Into The Darkness (28 page)

Mary
walked to his side and he felt her gentle touch on his shoulder.

“Do
you want to talk about it?” asked Mary, looking hesitantly at Dylan.

“No.”

Kevin’s
fever gradually began to recede, and then completely dissipated by the second
day. On that day, Kevin stood up and tried to walk, encouraged to do so by his
wife and Dylan. He was shaky from the illness and lack of food, but he began to
regain his appetite after the fever disappeared. Kevin paced back and forth
through the campsite trying to restore some steadiness to his legs, and as he
was pacing, he felt the empty space in his jaw from the missing molar. Kevin
took a final lap around the campsite, and then sat near Dylan, who was taking
his turn stoking the campfire.

Dylan
sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the fire and asked, “How are you
feeling?”

“I’ve
been better.”

“You’ve
looked better, too.”

Kevin
smiled and stared into the fire. He held up one hand to feel the heat. “Be
careful what you say, old man. I can still kick your ass.”

“Oh,
really?” said Dylan, sarcastically. “Don’t forget, I already knocked one of
your teeth out this week.”

At
Dylan’s comment, Kevin furrowed his brow as he touched his jawline. “I just
don’t remember. I can’t seem to remember the last two days. The fever and that
damn snake bite took me down.”

“It’s
probably better that way,” said Dylan, as he turned his head to look toward the
cornfield. He saw Mary moving through the rows of corn, gathering young ears to
prepare for supper. “Did you see any lights at the end of a dark tunnel?”

“I’m
not quite ready for that yet,” said Kevin, confidently pointing at his chest
with the swollen thumb on his right hand. When Kevin shifted his position on
the ground, he heard the capsules rattle in the plastic bottle at the bottom of
his deep pockets. He remembered Mary mentioning Dylan’s mood on the return from
his trip into town. Dylan was withdrawn and did not want to talk about that
day. Curiosity prodded Kevin to ask what had happened there.

Kevin
tapped the bottle in his pants, rattling the capsules again. “What was it like
in town? Did you have to wade through some deep shit?”

Dylan
nodded and looked away. He stared at the flames while he collected his
thoughts. “Apocalypse,” said Dylan. “Three young kids, barely teenagers, tried
to kill us for our horses. “They’re…dead.” Dylan was looking at the campfire,
but he saw the images of the people that he and Ben had shot just a few days
ago.

Both
men jumped up when they heard Mary scream. Ben had come back to the campsite and
emerged through the corn, frightening Mary. She had been gathering ears of corn
from the field and her arms had been full of at least a dozen ears of corn,
which were now scattered on the ground at her feet.

“Sorry,
I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Ben. He took his hat off and smiled at her.

Mary
looked down at the ears of corn at her feet and was embarrassed that Ben had
caught her taking corn from his field. She looked up, timidly waved, and tried to
smile. “Hello again. You scared me.”

“I
wondered if you were still here.” Ben walked toward Mary. “Take this. My wife
baked it.” Ben handed her a loaf of cornbread. It was in an old plastic bread
bag.

Mary
opened the bag and smelled the contents. It smelled delicious. She closed her
eyes and breathed in the aroma of freshly baked cornbread again, exhaled, and
cast a large grin toward Ben. “Thank you. It smells wonderful. Would you like
to stay? We have cans of beans. I can warm some up for you.”

“Sorry,”
said Ben, apologetically, “I can’t stay long. There are a million things I need
to get done.” Ben used his hat and waved it in a broad arc toward Dylan and
Kevin. Then Ben began to look intently around. He peered deeply into the rows
of corn behind him. Facing the corn, he whistled loudly and, almost instantly,
a Labrador retriever puppy came running toward him from the field. It circled
his boots, and then darted toward Mary, smelling her ankles and the ears of
corn on the ground. Ben walked toward the campfire snapping his fingers. The
dog followed closely, greeting Dylan and Kevin with its cold wet nose.

“I
thought you might still be here.” Ben looked back at Mary. She was picking the
ears of corn up from the ground. “My wife baked some cornbread. Mary has it.”

