Redneck Apocalypse

by Eric S. Brown

  The late afternoon heat was blistering as he shrugged the jacket from his shoulders and tossed it aside. The front door opened and Scott emerged from the house, carrying two beers. He handed one to Danny, who took it gratefully. Scott took a seat in the rocker at the other end of the porch.

  “Told ya, ya shouldn’t have gone,” Scott said, taking a swig from his beer.

  “Yeah, well, someone had to,” Danny argued. “You should have too.”

  “He weren’t no kin of mine, Danny boy,” Scott protested.

  A moment of silence passed between them as Danny sipped at his own beer, staring out into the trees that surrounded the house.

  “There a lot of folks there?” Scott asked finally.

  Danny shook his head. “Just Rita and some of her family that drove in for the funeral. Harold didn’t have a lot of friends in town. Guess he was gone too much to make them.”

  Scott grunted. “Or it could just be that he was an idiot.”

  “Come on now, Scott. The guy’s dead,” Danny said. “Show some respect. ” He tried to keep his anger over Scott’s callous remark in check.

  “I knows y’all were friends, Danny, but I ain’t never been much one for lying. You know that boy wasn’t all there.”

  “He was the best trucker in these parts. I know that,” Danny argued. “Never once heard him being late on a run.”

  Scott chuckled. “He was good alright. Good enough to drive his rig straight off a mountain side.”

  Danny jumped to his feet, throwing his beer into the yard. “That’s enough, old man.”

  Scott shifted in his chair but kept his seat. “Or what boy? You gonna give me a whoopin’?”

  “Forget you!” Danny yelled. “I can’t deal with your crap right now!”

  Danny stormed from the porch, without looking back, leaving Scott grinning as he went.

  The packing paper made a crinkling noise as Rita wrapped it around the last of the plates. She sat it atop the pile in the milk crate and turned her head to look out the kitchen window. Outside, the sun was shining in the blue sky above. She supposed she might still be in shock. None of this should be happening. Harold should have come home to her two days ago. Instead she got to see what was left of him in a small box at the funeral parlor. Rita hadn’t really slept or eaten since then. She had cried until all her tears were gone and her eyes were red and swollen.

  When Sheriff Bryson knocked on her door with the news that Harold had been involved in an accident, she didn’t believe it. She still didn’t. What the sheriff had told her just didn’t add up. She knew her husband. They had dated for over a year before they had gotten married, and she knew him even better now. There was no way her Harold would have fallen asleep at the wheel or not seen a patrol car parked in the middle of the road ahead of him.

  From how the accident report read, and she had demanded to see a copy of it, they were claiming Harold came around a turn too fast, hit the patrol car, and just kept going. The point where his truck had crashed down the mountain was nearly a mile away from where he had hit the deputy’s car. She shook her head to clear her mind. Thinking about such things just made it all worse.

  Rita flew into a rage of pain, kicking madly at the box of dishes she had just packed. She heard them shatter despite their wrappings as the box slid across the room. She followed after it, kicking it over and over until a piece of one of the plates cut through the cardboard somehow and slashed the skin of her foot. With a yelp, she stopped.

  She sat down at the kitchen table, removing her flip-flop, as blood dripped from the gash stretching up towards her ankle. Somehow, she found more tears. They welled up in her eyes and leaked onto her cheeks as a fresh round of sobs shook her.

  “Why Harold? Why?” she wailed.

  A knock sounded from the front door. Embarrassed at how upset she was, she tried to pull herself together. “Hold on!” she yelled. “Be right there!”

  She wiped frantically at the blood on her foot with a napkin before jerking her flip-flop back on. She smoothed her blouse with her hands and then headed for the door. She peeped through the peak hole to see who was outside. Rita figured it was her mother coming back from the hotel where her and her dad were staying to help with the rest of the packing. With Harold’s income gone, she couldn’t afford to pay the rent on the trailer anymore and besides, there were too many memories to stay here anyway.

