Into The Darkness

by Doug Kelly

  Dylan took the rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and began to push the cart. Kevin put on his backpack and was about to grab the handles of the dolly when he realized that he was still holding the key to his apartment. He offered the key to Mary and she smiled, wiped her tears, and shrugged her shoulders. “What’s the point?” she said. He tossed the key to the curb and laughed at himself. They turned away, Mary walking by his side.

  The threesome took their belongings as far as they could toward rail yard. They ran out of paved road, and had to make several trips from the cart to where they had buried the rafts, in order to move all of their supplies. The two men removed the sandy dirt from the tarps covering the rafts, showed them to Mary, and let her know that she would get Richard’s old raft.

  Mary walked around the rafts with her arms across her chest. She looked at them with a humbled curiosity. “I have never been on a raft or on a river. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Float and paddle,” said Dylan, as he began to mentally divide the food among the three rafts.

  Mary grinned apprehensively, trying to hide her fear.

  The men dragged the rafts to a shallow spot on the riverbank and began to load everything. They had to carefully balance the load because of the amount of food they were able to bring. The men finally had an abundance of food, good food that would be edible the entire trip. This meant less time trying to kill a deer, or picking through the farm fields as they traveled downstream.

  They helped Mary into her raft and pushed away from the bank.

  “How do you like it, Mary?” asked Dylan.

  “I’m not doing much. Just sitting here.” Mary began to feel overwhelmed as she looked ahead and thought of the distance before her.

  “Use the paddle and get a feel for the water. See what it takes to move the raft. I can stay close behind until you feel more comfortable,” said Kevin, as he motioned for Dylan to take the lead.

  Mary tried to paddle, but the raft was not moving fast. In fact, not much faster than the slow current. Kevin stayed behind to keep an eye on her. As he drifted lazily along, he became bored and decided to grab the binoculars from the backpack. They were getting close to the railcars that Cyrus’s gang had been using. Kevin scanned the western horizon and brought the binoculars into focus. He first noticed that the dead bodies of Cyrus’s men had been stacked close to the river. He moved the field of view farther down and brought the railcars into focus. The fire had destroyed the lead car. Then something caught his eye near the railcars. He saw motion. It was two men walking. When they stopped walking, he could see that one of the men was wearing a red bandana around his arm. Adrenalin and anger came back to Kevin’s veins and coursed through his body again. Strangely, the other man did not have a bandana on his arm. Then he remembered what his wife had said. Cyrus wore the bandana on his head, not his arm.

  Kevin began to paddle for the riverbank. He jumped onto the bank and told his wife to stay next to his raft.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, but her husband did not respond.

  Mary franticly waved to Dylan downstream. Dylan saw Mary’s flailing arms and began to paddle back. Then, when he saw Kevin’s empty raft, he hurried back upstream as fast as he could.

  Kevin strode to where Bull and his men had piled the bodies. Feral dogs had found the corpses. Limbs were ripped from bodies and their flesh was shredded. Kevin removed a red bandana from the carnage and placed it on his arm. He chambered a round in his pistol, dropped it into his deep front pocket, and began to walk toward the two men. He walked slowly, still calculating what he wanted to do. Was it Cyrus? They had not found him that night. Maybe he escaped and came back? There was no way to tell because the men had their backs turned to Kevin as he slowly approached them. As Kevin got close, they finally saw him. They turned around and were startled to see anyone in their proximity. The man with a red bandana on his arm was older; he had plenty of gray hair, and was the taller of the two. He also had a shotgun and partially raised it on Kevin’s approach. The other man was wearing a large brimmed hat. The shadow from the hat obscured the shorter man’s face.

  Kevin stopped about twenty yards away from the two men.

  “I don’t recognize you,” said the taller man with gray hair. “Who are you?” He raised the shotgun further.

  Kevin removed the red armband. He held it up and said, “I can leave. Do you want it back?”

  The man did not reply and lowered his shotgun. Kevin put the bandana deep into his front pocket, and gripped the concealed pistol tightly.

