Fourmile

by Watt Key

  * * *

  I stayed with him until my cheek no longer felt the twitching in his stomach. Only an hour had passed, but it felt like longer. Gary was still sitting quietly behind me with Kabo. I sat up and my face felt dry and tight. I looked at Joe’s face and the sight of the tongue made me sick and I crawled away and puked onto the ground. Then I lay on my side, facing the house. “He was fine last night,” I mumbled.

  “I found him at the back door this morning,” Gary said.

  “He was fine last night,” I said again.

  “When did you last see him?”

  “He barked at Dax. I saw him run around the house after Dax left.”

  Gary’s feet passed my face. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.

  I watched him cross the yard and angle out of sight around the house. I lay there, breathing, not ever wanting to move again. After a few minutes Gary returned. I saw him holding his knife at his side with something stabbed onto the end of it. He passed me and then I heard him getting something from the toolroom. After a few seconds he was standing over me. “Come on,” he said. “Take this and I’ll carry Joe.”

  I sat up and took the shovel from him. I turned and watched as he wrapped Joe in the blanket and stood with him cradled in his arms. “Where do you think he’d like to be?” he asked me.

  I knew where Joe wanted to be. The place where he found me. The place where we built tree forts and paths through the woods. Where we swam in the creek. Where my father was killed. And now, in a numb way, I was no longer scared.

  I stood. “In the woods at the back of the pasture,” I said.

  “Okay,” Gary said. “We’ll take the truck.”

  * * *

  We drove through the back gate with Joe in the truck bed. We bumped across the pasture and my head swayed and my eyes stayed focused on the tall canopy of trees that held the back sixty acres of creek bottom.

  “I want to tell you what happened,” I said.

  I saw Gary look over at me.

  “About Daddy,” I said.

  34

  I let the memories come flooding over me, filling my head like a liquid nightmare. Black fluid poison. Flashes, dappled sunlight, barking, running, yelling. Everything that had been pooled inside me for a year.

  “There’s a creek back there,” I said. “It’s in a gully. Daddy helped me build a tree fort a long time ago. Last year we were gonna build a bridge over the creek so we could hunt Mr. Hixon’s woods. He has woods that go for almost a mile. And he’s got a pasture with cows and mules. Now our cows are there too. Daddy tried to cut down a tree so that it would fall over and we could walk across it. He cut it with his chain saw and it got stuck in another tree. He told me to stay back, so I was in the fort with Joe because he could climb ladders. Daddy was pushing on the tree, trying to get it loose. I heard something snap and then all these branches and leaves were coming down. When everything stopped I couldn’t see him. I came down and he was under the tree. It fell on him.”

  “Jesus,” Gary mumbled.

  “He tried to tell me what to do, but I couldn’t understand him. The tree covered him up so all I could see was the side of his head in the leaves. There was blood around his head. I couldn’t move the tree. I couldn’t understand him.”

  The forest in front of us was growing closer and taller. “There was nothing you could have done, Foster.”

  “I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”

  “It was too big.”

  Suddenly I knew Gary didn’t know any more than the rest of them. No more than Mother. No more than Granddaddy. None of them knew the answers to anything. I was alone with it all and there was no sense in holding any of it back until the right person came along to take it away. It was just this and it would always be this and it would sit in me and rot my guts.

  “There’s an opening in the trees up there,” I said. “You can drive into it a little ways.”

  He kept on to the tree line and found the opening and we plunged into the dark shade of the creek bottom. We drove until we came to the end of where Daddy had Bush Hogged the year before.

  Gary shut off the truck and we got out and I grabbed the shovel while he lifted the blanket with Joe in it. He looked at me and motioned with his chin for me to lead. I started past him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I think Joe lived in the woods before he found me,” I said.

  The gum trees and water oaks towered overhead and the leafy damp of the forest floor was like a smell from another time long ago, instantly familiar but something I’d given up and had no place for. Birds flitted through the forest canopy and a cardinal made its shrill whistle that brought to mind the smell of sawdust and chalky nails and sawn cypress and anticipation.

  The pieces of the giant gum tree came into view. It had been cut into several sections by the firemen and pulled about. Part of it had rolled into the gully and the top half stuck up on the opposite slope, brittle and dead. To my left was the tree fort. I stopped and faced it. The roof was littered with Spanish moss and tree limbs. The boards were green with algae. But it was there, hanging in the trees like dried bones. I knew that if I climbed up to it I would know the feel of every board under my palms and my ankles would adjust to every tilt and slant and I would move up the ladder on muscle memory alone and swing into the fort and lie on my back and know every knothole and grain pattern of every board on the underside of the ceiling. But I had no desire to climb the dead thing. I looked at the gully again.

  “Right here,” I said.

  We buried Joe and left him there. We drove back across the pasture and to the house without speaking. It wasn’t until we were stopped beside the barn that I looked at Gary and realized he was lost in his own thoughts.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  He got out and took the shovel from the truck bed. He disappeared into the barn and came back and got into the truck with the knife and what I now recognized as a small piece of meat stabbed on the end of it.

