Godland

by Stuart R. West

  But Peter’s own life and freedom were in jeopardy. That trumped any misguided feelings he had for his brother.

  Peter sighed as he walked out of the field. Matt stood at the back of the car, his head lowered into the open trunk. Shannon was nowhere to be seen. Matt must have sent her running down the road to perceived safety.

  Peter swung the gun up and leveled it at his brother. Family reunion time. “Hello, Mattie.”

  Matt looked over the trunk lid at his brother. “Peter,” he replied evenly.

  Peter crossed the road, his rifle leading the way like a divining rod. “How’ve you been, Mattie?”

  Matt lowered the trunk slowly. “Are you really asking me that with a gun pointed to my head? Why are you doing this, Peter?”

  “I never set out to harm you or Shannon, Matt. But through some great cosmic fuck-up, here we are.” He stepped closer, good-natured charm on his face. The way he looked after he’d left the farm. “I’m sorry. It’s just the way it has to be. Goodbye, Mattie.”

  Peter squeezed the trigger. Matt flung the trunk up and dropped to his knees. The bullet passed over Matt’s head, chunking a hole through the trunk lid. Kneeling, Matt waited for the next shot. The rifle clacked, a bullet sliding into the chamber. Peter’s feet scrabbled across the road. Then a moan.

  Matt peered from around the trunklid. Peter lay face forward in the gravel, unmoving. Shannon stood behind him. With the crowbar raised above her head, she appeared more than ready to deliver another blow. She kicked Peter, did it again. The crowbar dropped to the pavement with an alarming clang. Her chest heaved in and out. She looked at Matt with shock in her eyes as if she couldn’t believe she wielded such power.

  Matt inched the rifle from Peter’s grip. Searching through Peter’s pockets, Matt found his car keys.

  “Get in the car, Shannon!” She literally shook herself alert and following her father, she slid into the passenger side. Matt jabbed the key into the ignition. The key didn’t turn, frozen in place like Matt’s anesthetized emotions.

  “Damn it!” Matt spotted a small compartment to the left of the steering wheel. He popped it open and saw a fitting for a finger. State-of-the-art fingerprint auto security. Something only Peter could afford. Matt jumped out of the car and sprinted toward Peter. Lifting him by the arms, he dragged Peter across the gravel. He almost broke out a smile when he heard Peter’s expensive outdoor clothing tearing.

  About a mile down the road, two pinpricks of light bore down on Matt. One of the lights shot off to the side like a lazy eye. His father’s truck. The engine’s sputter grew louder. Matt dropped his brother. No time.

  “Shannon, let’s go. Now!” Shannon bounded out onto the road. “Back to the corn field.”

  Holding onto Peter’s rifle, Matt pulled his daughter into the field. Seconds later, the truck slowed where Peter lay. Matt nudged Shannon ahead and followed. The truck continued down the road at a hellish pace.

  Where is he going?

  They tore through the field, this time not taking care to be quiet. The cornstalks popped, scratching their arms and faces with dried-up, leafy tendrils.

  If they reached the safety of the woods, they might make it to the Sowers farm. Their only chance.

  Behind them, something powered through the field. At first, Matt thought it sounded like machinery, the pumping of pistons grinding closer. But then Matt recognized the sound as footfalls, inhumanly fast, snapping over the stalks like machine-gun fire. Repetitive, evenly measured, and frighteningly urgent.

  “It’s Joshua,” said Shannon.

  Joshua. He must be Mary’s son. Matt had forgotten about him, thinking him dead. But the dead don’t run that fast.

  Matt slung the rifle around his back. Only one bullet left. He had to make it count.

  Joshua closed the gap, footfalls drawing closer. Matt increased his stride, Shannon easily keeping step.

  The end of the cornfield lay ahead. Then another few hundred yards to the woods. They broke through the final stalks like runners crossing a finish line. The grassy descent toward the woods sloped, the momentum propelling them down faster. Matt looked back, never breaking his gait. Joshua hadn’t left the field yet. No sound. No movement amongst the stalks. Nothing.

