by E. E. Borton
“I’ll eat my hat,” said Earl, turning to face me. “I’ll eat it right in front of you if he don’t give you a bear hug when he sees you. He’s got kids, your uncle?”
“Yeah, he’s got three, I think. No, I’m sure of it. He has two sons and a daughter around my age.”
“Yes sir, I’ll eat my hat if he don’t light up.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“You ain’t a father, so you don’t know why I know. I just do. I know he’s gonna take you in and take care of you like one of his own. You’re his brother’s child. Makes no matter that you’re a grown man. He’s got somethin’ deep inside him that’ll always make him wanna take care of you. I’d do it for mine. That’s how I’m sure.”
“I hope you’re right, Earl.”
“I know I’m right. You see, son, you’re at war, too. It’s no different than your father’s war. Just a different place and time, but war is war. You’re learning things, too. Like he did. Look at what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“That,” said Earl, pointing at the pile in the middle of the room. “You’re learning what’s important. You wanna protect the things that connect you to your parents. You know you can find more food and guns out there, but you won’t find another wooden box with your name carved on the bottom. You won’t find another ring your father wore on his finger, showin’ his love for your mother. And you’ll never, ever find another picture book with those same photos. You’re learning what’s really important to you. That’s why you’re riskin’ everything, headin’ out to find your uncle.”
“Actually, Earl, I wouldn’t mind if you helped me out with that. I don’t think I know why I’m risking everything to go find him.”
“It’s because he’s got your father’s blood in him,” said Earl, putting his hand on my shoulder. “The same blood you got pumpin’ through your veins right now. That’s why.”
Chapter 32
(Day 29)
The Dance
I slept like an exhausted baby. I woke up stiff but feeling good about the decision to find my uncle. One of the many lessons I’d learned in the past month was that a person constantly needed to have a goal to fend off boredom. Winding my father’s pocket watch, I set out to complete the checklist before I left.
Filling the wheelbarrow, I made my way up the driveway to the open containers. It didn’t take me long to stuff each to the rim with the items I had recently discovered were important to me. Two of the drums held food, weapons, and ammunition. The third drum and the steamer trunk held the only evidence my family ever existed, besides me.
After I covered and camouflaged my stash, I wanted to throw that evil shovel down the mountain. I knew it was a valuable tool, but I was tired of digging holes to hide supplies and bury bodies. Thinking into the future about having to search for it when I returned, I decided to spare its life, for now.
Walking onto the deck, my mind was filled with conflicting thoughts, each battling for first place. The way I figured it, my mother was on my right shoulder with my father on the left. It wasn’t a question of who was the angel or the devil, but whose philosophy would drive my actions of securing the house.
On my left side, the voice was telling me to booby trap the entrances, rig the propane tank to blow, and foul the water supply. Hell, even poison it if someone decided to take up residence in my parents’ dream home.
On my right side, the voice was telling me to leave the front door unlocked with a note. It was telling me to leave a message that anyone was welcome who needed shelter for the night.
Of course I was leaning to the left. The only occupants I saw coming around the bend were drifters looking to pillage. Visions of a family on the verge of starvation, dragging tired bodies through the doorway, looking only for a place to rest were in the back of my mind.
As if my mother peered around my neck, shooting my father a chilling stare, I decided a balance of the two might satisfy both. I couldn’t help but account for the kindness that was shown to me by others who had the same choices. (Ms. Emma and the rangers were obviously standing with my mother.)
Finishing the sign that would hang on the front door, directing any visitors to a note on the kitchen counter, I could feel my mother’s pleasure. It welcomed them to rest for as long as they needed, but also warned them of the consequences if they took advantage of the hospitality or decided to make it their permanent residence. I wrote that we were all well-armed, weren’t far, and would be back in a few days.
There was a certain amount of comfort knowing the time of day and exactly when the sun would be setting. As I returned the watch to my pocket, I decided dinner would be a feast. I splurged, firing up the gas grill and opening a jar of seasoned venison. (I was pleased I wasn’t greeted with the smell of rotting meat when I removed the lid.)
Throwing more caution to the wind, I built a fire and lit torches on each corner of the deck. Snapping a white cloth over the table, I set it with my mother’s fine china and silver. When I finished the preparations, the maître d’ of the five star restaurant was ready to seat my two guests. Arriving with a smile, wearing a simple, elegant black dress, Sam seemed to float across the deck. As I pulled out her chair, Earl followed with a grin.
“Now, this is something,” said Earl, shaking my hand.
“Isn’t it?” said Sam, turning around in her chair. “And look at that sunset. It’s gorgeous.”
“Mother Nature has been kind to me these past few days,” I said, knocking on the wood rail. “I think she approves of my decision.”
“The red sky?” said Earl.
“Yep,” I replied. “Always a good sign, buddy.”
“We approve as well,” said Sam. “I can’t wait for you to get there. It’s going to be the best day you’ve had in a long time.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said. “I want to thank you both for showing up.”
“I wouldn’t miss a home cooked meal for nothing,” said Earl. “That smells delicious.”
