The truck slid around a curve in the road, the rear wheels drifting in a way that made it seem as if the back half of the vehicle were moving independently of the front. The driver jerked the wheel in the opposite direction as he let out a whoop and his passenger slammed into the door. From the bed of the truck came a sound like plastic sliding across metal, immediately followed by another thud.
“You're gonna kill the both of us, Earl! If you don't slow the hell down, I swear t' God I'm tellin' Mama.”
The smile disappeared from the driver's face as quickly as the flakes of snow melted on the warm windshield. He shot his brother a glance that could have flash frozen that same slush as his lips pulled back into a sneer.
“You ain't telling Mama shit. I'll pound your ass so hard, Daryl, you won't see straight for a week, hear?”
Daryl stiffened and dropped his gaze to the empty beer bottles that clinked against one another in the floor board. He swallowed hard and then looked back up.
“I . . . I don't care. I'd rather take an ass whoopin' than die. And Mama would have your hide if she knew you were drivin' like . . .”
“I ain't scared of Mama, you little pussy.”
Earl's voice was softer and his foot eased off the gas pedal just enough that the bumps would no longer jar his brother's spine and cause his teeth to clack against one another. He adjusted the brim of his hat with one hand, looked at himself in the rear view mirror, and scratched his chin. For a moment, neither man spoke: now that the truck no longer clunked with the washboard like ridges in the road, the soft strains of Willie Nelson singing Blue Eyes Crying In the Rain crackled through the dashboard speakers, fading in an out through the hiss of the heater like a memory that refused to surface.
“I ain't scared of Mama.” Earl finally repeated. “But, at the same time, I reckon she could live the rest of her life without knowing 'bout this little argument of ours. Sound about right, Daryl?”
Daryl only realized he'd been holding his breath when he let it free with a quick sigh. The air pulled the tension that had gripped his muscles for past ten miles from his body and he slouched back in the seat as he closed his eyes.
“Right as rain, brother . . . right as rain . . . .”
Ten minutes later, the rusted Dodge pulled onto a wide place on the shoulder of the road. It's headlights punched holes in the darkness that surrounded it, illuminating the trunks of trees that were clustered together so tightly that it almost seemed as if they were seeking shelter from the frigid wind that whipped through their boughs. Some of the branches glistened beneath sheaths of ice and they clicked against one another like chattering teeth as the truck's engine rumbled and sputtered below. Except for these sounds the night was silent: no owls or whippoorwills called out from the forest, no insects chirped amid the rustle of unseen creatures slipping through the underbrush. It was almost as if Winter had laid claim to everything living thing within those dark woods, swallowing them into the glacial caverns of its gullet where the warmth and light of the sun would never touch them again.
A soft glow lit up the cab of the truck and revealed the snow that swirled around it. Inside, Earl shifted his bulk and stuffed his meaty arms into the sleeves of a flannel shirt that looked as if it had been tailored for a giant. The cuffs were ratty and frayed and the pieces of fabric that formed the left lapel peeled away from one another, revealing the batting within; but it was as thick as a jacket and was quilted with smooth, red lining.
The passenger door opened, then thunked shut as Daryl zipped his coveralls almost entirely up to his chin. His hands were covered now in a pair of leather work gloves which he used to pull a gray toboggan over his ears. At the same time, Earl eased out of his own door and the front shocks seemed to groan with relief as the entire left hand side of the truck raised half a foot higher.
The pair walked around either side of the truck, their feet crunching through the icy crust on the snow, and plumes of fog curled from their mouths and noses. They worked silently, each seeming to instinctively know what was expected of him. Earl removed the black bungee cords that took the place of a busted latch on the truck's tailgate and the shrill screech of rusted hinges was like the fingernails of a demon raking across the blackboard of the night. Almost before the tailgate had been fully extended, Daryl scrambled into the bed of the truck and walked to the other end in a half-crouch. Lying next to the rear of the cab was a large, blue tarp that had been rolled into a burrito of canvas and tightly cinched with twine. Daryl slipped his fingers through the cord and grunted as he pulled the tarp backward. It slid toward him a few inches and then he took a deep breath and repeated the process. Again, the bundle inched closer and he shuffled back a few steps before pulling again.
