Let the Good Prevail

by Logan Miller

  Galugga.

  Galugga.

  Galugga.

  He spaced out and imitated the sound of the tank filling.

  Galugga.

  Galugga.

  Galugga.

  And then he decided, while waiting, to galugga another malty brew. He deserved it. He’d been working hard up there all by himself, for months, living in filth. He didn’t get paid enough to live like a rat. He deserved more money. But that would come. He was paying his dues. Look at his uncle.

  He galugga’d the beer and his dome expanded to an even higher consciousness. The ride up the mountain would be epic, a real screamer of wind and two-stroke howl—nothing better than speeding with a raging buzz and no helmet. Fear? He had none on the quad. Helmets were for pussies and punks who crashed.

  The jerrican went silent. It was empty.

  Ruben bungeed it next to the beers and straddled the seat. He searched for his red-mirrored goggles and realized at that moment that he had never taken them off.

  He readjusted his .40 cal Beretta in the back of his waistband before ripping onto the asphalt and then pitching left across the yellow lines and up the wilderness road with the bag of ice leaking a trail of water droplets.

  ᴥ

  “We’re outta here,” Caleb said. He took Lelah by the arm and headed back through the forest toward the trucks on the other side of the rise.

  Jake crashed through the low branches and caught back up with them, charged with excitement, the prospect of it all.

  “I know what you’re thinking so stop thinking it,” Caleb said without breaking stride.

  “And what am I thinking?”

  Caleb began packing up the wood truck.

  “Hold on, brother.” Jake stepped in front of him. “And hear me out.”

  Caleb lifted the chainsaws into the truck bed and hitched the log splitter onto the ball joint.

  “Caleb,” Lelah said, “what’s wrong?” She hadn’t opened her mouth yet.

  “We’re getting outta here before we get mixed up into something that don’t concern us.”

  “Just hear me out, bro.”

  “I know what you’re going to say, and it ain’t good.”

  Then Lelah said, “Caleb, wait a second.”

  This stopped Caleb. Had he heard that?

  “Are you serious, babe?”

  Jake placed his hands on Caleb’s chest in an attempt to calm him.

  “Listen, brother,” he started, “you’re your own man, and so am I. A gift was just dropped in our laps and we’re fools if we don’t accept it.”

  “That ain’t no gift.”

  “You don’t go to prison for stealing pot. It’s practically legal.”

  “No, you get killed.”

  “Nobody is going to catch us.”

  “What if they come back? They haven’t been gone long.”

  “We could cut it down and have it stacked in the back of our truck in ten minutes.”

  “It ain’t ours,” Caleb said.

  “They shouldn’t be growing it up here in the first place.”

  “So that’s how you rationalize stealing?”

  “We steal wood from this forest all day long if you really want to get philosophical on my ass. What’s the difference?”

  “We pay for the permits.”

  “Those plants could turn our lives around,” Jake said. “There’s a bunch of money over there. A whole shitload of it. Lelah, what do you think?”

  “She’s not part of this—don’t even think about dragging her into it.”

  “She’s here. I’m sure she has an opinion. She’s gonna be your wife, which now makes all of us business partners.”

  “Babe, you don’t have to answer anything.”

  “It’s between you two,” she said.

  “You’re neutral?” Caleb shot back. “You’re fucking neutral?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know. Like Jake said, there’s a lot of money there, I guess. I know how hard you guys work. It hurts me to see you struggle for money, Caleb.”

  “I ain’t struggling. I’m happy to get up and go to work each morning.”

  “You’re gonna be working two jobs just to pay the bills,” she said, raising her voice slightly. “When am I going to see you, babe? We’ve got a wedding to pay for.”

  “It ain’t always gonna be this hard.”

  “It can get a hell of a lot easier right now,” Jake said.

  Then Lelah added, “They’re not supposed to be growing it in the first place, right?”

  “Have you two lost your minds? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  “I’m going in the truck,” Lelah said.

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Lelah opened the driver’s side door to her pickup and sat inside.

