by Aric Davis
“Free, you’re going to drive us to Bucky’s, and we’re going to put an end to this crap.”
“I can’t take you there, man. It’s suicide.”
“Besides,” said Flo, “we can’t leave Frank here alone.”
“You’re driving us there, Free,” ordered Matt. “And Frank will be fine as long as we go end this. He’s locked in, and he has his gun. I don’t know Frank, but I do know that if one of us were taking a snooze in there, he’d still be up for catching the bad guys, or doing whatever else it was that needed doing. Since he can’t do that right now, we’re going to do it for him. Flo, what do you have in the way of weaponry?”
“We have another shotgun, the one that would normally be in Frank’s car.”
“Will you get it, and all the shells you can carry?”
“Sure thing,” she said, before standing and walking to Frank’s office. Matt turned to Free. “You’re going to drive?”
“I will,” said Free, sighing, “but I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it,” Matt said, locking eyes with Free and probing him for some sense of imminent betrayal. “But you do have to drive us there, and then you need to help me get rid of Bucky, end all this meth garbage. You know what Danimal told me? He never smoked black flake. But you did. I can see it on you. I can smell it. Are you going to be able to let it go?”
“I can drive you there,” said Free. “I’ll even help you dust Bucky, if it comes to that, but that other thing, no guarantees. I’ve been smoking speed since I was a kid, and that is the best damn speed I’ve ever had. Some other cook is going to pop up with this same recipe, and you’re crazy if you think I won’t belly up to the counter to partake when the notion strikes me.”
“That’s not what I meant, Free. When we stop Bucky and whoever he’s working with, there will never be any more black flake ever again. I need you to help me do that.”
“Man, you believe way too much in this idea of yours. Trust me, if black flake came along once, it will be back. I’m with you, though. I know that’s what you want to hear. Besides,” Free said, grinning, “we’re all going to wind up dead up there. Bucky don’t like people coming by unannounced, and if you think it’ll go any different for us, you’re crazy.”
Flo came back to the desk barricade holding her own pistol-gripped shotgun and another with a black stock, along with a canvas sack full of twelve-gauge rounds. She handed the gun with the stock to Matt, and in turn, he gave it to Free.
“Your AR is empty,” Matt said by way of explanation and then turned to Flo. “Besides,” he said, pulling the ax free from his duffel, “I’ll be just fine with this.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They were silent as Free drove. Matt figured they all had a lot to think about. His mind was stuck on thoughts of Mr. Dark. Even though he’d yet to actually see his adversary, Matt could all but feel him whenever he saw the black flake or someone under its influence.
But maybe what he was sensing was the presence of straightforward evil. Matt had learned that people could be evil bastards without being touched by Mr. Dark. Most of them just came by it naturally.
What was more troubling to Matt was the possibility that Bucky had managed to make a drug that could spread evil more broadly than even Mr. Dark’s touch could.
Then again, maybe it was Mr. Dark who gave Bucky the formula to start with.
Either way, Mr. Dark had every reason to want Bucky to succeed and probably had had his hand in the massacre that had broken out at the whorehouse. The evil seemed to spread among the crowd a lot faster than could be accounted for by the drug.
Matt stared out the windshield. He didn’t have the answers, but he didn’t need them. The drug had to be stopped.
Flo was almost certainly thinking about Frank, lying in his own jail, locked up like a common criminal, and with a head injury. Not best-case scenario by anyone’s logic, but Matt figured what Flo was really wondering was, if they didn’t make it back, how long would Frank be stuck there? Even if he had the keys, and Matt figured he did, that wouldn’t do him much good if he fell into a coma or had a stroke. Still, even with the stresses, he’d seen Flo with the shotgun, and she was more than confident with it. Hopefully not too confident.
Free was another story, and aside from whatever awaited them at Bucky’s, he was the one Matt worried about the most. If he were going to turn, it seemed like he already would have, but Free could still decide that he’d had enough of being a white knight. Danimal’s death was going to carry Free only so far, and Matt hoped it would take them all the way to Bucky’s.
