by Doug Kelly
Dylan stood completely up and put his hands on top of his head interlacing his fingers. He closed his eyes momentarily, then stared back toward Ben’s house. “Get your pistol. Use your left hand if you have to.” He put his hands on his hips. “I have a rifle so we can get them from a distance. We’ll sneak up or try to draw them out of the house. Either way, I’m going to shoot first and ask questions later.”
The boy and his dog stayed behind with Mary. They sat by the extinguished campfire and the puppy stood on its good back leg and licked the boy’s face, happy to be back with him. Mary was scared for her husband again, but she tried not to show it. Her eyes followed him as he ran to the raft on the riverbank to get his pistol. Then both men disappeared into the cornfield.
Near the end of the field, the men cautiously stopped and carefully looked around. They saw no movement. Dylan tapped Kevin on the shoulder and pointed to his weapon. He chambered a round and Kevin did the same. Pulling the slide back on his pistol caused Kevin to wince from the pain in his right hand.
“I’m ready,” said Kevin, shaking his right hand, trying to work the pain away.
Dylan nodded and surveyed the landscape. The house was in front of them, with the van parked in the back. It was an older two-story house with white peeling paint and an old walnut tree to the left near the long driveway. At the back of the house, he could see double doors, almost horizontal to the ground, near the foundation. The doors would most likely lead to the basement. To the right of the house was a large propane tank for the furnace, and still further away was a red barn with a large sliding door. The barn’s door was closed.
From around the corner at the front of the house, a man carrying a shotgun emerged. He was walking toward the barn at a fast pace. The shotgun was pointed halfway down and the man constantly looked to his left and right, nervously, as he hurried toward the barn. Kevin tapped Dylan on the shoulder and pointed. He wanted Dylan to take the shot. Dylan sat with his knees up to aim the rifle, and wrapped the rifle’s strap around his left forearm as he pressed the stock tightly into his right shoulder. Dylan followed the man with the rifle’s sights, suppressed his breathing, and moved the barrel to lead the man as he aimed. He had just begun to slowly squeeze the trigger when sweat dripped into his eye. He angrily lowered the rifle and wiped the sweat from his face.
“Damn it!” Dylan whispered to himself.
The man was sliding the barn door open to go inside.
“Too late, he’s inside,” said Kevin.
“Damn it!” Dylan cursed to himself again. He looked toward the barn with determination. “I’m going to jump him. He’ll never expect it.” Dylan held his hand up with his palm toward Kevin. He was signaling him to stay there. Dylan ran toward the barn as fast as he could and slowed near the entrance. As he crept into the barn, he heard noises like someone recklessly tossing things around. He entered the barn with his rifle in position. Instantly he saw the man turn to face him and raise a shotgun, but not fast enough. Dylan pulled the trigger twice and the man fell backwards. The holes in the man’s torso were faintly whistling in rhythm with his rapidly expanding and contracting chest. The whistling turned to a gurgling noise as the man drowned in his own blood. Dylan kicked the shotgun away and went to the edge of the barn’s open door. He peeked around the corner and noticed an open window on the second floor of the house. It had not been visible from their position in the cornfield. He saw movement in the house through that window. To his left he could also see Kevin’s position in the cornfield. Dylan cautiously glanced at the house, and then quickly stepped out to show Kevin he was safe. He swiftly hid behind the door, only peering far enough around the corner to see Kevin extend his hand from the corn and wave back.
Unexpectedly, he saw Kevin running barefoot toward the house’s cellar doors. Kevin grabbed the handles, looked around, and disappeared inside.
“Shit.” Dylan cursed to himself. “What’s he doing?”
Dylan’s mind raced, and he concluded that Kevin was going to try to sneak up on the remaining intruder. Kevin would need a distraction, but Dylan did not know what to do. Almost as soon as Kevin disappeared into the house, Dylan saw a person’s head at the second-floor window, which was open. A man with a ball cap sheepishly looked out the window and, after a moment, yelled, “Hey…hey, Billy! What was that? I thought I heard something. Are you okay?”