Despite the ribbed bed liner, it took the man several minutes to drag the tarp to the very rear of the truck; by the time he was finished crystals of frost had formed on his mustache and he was huffing like a man who'd just finished a marathon. He stood there for a moment with his hands resting on his kneecaps, slightly bent over the large parcel at his feet. Sucking in gulps of the cool night air, he motioned to the tarp with one hand almost as if he were swatting some unseen insect.
In response to this gesture, Earl grabbed the knotted string with both hands and yanked. For a moment, the blue canvass slid toward him but then he was falling backward, his arms flailing in the air like Goliath after David's stone had found its mark. He fell onto his ass into a drift of snow and cursed beneath his breath as he looked at the severed pieces of cord he held in either hand.
“Cheap ass shit. Where the fuck did you get this, Daryl?”
He pushed himself off the ground and dusted the snow from the seat of his pants with hands that were now as cold as the metal on the truck's frame.
“Shed. Was a whole spool of it out there and . . .”
“You dumbass mother fucker. You know how old this shit is? We was using this to tie off 'maters when you was knee high to a grasshopper. Stupid son of a bitch . . . .”
“May be stupid, . . . 'least I ain't fat and ugly.”
Earl glared as his hands balled into fists and the red glow of the taillights seemed to be the fires of Hell raging just beneath his skin. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it was almost as if he were trying to keep these flames from shooting from an opened mouth and incinerating his little brother on the spot. His massive frame trembled with what could have either been either the cold bite of the air or repressed pressure building up within.
“Look numbnuts,” he finally spat, “just turn on the damn flashlight. I'm cold and tired and not in the mood for any more of your shit.”
Daryl patted the pockets of his coveralls like a man who just realized he'd misplaced his wallet. His eyes shifted from his brother to the darkness of the forest that surrounded them before his shoulders drooped.
“I . . . I'll go get it. I left it in the . . .”
“Sweet Jesus, you retard! Can't you do anything right?”
“I said I'd go get . . .”
“You just never mind. I'll get the damn thing myself.”
Earl stormed around the truck, his stream of mumbled curses muffled by the shuffle of feet that cleared snow out of their way like a plow. Throwing open the driver's door, he saw the Maglite instantly. It was half burrowed into the crack between the bench seats and the backrest and he snatched it so quickly that it almost seemed as if the man thought it were trying to get away from him.
Glancing back through the rear window, Earl saw Daryl hopping from one foot to the other as he rubbed his forearms with gloved hands.
“I'll teach ya to fuck with me, you little pansy.”
And, with that statement, Earl pushed in the little knob that turned off the truck's lights.
Darkness rushed in from all sides like a ravenous pack of animals. At the same time a shriek cut through the night. The shrill sound came in short, quick bursts and rattled with the force of terror. In the blackness, it was all too easy to imagine that the cries were
coming from a frightened, young girl instead of a full-grown man.
Earl closed his eyes as the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. If anyone had been present to observe the way he stood with his head cocked slightly to the side, they may have mistaken him for a man lost in the appreciation of a particularly moving piece of classical music. He held this pose for close to a minute before snapping on the flashlight and returning to the rear of the truck.
Before he'd even closed half the distance, Daryl scrambled into the narrow beam of the Maglite like a moth hopped up on speed. His cheeks glistened with a sheen of tears and his eyes were wide and bloodshot as clouds of breath belched from his quivering lips. The younger brother had his hands cupped over his groin, as if expecting to be kicked at any moment, and he almost seemed to cower in the safety of the flashlight like a beaten animal.
“What the . . . .”