  “You eat steak last night?” he asked me.

  “No.”

  He cranked the truck and started around the side of the house.

  “You know where he lives?”

  “Who?”

  “Dax.”

  “I’ve been there once.”

  His jaw tightened as he shifted into second gear. “Show me the way.”

  35

  I told Gary to turn left out of the driveway. He swung onto the blacktop and shifted into third gear, staring straight ahead. I looked at the piece of meat lying skewered on the dashboard. It was the size of a card deck and covered with dirt and grass. I saw where half of it had been torn away. It looked harmless.

  “You think that was it?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “You think Dax did it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to do to him?”

  He didn’t answer me.

  “Did you bring your pistol?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He turned to me. “When we get there I want you to stay in the truck.”

  I nodded and he looked at the road again. We didn’t talk until he came to the fourway. “Left,” I said.

  We kept on through the farmland and into Robertsdale. We slowed at the one caution light, passed under, and continued a few more miles outside of town. Finally we passed the metal fabrication shop that I remembered as a landmark. I pointed to the red clay road on the right. Gary downshifted and made the turn and we were suddenly walled in by the pine plantation.

  “It’s not far now,” I said.

  We went around the first bend and I pointed to Dax’s house on the left. Gary came to a stop in the road and studied it.

  “Truck’s gone,” he said.

  “He’s got a shop in the back where he mounts deer heads and stuff. It might be back there.”

  Gary glanced in the rearview mirror then looked at me. “Remember what I told you?�
�

  I nodded.

  He put the truck in gear and eased forward. “Good,” he said.

  Gary swung around in the front yard and parked with the truck pointed out the driveway. He shut it off, grabbed the piece of poisoned meat, and got out. He stood studying the house. I heard crows calling in the distance and the shadow of a buzzard swiped across the hood. The engine hissed and ticked in the silence.

  “I’m going to walk around back,” he finally said. “Stay put.”

  I turned sideways in my seat and watched him through the rear glass. He angled across the yard, keeping his eyes on the dark windows of the house. Once he rounded the corner, he straightened his posture and picked up his pace like he’d seen something that put him in a hurry. I slid over to the driver’s side and craned my head out the window, but I lost sight of him.

  Minutes passed as the crow calls moved into the distance and the engine cooled and ticked out. I strained my ears, but there was nothing else. Not a dog barking, not a car on the empty road, nothing. Then suddenly I heard what sounded like a hammer hitting a piece of sheet tin. It was quickly followed by the sound of lumber snapping. All of it coming from behind the house. I felt a surge of panic bolt through me and I looked out at the empty road and back again. I started to grab the door handle, then remembered what Gary told me and drew my hand back.

  I waited, watching the side of the yard where I’d last seen him. After a few minutes I thought I saw something flash across the house window and my eyes darted to the place and stayed there. I felt my heart beating through my temples.

  “Gary,” I whispered.

  The front door cracked slightly and hung there. Then it swung all the way open and Gary stepped onto the porch and looked at me. I let out a deep breath and eased lower in my seat. He left the door open and took a few steps into the yard before turning and looking back. I saw that his shirt was torn and noticed that his bandanna was gone. He started my way again, moving quickly, staring at the ground. When he slid onto the driver’s seat I saw his entire right arm was covered in blood.

  “Gary!”

  He leaned forward and used his left hand to pull his shirt over his head. Then he draped it over the bloody arm.

  “Tie the sleeves tight just above my elbow,” he said.

  I scooted over and took the two sleeves and began to fumble with them.

  “Come on,” he said. “Hurry up.”

  I focused and pulled a half hitch snug just below his biceps. He glanced at it.

  “Tighter,” he said.

  I grabbed the sleeves again and pulled them harder. He moved the arm away and turned the ignition and blood fell onto his knee and shoes. I looked at him and his face was tight and strained.

  “What happened?”

  He dropped his arm to his side and popped the clutch, the truck leaping forward. He had the truck redlined in first gear until we’d made the turn onto the dirt road. Then I heard the creak of the clutch spring again.

  “Push the column shifter up for me,” he said.

  I leaned over and shoved the shifter up. He let out the clutch pedal and we lurched ahead in second gear.

  He shoved the clutch in again. “Third,” he said.

  I pulled it down into third gear. The pine trees flashed by outside my window and red dust rose in a cloud behind us.

  “What happened, Gary?”

  “He cut me with an arrow. I’ll be okay.”

  “He shot you with it?”

  “No, he just cut me with it.”

  “What’d you go in his house for?”

  He didn’t answer me. We barely slowed at the blacktop before leaning into a hard turn. Gary straightened the truck and gunned it.

  “Gary?”

  “I shouldn’t have brought you,” he said. “It was stupid of me.”

  “What’d you do to him?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “That’s enough questions, Foster. I’ve got to concentrate and I need you to stay ready on the gearshift.”

