Dark River Road

by Virginia Brown

  He was up waiting on Rainey when he came in that night around two-thirty, roaring drunk and in a lot better mood than when he’d left. In the hours spent waiting on him, Chantry had time to run a few things through his mind and now thought he had some answers.

  When Rainey saw him sitting at the kitchen table he staggered a little, peering blearily at him as he tried to catch his balance. He had a metal box stuck under his arm and reeked of stale whiskey. Lurching forward, he put one hand on the table to steady himself.

  “Wha’s goin’ on. Ain’t you s’posed to be in bed? Got school t’morrow or sumthin’.”

  “You made a deal with ole man Quinton.”

  “Wha’?” Rainey jerked out a chair and fell into it, swaying as he stared at Chantry. “Go to bed, boy. Ain’ got no time t’ talk t’ ya t’night. Gotta do . . . stuff.”

  Chantry stood up. Tension vibrated through him, made his voice rough. “You sold out Mama for a truck. Just like you sold out Mikey for a deal with Quinton. What’d you get out of it? I know Quinton doesn’t do something for nothing. Neither do you.”

  Silence fell, and that was more telling than anything Rainey could have said. He stared at him, struggling for control. Rainey already had that money. Except what he gave to Quinton for getting it for him. He’d spend it all. If he hadn’t already.

  “It’s not right, Rainey. Mikey needs his legs fixed. The insurance doesn’t cover it all and Mama worked hard to save the rest. It’d be what she’d want. You know that.”

  Rainey blew out a noisy breath and shoved a hand through his hair so that it stood up on top of his head like a fading rooster’s comb. “Yeah, well, your mama ain’t here no more. I got t’ do wha’ I think’s right.”

  “We’re not going to Missouri.”

  “Ain’t your choice. Done told you that. You go, or you wind up in foster care. Ward of the state. Ole Quinton said he’d see you got in a good group home.”

  He just bet he would. The kind with chains and bars. He shook his head.

  “You say one more word about Missouri, and I’ll go to the cops. I mean it.”

  “Nah, you won’t be doin’ that.” Rainey sat back in the chair. “And won’t do you no good if’n you do anyway.”

  “Let me guess. Quinton’s already fixed things for you. Does he know what you did?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Think I’d tell? All’s I had t’do is jus’ say how you been givin’ me lots o’ trouble, makin’ wild threats . . . look, boy. Me’n you ain’ never got along, won’t never get along. We jus’ natcherly hate each other. But do right and we can go along for a while, anyway.”

  “Long enough for you to collect checks on me and Mikey?”

  “Shit boy, I get checks on both o’ you ever’ month now. Social security from your mama. If you jus’ shuddup and let things lie, we’ll have enough money to live better’n we have in a long time.”

  “I’m not stupid. You’ll get that money and drink it up like you always have. Mikey needs his legs fixed. Sign over Mama’s insurance money to the doctors for it, then take the rest. I don’t care. It won’t make any difference to me. Just keep our bargain.”

  Rainey’s eyes narrowed. “You got a one-track mind. Looka here—jus’ look at all this money and tell me you can’t think of sumthin’ to do with it besides givin’ it to doctors.”

  He slammed the box in the middle of the table and stuck in a key, turned it in the lock to flip open the lid. Hundred dollar bills tied in neat bank bands lined the box, neatly stacked. There had to be thousands there. Chantry looked up at Rainey.

  “You’re crazy. What are you doing with all that money?”

  “Wha’, think I’ll put it in the bank? Hell no. They’d cut my disability. I worked it out so’s no one knows how much I got or even tha’ I got it.”

  So that was where Quinton came in. And how. The insurance checks were made out to the estate and to Chantry and Mikey, no doubt, filtered through a Quinton bank or corporation and now cashed and in Rainey’s pocket. Courtesy of Bert Quinton. With half of it in Quinton’s pocket.

