by Francis Bate
“You are a son of a bitch! You can’t even make a line straight using a ruler,” the man with a long messy beard growled at him. He was bald and sturdy under a leather jacket.
“It wouldn’t have been unacceptable if it weren’t because of you, birdbrain. Last time I checked, you gave the bone to the dogs so don’t go around putting the blame on me,” the other man exclaimed with his face red. Unlike the bald man, his hair was unkempt wearing an untidy loose sweatshirt over pants. Behind the loose clothing, Stan observed that he was shorter and thinner too.
“Oh, guess what, dimwit? We would have died if I didn’t do that,” he exclaimed. Stan thought they might have been in trouble.
“But we’re still alive!” the short man yelled. He snapped, clenching his fist.
“Be-cause…” The bald man started slowing his words, syllabically pointing his index finger in the air. The color rushed to his face as he gritted his teeth. “I- did- the- right- thing! I did that to save our lives, your life! Don’t you understand that? Huh? Huh?”
“What the hell did you do that saved our life, huh? We should’ve just killed them!”
“You really aren’t thinking, are you?” The bald man grabbed him by the collar, staring at him like a criminal. It was sharp and dangerous. After a minute or two, he faced the man and shook his head. “It’s useless arguing with people that does not think. So do me a favor and let me do the thinking, next time.”
Shrugging off, the short man growled in anger and disappointment. “You are impossible!”
Stan saw them walk into a truck and slid in. He was trying to catch their still-ongoing argument as he watched the other man start the engine. A boisterous sound came out of it until the truck was out of sight. It was approximately 8:30 in the morning. He took off his jacket and packed it back into the bag.
That same morning, Stan went back to the road after setting back his things. Aside from the two men, he hasn’t seen other people in the town. He went straight ahead until he reached the Aucilla River crossing. Its geography accentuates the river surfacing from the wetlands close to the boundary of the two states – Georgia and Florida. It has a watershed on it and a rainforest. There was also a trail along the river. The Aucilla River accommodated thousands of adventurers for its evidently stunning scenery, lush vegetation, and sanctuaries. But that day, it was nothing but a deserted place.
Stan searched along the trail for any supply but to no avail. The waters need to be filtered first before it was safe to drink. When he was on the other corner of the road, he saw a familiar truck passed by a small wooden house. Moments later, it parked in front of a lawn. He remembered the car he saw from the town that morning.
Recalling the argument the two men were engaging in, he directly went to the house and silently peeped into the truck. There was no one inside. Beer cans were scattered all over the flooring and there was nothing else suspicious. When he was about to leave the area, he heard a shrieking sound coming from the house.
The sound stopped but he could hear some silent cries. Pulling off a gun from the band, he sneaked to the door and creaked it open. There was no one in the living room so he went straight to the hallway, silently and carefully.
A door which he thought was a bedroom door was half open. He cautiously peeked through it and there he saw two familiar faces. He scanned the area and saw a woman lying below a man. Two children, which he thought was fraternal twins, were tied to a chair with a piece of cloth covering their small mouths. Waterfall-like tears were freely flowing from their eyes as they weep their hearts out.
The twins must not witness what was happening. They must not get to see their mother in that kind of situation. The short man was laying on a sofa with his feet elevated on the arm rest while drinking his can of beer. A double-bladed knife was on the bedside table.
Stan turned his gaze to the other man. He was on top of a woman that seemed to be the mother of the children. She was struggling and squealing, trying to get off his hold. But he was strong, pinning her arms into the foam. The woman was sobbing; she stared at the bald man and his eyes mirrored lust and evil. She closed her eyes and shook her head vigorously. The man aggressively touched and kissed her, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. But she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t stop him.
“Please, stop! Please,” she cried. “Please, no!”
“You haven’t reached first base yet, too weak,” the short man spoke. “I can’t wait any longer, man! I can’t wait to bang that sexy bitch.” He sounded antsy. So he sat up and hit the wall with the can. He walked to the corner grabbing another beer and strode back to the sofa. He guzzled the beer before he continued. “Make it fast, man! Just strip off her garments, and that’s it!”