Rain began to clatter on the windshield, and Free turned on the wipers. Matt watched them tick back and forth for a few minutes and then turned to Free.
“How much farther?”
“Not much. Why, you change your mind?” Free flashed a grin at Matt, and it did nothing to calm his concerns. They passed a truck that was dead on the side of the road. It made the van look like a luxury automobile. “That’s Luther’s truck,” Free said with almost no emotion. “I guess everybody’s coming to the party.”
“Why would Luther be here? He seemed pretty out of it back at his house.”
“Well, could be a happy little coincidence,” said Free. “Most likely, though, Sally made a phone call before everything got crazy at the trailer, and Luther came by to let Bucky know that I was the one who ripped him off.”
“But you weren’t.”
“I know that. Not that it will matter now, but it does make one thing clear. First Sally was ready to put me in the ground, now Bucky is probably getting ready to do the same, and the only evidence either of them has is that fuckin’ junkie whose beater we just passed.”
“Kind of an argument against working for a bunch of thieves,” said Flo, a touch of steel in her voice. “After all, you partnered up with all of these guys.”
“Yeah, I know. But what else was a guy like me to do? The mafia gave me money and drugs, not to mention ladies love a bad boy. It really was probably best-case scenario for me.”
“Yeah, best case or not, now you’re driving through the rain to go put lead on some people. Flo, we didn’t give you the full details of what happened at Sally’s, but the short version is simple. Everyone there wanted us dead, and in a hurry.”
“They went from a bunch of dudes smoking to a pack of cold killers,” Free clarified in a drawl. “Seriously bad mojo right there.” He turned the van off onto a two-track that barely qualified as a road. “Not far now,” said Free, just before slamming on the brakes hard enough to throw Matt onto the dashboard and toss Flo from the bare floor of the back of the van into the backs of their seats. “This ain’t good,” said Free. “They done buffaloed us already.”
Matt raised his head and saw the problem, though it took a moment to figure out why they’d stopped. A crude but effective roadblock had been placed in the twin runnels of the two-track, four-by-fours with tenpenny nails driven through them and painted black.
“What the fuck was that?” Flo shouted before poking her head between their seats. Blood was dripping from her nose—drops, not a river.
“We had to stop,” said Matt, pointing to show her the boards.
“So they know we’re coming?”
“Maybe,” said Free, “maybe not. Bucky has become more than paranoid in the last few months, maybe even longer. Either way, if you two still want to go up there, we’re walking. Probably about a mile.”
***
Matt left his bag in the van, figuring that even if he were to be killed by some awful thing at Bucky’s place, at least he’d have the ax with him. It was the only thing left from his old life, and if he was going to die again, it would be good to do so holding it. Flo and Free carried shotguns, and both of them had stuffed their pockets with shells, enough to finish a war, or at least that’s what they were all hoping. Trudging through the mud in the rain was terrible, and Matt wasn’t sure if he’d ever been this tired before, but he was ready t
o see things through, one way or the other.
When they were able to make out some floodlights from the house, Free whispered, “Hit the trees—them lights are new.” They did so reluctantly. Only Flo had a flashlight, and they weren’t using it for fear of being spotted faster. One of the lights kept dipping through the woods and then back to the two-track, as though it were on a swivel that allowed the operator to turn it only so far. Matt would have figured it to be a mechanical device moving it, but its patterns were inconsistent, and with only the one light moving, it seemed it had to be a person doing it. Every time the light would pass over them, Matt tensed, and he could see Free and Flo reacting the same way. At least we’re all on edge, Matt thought as the trees thinned and the house was visible.
Luther was sitting on a front porch that looked as though it had once wrapped around the house before falling into disrepair and partially collapsing. He had a beer between his legs and a cigarette behind his ear and was twitching as he sucked meth out of a pipe. The smoke was pouring out of him like water from a bucket drilled full of holes, and he was doing an odd dance in his seat. Ignoring Luther, Matt began to scan the rest of the property from behind an oak tree, being sure to duck back when the light headed their way.
