The next time they met was nearly a week later. Blake had been to the tavern twice during that time, but Peggy had never showed. He noticed the tenuous welcome in the bar had dissipated as well. Both times, he saw the suspicion and accusation in the eyes of the shipbuilders, and he left before his toes had thawed.
And tonight his toes had lost their feeling as well. He was on guard duty, and though the space heater kept the guardhouse above freezing, it wasn't by much. Clouds blocked out the moon and stars, and a harsh wind howled all around him. The dogs were huddled together in their cage for warmth. A car bore down on him at high speed, the huge headlights blinding him. He took his rifle off his shoulder and aimed. The car stopped in the middle of street, well short of the base property. A drunk, he thought. They'd pulled this stunt before—and besides, the heavy fence was closed. No one was getting in.
The driver's door flung open, and a man emerged. He reached back in the car and dragged out a passenger. Blake heard a familiar voice cry out, "No, Vic!" and then Peggy was looking out over the top of the door. Her face was bruised, far worse than what he'd seen last time they'd been at the tavern.
The night she'd asked him to take her home, in front of everyone.
"Where's that son of a bitch?" Vic shouted. He was a huge man, and his beefy arms strained even the folds of his bulky winter coat.
"Stop, Vic!" she whined. "What are you going to do? You can't get in there, and what if you could?"
"You're right," Vic snarled. "And who cares, when I got you." He took her by the hair and threw her into the street.
Blake watched, frozen. He wasn't supposed to get involved in any kind of activity off the grounds of the base. This was a civilian matter, even if he did know the people involved. He had to remain in place while Vic struck and kicked his wife. Her screams echoed in the wind, and the dogs stood up, alert and restless. He knew he should call for help, but the thought of having to explain his part in this domestic drama kept his hand off the phone.
Peggy dodged one of Vic's booted kicks, and he fell with a thud. She staggered up, and Blake thought she would make for the car and leave her husband behind. Instead, she ran for the gate, and again Blake was paralyzed with indecision. When she got too close though, his training took over. "Halt!" he said. "This is government property. Do not approach the gate."
"Rufus, honey, is that you? Rufus, you have to help me. Let me in. He's going to kill me."
"I can call the local police, but I can't let you in." Now he knew it was all some kind of distraction. Peggy had been planning this all along. It couldn't be a coincidence that this was happening when he would be at the gate by himself. He racked his brain, and realized that, yes, he had in fact let slip when he'd be here. He'd been caught in a Red trap for sure.
She had made it nearly to the fence. She was silhouetted against the blazing headlights of the car, so he couldn't see her face. But the anguish in her voice cut through his brain. Vic was up again, and running toward his wife.
"Stop talking, bitch," he said. "You're not running off with some soldier boy. You're coming home with me." She shrieked as he grabbed her by the coat and pulled her back in the direction of the car. Vic turned a murderous look towards Blake. "So, you're the one they told me about." In a flash, he'd pulled a pistol from his pocket.
Two shots fired simultaneously, and both men fell to the ground.
Vic was dead instantly, but Blake was conscious as the floodlights flared above him, and he heard the crash of boots running for the gate.
Then he saw Peggy's face looking down through the fence. Somehow she looked both sad and victorious at the same time.
She blew him a kiss.
"Good luck. Vic was always a lousy shot." She turned, and sprinted for the car. The headlights swept across the row of soldiers and disappeared before she even closed the door.
The Captain and the Snakes
by Paul Heatley
Sleep had abandoned me since the sheriff's raid up in the hills. Time was, I'd been in the habit of lying in bed til midday. I needed to keep up appearances, so that's what I did. I'd lie on my side and stare at the wall, listening to Ray stomping round the house.
It seemed like my brother didn't sleep at all. Usually he went about and did his own thing and left me where I was. But there was one Friday morn, a few weeks after the raid, he came in my room and kicked the foot of my bed. Used to be I would've just rolled over and ignored him, but that morning I sat up fast and was ready to fight.
"Simmer down," Ray said. He looked me over. Must've been some kind of fire in my eyes. "Get outta bed and get yourself dressed. We got somewhere to be."