  Much to her surprise, it was Danny who stood on the outside stoop. He shot her a weak smile as she opened to door.

  “What are you doing here Danny?” she asked rather than saying hello or giving him any sort of greeting.

  He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “Thought I would come by and make sure you were holding up okay.”

  “My husband’s dead,” she told him. “Ain’t nothing okay anymore.”

  Danny stared at her as if he didn’t know what to say.

  “Well, I reckon’ you should come on in if you’re gonna,” Rita grumbled. “Ain’t no sense in standing around out there.” She stepped aside to let him into the trailer.

  “I’m real sorry about everything, Rita. I really am.”

  “Me too,” she said. “I think I might still have some tea in the fridge if you want some.”

  “I’m fine,” Danny waved away the offer of a drink. “Look, uh, the reason I’m here—”

  “Spit it out, Danny. I got packing to do as you can see,” she urged him. “Why did you really stop by?”

  “It’s just …” Danny started and paused. “It’s just, I don’t think what happened to Harold was an accident. We both know he was too good at what he did for something like that to happen.”

  Rita felt anger rising inside her and tried to hold it down. Danny had been Harold’s only real friend in town. The two of them had known each other since grade school. She knew Danny was just trying to look after them, even now, in his own strange way.

  “Stop right there. Danny Gerald Hawk. I’ve already thought about all that myself. Don’t matter none what really happened. Ain’t nothing going to bring Harold back to me.”

  “Maybe not, Rita, but they’re saying it was all his fault, butit wasn’t. I know you got bills that the insurance isn’t paying because of it. I just thought that—”

  “I said stop it, Danny,” she snapped. “You want to go digging around and find out what happened? Fine, but leave me out of it. I’ve got a hole inside me, Danny, and a heaping load of things that need to be done if I can find the strength to do them.”

  Danny nodded. “I understand, Rita. I’m going up there though. I need to know what really happened, get folks to see the truth that it wasn’t his fault. I owe him that much.”

  “You do what you need to, Danny,” Rita told him, “I’ll do the same.”

  “You really think this is a good idea?” Paul asked from the doorway of Sheriff Bryson’s office.

  Bryson had his feet kicked up on top his desk, leaning back in his chair, as he puffed on the cigarette that dangled from between his lips. “What?” he said through the other side of his mouth.

  “This stuff with that trucker and Deputy Jenkins. I mean, don’t their kin have a right to know?”

  Bryson’s feet thudded onto the floor as he sat up behind his desk. “Don’t you start that crap again! It was an accident, plain and simple … And we’re leaving the part about the bear out of it. You understand me?”

  Paul raised his hands, open palmed, in a gesture of surrender. “Whoa. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve there sir.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, son. It’s written all over that cocky, young face of yours. There ain’t no such thing as the Babble Creek Monster. It’s just a myth like Bigfoot, the Yeti, and all that other garbage. Deputy Jenkins hit a bear. It somehow survived then came at him. He shot it. It crawled away into the woods to die. That idiot trucker came along and nailed his car then lost control of his rig. End of story. Got it?”

  “Uh, the Babble Creek Monster is Bigfoot, sir,” Paul corrected
Bryson.

  “Whatever,” Bryson said. “I don’t care and neither do you. Especially when you’re in that uniform. Am I not making myself clear?”

  “Crystal, sir,” Paul nodded before he turned to leave, but as he left he said, “But we both know it wasn’t any bear that Jenkins hit.”

  Paul shut the door and made a run for it across the office before Bryson could get out of his seat to come after him.

  “You’re really doing it, aren’t you?” Danny heard Scott ask from behind him. He looked up from the bag he was packing and turned around. Danny had never moved out and since he didn’t have a girlfriend didn’t see the need to. He and Scott had continued sharing the same house even after his mom had passed away the year before. As southern step-dads went, Scott wasn’t really all that bad. He was gruff, blunt to the point of being hurtful, and drank too much, but at heart he was a good guy when push came to shove. The tough old coot had allowed him to stay, after all, instead of kicking him out. They got along decently enough most of the time and even went hunting together sometimes. Danny had never called him dad though and didn’t plan on starting anytime soon.

