by A. M. Goetz
I heard ‘em stomping all around, calling me everything but my own name. I stood still, hardly daring to breathe until they settled down some, and when I heard ‘em laughing, I knew they’d gotten into the whiskey. I hoped they’d be good and stone drunk before Bo got home, but then I heard the valves clattering in his old beater and knew he was pulling up the lane early. I had to get to him before he walked into the mess I’d just crawled away from, so I was there at the top of the steps when he pulled up. He must have knew right away that shit had hit the fan, ‘cause he just helped me down the steps and pushed me into the passenger seat with no arguments. He slapped the locks down just in time, and the last things I remember from that night was Bo’s devastated face, somebody’s bloody handprint on the outside of Bo’s window and Jane’s warm, skinny shoulder beneath mine as they dragged me into her dad’s living room.
15
Poor Bo. He just sat there slack-jawed. He was used to Merle, he was used to hearing about the horrible things Merle done, but I knew he wasn’t expecting to hear that Merle was the one killed Pop.
And I kicked myself for telling him. I think Bo and Sonny and me, we could have gone all our lives without knowing that. Pop was gone. He was there one day, and the next day he wasn’t, and that was all that mattered.
We didn’t need the gory details.
We didn’t need to find out that it was Merle’s ugly, fleshy face that was the last thing Pop seen. And I sure never needed to know that Pop probably died thinking he’d failed to keep me safe. I couldn’t remember a second of what Merle said happened, but if he told the truth, then I was out in the woods with Pop that day, just me and him.
He had to have died thinking I was next.
The tears come then. They just started running down my face like someone had left the pump on, and then these horrible, embarrassing sounds that I never wanted another living soul to hear, let alone my brother, started coming out of me, and I couldn’t stop ‘em. Felt like I was a little baby again, and someone had yanked away my toy.
I pushed myself up off the ground and stumbled off to the tree line, trying to keep at least a little dignity, but Bo, he was right behind me. He put a hand on the back of my head and pressed me into him, and I could feel his hand petting my hair.
I lost it then, just broke down like a damned girl. I cried in my brother’s arms for everything we’d lost. I cried for the times Pop would carry home weird-looking plants and mushrooms and have me cut them up with a plastic knife while he had Bo and Sonny find them in the big field guide that always sat, stained and wrinkled, right on the kitchen table. I cried for all the times I remembered him lifting me high up onto his shoulders so I could reach the apples on the apple tree better or pluck a big, green mantis from high up the porch railing and carry it to safety off by the shed.
My knees give out, and Bo staggered under the weight, but he managed to lower us both to the ground anyway. I felt his own body shaking as he vented a few tears hisself. I didn’t know if Bo was sad ‘cause he was picturing Pop’s last day too, or if he was sad ‘cause I’d been the one had to witness it. I couldn’t bear it either way.
“I don’t remember, Bo.” I moaned. “I swear I don’t remember a second of it. If I seen it ...”
Bo’s voice was gruff, and he took his time to answer, but he eventually shushed me like Pop used to. “It’s okay, Dack. It’s gonna be okay.”
“He’ll come for me, Bo. He’s coming right now. You know he is. He’s gonna remember what he said that night, what he told. He’ll know I seen him kill Beth. I can tell where her body is, Bo. Even if I cain’t remember ... remember ... P-pop. Ain’t no way he’s gonna let me live. And if he finds me, he’s gonna find you too.”
“I’ll be right here, Dack.” Bo murmured. “I’ll be here, and he’ll have to kill me this time ‘fore he ever gits to you. I won’t let it happen. Sonny won’t let it happen. Let him come. I’ll gut the ugly bastard and toss him in the Boquet. Watch his worthless self shoot over the fucking falls.”
16
We slept inside the tent that night with the flap zipped up tight and our hunting knives stashed under our bags. I was spooked, and I think Bo, he was spooked too. It was just the big brother in him wouldn’t let him talk about it. He kept on acting like everything was fine, but I noticed his eyes scanning the tree line before we turned in, and I woke up once, early on, and found the flap open and Bo gone. I felt the panic starting up til he said low, “I’m right here. Go back to sleep.”
