Into The Darkness (32 page)

Dylan
walked up to him. The dying bandit looked upward at his assassin, but the sun
was in his eyes. He could only see Dylan’s shadowed silhouette. Dylan stepped
over to cast his shadow across the man’s face. He wanted the man to see him
before he died.

“Why
did you do that? Why did you murder them?” asked Dylan, coldly.

Then,
with what strength he had left in his body, the mortally wounded killer’s hand
slowly went toward the rifle lying next to him. His arm inched across the hot
pavement. He grunted in pain as his hand got closer to the weapon. Dylan moved
and the sun hit the man’s eyes again. He squinted and turned his head. Dylan
kicked the rifle out of the bandit’s reach and slammed the heel of his boot
onto his scuttling hand. Dylan could feel the bones break as the murderer
screamed.

Dylan
looked back up to the top of the hill and waved broadly with both hands. He
knew Kevin would be watching with the binoculars. He wanted them to come down
the hill. They needed to move on. Dylan went to the two women lying bound in
the overgrown grass of the median, and cut their ligatures. The women recoiled
in fear.

Dylan
let his rifle hang from the strap on his shoulder and held his hands up. “I’m
not with them.” He pointed to the outlaws, one dead, and the other barely
clinging to life. “I’m sorry. I saw the roadblock ahead, but you passed us so
fast and we didn’t know who you were.” He cleared his throat and wiped the
sweat from his forehead with his dirty shirt. “I wish I could have signaled a
warning to you.”

Kevin
and Mary approached, and stood next to Dylan. They had suitcases in tow and
were balancing the overloaded bike.

Dylan
picked up the two rifles and placed them beside the women. “Keep these. Stay
off the highway if you can.”

The
two women never said anything. Still in shock, they just watched the three
strangers push the bike and pull the suitcases up the hill and over its crest,
out of view.

The
trio walked for several more hours, creeping along with even more suspicion of
their surroundings. They spotted a large concrete culvert just ahead of them. A
small road merged with the highway and the culvert allowed for drainage under
the ramp accessing the other road. They pulled their supplies inside and spent
the night in the concrete tube. That night Mary prayed for bullets and dreamed
of salvation.

In
the morning, Dylan inspected the beans and rice in a plastic container that he
had let soak in water overnight. It was still dark and very hard to see
anything. Not having a fire would help to keep their presence concealed, but,
even if they wanted a fire, there was no wood for a fire anyway. The soggy mixture
had absorbed most of the water and had swollen to more than twice its volume in
the time since they had gone to sleep inside the culvert. Dylan ate the cold
food with his fingers and watched Kevin and Mary sleep, huddled together on the
curved concrete floor. He used the plastic container to hold his uneaten food,
shoving it into his pocket along with a can of tuna fish, then leaned back and
waited for the morning sun to break above the horizon.

At
sunrise, he nudged Kevin on the leg. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Kevin
opened his eyes and saw the morning light. It cast a red hue at the opening of
their temporary abode. He groaned loudly and woke his wife.

Dylan
stood up as far as he could, hunching his shoulders. He stood over Kevin and
his wife, looking down at them. “We need more water,” said Dylan, shaking an
empty water bottle.

“Is
there any close?” asked Mary.

“Yeah,
we’ll pass by a lake. We’ll stop and rest there in the shade, and filter more
water. My house is not far from there. We should leave now and travel in the
cool morning hours.” Dylan pointed toward the road. “We can make it to my house
by sunset.”

Kevin
stood up quickly, almost as if he was startled. “That’s fantastic! We made it!”
He bent over and wrapped his arms around his wife to help her stand up. Mary
was short enough to stand fully erect in the tunnel, but in his haste to help
his wife stand, Kevin hit his head on the domed concrete as he straightened. He
rubbed his head with one hand and began to drag a suitcase outside with the
other. Dylan pushed the bike and trailer, heavy with their bags. Mary brought
the remaining suitcases out of the culvert, and they resumed their trek.

They
traveled south several miles down the highway. To their right was an off-ramp
that merged onto another road. The new road turned east, into the morning sun.
Dylan quickened the pace.

“Can
you please slow down?” pleaded Mary.

Dylan
stopped and looked behind him. Kevin held the middle ground between him and
Mary. From the distance, Dylan saw the sweat dripping from Mary’s face. He
drank the last of his water and waited for them to catch up.

“I
have to rest,” said Mary, breathing heavily, “and I’m so thirsty.”

Kevin
handed his wife the rest of his water and she drank it all.