  “I guess I am,” Danny said reluctantly.

  “Sheriff Bryson still has that road closed off, son. Why don’t you wait a bit longer? What’s it gonna hurt? A few more days ain’t gonna change nothing.”

  “I’ll be careful not to get into trouble, Scott.” Danny assured him and meant it. “But I need to know what really happened up there on the Parkway.”

  “I ain’t coming with you,” Scott said. Between his words, he spat a mouthful of tobacco juice in the red solo cup he seemed to always carry with him.

  “Didn’t ask you to,” Danny grinned. “Borrow the pickup?”

  “What’s wrong with your car?”

  “Transmission is a bit iffy. Don’t want to chance it on the mountain.”

  Scott sighed. He put his hand in his denim pant pocket and fished his fingers around. He tossed Danny the keys to his truck. “You bring it back in one piece now and don’t forget to fill it up when you’re done. Gas ain’t cheap these days.”

  “Thanks, Scott,” Danny grinned and stepped by him heading for the front door.

  “What? You going right now? It’s nearly eleven.”

  Danny laughed. “Under the cover of darkness and all that.”

  “Weirdo,” Scott chuckled to himself as Danny left the house. The screen door slammed shut behind him.

  Danny didn’t bother to tell Scott he had also borrowed the old man’s prize .357 Magnum too. Asking for the pickup was one thing but asking for one of the old man’s guns was another. As he climbed into the pickup truck, he felt the weapon poking into him under his shirt where it was tucked tightly in his belt. Turning the key, the truck’s engine fired up. Danny had to make one stop before he headed up the Parkway. He wanted to make it quick. The sooner he got going the better.

  Richard was up late drinking and watching reruns of the Dukes of Hazard on CMT like he normally did when he heard the truck bouncing its way up the long gravel drive that led to his house. He could tell from the sound of the vehicle’s out-of-whack muffler that it belonged to Scott. Now what that crabby old bastard was doing calling on him this late was the question.

  He got up from his recliner and turned off the TV as the truck came to a stop in the drive. Taking a peak out the front window, he saw Danny getting out of the vehicle. The boy was going to be the death of him yet. If he’d come up here wanting more shine for his pop, he was about to regret it. Scott owed for several batches and he highly doubted the old man had sent the boy to pay up his debt.

  The screen creaked as Richard stepped out onto his porch to meet Danny. “It’s going on midnight, boy. What you doing calling on someone this late?”

  “Need your help,” Danny said. “I knew you’d still be up.”

  “My help don’t come easy or cheap,” Richard laughed. “If this is about more booze for your pa …”

  “No sir,” Danny interrupted him before he could get fired up. “I need you for something else altogether.”

  Danny took a roll of bills from his pocket and flashed it at Richard using the glare of the pickup’s headlights for illumination.

  Richard smiled. “Apple sure does fall far from the tree in the case of you and your pa.”

  “Scott isn’t my pa.”

  “I hear ya,” Richard guffawed. He walked out into the drive where Danny stood, eyes on the money clutched in the young man’s fist. “So what ya need this evening?”

  “You’re the best tracker in these parts, Richard. That’s what I need you for. I’m heading up to the Parkway to check out the place where Harold had his demise. I’d like you to come with me, help me figure out what really happened up there.”

  “Sounds like a mighty stupid and dangerous thing to do to me,” Richard commented. “Ain’t Sheriff Bryson got that road closed off?”

  “Yep, he does, but that don’t mean we can’t walk into the area once we drive up the mountain. I got three hundred dollars for you if you want it.”

  Richard snorted. “You must think I’m cheap if that’s all you’re offering.”

  Danny produced another wad of bills. “Did I say three hundred? I meant five. You in?”

  Richard took the money with a smile. “Let me lock up the place and get my rifle. If you want I could bring one or two my dogs along?”

