Into The Darkness (24 page)

“I’m
not doing much. Just sitting here.” Mary began to feel overwhelmed as she
looked ahead and thought of the distance before her.

“Use
the paddle and get a feel for the water. See what it takes to move the raft. I
can stay close behind until you feel more comfortable,” said Kevin, as he
motioned for Dylan to take the lead.

Mary
tried to paddle, but the raft was not moving fast. In fact, not much faster than
the slow current. Kevin stayed behind to keep an eye on her. As he drifted
lazily along, he became bored and decided to grab the binoculars from the
backpack. They were getting close to the railcars that Cyrus’s gang had been
using. Kevin scanned the western horizon and brought the binoculars into focus.
He first noticed that the dead bodies of Cyrus’s men had been stacked close to
the river. He moved the field of view farther down and brought the railcars
into focus. The fire had destroyed the lead car. Then something caught his eye
near the railcars. He saw motion. It was two men walking. When they stopped
walking, he could see that one of the men was wearing a red bandana around his
arm. Adrenalin and anger came back to Kevin’s veins and coursed through his
body again. Strangely, the other man did not have a bandana on his arm. Then he
remembered what his wife had said. Cyrus wore the bandana on his head, not his
arm.

Kevin
began to paddle for the riverbank. He jumped onto the bank and told his wife to
stay next to his raft.

“Where
are you going?” she asked, but her husband did not respond.

Mary
franticly waved to Dylan downstream. Dylan saw Mary’s flailing arms and began
to paddle back. Then, when he saw Kevin’s empty raft, he hurried back upstream
as fast as he could.

Kevin
strode to where Bull and his men had piled the bodies. Feral dogs had found the
corpses. Limbs were ripped from bodies and their flesh was shredded. Kevin
removed a red bandana from the carnage and placed it on his arm. He chambered a
round in his pistol, dropped it into his deep front pocket, and began to walk
toward the two men. He walked slowly, still calculating what he wanted to do.
Was it Cyrus? They had not found him that night. Maybe he escaped and came
back? There was no way to tell because the men had their backs turned to Kevin
as he slowly approached them. As Kevin got close, they finally saw him. They
turned around and were startled to see anyone in their proximity. The man with
a red bandana on his arm was older; he had plenty of gray hair, and was the
taller of the two. He also had a shotgun and partially raised it on Kevin’s
approach. The other man was wearing a large brimmed hat. The shadow from the
hat obscured the shorter man’s face.

Kevin
stopped about twenty yards away from the two men.

“I
don’t recognize you,” said the taller man with gray hair. “Who are you?” He
raised the shotgun further.

Kevin
removed the red armband. He held it up and said, “I can leave. Do you want it
back?”

The
man did not reply and lowered his shotgun. Kevin put the bandana deep into his
front pocket, and gripped the concealed pistol tightly.

The
other man held his hat brim down across his face to block the sun. It also
blocked his face from Kevin. The shorter man asked, as he pointed back to the
smoldering wreckage, “Were you here last night?”

Kevin
nodded.

“You
sure don’t say much,” said the taller man, as he flipped the shotgun over his
shoulder, “Come over here and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do.”

Kevin
moved toward them again. His hand was deep in his pocket holding the pistol,
ready to draw and ready to kill.

“What’s
your name, boy?” asked the shorter man condescendingly, as he removed his hat
and squinted from the sunlight.

Finally,
Kevin saw the man’s face. He was an ugly man with cratered skin. The broad-brimmed
hat had covered a red bandana on his head.

“You’re
Cyrus,” said Kevin, stoically.

“Well,
no shit. Who are you?”

Kevin
smiled. “You can call me the angel of death.”

Cyrus
and the other man sadistically laughed for a moment. Kevin’s humor was
interrupted when the pistol in his right hand cleared his front pocket. He shot
the older man two times in the chest. The tall man fell backwards and began to
writhe on the ground, gasping for air and grabbing at his bloody torso.

Cyrus
dropped to his knees and, with wide-eyed desperation, put his hands together as
if he was going to pray. He then began to beg for his life, pleading desperately
with Kevin.

“Please
don’t shoot me! You have the wrong man, I don’t know you. I’ll leave…I’ll leave
and you will never see me again…I promise!” Cyrus now had his hands in front of
his face as if he was trying to block a bullet to his head.