  The other man held his hat brim down across his face to block the sun. It also blocked his face from Kevin. The shorter man asked, as he pointed back to the smoldering wreckage, “Were you here last night?”

  Kevin nodded.

  “You sure don’t say much,” said the taller man, as he flipped the shotgun over his shoulder, “Come over here and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do.”

  Kevin moved toward them again. His hand was deep in his pocket holding the pistol, ready to draw and ready to kill.

  “What’s your name, boy?” asked the shorter man condescendingly, as he removed his hat and squinted from the sunlight.

  Finally, Kevin saw the man’s face. He was an ugly man with cratered skin. The broad-brimmed hat had covered a red bandana on his head.

  “You’re Cyrus,” said Kevin, stoically.

  “Well, no shit. Who are you?”

  Kevin smiled. “You can call me the angel of death.”

  Cyrus and the other man sadistically laughed for a moment. Kevin’s humor was interrupted when the pistol in his right hand cleared his front pocket. He shot the older man two times in the chest. The tall man fell backwards and began to writhe on the ground, gasping for air and grabbing at his bloody torso.

  Cyrus dropped to his knees and, with wide-eyed desperation, put his hands together as if he was going to pray. He then began to beg for his life, pleading desperately with Kevin.

  “Please don’t shoot me! You have the wrong man, I don’t know you. I’ll leave…I’ll leave and you will never see me again…I promise!” Cyrus now had his hands in front of his face as if he was trying to block a bullet to his head.

  Kevin dropped the pistol and grabbed the bandana that he had buried deep in his pocket and held it tightly. He lunged forward at Cyrus, knocking him backward and down to the ground. Kevin dug his knees into Cyrus’s flailing arms and pounded his face with calloused bare knuckles, while still gripping the red bandana tightly in his hand. Kevin then quickly grabbed the red bandana by opposite corners and wrapped it around Cyrus’s throat. He was going to choke the life out of him and watch the expression on his face as he died. Before Kevin pulled on the bandana, he leaned close to Cyrus’s ear and whispered, “Don’t fight back so hard. It’s bad for your health.” He then gripped the bandana so tight, and pulled so hard, that his knuckles blanched. Cyrus’s face went from a dark red to deep purple as his blood-shot eyes rolled back in his head. Cyrus’s body went limp.

  Kevin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had done it. He had found the son of a bitch and killed him. When he stood up from getting his pistol off the ground, he saw Mary and Dylan running toward him. He stood there, took a few deep breaths, and tried to regain his composure.

  “What the hell, Kevin! I heard the gun shots and came running,” said Dylan, bent at the waist and gasping for breath.

  Mary walked over to Cyrus’s strangled body. She recognized him. Mary did not say anything. She was glad he was dead and glad that it had been her husband who did it. Mary turned to look at her husband, but he was already watching her. He looked into her eyes and tilted his head back toward the river. She nodded, and not a word was spoken or needed to be said.

  As they neared the riverbank, a noise far behind them caught their attention. They looked back and saw that a pack of dogs had already found the two bodies. They were ripping at the carcasses and fighting over the dead flesh.

  Dylan laughed to
himself.

  “What’s funny?” asked Kevin.

  “You were right.”

  “About what?”

  “Remember the pack of dogs by your apartment? They were chasing the rabbit.

  “Yes.”

  “You doubted yourself about what we helped do earlier that night, so I asked you if you would prefer to be the dog or the rabbit. You chose to be a dog, with a conscience. After this, I would say that you’re more like a dog with a vengeance.”

  “Well, I guess you’re right.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the several weeks since they had left Omaha, Mary seamlessly integrated herself into the group. Initially, they had tethered Mary’s raft to one of their rafts, taking turns, and rowed her along so the group could stay together. Now she was taking the initiative, occasionally even leading the threesome on the float down the river. The additional dry food that they had brought with them had reduced the need to search for food on the riverbank and therefore, freed up more time on the water moving downstream towards their new home. They still fished when camping on the riverbank, because it was easy enough to throw a line in the water, and then collect firewood while fish took the bait. Also, in the time since they started this leg of their journey, Kevin had been rowing with less enthusiasm and tended to drift to the rear of the flotilla of rafts. Dylan noticed that Kevin seemed to be guarding the left side of his face, trying to conceal a pain or irritation. Kevin would row for a while, and then touch his jaw lightly with his fingertips, producing an immediate scowl. Dylan suspected that Kevin had a toothache, but had not confronted Kevin about it; however, now that Mary was in front of the pack and Kevin in the rear, it was obvious that something was slowing Kevin down.