  Why? He could’ve easily caught up to them. Was he watching them? Toying with them?

  They reached the woods, trampling on dead leaves. Tree branches entwined above, a bridge of darkness. Moonlight struggled to slip through the barrier, its light vanishing with the wind’s whim. Matt stuck his hand into the blackness, using it to guide them into the woods.

  Thirty minutes in, two beams of light pierced the woods. Parked in the middle of the opposite field sat his father’s truck. Cradling a gun in his arms, Edwin sat on the hood. Talking to himself, laughing.

  If they tried sidling through the woods, his father could easily catch up to them in the truck. Joshua had them trapped from behind. Boxed in on both sides, no way out.

  Matt turned to Shannon, her features barely visible in the dark. “Shannon, this Joshua…is he a part of this, too? Is he dangerous?”

  Shannon nodded. “Yeah…there’s something wrong with him.”

  “Do you know if he has a gun?”

  “I…I don’t think so…I’ve never seen him with one, at least.”

  “How good are you at climbing trees?”

  “I can do it.” She said it without hesitation, a sturdy willfulness returning to her voice.

  From the truck’s meager headlights, Matt made out an old oak tree with low-hanging limbs. He pulled Shannon toward it. “Quietly.” Matt pointed up. “And take the gun.”

  Shannon reluctantly took the rifle and draped it over her back. Matt watched her scrabble up the tree with an athlete’s prowess. After she put enough distance between herself and the ground, Matt dropped his bombshell. “I’ve got to go back to the farm.”

  “What…what’re you talking about?” Even through her whisper, Matt felt her panic.

  “I have to go. I need to call for help or maybe get another gun. Something. Maybe I can even get the car on the road started. But right now, we’re just sitting ducks in the woods. They’ve got us covered on either side.”

  She said nothing, but her quiet sobs said more than enough. Muffled as though she were covering her mouth.

  “I’ll get you out of this. I promise, Shannon.”

  “Don’t leave me again.”

  Matt felt a blow to his chest. The words hurt more than bullets ripping his body apart.

  “I won’t, I swear.” The lump in his throat threatened to explode. He bit back his tears and words. So much he wanted to say to her. But not now. Later. He needed his mind clear, his emotions held in check. “I’ll be back.”

  Matt blindly groped his way through the woods. He hoped his last words to his daughter wouldn’t prove to be another hollow promise.

  Peter sat up in the road, shaking his head. He winced upon feeling the knot on the back of his head. The blood he took away had already dried.

  He couldn’t believe Shannon got the drop on him like that. Admirable. A much more worthy adversary than the first girl or his brother. Peter no longer suffered any pangs of guilt about killing her. Obviously, she was fully prepared to fight back, and he welcomed her challenge.

  Clapping his hands together, he knocked away the gravel-dust. Time to get back to work.

  Entering the woods without a gun seemed like a particularly bad idea, especially since they had stolen his rifle. He patted down his pockets. All his bullets were there, but the car keys were missing. Peter pulled himself up and stumbled to his car. They left the keys in the ignition. Dumb move on their part. He slipped his finger into the security module and turned the car over.

  The trail had gone cold. He’d have to start over again.

  Good.

  Matt stood at the edge of the woods, listening. Then he flew through the grass to the cornfield.

  Somewhere along their survival run, Matt had dropped
the crowbar. And Shannon kept the gun. Even though he had no weapon now, he didn’t regret his decision. It gave Shannon a fighting chance. She had her entire life ahead of her, after all.

  He hadn’t realized how strange it would be seeing his daughter again. Even disregarding their current, dire circumstances. He had missed her more than he thought possible. Those feelings didn’t fully emerge until he saw her, either. Bright and resourceful, she had fared well without his fatherly guidance. It hurt, but at least Matt knew she could handle anything. He felt extreme pride, even if he hadn’t earned it.

  The driveway sat empty. A single light shined from the kitchen, but he doubted anyone was in the house. He left the cornfield, running for the farm.

  As Matt entered the yard, an automobile approached. The car slowed, crunching into the driveway.

