Hellbender (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 2)

by Miller, Jason Jack

  Clack-clack. Clack-clack. Clack-clack. Clack-clack.

  When the last cars finally blew past I walked toward the old trestle. Ben was already on the bridge headed my way. I stopped a few yards beyond the old coal tipple. “He’s not down here! Go back,” Ben said, pointing frantically.

  “What do you mean? He has to be down there.”

  “No. He stopped. He’s hiding.” Ben set his bow in the gravel and unshouldered his rifle. He took a knee to catch his breath.

  “He’s in the coke ovens then.” I made sure my safety was off. “Wait a second,” Ben said. “Wait for me.”

  But I’d already let him fight too much of my battle. This one was mine. I peeked into the first oven, saw that it was empty, then moved on.

  “Wait up, man,” Ben said. “I should go ahead of you.”

  The second one had collapsed. Its roof lay on the ground. Locust trees and greenbriers took root in the fallen brick.

  I took a look into the third. In the dim light I could see old beer bottles, brass bullet casings and old rubbers. It was the same in the fourth.

  “Hey,” Ben said as he ran to join me. “What’d I tell you about doing something stupid?”

  “You said ‘don’t do anything stupid.’ But I can still fire a fucking gun.”

  “Yeah? Then why didn’t you shoot Darren?” “Fuck you, Ben.”

  Ben shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I just want to finish the mission.” He shook his head and laughed, then corrected himself. “I just want to wrap this up.”

  Ben turned to look over his shoulder as we walked back upstream. “We caught Darren off guard. Charlie and Billy know we’re coming.”

  I said, “Because of what Darren did to your dad I can swallow that. But Charlie is mine. Don’t even think of trying to take this from me. All right?”

  Ben didn’t say anything for a long time. “I got you. But I don’t feel bad about doing what I did to Darren.” He kicked a cobble toward the river, turned and headed back toward the trestle. “Fucking Charlie’s probably half-way to Thomas by now anyway. I think we lost him.”

  “No. He can barely walk so he’s got to be here somewhere. Check the tipple. Maybe he went up that way.” I pointed to an old road that led past the coal tipple and up the mountain.

  Ben grumbled as he made his way toward the rusting fossil. I returned to the coke ovens. Afraid that Ben might be right, I searched more diligently, as if determination alone would make Charlie Lewis materialize.

  To my left, Ben crossed the drainage ditch adjacent to the tracks and began the short climb up to the tipple. He weaved through the maze of rusty legs that held the hopper up over the tracks. He didn’t say much, but what he did say resonated with me. I was afraid that if we lost Charlie we’d never settle this.

  Ben yelled. Silhouetted by a flash of gunfire, he tumbled backwards from beneath a hopper and landed in the drainage ditch at a scary angle. His rifle rested on the slope near his feet. I could see blood rushing down his face.

  In an embrace of pain, I ran toward him and fired a shot. At what, I wasn’t entirely certain. The coal tipple was too far out of range for the old break-action shotgun.

  Ben crawled through a scattering of brass rounds for his rifle.

  From the shadows Charlie called, “Nobody move. Now you boys just stay put.”

  “You all right, Ben?” I yelled.

  He gave me a frail ‘okay’ with his right hand, which was just a few inches shy of being able to reach his rifle. “Hit my fucking head when I fell.” Brass rounds tinkled through the rocks as he shifted his position.

  Another shot came from within the ruin, this one meant to back me away. Charlie Lewis stepped cautiously into the rain, aiming his pistol at Ben.

  But I refused to lower my shotgun. It was the only move I had left. “No way, Charlie. There’s two of us. You’ll only get a chance to take one of us out before the other one gets you.”

  Charlie Lewis laughed. For a second he ignored Ben and stepped toward me. “You think I really believe that you’d be okay with me taking a shot at him instead of you? Or do you think you can scare me, boy?”

  “No. You’re like the coon dog that stops to bark at the bear instead of running.” I planted my feet and took aim. With about twenty yards between us, aim meant everything. “I don’t think anything scares you.”

  “Damn straight. Nothing scares me. Not your pap and all his wind. Not that aunt of yours.” He waved his revolver, like it was a prop, and took another step toward me.