“We’re never far, sweetie,” said Sam, killing me with her radiance.
“This is the first time we’ve all been together,” I said. “It means a lot to me that you’re both here. I have to admit I’m a bit apprehensive about this new plan, but I also have to admit I’m just as excited. I’m not looking forward to the road, so I figured we’d all spend a quiet evening together before I left.”
“You’ve done an amazing job with this dinner and the ambience, but I wish there was a little music to go with our meal,” said Sam. “Other than you, it’s what I miss most about our old world.”
“Shoot,” said Earl. “I can take care of that for you. All I need you two to do is close them eyes and concentrate on what you wanna hear. I’ll make it happen.”
“Really?” said Sam, lighting up even brighter. “Can I make the first request?”
“Sure, baby,” I said, grinning. “Whatever you want.”
We both closed our eyes, but I couldn’t help peeking at her. She lowered her head, concentrating so hard I could feel it. When the song came to her, she inhaled with delight. My grin stretched to a smile. As if the moment wasn’t magical enough, the air filled with music. It was the first song we ever danced to. Sam lifted her head, leaned over to hug Earl, and then held out her hand over the table, putting it in mine. We stood and walked to the dance floor.
With her eyes glassing over with tears, I slid my hand to the small of her back, pulling her close into me. She rested her head on my shoulder, swaying to the rhythm of her favorite song. Earl responded with more magic, turning up the volume on the mysterious juke box. I looked over at him with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. I whispered a thank you as he watched us glide over the floor.
If I was going to lose my life, I wanted it to happen in that moment. Whatever I would face in the next world had to be better than missing her in mine. I didn’t tighten my hold to pull her in closer. I tightened it so I wouldn’t fall to m
y knees. Earl must have noticed my weakness as the music began to fade. Sam didn’t make it easier whispering in my ear that she loved me.
In a place and time that should’ve made me happy, I found myself filling with rage. The violence in my heart drained the magic from the deck, pulling Sam and Earl back into the darkness. As her fingertips slid across mine with outstretched arms, I watched her face fade back into my memory where she belonged.
Silence returned to my world as I stood alone, staring into the shadows where they disappeared. I felt ridiculous, looking down at three place settings after I had finished dancing with a ghost. I was like a child with imaginary friends, allowing them to make decisions I couldn’t make on my own.
Before the consequences could stop my actions, I watched in slow motion as my mother’s china hung suspended in the air. Tumbling over the rail, the table held on to the cloth as if it were wearing a cape. When I reached out for a spinning plate, the others crashed to the deck, exploding into little pieces. Slipping through my grasp, the last plate died with the rest.
Nothing was real in my world. Nothing made sense. I was letting the dead live my life. Sam, Earl, my parents. All dead. All making decisions for me. It had to stop. It had to stop right now. The next decision had to be mine. Wrong or right, good or bad, it had to be mine. The way I saw it, I had two choices. Put a gun in my mouth or leave the past behind.
As a wave of calm passed through my body, I walked inside the house. My pistols were always on my belt. My pack, shotgun, and AR were always ready to move. Loaded down with ammunition and food, I slung it out the front door. Going back inside, I separated every gas line connection in the house.
I knew I didn’t have much time, but the urgency didn’t quicken my pace to the deck. I removed one of the lit torches and walked back inside. Standing in the middle of the main room, I dropped it between my parents’ favorite chairs that overlooked the valley.
Turning toward the stairs that would lead me away from certain death, I took slow, deliberate steps up to the foyer. Staring at my pack in the middle of the driveway, I stopped in the doorway. I was going to give the Reaper one last opportunity to cross my soul off his list. When he decided it wasn’t my time, I walked outside, picked up my pack and guns, and strolled away from the house.
As I walked around a bend, I wondered if the torch had burned itself out before the gas could reach it. The thought was pushed out of my mind as the explosion knocked me to the ground. Even with the edge of the mountain between me and the destruction of my home, the gravel danced around my face from the shockwave.
When I pushed myself up to my knees, the concussion from the thousand gallons of propane igniting sent me back down. Larger rocks dislodged from the side of the mountain rolled passed me, cutting in on the dancing gravel. As a boulder crossed my path less than two feet from my head, I swear I could hear it laughing at me.
It was easy to spot any more attempts by Bootleg Mountain to bash in my skull as the fireball rose above the ridgeline, illuminating the entire valley. If anyone was stargazing, they had just become witness to the power of my first decision. I just sent the past where it needed to be.
My next thought was of my parents. I could imagine them looking down on me with gaping mouths and wild eyes. It was the moment that there was no doubt in their minds that their son had lost his. But I didn’t care about what they thought. They were dead. There would be no conversation about what I did. There would be no consequences. Just like there were none when I broke her china. In this new world, I was free to do anything I wanted.
Dusting myself off, there was vigor in my stride. I was looking down the dirt road, hoping there would be cowards waiting for me around the corner. They would meet the same fate as the house. They would be the only consequences of my decisions. Until I was struck down by man or Mother Nature, I’d punish them all.