Earl wrinkled his nose as his nostrils were stung by a sharp, pungent stench.
“Did you piss your damn self again?”
Daryl whimpered softly and recoiled from the force of the words hurled at him.
“You little fuckin' pussy. Pissing yourself like a baby.”
“You know I don't like the dark, Earl. You know it.”
“I got half a mind to make you ride home in the back . . . what'cha think of that, you candy-ass son of a bitch?”
“I couldn't help it.” Daryl's voice raised in pitch as he pleaded with this brother. “Why the hell did you turn of the lights anyway, Earl? Why'd ya do that? You know how I am and . . .”
“Shut your booger hole and take the damn light, you stupid piece of shit.”
Earl thrust the flashlight at his brother and for a moment the younger man seemed almost afraid to touch it; he reached forward and then pulled his hand back as if expecting the black cylinder to come alive and strike at him. He looked from the beefy hand wrapped around its base to the scowl of the man at the other end of those arms and blinked back the tears which still shimmered in his eyes.
“I said fucking take it!”
Without further hesitation, Daryl snatched the Maglite from Earl's grasp and held it close to his chest like some sort of magic talisman. Relief brought color back to his face and he wiped away the film of ice that was beginning to form from the tears with the back of his hand. At the same time, Earl returned to the bed of the truck and hoisted the tarp over his shoulder with a grunt.
“Come on, wussy . . . let's get this shit over with.”
Now that they were back on familiar territory, Daryl's heart began to slow it's breakneck rhythm and his labored breathing started to even out. The surge of fear had momentarily overridden all other sensations: he had known only the fluttering of panic deep within his stomach, the tenseness of muscles that felt as if they had been pulled so tightly that they were mere seconds from snapping, and the feeling of that he had somehow been reduced to the size of a small child. But now that the adrenaline was receding, Daryl became aware of the chill that seeped into the wet stains on his coveralls and his face warmed with shame. He'd have to do better, have to really pull his own weight. He needed to show Earl that he wasn't some sniveling little coward, needed to remind him that he was capable of . . . .
“Just up this path a bit. Almost there.”
The two had walked into the woods, Earl leading the way with the blue canvas draped over his shoulder and Daryl bringing up the rear. The flashlight bobbed and weaved in the darkness, illuminating a narrow trail that had been beaten down into the snow. A few tracks could be made out and they were embedded into the packed down powder like molds: the split-toed hooves of deer, cat-like prints left by foxes, and even the large, perfectly circular toes of a black bear. But, for the most part, the game trail had been so widely traveled that the moisture had been squeezed out from the snow underfoot, creating a surface that was as slippery and treacherous as oiled glass.
The men inched forward with short, quick steps; perhaps it was the added weight, but the slick surface underfoot didn't seem to have much effect on Earl. He headed deeper and deeper into the wilderness with the confidence of one who'd been born into the ice and snow. Almost as if he knew Nature would never dare humiliate him with another tumble into the cold. Daryl, however, didn't fare quite as well: several times he felt as though he were the dinner plates in a parlor trick as the tablecloth was yanked out from beneath him. He slid, pinwheeled his arms for balance as the flashlight splayed crazily over the trunks of trees, and cursed to himself in the darkness. As long as he held the flashlight within his hands, the panic was kept at bay; but, in his imagination, he saw the Maglite tumbling through the air as the safety of its beam spiraled away from his grasp. He imagined the black of night rushing in, squeezing him from all sides, suffocating him with like a wet towel around the face. As a result, his hands trembled more than what could be contributed by the freezing temperatures and the beam of light quivered as if it, too, were terrified of what might lay within the shadows and gloom.
Finally, the two came to a small clearing and Earl hoisted the tarp from his shoulder. He allowed it to thump into the snow and took a moment to catch his breath.
“Good enough.” he panted. “Don't have to go any further.”
Daryl eyed the trees and underbrush circling them as if he expected some vile and twisted creature to leap out at any moment.