Dylan peered at the man though a crack in the barn door. Two pieces of parallel wood were warped and separated, allowing a clear view and a gun port for Dylan. He rested his rifle in the opening and gently touched the trigger. He had the man’s head in his sights. Dylan shook his head and partially lowered the barrel of his rifle. He did not know if anyone was behind the man. The bullet could ricochet or go into another room hurting an innocent person. Dylan angrily lowered the rifle and stared back through the crack in the door. The man, now more boldly, was calling for his accomplice. Dylan knew Kevin was in the house. He knew he could give Kevin the advantage if he could create a distraction. He looked back at the dead man’s shotgun and then back at the open second floor window. He judged the distance and made a decision. He would step outside the barn door. The distance from the house would be too far for a shotgun to reach with deadly force. Dylan placed his rifle on the ground and stepped outside. The intruder was so startled that he hit the top of his head on the window, knocking his hat off. By the time the hat hit the ground, he was back at the window with his shotgun aimed at Dylan.
Dylan held his hands up. “We can make a deal,” said Dylan, yelling from the front of the barn.
“Why shouldn’t I just kill you now?” said the intruder, still aiming the shotgun at Dylan.
“I’ve got your friend. He’s here in the barn.”
“You son of a bitch! Bring him out here and prove it.” The man was stabbing the air with his shotgun in Dylan’s direction as he yelled.
Dylan mumbled to himself, “That’s it. Keep talking. Let Kevin find you. Just keep looking at me.”
“I said bring him out here so I can see him!”
“Okay, relax, I’ll get him.”
Dylan went into the barn and looked back out through the crack in the door. Come on Kevin, where are you? He’s distracted. Dylan noticed the cellar door lifting up. He saw Ben’s head appear and look around. He stepped out, holding the door open, and a woman appeared behind him. He closed the door and they ran for the cornfield. Dylan shook his head in disbelief as he hid behind the barn door. Kevin is still in there. Dylan turned to look at the body on the floor. There was a portion of the corpse’s belt that was not soaked with blood. Dylan grabbed that part of the belt to drag the body outside. He thought to himself that the home invasion business must be good. This man still weighed a lot. He must have been getting plenty to eat. Dylan dragged the body across the gravel floor. The sunlight through the door’s opening illuminated the gravel dust liberated from the ground. The gravel dust, damp hay, and blood made for a putrid smell in the barn. Dylan dropped the belt and the limp body hit the ground. The intruder leaned forward in disbelief. He stared at his partner’s pale white face, his eyes squinting in confusion, and then realized that the clothes were soaked in blood. The man dropped to one knee and raised his shotgun to aim at Dylan. He leaned forward out the window, and just before he could pull the trigger, Kevin was behind him with his pistol. The intruder never heard Kevin’s bare feet or the bullet that went through his skull.
Kevin put the smoking pistol in his pocket and pushed out the limp body hanging from the second floor window. The body fell on the shotgun that the intruder had already dropped. The body landed, with a small bounce, in a very contorted position. If not already dead, the fall would have killed him. Kevin leaned out the window and yelled toward Dylan. “All clear.” Then he gave a quick wave with his swollen hand and disappeared back into the house. Dylan wasted no time and sprinted toward the backdoor just in time to greet Kevin as he exited the house. Kevin had a gun belt hanging over his shoulder. He stood at th
e top of the back steps and looked down at Dylan.
“When is all this going to end?” asked Kevin.
Dylan looked back in the direction of the two dead intruders. “Never. Too many bad people.”
Dylan motioned for Kevin to come down the steps and then he pointed toward the van.
“Look at that.” Dylan smiled at the old van. “If that thing has a full tank of gas, it can get us where we need to go.” Dylan dramatically held up his hand and crossed his fingers. He went directly toward the front of the van and opened the driver’s side door. The interior dashboard was cracked and faded from the sun. The seats were torn open. One section of the seat had a spring exposed. The inside smelled like mildew. He sat in the dirty driver’s seat and stared at the instrument panel as he gripped the steering wheel. The dials on the instrument panel were all pointing down. He needed to determine how full the gas tank was. The key was still in the ignition, and hanging from the key chain was a lucky rabbit’s foot. With a turn of the key, the engine roared to life. Dylan pressed the accelerator quickly to the floor and the engine backfired with a cloud of smoke.