There was no hesitation on which direction I would walk into the dark when I reached the asphalt at the end of the driveway. Before I turned, I pulled the shotgun, using the buckshot as a chainsaw on the mailbox. After the third round, I yelled timber as it fell over.
I stepped over it, putting my foot on road I hadn’t traveled. I decided to leave everything behind me, heading in a new direction that would take me to my uncle’s house. If I ever had a chance to find home, in my mind, it was with him.
Chapter 33
Boy Bands and Starlets
After I made sure there was no turning back – ever – I headed west to the border of Georgia and Alabama. When I reached the Tennessee River, I’d turn south for Stevenson where my uncle lived on the edge of the small town. Before I burned my home to the ground, I made sure to grab the maps from my father’s study. I knew how to get to the river, but once I crossed it I’d be in unfamiliar territory.
Traveling during the day was no longer safe – if it ever was. I wasn’t the only person out here with a scoped rifle. In daylight walking along a road, I’d be an easy target. A person wearing a backpack would have it filled with the most valuable items they owned. Items everybody else would be looking to take.
I didn’t mind moving through the countryside at night. With no blazing sun I’d walk at a quicker pace, using up less of my water. It was the heaviest, and most valuable, commodity I carried. It was stored in bladders sewn into my pack to evenly distribute the weight across my back and shoulders.
In the dark my threat circle was much smaller. I was still fairly easy pickings for an organized ambush, but the odds were even if I came across stragglers. As long as I stayed smart, vigilant, and silent, I was confident I’d notice them before they noticed me. What I did after making contact would be dictated by their intentions and my mood. At the moment, showing mercy was going to be a problem.
Being hyper-aware and focusing on my immediate surroundings gave me little time to think about my actions back at the house. But having to be hyper-aware was in itself a thought. In a strange way it felt good being on the move, paying attention to my new environment. I had a goal to achieve and a place to go. It was a nice thought, knowing I’d soon be talking to people who didn’t live inside my head.
Sam and Earl’s faces would creep into my mind while I walked, but they were static images. I was hoping they had become what they should’ve always been. I’d keep those images and moments that had meaning to me, but I would no longer allow them to plot my course or make decisions I needed to make. I was the only person on the planet who should be accountable for my actions. There was no one to blame if things went bad. When I saw the firelight around a bend in the road, I knew things had just gone bad.
I pulled the AR-15 and dove into a roadside ditch as the air exploded around me. It took two seconds for me to realize I was caught in crossfire. The first rounds came from behind me to my left. They were the closest as I heard two bolts racking more rounds into their chambers. A second volley of shots followed, but those were coming from my front to the right. I recognized the sound as a semi-automatic pistol.
Rolling onto my stomach, I didn’t pull the ripcord that would release my pack. It was the only protection I had from taking a bullet in the back from the pistol as I focused on the closer targets. When the two rifles fired again, I saw both muzzle flashes. The last sound they expected to hear erupted from my AR after I flipped the switch to fully automatic.
Their ambush was somewhat organized, but as I heard screams, I figured the two rifles weren’t behind good cover. Thinking they got the jump on an easy target, they probably stepped out from behind a hidden position to more accurately aim their weapons. That was a bad idea.
Confident they were either injured, dead – or scared shitless after hearing a fully automatic assault rifle – I rolled to the other side of the ditch. I couldn’t see the third shooter, but I emptied the rest of the magazine in his direction. He should’ve stayed quiet.
After we both reloaded, I switched the selector to a three-round-burst, waiting for the flash. When it came, I squeezed the trigger twice, sen
ding six rounds to the pistol. There was no scream, but there were no more shots fired either. The gun battle lasted fifteen seconds.
Climbing out of the ditch and staying low, I bolted into the woods beside the road. I circled around to come up behind the two shooters with rifles. They were both lying on the ground. One was obviously dead, missing half of his face. The second was still alive, staring at me, holding her neck. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen.
Since I hit her jugular, I knew there was nothing I could do. With her pleading eyes still locked onto mine, she exhaled for the last time. It felt like my soul had just died with her. The earth stood still.
Time didn’t move again until I did. I never heard him coming. After the shot rang out I was drilled to the ground by the multiple impacts to the left side of my body. From my ankle to my face, it felt like I was on fire. Aiming at the silhouette that was reloading the shotgun, I fired. The shooter dropped like a sack of grain, crumpling down into a ball. I scanned from left to right looking for more targets. When none appeared, I fell back into the woods, taking cover in a depression behind a large tree.
Touching my left cheek, I could feel the pellet beneath my skin up against bone. There were four more holes down the side of my body. Two in my arm, one in my side, and the fourth lodged in my leg above my boot. (The shooter must have been firing birdshot from a single barrel shotgun.)
Standing well beyond its effective range, the shooter was lucky to hit me at all. (I was lucky to still have both my eyes.) Each pellet penetrated less than an inch, missing any vital organs or arteries. The pain was intense in my face and ankle, but far from life threatening. I was more pissed that I’d dropped my guard, letting him get that close to me. Then I remembered I had just killed a fourteen-year-old girl.