  “What about Odelia and Darren being dead? Who do you have left, Charlie?” A cough rose in my chest. I fought to suppress it and raised the shotgun a hair. “Odelia begged. Darren didn’t have much of a chance to. But I bet you’ll beg, Charlie Lewis. I bet you’ll beg.”

  “Shit, boy. You’ll—”

  I fired a shot, but Charlie was too far out of range. Birdshot ripped through his shirt. Patches of blood peppered it instantly.

  Ben lunged for his gun and rolled to his knees. Charlie turned at the shuffle and caught the butt of the old hunting rifle with his jaw. He covered his face with his arm and fired a random shot as Ben clubbed him again. Charlie fell to the ground.

  I ran to get closer, snapping the old break-action as I moved. I managed to get a pair of shells into the gun and snapped it shut. In a fit of grinding ribs I raised my weapon. My heavy breathing made it difficult to aim. I’d have to be right next to him if I wanted to hit him. Ben stepped between Charlie and me, then dropped an elbow into Charlie’s neck.

  “Ben! Get out of the way.” I moved in closer and began to circle.

  Ben pushed his elbow into Charlie’s throat and tried to twist his pistol out of his hand. Charlie’s eyes bulged as Ben put his weight onto him. Charlie twisted and bucked, but couldn’t force Ben off.

  “Just hold him there, Ben.” I dropped my aim and shuffled over.

  “The gun! Fucking shoot him, Henry.” Ben turned.

  “He ain’t got it in him,” Charlie said to Ben in a spray of forced breath. “Put the gun down, boy. Maybe I let both of you walk away.”

  My breathing was heavy. The premeditation made me dizzy. That’s what made this one different. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t even survival anymore. This was ugly. I fell to my knees at Charlie’s head.

  “Fucking chickenshit cocksuckers. The both of you.”

  Ben hit Charlie in the collarbone with a fist-sized cobble of gravel. He hit it again, drawing blood. Ben whaled on Charlie. In the wet air, still too thin to drown in, Charlie’s cries finally came. They floated above the noise of the river’s tumbling boulders.

  “Boy, I’ll serve my time,” Charlie said.

  I put my hands into my pockets and found Katy’s thistle amongst a pair of shotgun shells.

  “Bang.” I flicked one of the shells toward the river. “That one was supposed to be for you.”

  I took the other shell and set it on the tracks between his hands.

  “Maybe you’re sorry enough to shoot yourself? Make it easy on us? But I know you ain’t got sorry in you, so you can just look at it, make it the last thing you see before we roll you into the river.”

  His expression changed. With bared teeth he said, “You going to finally show a little backbone, huh? Now that I’m down?”

  He shouted into Ben’s face, “I’ll show you backbone since all you got for role models is a drunk and a teacher.”

  I handed Ben the shotgun. I said, “Stick it in his mouth.”

  “Finish him, Henry.” Ben cracked open the shotgun to see if it was loaded.

  “Go ahead. Do what you want, boy, but things I said will be with you long after I’m dead. ‘Cause you know I speak the truth about your old man and your pap. I ain’t never met a Collins that wasn’t chickenshit.”

  “Open up,” I said. I dropped my knee into Charlie’s collarbone, forcing a howl from the old man.

  Ben pushed both barrels down to Charlie’s tonsils.


  I started to unwrap Katy’s thistle—the package she’d given me when we left the mine. It reminded me of Janie and Katy and the way Charlie and his kin took so much from us all. I unwrapped the only thing in this whole world I had left.

  My fingertips were cold. I put the fern-wrapped thistle to my mouth and began to bite at the twine. Spines from the thistle poked through the ferns, making my lips bleed. Charlie watched me strip away the ferns that wrapped the prickly thistle like a cocoon wrapped a moth. The spines bit my finger. More blood. “What’s a few more drops in all this? Right, Charlie Lewis? They’re invisible in the rain. Just like tears. Just like a firefly in the face of the Milky Way.”

  Blood dripped from my palm where the thistle met my skin. “Now tell me about my family.”

