Wildlife- Reckoning

by Jeff Menapace

  “Why don’t you just shut the fuck up,” Leigh said to them.

  They all laughed and resumed their party.

  ***

  Morgan was the first to scream. Instinct caused her to try and run, but the waist-high water was like a rope around her waist. She toppled and fell with a hefty splash, going under. They all reached for her, pulling her up. She emerged, still screaming, swatting everyone away as though they were the very thing that had triggered her screaming.

  “What?! What is it?!” Stacey yelled.

  “Something touched me!”

  All heads dropped, frantically searching the black water around them, desperate for any signs of something lurking below.

  Tommy shoved Morgan away, began a desperate wade as far from the group as he could, splashing wildly as he fled, uttering incoherent cries of terror.

  “Tommy!” Stacey called after him.

  “Winner!” Cooper cried. “Who had the little fat guy for betraying The Bleeder?”

  “TOMMY!” Stacey cried again.

  “I’ll send help!” Tommy called back without turning around, still splashing wildly as he fled.

  “Gonna let him keep on going?” Wayne asked Cooper.

  “Might be fun to let him try and make it on his own.”

  Trudy lowered the camera. “We wouldn’t get it on film.”

  Cooper nodded. “That’s true.”

  “And suppose luck does find him,” Wayne added.

  “All right, all right,” Cooper said. He rose from his seat and steadied his gun in Tommy’s direction.

  Cooper fired three times, the third and final bullet catching Tommy in the back and sending him face-first into the shallows with a heavy splash.

  Everyone cried out.

  Tommy slowly rose from the water, bent and twisted from the wound. Cooper’s flashlight showed fresh blood around his mouth.

  Cooper steadied his gun again. Fired twice more, the first missing Tommy, but the second catching him in the chest, crumbling him. He fell face-first once more into the water. Worse still, the current was inexplicably sending his now floating corpse towards them. They were upstream, but in a particularly placid pool of the swamp, the current not moving in one direction, but swirling slowly, sending Tommy their way almost intentionally, as if it too was in on the fun.

  “Oh God, Tommy…” Stacey wept.

  Tommy’s body drifted closer. It arrived at Bryan first, bumping into him like driftwood. He reached down and placed a hand on Tommy’s back, stopping any further movement. They all wept, his death granting him their forgiveness for his running.

  “Okay?!” Bryan yelled to shore. “Happy?! Tommy lost. Let us come back now!”

  The family exchanged grins and chuckles. “Boy, he only abandoned The Bleeder,” Cooper said. “We still got other bets pending.”

  “He’s dead!” Stacey screamed.

  “And?” Wayne said.

  Trudy handed the camera to Wayne and said: “Night’s young. Got to see which one of you runs first.”

  “He did run!” Leigh yelled.

  Trudy waved a hand at them. “Oh, that don’t count, silly girl. You got to run to us.”

  “And if we don’t run?” Bryan said. Anger and fear had promoted his nerve.

  “You’ll run,” Cooper said. He gestured towards Morgan. “Her bleeding’s only gonna get worse. And now you got Tommy’s bleeding to worry about. Like a big old SOS to all sorts of critters in there. ’Course they won’t be coming to help, will they?”

  Stacey urged everyone to huddle together, Tommy’s corpse between them. “What if we do run?” she whispered. “They’re drunk. If we scatter, they won’t be able to get us all.”

  “Are you crazy?” Leigh said.

  “Stace, that’s insane,” Bryan said. “They’ll at least get one of us.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “And if we did get away?” Bryan said. “What then? Look around you. We’d be dead in no time. Something would…” He shook away the thought. “We’d be dead in no time.”

  “And if we stay?” Stacey said. “Keep being their playthings? Death’s a guarantee. At least if we run, we have a chance.”

  Everyone’s eyes dropped to Tommy’s corpse as the reminder they didn’t need.

  “I can’t run,” Morgan said. “My leg is numb.”

  “We’ll carry you,” Stacey said.

