In the Valley of the Devil

by Hank Early

  Thank God, Taggart used the same damn combination for everything.

  When I saw the contents, my breath caught in my throat. It was a stack of DVDs in clear slipcases. The one on the top had writing on the shiny surface.

  It read “Master: Sept. 27, Scenes 1–5.”

  My hand shook as I removed the DVD from the slipcover and inserted it into the DVD drive of the computer. I waited as the disk spun loudly. I clicked “Play” when the icon appeared.

  Two phrases flashed across the screen: Old Nathaniel followed by Part I, a film by Taggart Monroe.

  Faint banjo music played in the darkness, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a nod to Deliverance, but then the tempo of the music shifted dramatically, and electric guitars cut through the rhythm, two strands of screaming feedback. The black screen gave way to a campfire in the woods.

  Several kids sat around the fire, drinking light beer and laughing. One of them had a joint. Another—a pretty girl in her late teens—was wrapped in a blanket. A bearded man sat in a lawn chair. He was a little older than the others, and he seemed to be the center of the camera’s zooming attention.

  He reached down and clicked off a tiny speaker. The music stopped. At least most of it did. What was left was the music of the woods. Frogs and crickets and night birds pulsed in rhythm to the ghost of the song. It was really well done and made me hate myself for appreciating the artistry of it.

  “You know what we’re near, don’t you?” he said in a deep growl.

  All of the kids were still. The girl with the blanket pulled it up to her neck, her eyes shining. The camera panned from the gleam in her eyes, up through the trees, and into the open sky, where it moved slowly toward the full moon.

  “It’s called Skull Keep. It’s where Old Nathaniel buries his skulls. I saw it once, when I was hiking back here in my younger days. Never been able to find it since, but that’s okay.” The camera dropped back through the trees, a little too fast, shifting slightly on the way down as if jostled by the branches. It landed back on the older, bearded man. He tapped his head. “I got the memory of it. Those skulls…” He shook his head and closed his eyes, breathing the night air. The camera crept closer, and I realized then that Taggart Monroe was subtly making the camera a character, or at least the eyes of a character.

  “… Those skulls,” the bearded man continued. “They were only half buried in the hillside. The tops were uncovered, and they glowed in the moonlight, like little lights.”

  “Yo,” the kid smoking the joint said, totally interrupting the flow of the story and the film, and I saw right away one of the problems with Taggart’s films: besides being racist filth, of course—was that the actors were low quality. Of course, acting wasn’t really the point in movies like this anyway, I reminded myself.

  “Where did all these skulls come from?” the kids said.

  “Old Nathaniel. He lives in the farmhouse not too far from here. He’s so good at killing, nobody messes with him. Even the sheriff has him on speed dial when he needs to get rid of a thug.”

  A beep sounded outside the room again. I nearly jumped out of the chair. I reached for the eject button on the disc drive, but in my haste, I pressed it once and then again, confusing the machine. It began to eject, but then stopped, pulling the disc back in.

  Footsteps were coming toward the door. I pressed eject a third time, this time steadying my hand so that I only hit it once.

  The drive whirled, as if trying to decide what to do.

  On the other side of the door, the footsteps stopped, and I heard the soft beeps as whoever it was entered the code. One beep, two beeps, three …

  The disk was still stuck.

  Four beeps.

  Come on!

  But the drive only spun, not releasing the disc at all.

  The door buzzed, and I grabbed my 9mm out of my waistband and turned to greet whoever it was.

  The door swung open to reveal Jeb Walsh. Neither of us spoke for a long second. He looked utterly confused by my presence. I hadn’t exactly been expecting him to return, either.

  “How’d you get in here?” he said.

  “Shut the door.”

  He looked from the gun in my hand to my face, trying to read me. In the bathroom at Jessamine’s, he’d correctly determined that I wasn’t going to shoot him, gloating afterward that I’d missed my one opportunity and that I’d never get another one.

  Now, I saw he wasn’t so sure.

  Because neither was I.

