Through Darkest America-Extended Version

by Neal Barrett Jr

  "No, Papa, it's Kari. She . . ." He turned to look at her and the big mare grinned up blankly and reached out to grab him between his legs. Howie shrank back in horror…

  "You can look all you want, Howie," she told him, "but just don't go feeling around or anything."

  "Kari?"

  Papa's arrow dug into her face, just above her mouth. Another quivered in her eye…

  "Don't, Papa!" Howie cried. "Please don't!"

  Papa was trying to ready another arrow, but he was having trouble with it. His eyes were black and empty and he couldn't wipe the dark away without dropping the bow. With his other hand he struggled desperately to keep his belly together, but they'd split it bad and the guts kept falling out in soft puddles to the ground…

  "Just look is all," said Kari. "Don't go trying to touch something…"

  When he woke up he knew right where he was and what had happened and just what they'd done to him. He heard his own scream somewhere and then the pain came down hard and put him under again.

  The next time, he prayed for sleep or death or anything, but nothing happened. The hurt was unbearable, but he couldn't leave it. He knew there were places to go that were dark and soft and quiet where you couldn't feel anything at all, but he didn't know how to get there…

  He could see, with his good eye. The gray wall. A spider- web crack like a tree branch winding up past the dim torch. Without moving his head he could look down and see his arms strapped to the chair and his legs spread over the flat logs. Everything seemed all right between his legs. They hadn't done that yet. They would, though, Howie knew. Jacob was going to take it all.

  There was a dull, rumbling sound somewhere. Like thunder. Or a faraway drum. He listened a minute and it came again.

  He tried to look around the room but the slightest movement of his head sent pain ripping like a knife through his skull. It … Wait, now. That was something worth knowing wasn't it? He thought a minute. It was hard to think with the pain.

  Pain was bad.

  And good.

  Bad and good at the same time. Could that be so? It was, if he could do it.

  And he could. Because he had to. He couldn't stay there. He had to get away from the pain. Get away—or give himself to it. Let it take him and put him in that place again. If he couldn't do it, maybe the pain could do it for him.

  He cried out and cursed himself and begged himself to stop. He shook his head as hard as he could and opened and closed the empty eye again and again and again and it seemed like it took an awfully long time, but he made it.

  It was cold to the bone and Carolee took all the covers. That was just like a little sister—let you freeze your butt off and then next morning sure as light she'd be telling mother it was him that—

  "God, nooooooo!"

  "Hey, easy now." The big hand clamped his head hard against the back of the chair. "It's goin' to hurt, but it's going to get better. Just sit still, if you can."

  The man poured something cold as ice into his empty socket. Only it wasn't cold for long. It was a hot, fiery coal and it burned all the way through his brain and out the back of his head. He couldn't even get the scream out before the darkness pulled him under.

  He wasn't gone near long enough.

  When he looked up the man was still there. "Who . . .” He tried, but couldn't make the words.

  "I ain't anyone you know, and no one you're goin' to," said the man. "Is the hurt some better? Don't try to say nothing. You sure ain't fit to. That stuff won't last forever, but it'll dull the pain some and give you time to rest. What ever good that'll do you."

  He came down close to Howie and he could smell the faint odor of sweat and the strong smell of whiskey. "You know he's comin' back, don't you? Reckon I don't have to tell you that. Son of a bitch! Godamn son of a bitch . . .”

  The man stumbled in the half light and caught himself on the chair. Howie moaned.

  "Oh, Lordee, I'm sorry about that! I sure didn't mean to hurt you none. Don't need that, do you? Know what that bastard's doing? Well, shit, 'course you don't. He's killin' us all, is what. It ain't just you. Son'bitch goin' to have us all dead 'fore it's over, 's what he's goin' to do! If old Monroe wasn't coldern'n a stone out there someplace we'd . . . Listen, boy, if I could I'd be more'n glad to cut your throat for you an' I know you'd thank me for it. Only I . . . ain't got the heart for it no more. Or the stomach, neither. I just can't, is all. I wish to hell I could…"

  When he came out of it again he wasn't sure whether he'd dreamed the man or not. The hurt was some better, so maybe it was real. The pain was still there, though—simmering just below the screaming point.

