by Greg Barth
Ragus considered this. He hadn’t thought much about school in a long time. He hadn’t thought much about prayer in an even longer time. “Who did that?” he said.
“What? Took prayer out of schools? The atheists, that’s who.”
Ragus nodded. “Can you add some tomato slices to my order?”
“You got it,” she said and walked off.
Ragus turned his attention back to the tablet. His hunch was proving true—he could take his time and easily get ahead of them. They were avoiding interstates and major roadways, that much was obvious, but they were traveling parallel to them. Doing so tipped their hand.
Ragus would get on I-40 and leapfrog ahead of them. He would go as far as Asheville and wait for them to stop. It was a risk, but it made sense.
Ragus closed the app and brought up his stock report. He was pleased to find that the lack of prayer in schools hadn’t affected his portfolio’s performance. At least the opening numbers looked good.
FIVE
SELENA
I opened my eyes. The truck jostled me around. I looked through the windshield. We were on a dirt road going up a steep slope. The tire tracks on either side were clear, but the middle of the one-lane road was covered with tall weeds and brush. The weeds were scraping under the floorboard of the truck. Tall trees lined either side of the road.
“Where are we?” I said.
“Heading up to the cabin I was telling you about. This road was cut through here over a hundred years ago when they timbered these mountains. The forest grew back a long time ago. The road was kept clear for forest fire access.”
We hit a bump and I lurched forward. Max scampered nervously on the seat.
“You call this clear?” I said.
“Relatively speaking.”
“This is starting to feel like being in one of The Wilderness Family movies, Henry. You know, minus the family and all.”
He chuckled.
“Whose cabin is this again?”
“All this land belongs to the estate of Roger Grindstaff.”
“Never heard of him,” I said. I lit up a Winston and rolled the window down.
“He was a big deal in this part of the country. A war hero. He had interests in real estate, coal mining, banking, you name it. A regular entrepreneur. He owned land all over. Even had a ranch in Australia. Had more money than anybody else I ever knew.”
“And he put a hunting cabin way the hell up here.” The truck crossed a ravine carved out by runoff and I put my hand out to steady myself with the dash.
“We did a fair amount of hunting together up here in the early 80s. He owned everything you see around you.”
I opened the bourbon and took a drink.
“You need to get something on your stomach,” Henry said.
I took another drink.
“Something besides that,” he said.
I took a third drink.
“So what makes you think old man Grindstaff would want me staying in his hunting cabin?”
“Oh, he won’t mind. He’s been dead for seven years. I’m just hoping that the cabin is still up here.”
“How much farther?”
“Twenty-four miles from the state road. We’ve been going up for quite a spell though.”
“Jeez.”
We rode in silence. The autumn colors were breathtaking. The trees, the forest, and the mountains surrounding were a splotched canvas of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns. The road curved and wound along the side of the mountain, but we were always going uphill.
I bounced and jostled with the truck and drank my Jack Daniels. It warmed my stomach and revived my buzz.
The sky grew dark in the east.
“Think we’re going to get there before dark?” I said.
“Can’t be too much farther now.”
He slowed the truck as he approached a shallow creek that overran the old road. The truck forded the creek easily and continued up the steep grade.
“Can you stop? I’ve got to visit the little girls’ room.”
“Sure. I’d say Max may want to stretch his legs too.”
There was nowhere to pull over, but it didn’t matter. No traffic had passed on this road in months, hell, probably years. Henry simply stopped in the middle of the trail and put the truck in park. I grabbed a couple of napkins from our lunch bag.
I got out and stretched. The forest smelled like damp earth, rotted leaves, and vegetation. It felt good to be up. The bourbon was hitting me pretty hard. I walked a dizzy line over to the edge of the road. I went through the trees until I found a good spot. I looked around to make sure there weren’t any snakes or anything creepy crawling around on the ground, then dropped my pants and got down to business.
I squatted there for a few seconds listening. I heard something odd.
“Henry.”
“Yeah?” he said. He was out of sight.
“How far from the highway are we?”
“Oh, probably twenty miles or so, why?”
“I hear something.”
I stood and pulled up my pants. I buttoned and zipped.
I walked down to the edge of the trees near the road and stopped. I stood still and listened. Sounded like a vehicle approaching from behind, only it was scraping and struggling more to get up the rough road than Henry’s truck had.
“Yeah, I hear it,” Henry said.
I crouched low and crept along the tree line. The leaves rustled under my feet. I placed each foot down as softly as I could. I walked down the road about fifty yards. I saw movement.
I moved a branch from in front of my face, peered through the foliage and spotted a car. How in the hell could anybody get a car up here? It had been hard enough with the pickup.
The car looked familiar. Where had I seen it before?
The car stopped.
I swallowed nervously. This could not be good.
A man stepped out from the car. He had wavy salt-and-pepper hair.
And I knew.
I moved as fast as I could back to the truck, trying also to be silent.
Henry stood beside the truck on the driver’s side, looking down the hill in the direction of the car.