  Caleb exhaled and stared at Jake, a few feet separating them. “How are you going to get rid of it once you got it? You thought about that?”

  “I know a guy in Albuquerque who’s in the business,” Jake said. “He’d buy it from us.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  “And since when do you know anyone down there?”

  “We met while you were overseas.”

  “We got a good life, bro. We don’t need to mess it up.”

  “A good life?” Jake snapped. The pressure. The dream. The life he imagined and the future he’d seen so clearly in the few minutes since he found his treasure was being threatened. “A good fucking life? We share a goddamn trailer. We ain’t got no health care, no college degrees, no retirement fund, we’re about to lose everything we got—and it ain’t because we haven’t worked hard for our slice of the American Dream. Our backs are gonna be broken by the time we’re fifty. Knees shot. We can’t even get a goddamn bank loan. We’ve done things by the book. We’ve done it the right way. You lost your leg for this goddamn country and what did they give you? Some cheap medals and a thousand dollars a month—they should’ve given you a room in the fucking White House.”

  “This ain’t about that.”

  “This is like one of those fairy tales where the poor woodsman comes across the treasure in the forest.”

  “And it always ends badly.”

  “Not this time.”

  Jake climbed into the back of the wood truck and grabbed his chainsaw. He jumped down and stood as close to Caleb as he could without getting punched. “In or out?”

  “Out.”

  “I’ll still split it with you, bro. But I ain’t leaving it behind.”

  Jake marched back up the slope toward his El Dorado and was soon lost behind the trees.

  Caleb yanked open the driver’s side door to Lelah’s truck.

  “Scoot over.”

  He nearly snapped the key when he turned over the ignition. He wheeled through the crackling tinder and turned onto the wilderness road.

  ᴥ

  The vista was epic and he felt a sense of wild accomplishment as he gazed upon a hundred miles of desolation, a necessary pit stop on the ten-mile ride back up the mountain, the perfect time to galugga another brew.

  Another wide mouth.

  To the dome.

  He felt like some videogame warlord marveling over his kingdom. From horizon to horizon, he couldn’t make out a single structure, a note or vibration of mankind. The road was the only sign of human intervention. But the ghosts traveled below, he knew that much. You couldn’t see them. They were invisible. But they were there. They never ventured into the high country though, into the pine forests where it was cool with shade. The lowlands were their precinct, the windswept pueblos, the lonely mesa land, and the ruins of bleached bones. He never would have taken the job if the spirits swam through the trees at night up here. Never. It would’ve scared the shit out of him. Ghosts didn’t climb mountains. Thank God.

  This could all be mine one day, thought Ruben. All mine. Why not?

  He pulled the Beretta from his waistb
and and waved it over his domain, threatening his subjects to obey his rule. A pistol in one hand and a frosty green grenade in the other.

  He’d have twenty G’s cold cash when he was through. He’d slap some iced-out wheels on his Civic. Drive over to Tanya’s and show her his wad of hundreds and his .40 cal. She’d say yes this time. She’d be his lady. A fine piece of ass. Finest piece of ass he ever seen.

  Nineteen years old and living large. Deep in the game.

  He tilted the green bottle and the wide mouth dropped malt liquor down his throat and he floated on the fumes. His vision had begun to blur and he could feel the oncoming escape when he would disappear into his thoughts. But first he had to get back up the mountain, back to his tent. It was safe there, safe to get zombie drunk, become temporarily blind, do as you please, jerk off to Tanya all night long. All night. In the four months that he’d been living up there he hadn’t seen a soul near his campsite. Not within five miles. It was safe to be free up there. To be yourself. To howl at the moon. To be shit-housed—and alive. To bang Tanya. For when he was drunk he was most alive. He was almost there. He’d be there soon enough. They were a few days from harvest. The home stretch. He could celebrate a little. He could celebrate a lot.

