The Devil Dog Trilogy: Out Of The Dark

by Boyd Craven III

  In the distance, I could make out the roof of either a house or barn over the stalks of corn, but I couldn’t tell. Ten sweating minutes later, I could make out that it was a barn and I slowed even further to look, listen and smell. I definitely smelled something smoldering, but I couldn’t tell what it was. It wasn’t wood smoke, and it didn’t have the plastic death smell that burning houses did. I pondered that and left the trail, walking through the rows of corn, using the metal roof in the distance to keep me on the right track.

  Corn silk and chaff covered me, and I could feel what felt like a thousand paper cuts as I pushed through into a new row, giving me a view of the farmhouse. The barn was on the other side of the house, but its bright red roof was what I’d been seeing. The house looked intact and I walked between the rows, surveying the opening in the corn that they’d given themselves for a lawn. A homebuilt sandbox was full of plastic buckets, shovels and Tonka trucks. An older, yet not quite rusty swing set hung, with a baby seat replacing the center swing. I hoped that had been for one of the two kids.

  They both had R names. My mind drifted while my body and senses kept working, looking and making sure I was clear as I circled. R names. Robert, Ricky, Rebecca and their mother had an R name, but it sat at the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t quite…

  “Shit,” I heard, the voice carried to me on a soft wind.

  The barn. The large side door was open, and although the two story house and dark windows hadn’t been cleared yet, it was the barn I was focused on. I started moving quietly, pushing my way through to get a better view. One truck sat in the gravel driveway, a man leaned against the passenger side front tire, a bloody hand held over his chest. He wasn’t moving and I couldn’t see his chest rising and falling. Probably dead.

  I didn’t know who the truck belonged to, and should have asked Ricky what their everyday truck was, because it would let me know if this was theirs, or the raiders’ or…

  “Shit, shit, shit. Why is this taken apart?” A male voice screamed from the open doorway and then the sound of something heavy hitting the concrete made a ringing sound, like a tuning fork that had been hit.

  “Can you fix it, put it back together?”

  I was thirty feet from the barn now, and I left the corn, moving in a slow crouch toward the corner of the building.

  “Yeah, but it’s going to take some time. I wish I knew what he was working on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You fucking shot him! He could’ve been doing a tune up, or was pulling the block to change a bad piston out. We won’t know now. All I can do is put it together.”

  “If it doesn’t fire up, we’ll tow it back with the truck.”

  I heard some grumbling reply, but couldn’t make out the words.

  “Good thing about that basement pantry, though. Never knew these guys were preppers.”

  That perked my attention up some and it made sense why there weren’t six or seven voices. They had probably loaded up one truck, and left these two behind to get the tractor. Probably tow a trailer with it back to whatever hole they’d crawled out of.

  “They took them,” a voice said behind me, startling me.

  I spun and aimed at the man who I’d thought was dead.

  “My wife and daughter…” a bubble of blood formed at his lips and burst, covering his lips like a bad lipstick job before his head slumped and his hand fell away.

  “I thought you said that asshole was dead?” the second voice shouted.

  A man wearing bibs and a sweat-stained white t-shirt strode out with a large pistol in his hand. He started firing into the corpse of Robert without even looking. I waited, knowing he hadn’t seen me crouched nearby. I had a bead on him, but didn’t want to get ambushed by more men. I still didn’t know how many had been left behind. I didn’t have long to wait though when, seeing no reaction, the hick turned just as I pulled the trigger. The shotgun roared and his head evaporated from the nose up in a gory Rorschach of blood and brains against the side of the barn.

  “Frank?” a man asked, his voice full of fear.

  The man I’d shot had fallen, most of his body out of the doorway. His work boots and part of his legs would be visible to somebody inside. I pumped the shotgun and waited.

  “Oh shit,” whoever it was said again.

  “You really need to work on your vocabulary,” I said as I rolled in the doorway.