  He wondered how long he'd been in the room. He had no feeling for time anymore.

  An hour? Two? Longer than that. A day or so, maybe. Or a week, for all he knew.

  His throat was parched dry, the sides sticking together making it hard to swallow. He tried to work some spit into his mouth but the motion warned him. It wouldn't be too hard to wake up the pain again.

  The thunder was closer now. He dully remembered hearing it before. Once, it came so close the room shook and a veil of white dust trickled down the wall in front of him. He watched it, following the slow path with interest.

  "Howie. Come on, now, Howie.

  "What? Papa? Is that you?"

  Jacob's harsh laughter exploded in his face. Howie came fully awake.

  "By God, boy, you ought to be up there! It is life . . . it is what a man was born for!" Jacob's whole body trembled. His voice was near ecstatic. "A soldier don't need eyes for that. He can feel it and smell it all around him. The world's bein' shaped up there. God's voice is in the heavens!"

  He stopped, like he was coming back from some far place. "Don't guess you care much 'bout that, do you?" He showed Howie his terrible grin. "Reckon you got other things on your mind. We got a little time for that, too. We will take time, Howie. We surely will."

  Jacob's hand reached out. Howie saw what was coming and tried to pull away. A long finger slid over his chest and up his face. He screamed when the finger found what it was looking for, and when he felt himself slide under again, he hoped maybe this time he'd just die and not come back any more . . .

  The cold water hit his face and set him gasping for breath. It ran down his forehead and hurt terribly when it hit the empty place. He tried to suck in the stray moisture with his tongue.

  The thunder came again, closer than ever, shaking the room and sending gray stones rattling to the floor. Jacob cocked his head and listened. "We ain't got much time, boy, and I'm sorry for that. Got to get back up there, Got to." He came close to Howie. So close Howie could smell the sweet odor of death that seemed to cling to the man like an extra skin. "Had to come here, though. There's things between us that has to be. And I know you understand what I'm saying. Things that's got to be set right, Howie, or it just ain't no good for either of us. You know that …"

  The empty eyes jerked away from him. "Dory, they need us up there. Get on with it."

  The blade seemed to come out of nowhere and find itself in Dory's hand. It flashed torchlight as Dory squatted down and reached out to grasp Howie between the legs.

  Howie's heart stopped. "Oh, my God please no please no . . . !"

  "Best think about girls real quick," Jacob said gravely, "if you ever had any, now's the time to run 'em all through your mind, boy."

  Dory pulled him out tight so the blade would slice easy. Howie went rigid and screamed—

  —thunder slammed down like a big fist and sucked the scream right out of him. In a brief instant he saw Dory look up, surprise starting on his face. Then something dark came down, turned his features red, and he was gone.

  Howie gasped for breath and choked on dust. Warm blood filled his ears. The torch was gone. But there was another light up above. Daylight, from a ragged hole in the gray ceiling. He was covered with white powder and small bits of stone. There was blood, too, already clotted with dust, but he decided most of it
wasn't his.

  The thunder had come in from behind and above, driving great chunks of rock before it with a terrible force. The back of the heavy chair had saved him, then; but Dory and Jacob were nowhere to be seen. He supposed they were buried under the rubble at his feet. Blinking against the dusty light, he could see something white against the wall.

  Dory, maybe, or—

  Howie started. Something cold grasped his leg. He looked down and found Jacob's empty eyes. His head was covered with dust and blood and he was trying to work his mouth, but nothing came out. Kari was standing beside his chair. She gave him a curious glance, then kneeled down, put the pistol against Jacob's ear, and pulled the trigger. Jacob's head jerked. His hand let Howie go.

  "Howie, we've got to get out of this place," she told him. "We can't stay here any longer."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Howie tried to see her through stone dust that clouded his good eye. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what. He had the peculiar feeling he ought to explain it all to her, that it was important she understand what he was doing there, stretched out naked in a cold cellar.

