by Ison, S. A.
“Mam, the KKK done did showed up an’ dragged your’uns ma and pa an’ killet them. They done did burn your’uns house down, mam. My granpa tolt me ta come fetch ya,” Alan said, now crying as well. Katie could see his body shaking violently, as was hers.
“Where are we going, Alan?” she asked numbly. She could feel the hot tears sliding down her face and she wiped at them with an unsteady hand.
“I ain’t knowd Mam, I was jus tolt ta git you’uns outta that thar hospital,” Alan said.
It was silent in the truck as Alan drove around the neighborhoods, weaving in and out slowly. It was dark in the houses except for a candle here or there holding the darkness at bay. Katie let the tears fall unnoticed down her face and she wiped her nose absently with her sleeve as she leaned her head against the window. The vibration from the truck bumped at her head. Once more she wiped absently at her nose.
“Can you take me to my friend’s house? Do you have enough gas?” Katie asked the boy.
“Yes’m I kin take you’uns anywhar you’uns wanna go, gotta full tank,” Alan said, his voice finally calming.
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Clay looked around. There were no other homes in sight. He sighed heavily. The last house he’d gone to had made the hair rise on his arms. He’d backed away and left immediately. It had been a ramshackle little place with mismatched boards and sidings with large gaps; a poor house. There was a haze of stink around the house, unwashed and nasty, mixed with abject hopelessness.
There were many poor in Appalachia, in the mountains and especially around the mining towns. The people in that house were dirt poor, wretchedly so. His own family had been very poor, he had a brother and sister, and they’d shared one bedroom. His home was clean, though, his mother had made sure. His father had been a miner and been hurt in an accident. He received disability, it wasn’t much, but it did allow their family to live.
His brother had gone into the Marines and was stationed over in California. His sister had married a good man and they had moved to North Carolina some years back. He knew they were both happy. He laughed; he’d be happy if he could find a place to lay his head. Brian looked at him and cocked his head at Clay’s laughter. Clay grinned down at the dog.
The man who had come to door was thin, emaciated, and gray. His hollowed eyes looked through Clay, and the man neither spoke nor indicated he even knew Clay was there in front of him. He heard moaning in the back of the house and Clay had shivered and he’d turned on his heels and gotten away from the hovel.
Clay and Brian had turned up another drive, but the house there had been roofless. So they had continued their trek to Beattyville. The light was quickly fading and Clay didn’t want to walk down the dark road. He’d have to spend the night in the woods again, though at least it wouldn’t be raining.
He thought about sleeping in one of the abandoned vehicles, but didn’t want to be caught inside unawares. He and Brian could just find a comfy patch of grass, away from the road.
He walked a little farther and found a break in a cluster of oak saplings. He stepped off the paved road and walked a little distance into the woods. The long shadows followed him into the woods, the birds quieting down as he passed them. He heard the soft burble of water a little bit from the road and followed the sound.
There was a small brook, and it looked wonderful, cool and sweet. It was fast flowing. H’d grown up drinking from brooks like this since he could walk. He didn’t worry about any problems with microbes or aquatic parasites. He slowed and looked around and listened, it was quiet in the woods, and he saw nothing threatening. Then he heard the loud snap of a branch breaking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Clay jerked around, bringing his gun up in a rapid fluid motion. He crouched and looked around. Through a large bush, that shook with his passage, came Brian. The dog was smiling with a dead chipmunk in his jaws, his tail wagging madly.
Clay dropped his arm and clutched his chest with his other hand, his heart still slamming into his chest. “Oh Lord, baby Jesus, you scared the hell out of me Brian,” Clay scolded the dog, who was still grinning and wagging his tail. Clay shook his head and holstered his weapon.
Clay breathed in deeply and then blew out the stress. He shook his head and laughed. At least Brian would have a little extra food, though he didn’t want to watch the dog eat it. He watched the dog disappear back into the bush and Clay walked over to the brook and set the backpack down.
He looked around the area once more. The birds had started singing again and the insects were buzzing. It was quite peaceful, and Clay felt his heart rate begin to slow.
