by Chris Bostic
“I should’ve had a shot of that shit first.”
Vince stuck the whiskey thief back through an open bunghole in the closest barrel. After a few seconds to fill, he put his thumb over the hole at the top to create the vacuum. Then he brought the tube to his lips to suck some down.
“Yikes. It’s not great.” His grimace rivaled mine. “I can see why it burns.”
“Like a motherfucker.”
“Grace!” Vic chided. “Do you really need to talk like that?”
“You want me to rip your hand open and dump whiskey on it?”
“It’s bourbon,” Vince deadpanned.
“That’s also whiskey, just a form of it,” the miner said, parroting the guides on about every tour we had taken that week.
“You guys are really not helping.” My teeth remained clenched. Shaking my hand did nothing for the pain. I could only hope the fire was worth it.
Vince held out the whiskey thief for me to take a drink. “Give it a try. It’ll make a rabbit hug a hound dog.”
I fought back a smile at Vince’s latest crazy saying. “Why not? You made it sound so good.”
“Grace?” Pete said, but I ignored him to grab the bottom of the tube and guide it to my lips.
“Just a little, Eddie.”
Vic raised an eye at the nickname, but didn’t question me.
Vince kept his word and briefly took his thumb off the end to dribble a short stream into my mouth. I still almost spit it out.
“Oof. That’s nasty.”
“Yeah, but it’ll do the job.” Vince took another swallow before anyone could stop him.
As he handed the tube off for the miner to thief a sample, Vic slugged him on the shoulder. “We just carried your drunk butt up a hill. You need to stop.”
“Let me fill my flask first,” he said, taking the empty device back from Mike. While she looked on with disgust, he plunged the thief back into the barrel, plugged it with his thumb, and proceeded to fish the flask out of his pocket.
But he didn’t have a free hand to take off the cap. Vic wasn’t about to help, so he went to hand the flask to me—his new drinking buddy.
The problem was I only had one working hand at that point, since the whiskey burn had worn off, leaving fresh blood to form along the gash.
We figured it out. I took the flask in my good hand and held it out for Vince to unscrew the cap.
Vic took that moment to knock it out of my hand. The flask bounced off a barrel and fell to the ground underneath another.
“What the hell, woman?” Vince handed the thief to Mike and abruptly dropped to his knees. He scoured the ground like she’d lost a diamond earring.
With my luck, I would have never found it, but Vince hopped back up a second later. “Take that.”
Vic curled her nose in disgust. “I’m so done with you.”
She turned her back on him and went back over to the door. Pete trailed behind her, presumably for moral support. I would have preferred that he found me something to wrap up my hand. But everyone was hurting at that point, and I could take care of myself.
While Vince and Mike filled the flask, taking sips of that nasty old juice in the process, I looked around for anything I could use to wrap my hand.
Of course, there was nothing. Or at least nothing not covered in an inch of dirt and grime. So I had to resort to Plan B.
I pushed past Vic and Pete to crack the door open.
“It’s still pouring,” he said.
I avoided a smart-alecky comment considering how loudly the rain drummed on the building. With the door open, I found the offending strip of metal that had done the damage. It could help me out now.
I grabbed the tail of my tank, showed a little more of my bra trying to get it high enough to reach the sharp edge, and sliced through the fabric.
Once I had it started, I used my good hand to rip a three-inch strip off the entire bottom of my tank.
“I could have done that,” Pete said as I cut back in front of him to go to Vince.
“But you didn’t,” I muttered so he couldn’t hear. “Eddie! I need more bourbon.”
“That’s my girl,” he bellowed, and turned from Mike to spot me coming his way in a drastically shorter top. “Damn, Grace.”
“Shut up.” I held out the scrap to him. “Soak this thing in antiseptic for me.”
“Bourbon?”
“Same thing.” I turned to Mike. “Would you tie this around my hand?”
Pete was behind me by that point. “I can do it.”
Mike backed off before I had to make a decision. I let Pete tie it, but not without cursing again when the whiskey-laden shirt brushed against the cut.
A sharp intake of breath hissed through my clenched teeth.
“Too tight?” Pete asked. His eyes showed concern that hadn’t been there a couple minutes ago, and I realized I’d been pushing him away again.
“No. Perfect.” I forced a smile that probably came out more like a grimace. “Thanks, babe.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I leaned against him and exhaled deeply. In with the angel’s share, out with bad.
The bourbon tasted awful, but the smell was still magical. We stood there quite a while, the storm raging.
It was almost equally magical reconnecting with Pete after the stress, but Vic still simmered. She stood by the door, staring through a crack at the outside world.
June and Mike leaned against the side of the building, against a big support brace. With Mike so massive, I hoped he didn’t push the whole place over on his own.
No one spoke loud enough for the other couples to hear, even as the rain dried up from roaring to pounding to smattering over the course of a few minutes. Just when I thought it was time to bail out and head for the road, the thunder boomed again.
Vince, of course, couldn’t remain silent for long.
“Remember that story about the day the whiskey died?”
June looked at Mike. “Is that like the song they play at closing time at Big A’s? You know, Bye Bye Miss American Pie?”