Kevin
dropped the pistol and grabbed the bandana that he had buried deep in his
pocket and held it tightly. He lunged forward at Cyrus, knocking him backward
and down to the ground. Kevin dug his knees into Cyrus’s flailing arms and
pounded his face with calloused bare knuckles, while still gripping the red
bandana tightly in his hand. Kevin then quickly grabbed the red bandana by
opposite corners and wrapped it around Cyrus’s throat. He was going to choke
the life out of him and watch the expression on his face as he died. Before
Kevin pulled on the bandana, he leaned close to Cyrus’s ear and whispered, “Don’t
fight back so hard. It’s bad for your health.” He then gripped the bandana so
tight, and pulled so hard, that his knuckles blanched. Cyrus’s face went from a
dark red to deep purple as his blood-shot eyes rolled back in his head. Cyrus’s
body went limp.

Kevin
took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had done it. He had found the son of
a bitch and killed him. When he stood up from getting his pistol off the
ground, he saw Mary and Dylan running toward him. He stood there, took a few
deep breaths, and tried to regain his composure.

“What
the hell, Kevin! I heard the gun shots and came running,” said Dylan, bent at
the waist and gasping for breath.

Mary
walked over to Cyrus’s strangled body. She recognized him. Mary did not say
anything. She was glad he was dead and glad that it had been her husband who
did it. Mary turned to look at her husband, but he was already watching her. He
looked into her eyes and tilted his head back toward the river. She nodded, and
not a word was spoken or needed to be said.

As
they neared the riverbank, a noise far behind them caught their attention. They
looked back and saw that a pack of dogs had already found the two bodies. They
were ripping at the carcasses and fighting over the dead flesh.

Dylan
laughed to himself.

“What’s
funny?” asked Kevin.

“You
were right.”

“About
what?”

“Remember
the pack of dogs by your apartment? They were chasing the rabbit.

“Yes.”

“You
doubted yourself about what we helped do earlier that night, so I asked you if
you would prefer to be the dog or the rabbit. You chose to be a dog, with a
conscience. After this, I would say that you’re more like a dog with a
vengeance.”

“Well,
I guess you’re right.”

In
the several weeks since they had left Omaha, Mary seamlessly integrated herself
into the group. Initially, they had tethered Mary’s raft to one of their rafts,
taking turns, and rowed her along so the group could stay together. Now she was
taking the initiative, occasionally even leading the threesome on the float
down the river. The additional dry food that they had brought with them had reduced
the need to search for food on the riverbank and therefore, freed up more time
on the water moving downstream towards their new home. They still fished when
camping on the riverbank, because it was easy enough to throw a line in the
water, and then collect firewood while fish took the bait. Also, in the time
since they started this leg of their journey, Kevin had been rowing with less
enthusiasm and tended to drift to the rear of the flotilla of rafts. Dylan
noticed that Kevin seemed to be guarding the left side of his face, trying to
conceal a pain or irritation. Kevin would row for a while, and then touch his
jaw lightly with his fingertips, producing an immediate scowl. Dylan suspected
that Kevin had a toothache, but had not confronted Kevin about it; however, now
that Mary was in front of the pack and Kevin in the rear, it was obvious that
something was slowing Kevin down.

Dylan
ceased rowing to close the gap between himself and Kevin. He noticed that Kevin
was holding his jaw again. “Hey, Kevin, are you okay?”

Kevin
gripped both oars by the handles and turned the raft around. “No problem here.
Why’d you ask?”

Dylan
glanced quickly at Mary. She was rowing close to the riverbank and out of the
range of conversation. “I’ve seen you holding your left jaw and you’re slowing
down. Just look, even your wife has been staying way ahead of you. Is it a
tooth?”

Kevin
took a deep breath and began to row a slow stroke. He looked up and away from Dylan,
not ignoring him, but contemplating what should be a simple answer. He exhaled
and stopped rowing, with Dylan right at his side. He glanced downward at the
water and lightly touched his jaw. “Yeah, it’s my tooth. About a year ago, I
was going to get a molar worked on. I got busy and forgot about it. My tooth
hurts, and today it’s just throbbing.”

“Bad?”

“Getting
worse every day. I can’t chew on that side now.” Kevin quickly glanced in
Mary’s direction and saw that she was on the western side of the river. The sun
was low in the sky and he needed to shade his eyes with his hands to see her.
“I didn’t tell her because I don’t want her to worry.”

“We
don’t have any pliers.”

“Pliers!
Shit, man, calm down and back off, Dr. Frankenstein.” Kevin began to row away
from Dylan and toward his wife.

Dylan
was not able to determine how much of Kevin’s reaction was anger and how much
was sarcasm. He did not reply to Kevin’s remarks, but merely shook his head as
Kevin went toward his wife near the river’s edge. The sun was getting low in
the western sky, causing him to squint as he looked toward them.

