Dark Justice: A Supernatural Thriller

by Donnie Light

  He limped back to the fire and looked at the bodies of Vince and Luke. The Indians had taken anything of value from their pockets, but both men still wore their clothing. Tobias struggled to one-handedly remove Luke’s heavy shirt from his dead body. He would have taken the pants as well, except that his attention was caught by the sight of an overturned pan lying at the edge of the fire. It must have been knocked over during the struggle. Tobias raked it from the heat with a stick.

  The pan was still a quarter full of beans and pork fat. The perimeter of the food had grown crusty from the heat, but the center was still moist. Tobias dragged the hot pan over to a large rock and used Luke’s shirt to set the pan on top of it. He discarded the rag, which had been his old shirt, and put on Luke’s as he waited for the cool rock to draw some of the heat from the pan.

  It seemed it would take forever for the pan to cool. Tobias used the tail of the shirt and carried it into the woods. He did not expect anyone to be traveling the road this late at night but wanted to take no chances.

  He traveled carefully through the dark woods, walking parallel to the road. He stopped to check the pan. His mouth watered in anticipation of devouring every bean.

  The pouch had slowly stopped giving off the strange, but wonderful, energy that kept Tobias going.

  He found a short, stubby stick and drug it through the food. He gently blew on the steaming beans and cautiously touched them to his lips. Soon, he was scraping as much of the dried, burned food from the sides of the pan as he could.

  He began to move again discarding the pan for the forest creatures to have their try at it. He approached the road. Seeing nothing, he emerged from the woods. The night was unusually cool for this time of year and Tobias was glad to have the newly acquired shirt.

  He began to put distance between himself and the bodies, which lay beside the fire. He wondered if Frederick had really died. If he had, there was no way Tobias would live. The punishment for a slave who killed a white man was public hanging. If a black killed another black, he would most likely be beaten. Though Frederick was poor, he was still white.

  Tobias plodded along the lonely road keeping a steady rhythm. He was in considerable pain. He eagerly awaited another dose of the warmth from the pouch. He had begun to realize that whatever was in the pouch cared for him. Whenever he felt like he could not go on or needed a sudden burst of energy, the pouch grew warm. Sometimes it grew hot, and beyond that, it would begin to vibrate. Usually, when he was traveling, it would give him small doses of the warmth. It would gently feed him, a little at a time, like a mother nursing her young.

  He traveled a considerable distance before the sun rose for that day, causing him to seek refuge in the woods. Before he left the road, Tobias looked at the land around him. He recognized some of the features here and if he recalled correctly, a small town lay ahead.

  Tobias would rest awhile after looking for some water. He would travel as far as the woods would allow before stopping for the day. He figured he had roughly a days travel back to the plantation. It may take a little longer, due to his present physical condition, but Tobias could feel its closeness.

  He found a trickle of water running in a small stream about a mile from where he entered the woods. He drank deeply. He then pulled together a mattress of pine needles. As he lay down to rest, he had a bout of the recurring ghost-pains from his missing right hand. He imagined flexing his fingers as the pain shot up his arm. He would never become accustomed to not having the hand. He still reached for things with the stump before realizing his mistake. The missing hand also itched. It was so strange to have these sensations.

  He began to inspect the rags wrapping the stump of his arm. They were constantly working themselves loose. He moved his right arm away from his body, letting the pouch slip gently to the ground. He held the stump across his lap and attempted to tighten the rags. He loosened a knot and unwrapped one of the rags, intending to re-wrap it more tightly.

  As he unfolded the rag, small wriggling maggots fell from between the wraps. Horrified, he stripped the remainder of the rags from the stump in a panic and jumped to his feet.

  A thick, yellowish liquid oozed from the wound and Tobias began to feel sick. He had not seen the wound until now, for Wilbur had wrapped it before he awoke that first morning. His nostrils flared at the repulsive smell of the infection. He leaned against a tree and fought the sudden urge to vomit. The wound immediately became more painful, as if seeing it triggered in his mind a more severe condition than he had imagined. He managed to escape the urge to vomit with just a few dry heaves then regained his composure.