There was also a man behind the light. He had a cigar hanging from his mouth, some sort of long gun over his shoulders, and a pair of pistols on his hips. He was naked, aside from the weapons, and was even more rotten looking than Luther, especially from the waist down. His genitals were gone, fallen off as if he were some Turkish leper, and it was all Matt could do not to stare at the awful sight of him. Most oddly, his eyes were black, pure cobalt in the ambient light of the spotting device, but he had not gone feral, at least not yet.
“What now?” Free asked, the sound of his whispering nearly making Matt jump. “What’s the plan?”
“Is the guy on the light Bucky?”
“The naked dude? No, that’s Evan. He’s a real ass-kicker, but to be honest, I never figured him and Bucky to be too close.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Matt with a grimace. “I’d say it’s a fair bet that Bucky is letting money and flake do the talking tonight. “You think you can hit that guy on the light with a slug from here?”
“We can’t shoot without provocation,” hissed Flo. “It’s bad enough that we’re here, but I can’t abide killing a man in cold blood.”
“I’m not much of an abiding guy, in any case,” said Free as he raised the shotgun and took a deep breath.
Free pulled the trigger, and the slug hit Evan high in the chest, which made him fall from the roof, throwing the light askance as he fell. Reacting to the gunshot, Luther dropped the meth pipe on his lap at the same time the flake—or worms—began to ignite. Flames raced up his tattered pants, and he began to roll around on the ground, where he upset a canister. When it fell, the contents of the canister revealed itself to be some sort of accelerant, as first Luther and then the porch were covered in flames. Three men ran from the house, and one of them kept going around it, returning moments later with a garden hose. When he sprayed the fire, it just spread more. Luther had stopped screaming, and finally, one of the men noticed the light and then the dead man lying on the ground.
“Now,” said Matt, leaving the safety of the forest behind him and walking toward the men. The flames were running from the porch to the roof now, and one of the men placed his hands atop his head, clasping them tightly in frustration.
“Since they’re up,” called Flo, “may as well leave them there.”
The three men spun, the one with the hands over his head looking through them, and then all three were running toward them. There was a noise from the rear of the house, and Matt could hear Flo shouting, telling the men to stop, and then he heard her gun go off. Another shot came from behind him, most likely from Free’s shotgun, and then Matt was swinging his ax, burying it in the black-eyed man’s neck. Yanking his ax free from the fallen man, Matt saw that all three of the men from the house were dead, the other two dispatched with gunshots. Luther had fallen off the patio, and the flames were beginning to eat at the house, tendrils of fire licking through the windows and climbing the exterior of the building.
“That was an ATV turning over out back,” said Free. “I’d know that sound anywhere. That’s Bucky’s eight fifty cc. Fucker’s a beast.”
“Where would he be going?” Matt asked. “Do you know the trails back here?”
“Nobody knows the trails back here, except maybe Bucky.”
Matt followed Free down a two-track that was more deeply grooved than the one they’d left the van on. He could hear Flo walking behind them. She hadn’t said anything since shooting the man in front of the house, and her reaction to the violence made him nervous. The whine of the ATV was still audible, too. It was one of the only things that made Matt sure they were even on the right trail—that, and the lack of torn-up brush from Bucky taking his ride down an alternate route.
Though well-worn, the trail had clearly been used only by lifted trucks and off-road vehicles. There was no way Danimal’s van could have made it through without bottoming out, really the only mercy in the knowledge that they were chasing a man on a vehicle while they were on foot. Almost as disconcerting as the dull whine of the ATV and remoteness of the path was an acrid smell that Matt had originally associated with the fire at the house. It was becoming clear as they moved away from the house, though, that it was coming from something else, something they were moving toward in the early dawn.
“Look at that,” said Free, breaking the silence and pointing off into the woods. Matt saw it before he could even ask what Free meant. It wasn’t every day that you saw a two-headed deer. The animal was covered in mottled black fur and had the same eyes as one of the feral humans. The noise of a shotgun broke the moment, and the deer toppled where it had stood. Matt turned to Flo, the smoking pump gun still up and pointing toward where the mutant deer had been.
