The Wretched

by R. James Faulkner

  “Get out.”

  “I can’t.”

  He scowled. “Oh. You are,” he said. “And you’re doing it right the hell now.”

  “I can’t, asshole.”

  She held up her hands. Blood dripped onto her filth covered pants. Frank sighed, pulled the keys from the ignition, and stuffed them into his pocket. He leaned across her and pulled on the door handle. With a shove against the head, he made her step out of the truck. He pulled out a few bottles of water, sauntered around the front of the vehicle, and set them on the concrete driveway. With his gaze held on the small brick restroom building, he attempted to avoid eye contact with her.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?” she said and collapsed to her knees. “At least give me some of the antibiotics. Please? You can’t leave me like this. I’ll die.”

  Frank leaned back onto the truck fender. He looked southward along the road. His eyes scanned over the leafless trees, thinking to himself about what he was doing. Frank placed a bottle of the pain medicine and one of antibiotics beside the bottles of water. He did not look at her face. There was no need to, he did not care about her.

  “Where am I going to go? You’re taking my truck.” Her head hung as she continued to cry. Tears and blood mixed while dark memories danced in her head. “Where am I to go? Huh? Where, you asshole?”

  Frank was satisfied. He felt it better to leave her angry. He stepped backward and leaned over the front of the truck.

  “Fuck, I don’t know lady. Damn it. Go north.” He pointed with the gun.

  Reddened tear filled eyes looked into his. He avoided her stare and stepped to the driver’s door of the truck.

  “Or, go south…”

  “Or go south.” She nodded her head in defeat and repeated his words. “And where are you going?”

  She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her blood-covered hands.

  Frank smiled and winked at her. He said, “Oh me? Well, I’m going straight to hell.”

  He got into the truck and started it. She stood up to chase him. The smell of truck exhaust was all she caught. Sounds of the engine echoed as it disappeared south on the road. It faded and she was alone. She was hurt and alone, with no way forward. Angela sat on the walkway and cried. Her tears fell from her cheeks and mixed on the gray concrete with the blood that dripped from her arms.

  I’m not going to survive, am I, Mike? Is this it?

  She crossed her arms over her chest and screamed out in anger and dejection. It scared a buzzard from a nearby tree branch. Helpless and weakened, she wept for herself. She cried not because she was in pain. Angela cried for the fact she was alone with her fears.

  20

  Ben rolled his sleeping bag up. The morning had started. He listened for noises from the people in the camper. If they were awake, they were not coming outside. He wondered if they had a toilet and if it worked, while he finished urinating against a tree. His bike was ready to go. There was no sense in trying to say goodbye. They would no doubt pass him on the road. He looked at the revolver and spun the cylinder as he counted the empty holes.

  One for them, one for me.

  He wanted to find more rounds, his father had dropped all he brought. Somewhere on a filthy street in Tupelo was a full box of them. Ben could still see the color of the cardboard box. He often dreamed of picking them up and pushing them into his backpack before he ran from his parent’s dead bodies.

  And that damned little orphan girl.

  He walked past the camper pushing his bike. The sound of gravel under his feet reminded him of eating potato chips. He heard the door open and watched Amy step out. He nodded his head at her as she slipped away, with her younger sister in tow, down the hill toward a small brick building.

  “Nature calls,” Jessica said.

  Ben nodded as he turned to look at her. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Does it still work?”

  “The toilet?” she said. Jessica smiled and brushed her long graying hair over her shoulder. “No. It just feels good to be able to use one. Like…civilized people.”

  Ben squeezed and released the brakes of the bike. He waited for the right time to ride off. Before he left he aimed to ask for some food.

  “Your husband any better?”

  “Evan?” She turned her head and rubbed her arms with her hands. “His fever broke, but he hasn’t woke yet. The cut looks better though.” She stared for a long while at the camper door.

  Ben nodded his head and continued to wait. He heard footsteps coming. Jessica stepped closer to him, moving to look into his eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  She reached her hand out but held it with caution above his hand on the bike grip. He watched as her thin fingers trembled before she let them rest on his. He did not resist her touching him. When he looked at her crying face, he understood. She did not have to tell him. He knew the feeling of hope.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Amy stood beside her mother and smiled at Ben. He watched as Maggie walked past and sat on the bench of the picnic table. After a long silence, Amy looked to her mother and bumped her arm with her shoulder. Jessica seemed to understand.

  “I’m Jessica. This is Amy, my oldest daughter. And that over there is Maggie. My husband, Evan, is inside.”

  Ben held out his hand. “My name is Ben.”

  He shook their cold hands before turning to hold his hand out to Maggie. She tucked hers under her legs. Ben gave her a wink of his left eye. Jessica sat beside Maggie and hugged her close.

  “She’s just shy. Sweet, but shy.”

  “It’s okay if you stay with us,” Amy said. “Mama and I want you to. Seeing as how we’re all headed the same direction.”

  Ben, unsure of how to answer, stood and looked at the brightening sky. He reached into his bag, got out three bottles of water, and sat them on the table.

  “Do you have any food?”

  “Yes,” Amy said. “I’ll get you something.”