  Tobias stripped off his new shirt and attempted to tear it into bandages. He tried desperately, but the material was too tough. He took a few deep breaths to help settle himself, then walked over to pick up the rags he had just taken off. He carried them along the small stream, looking for a pool in which to rinse them out.

  After rinsing the rags as best he could, he returned to his pine-needle mattress. He covered the sickening stump and began to tie the rags back into place. Once finished, he lay back on the makeshift bed.

  He managed to sleep for over four hours before waking to the sound of a nearby flock of crows. Tobias sat up. The woods were dark for midday, storm clouds moving in from the west. He drank again from the small stream and decided to put on more miles. He picked a route that was as northward bound as the terrain would allow. He walked for several hours until he heard the sound of a blacksmiths hammer ringing in the distance.

  Nearing the town, he would now wait until nightfall before moving further. Again, he made a comfortable place to lie down, but this time sleep would elude him.

  He tried to imagine his confrontation with Master Richards. He must get Richards alone. He contemplated various plans, knowing Richards’ daily routine. The morning ride would be a good time, but Tobias was certain that another slave would have taken over his old job in the stables. Tobias had readied Master Richards’ horse for him almost everyday for the last three years. He had inherited the job from old Jake, who had gotten too sick to work. He had eventually died and Tobias had filled the position permanently. Tobias thought he could sneak into the big house, perhaps into Master Richards’ study. Richards always stayed up after the rest were in bed to look at his books.

  Tobias would think of something; some how, some way, he had to get the pouch into Richards’ hands. He could feel he was going to make it. The gods had blessed him so far and he felt they would guide him to the plantation.

  He lay awake, looking at the sky. He watched the storm clouds drift across it in varying shades of gray. Before nightfall, the rains began to seep from the clouds. The rain was gentle at first, washing the last of the day’s light away. It became violent toward nightfall, almost abrasive as it hammered the land.

  Tobias began to move again keeping to the woods to shelter him from the heavy rain. The lightning blazed across the sky and thunder rolled in waves. Tobias could feel the thunder pounding in his bones. He came to open fields as he neared the town, dashing across them as quickly as he could.

  He skirted the backside of a farm and thought of entering the barn. He looked at it from the field, thinking of its warmth and dryness. The pouch began to warm his side, as if in warning. Just move on, Tobias, it seemed to say. Just keep going, and I’ll give you strength.

  The wind began to howl, sending the rain into Tobias’ face in sheets. He bent into the wind, leaning against its strength. Chilled on the outside, the pouch warmed him from within.

  He made slow progress during the storm but soon after the rain had stopped, he was able to get back onto the road. He had by-passed the town and now made much better progress.

  By the time morning came, Tobias was beginning to recognize more and more familiar landmarks. He had traveled this far occasionally, running errands for Master Richards. He crossed the road that lead to the Reynolds farm, where Master Richards sometimes sent him to fetch a pig or two. Just ahead a couple of mil
es, was the big river. After he reached it, he would go west and eventually cross it. There was a bridge to the east but it was two or three miles out of his way.

  When he had escaped, he had floated down the river hanging onto a large branch that he had pushed into the water. He had hoped it would throw off the dogs for a while, giving him a chance to get a lead on them. They would eventually find his trail and the hounds would pursue him relentlessly. He was thankful, though surprised, that they had not caught up to him yet.

  Unknown to Tobias, the hounds had led the slave catchers to Wilbur’s camp and were now on their way back toward him. The slaves in Wilbur’s camp had pleaded ignorance. The lie had worked well enough to avoid a beating but the slave catchers left with a suspicious look on their faces. They were now only hours behind him, but the rains of the night before would make the scent harder to follow.

