Tainted Mind
Page 3
As he steps to the door and opens the screen for Chris, he extends his hand in greeting, “I’m Quincy by the way.”
Chris takes Quincy’s hand and shakes, surprised at the strength in the young man’s grip and the intensity in his eyes. Youth or not, those were eyes that had seen a thing or two over the years. Things that harden a man.
Quincy can’t help but think he’d just invited one of the most dangerous men he’s ever met into his house.
And his granddaughter would be home any minute. What would a man such as Chris do when introduced to a woman just a few years younger? In a world where the living were so few, he had no idea what was about to happen. With that thought on his mind, he’d definitely be keeping the shotgun close at hand. And hopefully, after hearing the shotgun, she’ll approach with an air of caution.
Chapter Four
Poker Jack cocks a thumb toward the newcomer. “What about him?”
“What of him?” responds Harvey, glancing toward the stranger, the one who calls himself Cowboy.
Cowboy pays them no mind. After a full day of riding, he takes his time brushing his horse, Gage. Behind him, the horizon has already swallowed the sun, leaving the remnants of red-tinged clouds hovering in the distance. Cowboy eyes the clouds and takes a deep breath. Beneath the smell of the horse, he can smell the moisture in the air. Rain is coming. If not tonight, then by early morning for sure.
“Why don’t we let him choose?” Poker Jack’s voice is a little too loud for Cowboy’s liking. The day you get comfortable in this world is the day you’ll end up dead. You never know where the dead might be and to draw attention to yourself is to dig your own grave.
“You do know I’m standing right here?” says Cowboy. He plucks a tuft of grass from the ground and feeds it to the horse. “I can hear you talking. So can anyone within half a mile.”
Poker Jack turns to his left and raises an eyebrow at the fourth man of the group, Bob.
Bob just shrugs.
Cowboy eyes Bob too. Of the four of them, Bob seems to be the only one as like-minded as himself. Quiet to a fault. Eyes keen and seems to be ever-present with his surroundings.
Harvey and Jack are major liabilities. Both men rely too heavily on their sidearm and rifles for protection when only half their ammunition is ever any good. There will come a day when the blast caps in their ammunition will fail every time. Cowboy plans to not be around when that day comes. In fact, if he can make it work, he plans on being rid of the two men a lot sooner than that.
He could just leave. There’s always that option. But Harvey—he’s the type that would follow him, thinking because of their hospitality in accepting him into their fold, he owed them something—that because they gave him water; he owned them his life. As far as Cowboy is concerned, he owes them nothing more. He’d helped protect them for more than a moon’s cycle now. Surely that was payment enough for a little water.
Yes, it was time to part ways and if he could steer them in the right direction; he knew just the place—and he wouldn’t have to get his own hands bloody while doing it.
Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he asks, “What am I choosing?”
“Nutin’ yet,” says Harvey, eye twitching. Cowboy had to look twice as it’s something he hadn’t noticed before.
“We still decidin,” Poker Jack adds.
They both snicker and bump fists. Cowboy shakes his head. These men have ten, maybe twelve years on him, yet they act as if they are children. He’s surprised they’ve lasted this long and thinks, not for the first time, that Bob might have a lot to do with their survival. He wished he could get Bob alone. The man might not speak, but he understands. He’s not stupid by any means—just quiet.
“You’re all deciding about letting me have a say in which direction we travel tomorrow?”
They exchange glances, faces simultaneously turning from happy to deflated gloom—as if Cowboy had just revealed the punchline to their funniest joke.
“How’d you know that?” asks Jack.
Instead of answering, Cowboy taps twice against the side of his head.
Bob laughs—so far, it’s the closest thing to speech Cowboy has heard.
Harvey says, “Well then, I’m thinking we’ll just stick with what’s been workin’.”
Cowboy pauses and looks over at Harvey. He couldn’t believe his ears. The childishness of the statement flips a switch, and he knows this will be their last day as a foursome. Cowboy pats the horse on the neck then strides to the small fire pit they’d dug just before sunset.
“Personally, Harvey…I don’t give a flying shit what you think. Come morning, I’m heading north. If you want to join me…fine. If not, then safe travels, because I’m considering my debt to you now paid.”
“We’ll decide when your debt is paid.” Harvey rises and takes a step forward, only to find Cowboy, in the blink of an eye, closes the distance first. He grabs him by one arm, and before he knows it, Harvey is on the ground, looking up into the business end of Cowboy’s pistol.
Poker Jack, seeing this, rises quickly, jumbling for his own gun. But before he can draw it, he too is on the ground.
Cowboy smiles. If there was any question where Bob’s true loyalties lie, this was the proof—it certainly wasn’t with these two buffoons. If they were with Cowboy, then that remained to be seen. But for now, it appeared he had an ally.
Bob looks up at him, eyebrows raised as if asking for instruction.
“Tie ‘em up? Take their guns?”
Bob nods and removes a long cord from the backpack he’d been using to lean against just moments before. He makes quick work of Harvey, cuts the cord, and tosses the remaining length to Cowboy.
Neither Jack nor Harvey resists, but they make their protests highly verbal.
