Our Daily Bread

by Lauren B. Davis

  “I see.”

  “Mrs. Carlisle, what’s this about, exactly? You’re worrying me.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. It’s my fault entirely. I should have said something earlier. And I’m probably wrong. Bobby is doubtless precisely where you think he is.”

  “All right, what’s going on?” His voice rose. “Why do you think he isn’t at his friend’s?”

  “Because I saw Bobby this afternoon in Albert Erskine’s truck. He seemed to have a backpack or something with him.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Bobby doesn’t even know Albert Erskine. I hardly know Albert Erskine! You’ve got it wrong.”

  “Tom, I’m very sorry. But this is not the first time I’ve seen Bobby with Albert. I think they’ve been friends for some time, which in itself may not be a problem—”

  He cut her off. “I’m going to call the number of this boy’s house, the house where he is. I’ll call you back. You and I are going to have a little talk, Mrs. C.”

  With that, he hung up. She stood in the kitchen, her mouth open. She put the phone down and her fingertips flew to her mouth, one hand over the other.

  She sat at the kitchen table and waited. He would phone back. Tell her that Bobby was safely at his friend’s house, that she was a meddlesome old woman, which she was.

  Ten minutes passed. It was as though dozens of bats, a whole colony of them, swooped and flittered through her head, unable to settle, seeking only to avoid. Fifteen minutes passed. She stared at the phone. At twenty she could stand it no longer and was willing to call back, willing to be told what a bothersome fool she was and she would have called, but the doorbell rang, followed by a loud knocking.

  Tom stood under the porch light. His huge frame filled up the space, his hair looked as though he’d combed it with a wrench. Ivy held onto his hand, her eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, wearing bedroom slippers and pyjamas with rabbits on them. Dorothy opened the door.

  “It’s the number of a goddamn Chinese Restaurant! There’s no such person as this Ernie Gardner character. How could I have been such an idiot?” He swept past her into the house, Ivy tripping along behind him. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry, Tom. This is my fault entirely.”

  “I’ll say it is!” He glared at her. “I’m going to get him. I need you to watch Ivy. Ivy, sit on the couch.”

  The little girl did as she was told. Dorothy put her hand on Tom’s forearm as he made a move toward the door. The muscles rippled under his shirt, like a horse shaking off a fly. “Tom, there are some things you need to know before you go up there. Just hang on.”

  “More things I need to know? Wonderful! Tell me, but be goddamn quick about it.”

  “I’m sure Albert wouldn’t do anything to put Bobby in harm’s way. He’s really a rather nice young man. He tries very—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Save it. You don’t even believe that or you wouldn’t have called me to begin with.”

  It could not be denied. “Still, he’s not like his family, Tom. You must keep that in mind. And there is something else. Ivy, would you go into the kitchen and get yourself some cookies and milk, dear? The cookies are in the tin on the counter.” The little girl did not move and it was only then Dorothy realized how frightened Ivy was. She was frightened—imagine what a ten-year-old might be feeling. She sat down and gave her a quick hug.

  “Is Bobby okay?”

  “Of course he is, dear. He’s just on a silly adventure and your dad has to go get him because he’s worried, but that’s all. Now come on, off you go so I can have a chat with your father.”

  “All right. Sure. Go on, Ivy,” Tom said, as though only just now remembering she was there. “It’s okay. I promise.”

  When she’d gone, Dorothy stood and faced Tom. She felt light-headed and sat down again. “I’ll be as brief as I can.” She kept her voice low. Without going into too many details, she told him of her trips to the mountain, and of what she’d seen the last time she was there. “I’ve told Carl, of course, but he seems to think he needs to wait for something to happen before he takes steps. I don’t understand it.”

  “Jesus Christ,” said Tom.

  “You should call Carl. Have him go up with you. He’ll pay attention to you.”