  He caught her looking at his face, and what they'd done to it, while she tore the straps from his arms and legs. She just looked, without saying anything.

  "Kari . . . ."

  She shook her head. "Don't talk, Howie. Just sit there a minute. Can you move? Your arms and legs are probably going to be stiff, but we don't have much time to warm 'em up. You think you can stand?"

  Howie thought sure he was going to laugh, but knew how much it would hurt if he did.

  "Come on, Howie." She grabbed one leg and started slapping it hard. Howie sucked in a breath and grabbed the arms of his chair.

  "Godamn, Kari!"

  "Feeling coming back, huh? Good. Try to get up."

  Howie shook his head. More thunder rumbled outside. Close, then far away, then close again. Without warning, Kari ducked her head under his arm and pulled him up. Blood rushed to his legs and he let out a yell and collapsed, taking her with him. The fall jolted his head and he thought sure he was going under again.

  "Howie …"

  "I flat can't, Kari." He tried to look at her. Her face was swimming and it made him dizzy.

  "You've got to," she told him firmly. "We can't stay here."

  "Why not?"

  She looked at him, then got up and ran quickly out of the room. He tried to sleep but she was back again.

  "Here." She raised his head. "Try this." Howie tasted water and clutched at the jug, trying to get his own hands around it. She pulled it away.

  "That's enough for now. You're going to get sick." He pleaded with her, but she wouldn't listen. "When we get out. Okay? When we get out, you can have some more. Now. Try to get up again."

  With Kari doing most of the work, he made it past the door and halfway down the long hall. He took one look at the steps and shook his head.

  "Kari. I can't."

  "Yes you can. You haven't even tried, yet."

  "Give me . . . some water."

  "At the top, Howie. Up there. You've got to get up there."

  He tried to think of something that would make her give him the water. His head was pounding hard and he knew he wasn't going anywhere at all, but he wanted the water. He looked at the steps again. They were nothing but a blur. Kari's face was melting again. He closed his good eye and started crawling…

  "Better?"

  "I don't know. Some. Nothin's swimming 'round no more."

  "Good. We can't sit here all day, Howie."

  "Maybe you can't," he told her. "I don't figure on gain' anywhere soon."

  He drank a little more of the water and decided maybe she was right. His mouth and throat thought it was the best stuff ever, but his belly didn't think so. Instead, he tipped the jug and splashed it in his face.

  Down the narrow alley past the door where they'd come up from the cellar, the street was full of people. Some were running, or hauling carts full of their belongings, or clutching things they'd stolen from the shops. Some just stood and stared at nothing. A woman was crying somewhere. Soldiers clattered by on horseback, one man carrying a tattered pennant that said '2nd ARKANSAS. His shirt had been burned away and there was blood on his arm. The air overhead was thick with smoke, turning the sky pale orange. Howie could smell wood burning. There was gunfire, some of it close.

  Thunder struck again nearby. Howie winced. The ground shook beneath him. He turned to Kari. "Listen . . . what the hell is that, anyway?" Until now, it hadn't even occurred to him to ask.

  "Boomers," Kari said shortly. "'Least that's what the troopers call 'em. It's powder and stone all wrapped up tight in barrels. The Rebels sling them over the walls from big machines. Same thing as a cartridge going off in a chamber, sort of. Only these go off outside. I heard about 'ern before, only nobody ever made one work. Look, Howie . . .” She gave him a hard, stern look. "We simply cannot stay here any longer. Don't you understand? If the Rebels get over the walls . . . and they will, too . . . nobody's going to get out. Can't you just try, Howie? Just try?"

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "Howie!" She was on her feet, glaring down at him. "You can't go to sleep, Howie!"

  He tried to listen to her. It was so easy not to do anything. She was probably right, too. They ought to do something. Only, it didn't seem real important anymore. And if they did something, what would it be? He couldn't think of anything very helpful.

