The Gift: A Short Story (Voices of the Apocalypse Book 4) (2 page)

“Have it yer way. More for me.” He sipped the coffee and the warmth soothed his insides. Nothing like a good cup of coffee to ease the soul.
 

“Why are you all alone, Ransom?”

“That’s not a happy story.”

“Are there any happy stories these days?”
 

“How’d you lose your sister?” Ransom steered the subject away.

“That’s the saddest story I know.” She pulled the quilt tighter and tucked her chin into her chest.
 

Ransom didn’t want to pry. “Okay, I’ll go first. My daughter, Emma, died when she was about yer age. Bad accident. My wife never recovered from it. One mornin’ she up and left me. Been alone for ‘bout two decades. Just the chickens, roosters, and me. I miss ‘em every single day.”

Ransom had never said those words to anyone and hearing them sounded strange, as though someone else had put them there. He wasn’t sure if he should tell Keyla the whole story.
 

The farmers market was closing for the day. The fruit lady, who Ransom only knew as “the fruit lady,” smiled and waved goodbye. The vegetable man, who Ransom knew as Henry, nodded and got on his donkey to carry his cart back home. Everyone else had already left. Normally, Ransom would start packing up, but that day he wasn’t in any rush.
 

“How’d she die?” Keyla asked.

He let out a big old sigh. “I was ridin’ one of my skid loaders on the dairy farm. I’d been drinkin’ with the boys the night before. Playin’ cards till the wee hours of the mornin’. Shoulda gone on home and slept it off, but I had work to do. Bills to pay. The sun was beatin’ down on me and I was in a heap of sweat, blinded by it, you could say. I didn’t see her playing in the dirt. Ran her over. She died later that night. Worst day of my life.”

Ransom reached for the thermos and drank down a few gulps of coffee, hoping to straighten out the wiry feeling inside his gut. Keyla rested her hand on his big shoulder.

“I can’t imagine your guilt, but it was an accident. You didn’t mean it.”

“Course I didn’t mean it, but that don’t take away the pain.”

“I suppose it doesn’t. I’m sorry something so horrible happened to such a good man.”

“I ain’t a good man.”

“Sure you are. Look at what you’ve done for me––and you don’t even know me.”
 

Ransom nodded and grinned a little, then finished off the coffee.
 

“If it makes you feel any better, I did some bad stuff too,” she said.

“Little thing like you? Nah.” He chuckled and reached into his pocket to get a twig to gnaw on.

She squeezed her eyes tight and kept her head down. “I left my sister behind. I’m pretty sure she was dead, but I didn’t check to see. I just ran out of that place. She looked dead, but it’s the not knowing that gives me nightmares.”

“Where were you?”

“Somewhere down near Canton when it happened. My parents sent me and my sister there when things got bad in D.C. My mom’s sister had a house in the suburbs and she said she’d take us in until things calmed down. My folks scraped together all they had to get us train tickets to Pittsburgh. From there, we had to find a way to Canton. It was only ninety miles, so my sister thought we could handle it. I trusted she could figure out something, being an honor-roll student and all. She was top of her class.”

“What’s her name?”

“You say that like she’s still alive.”

“She might be.”

“Her name is Dayla.” Keyla stopped and looked up toward the sky, staying quiet for a few minutes.
 

Ransom waited patiently; he didn’t have anywhere to go. He fiddled with the twig in his mouth, wishing he had a wooden match. He remembered driving around for miles, searching every single ransacked hardware store in the nearby towns, but found nothing.
 

Keyla started talking again. “We hitched a ride with a nice couple on their way to Chicago to help with the city center. They had lost their jobs and their home, so they had nothing else to lose. They let us out in East Canton and continued north. They were really nice people. I hope they’re okay.”

“Did you and yer sis make it to yer aunt’s house?”

“We still had some more traveling, but there weren’t any buses or cars so we walked about fifteen miles in the middle of the night. It was probably better because it was too hot during the day. August humidity and all. Right before we got to her house, a dark blue van pulled over to the side and a sweet woman asked us if we needed a ride. Dayla told the woman no thanks and that we were fine, but then the side door opened and two men jumped out and pulled us into the van. All I remember is hearing Dayla’s scream before something went over my mouth and knocked me out.”