“We
couldn’t leave with an invalid.” Dylan jokingly pointed at Kevin.

Kevin
offered his right hand as a greeting. “You must be Ben. It’s good to meet you,
again. I can’t remember much from the past two days.”

Ben
reached for his hand, but stopped when he noticed the swelling.

“Sorry,
pal. Your hand looks terrible.” Ben extended his left hand and gave Kevin a
firm handshake.

Dylan
pointed toward the puppy. “How’d you come across that thing?”

Ben
bent over to scratch the dog’s neck and back. “I finally made it to one of my
neighbors. We talked about our problems and decided to work together. He has an
old tractor that still works and a storage tank of diesel fuel. We agreed to
help each other and share food. I have corn and he has beans. It’s a good
combination.” He looked at Mary, remembering her invitation to eat cornbread
and beans with them. “I have a place to store the harvest and a grain mill to
grind the corn into meal.” He gave the dog a gentle pat and stood up again.
“And he gave me a dog. It’s a good dog.” Ben smiled at the puppy.

Mary
walked back to the campfire. She grinned as she held up the plastic bag with
cornbread inside that Ben had just given them. Not saying anything to the three
men, she set the ears of corn down and found a can of beans to warm by the
fire.

“Y’all
going to stay long?” asked Ben.

Dylan
looked at Kevin and cast a thumb in his direction. “Maybe leave tomorrow if he
can handle it.”

Kevin
smirked, and then his stomach growled loudly from hunger.

“I’m
not going to keep a man from his supper.” Ben put his hat back on. “Best of
luck to you,” said Ben, as he turned away. He slapped his leg and the puppy
followed him into the field.

The
next morning Kevin decided he was strong enough to try to continue downstream.
They gathered their belongings and packed the rafts. The rafts were near the
riverbank when Dylan decided to look around the campsite once more to make sure
they forgot nothing. He picked up an ear of corn and threw it back toward the
field. He saw movement inside the cornfield, and then Ben’s puppy ran out,
whimpering and limping toward Dylan. The dog had its tail between its legs and
began to cower at Dylan’s ankles.

Dylan
called out loudly. “Ben…Ben…your dog is over here.”

There
was no reply. He looked back toward the river and he knew that Kevin and Mary
were waiting. Dylan bent down and touched the dog’s back leg. It howled in
pain.

Dylan
called out loudly again. “Ben…Ben…I have your dog…it’s hurt.”

“What’s
going on?” yelled Kevin from the riverbank.

Dylan
motioned for Kevin to come back and showed the injured puppy to him.

“That’s
his dog alright and it’s hurt,” said Kevin.

“We
can’t just leave him here.” Dylan looked toward the grove of trees that Ben had
said was thick with copperheads, and remembered the story of Ben’s old dog that
died from a snakebite it got out here. “I’ll do it. I’ll take it back.”

Dylan
gently picked up the dog and began to walk into the cornfield. The coarse corn
leaves irritated his skin and were blinding as they whipped into his face. He could
not block them with his hands because he was carrying an injured dog. As Dylan
neared the end of the row of corn, the dog began to whimper loudly.

“Easy
now, you’re almost home,” said Dylan, as he gave the puppy gentle pats on the
back.

When
Dylan stepped out of the corn, the dog tensed, began to growl, and tried to get
away. Dylan did the best he could to hold the dog tight and not hurt it. When
he looked up from the dog, he noticed an old van near the house. He did not
remember the van being there from days before. Dylan thought it might be the
neighbor Ben had talked about, but Ben had not mentioned that they had a van
that was working. Dylan got nervous. He stopped abruptly and looked around.
Quickly, he went back into the cover of the cornfield and watched the house. He
put the dog down and stared at the house and its surroundings. He saw no
movement, but thought he heard something behind him. He listened closely; it
sounded like crying. The dog began to sniff the air and it limped back into the
cornfield toward the noise. As they got closer, the sound grew louder. It was
someone crying. Curled in the dirt between rows of corn was a young boy. His
knees were up and he had wrapped his little arms tightly around his legs. He buried
his face into his thighs and he was crying loudly, not hearing Dylan’s or the
puppy’s approach. The boy felt the puppy’s cold nose bump his cheek and he sat
up. When the boy looked back and saw Dylan approaching, he fell back, shuffling
his feet and hands backwards in the dirt, not gaining any traction. Dylan could
see the look of terror in his eyes.