  The barn stood in front of him, his best chance for shelter. He could hide in the barn until the person left. If it was a police officer, he’d come out, arms waving, white flag held high.

  Before the car’s headlights washed over him, Matt broke for the barn. He plunged past the splintered door, his feet landing on a thick blanket of hay. Pigs squealed at his intrusion, their cries bouncing off the walls.

  A huge mistake.

  He ran to the broken window and looked out.

  Now where in the hell’s Edwin?

  The bastard might be planning to steal Peter’s killing blows. Peter wouldn’t stand for it. He had worked hard for that singular pleasure, and he fully intended to collect on it.

  Peter gave the grounds a quick once-over. Nothing looked out of the ordinary—same old run-down, dire house and land. He climbed the steps to the kitchen door, and then stopped. Something sounded off.

  He heard the usual clatter of farm life. Buzzing crickets. Something howling in the woods. Pigs shrieking in the barn. More raucously than usual, from what he recalled. Pigs only wail like that for two reasons—feeding time or slaughtering time. And there’s always a human present for both events.

  Someone’s in the barn.

  He plucked the knife out from his belt. Replacing his goggles, he made his way to the barn, stalking into the night.

  Matt watched Peter exit his car, his gait unsteady. He stiffened on the top kitchen step then turned around.

  Matt’s attempts to silence the pigs with manic hand gestures failed. He really should’ve known better, too, having grown up on a farm. The animals bounced off one another, raising holy hell, and clattering into the wooden gates. He kicked the fence several times, hoping to chase them outside. Several pigs scurried out of a sawn-out hole in the barn’s wall. Too late. The noise would surely draw Peter’s attention.

  Matt raced back to the window. Peter had vanished. But he knew he was coming for him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Exhausted, unbelievably so, Shannon felt like she’d been on the run for days. Perched in a tree, however, seemed like a bad venue for a nap. She let out a small chuckle, short and forced. The best way to remain sane.

  Underdressed in her T-shirt and jeans, she shivered in the breeze. The bough she sat on wavered, rocking her up and down. Goose bumps broke out on her arms.

  Shannon freed one hand long enough to rub her arm. The tree limb bounced. Quickly, she wrapped both hands around it again.

  For the first time since she left the cellar, Shannon had time to think. Especially about her father. What is he doing here? He said he was here to rescue her, but did she trust him? Truthfully? Some might call it paranoia, but honestly, she’d earned the right to feel this way. Practically earned a merit badge in paranoia after this night.

  She shook her head, the tree limb rebounding as if agreeing with her. No, her father’s actions were definitely at odds with the others’. He’d left the gun with her, after all.

  On the other hand, her father had abandoned her ten years ago. He wanted nothing to do with her then. Mom told her he never wanted to see her again. Her father’s new life didn’t have a place for Shannon.

  He was nothing but a total stranger to her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he showed up trying to save her life. After ten years, was he trying to make amends? Did he just stupidly walk toward his death in an effort to save her life?

  No. He’s not getting off that easy.

  He needed to explain why he was an absentee father. And he needed to know how she had retreated within herself during those long, miserable years. He had to understand the pain she felt, the guilt she carried. He was not going to die before he heard those words.

  Shannon knew she had to return to the farmhouse.

  She hated leaving behind the moonlight touching her through the treetops. In comparison, the heart of the woods looked pitch-black, overbearingly so. After losing her glasses, she couldn’t see more than three feet in front of her. But in the woods, she saw only darkness.

  Enough excuses. Get out of this damn tree.

  She tightened the rifle strap across her back. Extending one leg below her, she searched for a solid foothold. Her dangling foot left her feeling unsafe, inches from plummeting to the ground. She reached out and hugged both arms tightly around the trunk. With a deep breath, she hopped off the branch. Her legs swung into the trunk. She clasped them around it. Glued to the trunk, she inched her way down, her toes her guide. She touched a solid branch. Dropping one foot upon it, she tested it by pushing down lightly. Feeling it secure, she dropped her other foot upon it. Shannon groped her way down the tree, applying the same search-and-conquer technique. The branches grew larger the farther down she traveled. The wind had all but died; the limbs sturdier under her weight.

