by Doug Kelly
“What did you see?” asked Mary.
“The valley of the shadow of death,” replied Dylan coldly, before he kissed his rifle.
Mary gave him a glare, and clutched the cross dangling at her neck for comfort.
Suddenly the distant car, atop the previous hill, began moving in their direction.
“Get back from the road and stay low in the ditch. Where’s your pistol, Kevin?”
Dylan held the rifle to his shoulder, but pointed it downward. Kevin crouched behind the bike concealing the pistol. They did not want to start a confrontation, but were ready if need be. The car moved to the lane farthest from the ditch and sped up. With that lane change, Dylan knew they were only wanting to pass and were also trying to avoid confrontation. In the brief moment when the old rusty car passed by, they saw that four people occupied it. Two men were in front and two women in back. In the instant of passing, they made eye contact. They all looked scared. These people in the car, in their haste to get by, were going directly into a roadblock. Dylan started to raise his hand, but it was too late. The car had passed.
Just as the car went over the hill out of view, they heard the sound of tires on pavement with brakes locked tight. Dylan ran to the top of the hill and put the binoculars to his eyes just in time to see the car’s front window shatter. The driver had been shot dead from a distance. He heard another shot and saw steam erupt from the radiator. Dylan looked up and saw a man with a scoped rifle bounding down the stepped levels of the jagged limestone bluff. Another armed man emerged from behind the wrecked car that was blocking the road. Kevin and Mary were at his side and witnessed the ambush.
Mary gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear God,” she continually repeated to herself.
The two armed bandits removed the three survivors from the car and bound their hands behind their backs. They pushed their victims face down onto the tall grass of the median. One of the highwaymen removed a long knife from the sheath strapped to his side and cut the bound man’s throat. The two women’s screams were ignored as the bandits went directly to the captured vehicle to ransack it.
“This is our chance,” said Dylan. “They’re distracted. I’m going to use this ditch and go down there.”
Dylan’s eyes traced the path before him. The ditch on the side of the road was designed for drainage. Its deep slope away from the road was meant to quickly take away rainwater. The ditch was low and the weeds were high. It would be a good cover to hide his movement.
Dylan made it down into the shade of the limestone bluff. He was only the width of the highway from the two armed men. From the tall grass of the drainage swale, he watched them going through the car and its trunk. He could hear the bound women crying in the tall weeds of the median. Dylan wanted the men to stand next to each other, away from the cover of the car, before he took the shot. Finally, one man exited the back seat and the other shut the trunk, and they stood together at the side of car. They had found nothing of value, and it made them angry. One man motioned to the other and they began to walk toward the two helpless women.
Dylan pulled the trigger and fanned the shots from one torso to the other. Instantly, both men dropped to the ground. One was dead and the other lay writhing in agony. The bullets had caught him in the lower torso. He was paralyzed from his midsection down, lying on his back, partially eviscerated.
Dylan walked up to him. The dying bandit looked upward at his assassin, but the sun was in his eyes. He could only see Dylan’s shadowed silhouette. Dylan stepped over to cast his shadow across the man’s face. He wanted the man to see him before he died.
“Why did you do that? Why did you murder them?” asked Dylan, coldly.
Then, with what strength he had left in his body, the mortally wounded killer’s hand slowly went toward the rifle lying next to him. His arm inched across the hot pavement. He grunted in pain as his hand got closer to the weapon. Dylan moved and the sun hit the man’s eyes again. He squinted and turned his head. Dylan kicked the rifle out of the bandit’s reach and slammed the heel of his boot onto his scuttling hand. Dylan could feel the bones break as the murderer screamed.
Dylan looked back up to the top of the hill and waved broadly with both hands. He knew Kevin would be watching with the binoculars. He wanted them to come down the hill. They needed to move on. Dylan went to the two women lying bound in the overgrown grass of the median, and cut their ligatures. The women recoiled in fear.
Dylan let his rifle hang from the strap on his shoulder and held his hands up. “I’m not with them.” He pointed to the outlaws, one dead, and the other barely clinging to life. “I’m sorry. I saw the roadblock ahead, but you passed us so fast and we didn’t know who you were.” He cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his dirty shirt. “I wish I could have signaled a warning to you.”
Kevin and Mary approached, and stood next to Dylan. They had suitcases in tow and were balancing the overloaded bike.
Dylan picked up the two rifles and placed them beside the women. “Keep these. Stay off the highway if you can.”
The two women never said anything. Still in shock, they just watched the three strangers push the bike and pull the suitcases up the hill and over its crest, out of view.
The trio walked for several more hours, creeping along with even more suspicion of their surroundings. They spotted a large concrete culvert just ahead of them. A small road merged with the highway and the culvert allowed for drainage under the ramp accessing the other road. They pulled their supplies inside and spent the night in the concrete tube. That night Mary prayed for bullets and dreamed of salvation.