  Dylan ceased rowing to close the gap between himself and Kevin. He noticed that Kevin was holding his jaw again. “Hey, Kevin, are you okay?”

  Kevin gripped both oars by the handles and turned the raft around. “No problem here. Why’d you ask?”

  Dylan glanced quickly at Mary. She was rowing close to the riverbank and out of the range of conversation. “I’ve seen you holding your left jaw and you’re slowing down. Just look, even your wife has been staying way ahead of you. Is it a tooth?”

  Kevin took a deep breath and began to row a slow stroke. He looked up and away from Dylan, not ignoring him, but contemplating what should be a simple answer. He exhaled and stopped rowing, with Dylan right at his side. He glanced downward at the water and lightly touched his jaw. “Yeah, it’s my tooth. About a year ago, I was going to get a molar worked on. I got busy and forgot about it. My tooth hurts, and today it’s just throbbing.”

  “Bad?”

  “Getting worse every day. I can’t chew on that side now.” Kevin quickly glanced in Mary’s direction and saw that she was on the western side of the river. The sun was low in the sky and he needed to shade his eyes with his hands to see her. “I didn’t tell her because I don’t want her to worry.”

  “We don’t have any pliers.”

  “Pliers! Shit, man, calm down and back off, Dr. Frankenstein.” Kevin began to row away from Dylan and toward his wife.

  Dylan was not able to determine how much of Kevin’s reaction was anger and how much was sarcasm. He did not reply to Kevin’s remarks, but merely shook his head as Kevin went toward his wife near the river’s edge. The sun was getting low in the western sky, causing him to squint as he looked toward them.

  “Hey,” Dylan yelled toward the couple with his hands cupped to his face, “we’re getting close to a town and it’s getting late. Let’s find a spot and set up camp.”

  Kevin nodded and waved him forward. Just ahead was a cornfield near a small inlet that should be good for fishing. A grove of trees that would supply abundant firewood surrounded the inlet. The riverbank was worn away near the inlet and was low and level, a perfect place to stop for the night.

  The threesome pulled the rafts up the riverbank and away from the water, so that they were midway between the river and the cornfield. The field sloped up gently to the crest of a ridge that was greeting the setting sun. A breeze wafted from the direction of the cornfield. It carried the smell of wood smoke and Dylan became tense when he noticed the aroma.

  “I smell a campfire,” said Dylan, cautiously.

  The couple went motionless and closed their eyes. Another light breeze brought the smell of burning wood to them. They caught the scent and looked at each other simultaneously, not knowing what to say.

  “How close?” asked Kevin. He began to bring his hand to his jaw, then awkwardly raised his hand and scratched his head, trying to disguise his gesture toward the painful tooth.

  “Maybe it’s not a campfire,” Mary said, apprehensively. “We can’t see past the ridge. Farmhouse…or fireplace…maybe?”

  “If we can’t see them, then they can’t see us,” said Dylan. “Let’s just keep low and we’re out of here tomorrow.”

  Kevin put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and said, “Get a little fire going. I’ll go get enough wood for the rest of the night.”

  She patted him on the back and pushed him toward the inlet and the grove of trees. Kevin got the hatchet and went for wood. Not realizing it, Kevin grabbed and held his jaw as he walked away. Dylan pointed to Kevin and nudged Mary.

  “How bad is his tooth?” asked Dylan.

  Mary exhaled a long sigh, frowned, and shook her head. “I don’t know. He has been trying to hide it and he didn’t say anything to me. I know that last year it was bad. He was going to get it fixed, but there was an infection. He got on some antibiotics, but never did go back to the dentist.”