  Jessica patted the tabletop for Ben to join them. He obliged and sat down, letting out a grunt.

  “Amy says you got gas from a station?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jessica waved her hand. “Oh, drop the ma’am. Just call me Jessica.”

  Ben shook his head. “No, ma’am. I can’t do that. If my mama heard me not calling a lady ma’am, why she’d…” His voice faded, he stared at the table.

  Jessica reached across and patted his arm. “It’s okay.”

  He looked at her eyes. She nodded and sniffled back some tears. Amy returned with a package of beef jerky and a half-empty sack of pretzels. Ben waited until Jessica slid them to him before he picked them up to eat.

  “You eat all you want. We’ve got more.” Jessica spoke as she drank from the bottle of water. She released a long sigh. “Oh my, I really needed that. It’s been a long while since we’ve had some water.”

  Ben chewed the tough jerky. His focus was on the road. He stuffed another piece it into his mouth. Ben chomped on it while pushing yet another piece inside. They watched him eat in silence. When he realized they were, he stopped eating.

  “I’m sorry. Haven’t been around many people,” he said.

  “We understand.”

  “Do you want more?” Amy said as she stood.

  “No, this is enough.” He pushed the bags back to Amy. “I’ll take the van and fill it with gas.”

  He stepped from the table and pushed his bike beside the camper. Jessica stood and raised her hand. She protested him leaving with the vehicle. Ben pretended he did not see her get up from the table.

  “You can come with me if you want. To make sure I don’t run off with it.” He propped the rifle beside the bike.

  “That’s not what we are thinking—”Jessica stared at the bright brass of the gun as she sat back down. “That’s not what I was thinking. I was going to tell you—”

  “What?”

  “That it is t
oo dangerous.” Jessica sounded offended.

  “I know. That’s why I waited to tell you until now. If I said anything about it earlier, you wouldn’t have given me food.”

  “That’s not how we are, Ben.” Amy defended her mother.

  “No, the weak don’t survive this world. And neither do the stupid.”

  He walked to the van, leaving them to decipher what he meant. Jessica nodded and Amy joined him. He waited until she was in before he cranked the engine. Maggie covered her ears at the sound.

  “You hurt her feelings, Ben.”

  “I don’t blame her. I would’ve done the same thing.”

  Amy shook her head as he backed down the hill and started on the blacktop. Ben turned on the radio and twisted the dial to find a signal.

  “They don’t come in anymore. The last station stopped weeks ago.”

  Amy turned off the radio. The hiss of static annoyed her. She listened to the van driving along. Ben did not speak as he drove. He watched the road zoom past. At the turnoff spot he stopped, killed the engine, and looked into the trees.

  “Where is it?” Amy said.

  “Just here, past this right turn. Look…” He paused, unsure how to word it without scaring her. “There are people inside the building.”

  She stared out the window, her nervousness was apparent. He tapped her shoulder.

  “Just don’t go near it. Don’t look at them. It’s locked pretty well. I don’t think they can get out. I just wanted you to know before we get there.”

  Amy frowned in concern as she shook her head.

  “What if they get out?” she asked. “Do you have enough bullets in your gun?” She pointed to his hip.

  “No.”

  “Why did you leave your rifle?”

  “Because, your mother needed to see me leave something of value,” Ben said. “That way if I take off, if I just leave with you in this van, she can allow herself to accept it.”

  He turned his head and faced her. Amy stared into his eyes and knew he was serious. She felt a rush of emotions. Her hand slapped his face before she could stop herself. He held his cheek and sat in silence.

  “That’s wrong. My mama wouldn’t do that.”

  Ben fired up the engine and drove past the station, turning in a large circle to enter the graveled parking lot. He pulled next to the pumps, killed the engine, and left Amy to look out for danger. Ben pulled the check plug again and fed the tube down like the day before. He focused on the task, paying attention to the sound of gas going into the tank. Amy leaned against the seat and scanned for movement. Long minutes passed.

  “How much more?” Ben asked.

  Amy turned the key on and watched the hand climb. She heard faint voices coming from the store’s door. Her mind screamed for her not to look. She saw the body of a man cut so badly she almost did not realize it was a person. Amy squeezed her eyes together, wanting to be away from it. Ben called out to her again and snapped her back to the present. She spoke from the slight crack of the driver’s side window.

  “Just past a quarter of a tank.”

  Ben pumped the siphon until his arm muscle burned. He stopped to rest. Some noises came from the side of the store. He thought about his options. Only one made sense. Ben crept to the wall of the building and eased himself to the corner. Amy watched him, trying to understand what he was doing.

  Ben leaned out until he was just able to see past the edge. He stood up straight and walked around the corner. Amy looked at the keys in the ignition, she prepared herself to leave him if need be. Her eyes held onto the edge of the building, focusing on the painted metal. A streak of color, she blinked and followed it with her eyes. The emaciated, brown and white dog had already dashed across the open gravel, it was running into a small group of trees. Amy watched as Ben came back and pumped the siphon again. He did not explain why. She did not ask. The smell of gasoline was her main concern. After what felt like an eternity, he asked her to check again. She watched the gauge climb and could not help but sound excited.