  Chantry snatched the box, evading Rainey’s quick grab at it. He managed to flip through the top layer, counted at least four thousand before Rainey let out a holler like a bull and knocked the metal box from his hands. It spun to the floor, spilling bundles of hundreds and fifties across the tile. He just looked at it, frozen for a moment, remembering another time, another violent act, his mother lying on the floor right where the money lay now.

  Then Rainey hit him, a swipe with the back of his hand that sent him staggering across the kitchen and into the wall. He caught his balance, stood upright, and turned just as Rainey came at him again, catching him around the waist and slamming him up against the stove. He knew he should fight back, hit him or shove him, but all he could think about was the last time they’d done this in the kitchen, and how Mama had tried to come between them. It was like it was happening all over again, everything going in slow motion, the memory of Mama falling backward, her head striking against the corner of the stove, then her lying there, blood pooling under her while he’d only stood and stared.

  Rainey shook him, a fist full of his shirt in one hand, gave him another cuff, then shoved him toward the kitchen door and the hallway. Then he laughed, told him to go on to bed before he got hurt.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have, maybe he’d have stayed and fought, but when he looked up he saw Mikey in the hallway peering at them with eyes squinted against the light, Shadow at his side with teeth bared. No. Nothing would be worth putting them in Rainey’s way tonight. There was always tomorrow.

  “Come on,” he got out, and took Mikey’s arm and Shadow’s collar, “it’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

  He hoped he wasn’t lying.

  Rainey’s TV woke him. He couldn’t have been asleep too long. His eyes were burning and his throat raw. He coughed, rolled over in bed, and choked. Shadow nudged him, whining, nose cold and wet. His hand flopped out to pet him, and the dog grabbed his fingers gently in his teeth. He pulled free, gave him a shove away, groaning. Morning came too early these days. He was so tired. Sleepy.

  Shadow didn’t give up. He jumped up on the bed, and when Chantry tried to push him down, let out a loud bark.

  “No. Hush, boy.” All he needed was Rainey in here on him, yelling about the dog. But Shadow didn’t quiet, he barked again, louder and more insistent, until Chantry sat up in the bed and tried to see him in the dark. He’d left his window open like he often did at night, and a cool breeze sucked in the smell of smoke from somewhere outside. Who was burning garbage in the middle of the night?

  After another push at the dog, Chantry suddenly realized that the smoke wasn’t coming in the window. It was in the house. Out in the hallway, seeping under the closed door to slither across the floor like a snake, silent and deadly.

  Jesus. He reacted quickly, grabbed his jeans at the same time as he grabbed Mikey up from where he lay on the other half of the bed. There was no time for anything but getting out, no time to dress.

  Mikey started coughing, and Chantry knew better than to try the door. Instead, he pushed out the window screen and lowered Mikey onto the porch, then urged Shadow out with him. In the dark, with the smell of smoke getting stronger, he felt for Mikey’s braces that always sat next to the bed, and tossed them out onto the porch as well. Then he crawled out after them, and still not dressing, carried Mikey out to the edge of the yard to set him down under the black walnut tree. “You okay, sport?”

  He coughed again, but looked up. “I need my braces . . .”

  “I got them. Hold on. Don’t move, okay?”

  He went back up onto the porch and grabbed Mikey’s braces, and took them to him. The night air was brisk, and he stepped into his jeans and buttoned them, staring at the front of the house where he could see a lamp on in the living room. It flickered, cast weird shadows. It wasn’t a lamp. It was a fire. Probably started by one of Rainey’s damn cigarettes.

  Oh God. R
ainey. His truck stood in the driveway. He went still, staring at the flickering light visible behind the drawn shades. He should leave him there. If he was even still in the house.

  “Where’s Papa?”

  Chantry sucked in a sharp breath that tasted of acrid smoke. “I’ll get him. Don’t you dare move, do you hear me? I’ll skin you alive if you do. Stay, Shadow.”