Brian was at the brook in a blink, lapping up the water quickly. Clay squatted down beside the dog and cut his eyes to him. He hoped the dog had eaten the chipmunk. He looked in the backpack for the empty bottles. He was glad he’d held onto the plastic water bottles, as they were coming in handy.
He filled one and quickly drank it down, then refilled it once more and drank more slowly. It was sweet and cold, and felt good going down his throat. It almost ached, it was so pleasant. He then washed his face, splashing the cool water over himself. It had been a long, hot day walking.
Clay took off his shoes and socks next, then put his tired hot feet into the brook, rubbing the soles of his feet on the nubby small pebbles on the bottom. He groaned in bliss, his head tilting back, and closed his eyes. He could hear Brian still lapping at the water.
The tree frogs began their nightly songs, soon joined by the crickets. High in the branches, he heard a Veery thrush, its rolling trill weaving in and out of the leaves of the trees. Then he heard a mockingbird calling out.
Looking around, he saw a low spot that had lush grass growing. He got up from the ground, groaning loudly. His body was tired and sore. He walked over barefooted and sat on the lush clearing. He took off his tactical vest, as well as his holster, then removed his uniformed shirt and laid it aside. His white undershirt was damp, and he was sure it smelled like hell. He was on his third day of walking and with no shower, he was sure he was ripe. The night before, it had poured the rain.
He remembered sleeping in the house with his siblings, water dripping on him at night when it was a hard rain. The roof had leaked badly. The room had been so small, there was nowhere to run. He’d sneak out and sleep in the living room. He wasn’t sure why the memories were coming; maybe too much quiet time on his hands.
He stripped down and went back to the brook. Squatting, he scooped up a handful of the fine pebbles. Standing in the stream, he began to rub the small rocks over his body and under his arms, using the fine grit to clean himself. He shivered. It felt good after a hot day. He rinsed and rinsed again.
By the time he was finished, his teeth were chattering, though the air was still warm. He took his uniform shirt and dried himself with it, then took it to the stream, along with his undershirt, and washed them out. He also washed his socks. He squeezed and wrung the clothing out, getting as much water out as he could.
Walking back to the grassy area, he snapped the shirt smartly and laid it over a bush to dry overnight, following it up with the undershirt. He put his pants back on, then pulled out the emergency blanket and laid it on the ground. He set his shoes beside the backpack.
He’d helped his mother wash clothes at a small stream in the back of their yard. It had been too expensive to go to the laundry mat, and they could not afford a washing machine. Their life had been hard and there wasn’t much food, but his mother had managed to make it work. She grew a small garden and had two hens. School helped some with free lunches. His father hadn’t wanted to beg, but Clay’s mother had put her foot down.
Clay pulled out the last of his beef jerky and half a granola bar. He also poured the last of the dog food into Brian’s bowl. He added a little water to it to make a gravy, feeling terrible that he didn’t have more food for Brian. At least the dog had found a chipmunk, small as that was. He broke a little off his beef jerky and added it to the dogfood.
“
Sorry Brian, that is the last of your food, and not sure when you’ll get more. Hopefully you can catch another chipmunk or a squirrel, just no skunks please. Maybe tomorrow we’ll get lucky and find someone that will feed us. Enjoy it while you have it, boy, ’cause it might be a while until our next meal,” Clay said, eating his food slowly. He drank the water, and it was sweet.
He heaved a sigh and lay back, using the backpack as a pillow. He continued to chew his food slowly, making it last, and listened to the night’s serenade and the susurrus of the wind weaving in and out of the canopy. It was a tranquil spot and he was glad he’d found it.
He’d not been this hungry since he was a kid, and he felt his stomach devouring the food he nibbled on. He’d grown into a big man and he had sworn to himself he’d never go hungry again. Up until now, he’d kept that promise.
He remembered his mother making grits and macaroni and greens; it was filling. She had fried up a piece of chicken for their father, but had let the children smell the chicken and eat their food first before their father ate the chicken. They’d almost felt like they were eating the meat, but it wasn’t the same. It was rare that they ate meat unless Clay or his brother shot a squirrel.