  ᴥ

  Under the blaze of Jake’s chainsaw the ripe plants toppled onto the forest floor. There was no resistance, no pushback from the thin stalks, and they fell in great whooshes of stinky bud. The three-foot blade was made for chewing through the hardwood forests of the world, mighty trees that towered above every living thing. These weren’t even saplings. They were weeds. He felled a half-dozen with each swoop of the blade, whirling in semi-circles, giddy with moneystrokes—for that’s what each stroke of the blade generated—MONEY. CASH. DREAMS.

  He killed the saw and dragged an armload of plants through the undergrowth toward the wood truck. He heaved the plants into the truck bed and headed back into the forest for more green gold.

  ᴥ

  The Ford pickup creaked and rocked along the ruts of the wilderness road.

  They were not speaking.

  They hadn’t spoken.

  Caleb wanted to punch the dashboard. His stupid fucking brother. That dumb motherfucker. And she nearly sided with him. His fiancé. The woman he was going to marry. Fools. He shook his head, his arms extended and flexed, hands clenched on the steering wheel, wringing the water out of it.

  Lelah looked across the cab. She wanted to slide over and nudge up to him but she could feel his anger. She’d let him cool a bit. At least till the bottom of the mountain.

  Caleb turned a sharp corner and stomped on the brake pedal. The truck slid in the loose earth as the ATV swerved around them and motored up the road without paying them any notice. A jerk of the handlebars, a shift of his weight. Throttle and rip. The rider was gone.

  Caleb remembered the red-mirrored goggles. It was the speeding idiot they had seen on the way up the mountain. They had nearly hit him or he’d nearly hit them both times now and he didn’t so much as slow down and wave or venture an apology. He just kept tearing up the road with a middle finger to the world.

  Lelah looked at Caleb again, hoping that he would meet her eyes with his. But he did not return her gaze.

  He could feel her watching him. But he was still too angry. Afraid of what he might say. Wait. Cool off.

  He took his foot off the brake and they continued down the mountain.

  ᴥ

  Jake surveyed the marijuana garden. He’d nearly cut down the entire crop. He hauled another bushel through the forest and over to the truck now loaded high with plants.

  He looked through the trees to the nearest ridgeline where fingers of sunlight shafted through. He thought about leaving. The afternoon breeze was barely a whisper through the pinyon and he searched far into the shadows of the wild with his ears and eyes. He searched the arroyos and canyons of the mountain and the recesses beyond them. There was only stillness.

  Again, he thought about leaving. But the vault was open and the bank tellers and the guards were gone.

  He looked up at the truck bed, the heap of marijuana higher than he could reach, the tantalizing and powerful scent of the sweet leaf. The strong fragrance spoke to him of one thing—money.

  And there was more.

  A little more and he would have it all, the entire garden. He listened again. Nothing stirred. No birds. No squirrels. And no more wind, not even a whisper this time.

  He was alone in the wilderness and free to exercise his will.

  He felt a rush, an audacious thrill, an energy and sense of adventure that hadn’t been there in a very long time. He felt powerful, triumphant, the adrenaline and perverse satisfaction of a misdeed done well. An inner applause rose in a great swelling wave of endorphins—continue, it said—keep going. Don’t stop now.

  He nodded to the cheering arena, proud of his resolve, and strutted back into the trees for one more haul. To finish the job.

  ᴥ

  Ruben had turned off the road a ways back and was cutting his own trail up the mountain, slaloming through the forest. Making a game of it. Speed was enhanced with a good buzz—it made everything seem twice as fast, like driving a spaceship at warp speed. The quad was made for this type of high-octane action.

  He carved close to a knotty pine, inches away from scraping himself off the vehicle, and chuckled with alcohol-fueled recklessness.

  He could win the X Games.

  He was a light-speed warrior.

  He was Han-muthafuckin’-Solo.

  He came to a small clearing and whipped the quad into a donut. He straightened the vehicle and gunned it down into an arroyo and over a rise when his brow furrowed and he eased on the throttle. He squinted and then silenced the engine. Through the trees he saw what appeared to be a wood truck and heard the scream of a chainsaw suspiciously close to his camp.