  “He can’t let it go. There are no antibiotics here. We need to pull it.” Dylan motioned toward his jaw as if he was pulling a tooth.

  Mary was kneeling down around a small pile of wood she had gathered. She touched it with a precious match, starting a fire. The small twigs began to ignite and she gently fanned the flame with her hand.

  “How are you going to hold him down?” Mary asked. “He’s not going to cooperate.”

  “We couldn’t pull it if we wanted to. We don’t have any pliers,” said Dylan, shrugging his shoulders.

  Mary was contemplating their problem as she picked up more branches for the fire. The branches were still green and many still had leaves on them. She stood in front of Dylan and hugged the bundle of green wood tightly, momentarily lost in thought. “I’ll talk to him. He needs to be confronted so that—”

  The sound of Kevin’s scream interrupted Mary. She was startled and dropped all the green wood on the campfire near her feet. They both instantly turned toward Kevin. They saw him holding the hatchet in his left hand and stomping the ground near a pile of old driftwood. Kevin then swung at the ground with the hatchet several times, and turned to walk back toward Dylan and Mary.

  Dylan cupped his hands and yelled at Kevin as he approached. “Hey, big man, if it hurts that bad we need to do something about it. I told your wife and she agrees.”

  Kevin said nothing, his face visibly pale, and with a terrified expression. He kept glancing down at his right hand, and as Kevin closed the distance, he held his hand forward, terrified and speechless. What had happened became obvious to Dylan instantly. He saw the two bloody spots in the fleshy part of Kevin’s hand, between the thumb and first finger. A snake had bitten him. Only a poisonous snake could make that wound.

  Mary’s green wood had begun to cause a large plume of white smoke on the fire. Dylan stepped away from the smoke. He grabbed Kevin, guiding him to his raft, and motioning for him to sit. With tears in her eyes, Mary huddled close to her husband.

  “Where is it? What kind is it?” demanded Dylan. “Did it rattle?”

  Kevin was in shock. He glanced back to the pile of wood near the grove of trees at the inlet. He looked down at his wound and summoned a few words. “I killed it.” He gestured with the hatchet in his left hand. “I stomped on it, and cut its head off. It was brown like the dirt and the dead wood around it.�
� He sucked the wound on his hand as he contemplated his fate. “What am I going to do?”

  Dylan took the hatchet from him. “I don’t have an answer.”

  Dylan went to where Kevin had killed the snake. The decapitated snake’s body was next to its severed head. He tossed the head into the river and brought the snake’s body back toward the smoky fire and Kevin’s raft.

  Dylan held up the snake. “Copperhead.” It was three feet long and thick. The brown color gave it a perfect camouflage against the dirt and weathered wood on the ground.

  Mary held onto her husband tightly, fighting back her tears. Kevin’s eyes were wide and his face was pale. He looked terrified.

  “That’s poisonous. What am I going to do?” Kevin asked, not hiding the fear in his voice.

  “I don’t know.” Dylan cut the belly of the snake and pulled the skin back toward the tail. The skin neatly peeled away like a sausage casing. He held the length of snakeskin up for Kevin to see. “Souvenir?”

  Kevin shook his head. “No, thanks.” He clutched his hand close to his chest and leaned back in the raft. His wife caressed his forehead as he looked upward to the fading blue sky. He watched the few remaining puffy white clouds slowly drift by and tried to remember a better time in his life.

  Kevin suddenly sat up and shook the daze from his eyes. “Am I going to die?” Mary’s lips began to quiver. She was trying to maintain composure and be strong for her husband.

  Dylan did not immediately respond. He tossed the snake near the smoky fire, sat on his raft next to Kevin and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. He slowly exhaled, leaned forward, and rubbed his bearded face with the palms of his dirty hands.

  “Am I going to die?” Kevin sternly repeated.

  “No, but you’re going to get sick. Very sick. We’re going to have to stay here until you’re better. We still have plenty of dried food. Just relax and let us take care of you for a while.”

  Kevin nodded his head and then closed his eyes and leaned back in the raft, waiting for the poison’s effects.