  “How would that be ‘scattering?’” Leigh said.

  “What are y’all whispering about out there?” Cooper called. “Planning on making a run for it, are you?”

  Everyone looked to shore, startled, as though caught in a lie.

  “You think this is our first rodeo, people?” Cooper said.

  “We need to at least push Tommy away from us,” Leigh said. “Let him float away.”

  “What?” Stacey said.

  “We can’t save him, Stace. The crazy bastard is right; Tommy’s bleeding coupled with Mo’s is only gonna make things worse. Mo is still alive. If we push Tommy away, it could draw some of the attention away from whatever the hell is in here with us.”

  “She’s right,” Bryan said. “It’s…Jesus…” He dropped his head, shook it, then lifted it again. “She’s right.”

  “This isn’t happening,” Stacey said.

  Bryan placed his hands on Tommy’s back. Everyone slowly parted, allowing an opening for Bryan to send Tommy on through.

  “I’m so sorry, man,” Bryan said. “Please forgive—”

  The alligator’s jaws shot from the water, taking Tommy by the head and pulling him under.

  Everyone screamed and made a mad dash for shore.

  Cooper and Wayne rose from their chairs, readying their guns.

  Chapter 40

  Leigh was the first to shore. The first to die.

  Both Cooper and Wayne fired into her torso, dropping her to her knees. She stared down at the bleeding holes in her chest, then back up at the family with a dazed look on her face, as though woken from a dream. She pitched forward into the mud and died.

  ***

  Morgan had been the last to shore; her leg, ironically, helped her, granting her that “preferential treatment” for the next event.

  Points were tallied, Travis happily tattooing them onto Harlon’s back as he’d promised.

  Trudy was in the lead, having picked both Tommy as the first to betray The Bleeder and Leigh as the first to run ashore.

  ***

  Back in the den again, tied up as before, waiting.

  The family was out on the porch, drinking heavily and reminiscing about how well The Wade had gone. Even Harlon had been allowed to enjoy the affair, Darla keeping the others in stitches by climbing onto his lap and pouring too much whiskey into his tongue-less mouth and then watching him gasp and sputter.

  Travis wandered into the den. “And then there were three,” he said to them.

  Three, Stacey thought. Why not? They give men in front of a firing squad a last smoke.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette on you, would you?” she asked him.

  Travis frowned. “Huh?”

  “A cigarette. Can you get me a smoke?”

  “Are you nuts, lady?”

  “Getting there.”

  Travis considered her.

  “I’m trying to quit,” she went on. “I’m down to three a day. I’ve actually already had my third, but I would say these particular circumstances would permit a fourth.”

  She thought of the odd effect sharing a cigarette had on people. A bizarre sort of camaraderie between two people while giving themselves cancer. The urge to talk and disclose while puffing away. It was one step shy of divulging secrets over a drink.

  Bryan could only stare at her. She stared back. Please get on board, Bryan. Please know that I’m not just asking for a smoke because I want one,

  (even though you really fucking do)

  please know that I’m angling at something else. The same thing I was angling at earlier. Yo
u’re so much better at reading people than I am. Please, please get on board.

  Travis pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. They were a cheap brand, one she’d never seen before, yet unmistakably cheap. And if (when) it tastes like ass, you’re gonna suck it down like fresh autumn air and thank him.

  He plucked two from the pack, offering hers first, gently placing it between her lips and lighting it before lighting his own.

  Manners. He’s got manners. Crazy as a loon, but manners. Use it.

  It did taste like ass. Swamp ass, as Mick had said earlier today,

  (when we were drinking and worlds away from here. When Mick was alive. When Leigh was alive…)

  yet she inhaled with a grateful little smile as though that autumn air had notes of apple and leaves and distant chimneys offering the nostalgic aroma of that first fire of the year.

  (Why torture yourself with remembering such things? Autumn is now a sweltering hell. The apples, swamp and dead fish. The distant chimneys, the smoke from these disgusting cigarettes.)