  “Oh, yeah. I really want everybody talking about how my son’s an Erskine now. How that’s what happens to Patty Evans’s kid and what do you expect. No way, I’ll handle this myself.” He pointed a finger at her. “And you are not to call him, either. Is that clear?”

  “I don’t think that’s wise, Tom.”

  “Is that clear?” His voice was barely controlled.

  “It is, but you must be smart about this. We don’t know what you’re walking into.”

  “I know my goddamn kid’s up there.” He stalked toward the kitchen, picked up Ivy, and held her for a moment, whispering something in her ear before putting her down. As he strode past Dorothy and out into the night he said, “Take care of my daughter.”

  Ivy came and stood next to Dorothy. She trembled and Dorothy led her to the couch, where she spread a blanket over both of them.

  “It’s all right, pet. Really it is. You have a wonderful father—you know that, don’t you? Everything’s fine.” She stroked the silent little girl’s hair and when she could think of nothing else to say that made any sense she, too, fell quiet, and prayed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When the end times come they’ll be no hiding, no escape. Everything will be fire and no hand will there be to help you.

  —Reverend Ken Hickland,

  Church of Christ Returning, 2005

  The scream floated in the air as though it had physical form, like a trapped ghost hanging in the branches of the trees.

  Again, Albert demanded to know where Toots was.

  “Where do you think?” said Jack.

  “She slipped out to pee when you fell asleep,” said Ruby. She picked at a scab on her index finger.

  “I’d have heard her,” said Albert.

  “She’s good at slipping out,” said Ruby. “Mostly.”

  “Why didn’t anybody watch her?” said Bobby.

  It had gone quiet inside the house now. Figures moved by the windows.

  “Thought you were going,” said Jack, standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb as though he owned the place, arms folded, kids huddling near him. Only the tightness of his mouth and the rigid set of his shoulders revealed his fear.

  Albert kept his grip on Bobby, but didn’t move. His head was filled with the inside of that house, filled with the smells of nicotine-stained fingers, the taste of them in his mouth, the images of thick, hairy thighs and yeasty, shit-stained shorts. Salt and slime. Pain unimaginable. The impotence of it. The fury. He read a book once, about some kid who had it like he had it, but who disappeared when it happened, floated up to the ceiling, went into some other dimension, where they could do whatever they wanted to his body while his mind soared up in the stratosphere somewhere. Albert had thought, lucky little fucker, how’d he learn to do that? There’d never been anywhere to hide for Albert. Not outside. Not inside. Not really. Even a hole between the tree roots only hid your body.

  The front door of the house opened. Lloyd and Dan stepped onto the porch, hanging off each other’s arms. Laughing, the motherfuckers, they were laughing. Stuck together like conjoined twins, they turned in the direction of the cabin. What had Toots told them?

  “Get back! Now!” Albert practically threw Bobby inside.

  Bobby crashed into Jack and although Jack kept his feet, Bobby didn’t. He fell hard, and cried out as he landed on his knees. Albert shoved Jack and Ruby out of the doorway, jumped inside and slammed the door behind him. No door had ever felt as flimsy. It might as well be made of straw, of twigs. Bobby scramb
led to his feet, rubbing his knees, his eyes glinting, but whether with tears or with fear was hard to tell. Albert knew by the look on his face that one thing at least had been accomplished tonight—at last, Bobby Evans wanted to go home.

  “So, how do you like the life of a mountain man, now, young Bobby?” Albert grinned and Bobby dropped his eyes. If Albert got the kid out, their friendship was over. So be it. “Right,” Albert said, and he turned to the window. He kept to the side so, with any luck, they wouldn’t see him. All around him, children breathed—snuffly little sounds, wet and miserable.

  “What are they doing?” Jack said, coming to the window’s other side.

  “They’ve gone back in,” said Albert, and so they had. The house had gone quiet again, although someone was pacing inside, the shape going back and forth in front of the window like a duck in a shooting gallery.