He was sitting outside, stoking up our fire and standing guard, and I was able to sleep then, ‘cause I knew he was watching my back.
Next morning, Bo was up before me, and I was pretty sure it was ‘cause he never came back to bed. He looked tired, but he was anxious to move on, too. He had everything but the stuff I was using packed up and off to the side, and he’d dowsed the fire. I was a little sad at that ‘cause we’d only had one day of waking up easy and fixing us a leisurely breakfast, but I’d hulled us some walnuts and Bo had roasted ‘em in the fire forever, and we took about an hour cracking ‘em open and eating the meat. That was breakfast, and it hit the spot enough so’s we could go on.
Bo got the map out and stretched it open across the floor of the tent ‘cause that was the only thing not covered in wet frost. It was a cold morning, just after sun-up, and he blew on his hands to warm ‘em as he huddled over the paper that would get us to Sonny.
As bad a shape as my poor gloves was, at least I had ‘em. Bo didn’t have any, and I felt guilty ‘cause even the ones I had, he’d bought me. They come already broke in from the thrift store in town, and Bo’d had to hide the money to buy ‘em, even though they only cost a dollar or two. Merle was savvy as shit when it came to knowing when Bo got paid and how much.
“Here.” Bo pointed to a spot on the map that looked like it was surrounded for miles by nothing but trees. “We’re about here right now.” He instructed, tracing a skinny finger upstate.
I tried to follow along, but I got distracted by that finger. It had the nail chewed off clean down to the quick with tiny scabs at both ends. Looked damn painful.
“Whallonsburg. That’s where Pop’s cabin is. Right along the Boquet.”
“Hey, Bo?”
“Yeah?”
“What about ... you know ... property taxes and stuff like that? What if that old cabin don’t belong to us no more?”
Bo looked up at me then, and I could see he’d been tossing around that same worry. “Not sure.” He shrugged. “Maybe ... if Sonny is there ... he took care of things.” He sat back on his heels, sighing. Bo sure did sigh a lot. “I guess we’ll find out when we git there. Ain’t much else we can do.”
I stared at the map, fear nagging in the back of my head. “You think Merle knows about Pop’s cabin?”
Bo give me this look, then, like he seen right into my soul, but he grinned at the end of it. “Hell no. You cain’t hardly git to it without hiking in. Merle ain’t gonna move around anymore than he has to.” He looked back down at the map, pointing. “We skirt the outer edges of the Catskills here, and head due north. Only take a few hours if we was driving. It’s closer than I thought.”
I chewed on that for a bit. “We can take our time, though, right?” I asked, trying to keep the fear in the back of my throat. “Kinda fun, you know. Just us, out here.”
Bo stayed quiet as he started folding the map back small enough to fit inside the plastic bag he’d pulled it from.
“Bo?” I nudged, never one for being patient.
He looked up at me then, and I could tell he didn’t wanna say what he had on his mind. I knew he would, though. That was just Bo.
“I think we should push through it. Skirt the houses and the roads, and find Sonny quick as we can. We can find somewhere to load up on supplies first though.” He added, and I knew he was trying to soften the blow. “Get you some of them canned hot dogs you like.”
And right up to then I was gonna argue, but Bo, he knew me like
he knew hisself, and just thinking about them hot dogs sent me right off-track.
“They’re sausages.” I corrected, my mouth suddenly watering so much I could barely talk without drooling.
Bo snorted. “They ain’t sausages. They CALL ‘em sausages, but ain’t nothing sausage about ‘em.”
I crawled backward out of the tent and began pulling up stakes. “Either way. Wish we had some right now.”
Bo joined me. “I don’t know how you eat them things, man.”
“Same way you eat hot sauce.” I grimaced, just thinking about it.
“Hot sauce is for men. Baby hot dogs in a can?” Bo shot back, “Them’s for girls.”
“Yeah? So why’d you bring ‘em up then?” I demanded, starting to git hot.