  The thing was, I’d just heard the truth from him. I knew the kind of man he was. Before, I’d strongly suspected. Now there could be no doubt.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure you’re making a mistake.”

  “No mistake,” I said. “I was right under that table earlier. I heard the whole thing. Heard how you were going to ‘snuff out my candle.’” I lifted the gun a little so that the muzzle was aimed directly at his forehead. “Seems like you had that wrong,” I said.

  He held out his hands. “This is a complicated thing you’ve stepped into. That particular conversation was more show than anything else. See, I’m trying to infiltrate this whole ring. It’s what my next book—”

  I laughed. “You’re pathetic.”

  He winced. “Okay, okay. I won’t insult your intelligence. You’re a bright man. You know what you heard.” He reached for his pocket. I jabbed the gun in his direction.

  “Don’t.”

  “I’m not armed,” he said. “I’m going for my wallet.”

  “Leave it be.”

  “I can pay you. More than you can imagine.”

  “That’s the thing about morally bankrupt people. They naturally assume everyone else is the same way.”

  He sighed. “What do you want then?”

  “I want Mary. I want you to tell me where to find her.”

  “You think I know? I’m only overseeing this operation. Helping with manpower and some of the finances. I don’t know where they’re keeping her. That’s Lane’s department. And that little queer, Tag.”

  “You have their numbers, right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “On your phone, goddamn it. You can call them can’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Call Taggart. Get his ass up here. I want him to tell me where she is.”

  “I’m going to reach for my phone now, okay?”

  I nodded, watching his hand closely as he moved it toward his pocket. He was almost there when I heard something behind me, a clicking sound, followed by high buzz.

  The sound was just enough to give him the opportunity he needed. My attention was pulled away for an instant, and by the time I realized it was the sound of the disc drive finally opening, it was too late. He fired the snubnose twice, and one slug grazed my right shoulder. I managed to get off one shot myself before the pain became too much and I dropped the gun.

  Walsh laughed, a cruel, cackling sound, and stepped closer to me until he was standing directly over me, the snubnose aimed at my face.

  “Two chances to shoot me, and you failed both times. I heard you were the kind of man who liked to make noise but didn’t actually know how to get anything done.” He leaned closer, so I could see his face, the leer that was plastered on it like a frozen hook. “Only thing I regret is that I didn’t teach that black bitch some manners.”

  I kicked out at him, but he stepped away, still leering.

  I moved my hand slowly by my side, patting the carpet for something that I might be able to use as a weapon. My fingers touched something cold and metallic. Smooth and round. Not my gun, but maybe just as good if I could get my hand around it and make the throw count.

  I slid my body up just a little, so I could reach the object more easily.

  “Would have felt good, but I’m a man who knows he can’t have everything. I reckon I’ll settle for watching her get her head chopped off by Old Nathaniel.”

  He stepped fo
rward again, just as the door behind him beeped. Someone was entering the code. Shit, I had to do it now.

  I got my hand on the metal orb and threw it as hard as I could at his head. He fired off another shot just as the ball hit him in the right eye, but the shot went wide. I struggled to my feet and grabbed the DVD from the disc tray. The door swung open. One of the angry young men from downstairs stood there, stunned. For a moment, we were both frozen. Then his eyes went to the floor. I followed them and saw my 9mm. I lunged for it, scooping it up just before he could.

  I pointed it at him and inched back toward the computer. I climbed up on the computer table, and I leaned out and tossed the DVD and then the gun up onto the roof. Then I swiveled at the waist until I had a good grip on the gutter. I pulled myself up and out of the window, just as I heard the young man start to yell.

  I lifted myself up, my feet now dangling in the air as the gutter groaned and bent. A hand reached out from the window and grabbed onto one of my boots. The gutter groaned again. I managed to get one elbow up on the roof and then another.

  He still had my boot. I made my foot straight and the boot slipped off.

  I got one leg up, then the other.

  On the roof, I lay flat for a moment, catching my breath, waiting. Hoping the man would be foolish enough to follow me.