  He sat there in the saddle and deliberated.

  No way, he told himself. There’s just no way.

  But it was harvest time and the thieves came out during the harvest.

  Had somebody followed him one day on a run to the store? Or his slip that one night at the casino? He hadn’t told anyone about his secret job up here in the mountains. He’d disappeared for the summer. It was the longest time he’d ever kept his mouth shut about anything. Only a few people knew he was up here—and he was growing it for them. He wasn’t even from this part of the state. He was a hundred miles from home.

  He tracked through the drunken haze of his memory and he cursed his luck. Adrenaline surged through him and he became sober in the moment. He drew his .40 cal from the back of his waistband and stalked into the trees.

  ᴥ

  The Ford pickup approached the cattle guard at the mouth of the wilderness road. They still hadn’t spoken to each other and it had been a twenty-minute ride down the mountain.

  A suspicion, at first remote and distorted with anger, had become an immediate concern for Caleb as he turned over the events of the day. Who was the guy on the ATV? What was he doing up there—riding down in the morning and back up in the afternoon? There were plenty of off-roaders and thrill seekers who drove around the hundreds of miles of wild roads in this part of the country. They’d done it with friends when they were younger. They still did it. But this guy, at this time, on the same seldom used fork of the road that led to nowhere and dead-ended a short ways from where they harvested wood today would not leave his thoughts.

  Caleb was no longer angry. He was worried about his brother.

  You dismiss coincidence in times like these and act. He stopped the truck.

  “It’s gotta be him,” he said.

  “Him?”

  “The guy on the quad. It’s gotta be him.”

  Caleb whipped the Ford into a 180 and sped back up the wilderness road to his brother.

  ᴥ

  The blade chewed through the final row of money trees and the bounty toppled onto the ground. He stood and caught his breath, sucking in th
e high altitude air, sweating from the feverish last round of cutting. The garden had been taken down and the heist was nearly complete. He was glad he came back to finish the job. He was going to be rich—and his brother would thank him later when they were drinking piña coladas on the beach at some tropical resort, away from the infected splinters and angry insects, shading themselves under lavish palm trees and colorful umbrellas. He’d never drunk a piña colada before and he was eager to try one. Or ten—a hundred of them for that matter, flinging twenty dollar tips at the bartender with each round. Watch the ladies crowd around him. I’ve got an attractant now—the most powerful one on Planet Earth.

  He couldn’t remember ever feeling this good about himself. His mind was thundering with possibilities. He packed a chew and soared even higher. He slung his saw over his shoulder, pulled tight his work gloves, and prepared for the final haul. But then slowly, as if he could feel the presence of someone watching him in the forest, Jake turned his head and discovered a man with red-mirrored goggles over his eyes, pointing a gun at him.

  “Toss that thing to the side,” Ruben said.

  Jake did as he was told. The saw landed in the matted marijuana leaves with a heavy thud.

  “Now get on your motherfucking knees and put your hands on top of your head. Don’t fuck around.”

  Ruben inched forward with his gun hand shaking.

  “You dumb motherfucker,” he said before kicking Jake in the face.

  Jake’s world went black and he lost consciousness for a glimpse. When he awakened, and lifted his dizzy head from the leafy ground, he could smell the beer on the man’s steamy breath as a punch drove into his nose and his world went black again.

  ᴥ

  The Ford pickup fishtailed around a bend and spit dust and gravel into the forested canyon below. Caleb righted the truck and stomped back on the gas, both hands on the wheel, hoping that he was wrong, hoping that his suspicions were incorrect and that he’d run into his brother around the next corner, driving the wood truck back down the mountain, his face plastered with a huge stupid grin.

  Lelah clenched the door handle and jerked forward in her seatbelt. It pressed hard against her breasts and burned into the skin of her neck. She could see the worry on Caleb’s face and that was a rare thing to witness. He was not the kind to show worry, at least not since he got back from overseas, from the war.