“What’s it look like?” asked Kevin.
Dylan was tapping the fuel gauge with his finger. “Hold on, it’s moving.”
After a minute of the old engine sputtering and rattling, the needle of the fuel gauge only rose slightly higher than the empty mark. Dylan turned his head, looked at Kevin, and shut the engine off.
“It’s nearly empty. We’d never make it in this thing.”
Dylan fumbled with the key chain and removed the rabbit’s foot. He tossed it at Kevin and said, “Here’s some good luck for you.”
Kevin caught the good luck charm and dangled it briefly in front of his face. “Thanks, I could use that.” Kevin grinned. “Lately, if it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” he said, putting the lucky charm deep into his pocket.
Dylan shifted his position in the driver’s seat to directly face Kevin as he stood by the open driver’s door. He lightly kicked Kevin’s leg and pointed to his friend’s feet. “Get your boots on. You don’t want to get bitten by a snake.”
Kevin rolled his eyes and turned to walk toward the cornfield to get his boots. “Don’t test me, old man. Let’s get going.”
Back at the campsite, they found Ben with his wife and son, sitting close together. Joy radiated from their faces as they watched the two men emerge from the cornfield and advance toward them, unharmed. Kevin’s wife ran toward him and hugged him tightly, being careful of his still tender and swollen right hand. Kevin put his arm around her and hugged her back. He slipped the gun belt off his shoulder and held it up, signaling to Ben that he had retrieved his weapon from the house. Ben got up and walked toward Kevin. Kevin tossed it to him when he was halfway there.
“I bet you don’t forget to keep this with you from now on,” said Kevin, pointing at Ben’s holstered pistol.
Ben knew that he had made a mistake by not keeping it with him, even if he was only going to the neighbor’s farm. He did not hesitate to place the leather holster around his waist and buckle it tight. Ben’s son walked to his side and stared at the pistol, touching the handle with curiosity. His wife came to his other side, and he put his arms around his family. “There is no way I can thank you enough for what you have done.” Ben cleared his throat. “I know there is no way we would be here right now if it weren’t for you.”
Dylan’s attention drifted away from the conversation as he caught a glimpse of the rafts near the water’s edge. His brow furrowed as he thought of the van parked behind Ben’s house. Dylan spoke, interrupting the conversation.
“The van behind your house…it works. The motor runs, we started it,” said Dylan.
Ben lifted his hands, palms forward, and raised both eyebrows. “It’s yours, buddy. You just say the word.”
“It’s a gasoline motor. Do you have gas?” pleaded Dylan. “A full tank of gas could get us home.”
Ben cast his eyes lower. “Sorry. All we have is diesel. The neighbors, too.”
Dylan looked back toward the rafts. He was irritated at how slow this trip has been and how much time they had lost due to these types of unfortunate circumstances. The rafts were a way to get home, but he hated how long it was taking. He had spent a lifetime traveling at highway speeds, and this was a difficult adjustment. Regardless, Dylan did not want to go back into a warzone to scavenge gasoline for a van that he was not sure would be reliable transportation. A breakdown on the road, a roadblock or trap on a highway, all it would take is one perilous twist of fate, and they would be stuck with no easy way to continue on, and no convenient source for water. Although the river was slow, it was sure.
Dylan looked at Ben, shook his head wearily, and said, “If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”
Kevin reached deep into his pocket. He retrieved the rabbit’s foot, held it up briefly for Dylan to see, and then tossed it to him. Dylan snatched it from the air.
“You keep it, then. Let me know if it works.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. He was not superstitious, but he did find humor in Kevin’s gift.