  If Mikey said anything to that he didn’t hear him. He ran up on the porch but didn’t dare open the door. He beat on the window but there was no answer. Maybe Rainey had gone to bed. He ran to the back of the house, beat on the bedroom window, and then saw that the back door had been left open. The screen swung gently, tapping against the frame. The fire was in the front. If he was quick, he might get Rainey out before it made its way down the hallway to the bedroom.

  Smoke hung midway to the floor, so that he had to make his way crouched over, just beneath the thick layer that stung his nose and eyes and throat. Rainey was flopped across the bed passed out, snoring loudly. Chantry grabbed his arm, pulled him to the floor.

  Rainey resisted, mumbling and flailing his arms. “Fire,” Chantry yelled at him, and gave him a rough shake. “Get up, you asshole or I’ll leave you here, I swear I will.”

  Something must have penetrated Rainey’s drink and sleep-fogged brain, because he started cooperating and let Chantry lead him outside. They were both coughing like crazy by then and choking, sucking in huge gulps of fresh air when they made it down the back steps and into the dirt yard.

  Rainey wore only his pants, half-open, sagging beneath his pot belly. He swore, squinted at the house, obviously still too drunk to think clearly. Chantry’s throat was raw, words rough.

  “I got Mikey out. He’s in the front. Go use Dempsey’s phone to call the fire department.”

  Pale eyes swung back to him. “I ain’t goin’ down there to that nigger’s house.”

  Chantry’s mouth flattened. “Fine. Let the damn place burn all to hell then.”

  He’d gotten almost to the side of the house when he happened to think of the box in the garage. It was all he had of his parents. Letters and old photos. He’d left Rainey standing by the mimosa tree, and now he passed him headed back behind the house.

  “Where you goin’?” Rainey demanded, and Chantry kept going.

  “I gotta get the box.”

  When he went back out front, Rainey was standing, dazed and swaying, just looking at the house. Lights were on down at Dempsey’s house, and Chantry wondered if he’d seen the fire and called for help. Rainey swung around to look at him.

  “Is that it? Did you get my money box?”

  Chantry looked back at Rainey. “No. This is . . . was Mama’s.”

  “What? You left my money box in the house? Boy, are you crazy?”

  Yeah, he probably was. He just looked at Rainey, then back at the house. Flames were easily visible now, licking at the window frames, curling out of a broken window pane.

  “Get your ass in there and get that money, boy.” Rainey gave him a shove.

  “No.” He glanced at the house, then back at Rainey. “You want it, you get it.”

  Dempsey arrived, panting for breath, eyes white-rimmed in the darkness. “I called the fire department. Everybody out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My money,” Rainey howled, and ran a few steps toward the house. “I gotta get my money outa there.”

  “Don’t mean to be tellin’ you what to do, but you can forget anything in that house.” Dempsey put a hand out, but Rainey wasn’t even looking at him.

  He stared at the house, wild-eyed, sandy hair sticking up atop his head like spikes. Then he ran around back, taking off at a dead run, bare feet churning across damp ground while smoke boiled out the front.

  “Jesus God,” Dempsey said, and looked like he might go after him.

  Chantry put a hand on his arm. “Let him go. The fire’s gotten to the back of the house by now. The smoke’ll be too bad for him to see. He won’t go in.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. Now he could feel the heat, even standing at the far edge of the yard, watched flames running along the edge of the roof, making a sizzling noise, tiny tongues lapping greedily at old wood.

  A Cane Creek fire truck turned onto Liberty Road, sirens shrieking, lights flashing, and came to a stop. And then, just as Dempsey turned and started telling the firemen there may be someone still in the house, it exploded. The noise was deafening, filling the world with sound and light.

  Chantry automatically shielded Mikey and Shadow, bending over them like he could protect them from flying debris and balls of fire. Firemen yelled and uncoiled hose, someone shoved them toward the road to get them out of the way. Flames rose high into the sky, like fingers stretching toward heaven.

  “Papa,” Mikey said.