  Tobias made his way through the woods to the banks of the river. He was exhausted from the night’s travel. His body ached like never before. The ghost-hand feelings had returned, along with the excruciating pain of the stump. The cuts on his face and back were becoming infected. His ribs ached with each breath. His buttock sported a large bruise where Vince had kicked him while he lay on the ground.

  He looked around for some edible plants and found enough to satisfy his raging hunger for a while. He decided to set some snare traps before resting. Tobias had shown his sons, as his father had shown him, how to set the traps. Their meager meals had often been supplemented by the capture of a rabbit or a squirrel. He could remember clearly when he caught his first dik-dik, a tiny deer-like creature slightly larger than a rabbit, native to his homeland. He had been so proud. His father had shown him how to clean his catch and how to build a smokeless fire to cook it over.

  He set three of the snares across the small paths he found among the undergrowth. An untrained eye would never have noticed the slight paths made by the small animals but Tobias knew where and what to look for. He grew hungrier as he thought about a meal of cooked rabbit or squirrel.

  After completing the traps Tobias looked for a place to rest. He chose a spot beneath a large, fallen tree. The runner immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  When he awoke, he discovered he had slept the entire day away. The sun indicated it was late afternoon. He had almost forgotten he had set the snares. The first and second traps he set were empty, but the last one contained a good-sized swamp rabbit. The rabbit kicked wildly as Tobias approached, but the snare held him fast.

  He reached out to grab the swamper by the hind legs when he heard the sound of several hounds, hot on the trail of something—probably him.

  – Chapter 11 –

  Galen quickly finished his shower and put on a clean change of clothes. He calculated they had about two hours (including a safety factor) before the ball-thing would reappear in Willow River.

  His attention was captured momentarily by the hole in the outside wall of his kitchen where the ball-thing had entered the house the last time he was there. It was a perfectly round hole. Slightly smaller than a tennis ball, it allowed Galen a view of the morning sunshine outside. He inspected the hole in the interior wall between the kitchen and the living room. He noticed by the angle of the hole, that the ball had altered its course to match his when he had fled through the front door.

  Galen sat heavily on his couch. He felt nervousness in his stomach, as if he were about to be forced to speak to a large crowd. Galen wondered if he were about to have a nervous breakdown. He fought with these thoughts, trying to push them back. He thought of his Dad, quietly working his life away as an accountant in Chicago. His father had approached Galen about taking over the family business several times. “Make a lot more money,” he would say. “Use your head instead of your back, Galen,” was another favorite.

  Now, for the first time, Galen gave it a serious consideration. No more accident scenes. No more heart attack victims. No more house fires that put families on the street. He wanted a quiet job in an office building. It did not look so bad from where Galen sat right now, but he had to deal with the situation at hand.

  Audra had gone to her apartment to freshen up and change clothes. She had agreed to meet Galen back at his place before going to look for Paxon’s phone number.

  She thought about calling her mother who also lived in The Willows. Audra was sure her mother had called her apartment looking for her and was probably wondering where she was. Talking on the phone was a Saturday morning ritual for Audra and her mother. They would talk for about an hour, usually about Sharon and Jack’s latest marital problems. Her mother would usually cry, and then Audra would go over to visit her in the afternoon. She would be asked to stay for dinner. She knew if she called her mom now she would never be able to explain what was happening. She decided to call her later, from the road.

  She slipped into a clean pair of jeans and took a few minutes to put on some makeup. She did not care what was after her. If she had to be out in public, she was going to look presentable. She sacrificed the few minutes it would take to blow-dry her hair and went out the door.

  She passed her mailbox on the way out of the building intending to leave her mail until later. She hesitated when she saw a picture of a family friend, Mr. Carter, on the front page of the paper. She picked it up and read the headlines on the way to her car.

  Audra pulled into Galen’s driveway a few minutes later and honked the horn. Galen closed his back door and hurried down the steps. Audra had acquired a pair of sunglasses since Galen last saw her. He did not like not being unable to see her eyes, but the glasses gave her a mysterious look, somehow making her seem more elegant.