Ransom sat on the curb, clenching his fists, ready to punch someone. Rage twisted all around him. How could a woman do such a thing like luring two innocent girls into a van? That was really getting up in his craw but he held back his anger and stayed calm for Keyla’s sake.

“When I woke up, Dayla and I were on a cold cement floor, chained to a pipe in some mildewy basement. It was dark, but I could hear birds chirping outside so I knew it was morning. Dayla was still out and I shook her until she woke up. She cried for a few minutes and I told her to stop it before they heard us. I started looking for a way to get free, but the handcuffs were on too tight. Dayla banged on the pipe to loosen it from the wall, and that’s when one of the men came down. He was skinny, with greasy hair and dirt all over his face. He came over and kicked Dayla until she went limp. I kept my mouth shut. One of us needed to stay strong.”

Ransom had to stand up for a minute and get some fresh air into his lungs. His insides felt like they were on fire and he wanted to crush something with his bare hands. He picked up a brick from the street and hurled it into the window of one of the abandoned buildings. The sound of glass shattering settled him a little and he was able to take in a few deep breaths. He walked back over to Keyla, who was nervously readjusting the combs in her hair.
 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he grunted.

“It gets worse. You want me to stop?”

“Nah, I’m good. You go on and git it off yer chest. You’ll feel better.”
 

“The man bent down and shot something into Dayla’s arm. Then he unchained her and dragged her over to a mattress on the other side of the room. He called upstairs to his buddy, someone named Harold, who came thumping down the stairs. He looked like a giant. The skinny man set up a camera and aimed it toward the mattress where Dayla was slumped over. He looked at Harold and ordered him to take off his clothes; it was time to make a movie. I curled into a ball and tried to block out their conversation, but it was impossible. They were making gross movies for some wealthy businessmen.”

“I don’t think I wanna hear the rest,” Ransom said.
 

“Yeah, it’s not good.”

“Did they hurt you?”
 

“They were saving me for last. I closed my eyes while they made the movie. Dayla was so drugged up she didn’t make a sound. The skinny man started kicking her again, telling her to wake up and get more into the scene. But she was too far gone. He yanked her off the mattress and threw her back in the corner, where I was stilled chained up. Her head smacked against the pipe and she hit the cement hard. Blood spilled out around her and I was sure she was dead. Instead of crying or getting upset, something deep stirred in my belly, and it felt like my insides were turning to stone. I waited for that skinny man to come over to me so I could take him out. I was going to kill him.”

Ransom understood intense murderous rage. When the corporations took away his farm and kicked him to the dirt, he plotted killing off every last one of the bastards. But this was different. This was two innocent girls who couldn’t fend for themselves. And those men hurt them for good. The kind of hurt that doesn’t ever go away, no matter how much praying you did.
 

“The skinny man headed over toward me so he could stick me with that needle. I stayed still until he was real close, then I kicked him in between his legs, like my daddy taught me. I yanked that needle out of his hand and stuck it right into his beady eye. He fell backward, wailing and rolling around, and I kicked him some more. Harold just stood off to the side, watching in shock. I don’t think he had much going on in the smarts department. When the skinny man finally passed out, I reached into his pocket and found the key to undo my cuffs. I took the needle out of his eye and walked over to Harold, aiming it at him. He was more afraid of that needle than a kid at the doctor’s office. He tucked himself into a ball on the mattress and I inched slowly up the stairs. I listened by the door to make sure no one was home. It was quiet and I ran out of that house as fast as I could go, leaving Dayla behind. I ran for a while, then finally hitched a ride to my aunt’s house. I knew she could help me go back and get Dayla out of that house. But when I got there, my aunt was gone. The whole house was boarded up. The neighbor said she and my uncle got really sick and died. I headed to the 77 highway and walked north. Not sure why I headed this way, but something inside told me to go north.”

Ransom pulled Keyla into his arms and hugged her tight against his sturdy chest. She stayed stiff for a few minutes until her armor melted and she began sobbing, wetting the front of his shirt.
 

“I didn’t want to leave her,” she cried.