Dylan
knelt down into a less threatening position. “Are you Ben’s son?”

The
boy nodded, with fear in his eyes.

“Are
you hurt?”

The
boy shook his head. He still had tears running down his face.

“What’s
wrong?”

The
boy pointed in the direction of his house. “Those men are going to hurt my
parents,” said the boy, with a trembling voice. “My dad went to the neighbor’s
house, so he wasn’t here when they showed up. They came to the house and wanted
food. They said they would leave if my mom gave them something to eat.” The
boy’s face contorted as he tried to keep himself from crying. “I was outside
and they grabbed me and told her to open the door or they would hurt me. They
kicked my puppy. My mom opened the door. When my dad got back, they got him,
too. That’s when I got away.”

Dylan’s
heart sank into his stomach. He knew he had to help them.

“How
many?

“Two.”
The boy held up two trembling fingers.

“Guns?”

The
boy nodded.

“Do
you know what kind of guns?”

“I
think they were shotguns.” The boy closed his eyes as he thought. “They looked
like the kind my dad uses to hunt birds.”

Dylan
nodded. “Listen to me carefully. I am going to try to help your parents. You
need to follow me and hide by the river. I have friends there and they’ll help.
Okay?”

The
boy nodded and wiped the tears from his face. He stood up, and Dylan could see
that the boy was barely eight years old. The boy picked his little dog up and
touched his cheek to the dog’s soft fur.

“Follow
me. Let’s hurry.”

They
ran through the corn back toward the campsite. Curious and concerned looks of
both Kevin and Mary met them when they exited the field. Kevin shrugged his
shoulders in the distance. He was confused. Why was Dylan running back toward
them with a boy and the puppy?

Dylan
stopped in front of Kevin and leaned over, resting his hands on his knees and
breathing deep. He took a deep breath and spoke. “This is Ben’s son. He told me
that two men with shotguns are at his house. His parents are in trouble.”

The
curious look on Kevin’s face faded to a distant stare. He clenched his swollen
right hand and tried to make a tight fist. He still felt weak and Dylan knew
that. “What’s the plan? I owe this guy something.”

Dylan
stood completely up and put his hands on top of his head interlacing his
fingers. He closed his eyes momentarily, then stared back toward Ben’s house.
“Get your pistol. Use your left hand if you have to.” He put his hands on his
hips. “I have a rifle so we can get them from a distance. We’ll sneak up or try
to draw them out of the house. Either way, I’m going to shoot first and ask
questions later.”

The
boy and his dog stayed behind with Mary. They sat by the extinguished campfire
and the puppy stood on its good back leg and licked the boy’s face, happy to be
back with him. Mary was scared for her husband again, but she tried not to show
it. Her eyes followed him as he ran to the raft on the riverbank to get his
pistol. Then both men disappeared into the cornfield.

Near
the end of the field, the men cautiously stopped and carefully looked around.
They saw no movement. Dylan tapped Kevin on the shoulder and pointed to his
weapon. He chambered a round and Kevin did the same. Pulling the slide back on
his pistol caused Kevin to wince from the pain in his right hand.

“I’m
ready,” said Kevin, shaking his right hand, trying to work the pain away.

Dylan
nodded and surveyed the landscape. The house was in front of them, with the van
parked in the back. It was an older two-story house with white peeling paint
and an old walnut tree to the left near the long driveway. At the back of the
house, he could see double doors, almost horizontal to the ground, near the
foundation. The doors would most likely lead to the basement. To the right of
the house was a large propane tank for the furnace, and still further away was
a red barn with a large sliding door. The barn’s door was closed.