“That’s
it for us. Unless you have some water, it’s all gone,” said Kevin.

“There’s
water just up the road.” Dylan pointed forward. “Look ahead of us. Do you see
the top of that hill?”

Kevin
and Mary both nodded. Mary was still panting, and both of them were sweating
profusely in the direct sunlight.

“Past
the crest of that hill, we’ll come to a wide valley. The stream flowing through
there was dammed, which created a large lake. This road goes across of the dam.
Down there we’ll find plenty of water and shade. We’ll stop to rest under the
first big tree we come to, I promise.”

Dylan
and Kevin looked at Mary, waiting for a response. They could not tell if she
was crying. Her eyes were red, but that might have been from sweat irritating
her eyes. Mary nodded lethargically and continued onward. They paused at the
top of the hill. It was just as Dylan described. The road went down into a wide
valley and across a dam that created a lake that they could see to the left
side of the road.

“There
it is,” said Dylan, triumphantly, “a thousand-acre lake surrounded by thousands
of acres of wilderness. A small stream that feeds the lake flows near my
property. We’ll use the stream for water, and hunt down here if we have to.”

“Are
we close to your home?” asked Kevin.

“Yes,
very close. We’ll pass a subdivision on the right. It’ll have large houses and
its own private lake. Just past that is where I live. Look for a sign that says
Hidden Acres, and that’ll be home.”

Mary
leaned into her husband, pressing her forehead against his chest, and held his
upper arm tightly. He felt her breathe a sigh of relief, then she released him
as they turned to walk down the hill toward the lake. Near the trough of the
valley, an access road led toward the lake and around its shoreline. Near the
entrance to the park was a small empty parking lot and a pier for fishing. Just
past the pier, they saw a man and a young boy beneath a small shade tree. The
man was casting a fishing lure into the water, while the boy stayed close to
his side. Stopping at the shade tree nearest to the lake, Kevin and Mary sat
down in the grass while Dylan went toward the pier with several empty bottles,
the water filter, and the rifle slung on his back. The man who was fishing
watched Dylan walk to the end of the pier, and as Dylan and he made eye
contact, the man started to raise his hand in a friendly wave. At that moment,
Dylan removed the rifle slung across his back. The man saw the rifle and
dropped his hand. He called the boy to his side and whispered something to him
as he kept a cautious eye on Dylan and the rifle. Dylan saw the man and boy
talking and decided to ignore them as he filtered the water. He looked back
toward his companions. They were still sitting deep in the tall grass under the
canopy of a large oak tree, resting.

Suddenly
the man’s fishing pole bent sharply and his attention focused on the taut line.
The young boy had been curiously watching Dylan, out on the pier filtering
water. The boy got up and moved toward him. Dylan watched the little boy’s
approach, then looked over at the man, who was desperately trying to reel in a
large fish. The boy came closer and stood by Dylan’s side.

“What
are you doing?” asked the boy.

“Getting
water for me and my friends to drink.”

“Are
you a bad guy?”

“No.
Why would you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Daddy
is afraid of you.”

Dylan
pointed to the man struggling with the fish. “Is that your father?”

“Yes.
My mommy is in heaven.”

He
looked into the boy’s eyes and his heart sank into a bottomless pit as he
thought of his own children.

“I’m
sorry.”

“Can
I have some water to drink? We don’t have any more water.”

“Yes,
of course. Go get your container and I’ll fill it up.”

The
young boy ran back to the little tree and brought back an empty plastic jug
that at one time, many months ago, had been full of milk. Dylan filled it with
clean water and the boy hurried back to his father with it. By the time the
child reached his father’s side, the line had broken, and the fish got away.
The man sat back on the shoreline, defeated, staring at his dangling fishing
line blowing in the wind. The boy showed him the jug of water and pointed
toward Dylan. The man quaffed some water from the jug, handed it back to his
son, and then walked out on the pier toward where Dylan stood. Dylan had
finished filling their water bottles and was ready to leave. The man approached
Dylan and removed his hat, nervously rolling it up in his hands. He cast his
eyes downward, and stopped several feet from Dylan.

“Sir,
I want to thank you for the water.”

“Okay,
I’m glad to help. I have to go now. Please excuse me.”

The
man looked up in alarm.

“No,
please, wait just one minute.” His gaze went down again and he twisted his hat
more tightly in his hands, wringing it like a wet washcloth. “You look like
you’re doing better than most people I’ve seen down here. We’ve had it hard
these past few months.” The man began to choke up from deep emotions, then
cleared his throat. “His mother died, and now we have run out of food. Do you
have any food? Anything at all that you can spare?”