“There was nothin’ you coulda done.” Ransom rubbed her back and forced himself to stay strong for her.
 

“I’m so glad you found me, Ransom.”
 

“Me too.” He stood up and adjusted his jacket. “I got an idea.”

“What?”

He reached down to Keyla and helped her up. “Let’s drive down to East Canton and find yer sister.”

Keyla stepped back, almost tripping on the curb. “But she’s dead.”

“The least we can do is go git her and give her a proper burial. We can put her next to Emma, up on my old farm.”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s been weeks, Ransom. They probably got rid of her body by now. Those people might not even be there.”

“We don’t know till we try. Whaddya say?”
 

Ransom had already started packing up the tractor. Once his mind was made up, there was no point trying to change it.

“I’m scared.”

“Of course you are, but that don’t mean you don’t do something.”

“We’re not driving the tractor down, are we?” Keyla smiled.
 

“Nah, I’m fixin’ to ask Mayor Parks if we can borrow his car. I’ll give him the rest of these here eggs.”

Keyla stared off for a minute or two. The sun was setting and a crisp breeze blew through the empty streets. The dry leaves rustled along the road. She eyed Ransom up and down. “Okay, let’s do it.”
 

The two walked down the street toward the old hat shop where the Mayor Parks and his wife lived. Ransom gave the Mayor a brief account of what had happened and held out what was left of the eggs. Mayor Parks handed over his keys without any hesitation.

“There’s not much gas, but I trust you’ll figure out something.” He shook Ransom’s hand. “You’re a good man.”

“Just tryin’ to do the right thing,” he said, humbly.

“That’s what makes you a good man. It’s not about our past sins; it’s what we learn from them.”

They got into the large Buick and Keyla buckled up, looking tiny in the passenger seat. Ransom didn’t bother with his buckle. It took a few tries before the engine turned. There was a quarter tank left, which wouldn’t be enough to get them to East Canton.
 

Ransom drove down Erie Street toward Mason’s Auto Shop. He pulled up to the vacant garage.

“Mason always keeps some extra gas lying around. He’s must be gone now. Don’t think he’d mind if we helped ourselves.”
 

Once they were fueled up to three-quarters tank, they got on the 77 South toward Canton. Keyla took a nap along the way, while Ransom thought about the last time he’d driven down that highway. He was a little rusty at the wheel, and after a big swerve, Keyla woke up.

“You sure you know how to drive?” she teased.
 

“It’s been a while. Now, do you remember where that house was?”

“It was on 24
th
Street Southeast. I’ll never forget it. It’s off of Wayne-something. Waynesburg Drive, maybe. Once we get close enough, I can figure it out. You’ll need to take exit 43 South.”
 

He nodded. “Good memory.”

“It’s kind of hard to forget when you’re walking on it for a while.” Keyla smiled, pointing to the upcoming exit. “You need to get off there.”

 
When they got close enough to 24
th
Street, Keyla crouched low in the passenger seat, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ransom parked a few houses away, hidden in the shadows of the trees. Good thing the street lamps were off.

“You okay?” he asked.
 

“It’s that little red house. The one with the van in the driveway,” Keyla whispered.

“You wait right here.”

“You’re just going to walk up to the door?”
 

“That’s right.”

“Do you have a weapon or anything?”

The sixty-three year old raised his eyebrows and held up his fists.
 

“Good luck,” she said, shaking her head.

He got out of the car and walked toward the house, feeling another bout of that burning rage. Someone was definitely going to pay for what they did to those innocent girls. When he was about a few houses away, he waited by the trees, sizing up the place. A couple of folks came out of the house and got into the van. They peeled out of the driveway and bolted down the street. Ransom looked back to make sure Keyla was okay. Her puffy hair ducked down just before the van zipped by.
 

Ransom marched up to the door and didn’t bother knocking; he just barreled through it, almost taking it off the hinges. He stormed through the filthy living room and kitchen area, opening doors to see if anyone was still there. Someone had to answer for this crime. But the place was empty. He noticed a baseball bat next to the couch and picked it up for his journey to the basement. One step at a time, he descended the wooden steps into the dark hole.