Cowboy raps the gun against the side of Jack’s head, not too hard, but enough to get the man’s attention. “If the two of you don’t shut up now, we’ll leave you here for the dead.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jack says. But the look in his eyes says he knows better.
Cowboy smiles down at him but remains silent.
The silence is broken only by the combination of popping firewood and horses chomping tufts of grass.
“I’m glad to see we see eye to eye,” Cowboy says, glancing between the bound men. Addressing Bob, he says, “I’ll take first watch tonight.”
Bob nods and without a moment’s hesitation, rolls onto his back and rests his head on his backpack. Within a few minutes, he’s breathing deepens, already asleep. If Cowboy were to pinpoint one thing wrong with Bob, it would be that he’s too comfortable in this world.
“What about us?”
Cowboy slides a hand into his shirt pocket, removing a half-chewed cigar—a delicacy in these times. He pops it between his lips and rolls it from one side of his mouth to the other, then back again. “You both behave through the night and I’ll think about untying you in the morning.”
“Screw you, Cowboy.” Harvey tries to spit, but the thick wad of liquid drops short, most of it onto his shirt.
Cowboy grins and in the darkness—illuminated by the firelight, his face looks like a death’s mask. “You’re gettin’ off to a hell of a start.”
Jack elbows Harvey, “Knock it off. We’re already in enough trouble as it is.”
Yes, Cowboy thinks, grown children. He puts a couple more logs on the dying fire and, not bothering to hide his sarcasm, says, “That’s the spirit.”
* * *
As he predicted, the rain started in the early morning, not long after Bob’s turn to watch. The storms didn’t help his attitude toward Harvey and Jack once the grey of morning declared the start of a dreary wet day.
With a six-inch boot knife brandished before him, he addresses the two while Bob hovers nearby. “The way I see it, you have three options.” With his other hand, he holds up a single finger. “Option one: I cut you loose and you go on your way and if I ever see you again I kill you.” A second finger r
ises. “Option two: I cut you loose and you continue on with us.”
He pauses, searching their eyes for any deceit. He sees nothing—just two frightened bullies that got called out and put in their place. Harvey’s eye twitches again. Just like the night before, Cowboy can’t help but find it curious. No matter what he decides, if he leaves Harvey alive he will have to keep a closer eye on him.
“What about option three?” Jack asks, voice quivering. Cowboy doesn’t know if it’s because of the cold rain or the fact they have been tied up all night, their muscles are either sore as hell or numb as hell—he’s not sure which and doesn’t really care. What he knows is that he saw nothing in their faces that would indicate any reason not to trust them. And by trust, that means keeping one eye on them at all times—Harvey will be enough on his own.
He leans forward and begins cutting their bindings. He hesitates, feeling a sudden, strange feeling of inspiration. Something tells him not to destroy any more of the rope—that he might need it one day. He slides the knife into the sheath hidden in his boot and unties the knots. While he works, he tells them, “Option three started with me seeing any sort of deception in your faces and ends with my knife opening your throats where you lay.”
“I guess you satisfied yourself?”
Cowboy finishes untying Jack and moves to Harvey. “For now. Considering the first two options…which is it going to be?”
Harvey looks to Jack for inspiration. Without a word, they nod to one another as if they had shared the same thought between them.
Jack says, “I think we know the value of four people as opposed to two.”
This surprised Cowboy. That one statement was the most adult thing the two had said since he first met them. Was there more to them than he previously thought? Maybe—but that doesn’t mean he can trust them.
He stands, tips his hat back on his head and turns his face to the clouds as the rain increases in intensity. Mouth open, he feels the cool liquid gather on his tongue before swallowing. “I guess its option two. Here’s how this is going to work. As you probably know, I can’t trust the two of you as far as I can throw you…so you’ll take the lead when we set out. Bob and I will bring up the rear. If the two of you so much as look at me with any malice, you’ll be dead before your bodies hit the ground.” He pats the holster hanging at his waist. “We clear?”
They nod in unison. Cowboy is glad. Much like their weapons, he has no idea if any of his ammunition is any good. He’s tested them before with a less than satisfactory ratio of good to bad—he didn’t want to test them against the living. And he sure as hell couldn’t confiscate their weapons—as sure as he did, they’d encounter the dead and could be overpowered before he could give them back.
“Here’s the next thing. You buffoons have been picking random directions every day with no rhyme or reason.” He holds his hand out to the rain. “I’m fucking sick and tired of being wet half the time. We’re heading north until we find a house or a settlement of some kind. We’ll dry out for a few days, scavenge for food to replenish our stock, and then we’ll start traveling with some purpose…and that means scouting where we’ll go next.” He flings his hand toward them, the water from his palm splashing them in the face. Voice rising to match the thunder in the storm, he says, “If we do it that way, we’ll never have to spend another fucking night in the fucking rain.”
He takes a few breaths, trying his best to remain calm. He didn’t realize he’d gotten so riled up. It had been building within him for some time now so it had to come out at some point. He’s just glad he didn’t have to kill either of them. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Jack was right—they are safer in numbers. Is trusting them even a little going to get him killed later? Maybe yes, maybe no. But one thing’s for sure, he would rather have them within sight than to let them go then be ambushed by them later. No, when the time comes to part ways with them—it’ll be permanent.