He shrugged, “Cause you like ‘em, and ‘cause Merle never would buy ‘em for you.”
And I didn’t know what to say to that til Bo added his zinger. “Guess I don’t mind if my little brother is really a little sister.”
I tackled him then, and we fell back over the remains of the tent. And I had time to think, before he got me in a headlock and giggled like a damned fool, that I was sure glad I’d tugged the poles out first.
17
We stuck to the regular hiking trails as much as we could, Bo’s map leading us on. We skirted as many towns and houses as we could too, not too much worried about supplies. Pop had taught us everything we needed to know to stay alive in any woods for any length of time, and honestly, just us – alone together in God’s country – it was all we needed. So when we come up on a town, Bo surprised me by striding right up to a line of phone booths and dialing Jane’s number. Once I realized it was gonna be a long time ‘fore he said all needed to, I settled down in the gravel, using my pack as a chair and leaning up against the booth. I heard snippets of conversation, like when Bo called Jane “Janie,” and when she must’a said something funny that made my brother giggle like a little girl. I snorted then, couldn’t help myself, and I saw Bo frowning down at me through the glass, so I took a hint and wandered off. I ended up in the little store just across the street, but I guess I should’a remembered I’d been in my clothes for more’n a day, for more’n four days, really. And Bo and me – we washed off in the creek every chance we got and used deodorant, but for some folks, I guess it’s just easier to look down and sniff than it is to go about business.
At the least, I guess I smelt like wood smoke. Maybe like stink too, I don’t know. I couldn’t notice it, but when a little girl smiled up at me all shy-like when I was checking out the potato chips, I heard her ma tell her not to stare at the homeless man. And when the kid asked her ma why, the lady said ‘cause I probably already felt bad enough between the dirt and the odor. I didn’t need staring too. I had to snort when I heard it, and the lady, she frowned like it was Friday and she’d plumb forgot. She tugged her kid closer in then, so she wouldn’t catch my homelessness, I guess, and I sort of forgot about the whole thing ‘til the kid’s dad came in. He took one look at me standing next to his wife and little girl and swelled hisself up like a porcupine. He told me to move, and I snorted at him and rolled my eyes, holding my ground. I’d already seen everything I needed to see in the potato chip aisle, but my Ashkettle pride stepped in then, and I’d have planted myself there, next to that kid and that wife all damned night long, so long as I knew he didn’t want me to. It was a thing always got me into trouble with Merle – not backing down from a fight. But I figured I had just as much right to be looking at potato chips as he did – even if he was in a pansy suit and shoes so shiny they looked like they was made for girls.
He kept on though, saying shit like it was no wonder someone had beat the bejesus outta me, me crowding women and children like that, and why didn’t I go take a fucking bath for fuck’s sake.
For a guy in a pansy suit, he sure had a Ashkettle vocabulary, I’d give him that.
And I knew exactly how to handle guys like him. I just smiled and shook my head and rolled my eyes a few more times while he got louder and louder, and then the manager was coming over and telling him to pipe down or leave, and that really did it. He started shouting about how white trash like me was allowed in the place and him and his family wasn’t welcome. Said he knew the pastor of the church and the mayor of the whole damned town, and he’d shut this whole fucking place down if they didn’t do something about me.
The manager then, he took a long look at me, and I thought he was gonna tell me to hightail it, but instead, he just sort of smiled like he was embarrassed and told the guy I had as much right to shop there as I wanted, that he was the only one being loud, and that if he didn’t remove hisself immediately, they’d call cops.
And I couldn’t help it, I snorted again, louder this time, and that was the thing broke him, I guess. He come at me, shoving me out the door and tried to push me around behind the dumpster, and I meant to give the guy hell, I did, but then he lobbed onto a chunk of my hair – what was it with crazy bastards and my hair anyway—and suddenly I was back in Pop’s house and Beth was dead on the floor in front of me, her hand flapped across my bare foot, and I just froze up. I couldn’t get my arms or legs to move as the guy shoved me up against the metal side of the dumpster and just started wailing on me. I felt far away, like I couldn’t even feel the pain of the guy hitting me, far away, ‘til I heard Bo and recognized the way he walked. He come whistling up to the door of the market, and I guess the noise we was making musta got his attention. I heard his surprised, “The fuck?” And next thing I knew, the guy was off me and on the ground and Bo was stomping the shit outta him.