  The man was in his late sixties, his hair a greasy gray mess that was barely contained by an old Donald Trump red cap. “Make America Great Again,” it exclaimed. In his right hand was a rag, and the left had a large wrench. I didn’t see any guns, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any nearby. My eyes darted around to the barn and I couldn’t see anybody else. I already had the shotgun pointed at the man, but I raised it to point at his mouth. He dropped the wrench.

  “Who else is here?” I asked him.

  “Nobody, did you… Frank’s my cousin, you didn’t need to do no killin’,” he blabbed.

  With the rag, he started wiping at his hands, wringing them together.

  “Like you killed Robert?” I asked, moving closer.

  “That was Frank, he said that Robert went for his pistol, so he got the first shot off.”

  I looked at the workbench, where Ricky had said his dad had left his gun. It was there. The old man’s gaze followed mine and when he saw the gun, he looked back at me, his pallor going even whiter than it had been before.

  “Who else is here?” I asked him, butting the end of the barrel under his chin and standing to my full height, making him back up half a step and get on his toes as he pressed himself into the wall of the barn.

  “Nobody, I swear. We were just coming to talk to him about some food, then the shooting started.”

  “I didn’t ask you what happened, asshole. Where’s the woman, the little girl?”

  His eyes darted to the left. “I don’t know, they weren’t here.”

  I wanted to pull the trigger, decorate this side of the barn as well, but instead I held the shotgun in my right hand and reached up, pulling my K-bar free from its sheath on my chest rig. I held it up, showing him the black finish, and the glint of the sharpened edge. I slid to his stomach and pushed until the man was trembling, though I hadn’t even broken the skin.

  “This blade is big enough to go through that fat gut of yours and into your kidney. I can promise you’ll die from it, but it’ll hurt badly first. If you don’t tell me where the woman and kid are, that’s how you’re going to die. Screaming in agony.”

  His skin had started going grey and he turned to the side, coughing. I knew I was pushing him, pushing hard, and he was liable to have a heart attack or a stroke at any second, if he didn’t break.

  “Ben took ‘em back to his place. Him ‘n’ his wife lost a kid. With all this food, they’d be set and I promise, he ain’t’ gonna hurt that kid none.”

  “What about the mother?”

  His eyes shifted to the left again, but he didn’t answer. The lie almost left his lips.

  “Why didn’t you take that truck?” I said, putting the knife back in the sheath and taking half a step back.

  “My cousin was gonna drive it back, when I got the tractor up and running.”

  “One last question,” I said and paused as the old man clutched his chest over his left side, staring to dry heave.

  I waited until he caught his breath. “Where do I find Ben?”

  “That’s my son,” he said, coughing.

  Tears of agony or real fear filled his eyes, and he shook his head at me. I got that, no matter what, he wasn’t going to betray his son, if he thought I was going to kill him.

  “I’m just here to get the mom and daughter back to the son. I’m not going to do any more killing. This isn’t my squabble, if y’all aren’t planning to kill the kids.”

  The man looked at me, looked at my vest, the pouches hanging off it. The pistol and knife were close by for easy access. When he moved, it would ha
ve been comical, if it hadn’t been so tragic. He reached for my pistol as if in slow motion. I stepped back and kicked him in the sack. He fell to the ground, almost hitting the edge of the workbench. He moaned and rolled onto his back. His right hand massaged his chest some more.

  “Where do I find Ben?” I asked him.

  He told me, and I wasn’t surprised to hear that they lived close.

  “You promised, no more killin’, I want to hear you promise again.”

  “Sorry, Pops, I lied.”

  He gasped from my betrayal and from the pain he was feeling.

  “It’s my heart, my nitro…” He looked at the workbench.

  A few feet away, just out of reach, was a prescription bottle. I took it and looked at it, before pocketing it in a dump pouch.

  “My heart, I’ve got a bad ticker.”

  The shotgun roared, and he fell silent.

  “Yes. Yes, you did.”