  “It’s full.”

  Ben waved to her as he got the containers from the back. “I’ll fill these up.”

  She nodded her approval. He filled the first container. Amy caught the sight of something from the corner of her eye. She turned to look, but it was gone. Time passed, and she stared at a small church a short distance away. She wanted to tell Ben to hurry, but he was busy with the siphon and did not look up at her. She leaned over to see his progress and caught another glimpse of movement. This time when she looked, it did not vanish. A large figure of a man walked toward them. He held a baseball bat in one hand and had the dog, bloody and limp, in the other. Amy tapped the window.

  “Ben, look over there.”

  Ben turned to see. He wasted no time pulling the tube out and put the containers into the back. He watched the big shape of the body stomp toward them. The man, covered from head to toe in oily filth, yelled as he approached. Ben started the van and drove away from the pumps.

  Amy put her hands to her head. She said, “What was he going to do?”

  “Who knows?”

  Ben looked in the mirror, the man threw the dog to the ground and beat its body with the bat. Ben shook his head. He did not do the animal any favors. The drive back was quick. He did not grasp how fast he drove until he tried to stop. Amy pushed herself back from the dash as he braked hard. He pulled up to the camper, walked across the gravel to meet Jessica, and handed her the keys. Ben reclaimed his rifle, slung it over his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest. Jessica looked at them.

  “Well?” she said. “How much?”

  “Filled it up.” Amy hugged her. “And even got extra.”

  “Really?” The undeniable look of relief was on her face. “That’s great.”

  Ben stood back and waited. Jessica patted him on the shoulder. She read his face. He was thinking about something.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Can he be moved?”

  Jessica pulled him toward the camper. She said, “Let’s go ask him.”

  21

  Angela sat and held the bottle of pain medicine in her lap. The stiffness of her wrists, the numbness of her fingers, would not allow her to grasp the bottle to twist it open. She tried to grip it between her knees, but it kept slipping out, and she tried to undo it using her feet. As a last-ditch effort, she attempted to stomp on it. She was barefoot and hurt her heel.

  She sat on the concrete and cursed the world. Her eyes hurt from crying and her arms hurt from the wounds. The dripping blood from her wrists had slowed. She dared not remove the bandages. With nothing else to put on them and unable to open the antibiotics, she thought it was better to leave them alone.

  Her throat was parched. The bottle of water was easier to open, most of it gushed out as she squeezed it between her knees. She drank in steady sips. With the smell of her blood so close to her face, she almost vomited it back up. She cried again, but she did not want to. Angela sobbed uncontrollably for a long time. Intense pain throbbed in her skull right behind her eyes. Her arms felt as if the nerve endings were raw and exposed to the open air.

  Angela lay on her side and wept to herself, curled up on the concrete, until she lost consciousness. She woke and the sky was black. The air was cool on her skin. She cried at what had become of her. She thought of Mike, how he would never let the strange man take the truck.

  He would have stopped him. He could have. God, Mike, why did you have to leave me? I can’t. Not by myself. What will happen to me? I can’t die here alone. But I am alone. You could never really protect me. Not now. Not in this fucked up world.

  The bright sunlight warmed her skin. She opened her eyes to see a clear blue sky. With her strength faded, she could no longer lift her head. She looked at the bottle of water and tried to make her sore arms move toward it but they did not respond. The sun climbed higher in the sky and she slept. When she opened her eyes again, it was past sunset. The hue o
f the world was gray. She opened her mouth to scream for help. After several feeble attempts, she gave up, and closed her eyes. Angela accepted it was her third act, that she would die soon. She thought about her mother as she slipped into the deep silent darkness.

  “Hey.”

  She tried to open her eyes.

  “It’s all right.”

  Her mind could not register where she was at, the bright light from above blinded her. She did not move, her body was too weak.

  “I got ya.”

  She slipped back into the nothingness. There was a garble of incoherent sounds, flashes of red lights under her eyelids. She had the impression of the world shifting side to side. The thought that she was on a boat in rough water came to mind.

  Her eyelids cracked open. She was on a blanket next to a fire. Her bandages were gone, exposing a large open hole in her dark purple flesh. She watched as a hand dabbed a cloth against the wound. Her mind came together as she looked at him.

  That son of a bitch!

  She attempted to raise her hand to strike him. Frank saw her struggle and gently pushed her arm back down. He shushed her with a finger to his lips and continued to clean her wound.

  “Let me finish with this,” he said. “And then you can slap me.”

  He poured iodine into the open hole. Her eyes dripped tears. Frank cleaned the other wrist, treated it, and bandaged both. When he finished, he opened a bottle and shook out some pills.

  “One?” He glanced at her face, narrowing his eyes. “Two it is.”

  He spoke softer to her. Far kinder than it seemed he was able from the first impression he gave her. Angela tried to sit up. Frank grabbed her under the shoulders to help lift her. He leaned her back against the trunk of a tree, and she saw he had made camp on the side of the highway. He put the pills in her mouth one by one, pouring water to chase them down. She leaned her head back, weeping silent tears. He patted her cheeks with a cloth.