A gust of wind blew through the campsite. Ben reached for his hat at the same instant he realized he was not wearing one. He awkwardly pretended that he had been intending to scratch his head, and then his hands dropped to his side again. The gust of wind was strong enough to bring up some dusty dirt, causing everyone to turn their heads away from it. The sleeping puppy woke, stretched, and limped toward Ben. It balanced on one good leg and extended its front paws up toward Ben’s knees. He looked down at the pup. It made him smile. He cradled the puppy carefully with one arm, extended his hand to Dylan, and thanked him again for all his help.
“Is there anything I can do for you before you leave?” asked Ben, gently scratching the puppy’s neck as he cradled it.
“Nothing I can think of.” Dylan briefly looked back at the river.
“You better get going,” said Ben, pointing to the sky. “You’re burning daylight.”
Ben’s family stood next to him. They watched Dylan, Kevin, and Mary get into the rafts and push away. Dylan was the last to leave. He deeply missed his family and was happy to continue the journey. Dylan’s raft headed backward into the current. He gave one last, quick wave and then used the paddle to correct the raft’s direction. The three were finally on their way downstream again. Dylan felt the bulge of the rabbit’s foot in his pocket and pressed his palm against it. I’m ready for some good luck now.
Chapter Nineteen
Dylan knew that they were getting close to Kansas City. He obsessively looked around for any familiar landmark, and when the tall buildings in the city’s downtown area broke the horizon, he finally smiled.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed.
The others stopped rowing and turned, looking over their left shoulders. They saw the buildings, too, buildings now as empty as the hopes and dreams of the people that once worked in them.
“How much farther?” pleaded Mary.
Both she and Kevin were exhausted. Kevin’s hand was not completely healed and Mary was losing her battle against the summer heat and the long hours of constant rowing. Because of this, the married couple was having difficulty keeping up with Dylan’s adrenalin-fueled rush.
“Can we please rest?” asked Mary, speaking for her husband, too. His pride kept him from admitting the difficulty that he was having with Dylan’s frenzied pace. “We have to be close. I just need to rest. Please, Dylan.”
Dylan put his hand to his forehead to shade his eyes from the sunlight and looked to the west. The sun was getting lower in the sky and he wanted to get off the river while it was still daylight. “Okay, catch your breath and rest.” He turned to Kevin. “How’s your hand?”
Kevin made a fist with his right hand and held it up for Dylan to see. “My hand is fine, couldn’t be better.”
“No, it’s not,” said Mary. “I can see the expression on your face when
you’re rowing. It hurts you, I can tell. You aren’t rowing straight either. Your raft is veering to the left. If your hand was fine that wouldn’t be happening.”
Kevin was looking down at his hand. He did not say anything. Dylan understood the silence and was not going to challenge Kevin’s pride.
“We’re close. Let’s rest,” said Dylan, with a sigh.
The river’s current took over and they meandered slowly with the river, occasionally steering to stay in its middle. They were floating toward the city’s downtown. They saw people now, dirty ragged-looking people, going to the water’s edge with buckets to fill. Some were sitting on the banks, trying to catch fish. They looked like starving refugees from a war, victims of a concentration camp. Not long ago, this would have been the scene from a charity’s television commercial for the starving people in a third-world country. The commercial would have pleaded for money to feed the hungry. Money was worthless now and everyone felt the pain of hunger. People were living in tents or tarps draped over lumber or large branches of driftwood. Others were huddled beneath the bridges that the threesome floated past. The city’s food supply was disappearing and the water had long since stopped flowing from the taps. There were campfires, and people were boiling river water to drink. They saw an old man who was sitting alone catch a fish from the riverbank. A group of hungry, desperate people beat him to death, and his fish was taken away. No one cared. His body was pushed into the river and the dark water closed silently around his corpse.
They passed by the large city’s downtown area without stopping, and then floated beyond and away from it. People gradually became fewer and fewer along the riverbank, and the tall buildings receded into the western horizon as they continued downstream.
The sun was low and the humidity was high. Shadows grew longer as Dylan strained his eyes toward the distant horizon, looking for more landmarks that were familiar. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dirty shirt and placed the shirt on his head for cover from the setting sun. His eyes narrowed to slits when he saw the faint outline of twin bridges across the river in the distance. This is where they would exit the river and begin the walk home.