  36

  He stood at the kitchen sink, letting the tap run hot over his arm and fill the basin with water that looked like cherry Kool-Aid. I got some paper towels for him and brought them over. I saw the cut, a deep slice on the underside of his arm from wrist to elbow. The sight of it made me queasy and I turned away and stared at the floor.

  “Call your mother,” he said. “Tell her to come home.”

  I went to the phone and picked it up and there was no dial tone.

  “Plug it in,” he said.

  I connected it to the wall and dialed Mother at the post office.

  “Mother,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry about Joe, Foster. I’m—”

  “Gary’s hurt,” I said. “We need you to come home.”

  * * *

  “I need you to find some things for me while we wait on her,” he said. “You need to hurry because I’m not going to be able to stand up much longer.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “First, I want you to find some rubbing alcohol. Open it on the way back.”

  I went into Mother’s bathroom and got the alcohol and brought it back to him open. He took it and held his arm over the sink and poured the entire bottle over it. Then he dropped the bottle and looked away and lowered his head and I saw his neck muscles rise. He made a sound from somewhere deep in his throat and leaned on his left elbow. There was blood everywhere now. The counter, the sink, his pants, the floor.

  “Go get a towel and some tape,” he stammered.

  “What—”

  “Any kind. Start it for me.”

  I ran and got a towel out of the bathroom and some duct tape out of the kitchen drawer. I lifted a corner of it and walked up behind him. He straightened and held his hand back to me and I put the tape in it.

  “Wrap the towel tight around my arm.”

  I did what he said and held it. Blood was already wicking through the white cloth. He bit the tape end and pulled out a length. He dragged it over the towel and dropped the spool. Then he reached under and grabbed it where it swung and threw it over again. He did this several times until the towel was secured.

  “Tear it,” he said.

  I leaned over and bit it and tore the spool free. He lowered himself to the floor and sat there with his eyes closed, breathing deep, the arm limp in his lap.

  “Gary?” I said.

  He didn’t answer me.

  “Gary!”

  He opened his eyes and cocked them up at me.

  “You’re not going to die, are you?”

  He cracked a smile and shook his head. I didn’t believe him.

  “Don’t close your eyes,” I said.

  “I told you I’d be okay,” he replied. “I’ve lost a lot of blood. I’m just a little weak.”

  “Why don’t we call an ambulance?”

  He shook his head. “I’m okay. I just need to sit here. Just stop talking to me for a while.”

  * * *

  I heard Mother’s car drive up and I was halfway to the front door by the time she came bursting in.

  “What happened!” she said.

  “Dax cut Gary’s arm. He’s on the kitchen floor.”

  She brushed past me and I chased after her into the kitchen. I saw her look horrified at his arm.

  “Gary!”

  He looked up at her. “I’m okay,” he said. “Call the police and file a report.”

  She knelt beside him and started to lift on his good arm. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

  He pulled the arm down. “Don’t call the doctor, Linda. Don’t argue with me about that. Call the police and file a report. Tell them what Dax did to Joe last night. Tell them you’re scared.”

  “What if they want to come here?”

  “They probably will. Don’t mention me.”

  “What happened, Gary?”

  “Just do it, Linda. Then we’ll talk about the rest. No doctors.”

  She started to say something but didn’t. Fina
lly she nodded and stood and hurried to her bedroom. I stayed with Gary while she made the phone call. She came back and stood over him.

  “They’re coming over,” she said. “They need to make a report.”

  He nodded slowly. “Take me to Foster’s room so I can lie down.”

  “Is he going to be okay, Mother?”

  “Quiet, Foster,” she said. “I want you to start cleaning up this kitchen. I want it done fast. All the blood on the floor. Anywhere there’s blood.”

  “You don’t have to invite them inside, Linda.”

  “It makes me too nervous,” she said.

  He nodded. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “Foster, drive the truck under the equipment shed after you’re finished.”

  I started for the paper towels.

  * * *

  Mother took Gary down the hall and returned a few minutes later. She helped me clean the blood from the sink and the counter and the floor and the walls. Then she sent me outside to move the truck and spray off the back stoop with the hose.

  When I was finished out back I went to my room and changed out of my bloody clothes. Then I walked into the kitchen just as the police began knocking on the door.

  “Go back to your room and wait for me,” she said.

  I walked into my room and saw that Gary wasn’t there. I heard Mother opening the front door and the voices of men. I backed out and went into Mother’s room and saw him in her bed lying on his back with his eyes closed. I pulled the door behind me and approached him. He opened his eyes and smiled at me. Then he put a finger to his lips. “I’m all right,” he said softly.

  I felt myself starting to cry again all of a sudden. It was like something shaken up from inside me. I tried to swallow it away, but I was choking against it.

  “Shhh,” he said.

  I put my hand over my mouth and coughed and nodded, but I couldn’t stop the tears.

  “Come here,” he said.

  I felt like my legs were about to give out and I felt light-headed.

  “Foster,” he said. “Come lie down.”

  I crawled onto the bed and lay on my side facing him, coughing against my palm and trembling. He took his good hand and reached across himself and stroked my hair. “You did good,” he said.