“Shut up!” The other man yelled. It wasn’t specific as to whom he was pertaining to.
Unaware that they have another companion in the room, Stan hit the short man on the nape. The unconscious body stumbled down, hitting his head on the floor. But the bald man was preoccupied with what he was doing. Stan went closer to the bed and grabbed the man by the back collar. He pulled him away from her and shot him right in the head. Feeling the pressure lighten above her, she opened her eyes and saw the two men lifeless on the floor. The cold bodies were soaking from their own blood. Stan moved away from the kids and stood closer to the sofa. The woman pulled herself off the bed and ran to her kids. She knelt after them and untied them from the chair. Once they’re free, she hugged them tightly and calmed them down as they cry. There are two lifeless strangers lying in her room and another man standing with a gun.
“Please don’t hurt us,” she pleaded wistfully, bowing before him. Stan stooped down pulling her off the floor.
“Please rise, you don’t have to kneel,” he said, grasping the shoulders of the woman.
“My children are still young, please don’t hurt us,” she repeated, begging earnestly to him.
“I don’t mean to hurt you and your children. I’m Stan Harris. I came here to help,” he declared, reaching out to the jugular pulse of the short man lying on the floor. It has no pulse. He immediately placed his gun back to the band so the kids won’t see. “I’m sorry that the kids need to see everything.”
“I’m Rhonda, they are my kids,” she dabbed the remnants of her tears and faced the man. Her eyes looked forlorn and frightened. She became silent for a moment, still hugging her kids tight. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for saving us.”
“I’m sorry it took me quite some time to free you from him. But I’m glad you’re fine. I saw the familiar truck from Lamont with these two men inside arguing about something I wasn’t able to understand at first,” he recalled. “As I was passing by your house, I saw the truck again. I was about to leave when I heard you scream.”
“These men came barging into the house. I couldn’t stop thanking you enough, Stan.” With the sincerity in her voice, Stan smiled at her and tried to reach out to the kids.
“I hope it won’t be that hard for them,” he said, glancing at the kids. The kids already stopped crying. But they don’t want their mother to be far from their reach, they clung onto her all the time.
“I hope so,” she muttered, stroking their back. The blood stains on his shirt and pants have already dried up, even those on his hands.
“I think you and the kids need to wash up, Rhonda. I will need to clean the mess up before I head back to the road,” Stan offered, putting down his things on the sofa. He started cleaning the blood and the bodies as soon as the three left the room.
Stan removed the bloody sheet and used it to cover the cadavers. After which, he sealed it in a plastic. Planning on where to bury the cold bodies, he manually moved it in the backyard workshop. He went back to the bedroom to mop out the dried blood using water and detergent. When he was finished, he dried up the place and put the things back to its proper place. He went back to the living room where he saw Rhonda and the kids waiting for him.
“You said you’re heading off to
the road again,” Rhonda first spoke. She was wearing a sparkling blouse topped with a cardigan partnered with black pants and flats. Her curly blonde hair was on loose highlighting her thin face. He glanced at her, patiently waiting for his response.
“Yes, I’m actually on my way home. I left my wife and my two daughters back home and I haven’t heard from them until now, praying that they’re in a good state,” he responded, bowing his head. He glanced at the kids still clinging onto Rhonda. They haven’t spoken yet.
“You might wanna rest here for a while,” Rhonda proposed looking at his eyes and she dropped her gaze when he looked back. “I’m planning to go to my parent’s house and I’m bringing my kids with me. I don’t know until when are we going to stay there but I sure want to stay there for the rest of my life,” Rhonda started, dabbing the strayed tears on her face. “I think I wouldn’t survive in this place any longer. It felt like it will haunt us forever. Yeah, I mean, it really will be difficult but… but the memory of this place has gone terrifying and grievous,” she continued sniffing her nose on a tissue.