“You sure? I mean, we ain't been walkin' but ten minutes and . . . “
“You want dry pants or not?”
Daryl nodded his head and snapped his mouth shut.
“Okay, then . . . as far as Mama knows we went the whole twenty minutes, okay?”
Rather than waiting for a reply, the man grasped one end of the blue canvass in his meaty mists and, without hesitation or ceremony, gave it a sharp pull. The rolled up canvas spun away from him like toilet paper across the bathroom floor, growing smaller with each revolution, until it was laid out flat against the forest floor.
Now that it had been unfurled, the body that had been wrapped tightly within its confines stared up at clouds the color of dirty cotton with eyes that would never see again. Its flesh was pale and bruised and sections hung from the carcass like tattered ribbons. The thing's mouth was opened in a silent scream and barbed wire coiled around the skull like some sort of grisly gag. The little twists of metal dimpled the skin around the cheeks and the corners of the lips and dried trickles of blood surrounded the punctures like rust stains. Constellations of stab wounds dotted the torso and a wide gash curved across the stomach as if someone had attempted to carve a smile into the thing's gut. Below this was the severed stump of a penis, cut so cleanly that it looked as if the organ had been cleaved off near the base of the pale and wrinkled sacks that hung just below.
“You sure this is far enough, Earl? I mean, if someone finds him, we . . . .”
Earl grunted in disgust and rubbed his stomach as he looked over the body.
“Ain't like nobody's gonna smell him or nothing. Not as cold as it's been. And Hell . . . you see them tracks. This time tomorrow and it's gonna be picked clean. We come back in a week's time, gather what's left of the bones, and nobody will be none the wiser.”
“Sure died hard, didn't he? Glad we still got the bitch, though . . . .”
Earl ignored the grin that spread across his brother's face and began freeing the tarp from the weight of the corpse. It'd been nearly forty minutes since he'd had an opportunity to relieve himself and his bladder felt as if he were about to pass shards of ice; he wanted nothing more than to be done with the work at hand, back in the truck, and heading toward the warmth and comfort of home. Mama would have a fire crackling in the hearth, hot coffee, and maybe even soup if they were lucky: she tended to reward the boys when they'd been exceptionally good and, in Earl's mind, going out on a night like this counted as above and beyond. Maybe she'd even let him have a go at the woman after his numb skin had a chance to thaw.
“How much life you reckon she got left in her? She's been looki
n' pale lately. Probably have to find another before long.”
The sound of Daryl's prattling buzzed in Earl's head like an annoying gnat that had become lodged somewhere between his eardrum and skull. Each syllable caused him to inwardly cringe as his muscles tensed in response: couldn't the fool ever just shut the fuck up? Even for a minute?
“Hope the next one's just as pretty. And brunette. I loves me some brunettes . . . .”
Earl took a deep breath as he rolled the tarp back up and tried mentally counting to ten. A wind had picked up and between its chill and the barely suppressed urge to beat the mortal fuck out of his little brother, he'd begun to tremble. The quivering caused his already stressed bladder to tingle and ache, as if the flow were building pressure within his body and would soon burst free.
“Remember that one brunette, Earl? Had the tattoo of the little stick figure and lawnmower right above her bush? 'Bout the cutest damn thing I ever did see. Wonder if Mama would let me draw one of them on the next one?
Earl would be damned if he was going to stand out there in the cold and piss himself like his sorry excuse for a brother had.. Kicking the tarp to the side, he unzipped his fly and closed his eyes as the warm liquid surged out. The entire lower half of his body felt as though a great weight had been lifted from it and he sighed; tendrils of steam rose from the now-wet corpse at his feet and, with the urgency of his bladder relieved, his aggravation with Daryl also receded and he could think clearly again. Though he hated to admit it, his brother was right: the girl back at the house was fading fast and wouldn't last much longer.
Shut The Fuck Up And Die! Page 3