I checked his hands. They were empty. "And where's that?"
"We gotta get on over to see the Cap'n."
I went cold, but I tried not to let it show. "Jed?" Ray called him Captain America, on account of his time in the military. "Somethin' up?" My voice almost broke. I bit my tongue. I'd been waiting for this day. It had been a week. Ray was more patient than I'd anticipated.
"Could be. Get yourself dressed, huh?"
Ray stood there while I pulled on yesterday's clothes—ripped jeans, a black tee, a red bandana to keep the hair outta my face. I turned my back to him. Not out of modesty, but because some of the bruises round my ribs hadn't faded all the way, and I didn't want him to see. When I turned back, I ran my hands over the lower half of my face, smoothed out my beard, kept all my movements slow and cool. I stretched and forced out a yawn. I smacked my lips and scratched under my armpit. I was Mr. Casual.
Ray's older than me by six years, but since my beard came in and caught up to his in length, people don't notice who's older and who's younger anymore. Rather, they get us confused for twins. We're the same height, the same build, and Ray used to always joke that no matter what I said, he was the better-looking brother.
But it's been a long damn time since Ray was last in a joking mood.
"Why do we need to see Jed?"
"I need to talk to him."
"Uh-huh. You gonna let me wash?"
"No time. Come on." Ray had a look in his eyes like he'd been up most of the night tweaking and was on the comedown. His face was pale and his lips were pinched. His cheeks were drawn, and his bloodshot eyes looked all hollowed out.
We went outside to the truck. It was hot and I felt myself break out in sweat, felt my t-shirt clinging to my back. I had to swat at the insects buzzing around my head.
Black smoke belched from the exhaust when Ray started up the truck, and the engine made this awful rattling sound. Ray never took care of his vehicles. When one died, he'd just leave it at the side of the road and go pick up a new one. He always bought them cheap and rusty, and they never lasted very long. Sometimes, when he dumped the dead ones, he'd set them on fire. I asked him once, "Why you done that?" thinking it was something to do with destroying evidence or some such.
It wasn't. Ray just shrugged and said, "To watch it burn."
Jed lived an hour away. We rode with the windows down, tried to clear the cab of the cloying heat that misted our eyes and burned in our lungs. The truck didn't have air-con, and it was an uncomfortable ride. There was a moist smell outside, like it had been raining earlier, or there was a storm on the way.
We didn't talk. Ray concentrated on the road, eyes half-closed against the glare, and from time to time he'd mumble to himself. He had this look on his face like he didn't want to converse, like he was thinking about something. I was thinking, too. Thinking about the sheriffs. Thinking about my brother. Thinking about the raids. We hadn't really spoken much since they'd happened. He was pissed-off angry. I left him well enough alone for the most part, and spoke when spoken to.
Jed's house was off the beaten track, down a potted dirt road that bounced us in the cab. It was left to him after his grandparents died. The first time I saw it was a couple of nights before he shipped out for his tour. He threw a party. I'd known Jed a while, since school, but I'd never seen his house. It took us a long
damn while to find it that first time, through all the trees and bushes that had been left to grow wild. Ray came along with me, but he's never been much for socializing. He was there to make new contacts, sell some gear to the kids we didn't know. The folks that were more Jed's friends than ours.
I remembered sitting out on the front porch with Jed, drinking beer and watching the stars, listening to the insects out in the bushes scrape their back legs together while Jed tried to hide how nervous he was.
"It's beautiful out here, man," he said.
I agreed with him, because it was. "Then why the hell you wanna go halfway round the world to some fuckin' sandpit and get shot at?"
He took a drink and didn't look at me. "What else am I gonna do?"
We got out from all the overgrown bushes and almost crashed the truck into the bottom steps of that same front porch. Ray killed the engine. Jed was already out, sat in his chair with a trucker cap covering his face. It was hard to tell if he was asleep or awake until he lifted the peak a little and got a good look at us, then raised one arm to wave. There was a shotgun in front of him within easy reach, leaning against the railing.