  Walking out, I dug through Frank’s pockets for the keys. I didn’t have any particular qualms about looting the dead, but the whole inbred Deliverance-style fucking family was getting to me. Father, son, cousins… all in on the robbery, murder and kidnapping? I’d seen it before and I’d probably seen worse, but at that moment, the pounding in my ears was louder than the sound of my own raspy breath.

  They were expecting Randy with the pickup, so I pulled Robert’s corpse into the shade of the barn; I’d rather have covered him up with something, but nothing came to mind quickly. I hadn’t seen tarps, plastic or any canvas close by. Every second that the mother and daughter were with Ben, the potential for danger would keep mounting. I fired up the truck, marveling that of all the dead vehicles in the world, this farm had two working trucks, even if one of them was a jalopy.

  This one was in pretty good shape, an old Dodge with a diesel motor. It fired up without issue and I hit the gas pedal, watching a black plume of smoke come out the back. Putting it into gear, I left the way the old man had told me. I spared a look back to see if I could see where the flares had landed, but I couldn’t see anything close by. Must have missed whatever they were aiming at and it was in a corn row somewhere.

  I didn’t have time to hunt for more trouble, so I focused on the small country road I’d pulled out on. Two miles down, I would make a right onto main street, and it was the third driveway on the right. That sounded easy, but when I turned onto main street, I found the first driveway easy enough. The second driveway wasn’t more than half a mile away. Had the old man lied to me? I felt in my pouch for the pill bottle, remembering there was an address there. I started pulling it out, but a green sign and mailbox came into my view. The numbers matched. I slowed to a stop.

  I knew the sound of the motor would travel, but I wanted to go in slow. The driveway was faced with two old tractor tire rims, the old steel ones, and the mailbox sat next to one, leaning on it drunkenly. There was an old Ford in the driveway, backed up to what looked like a pole barn. It was by far, the newest and nicest structure on the property. The house appeared to be an old trailer, sitting on cinder blocks. A figure came out of the pole barn and waved. I couldn’t make out what he said with my window down, but I thought he shouted ‘come on up’.

  I drove up quickly, the truck bouncing me back and forth as I navigated the rutted driveway. The figure turned his back on me and started walking back into the barn with a box of something. I slid to a stop and put it in park, leaving the engine running. Again, adrenaline flooded my veins and I felt damn near invincible with the rage and tunnel vision, but I had to fight against that. I had to save the woman and girl child. It’s what my Mary and Maggie would want me to do. Those who can help, should. That was my Mary’s favorite saying.

  “Hey Randy, give me a hand with—”

  He walked out of the barn just as I sank the blade into the base of his skull. He was younger, mid-thirties, if I had to guess. Not any more though, he’d never have another birthday. The scent of vacated bowels filled the air and I let him drop where he was without moving the body. I’d heard screaming and crying from within the trailer. I moved from the barn to the truck, using it as cover, and then approached the trailer. I didn’t have to get on my toes too much to look inside a dirty living room window. A woman was tied to a kitchen chair with cotton rope. She was sobbing and calling to a little girl, who was curled up on her feet.

  “You need to quit this and tell the girl to give me her name!” A second woman screamed, and I saw the bound woman’s head rock back from a slap.

  The one doing the slapping was about the same age as the dead man, thin with hunger, with tangled brown hair.

  “She’s my daughter, you can’t just take her from me,” the bound woman sobbed.

  In a low voice that I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear if the windows hadn’t been cracked, the brunette growled, “I’ve seen the way Ben looks at you in church. I always hated him and you for that, you know? But maybe, I’ll give you to Ben as a play toy and you can have more kids for me. Would you like that?”

  My blood ran cold. I moved to the porch. It was a wooden and fiberglass ordeal, with the railing falling off on one side. I peeked in and saw that the shrill woman had a knife in one hand, and the screaming and pleas were so loud that I couldn’t stand it anymore. One heavy boot shattered the cheap screen door, tearing it from the jamb. Before it hit the ground, the KSG fired. The shrill woman was thrown backwards, and I rushed in. The little girl was curled up around Mary’s legs, and my wife screamed as I pulled the K-bar from its sheath. She quieted when I cut her wrists and handed her the knife.