“Imagine if it had babies,” she said simply and then pushed past Matt and then Free, rearranging the order of their hunting party.
“Don’t figure that’ll matter much,” said Free amiably. “If there’s one of them, there’s probably a bunch.” Matt agreed but didn’t say anything. Nothing would have fit the situation. Bucky hadn’t just corrupted the people of the county. He was changing the ecosystem. If Matt had to guess, when they found Bucky’s drug operation, they were going to find a tainted water supply and probably a whole lot of other mutated and dead animals around it.
Flo turned to Free, the shotgun pointed at his chest. “I’m not going to listen to you joke about this,” she said. “Not now and not ever.” Flo quickened her pace, and Matt and Free pressed to keep up with her. Free muttered something under his breath about untwisting panties. The whine of the ATV intensified and then disappeared. Wherever Bucky had been going, he was there, and it had been a short trip. None of them spoke as they moved on the path, but Matt could already feel the adrenaline flowing through his veins, the only relief from the cold handle of the bloodied ax.
There weren’t many of them left, maybe only Bucky, and if the Dark Man was going to make a play, it seemed that he already would have. It was too much to wish for, so Matt hoped instead, holding his head up as he walked the trail to nowhere in a woods that was starting to smell worse than death.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Flo stopped in the middle of the trail, dropped her shotgun so that she was holding onto only the pistol grip, and retched violently into the left runner of the two-track. Somewhat composed, she righted herself and continued walking down the path. It was her third time vomiting, and there was nothing left to come out of her but bile. Matt understood. His stomach was empty as well, voided of the perch dinner that felt as though it had been eaten years earlier instead of just a few hours. Free was the only one of the three to not get sick, but Matt knew that even though the man was quite familiar with the usage of Plague, the smell was getting to him as well.
<
br /> It was a deep rot. A fish hidden for a midsummer week in a house with no air-conditioning or ventilation. A shotgun suicide performed by a man with no friends, and no bills due, either. A body left in the trunk of a car, then lost to time. All of that wretchedness combined but stronger than any of them, the pure essence of rot itself. It was on everything, blackened leaves in the dead-looking trees, squirrels even more manic than normal, with black coats of fur and deadly looking claws.
Matt knew for certain that Mr. Dark had been here now, casting a poison upon the wilderness that was spreading by the inch, and by the minute, tainting everything.
Free walked past Flo as she composed herself. Matt was watching both of them, still ready for one of them to break. When Free was about twenty feet away from them, he walked into the trees, and Matt slipped an arm around Flo to lead her there as well.
“I can walk,” she said, pushing his arm aside.
“I know,” Matt muttered under his breath. “But Free either just went AWOL or he saw something that made him take to the trees. I figured it was worth offending you to get you off the path.”
“You’re right,” she said, whispering now as well, the real noise the snapping of sticks beneath their feet. “I’m sorry. This is all just so much worse than I was expecting. We’re supposed to find some criminal, not walk through hell. Between Frank and what happened last night, and now these fucked-up woods, I just feel wrong, like this is all just some nightmare.”
Matt didn’t answer her. Free was kneeling twenty feet or so away and waving them on. Matt let Flo go ahead of him and followed her closely, his eyes playing all sorts of tricks on him in the black forest. There were no obscene animals to see, but Matt felt as though the woods were teeming with them, more victims of Mr. Dark and the Plague. When they reached Free, he was holding a finger over his lips—“Shh”—then he nodded to the clearing ahead of them.
Matt could see Bucky’s ATV sitting in front of a cabin that had a front door and a shuttered window. It was smaller than the house they’d set on fire, and smoke was billowing out of a stone chimney, the blackest smoke Matt had ever seen. The back of the ATV had a pair of loose tie-downs lying across the baggage rack but was still empty. Free noticed the bare rack as well.