Mike shrugged. Evidently they hadn’t taken the tour at Heaven Hill yet.
Before I could chime in, Pete said, “He means the lake of fire and lost rack houses.” He looked at his buddy and tilted his head like a curious dog. “What about it?”
“You remember how it started?”
Pete nodded. “One building collapsed and the fire spread to all the other buildings.”
“Because they didn’t have moats or ditches or whatever between them,” I added, “to keep it contained.”
I still wasn’t sure where he was going with the story, but at least it helped take my mind off the stinging in my hand.
“But how did it start?” Vince asked. “That’s the question.”
“Probably some idiot smoking?” Pete guessed.
“Nope.” Vince paused as another crackle of thunder rippled through the thin walls of the rack house. “There you go. Lightning strike. Ninety thousand barrels gone.” He pretended to swipe away a tear. “Fire shooting over three hundred feet in the air. Flaming bourbon flowing like lava.”
June looked on in horror as he continued.
“Seems about right that we’re stuck in a rack house. Especially one this shitty. If not fire, we’re sitting in another Barton-style collapse.”
“Dude, stop,” Pete said, pointing with his eyes toward June. “This place has been here forever. It’s not goin’ anywhere.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “It’s not like today could get any worse.”
Then the heavens said hold my beer.
CHAPTER 11
A gust of wind arose, louder than anything we had heard thus far. The timber frame groaned, as did all of us. The wind drove rain through the open windows, reminding me that the wooden framework hadn’t been immune to the forces of nature over the years.
“It’s coming down!” June shrieked.
For a moment, I thought she might be ri
ght.
A window cracked from way above, sprinkling glass down through the floors. Not that close to us, but near enough to set everyone on edge.
Though it had been dark before, the blackness really set in like nightfall. I wanted to retreat down a side aisle deeper into the structure, but at the same time felt like we might be better off taking our chances outside.
“This is fucked up,” I muttered.
“What?” Pete shouted.
“I said this is nuts!”
He took my hand to pull me deeper into the rack house. I resisted at first, but relented. With a gesture to the others to follow, one I hoped they could make out in the dimness, I let him lead me down the nearest aisle.
The deeper we went, the more it felt like heading down a tunnel the wrong way. Into the dark, away from the light.
A sizzle of lightning erupted right outside the building. I had visions of burning alive, quickly replaced by another of the smokestack toppling. Then the rack house with us trapped inside.
“Get it together, Grace,” I whispered, and gripped Pete’s hand tighter.
Lightning flashed through the empty window frames, sending photograph bursts of the barrels around us, before plunging us back into darkness.
“Oh to be a barrel,” I whispered, continuing to talk to myself to help preserve a scrap of my sanity.
Just thinking of those barrels rested in their ricks like sleeping beauties, completely immune to the storm raging, brought a measure of comfort. However, standing in the middle of the rack house did not. So I sat.
Head between my knees, hands over my head, I nestled low to the floor like a grade schooler in a tornado drill. But it wasn’t so much for actual safety as to warm up.
Pete settled in next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. That helped even more.
I debated taking a nap, but Mother Nature wasn’t having that. Each boom rattled the building like a bomb blast. I hadn’t spent any time in the military or anything like that, but Vince had. I wondered if this was anything like it felt on the base in Afghanistan when insurgents launched mortars or rockets or whatever. If so, I considered giving him a bit of a pass on his bad behavior.
There was no way I wouldn’t come back a little broken if I’d had to deal with anything like that on a daily basis. It had been awful enough having my dad run out on us without a word. Worse yet, having been left by my mom on the doorstep of the local firehouse—not as a baby. Not even close.
Thinking of abandonment, I looked up to see if the others had followed us. Several seconds passed before another lightning bolt provided enough light for me to check.
To my relief, we weren’t alone. June and Mike were close by, also on the floor. Vic was back together with Vince—sort of. She stood on the opposite side of the aisle from him, staring toward us like a lost puppy.
I forced a smile that she probably couldn’t see considering we only had milliseconds of light coming in sporadic intervals.
Next thing I knew, the rain eased up a little. I must have nodded off a bit. The thunder had faded away to dull booms.
“Seem a bit lighter?” Pete asked me.
I looked up. “Yeah. I can actually see you. Sort of. I’ll take a shadow over nothing.”
“Glad to know I’m at least on par with a shadow.”
I bumped him with my shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“Uh huh.” His silhouette turned to where he was looking down the aisle back from where we came. I followed his gaze and rested on the biggest lump first.
June nestled next to the Miner so closely that there wasn’t a gap. It was about the first time I had seen genuine affection between them. Despite the massive, disturbing age difference, I couldn’t help but feel a little warm spot in my chest. Protectiveness always got me in the feels.
I squeezed Pete’s hand. “I think you might be my most favorite shadow ever.”
He chuckled and squeezed back, which pressed my diamond into the side of the adjoining finger.
“Oww,” I said, and slipped my hand out of his.
“Oh, crap.” He tilted his head. “But…that’s not your bad hand?”