Years later, he’d told a navy buddy about it, and had laughed at the thought of sniffing fried chicken and eating grits. His friend hadn’t laughed, and Clay had seen the sorrow deep within his friend’s eyes. For Clay, it had been normal, but he supposed it really hadn’t been.
In his home, Clay now kept shelves filled with foodstuffs. His refrigerator was always full and the freezer was packed as well. He made sure he had meat with his dinner every night. He wouldn’t go so far as to call himself a hoarder, but the food in his house could keep him fed for well over a year easily.
He never wanted to live that way again, hand to mouth. He felt his eyes tear up at the memories of his mother struggling to feed her children. He shook his head to dispel the melancholy.
The light began to fade faster, the shadows drowning out the sun, and he called Brian over. The dog curled up by his side. He took the emergency blanket and shook it out, profoundly glad he had brought it. He wrapped the blanket around him and lay on the ground.
The mountains got cold at night, and with the sun sinking, he could feel the air cooling rapidly. If he were home, he wouldn’t mind. He had quilts on his bed, made by his mother, that would keep him toasty. His eyes grew heavy from the exertion of a long day walking. He closed his eyes and let his body relax into slumber.
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Harry sat in the swing, Willene beside him, while Marilyn sat in the rocker, with Monroe, who was snoring softly, in her lap. Boggy was out in back with his LED flashlight, making a round on the property, checking the barn and the chicken lot. It was pitch-black but for dots of illumination in the distance, caused by multiple fires. Trace of smoke now lingered in the air constantly, thankfully not heavily so.
Harry brought the NVGs up to his eyes and scanned the hill below and tree line. Seeing nothing, he put them down between himself and Willy. The dog was somewhere on the porch, asleep, his soft snores lost in the buzz of the night insects.
“I’m surprised we’ve not heard more gunfire; it’s been three days now,” Willene said to no one in particular.
“I’m sure someone is shooting someone. Probably the closer they are to town the less chance we’d hear anything. Shooting up in the mountains causes the sound to bounce around,” Harry said as he took a drink of warm sweet tea.
“At least it’s been quiet here,” Marilyn said softly.
Everyone sat up suddenly; there was a light in the far distance, headlights. With no other artificial lights around, it was like a beacon was screaming their way. Harry stood and waved everyone to sit. He heard Boggy come around the side of the house.
“Turn off your flashlight, Boggy, they’ll be able to see it clearly. Everyone, stay still. They may just pass by. Let’s see what’s going to happen,” Harry ordered softly.
The group watched as the lights drew nearer, swerving in and out of view as the vehicle wound around the curves of the mountain. The vehicle’s speed appeared nominal, so it took a couple minutes for the car to head to the curve in the road that led to the drive. The vehicle passed by and a collective sigh was released into the air.
“That was close,” Boggy said softly, his voice trembling as though he didn’t want the driver to hear him.
“There are functioning vehicles still, and hopefully, with the barricade in place, no one will know the house is here at night,” Harry said.
“Shit,” Willy said, and everyone looked to her, though they could barely see her.
“The vehicle is coming back,” Marilyn said, her voice tense.
Looking down, the lights could be seen making a U-turn up the road. It retraced its path, this time very slowly. Then it pulled to a stop in front of the blockade. They saw someone get out, and Harry brought up the NVGs to take a look. He saw what looked like a young thin man, and then a woman got out of the passenger’s side of the truck.
“Looks like some kid and a woman,” Harry said and, pulling his Glock, began walking down the hill. He took his time, as he didn’t want to slip on the damp grass.
“Willene? It’s me, Katie. Can I come up with my friend, Alan?” a woman called.
“She’s okay, Harry, bring her up,” Willene called down.
“Got it, sis,” Harry said. He took his small LED flashlight and turned it on.
The woman and young man wove their way through the blind. Harry almost laughed as the woman got hung up on the framework, her white lab coat getting caught on a nail. Alan was trying to help her when he reached them. He reached over the young man’s shoulder and pulled the white lab coat from the nail, an audible rip sounding.