  How had she managed to zip up the tree so fast? Pure adrenaline, she supposed, even though she didn’t remember the previous climb at all.

  There were no more branches. She slithered down the bottom part of the trunk, scraping her hands over the rough-edged bark. Every inch or so, she stretched one leg out hoping to find another limb. She must be nearing the bottom.

  Shannon scrabbled down faster. Finally, she touched ground. Planting her feet firmly, she stamped the leaf coverage, ensuring it wasn’t a trick of the darkness. Solid ground. She leaned back against the trunk, relieved.

  The darkness grew deeper, the air clammy and still. The airflow in front of her cut off. Almost stifling. She breathed in deeply. A familiar stench filled her nose. She felt an intense, almost palpable heat in front of her. Then she heard a gurgle.

  Joshua loomed in front of her.

  “Joshua? Joshua…remember me? Your friend?”

  Joshua remained as still as the nightlife in the woods.

  “That’s right, Joshua. Your friend.” Shannon edged away from the tree trunk. “I can help you, Joshua. I can get you away from your bad father. Get you some help—”

  The blur of his arms rose swiftly above his head. He roared.

  A rush of air brushed over Shannon as he reached for her. Pinching her shoulders, he shook her like a sheet on laundry day. She knocked into the tree. His hands fell away. Stunned, she slipped off the trunk, rolling onto the ground. She clawed for the rifle at her back. The strap caught around her arm. Joshua growled. The rifle pulled free. He hovered over her. She swung the rifle up and jamming the barrel into his belly, she pulled the trigger. The discharge knocked her onto her back. Joshua’s shadow wavered above her like a drunken man. He let loose a deafening moan before pitching to the ground with a thump. Shannon screamed.

  Hurling the rifle behind her, she then jumped to her feet. She ran through the woods, hoping she was headed in the right direction. To find her father. And God help anyone who got in her way.

  Tired of sitting, Edwin slid off the hood of his truck. He cupped his hand over his brow and squinted into the woods. A habit he picked up from those sunny days in the fields.

  If his granddaughter was still in the woods, he hadn’t heard nary a peep from her. She remained in hiding, a frightened rabbit. A miserable waiting game. Edwin hated waiting. He’d waited all his life, it seemed.

>   The gunshot blast startled Edwin. The grey hairs on his arms bristled. Bats fluttered into the sky, abandoning the woods. Joshua’s bellow began low, grew, and climbed above the treetops. The girl’s scream followed. Edwin had no idea how Joshua got hold of a gun—didn’t know the boy even knew how to use one—but the hunt had ended. Confidence filled him that the boy had taken care of the girl. Hoped he enjoyed his damn self doing it, too. He climbed into the truck and set his rifle next to him where Gretchen used to ride—the rifle a much better companion.

  Turning the truck around, Edwin swept his headlights through the woods one last time. He floored the gas, popping his truck through the ditch and onto the road. Even though his plan had hit a few snags along the way, the end was near.

  Still, something nagged at him.

  Earlier, he’d passed Peter lying in the road. Now, Peter and his car were both gone. The damn chicken-shit must’ve high-tailed it back to New York. But what was that other car doing there? He didn’t have time to pay it no heed before. All four tires had been flattened. Peter’s handiwork, no doubt. He just hoped the boy cleaned up all his messes before he left. Never leave a man’s work to a boy.

  But the car and its unaccounted driver still niggled, like a chicken scratching to get out of a henhouse.

  Well, no matter. Once he got back to the farm, he’d just pack up and leave. For good.

  From across the woods, Matt heard a single gunshot. Then, a beastly moan. Shannon’s scream played out as the heart-freezing coda.

  The gun report stopped him in his tracks. But he couldn’t dwell on negative thoughts. Shannon had the rifle. She screamed after the gun went off, meaning she wasn’t the gunshot victim. He had to have faith in this scenario. He had to.

  Matt climbed over one of the slat fences. He wondered if that was how pigs felt—captive and awaiting their impending fate. He jumped through the hole in the wall. Better to be outside than trapped inside the barn.