  Stacey was forced to squint from the smoke of the cigarette dangling from her lip. “Thank you so much,” she said, cigarette bouncing with her words.

  Travis nodded and took a deep drag of his own.

  “So, are you having fun yet?” Stacey asked.

  “Huh?”

  “The bald guy kept saying you shouldn’t let me or Harlon ruin your fun. Are you having fun?”

  Travis shrugged.

  “Seems like a crazy person’s wet dream to me,” Stacey said.

  Travis stared hard at her. “I’m not crazy.”

  “Well, no—I didn’t mean it like that. I meant them.” She gestured with her dangling cigarette towards the porch and exhaled smoke through her nose. “You gotta admit, they’re a little crazy.”

  Travis pointed towards Bryan. “Your boyfriend said himself they weren’t crazy. Said they were psychopaths, and that psychopaths weren’t crazy.” This distinction seemed exceptionally important to him.

  “That’s true,” Bryan chimed in. “What I said is true. But there are levels to psychopaths.”

  Oh God, Bryan; I love you.

  “Levels?”

  “Well, sure,” Bryan said. “It’s never black and white. Human behavior—especially of the…violent kind—is complex. No two psychopaths are ever alike. How they’re made, what caused them to be…”

  “Right,” Stacey said. “Remember when I said you seemed different than them?” She gestured with her cigarette towards the porch again.

  Travis nodded.

  “What I meant was that you didn’t seem to enjoy this kind of thing as much as they do.”

  “And I told you, you don’t know anything about me,” Travis said.

  “Well, I do a little, right? How Harlon betrayed you? The asshole lawyer who, instead of sending you to a nice school up north, sent you to—what was it called?”

  “Why you care?”

  Stacey shrugged. “Fine. Forget it.”

  A pause and then: “Hattenworth,” he said.

  “Right,” Stacey said emphatically. “I’ve heard of that place,” she lied.

  Travis stomped forward. “What’d you hear?”

  It’s a game of Jenga, girl. If you want to remove that piece from the bottom without the whole tower collapsing, you gotta be ever so careful.

  “Let’s just say that I heard it can make one hell of an impression on a boy.”

  There it was. She’d removed that piece from the bottom. The tower was wavering. Now to see whether it stopped wavering and stood tall again, or collapsed into a giant mess of oh, shit.

  “You could say that,” Travis said. He backed off and dragged hard on his cigarette.

  He wasn’t the only one. The tower was standing tall again, and relief had Stacey dragging so hard on the cigarette, she nearly brought it down to the filter.

  Game ain’t over yet, though, is it? Weird rules for this one. Travis never takes a turn. Just you and Bryan.

  (Well, then how do you determine a winner?)

  I’m hoping we’ll know when it happens.

  “So your tattoo,” Stacey said. “Your reckoning. Those were the people at Hattenworth who hurt you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You got your revenge.”

  “I surely did.”

  “Even on Harlon, because you felt him responsible.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about your father?” Stacey asked. “Do you hold him responsible?”

  Travis stared hard at her again. His gaze felt like he was groping inside her skull, trying to find her ulterior motive.

  And yet—

  (Yet what?)

  He’s not leaving. He’s hurting, and he’s angry, and he’s scary as hell, but he’s staying put, still talking to us. He’s full of scars both inside and out, but there’s still someone in there who’s…

  (what???)

  …searching for something.

  (He’s a killer. Not a gallivanting whacko like the family out there, but still a cold-blooded killer.)

  There’s something else going on. The look in his eye. I’ve seen it before.

  (You’ve looked into a killer’s eye before?)

  The wanting. The needing. Someone who’s

  (chasing the dragon)

  Yes.

  (What dragon is he chasing?)

  I don’t know.

  “My father was fooled by the lawyer. He tried to do right by me.” Travis looked away. For a man with such an icy gaze, for a man who’d been drilling a hole into her eyes throughout their shared smoke, he now seemed to find eye contact difficult.

  Jesus, he killed his father.