“Henry,” I said in an urgent, hushed whisper.
He looked up at me.
“Get your rifle,” I said.
He moved closer to the truck. I came out of the woods on the other side. The passenger side door was already open. I reached inside and took my shotgun.
I moved back over to the cover of the trees.
Henry started down the road.
“No! Henry!” I said.
He held his hand up, palm out to me, signaling for me to stay put.
He had no idea that the man behind us had been at the gas station earlier that day. I wanted to shout out and tell Henry that this guy was the one that Max growled at that morning. Clearly he had tracked us down somehow.
I had to stop him.
I took a step forward.
Henry raised his rifle and pointed it down the road. “Stop right there,” he said.
Gunfire erupted. There were five or six quick shots. I don’t think Henry fired a single round. He went down, clutching his chest.
Max went into a rage. He growled and lunged down the road toward the attacker.
I kept my eye fixed on Henry. He was gasping for breath as blood spilled across the front of his shirt.
I raised my hand to my mouth. “Henry,” I gasped.
His body relaxed, his breathing stopped, and his eyes lost focus.
“Henry,” I said again.
I had seen enough death recently to know that Henry was gone.
“Dear god,” I said. My pulse quickened. I felt my face flush and a mixture of fear, anger, and sadness wash through me like a flash flood.
I brought up my shotgun. I looked down the dirt road, but I could not see the man. The brush was too thick, or he was too well hidden. But I felt him approaching.
Another shot rang out
, and I heard Max yelp.
“Damn it, no!” I said.
I stepped out to the edge of the trees. He stood just on this side of the shallow creek. He was slapping a fresh magazine into his automatic pistol.
This was my best chance.
I stepped further from the treeline to get a better angle. I raised the shotgun to my shoulder. I made an effort to concentrate through the sour, drunken fog I felt inside my brain.
“Fucker,” I said and fired the first barrel.
He saw it coming. He stepped to the side, jerking his head like a striking serpent. It was as though his mind registered double-barrel and he knew I would have to lead more with the first barrel depending on the direction he moved in.
I was confident that some of the buckshot pellets hit him, but it was far from lethal.
He raised his pistol and squeezed off three quick shots.
He was good.
I felt at least one of the rounds pierce my chest.
“Ah, fuck,” I gasped.
I ran across the road. I raised the shotgun and pointed at his head.
He trailed me, still squeezing off shots. I felt their impact. My chest and shoulders burned like they were on fire.
I squeezed the second trigger of the shotgun and saw his head jerk back from the impact; his dark hair flipped up.
He kept firing the pistol at me.
I was desperate to get to the cover of the trees. I felt a hard blow to the side of my head. It felt as though my head had been hit by a semi traveling at 60 miles per hour.
I felt my teeth vibrate in my mouth. A loud WHOOONNG sound rang out inside my skull. Everything went black. I felt as though I was floating above the ground. And then I sank down into a deep darkness.
SIX
RAGUS
Fucking bitch.
Ragus felt his face. At least one buckshot pellet had hit him in the cheek, smashing two molars. He spat blood and tooth fragments onto the ground. His jaw didn’t want to work right. He thought he had swallowed the buckshot. His right ear was mangled and his neck stung.
Stupid fucking bitch.
He walked up the rough dirt road to the body of the girl. She was lying in the weeds on her back. Her head was down the slope, her feet just off the edge of the road. Her chest was blood-soaked. Her hair was matted with blood on one side. Her eyes were half open and unfocused. She was dead.
Good, but best to make sure. He kicked the shotgun away from her hand.
He raised his pistol and pointed at her face and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He checked the Beretta and saw that the .32 was locked open. The blast of buckshot had rattled him to the point that he hadn’t noticed his gun was empty. He had more bullets back in the car, but he had only brought the two loaded clips with him and both were spent.
Didn’t matter. She was dead.
He leaned over her and spat a mouthful of blood onto her face. The mess hit her cheek and one eye. She didn’t move.
Ragus pulled out his smartphone and activated the display. He brought up the camera application and took a picture of the dead girl. That should satisfy Faranacci.
He grabbed her by one foot and dragged her body away from the road. He rolled her over the bank. She tumbled down the steep slope and came to rest near the creek about twenty feet down the hill.
He walked up the road to the old man. Ragus could see that he too was dead. He dragged the old man’s body off the trail also and hid it in a deep thicket of weeds.
The pickup truck sat idling in the middle of the road. Ragus didn’t want to leave any blood or fingerprints on the truck. He found a couple of paper bags inside the passenger floorboard of the truck. There was also a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Ragus took the bags and slipped them over his hands. The old man’s rifle was lying on the road. He picked it up, careful not to drip blood on it.