  “Not all of ’em,” said Jack and he gestured with his chin to the side of the house. Sure enough, in the dark shadow of the house the red dot of a cigarette floated in the air, down to waist-height, up to face-height, a slow brightening of the glow, and a quick flash of face. Fat Felicity. Sitting watch. Ragged old bitch.

  “Get the kids settled,” Albert said to Frank, as though the eight-year-old wasn’t a kid himself. Little Cathy was already lolling, thumb in her mouth, on the couch—more passed out than sleeping, felled from fatigue. One by one, the kids curled up and kept an eye on Albert in case he did another runner.

  “Maybe we could go now,” said Bobby. “Couldn’t we?”

  “No,” said Albert. “Sit.”

  Jack and Albert watched Fat Felicity watching the cabin, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Maybe she was just keeping the mosquitoes at bay, but it felt like she wanted them to know she was out there. Half an hour later, the front door opened and Harold came out. He stuck his head around the corner of the house.

  “Fel!” he yelled, and then said something Albert couldn’t hear. The old woman tossed her cigarette to the ground and went back into the house.

  “What do you think they’re doing?” Jack said.

  “No fucking clue,” Albert said. “Nothing good.” He pulled out a cigarette of his own and lit it.

  “Can I have one?”

  Albert handed one to his brother and said, “Keep it away from the window.”

  “Not like they don’t know I’m here. Better they think somebody’s alert.”

  “You want one?” Albert asked Bobby.

  Bobby sat on the wooden chair, his arms crossed, his hands tucked under his armpits. “No, thanks.”

  “Milk and cookies after this, huh?” said Albert, not looking at him. “Milk and cookies.”

  He shifted position. His knee hurt. He didn’t remember hitting it on anything but it ached. He wriggled his toes in his boots to keep the circulation going. Standing watch was hard on the body; keeping still sometimes took as much effort as running. All was still now—the house through the clearing, the children behind him. It might all be mistaken for something quaint, if you didn’t know better, if you couldn’t smell the stink and the urine. Then, the light changed up at the house. Someone at a back window. The window opened and someone climbed out.

  “Fuck,” said Jack.

  It was Jill, Jill in a sleeveless dress and bare feet, her arms skeletal in the grey light. She reached out to someone else. Gestured urgently. A small face appeared and then disappeared. Jill looked around, found an old plastic pail and stood on it, bending at the waist inside the window, hauling something, someone up. She dragged Toots out the window, put the child on the ground and gently closed the window behind her.

  “This is not good,” said Jack. “Should we go out?”

  “No,” said Albert.

  “What’s happening?” Bobby came toward them. The children stirred.

  Jill was hunkered down, talking to Toots, who lay curled up. Jill stood and jerked the younger girl roughly by the arm, drag-yanking her to her feet. She bent down, put her arms around Toots and started moving. She half carried her.

  “They’re coming this way,” said Jack.

  “I’ve got eyes,” said Albert. “Shit.”

  He went to the door and slipped out, gesturing the rest should stay inside. He tried to wave them off into the woods but they came on, resolutely, determinedly. He would not help them, then. They’d have to make it alone. If The Others caught them first, so be it.

  Something banged and crashed inside the main house. Jill swooped down and slung Toots over her shoulder. The child cried out and Albert winced, then rushed forward and took Toots from Jill. The child cried out again, squirmed and then went still. Jill’s face was battered, the lip split, one eye swollen. There was blood in her hair. Blood down the front of her dress.

  “You hurt bad?” said Albert.

  “Get her inside, for God’s sake, Albert. Get her inside.”

  He looked down then, at the child in his arms. There was blood on her, too. She wore only a T-shirt and underpants. The underpants were wet, and they were stained red.

  “What the fuck?” said Albert. His instinct was to drop her as though she was a bomb about to go off. Jill put her hand on his arm. Her mouth was firm, her brows drawn together and, even battered, she was resolute. He didn’t drop Toots. He carried her inside, looking all the while over his shoulder, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, sure he would see The Others coming at him with knives, hatchets, clubs.