We went up to him. He wheeled his chair to face us. He wore a black-and-red checkered shirt, jeans that were cut off at the knee on his right leg and knotted over the stump of what remained of his left. A landmine had taken it. What was left of his thigh was all scar tissue, and he was short a testicle.
Since he'd been shipped home, confined to his chair, he'd gotten a little thicker round the waist, neck, and cheeks. Hairier, too—he'd let his beard and hair grow out. The beard was coming in red. He nodded at us each in turn. "Ray," he said. "Willie. I wasn't expecting to see you boys today."
"Yeah, well, here we are," Ray said. "Didn't expect to find you up so early, Cap'n."
"I don't sleep too good."
"Who does?" Ray looked out at the swamp to the side of Jed's house. There were crocodiles in there, though none of them were visible. Jed said when they got too close, he'd shoot at them until they went back in the water. "Why don't we go inside?" Ray said. "It's gettin' hot out."
"Sure. Show yourself in, I'm right behind you."
We went into the front room. Jed followed. He brought the shotgun in, leaned it against the wall by the door. The room was dark, the windows covered with thick curtains.
The front room was sparse. One beaten leather sofa, a small television in the corner with a bent antenna on top, the floors a chipped wood with faded varnish and a frayed rug spread out in the middle. The wallpaper was yellowed and peeling, dotted with framed photographs of dead family.
Jed parked, grunted, rubbed at his stump through the knotted jeans. "It's got a bad damn itch in it today."
After he was shipped back, with his honorable discharge and everything, I asked him what had happened to his leg. Ray shot me a look like, Mind your fucking business.
Jed saw and just held up his hands and said "Nah, I don't mind talkin' about it. I wasn't lookin' when I shoulda been. Stepped on a bomb, blew the damn thing off. Didn't take it cleanly, neither. It was hangin' off all ragged, a few strands of—shit, I dunno what, sinew or something—clinging to what was left of the bone. Meds had to amputate the whole fuckin' mess. I was passed out for most of it, came round from time to time but I don't remember anything. That's just what they told me."
He came to us. Veteran and disability checks were only gonna get him so far. He needed real money. And he was bored. "Show me how to cook. Ain't nobody comes out where I live—the place is as secret as all those tin cans you got stowed away up in the hills. Nobody's gonna bother me out there. Just give me some work, you'll see."
So we did. Or rather, Ray did. Ray always called the shots.
I sat down on the sofa, felt a stab of pain shoot through my ribs, but gritted my teeth and didn't let it show. Didn't matter though, because Ray wasn't looking at me. He only had eyes for Jed, and he wasn't blinking.
"You wanna take a seat, Ray?" Jed said. "You ain't lookin' too hot."
It was true, he wasn't. He'd lost weight and he was pale, dark rings round his eyes like days had gone by and he hadn't even looked at a bed.
"No," Ray said. He went to the rear of the house, peered around a curtain to see outside. Out back was the shed where Jed cooked, set among trees with low-hanging branches and wild overgrown grass almost as high as the roof. Jed was a good chef, too, took straight to it. Shit, I suppose when you ain't got nothing better to do, you're gonna get real good at something real fast. "How're things out here, Cap'n?"
"Quiet," Jed said. "You boys want anythin' to drink?"
"We're fine," Ray said. He stayed at the window, whistled through his front teeth. "You got a regular ol Garden of Eden out here, Cap'n."
"Sure, when the gators ain't snapping at your heel."
"I didn't see too many of em out there."
"They've learned by now. When they come on land, they don't get a friendly reception."
Ray nodded. "Bet you're a regular sharpshooter, huh? All that military training?"
"I can hold my own."
"How's the cooking?"
"It's fine. That what you come out here for?"
"Well, you're our main chef now since that unpleasantness up in the hills. The other boys—the ones that didn't get snatched that is—well, they try, God love em. But there's only so much you can teach, and then they're on their own. It's sink or swim, and they're treadin' water."
Jed nodded. "That whole business was a damn shame, but I warned you man, when I came in. You shoulda phased it out when you got me on board. My place here is all you need."