  “What’s in the bag?” she asked as Galen tossed it into the back seat.

  “Just some extra clothes, a razor, junk like that,” he answered. “I don’t know how long we will have to run from this thing,” he said. “It’s not like we can just call time-out or something.”

  Audra looked behind her as she backed out of the drive. “Maybe I should have done the same.” She noticed the newspaper on the back seat. “Grab that newspaper,” she said, tossing her head toward the rear of the car. “Read the front page.”

  Galen turned in his seat and located the paper. He looked at the photograph and began to read the words below it.

  “Ball lightning?” he asked.

  “Yeah, only we know better,” Audra said.

  Galen began to read the story aloud.

  “Ball lightning is the only explanation anyone can think of for the unusual happenings that occurred at the Walter P. Carter residence last night. Carter, 63, resides on the village’s north-west side. At about eight-thirty P.M., he and his wife, Maggie, were interrupted while watching television. ‘All heck broke loose,’ Carter said. ‘We were just sitting in the living room, when we heard this funny noise.’ Carter describes the noise as a high-pitched, raspy sound. ‘That’s when we saw the little ball of light. It just kind of floated through the kitchen and then went into one of the bedrooms. It made a hole right through the wall,’ says Carter. The unknown object continued on a path of destruction through the house. ‘It hit some wires in the wall and the whole place lost power,’ Carter says. The Willow River Fire Department was dispatched to investigate. ‘We have no explanation,’ says Fire Chief, Roy Atley, 56. ‘We checked the house for any signs of fire, and called the electric company to restore power,’ says Atley. Damage to the home is estimated at $1,200, and the Carters say they will begin repairs ‘as soon as we can find someone to do the work.’ A neighbor’s house narrowly missed being damaged, as the Carters said they saw the ‘ball of light’ turn suddenly and cross an open field. ‘We’re just glad it’s over,’ says Carter.”

  “Someone could have been hurt, or killed,” said Audra

  “I know,” Galen said, obviously troubled by the story.

  “Let’s get in touch with Paxon and try to stop this thing.”

  Galen just about yelled, wanting to ask, what the Hell do
you think we’re doing? Instead, he nodded and bit his tongue.

  As they approached Gaston’s house, Galen immediately noticed a sheet of plywood covering the shattered front window. He began to wonder who may have done this, but was glad that someone had.

  They parked near the back door. Galen saw it had been fitted with a metal hasp and padlock. He walked around to check the front door. It had also been fitted with a new padlock.

  “Damn,” he said as he rattled the lock. “Who’s been out here?”

  Audra shrugged. “Maybe his lawyer,” she suggested.

  “We gotta get in there,” Galen said as he began to check the windows. He then had an idea. Galen led Audra to the back of the house and stopped at a pair of old-fashioned cellar doors. A padlock also held the doors shut but it was older, showing signs of light rust.

  “There’s a hidden key for this one,” Galen said. He walked over to a nearby flowerbed and lifted a stone, retrieving a key. He slipped the key into the padlock and struggled with it slightly before it fell open. The heavy door groaned as Galen pulled it up.

  “Galen, I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here,” Audra said. “Someone put those locks on the doors for a reason.”

  “Yeah, well, this is the only place we’re going find that number,” Galen said. “And without that, we’ve got nobody else to call for help.”

  “If we get caught in here, we could go to jail,” Audra said nervously.

  “It’s better than the morgue,” Galen replied, putting an end to the question of whether or not they should go in. He braced the door open with a metal rod and they went down the steps.

  “Kinda spooky down here,” Audra mentioned, brushing cobwebs from her path as they approached another door. Galen pushed it open. They walked through the basement, the only light coming from the small windows along the top of the wall. The house was amazingly quiet and Audra felt like a burglar as they prowled. They worked their way upstairs, and eventually entered Al’s study.