“I’m
sorry, I have to go now.” Dylan put the full bottles of water and the filter
back into his bag and slung the rifle onto his back.

The
man dropped to his knees in front of Dylan, let go of the wrinkled hat, and
clasped his hands in front of himself as if praying for mercy. “Please help us.
Give us something.”

“Don’t
do this in front of your son. Get up.”

“Please,
it’s not for me. It’s for my son. Please, I’m begging you. I’ve lost everything
and I can’t lose him, too. Please—”

“Get
up. Take this.” Dylan handed him what was left of the beans and rice he had in
the plastic container in his pocket. The man grabbed the container and pried
the lid open with his trembling hands. His fingernails were long and dirty. He
put the container on the wooden planks of the pier and slid it directly in
front of his son. The boy wolfed the cold beans and rice down while his father
sat next to him, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder. Dylan walked by
the two huddled together on the pier. When he stepped onto the grass, Dylan
looked back at them once more. The boy was still ravenously eating and his
father was right by his side. Dylan remembered the can of tuna in his pocket
and pulled it out. The label was missing from long ago. He walked back to the
man and handed the tuna to him. The man held the small can like it was a
precious gem and ran for the access road. He pressed the top of the can onto
the concrete and moved the can in a circular motion. In no time, he had rubbed
the soft metal of the can’s rim away. He hit the lid with a rock, pulled the
jagged metal away, and then ran back to his son, offering him the open can of
food. Dylan could not stand to watch any longer. He returned to his friends, handed
them their water bottles, and they all drank their fill, sitting in the shade.

“What
was that about?” asked Kevin.

“It
was horrible. They’re starving and the man just wanted food for his son.” Dylan
paused. “We should go now, the sun is getting low.”

“Aren’t
you hungry?” asked Mary.

“No.”

They
heard Dylan’s stomach growl from hunger and knew that he was lying. He pushed
the bike loaded with their belongings back up to the road. The other two were
close behind him as they continued up the hill and out of the valley.

Their
final landmark before Dylan’s neighborhood was an upscale subdivision named, Swan
Lake Estates. The subdivision’s entrance monument was located on the right side
of the road near a large sycamore tree. They could see the community’s stone
monument soon after the immense tree came into view. They stayed on the
opposite side of the road as they passed. When they got near the tree, they saw
a naked body hanging from a low limb. The noose was positioned correctly on the
side of the neck, in just the right location to break the neck when the body
fell. Dylan counted thirteen loops on the hangman’s noose. Someone knew what
they were doing. The back of the legs were soiled with filth from the bowels
releasing at the moment of death. A large sheet of plywood was on the ground
leaning on the subdivision’s stone monument. In large letters the sign read, TRESPASSERS
WILL BE KILLED. He had always thought that this subdivision was full of
high-society people who never did anything for themselves. He was surprised to
see this type of message displayed. That meant someone from the pampered crowd
had to get their hands dirty, and that they were taking a stand.

There
was a breeze at their backs, but it provided little relief from the late summer
heat. The setting sun burned their necks as they pushed forward. His only
solace from the sun and evening heat was that his destination was directly
ahead. He could see his subdivision’s monument on the corner of the road they would
turn onto. They trudged past the stone structure slowly, and he announced,
“Hidden Acres,” as they plodded along. Dylan led the way down the road to his
house, with Kevin and Mary close behind. The scene was an absolute contrast to
the neighborhood that he had left months ago. Sections of lawns were spaded
over and planted with vegetables. Lawns that were not turned into gardens were
overgrown with grass and weeds. Garbage was piled in mounds at the ends of
driveways, an effigy to a society of convenient disposal. The trash piles had a
wretched smell and flourished with buzzing insects. Dogs, rodents, and starving
people had shredded and picked through the plastic bags that once lay intact,
waiting for sanitation trucks to haul them away. The windows of the homes that
had not been abandoned were opened to let a breeze through. They had not yet
seen any people. They assumed all were inside hiding from the heat, or perhaps out
searching for food and water.

Dylan’s
was the last house at the end of the street and he just stood there beside a
pile of trash at the end of his driveway. The pile was noticeably smaller than
the others were. His home was at a dead end and the lot was next to thousands
of acres of county parkland. A stream went through this land to the lake from
which they had just got water. The windows and doors to his home were closed.
The house appeared abandoned. Kevin and Mary were close by, standing rigid as
if waiting for a command.

“Is
this it?” asked Kevin, not understanding Dylan’s silence and apprehension.