Chapter Twenty
In the morning, Dylan inspected the beans and rice in a plastic container that he had let soak in water overnight. It was still dark and very hard to see anything. Not having a fire would help to keep their presence concealed, but, even if they wanted a fire, there was no wood for a fire anyway. The soggy mixture had absorbed most of the water and had swollen to more than twice its volume in the time since they had gone to sleep inside the culvert. Dylan ate the cold food with his fingers and watched Kevin and Mary sleep, huddled together on the curved concrete floor. He used the plastic container to hold his uneaten food, shoving it into his pocket along with a can of tuna fish, then leaned back and waited for the morning sun to break above the horizon.
At sunrise, he nudged Kevin on the leg. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
Kevin opened his eyes and saw the morning light. It cast a red hue at the opening of their temporary abode. He groaned loudly and woke his wife.
Dylan stood up as far as he could, hunching his shoulders. He stood over Kevin and his wife, looking down at them. “We need more water,” said Dylan, shaking an empty water bottle.
“Is there any close?” asked Mary.
“Yeah, we’ll pass by a lake. We’ll stop and rest there in the shade, and filter more water. My house is not far from there. We should leave now and travel in the cool morning hours.” Dylan pointed toward the road. “We can make it to my house by sunset.”
Kevin stood up quickly, almost as if he was startled. “That’s fantastic! We made it!” He bent over and wrapped his arms around his wife to help her stand up. Mary was short enough to stand fully erect in the tunnel, but in his haste to help his wife stand, Kevin hit his head on the domed concrete as he straightened. He rubbed his head with one hand and began to drag a suitcase outside with the other. Dylan pushed the bike and trailer, heavy with their bags. Mary brought the remaining suitcases out of the culvert, and they resumed their trek.
They traveled south several miles down the highway. To their right was an off-ramp that merged onto another road. The new road turned east, into the morning sun. Dylan quickened the pace.
“Can you please slow down?” pleaded Mary.
Dylan stopped and looked behind him. Kevin held the middle ground between him and Mary. From the distance, Dylan saw the sweat dripping from Mary’s face. He drank the last of
his water and waited for them to catch up.
“I have to rest,” said Mary, breathing heavily, “and I’m so thirsty.”
Kevin handed his wife the rest of his water and she drank it all.
“That’s it for us. Unless you have some water, it’s all gone,” said Kevin.
“There’s water just up the road.” Dylan pointed forward. “Look ahead of us. Do you see the top of that hill?”
Kevin and Mary both nodded. Mary was still panting, and both of them were sweating profusely in the direct sunlight.
“Past the crest of that hill, we’ll come to a wide valley. The stream flowing through there was dammed, which created a large lake. This road goes across of the dam. Down there we’ll find plenty of water and shade. We’ll stop to rest under the first big tree we come to, I promise.”
Dylan and Kevin looked at Mary, waiting for a response. They could not tell if she was crying. Her eyes were red, but that might have been from sweat irritating her eyes. Mary nodded lethargically and continued onward. They paused at the top of the hill. It was just as Dylan described. The road went down into a wide valley and across a dam that created a lake that they could see to the left side of the road.
“There it is,” said Dylan, triumphantly, “a thousand-acre lake surrounded by thousands of acres of wilderness. A small stream that feeds the lake flows near my property. We’ll use the stream for water, and hunt down here if we have to.”
“Are we close to your home?” asked Kevin.
“Yes, very close. We’ll pass a subdivision on the right. It’ll have large houses and its own private lake. Just past that is where I live. Look for a sign that says Hidden Acres, and that’ll be home.”
Mary leaned into her husband, pressing her forehead against his chest, and held his upper arm tightly. He felt her breathe a sigh of relief, then she released him as they turned to walk down the hill toward the lake. Near the trough of the valley, an access road led toward the lake and around its shoreline. Near the entrance to the park was a small empty parking lot and a pier for fishing. Just past the pier, they saw a man and a young boy beneath a small shade tree. The man was casting a fishing lure into the water, while the boy stayed close to his side. Stopping at the shade tree nearest to the lake, Kevin and Mary sat down in the grass while Dylan went toward the pier with several empty bottles, the water filter, and the rifle slung on his back. The man who was fishing watched Dylan walk to the end of the pier, and as Dylan and he made eye contact, the man started to raise his hand in a friendly wave. At that moment, Dylan removed the rifle slung across his back. The man saw the rifle and dropped his hand. He called the boy to his side and whispered something to him as he kept a cautious eye on Dylan and the rifle. Dylan saw the man and boy talking and decided to ignore them as he filtered the water. He looked back toward his companions. They were still sitting deep in the tall grass under the canopy of a large oak tree, resting.
Suddenly the man’s fishing pole bent sharply and his attention focused on the taut line. The young boy had been curiously watching Dylan, out on the pier filtering water. The boy got up and moved toward him. Dylan watched the little boy’s approach, then looked over at the man, who was desperately trying to reel in a large fish. The boy came closer and stood by Dylan’s side.
“What are you doing?” asked the boy.
“Getting water for me and my friends to drink.”
“Are you a bad guy?”
“No. Why would you think I’m a bad guy?”
“Daddy is afraid of you.”
Dylan pointed to the man struggling with the fish. “Is that your father?”
“Yes. My mommy is in heaven.”
He looked into the boy’s eyes and his heart sank into a bottomless pit as he thought of his own children.