He walked over to the driver’s side of the truck. Without getting inside, he pushed the brake pedal down with the muzzle of the rifle and shifted the truck into drive. The truck idled forward slowly. With one bagged hand, he steered the truck as it idled along the trail while he walked alongside it. The truck idled along for several feet until the trail became too steep. Ragus pushed the gas pedal with the muzzle of the rifle to get it moving again. He steered the truck off the trail. When it reached the edge of the slope, he gave the gas pedal one last hard push and stepped out of the way.
The truck lurched forward. Once the front tires were off the road and pointed down the slope, the weight of the engine did the rest, the truck taking a headlong dip over the side of the mountain. It rolled down the steep slope fifty feet before meeting a tree large enough to halt its momentum.
Ragus threw the rifle down after it.
He slipped the bags off his hands and carried them back down the road. When he got to the ford of the creek, he tossed them in the running water.
Ragus got into his car and checked his face in the mirror.
His right cheek, ear, neck, and shoulder had been hit by the buckshot. The cheek and ear were the most mangled. He would have a painful night ahead, and there would be significant facial scarring.
Stupid fucking bitch.
He studied the position of the car and thought he had enough roadway to turn it around, if the car didn’t bottom out. Getting up this far had been hell. Gravity would work in his favor going back down, but he didn’t relish the thought of making the long drive in the dark. Better to get moving.
Where the fuck had these two been trying to go anyway? Ragus knew the mountains that made up the border between North Carolina and Tennessee were where much of the meth sold by the syndicate was cooked. That had to be a coincidence, he thought.
SEVEN
SELENA
My head was killing me.
Felt like someone was standing over me delivering blow after blow with a sledgehammer straight to my skull. I’m talking two-handed, high overhead swings from a muscle-bound railroad worker, brought down with full force on the side of my head, one after the other after the other. Dear god, it fucking hurt.
At first I thought I was experiencing the worst hangover ever, and I’ve had a few bad ones. It was worse than the savage beating I had taken from Kurt Dello. A beating that involved bone crunching hits to the face with a metal baton. This was so much fucking worse.
Something cold pressed against my forehead. I felt a puff of air. Then I felt a tongue lapping at me.
I tried to open my eyes. They were matted shut.
I was lying on something cold and hard. My mouth was dry.
I brought my hand up to help open my eyes, and pain exploded in my chest. I cried out.
The licking became more intense. The tongue moved from my forehead to my nose, cheeks, and mouth.
I could hear running water.
I rolled over onto my stomach. Using my elbows, knees, and feet, I scooted along the ground toward the sound of the water. When my hand felt cold damp ground, I knew I was getting close. I moved another foot and felt the cold water run over my hand.
I brought the water up to my mouth with my trembling hand and moistened my lips. I dipped my hand in again and tried cupping some water in my palm. I brought it to my mouth, spilling most of it on the way. I sipped at the water. I wiped at my eyes with my wet fingers, trying to get them to open.
My head throbbed.
I blacked out...
***
When next I awoke, I was able to open my eyes. I don’t know how long I stared up into the night sky before I realized what I was looking at. Stars by the thousands littered the black silk sky. Loud insects chirped in the damp forest night.
I rolled over on my stomach and drank from the stream. The pain in my head and upper chest was horrific. I bathed my face with a shaking hand.
I lay back down and tried to find the least painful position I could. The night air was cool, and my arms were shivering. I could feel warmth radiating from one side of me. I reached out my
hand and found something warm and furry. I scooted next to it and snuggled against it. I wrapped one arm around it.
“Move over, Max,” I heard a voice say.
I closed my eyes...
***
...When next I opened them, the sun was up. I scooted my way into the shade where it was cooler. The pain was intense and constant. I wasn’t capable of conscious thought. I instinctively knew that I was dying and that it was taking a hell of a long time to do it. My body was crying out for bourbon...
***
...I was on all fours crawling when consciousness next returned. Fire burned inside my chest. My head throbbed. It was nighttime again. The insect chirps were deafening. The ground beneath my hands and knees was rocky and hard. I looked ahead of me. There was an open pathway. I had been following this narrow trail. There was an animal in the shadows in front of me, walking the same path. It appeared to be limping along.
I kept crawling uphill in the night following the creature.
I wondered what kind of animals we were.
The pain in my chest and head pulsed with each heartbeat. Crawling made the pain worse. I was used to excruciating pain. I wanted to force the pain until it pushed me over into death. I crawled faster.
Consciousness faded...
***
...I heard voices. Shouting.
“Goddamn you to hell you dumbass cunt. Where’d you put my shit!”
“I ain’t had your shit. You smoked it all you dumb fool.”
A strange chemical smell in the air. I sniffed at it like a wild beast. It was noxious.
The large dog on the trail ahead of me growled low in his throat.
I crawled closer to him. The sound of the dog sounded safer than the voices of the angry people arguing in the distance.
I growled with him.
I looked off the road and saw a spur trail leading into a hollow between two slopes. There was a dim light burning in the distance. Their voices carried.
“I will fucking kill you if you steal from me again, you whore.”
“I’d like to see you try it.”
I kept crawling into the darkness. Instinct told me to get away from these people...