“Hey,”
Dylan yelled toward the couple with his hands cupped to his face, “we’re
getting close to a town and it’s getting late. Let’s find a spot and set up
camp.”

Kevin
nodded and waved him forward. Just ahead was a cornfield near a small inlet
that should be good for fishing. A grove of trees that would supply abundant firewood
surrounded the inlet. The riverbank was worn away near the inlet and was low
and level, a perfect place to stop for the night.

The
threesome pulled the rafts up the riverbank and away from the water, so that
they were midway between the river and the cornfield. The field sloped up
gently to the crest of a ridge that was greeting the setting sun. A breeze wafted
from the direction of the cornfield. It carried the smell of wood smoke and
Dylan became tense when he noticed the aroma.

“I
smell a campfire,” said Dylan, cautiously.

The
couple went motionless and closed their eyes. Another light breeze brought the
smell of burning wood to them. They caught the scent and looked at each other
simultaneously, not knowing what to say.

“How
close?” asked Kevin. He began to bring his hand to his jaw, then awkwardly
raised his hand and scratched his head, trying to disguise his gesture toward
the painful tooth.

“Maybe
it’s not a campfire,” Mary said, apprehensively. “We can’t see past the ridge.
Farmhouse…or fireplace…maybe?”

“If
we can’t see them, then they can’t see us,” said Dylan. “Let’s just keep low
and we’re out of here tomorrow.”

Kevin
put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and said, “Get a little fire going. I’ll go
get enough wood for the rest of the night.”

She
patted him on the back and pushed him toward the inlet and the grove of trees.
Kevin got the hatchet and went for wood. Not realizing it, Kevin grabbed and
held his jaw as he walked away. Dylan pointed to Kevin and nudged Mary.

“How
bad is his tooth?” asked Dylan.

Mary
exhaled a long sigh, frowned, and shook her head. “I don’t know. He has been
trying to hide it and he didn’t say anything to me. I know that last year it
was bad. He was going to get it fixed, but there was an infection. He got on
some antibiotics, but never did go back to the dentist.”

“He
can’t let it go. There are no antibiotics here. We need to pull it.” Dylan
motioned toward his jaw as if he was pulling a tooth.

Mary
was kneeling down around a small pile of wood she had gathered. She touched it
with a precious match, starting a fire. The small twigs began to ignite and she
gently fanned the flame with her hand.

“How
are you going to hold him down?” Mary asked. “He’s not going to cooperate.”

“We
couldn’t pull it if we wanted to. We don’t have any pliers,” said Dylan,
shrugging his shoulders.

Mary
was contemplating their problem as she picked up more branches for the fire.
The branches were still green and many still had leaves on them. She stood in
front of Dylan and hugged the bundle of green wood tightly, momentarily lost in
thought. “I’ll talk to him. He needs to be confronted so that—”

The
sound of Kevin’s scream interrupted Mary. She was startled and dropped all the
green wood on the campfire near her feet. They both instantly turned toward
Kevin. They saw him holding the hatchet in his left hand and stomping the
ground near a pile of old driftwood. Kevin then swung at the ground with the
hatchet several times, and turned to walk back toward Dylan and Mary.

Dylan
cupped his hands and yelled at Kevin as he approached. “Hey, big man, if it
hurts that bad we need to do something about it. I told your wife and she
agrees.”

Kevin
said nothing, his face visibly pale, and with a terrified expression. He kept
glancing down at his right hand, and as Kevin closed the distance, he held his
hand forward, terrified and speechless. What had happened became obvious to
Dylan instantly. He saw the two bloody spots in the fleshy part of Kevin’s hand,
between the thumb and first finger. A snake had bitten him. Only a poisonous
snake could make that wound.

Mary’s
green wood had begun to cause a large plume of white smoke on the fire. Dylan
stepped away from the smoke. He grabbed Kevin, guiding him to his raft, and
motioning for him to sit. With tears in her eyes, Mary huddled close to her
husband.

“Where
is it? What kind is it?” demanded Dylan. “Did it rattle?”

Kevin
was in shock. He glanced back to the pile of wood near the grove of trees at
the inlet. He looked down at his wound and summoned a few words. “I killed it.”
He gestured with the hatchet in his left hand. “I stomped on it, and cut its
head off. It was brown like the dirt and the dead wood around it.” He sucked
the wound on his hand as he contemplated his fate. “What am I going to do?”

Dylan
took the hatchet from him. “I don’t have an answer.”

Dylan
went to where Kevin had killed the snake. The decapitated snake’s body was next
to its severed head. He tossed the head into the river and brought the snake’s
body back toward the smoky fire and Kevin’s raft.