  “Maggie, it’s ok, baby girl,” I said, scooping my daughter up.

  If anything, she just bunched up into more of a ball, screaming for her mother.

  “Put her down, asshole,” Mary growled.

  “It’s ok, Maggs, it’s fine, I took out the bad guys.”

  Something hard punched me in the back, and I spun and heard something clank to the ground. It was the K-bar. She’d stabbed me in the trauma plate. My Mary had…

  “I’m sorry,” I said, handing the shocked woman her daughter, and recovering the knife. “Heat of the moment confusion.”

  “Get away from me!” she cried, looking at me and then the fallen woman.

  “I’m not with them, I’m here to help you,” I said. “Your son got away and crashed. He’s not hurt bad, but he needs you.”

  Her face calmed when I spoke of her son and she did a double take when I mentioned the crash.

  “Is he ok?”

  “Yes, he’s got a concussion, but his first words were for you two and Robert.”

  She looked down at her daughter, who was quieting, and I could see a couple of green eyes poking out of a mass of blonde hair. I didn’t know how I could have mistaken her for Maggie, but I’d done it again and…

  “Who’s Maggie?” the little girl asked.

  I sighed and looked to the woman’s corpse, praying the little girl hadn’t seen that, and looked her in the eyes as much as I could.

  “I was worked up when I came in here. For a minute, I thought you were Maggie, my daughter.”

  The little blonde head nodded once and she turned in her mom’s arms and buried her face against her.

  “My husband?” she asked, her words trailing off.

  I shook my head. She bit her lip and nodded, fighting back the emotions. She’d had to have seen, but not known for sure. I’d thought he was gone when I’d first seen him. A dilemma suddenly became apparent in my mind.

  “Do you know who the rest of the men were?” I asked, knowing how small towns could be.

  She nodded, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Do you know how to drive a stick?”

  She shook her head. It wasn’t impossible and it would mean doing some backtracking, but it was all possible. With her husband dead and one kid hurt, the other traumatized, I wasn’t going to just walk away. Not yet. When I decided to get involved, I made it my problem and I wasn’t about to walk away fro
m it.

  46

  It took some trips back and forth, but the first thing I did was take Robert’s truck to get Courtney and Ricky. Then, Courtney drove the Hummer to the R family’s farm. I did what I could to cover Robert’s corpse with a seat cover from the truck, and dragged the others out of sight before the kids got out.

  In the short drive, she had confirmed what I’d suspected. The folks that had attacked her, all lived within a good mile of each other. Cousins, plus the father/son combo were involved. Since they all went to the same church, they all knew each other well. When the food trucks had quit running, Robert’s family would share with the church what they thought they could afford to until the crops came in. Two weeks ago, Randy had publicly called out the Redwood family. Yeah, they all had R first and last names, though Rebecca liked to be called Becky. A four-year-old rebel.

  But at church, they’d accused the Redwood family of hoarding supplies. Robert had explained that he’d been preparing for bad times, but he hadn’t prepared enough to carry the whole church through. He’d barely had enough for his own family, though none of them had believed him. He’d suggested they hunt until the corn and soy came in, but from what Rhonda told me (the mom), they had complained bitterly that the area had been hunted out. I looked at the massive rows of corn, almost ready for harvest, and couldn’t help but wonder, what would happen to the many thousands and thousands of game animals that seemed to flock to farmland.

  “Dick,” Courtney said to get my attention, “come on out here.”

  I followed her. According to Rhonda, the supplies had been split up before Ben had dropped off the others, and then he had returned home. With neither the kids nor the mother knowing how to run the tractors and harvesters, nor anyone left alive to run them, it would all be done by hand. In the meantime, the stolen supplies were probably their best chance to survive the coming winter.