"Yeah, well, it ain't wise for a man to put all of his eggs in the one basket now, is it?" Ray opened the curtain, stood there in the sunlight for a moment then turned, blocking it out with his broad shoulders.
"Way I see it," Jed said, "that tin-can operation was always gonna get found out, it was just a matter of time. It didn't matter how many boys you put up there on them roads as lookouts. If the cops wanted to go in they were always gonna find a way."
"Yeah, that's what you said. Guess I shoulda listened to you. But, as it stands, I didn't. Now you're one of the only chefs we got left, and the only one worth a real damn. We gotta make sure you ain't gettin' overworked."
"Nothin' I can't handle. Tell the truth, I been enjoyin' all the extra. Keeps me busy."
"That's good to hear." Ray stepped away from the window, let the light from it hit Jed full in the face. Jed winced, pulled down his cap, then wheeled himself outta the beams. Ray went to the curtains behind the television, opened them, too. "Yep, a real paradise you got here, Cap'n. Hey, you get many snakes out here?"
Jed blinked. "Sometimes."
"Ever been bit by one?"
"No. Had a couple of close calls though."
"That shed out there, how d'you get back and forth in that chair? Can't be easy, what with all the wildlife."
"I got some crutches, and there's another chair in there so I don't have to hop round on the one leg all day."
Ray nodded slowly, taking this in, then folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "That's right, I remember now. Willie helped you set it all up. He told me. I always meant to come along and see for myself but, well, I'm a busy man, y'understand."
"Sure, Ray."
"Speaking of wildlife, you ever hear about our Granddaddy, Cap'n? Billy, he was called. William here was named for him. You hear about him?"
"Uh." Jed glanced at me but I couldn't help him. "I might have heard his name."
"No need to be coy. Of course you heard of him. Everyone in the whole damn town knew who he was. A character, right? People think he was always that way, but it ain't true. It was later on when he went crazy. How much you heard about him?"
Jed looked like he was being real cautious with his words. "I, uh, heard that he lived outside. And that he hated snakes."
Ray clicked his fingers. "Both true. He fuckin' hated snakes, but he had good reason. A cottonmo
uth took a chunk outta his youngest daughter, our daddy's littlest sister—killed her. Daddy was a full-grown man, but she was still a child. Grandpa Billy took it real bad. It was round that time he took to sleepin' outdoors. Well, that makes it sound like he was slumming it in a tent or under a tree, but that ain't the case. He was just sat out on the porch in his rockin' chair. Didn't speak for a month. Just sat and watched the world go by. Everyone tried to get him to go back inside. Our daddy practically begged him, but he wouldn't budge. Finally, our grandmamma goes outside and she says to him 'When are you gonna quit this foolishness?' You know what he said? 'Not til the birds fly down from the trees and start nestin' in my beard.'"
Ray laughed. Jed shot me another glance.
"The birds never did make a nest of his face." Ray smiled. "For the most part he stayed out on that porch. Started drinking more'n he used to, and more'n he needed to. One morning he was smilin' out there on his chair. And when someone asked him why, he said he'd seen his little girl. She came walkin' up the road in the quiet of the night. Said she touched his cheek and she told him, 'Kill them.' After that he took to wandering the back roads and marshes with a sharp stick, looking for snakes to kill. Got a bit of a reputation, but he also got real handy at killin' snakes. He'd hang their dead bodies from the porch, wrap their tails round the railing, leave them there til the flies ate them.
"I was just a kid back then, and Willie was younger still. Grandpa Billy scared the hell outta us both. He insisted we sat out on the porch with him, by his feet. All he ever fuckin' talked about was snakes and his dead daughter. You know the story of the old man and the snake?"
Jed thought. "The old man nurses it back to health?"
"And then it bit him, that's right. Billy used to tell us never to trust anything that crawled round on its belly. Said you can only trust a thing if it stands up on its own two feet and looks you in the eye."
Jed rubbed his stump. "You tryin' to say something, Ray?"
THUGLIT Issue Twenty Page 8