  A second later, I saw that he was. Two hands gripped the gutter as he tried to pull himself up. I waited until he’d twisted around and swung his legs free from the inside of the window. Then kicked his knuckles as hard as I could with my one good boot.

  Two kicks was all it took. He fell silently until he hit the ground. Then there was only a dull, barely audible thud.

  Grabbing the DVD and my 9mm, I stood on the slanted roof and moved toward the peak, looking around for a nearby tree limb that would allow me access to the ground. There had to be some way down. I couldn’t accept that I’d made it this far only to get stuck on top of Taggart Monroe’s roof.

  When I saw it, my stomach sank. The best branch was a good seven or eight feet from the side of the roof. I’d never reach it without a death-defying jump. At least it looked sturdy.

  I decided not to overthink it. That would just cause me to chicken out and waste time. I holstered my gun and tried to slide the DVD into my pocket, but it wouldn’t fit, so I stuck it in my mouth and bit down on it. Then I took off.

  Making the leap was no problem. If anything, I jumped too far. Still, I was able to grab the thickest part of the branch and hang on. The rest of my body collided with the tree trunk, and I felt a hot pain in my knee.

  I held on. The DVD was still in my mouth, and I sucked air in around it. From this branch, I made my way carefully to another and then another until I was only about ten feet from the ground. I looked around, realizing I’d have to jump because there were no more branches …

  Ten feet feels like thirty when you’re falling and fifty when you hit the bottom. I rolled with it, and ended up going down a steep hill. The last thing I remember seeing before hitting my head was the moon, spinning in and out of my view, and each time I saw it, I realized how close it was to being full and how little time I had to do anything to save Mary, or myself.

  48

  When I finally heard my phone, it was almost dead. I reached for it, my hands grabbing kudzu vines and leaves. By the time I got it out of my pocket, it had stopped ringing.

  The call was from Rufus. I sat up, trying to piece together what had happened. Instantly, my head hurt, and I decided to lie back down. Somehow I’d become tangled up in a bunch of undergrowth, but for the moment, I was content to just stay where I was and think.

  It was morning, and I was at the bottom of a hill. Memories of rolling down it the night before came back to me. I felt something wet below my hip. I reached down to touch it and winced at the pain. When I pulled my hand away, there was blood on my fingertips. The landing—or maybe the rolling—had reopened the cut on my hip, and it had bled quite a bit while I’d been asleep.

  Reaching for my phone again, I felt my shoulder light up with pain. I’d been shot. Jesus, how could a person forget that? I touched my shoulder gently, cautiously, and realized that it had bene bleeding pretty steadily for a while too. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed the hard top of my shoulder, tearing the flesh away, leaving me in pain but not otherwise incapacitated.

  After some effort, I managed to rip off one of my shirtsleeves and tie it around my shoulder tight enough to stem the blood flow.

  I picked up my phone and saw it was eleven forty-two in the morning. I’d been out for a long time.

  My mouth was dry and tasted like blood. I’d have to find some water and some food. A sudden fear gripped me. What if I couldn’t move my legs?

  I bent both of them at the knees and relaxed a little. I was fine. I’d taken a blow to the head, but I was awake now, thinking clearly. I just needed to get myself out of the kudzu and make my way back to Susan’s car. Then I could go to her place and finish watching the DVD—

  Shit, the DVD! I patted the ground all around me, looking for it, but it wasn’t there. I pulled myself up, ignoring the aching feeling in my head and searing pain in my hip and stood on shaking legs. I winced as I looked around. Now, I could see that I hadn’t just rolled down the hill. Somehow I’d gone over a wooden fence and then rolled down the hill. The fence was at least ten feet high, and it seemed to stretch on forever. I realized with dismay that it most likely encircled the entire neighborhood. When I’d let go of the branch, it had been dark, and I hadn’t realized I was effectively locking myself out of the neighborhood and away from Susan’s car.