  (Impossible. Guy’s in prison.)

  Not impossible. Happens all the time. The right money, the right people…

  (So then he killed his father; so what?)

  He wanted to kill Harlon. They stopped him. It went against their crazy family code.

  (So?)

  He clearly doesn’t adhere to that code.

  (So???)

  Not sure yet. Something’s gelling, though.

  (His dragon?)

  I thought it might be his father. Or even the asshole lawyer. But it’s more.

  (How can you possibly know that?)

  I don’t. Yet.

  Stacey spit her cigarette to the floor. “So all accounts settled then?” she asked.

  Travis stepped forward and stubbed Stacey’s cigarette out with his boot. Then he dropped his and stubbed that out. “All settled.”

  All accounts settled, yet he was about to add a sixth slash to his arm with the needle before getting interrupted. He was about to make Mick number six. Except that makes no sense. He didn’t know Mick. Mick owed him nothing.

  “Do you feel better?” Bryan asked.

  Travis gave him a funny look. “Better?”

  “Now that you’ve had your reckoning.”

  Travis nodded once, eye contact skittering again. A clear lie.

  Stacey thought of Bryan’s words. Levels to violent behavior. Never black and white. No two psychopaths are ever alike. How they’re made, what caused them to be…

  Jesus, it was all there. No longer a game of Jenga, it was now a puzzle, the pieces growing larger, clearer. Even the needle was a puzzle piece—a piece of the metaphoric kind.

  He is different. He was not born a killer like the rest of his family. He was made one. His first victim was his damn dragon! It filled the terrible hole inside him. And now that his reckoning is done…

  (He still needs more.)

  Except he can’t get it. Even being here, taking part in this insanity…it isn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. His hole will never be filled.

  (Unless we fill it for him.)

  Or let him believe it can be filled.

  (Because you know more than anyone it can never be filled.)

  Yes.

  (So we need him to think he can catch the dragon. Fill th
e hole.)

  Yes.

  (How?)

  I’m working on it.

  Chapter 41

  Darla was the first to return to the den. “Dangle! Dangle! Dangle!”

  The rest of the family followed, visibly swaying in their drunkenness.

  “Been chatting with our friends again, have you, Travis?” Cooper asked.

  Travis gestured towards Stacey. “This one here wanted a smoke.”

  “And you gave it to her, did you?” Trudy asked.

  Travis shrugged. “Why not?”

  “A last smoke, huh?” Cooper said. “Like a fella facing a firing squad?”

  Great minds, Stacey’s sick humor mused.

  “I suppose,” Travis said.

  “Looking a bit sober, you are, Travis,” Wayne said. “Should we take it personal you’re not drinking with us as much as you should be?”

  Travis shrugged again. “Ain’t much of a drinker, is all.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Cooper said. “We got work to do ’round back. Drunk as we are, we might just drop one of them in before setting up proper like.”

  Everyone but Darla giggled. She looked upset.

  Cooper spotted it and hoisted her onto his shoulders. “Don’t you fret, baby girl. How many times has your granddaddy set this up, drunk as they come?”

  Darla’s concern vanished. She grinned and bounced on his shoulders, patting and rubbing his sweaty bald head as she always did.

  Cooper grinned up at her. Then to the three remaining chairs against the wall: “You ready, folks? Time to get moving again. Takes a bit more doing, this one does—but it’s well worth it in the end.”

  ***

  The three were untied and taken towards the back of the shack at gunpoint. Deeper and deeper they went through a seemingly endless maze of old wood until arriving in what appeared to be a room hosting an exceptionally large well in its center.

  The well was square, a wooden trapdoor covering it. High above the well, a long stretch of thick rope was strung across its center. The lawn chairs they’d used on shore for The Wade were set up along one edge of the well—spectator seats. Next to the seats, propped suitably to capture all, was the camera.

  Without warning, Wayne snatched Stacey, wrapping his forearm tight around her neck, pressing the barrel of his pistol into the side of her head.