“Okay…get your shit together and let’s go.”
* * *
Packing didn’t take long, and they were on their way north. Traveling two by two, Jack and Harvey in the lead with Cowboy and Bob hanging back, out of earshot just in case they wanted to talk in private.
The rain stopped for the time being, but thunder still rumbled to the south, promising more before the end of the day.
“How long have you been riding with them?” He really doesn’t expect Bob to answer but, that’s fine. He just needed to hear a voice—even if it’s his own.
But Bob surprises him. “Been with them ‘bout a year. Met up with ‘em south of a little town a few days’ ride north.”
Cowboy glances over and Bob smiles. “Don’t act surprised. What do you think the chances are you’d actually stumble upon a mute?” Nodding toward the riders ahead of them, he continues, “Those two dumb asses are so loud one of us had to be quiet just to keep our ears open for danger.”
Cowboy nods. “I know what you mean…it’s like they’re seeking danger.”
“Maybe they are…or were.”
“Maybe,” says Cowboy, voice trailing off. It’s a concept he’d thought of often enough. What’s the use of living in a world full of death and danger? He’s not ashamed to admit it. “I’ve certainly thought about it before.”
“As have I, Compadre.”
The man has barely spoken three sentences to Cowboy, but he already knows he likes the quiet man. In the past, he has always had a second sense when reading people. He’s always known if they were good and honest or if they were deceptive and full of shit. But just like anything in this world, Cowboy can’t let that feeling be the end-all-be-all decision on whether to trust Bob. Just like Harvey and Jack, he’d always have to keep his eyes open, no matter who he’s with. It’s a good habit to keep.
“What do you think about them?” With the question comes the rain—the hardest downpour yet, and it nearly obscures the two lead men and their horses. They are barely blurry ghosts within the deluge.
Despite the rain, Bob answers, “Which one?”
“Either. Both,” Cowboy says. He’s still just happy for the conversation.
“Jack’s nothing…jokes around too much and does everything Harvey says.”
“And Harvey?”
“Harvey’s twitchy as hell.”
Twitchy—something about that words strikes a chord with Cowboy. “What do you mean, twitchy?”
“You haven’t noticed?” He eyes Cowboy beneath the rim of his hat. When Cowboy remains silent, Bob continues. “He’s been changing over the last few months. His right eye will go all lazy-like,” he shrugs, trying to find the right description. “It slides away like it’s not looking at you anymore.”
“I’ve seen his eyes twitching,” Cowboy admits.
“He’s slurring his speech too,” Bob adds. “He's sick,” he taps the side of his head. “Up here.”
“That makes him dangerous.”
Bob nods and turns his head to the sky, letting the rain wash over his face for a moment. He sighs. “Yeah…I believe he just might be.”
“But you’re not worried about Jack?”
Bob shakes his head. “He sees it too, I think. He’s just loyal to a fault. The two of them have been together for years.” And with that, the rain stops.
So does Cowboy and Bob.
The way ahead of them clears a yard at a time as the wall of rain moves further away. With each second that passes, more ground becomes visible—and to Cowboy’s astonishment, no Jack or Harvey.
Ahead and to the right is nothing but open pasture and rolling hills. To the left is a dense line of trees. It’s the only place they could have gotten undercover in the few minutes the storm hid them from view.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” Cowboy repeats as he slams a fist against his leg. Gage prances, sensing his agitation.
“Well,” Bob interjects, “We definitely know their intentions now.”
“Fuck!” Cowboy shouts, loud enough for his voice to carry.
Cowboy doesn’t care though. He’s not just mad that the two men deceived him, but that he allowed them to pull the wool over his eyes so convincingly. He’s given people the options before and his intuition had never failed him—until now. Never again. From here forward, the only option will be Option Three.
They’ll never cross him like that again.
Chapter Five
Karen has no other obstacles to face as she rushes home. As far as the town is concerned, this one has become relatively safe, what with her and grandfather having rid the sixty or so homes and business of the dead. The exceptions were those buildings where there were more dead than the two of them wanted to face. The example that comes to mind is the small drugstore in the center of town.
Five years ago, she and grandfather arrived in town because she had been ill. The four-mile trek almost killed grandfather as he had to carry her the entire way while keeping an eye out for the dead. They were lucky. He snuck her into town and they avoided all but a couple of the dead. Grandfather dispatched them with a large knife before sneaking the rest of the way through town to the drugstore. Multiple shadows moved behind the tinted windows and grandfather realized there would be no way of getting in there alone.
Hiding her in an abandoned house, he left her with the knife and specific instructions to keep as quiet as possible. His wrinkled hand stretching toward her to brush sweat-matted hair from her eyes. In the dim light, she could just make out the filmy cloud of newly forming cataracts. Brandishing a garden hoe, he left her there.
She remembers the moment as if it was yesterday. It was the first time in her life she’d been left alone and she was afraid he would not return. She didn’t have much time to dwell on those fears as the illness soon overtook her and she fell into unconsciousness.