  I walked along the bottom of the hill for a bit, trying to see if there was a gate or a break in the fence, or even a tree that I could use to climb back over. Unfortunately, all the trees on this side had been cut back precisely to keep people like me from getting in.

  Never mind, I decided. None of it mattered without the DVD anyway. I focused my attention on finding it. It took some doing, but I was eventually able to locate the place where I’d come over the fence and rolled down the hill. I walked back up the steep hill, my legs burning with the effort, retracing my path from the night before. It was only when my legs were exhausted from the hill and I decided to take a short rest, that I saw the DVD hanging from a tree limb like a Christmas ornament.

  “You better be worth it,” I said as I extracted the disc from the branch and started back down the hill.

  * * *

  I didn’t realize what bad shape I was in until I tried to call Rufus back. My phone was dead. Why hadn’t I called him back immediately? Just minutes before it had a charge, but I’d waited. Now it was too late.

  Just like that, I was on my own, in the woods, with two pretty major injuries. I believed I’d been lucky because of where Walsh had shot me. No vital organs involved, and from what I could tell, it was a pretty clean wound. I was thankful for every piece of good luck, no matter how small.

  I studied the location of the sun, trying to estimate how long I had to make it to the cornfield. The good news was I knew if I kept walking away from the fence, I’d run into it eventually. The bad news was that eventually could be too far away.

  The night before, I’d stood on the high ridge, looking off over this valley, and what I’d seen were miles and miles of forest before the cornfield. I would have to hurry, especially if I hoped to watch the DVD before sunset.

  As I picked my way down another hill, careful of rocks and roots, holding onto tree limbs, I tried to formulate a plan. If I could make it to the trailer park before dark, I could try to find Deja. She’d let me in her trailer to finish watching the DVD. If there was anything on it that would help save Mary, I wanted—no needed—to watch it.

  I could also use her phone and call for some backup. I wouldn’t ask Susan. Hell, she couldn’t come anyway without a car, but I’d ask Ronnie. Surely, he’d help. I hoped.

  Until then, I was on my own.

  I kept walking, as the ground sloped e
ver downward, and the morning turned to afternoon.

  The day was the coolest we’d had since last spring, and I would have liked nothing more than to be sitting somewhere in the Fingers with Rufus and Mary, polishing off a bottle of Wild Turkey and talking about religion or philosophy, or even the true nature of evil. It was an interesting topic when viewed at a distance. Up close, it was much less fascinating and quite a bit more troubling.

  I tried to keep moving in a straight line, but that was more difficult than I anticipated. As the woods grew more dense, I often had to go around certain areas that were impassable due to deadfall or a sudden ravine. Often enough I ran into great sections of vines and snarled undergrowth that had entangled trees and boulders, creating something like a spider’s web of greenery that I didn’t dare try to pass through. After each obstacle, I found myself trying to see through the canopy of brown, green, and yellow above me to locate the sun. It had been a clear day when I entered the woods, but now only glimpses of sunlight were available, and most of that was diffused through a thousand leaves of every color so that trying to find the source of the day’s fading light was like trying to find the brightest bulb in a room filled with shaded lamps.

  After a while, I began to move on instinct. My father—who besides being a preacher had also been an excellent hunter and woodsman—taught me the best thing to do when you got confused in the woods was to sit down and seek God’s counsel. Like so much of his advice, there was wisdom in the part that hadn’t been warped by piety and his need to dictate people’s lives. What he’d been right about was the sitting-down part. The being still. The very worst thing you could do when you were getting lost was to keep moving. All that did was increase the chances you’d become completely lost instead of just a little bit.

  But stopping was not a luxury I could afford. I was keenly aware of the time I’d wasted because of the fall from the tree. Moreover, I was getting a little pissed that I’d done all of that for a DVD I might not even be able to watch. I kept walking, moving deeper into the woods because I was afraid to do anything else, because stopping would be giving credence to the creeping sensation that failure was right around the corner, that I had no real shot of saving Mary much less discovering what was really going on in Jefferson’s cornfield.