“My coat,” Katie said, her voice low and soft.
“It’ll mend,” Harry said and, taking the woman by the arm, led her up the hill.
“Are you Willy’s brother?” Katie asked.
“Yes, I take it you’re Dr. Katie? Willy has mentioned you a few times,” Harry said, grinning.
“Yes, and this is my neighbor’s grandson, Alan. He came to the hospital. He told me the KKK has killed my parents.” The sorrow in Katie’s voice caused Harry to stop in mid stride. He looked down at the doctor. Her mouth was trembling, holding back the emotions.
“I’m sorry. Let’s get you up to the house and we’ll sort this out,” Harry said softly, and started once more up the hill, Alan following behind.
Willene met them at the bottom of the steps and Katie pulled loose from Harry and ran the short distance to hug Willene, bursting into tears as she did so. Harry watched as his sister led the petite woman into the house. Everyone followed.
“I’ll go take Monroe up to our room,” Marilyn said, and she turned and took the still-sleeping Monroe into the house.
The kitchen had a candle burning on the table and everyone sat down. Willene took the still-warm pot of coffee off the stove and took cups out of the cupboard.
“How did all this happen, Katie?” Willene asked gently, setting a cup in front of the woman.
Katie looked over to Alan, and the young man sat up straighter. Everyone looked at him, and he blushed a little, his eyes darting like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
The teen gulped a couple times, took a sip of the coffee Willene had poured him, and settled down. “I was sittin’ in my house with my grandpa, an’ then I heared this truck come a screechin’ up next door. Them thar KKK mens, they done did had them sheets on their head. They plumb scared me bad, but then I heared Dr. Katie’s parents just a yellin’ and carr’in’ on, an’ her momma crying,” Alan said, and then choked up, a sob breaking his voice.
Katie joined in the sobbing, and for a moment the room was filled with their crying. Willene put her arm around her friend and hugged her. Harry got up and fetched a box of tissues from the living room and brought them back to the kitchen.
Harry placed his hand on the
teen’s shoulder and squeezed gently. He looked over to Boggy and saw the boy’s eyes tearing up. This wasn’t good, the KKK rearing its ugly head. He felt a chill running down his body, dread beginning to build in him.
Clearing his voice, Alan continued. “They was just a laughin’ an’ carr’in’ on. They’s sayin’ how this is the white man’s time, an’ it was the white man’s town. Ain’t no colored people, ain’t no Chinese, no gays, no A-rabs, gonna live in thar town. They said your’uns folks was North Koh-ree-anns, an’ com’nist, an’ they done did cause this whole mess.” Alan wiped his eyes and nose with a tissue.
The boy picked up the coffee cup with shaking hands and took a sip. Harry looked around the room, shaking his head. This was unreal. Not only had the world’s power come down, but now the goddamn KKK was trying to take over the town and kill every non-white.
They were the domestic terrorists of the United States, pretty much the oldest domestic terrorists the United States had. It was too bad the government hadn’t taken their threat more seriously. The politicians screamed free speech, but the Ku Klux Klan was built on terrorism.
“They done shot your’un momma and daddy Dr. Katie, I’s plumb sorry. I didn’t knowed what ta do, or how ta stop them. Two men tried ta stop them, them thar KKK just shot them dead in the street. My grandpa said they’d kill me iffin I got out thar. I’m plumb sorry Dr. Katie,” Alan ended, looking down at his hands as the tears fell onto the table, his bony shoulders shaking.
“These people, these KKK, they killed my parents because they thought they were North Korean? My parents are American, like me. They were born in Lexington, for Christ’s sakes. Then they kill anyone trying to help them?” Katie choked out, using a napkin to wipe her nose and eyes.
“I don’t think it would matter, Katie. These men would clearly hurt or kill anyone on their short list. And anyone standing in their way or helping the hunted. It sounds like the Mayor is taking over,” Willene said angrily, her hands wrapping around her coffee cup in a death grip.