Breaking down into tears, Rhonda buried her face on her palms. Stan went closer to her tapping her shoulder, trying to calm her down. He thought about his wife with a query on his mind. Since he left, who has been her backbone when she feels sad and alone? “I understand. Shh, don’t cry,” he hushed, stroking her shoulder with his hand.
“After my husband left us, I tried to be strong for my kids. But I think I couldn’t do that anymore,” she was sobbing again. Stan angled her closer to his warmth and gently stroked her hair.
“Your son and your daughter need you, Rhonda. They need a mother and you have to be strong for them. You have to be strong for yourself.” He calmed her down and empowered her. They stayed like that for a while. It was peaceful. While Rhonda was caressing her children, Stan sauntered to the bedroom and came back. “How far is it from here?”
“It’s about fifteen miles from here,” she said, wiping her tears.
“Are you good to drive? You can take the truck with you for your safety as well as your kid’s safety,” Stan thought he could care less if he walks for another hundred miles as long as they get there safely.
“I can drive. I need to,” Rhonda answered, drying his eyes from the water she has burst.
“Good, good. But you need to get going before the sun will be out. The road will be too dangerous for you.” Stan advised, glancing at his kids. At his side, he saw Rhonda agreeing with him. They stood up while Stan carried their things and led them to the truck. After placing it on the trunk, he lifted the kids to the passenger’s seat and clicked their seatbelts on.
“Thank you, Stan. I hope your family is safe,” Rhonda said after putting the seatbelt onto her slim body. She was seated on the driver’s seat, inserting the key on the knob. She turned it on hearing the uproar of the engine. “You have to wait until before sunset, the neighbors will soon be back.”
“Thank you, Rhonda. Be careful on the way,” Stan said slowly turning his gaze to the kids. Smiling to them, he saw a small faint dimpled smile coming out of their lips. “Be good, okay? Be strong for mommy.”
Before he could move away from the car, the kids removed their seatbelts and gave Stan a tight hug. “Thank you for saving us,” the twin both whispered to his ear, squeezing him tight. He was stunned by the gesture but he managed to envelop them with his well-muscled arms.
“You have to go now,” he calmly insisted. “Reach home safe and sound.” Just after they loosened from their hold, he once again fastened their seatbelts. Stan watched the truck as Rhonda pulled from the lawn. Honking, the twins waved at his direction incessantly. He made sure that the truck has left before he went back inside the house.
Exhausted, Stan locked the door and headed to the kitchen. Checking all the cupboards, he found three canned goods on it. It wasn’t expired yet but instead of eating it, he kept it on his pack. Six bottled water were stocked up inside the fridge. He took it out and placed it on the counter. He also cleaned his self and washed his clothes hanging them outside. Looking for something to wear in the closet, he took out a bed sheet and a man’s clothes. He planned to stay the night and rest for a bit. So he went directly to the living room and laid his head down on a cushion. After quite a while, he has fallen into deep slumber.
Stan was awakened by a soft knock on the front door. It was approximately past four and he has napped for about two hours. Rubbing his tired eyes, he walked to the glass window and peered through it before opening the door.
“Hi,” the lady in her early thirties appeared on the doorstep. “Are you Rhonda’s husband?”
“Hello to you too,” he greeted in a confused look. Tilting his head, he checked the woman and pointed his thumb on his chest. “Me? Oh, no, just a friend,” he stated in a trembling chuckle.
“Really? But you don’t look familiar. I thought Rhonda has few friends,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. “Are they here?” The woman asked in a high-raised pitch.
“I just got here today. It’s a long story, though. But Rhonda went home to her parents with the twins.” Her suspicions and her stares, it was making him uncomfortable but he stayed calm.
“Oh, that’s unexpected!” Frowning, she snuck a look through the space of his body and the door frame. She was hoping to see any of her friends but the house was quiet. There was no trace of children playing inside.
“Wanna come in?” He asked staring down at the lady.