  “I won’t stop you if you do,” Danny laughed.

  The engine of the beat up pickup whined as they drove up the winding turns of the Parkway. Danny was glad he’d borrowed the truck, his car would have never made it with how its transmission was hanging up. Richard sat beside him in the truck’s cab, a .30-06 resting between his knees. Two of Richard’s hunting dogs enjoyed the ride in the truck’s bed, barking at the trees alongside the roadside every once in a while.

  “What you hoping to find up here, boy?” Richard asked in a gravel-tone voice. That didn’t stop him from lighting up a smoke.

  Danny was surprised that he didn’t have a real answer to the question. “I don’t know. Proof that whatever happened to Harold wasn’t an accident like they’re saying it was I guess.”

  Richard took a long drag from his cigarette and breathed out the smoke. “This ain’t the first time something like this has happened ya know? There are a lot of stories about these parts, lot of strange happenings and going ons.”

  “You’re talking about the Babble Creek Monster, aren’t you?”

  “I ain’t saying it’s real, son,” Richard said. He coughed and took another drag. “But ya never know. I’ve lived around here long enough to know there sure is something that ain’t right going on. It could explain what happened to your friend well enough.”

  “I … I never really thought about that,” Danny stammered, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of him while he drove.

  “How you tell it, I don’t reckon there’s much else it could be that happened to your friend. So before we go playing Scooby Doo and chasing ghosts, I just want to make sure you got your head screwed on straight, boy. That’s all. Cause if you’re going after that thing, five hundred bucks or not, I’m out right now.”

  “I’m just after the truth,” Danny said.

  Danny stopped the pickup a good mile down the mountain from where the accident was supposed to have happened. It was likely they’d run into a roadblock with a deputy standing around killing time if they went any further up. Richard laughed at him as he got his bow out of the back of the truck.

  “What you gonna do with that. son?”

  “I could ask you the same about that rifle you’re carrying,” Danny pointed out.

  “You could. but you know why I brought it. If you think I don’t see that pistol you got tucked away, you must really think I’m stupid. So I’ll ask again, why the bow?”

  “It’s quieter than the guns and just as deadly if you know how to use it.”

  “And do you?” Richard smirked.

  “You don�
�t want to find out,” Danny grinned at the older man.

  Richard took the lead as they walked, keeping the two dogs quiet. Not only was the man the best tracker around but he was ex-special ops. He’d done a couple of tours in the Middle East before returning home to retire to a life of hunting, booze, and TV. If there was anything to be found up here, Richard would find it. He’d get them passed any deputy on duty too.

  Richard left the road and Danny followed him into the woods. The walk was harder, but Danny knew he was guiding them around the roadblock through the trees so they wouldn’t be spotted. For his age and certainly his lifestyle, Richard was in surprisingly good shape. Danny’s own youth and age was all that allowed him to maintain the older man’s pace. He could tell Richard wanted to get this night over with as fast as possible. The dogs were acting strange too and that didn’t help matters. They whined and tucked their tails, forcing Richard to nearly have to drag them along.

  “Don’t know what’s up with them,” Richard commented. “Something has got them spooked.”

  The night grew darker as clouds rolled in from the west, obscuring the moon and stars. The air was muggy and hot. Sweat slicked Danny’s skin under his t-shirt and soaked through it. He raked the backside of a hand across his brow to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes. He was having a tough enough time seeing as it was in the deepening darkness.

  Through the trees in the distance, Danny could see the flashing light of a patrol car parked in the road beyond the tree line. His hunch that Sheriff Bryson would post someone up here had been correct.

  He let out a sigh of relief as they passed it unnoticed, continuing on up the Parkway. He heard Richard whispering something about the numb nut over there not being able to find his arse in daylight. Richard’s feelings about Sheriff Bryson and his staff were no secret. When he’d gotten back from his last tour, Bryson had snubbed him, passing him over, not once but twice, for a position as a deputy with the department.