  "Kari," he said wearily, "If Rebels are comin' in, how are we supposed to get out? And where's there to go, anyway?"

  "We can get out," she said stubbornly, "because we'll have horses. Nobody can stop us if we have horses."

  "Horses?" He decided that was worth waking up for. "Kari, what's the matter with you? Ain't nobody goin' to give us horses."

  "Of course not," she said crossly, "you'll have to shoot someone, Howie, and take them."

  He laughed, even if it hurt. But Kari wasn't laughing. "If you ain't had a good look at me, you better look again. I don't much feel like shootin' nobody."

  "You could if you wanted to. If you had to."

  He wasn't really sure that was so. What if he did, and missed? He hurt too much to think about getting hurt again.

  Kari seemed to guess his thoughts. "I know you don't think you could be any worse off than you are," she told him. "But that's not true, Howie. You sure will be if you just keep sitting there."

  He looked up at her. A Boomer hit somewhere down the street and shook the earth. "I owe you, Kari. I can't tell you how I feel 'bout what you done. Coming down and getting me out and all. But I don't feel like doin' nothing about it, Kari, and I don't figure you got no need waiting around for me any longer."

  Her eyes showed shocked disbelief. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean if you want to go shootin' someone and stealing horses, just get on about it."

  "I won't, either," she said fiercely, "not without you!"

  The words wrapped around him like something warm and easy, for a moment, pulling the hurt right out of him. Why, she felt something for him! She honest to God did. It had taken a whole war to pull it out of her, but there it was.

  "Kari . . .” He pulled himself up, fighting off the nausea that came with standing. "I'll . . . try, Kari. I'll give it the best I got, and I can't do no more than that." He looked at her. There was dirt on her face and her hair was tangled and powdered with dust, but he'd never wanted her more.

  "I couldn't let you down," he said. "I just couldn't. Not now."

  "Good," said Kari. "I knew if you just thought about it you'd see it."

  "See . . . what?"

  "Well that you owe me, Howie. Like you said. I wish we hadn't had to waste so much time talking about it."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  He felt some better with pants on. The man had been killed when one of the Boomers exploded right beside him; there wasn't much left of his head and the shirt was half torn away and blood-soaked, but
the pants were all right. He didn't care about the shirt, and boots were out of the question.

  Kari held the pistol and kept an eye on the street while he changed. The way things were in the city, Howie didn't figure anyone'd understand why he was stripping a dead body in the alley.

  "I hope you don't expect me to shoot anybody," Kari complained, "because I told you I don't know how to do that."

  "You did all right back there," said Howie, trying to get his bad foot through a narrow trouser leg. "Just keep watching, okay?"

  "That was different. It's not the same when you can go up and just … touch somebody with it."

  "Kari . . .” He stood and took the gun from her. "Just shut up, all right?" He tucked the weapon in his pants and limped out of the alley.

  "I don't know what you're so mad about," said Kari. "You do that all the time. You want me to be like you, and I'm not, Howie."

  "You ain't like anybody," he said darkly, "you don't need to worry none about that." He stopped, glanced up at the sky, and pulled her back in a doorway. A Boomer arced high overhead. He followed its wobbly path; the big barrel hit beyond them and exploded. The ground shuddered. Black smoke roiled into the street.

  Howie moved out of the doorway. "What I'm mad about is I don't like bein' used," he told her. "You think someone's doin' something 'cause… Shit, you find out it ain't that at all."

  "All right, Howie."

  "No!" He turned on her. "It ain't all right. Comity' down there and gettin' me is one thing. Why is somethin' else. Don't you see that?"

  She brushed hair out of her eyes. "Didn't we talk about this? Do we have to do it again? We don't have time, Howie."

  Howie glared down at his foot. It was throbbing again and starting to hurt something awful. "You wanted someone who could shoot and catch horses. That's about it, ain't it?"

  "I told you," Kari sighed, "I know everything there is to know about guns. But I don't know how to use one. Is there anything wrong with that?"