“Oh, no, thanks. I’m Stephanie, by the way,” she said extending her right hand, waiting for a handshake. “Stephanie Carlin.”
Stan accepted it and gave her a smile. “Stan,” he courteously responded. “Stan Harris.”
“Nice name, Stan,” she replied back with a smile.
“Yours too, Stephanie. You sure you don’t want to come in?” Stan asked again, giving him a quizzical look.
“Sure. Anyway, I’ve brought food for Rhonda and the twins. But since they’re not here, you can have it.” It was four days since Stan hasn’t eaten a good meal. Stan took the food from her hands. His stomach reacted to the aroma of the food sending signals to his brain which made Stephanie giggle. “I can see you haven’t eaten very well for the last few days,” she muttered under every giggle.
“Yeah, I’ve been on the road for four days now,” he grinned at her. “Thanks for this.”
“Whoa! That’s something. I have to go so you could rest and eat then. You can tell us what you need or just knock at our door,” she smiled at him brightly and turned his heels out to the ground; Stan thanked her as she paid a last glance. After she left, he stepped inside the house and to the kitchen.
Hungrily, he opened the container with home-cooked lasagna. He reached for a fork and devoured it in, savoring every bite eating like a pig. After consuming the entire food in one sitting, he put the container in the kitchen sink. He took the bottled water from the counter and chugged it down.
‘Ugh! It feels good,’ he said it out loud.
It was starting to get dark. So before going to bed, Stan went out through the back door to check on the corpse. He tried looking for a perfect place to bury it. Opposite the workshop was covered with trees. But somewhere near the trees, he found the perfect place.
The moon was out and he has nowhere else to go. Stan went back inside, straight to the bed. The room was intimidating, longing for nothing in particular. And when he closed his eyes to welcome the night, the moon reappeared in the sky.
Early morning the next day, Stan woke from a deep sleep to the sound of a pounding hammer in the neighborhood. The sun was peeking over the horizon and shards of early light began to stream through the curtains. Too sleepy to open his eyes, he stumbled into the hallway as he walked out to see what’s behind the sound.
“Good morning! Oh sorry, did I wake you up?” A deep voice greeted him in the background, revealing a brawny man with the same age as Stephanie. He was inches shorter than him with a golden brown hair.
&n
bsp; “Nah. We’re cool,” Stan replied, edging closer to see what the man was doing. The man started hammering the dent out of the wooden post. “I can see you’re making a chicken coop,” he added with a smile.
Over the collaboration of the two tools, Stan heard him chuckle. He reached for another nail on the box but before he hit it onto the wood, he took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m making another one for my hens; my chickens are growing in numbers and I’m enlarging those ones after I finish this. See, another hen laid eggs the other day. We harvested some of it already but I’ve decided to leave some eggs to hatch. Once they’ve increased in numbers, I would enlarge those chicken coops.”
There were two small chicken coops with approximately about three hens and some chicks on it. Obviously, the third one he was building was larger than the other two. Stan walked around the area and saw an improvised assorted vegetable garden surrounding a plot. “Wow! This looks amazing.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ve realized that modern farming is really essential. Chickens lay eggs that could provide enough supplies for the family. My fiancé has made it her hobby to effectively cultivate a plot and turn it into something like that,” he explained, grinning proudly. “One more thing, you can survive without worrying for what to serve at the table when you run out of stocks.”
“It’s impressive, though!” Stan was amazed how they turned the backyard into a small farm. Their readiness was also undeniable. “It’s definitely worth the effort. While everyone worries for how long this cataclysm may last – which no one could say if it will still end - here you are enjoying what nature could offer you.”
“Exactly my point!” The man with a golden brown hair placed the hammer on the workshop table. A moment later, the back door opened revealing a beautiful woman, startling them from their conversation.
“Neil, who are you talking with?” The woman asked, back facing Stan. She turned around and was quite surprised to see him in their backyard. “Oh, you’re Rhonda’s friend, right? Stan, right?”