Dylan
held up the snake. “Copperhead.” It was three feet long and thick. The brown
color gave it a perfect camouflage against the dirt and weathered wood on the
ground.

Mary
held onto her husband tightly, fighting back her tears. Kevin’s eyes were wide
and his face was pale. He looked terrified.

“That’s
poisonous. What am I going to do?” Kevin asked, not hiding the fear in his
voice.

 “I
don’t know.” Dylan cut the belly of the snake and pulled the skin back toward
the tail. The skin neatly peeled away like a sausage casing. He held the length
of snakeskin up for Kevin to see. “Souvenir?”

Kevin
shook his head. “No, thanks.” He clutched his hand close to his chest and
leaned back in the raft. His wife caressed his forehead as he looked upward to
the fading blue sky. He watched the few remaining puffy white clouds slowly
drift by and tried to remember a better time in his life.

 Kevin
suddenly sat up and shook the daze from his eyes. “Am I going to die?” Mary’s
lips began to quiver. She was trying to maintain composure and be strong for
her husband.

Dylan
did not immediately respond. He tossed the snake near the smoky fire, sat on
his raft next to Kevin and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.
He slowly exhaled, leaned forward, and rubbed his bearded face with the palms
of his dirty hands.

“Am
I going to die?” Kevin sternly repeated.

“No,
but you’re going to get sick. Very sick. We’re going to have to stay here until
you’re better. We still have plenty of dried food. Just relax and let us take
care of you for a while.”

Kevin
nodded his head and then closed his eyes and leaned back in the raft, waiting
for the poison’s effects.

During
the night, while the others were asleep, Kevin became ill. His right hand was
swollen and very painful. He broke into a sweat and his breathing became
labored. The nausea urged him to lean over his raft as he felt his stomach
turn, and the saliva dripped from his mouth. Kevin began to vomit violently and
it felt like his guts were being ripped out of his body through his throat. The
vomiting and diarrhea lasted throughout the night. Mary tried to give him sips
of water and Kevin tried to drink. The nausea was overwhelming his tired body when,
near sunrise, the effect of the poison began to fade. His fatigued body
retreated into much needed sleep and, just before sunrise, all three weary
travelers finally slept at the same time.

Dylan
was usually the first person to wake in the morning. Because of Kevin’s illness,
he knew they would not be travelling anytime soon, so there was no urgency to
wake early and start the day. When Kevin’s sickness faded, he took advantage of
the temporary tranquility as he stretched out and faded into sleep once again.
He knew the other two would do the same; Kevin needed as much rest as possible.

Dylan
was deep asleep when he felt the tap of something metal on his forehead. He did
not understand why they would be trying to wake him up. Staying up the entire
night from Kevin’s violent illness should have been fatiguing, and he knew they
needed to rest. Then he heard the voice; it was a man’s voice, but not Kevin’s.

“Hey,
wake up,” said the stranger to Dylan, as he took a step back. He had poked
Dylan on his forehead with the barrel of a shotgun.

Dylan’s
eyes flew open wide at the sound the strange voice. He sat up startled and
shifted his body slightly away from the man, but not very far, as the raft
confined him to a seated position. He quickly turned his head to see his rifle,
but it was out of his reach on the opposite side of the raft from the stranger.

The
man was wearing a flannel shirt and overalls with black cowboy boots. One of
the overall straps was not clasped and hung loose. The man had the shotgun
under his arm hanging downward, not in a threatening way.

“Who
are you?” The man’s eyes squinted, more from curiosity than anger or fear.

“Nobody,
we’re just passing through.”

The
man saw Dylan quickly glance toward his rifle. The look toward the weapon was
enough for the man to respond.

“Don’t
do anything stupid.” He patted his shotgun gently. “We’re just talking, so stay
cool. You’re on my property and I need to know what you want.”

“We
don’t want anything and we’re not looking for trouble. Like I said, we’re just
passing through.”

The
man paused, looked toward the sleeping couple and faced Dylan again. “I’ve had
some people ‘just passing through’ before. They caused problems for me. They
were really crazy, sort of spooky. You look like you’re doing okay, not
starving and desperate like the others.”

Dylan
nodded.

“Do
you need any work? I’ve got a lot of corn in this field.” The man tilted his
head back toward the field of corn, but kept eye contact with Dylan.

“He’s
sick. We’ve been up all night.” Dylan nodded his head in Kevin’s direction. “We
just wanted to wait it out until he gets better.”

The
man stepped away from Dylan and more toward Kevin.