  I grabbed the shotgun barrel and rotated if clockwise a quarter turn, forcing Charlie’s jaw open wide. He squirmed and bit at the barrel. His eyes never left my hand.

  I shoved the thistle into the back of his throat. Spines pointed back at me, digging into the soft flesh of his tonsils and tongue. I pushed it down even further with my thumb.

  He choked, making sucking sounds like when you’re getting your teeth cleaned at the dentist. I pulled my hand out. Ben twisted the shotgun barrel and stood up. He reached out a hand and helped me to my feet.

  Tears leapt from Charlie’s eyes. He wanted to pull the violating object from his throat, but it was too deep. The thorns muffled his screams. The seed pod ate all of his hate and rage. He twisted, and pushed himself up on his hands and knees, his head stayed down low while he suffered.

  I said, “One day a plant’s going to sprout somewhere downstream. But instead of producing a purple flower, it’s going to germinate curses and screams. And instead of attracting bees it’s going to attract pity, because you, Charlie Lewis, are not going to be remembered kindly.”

  His eyes bulged. He tried to cough, but the spines, angled away from his throat, wouldn’t let the thistle come out the same way it went in. Coughing seemed to be driving it deeper. He tried swallowing, but that didn’t work either.

  He rolled to his knees, then stood, spinning wildly with the horror of his situation. His red cheeks bulged and his breaths sounded like wind through spruce trees. For the first time, Charlie Lewis didn’t have anything to say.

  He drew his pistol, but Ben swung the shotgun and swatted it to the ground. It hit the gravel with a clack and bounced. Charlie spun a full circle still clutching his throat. He backed up two steps, then three more, and when the only thing left behind him was the river, he backed right off the edge.

  I sat down on the tracks and shook my head. Ben collected the pistol from his ground, pulled the clip to check for rounds. He smiled, then handed it to me. “For snakes.”

  I rolled onto my back, coughed and showed him the blood that came from my lungs on my hand. “Ben, I need to get to a hospital real bad.”

  “I’ll get you to the truck.” He strained to lift me, but was too tired. Or I was too heavy. I tried to lift my arm over his shoulder and shook with the nausea of trauma.

  Spastic contractions pushed acid up from my empty belly. The shaking was agonizing, but I refused to let go, to lie back down on that cold ground. As I realized the direness of my situation I looked for pity in Ben’s eyes. I looked for forgiveness.

  “I’m going to get the truck and come back to get you.”

  “Please don’t leave me here. I have to see Alex. I have to tell her….” I was beginning to feel dizzy and was afraid I’d black out. I knew Ben couldn’t hold me all night long.

  “I can’t, man. Just wait here.” Ben attempted to set me back onto the ground.

  “I don’t want to die alone, Ben. Please don’t put me down.” I grabbed his wrist with my hands. “I’ll walk with you. I have to.”

  He helped me to my feet. I started to shuffle ahead and he said, “Hold up.”

  I turned to see what he was looking at. Billy Lewis crossing the trestle. He had his hands in his pockets. Without so much as an acknowledgement, he began to walk on by us.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I said, somewhat surprised at the authority in my voice.

  “I’m going home. This was never my fight.” He went on down the tracks. “Bullshit,” I aimed Charlie’s pistol at him. “You’re as much a part of this as Charlie—”

  “No!” He interrupted. “No. That’s not me. I’m not my family. You think this was the life I wanted to live? You think I aspired to be like him? I wanted to go to college. Get the fuck out of West Virginia.”

  “Well, that ain’t going to happen “ I had to lean against Ben.

  “What do you mean?” He pleaded. His voice grew frail.

  “Don’t take another step.”

  “Why did you save me back at the cabin then? I know what you did. Why? If you were only going to kill me now?” He took off his hat and held it out like he was begging for quarters.

  “Because I maintained your innocence back then. I wanted to let you be tried and found innocent before making a judgment myself.”

  Stumbling toward me, he said, “But I am. I didn’t do anything.” He finally realized that I wasn’t playing anymore.

  “You weren’t in Morgantown the night Jane died?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t hold her face down in her own bathtub then drive the body out to Deckers Creek?”

  “No. You have to believe I didn’t do anything. Darren sent Lucinda and a couple of guys up to do it. Danny was one, I think.”