  Inside, the children clustered round him. They murmured and cried, as though they were once voice, one soul. Jack pushed through. “Holy shit,” he said. Toots was limp and still.

  “Is she dead?” asked Little Joe.

  Jill cried out and reached for the little girl. Albert shifted Toots so her head rested on his shoulder. “No, she’s not dead.”

  “She’s awful hurt, though,” said Jill, and she started to talk, fast. “I couldn’t do nothing. I didn’t even see nothing at first. Dan caught her out in the woods when he went to take a piss. How’d she let herself get caught? She’s the best of us at running. They were mad as hell, you know, because they’d been looking for the kids and knew something was going on down here. They know, Bert. I mean they know about him.” She pointed at Bobby’s pale face. “And they know about you having the kids here, too. They’re all paranoid shits. Fuck that crystal—it makes ’em crazier than a sack of rabid weasels. They’re talking about how weird you been lately and how you’re gonna go to the cops about the lab they got—”

  “What lab?” Bobby said.

  “The fucking meth lab,” Jack said.

  Albert looked at Bobby who shivered.

  “Oh, man, Albert,” said Jill. “They sure as shit are watching you and when they are watching you it don’t matter where you are or what you think you’re doing down there at Maverick’s and shit in town. They say they got somebody on you day and night and what an asshole you are thinking you’re outside everything and it’s about time somebody taught you a lesson and Lloyd, he said he’d like to be the one to knock you off your—”

  “You high, Jill?” Albert said. She was talking a mile-a-minute and her eye, the one that wasn’t closed, was wild. She picked at her elbows, first one, and then the other.

  “No, I ain’t high, but I sure as hell wish I was.” She stopped picking.

  Albert didn’t believe her. The Others didn’t like anyone around who didn’t join in, and if they wanted you around, you best do as you were told. He just prayed she’d keep it together. He tried to figure out what to do. His arm, holding Toots, was warm and wet. He thought she was probably still bleeding. “I’m gonna put her down,” he said. “Jill, I want you to take a look at her, figure out how bad she’s hurt.”

  Jill stepped back. “I don’t want to.”

  Albert laid the little girl on the table. She didn’t cry out or m
ove. Her eyes were open, tracking him, then again, he thought, maybe they were just rolling around in her head; he couldn’t be sure. He touched her forehead. It was cold and clammy and her cheeks were mottled. “Too fucking bad if you don’t want to. I need to know.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Jack.

  “Jill will do it,” said Albert.

  Jill stepped forward and Albert turned his back. The rest of the kids followed his lead and looked away. Some stood, some looked down at the floor, even the smallest among them silent, as though it were a ritual, some spell designed to conjure up powerful things.

  “Jesus,” said Jill, bent over the child.

  “How bad?” said Albert.

  “She needs a doctor.”

  “Can she wait until morning?”

  “How the hell should I know, Bert? I’m not a fucking nurse.”

  Albert reached into his duffle bag, pulled out a shirt and tossed it to Jill. “Wrap her up in this. I need to think.” While Jill wrapped up Toots the little girl whimpered, and the sound pleased Albert—at least she hadn’t gone catatonic, hadn’t slipped into a coma or something. He figured she was in shock, maybe bleeding internally. “It’s pretty quiet up there; you figure they’ve passed out?” Albert asked Jack.

  “Not if they’re methed up, you idiot.”

  “Right. Fuck.” He had to pull his thoughts in line, had to pay attention. For better or worse, he was leader here and if he unravelled the kids would panic.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna go out with Bobby and we’re going to slip the truck into neutral and slide her down the hill a bit, away from the house. Give me about five minutes. Then I want Jill and Toots to come out and meet us.”

  “What about the rest of us?”

  “If they don’t know we’ve gone you’ll be fine. Take off in the woods if you have to.”

  “I wanna go with Jill,” said Ruby.

  “Me, too,” said Griff.

  “I ain’t staying with the babies,” said Frank.