“I’m sorry.”
“Can I have some water to drink? We don’t have any more water.”
“Yes, of course. Go get your container and I’ll fill it up.”
The young boy ran back to the little tree and brought back an empty plastic jug that at one time, many months ago, had been full of milk. Dylan filled it with clean water and the boy hurried back to his father with it. By the time the child reached his father’s side, the line had broken, and the fish got away. The man sat back on the shoreline, defeated, staring at his dangling fishing line blowing in the wind. The boy showed him the jug of water and pointed toward Dylan. The man quaffed some water from the jug, handed it back to his son, and then walked out on the pier toward where Dylan stood. Dylan had finished filling their water bottles and was ready to leave. The man approached Dylan and removed his hat, nervously rolling it up in his hands. He cast his eyes downward, and stopped several feet from Dylan.
“Sir, I want to thank you for the water.”
“Okay, I’m glad to help. I have to go now. Please excuse me.”
The man looked up in alarm.
“No, please, wait just one minute.” His gaze went down again and he twisted his hat more tightly in his hands, wringing it like a wet washcloth. “You look like you’re doing better than most people I’ve seen down here. We’ve had it hard these past few months.” The man began to choke up from deep emotions, then cleared his throat. “His mother died, and now we have run out of food. Do you have any food? Anything at all that you can spare?”
“I’m sorry, I have to go now.” Dylan put the full bottles of water and the filter back into his bag and slung the rifle onto his back.
The man dropped to his knees in front of Dylan, let go of the wrinkled hat, and clasped his hands in front of himself as if praying for mercy. “Please help us. Give us something.”
“Don’t do this in front of your son. Get up.”
“Please, it’s not for me. It’s for my son. Please, I’m begging you. I’ve lost everything and I can’t lose him, too. Please—”
“Get up. Take this.” Dylan handed him what was left of the beans and rice he had in the plastic container in his pocket. The man grabbed the container and pried the lid open with his trembling hands. His fingernails were long and dirty. He put the container on the wooden planks of the pier and slid it directly in front of his son. The boy wolfed the cold beans and rice down while his father sat next to him, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder. Dylan walked by the two huddled together on the pier. When he stepped onto the grass, Dylan looked back at them once more. The boy was still ravenously eating and his father was right by his side. Dylan remembered the can of tuna in his pocket and pulled it out. The label was missing from long ago. He walked back to the man and handed the tuna to him. The man held the small can like it was a precious gem and ran for the access road. He pressed the top of the can onto the concrete and moved the can in a circular motion. In no time, he had rubbed the soft metal of the can’s rim away. He hit the lid with a rock, pulled the jagged metal away, and then ran back to his son, offering him the open can of food. Dylan could not stand to watch any longer. He returned to his friends, handed them their water bottles, and they all drank their fill, sitting in the shade.
“What was that about?” asked Kevin.
“It was horrible. They’re starving and the man just wanted food for his son.” Dylan paused. “We should go now, the sun is getting low.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Mary.
“No.”
They heard Dylan’s stomach growl from hunger and knew that he was lying. He pushed the bike loaded with their belongings back up to the road. The other two were close behind him as they continued up the hill and out of the valley.
Their final landmark before Dylan’s neighborhood was an upscale subdivision named, Swan Lake Estates. The subdivision’s entrance monument was located on the right side of the road near a large sycamore tree. They could see the community’s stone monument soon after the immense tree came into view. They stayed on the opposite side of the road as they passed. When they got near the tree, they saw a naked body hanging from a low limb. The noose was positioned correctly on the side
of the neck, in just the right location to break the neck when the body fell. Dylan counted thirteen loops on the hangman’s noose. Someone knew what they were doing. The back of the legs were soiled with filth from the bowels releasing at the moment of death. A large sheet of plywood was on the ground leaning on the subdivision’s stone monument. In large letters the sign read, TRESPASSERS WILL BE KILLED. He had always thought that this subdivision was full of high-society people who never did anything for themselves. He was surprised to see this type of message displayed. That meant someone from the pampered crowd had to get their hands dirty, and that they were taking a stand.
There was a breeze at their backs, but it provided little relief from the late summer heat. The setting sun burned their necks as they pushed forward. His only solace from the sun and evening heat was that his destination was directly ahead. He could see his subdivision’s monument on the corner of the road they would turn onto. They trudged past the stone structure slowly, and he announced, “Hidden Acres,” as they plodded along. Dylan led the way down the road to his house, with Kevin and Mary close behind. The scene was an absolute contrast to the neighborhood that he had left months ago. Sections of lawns were spaded over and planted with vegetables. Lawns that were not turned into gardens were overgrown with grass and weeds. Garbage was piled in mounds at the ends of driveways, an effigy to a society of convenient disposal. The trash piles had a wretched smell and flourished with buzzing insects. Dogs, rodents, and starving people had shredded and picked through the plastic bags that once lay intact, waiting for sanitation trucks to haul them away. The windows of the homes that had not been abandoned were opened to let a breeze through. They had not yet seen any people. They assumed all were inside hiding from the heat, or perhaps out searching for food and water.
