his wrist. His hand already looked a smidge larger than it had before, and he suspected this would go relatively quick from here on out.

  "Wim! I need to chat a minute."

  Wim was fifty feet away, placing buckets further down the river. Aben saw his head turn and watched as he jogged to him. Aben took a seat on the ground and waited.

  It took him only a few moments, but by the time he arrived, Aben was already sweating and unless his mind was playing tricks on him, the swelling had progressed a couple inches further up his arm.

  "What do you need, Aben?"

  "More than you can give, actually. But what's most important is that you pay real close attention while I point out where I put the last nine buckets."

  Confusion clouded Wim's face and Aben had the feeling he was going to start asking questions. He needed to stop that. "Just keep quiet and listen."

  He pointed out the various hiding places, then asked Wim to do the same. The man did so without error and that took some of Aben's stress away.

  "That's good."

  "All right. But can you tell me why?"

  Aben didn't want to tell him, but knew trying to keep it secret would be pointless soon. He held up his wounded paw. "I got snakebit. Rattle snakes."

  Wim's eyes grew wide and traveled from Aben's hand to his face, then back again. "Oh, damn."

  That was the closest Wim had come to cursing in all the time Aben had known him and, despite his predicament, that made him smile.

  "Yeah. Damn would be a good starting point."

  "You're sure they were rattlers?"

  "Most definitely." Aben patted the ground beside him. "Sit with me a spell, will you?"

  "We need to get you back across the river. Maybe Mead will know what--"

  "Wim, my dog listens better than you. Now, sit."

  Wim did, sending up a puff of dust as he flopped down.

  "Saw's going to take the lead, but you need to keep him in check, if such a thing's possible. If he sends everyone in there all helter skelter, it's going to be a bloodbath and we don't have the numbers for that. You'll have a bit of an advantage having the higher ground. Use that. You might think it's cruel, but take them by surprise and be quick about it. You have to be merciless if you want to come out of this mess on top."

  Wim didn't respond. The color was gone from his face and Aben thought he might be heading toward shock.

  "Wim, you got me?"

  "We could cut it off."

  "What?" Aben asked.

  Wim's hand dropped to the handle of his machete. "Your arm. I don't know if it really works but they do it in the movies all the time."

  Aben appreciated his concern, but he didn't want to waste time on nonsense. "I'm already down a hand and half a foot. I'm not a puzzle, Wim. I can't stand to lose any more pieces. Especially my arm. Hell, I wouldn't even be able to wipe my own ass."

  "But you'd be alive."

  "The way my heart's beating, the poison's all through me. Cutting my arm off won't do any good. It'll just make a hell of a mess."

  Wim sighed, but Aben thought he was accepting the reality of the situation. "I just can't believe this."

  Aben licked at his lips and realized he couldn't feel them. "Yep. This sucks."

  "It sure does."

  They sat there in silence for a little while. Aben thought he should come up with something profound to say but had little luck. "I didn't expect this," he settled on. "Back when Mead saved me, I thought that meant my life was to serve some sort of purpose. That I was to do some good. Not die here, of a goddamn snake bite, before the fighting even gets going. It seems so damned pointless."

  Wim shook his head. "If we stand any chance of stopping Grady, that's all because of you. Your ideas. That's not pointless."

  "Mead could have done just as much, if not more. And with all that shit he wears, the snakes wouldn't have got him. Jesus Christ, my whole life depended on a pair of gloves. If that isn't something?"

  Wim didn't respond but that was okay. Aben doubted it deserved an answer.

  "I think you should be getting on now," Aben said.

  "I can stay. I don't mind. I can even get some of the others if you want."

  Aben shook his head. "I don't require a goodbye party. I'd just as soon be alone. No offense"

  "I understand." Wim stood, but before he left he reached down to shake hands.

  Aben returned the gesture, even though his palm was fat and clumsy. “Can you do me a favor? Two, actually?"

  "Anything."

  "Don't forget about my dog, okay? You can have him if you want, but if you don't, see that someone kind takes him."

&nb
sp; "I'll make sure he's cared for."

  "I appreciate that. He’s a real good dog.” Aben swallowed hard and changed the subject. “And can you leave me your revolver? Take the bullets except one. That's all I'll need."

  Wim withdrew the gun from its holster and emptied the ammunition into his palm. Then he put one back into the cylinder and handed it over.

  "Thank you."

  Wim stared at him and Aben thought he could see gears turning inside his head. Then he spoke. "You've been a good friend, Aben. And I haven't had many of those in my life. It's been nice knowing you."

  That made Aben smile. For the last few decades he’d cherished his solitude and wore his outsider status like a medal. He'd forgotten that life could be any different, but was glad it could be, even if only for a little while. "I'll say the same about you. I'm pleased we met and wish it could've lasted a spell longer." Aben tilted his head toward the river. "You get on now. Tell Mead I said goodbye. Saw and Mitch too, although I won't miss them quite as much."

  "I will."

  Wim left him and Aben was relieved. His face felt like an invisible force had swallowed it up and he could feel his heart pounding rapid fire in his chest. He suspected all this could go on for hours, but he didn't care to wait that long. All he wanted was to let Wim get out of sight.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Wim flinched when the gun went off, but he didn't look back. There wasn't any point in exploring the aftermath. As he crested the embankment, he found Mead running toward him.

  "Did you shoot?" Mead asked.

  Wim explained as best he could. Mead took it hard, but Wim also picked up on a sense of resignation that he could relate to. None of them expected this to end well. They'd known that when they first saw Grady's flock and, if anything, the odds had just gotten worse. There wasn't anything they could do now but wait.

  It was almost two full days until the waiting was finally over.