“No, babe. The other hand’s bandaged.” I held it up to show him. “That rock you gave me was cutting into me.”
“Must be too big. I can get you a smaller one,” he said with a laugh.
I slipped my fingers back into his more carefully. “You’re not taking it back.”
“Good.” Shadow Pete leaned in.
Our lips met. He was warm and tender, and exactly what I needed in that moment.
I sat back and smiled. Pete was what I needed when things started going a little south. Or at least he was when I let him.
Thinking back to our earlier arguments and my childishness, I opened my mouth to apologize. But I couldn’t force anything out. Pride could be toxic, but I didn’t care to speak those words aloud if I could avoid it.
I hung my head and slipped back inside myself.
After a while, I noted the rack house definitely lightened, but in a weird sort of way. Not a brighter gray, but an eerie green. The rain slowed to a patter, but not the wind. It blew like a wind tunnel one minute only to settle, then repeat.
In one of the ebbs, where the rack house only slightly creaked, I caught the sound of banging metal by where we’d come inside. Everyone’s heads turned in unison.
“The door loose?” Pete asked.
Vince was closest. “I haven’t seen it open.”
“Sounds like someone’s trying to get in here,” I said. “Or out.”
I didn’t have a clue who that could be, nor was I eager to find out. I spent my time looking farther down the aisle in the direction we hadn’t yet explored rather than watching the door.
The banging continued, which prompted Vince to make another dumb joke.
“Might be a ghost,” he said, and waved an arm at the barrels. “There’s lots of spirits in here.”
“Again with the dad jokes,” Vic said. “Be serious.”
“It’s just the wind,” Vince insisted, but there was no way that was the case.
“Wind doesn’t bang like that.” I held up a hand before he could say something perverted. “Don’t go there.”
“Something’s out there,” Mike chimed in.
“Something?” June asked.
“Something, someone,” he replied. “You know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“We should check,” Mike said, and struggled to get back to his feet.
Nothing felt particularly comforting to me in that moment. I kept hold of Pete and tugged him toward the far door. “Maybe we should look over this way.” When he resisted, I said, “It’s bound to be closer to the road. Wasn’t that the point of coming up here?”
“Might as well,” Mike said, changing direction to join us. “The knocking’s stopped, and we can’t sit here all day.”
“Yeah, it’s a good idea,” Pete finally agreed. “There’s no point waiting out a storm that’s never gonna end.”
“So you feel the same way,” I said, exhaustion dripping from my voice.
“Yeah. Worst thing is, I don’t think we’re getting home tonight.”
“It’s not looking good.” I had no idea what time it was, but by the time we got out of there, hitched a ride, and finally got back to our car, I couldn’t see us driving any farther than down the road to get a room. “At this point, I’ll be happy with another night at the hotel.”
“Yep.”
Pete let me lead him down the aisle. Footsteps trailed behind us. Best I could tell, it was everyone in our group. Still, I analyzed each step now that Vince had planted that stupid ghost story in my head.
The shuffling feet had to belong to Mike, I assumed. The second set was probably Vince, though he seemed improbably more sober than he should have been. Perhaps the bump to the head had done him some good.
“I could use a drink,” June said.
“Me, too.” My mo
uth was so parched that I was almost tempted to suck on my shirt like we’d discussed earlier. Only now there was less material to get a drink from.
“If only we had a way to catch some rainwater,” Vic said. “Vince should’ve worn his hat.”
I held out hope we might find something useful when we got outside, with the understanding that might be coated in mold and dust. But first we had to find a door.
Having navigated the center aisle and reached the outer walkway that ran the perimeter of the rack house, I couldn’t immediately find a hint of a door.
That problem was quickly solved.
I practically jumped out of my skin when the banging resumed. This time not twenty feet behind us.
Through the metal, a familiar voice shouted, “I can’t get the damn thing open!”
CHAPTER 12
“Who the hell is that?” Vince bellowed.
I couldn’t place the voice but felt like I knew it well enough to not be alarmed. It turned out that was a bit of a mischaracterization.
“Hang on!” I shouted back.
“What?” came from outside. “Who’s in there?”
“I said hang on.” I went with Pete to open the door.
Just like the one on the other side, the frame sagged. The wood had warped enough that it had basically swelled shut.
“Give us a hand,” I said, primarily to Vince and Mike. They put their shoulders into it, and soon had us staring face to face with the soldiers from the boat.
“You two,” I said without thinking about tone.
“Nice to see you too,” replied Gallow, the heavier one. His eyes once again drifted to my chest. His eyebrows lifted when he saw what was left of my tank.
I knew I wasn’t leaving much to the imagination, and I sure didn’t care at that point.
“We’re coming out.” I pushed my way past the two men to stand in another weed-covered parking lot. This one was much narrower, almost claustrophobic.
Deep woods ringed most of the area, prohibiting a long look ahead and to my left. Off to the right, not very far away, a couple more rack houses were on either side of an asphalt road leading away from the small lot.
Between the rack houses, in the distance, the smokestack rose to the clouds. The faint outline of the rest of the complex gathered around the stack, blurry due to haze or fading daylight. I couldn’t be sure.