  “So you had nothing to do with it?” I pulled out the sheet of paper that Alex gave me in the car and showed it to him.

  He lowered his eyes. “So what? I wasn’t there in January.”

  “Yeah, but you were there in December. Right? Following her when she ran, to where she lived, following her around town. To class. That’s what this says. You didn’t even try to hide it.” I put the campus police report back into my jacket. “You killed her. Maybe you didn’t pull the trigger, but you tied the rabbit to the tree and sicked the dogs on it, right?”

  “No, man. That ain’t right.” He fell to his knees.

  “You think they gave Janie a chance to negotiate before they did her?” He didn’t say anything.

  “My little sister, who I held as a baby. Who I shared Christmases and a mother with. We got sick together and rode the bus together. We watched Saturday morning cartoons together. We shared a dog. She slept in my bed when my mom and dad fought. She was the kindest, sweetest girl I’ve ever known. All she wanted was a chance to not be caught up in this—this fucking whatever you guys got going. So I’m going to ask you again. Do you think they let her beg for her life? Or did they just do her? Like a fucking dog?”

  “Man…I don’t know. You know I don’t know—” I pulled the trigger.

  One shot. Right through the heart. Billy fell back into the gravel. His eyes watched rainclouds drift by, watched fireflies create their own version of a starry night.

  And that was it.

  The rain didn’t stop and the pain in my grinding ribs didn’t go away. My house wouldn’t be standing when I got home.

  “It’s over.” I threw the pistol into the river. I was shaking.

  This wouldn’t bring Jane back. Or Alex’s innocence. Or mine. Or Ben’s. I looked at him. I wanted somebody else to say it, because I sure as hell didn’t believe it.

  He nodded. “It’s over,” he said, and led me back up the tracks.

  EPILOGUE

  My words were rooted in these hills, carried on the backs of the Irish farmers who followed the Potomac southwest instead of crossing the spruce-covered ridges of the Allegheny Front. My muscles formed from climbing white oaks and boulders, from hauling firewood. The mountain rivers that flashed through narrow canyon walls, over boulders and under high railroad bridges flowed through my veins. Laurel brakes that nestled beneath Pottsville sandstone ledges were my nursery. Sad fiddle tunes, played by old-timers beside a dying fire, were my genetic c
ode.

  In these mountains I’d seen floods, rockslides, forest fires and blizzards. One time I saw a bear defend her cubs from hunting dogs while I hid in the upper branches of an old oak. Later, on that same trip, I saw a blacksnake swallow her young to protect them when a hawk flew over. One time, near Smoke Hole I found a cave where thousands of bats roosted, then came back a year later to see that the Forest Service had barricaded its entrance to protect the few that remained. When I was really little I saw West Virginia’s last confirmed cougar trapped and beaten on the plains above Red Creek. Seeing it piss itself as the men clubbed it made me cry. I’ll never forget the musky smell of its urine.

  From a clearing on Spruce Knob I spent weeks watching two comets, Hale-Bopp and Hyakutake, streak sunward in a cycle of rebirth as old as the solar system itself. Then on a September backpacking trip to Roaring Plains I saw the sky strangely empty of planes and contrails for three whole days, only to return to a world much different than the one I had left. Ben enlisted the next day.

  In my short life dead rivers struggled back to life, the orange-stained rocks were the only reminders of a time when nothing would live in them. In my short life mountaintops disappeared, bulldozed into tender streams. None of this could I have seen from anywhere other than here.

  And I couldn’t prove most of it.

  From the north came a dose of color that bronzed the land. Reds and yellows settled on the woody denizens of Canaan Valley like a wash of wildfire. It was a warm October— summer just wouldn’t die so easily.

  We’d been picking stone from our old fences since September without fear of snakes. Fenton would hitch the hay wagon to the tractor while my grandma and Rachael rustled up lunch, except on Saturdays when WVU was playing. Champ led the way on his trails. Rusty hips and over fifty dog-years-worth of knowledge were better than a human sense of direction any day. I’d never seen the sky so blue, the mornings so foggy, or the afternoons as crisp as I did that October.