The whole time Bo was beating the guy, he was saying shit, but none of it could penetrate the weird fog my brain had itself in. It happened like that sometimes. One minute I’d be fine, and the next, a whole hour or sometimes even a day, went by, and I couldn’t remember none of it.
It was like that now. I sort of seen Bo finish up with the guy, leave him lying there bleeding on the sidewalk, and I sorta felt Bo’s hands on my face, heard him say stuff, but it sounded far away, and I couldn’t make it out. He was angry though. I knew that much. He was angry, but his hands was gentle when he tugged me up and wrapped an arm around my back to steady me. I think he dragged us both back into the woods ‘cause I felt it get cool and peaceful all around me.
And then I was on the ground again, except it was soft this time, and Bo’s trembling hands was on my face, trying to stop my nose from bleeding, I guess. His voice was trembly too, but I filed that away for later.
And then there was nothing but the smell of pine needles and the burn of vomit rising up in the back of my throat.
Sure felt like old times.
18
I heard angry voices. They was on the trail ahead of me, but I couldn’t make out much of what they was saying, just the occasional word launched loud and fast like a weapon.
An ugly laugh, followed by a threat, “You can say it all you want, but you got them boys at home, and you’re away an awful lot, aintcha?”
Another voice, sounding like Pop. He was angry and shouting, and I got scared. Pop never shouted. Even when Shaw McAllister burnt down that chicken coop with all the chickens still in it, Pop didn’t shout. He just drove over with the county sheriff and told Shaw why they was taking him in. Pop looked sick about what Shaw done, but he kept his feelings to hisself.
Then the voice stepped out of the shadows cast by a big, sprawling tree, and it was the devil I seen on Late Late Theater one night. Had big ugly horns and red blood running down from its empty eye sockets, and its body was made of fire. It stepped forward, and Pop took a step back, except he wasn’t Pop. He was a great elk with a full goatee and a rack that spanned ever’ bit of four feet. It was Pop’s voice coming out of the elk’s mouth though, and I clapped fat, baby hands together ‘cause it made me laugh.
The elk stopped and turned its big head toward me, opened its mouth like it was gonna say something, and then it was down and floundering in the lea
ves. I didn’t hear the gunshot til after the elk dropped, and for a time I thought the animal was just playing. I seen the blood then, though. It was shot in the head and bleeding from out around its eyes. It looked at me sad-like and opened its mouth again.
It wasn’t Pop’s voice this time, though. It was the voice of an animal in pain. It bleated once – this long, drawn-out wail that started down deep and got breathy at the end. The elk’s antlers fell off, and the devil bent down and picked them up and stuck them in his pocket. He stood there looking at me, his fire all bulged out from the rack he’d shoved down in it. He grinned and reached down and scooped me up too. He put me in the pocket with the antlers, and I didn’t scream or nothing, even though it was hot and burning me. I just sort of faded away to nothing.
The devil, then, he stepped over the elk’s fallen body and walked away. I pulled myself up and looked out over the edge of the Devil’s pocket and studied the elk’s carcass lying there in the leaves like a discarded toy. It was mine, and I wanted it back. I shouted up at the devil that I wanted my elk back, but he just shook his head and placed a hot hand on my hair.
“You didn’t ever need it.” The devil said. “You’ll be stronger without it.”
But I knew the Devil was lying.
19
“ ... ake up!” I heard Bo’s voice. He sounded all tired like and worn down. “Dack. Shit, man. Wake the hell up!” I felt him shake me a bit, and it seemed like it set all my parts to rattling and clanging together. The groan slipped out ‘fore I could stop it, and I felt Bo freeze.