  Chantry just stared. No one could be in that inferno and live.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Where we goin’, Chantry?” Mikey sounded tired, but urgency drove Chantry on, so that he just tightened his grip on him and kept walking. He knew better than to stop, knew better than to wait around for someone to remember that they were both orphans now with nowhere to go. It would land them in foster care.

  “Not much farther,” he said, and ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. Maybe no one would notice for a while they were gone, or just think someone had taken them home with them. At least until he had a chance to figure out what to do next. There had been so many people out on the road watching the fire and the firefighters. Flames had reached Rainey’s new truck and it’d exploded too, and then the propane tank had gone up, launching into the air like a silver missile. Quite a sight, and half of Cane Creek had turned out for it despite the early hour and damp chill in the air.

  It was nearly daylight now, the eastern sky already getting that pale shade of pearly blue as the sun rose. He trudged along the field road that turned into just a dirt path winding through the woods, going closer to the river and the hideout he and Tansy had created so long ago. Ten years now since they’d dug it out with shovels and furnished it with childhood luxuries. Over a year since he’d been back. It might not even be there anymore. He hadn’t thought of that.

  But it was there, the dusty kudzu leaves draped over it and hiding it from sight. He set Mikey down, tugged Shadow closer with a hand on his collar.

  “Wow,” Mikey said as he ducked to go inside, “this is cool.”

  It looked the same, but dirtier maybe. Forgotten. The wooden cable spool was still there, the plastic tubs with blankets and cups and plates stacked neatly along one wall. He remembered what he’d found last time he was here, the foil packets of rubbers in the wall niche. No one had put any more there. He lit the lantern then rummaged through the tubs for a shirt. He found one, an old cast-off of Dempsey’s, stuck in there to use as a coat.

  “Here,” he said, and spread out a blanket on the dirt floor, “you can lie down for a while.”

  “Why are we here?” Mikey wanted to know after a few minutes. He still wore his pajamas and the braces Chantry had strapped on him. “How long are we gonna stay?”

  Chantry debated a moment, then he decided truth was the only option. “Look, Mikey, if we stayed there they’d take us away. Put us in foster homes, separate us. I don’t want that. Do you understand what I’m saying? We can’t go back.”

  For a moment, Mikey didn’t say anything. Lantern light flickered over his pale hair and in his eyes; then he nodded. “Sure. I get it. We’d belong to the state then and not each other. Okay. So what are we gonna do now?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked away, out the kudzu draped entrance, to where the curve of the river was barely visible in the rising light. He could smell it and see it, familiar and ceaseless, a conduit to places he’d only dreamed about over the years. He’d always thought when the chance came to leave he’d jump at it. Now he just felt scared.

  They stayed there all day without anything to eat but some candy he found in one of the tubs, but Mikey did
n’t complain. Exhaustion set in, and they both slept, Shadow curled between them, warm and vigilant. When darkness fell, he woke up, and watched the river mist rise in a soft layer like gauze to obscure the bluffs.

  He didn’t know what to do, where to go. He couldn’t even feed them without risking being caught but he had to try something. His belly ached, and he knew Mikey’s did too. Shadow just looked at him, head cocked to one side expectantly. Yeah, he had to do something.

  Leaving Shadow to guard Mikey, he went back along the field road, keeping to the safety of the trees just in case. Once people realized they were gone, men would be out on horseback and on foot to search for them. They had to be away from here by then.

  He felt like the yellow tomcat, skulking in the shadows in the line of trees edging the field, watching the road. He’d seen the cat do the same thing a lot, keeping just beyond reach, watching and waiting to see if food would magically appear and just what it’d cost in terms of compromise. Unlike the yellow cat, he couldn’t catch a fat field mouse to tide him over should he decide the compromise was too great.

  Liberty Road was quiet. Lights were on in Dempsey’s house, but the charred, blackened hulk of their house still smoked. He could smell it, faint remnants of disaster, wood smoke and propane a lethal mix.

  Something else mixed with the smell of smoke, and his stomach growled audibly. He put his clenched fist over it as if it’d be so loud it’d betray him. A curl of smoke drifted from the chimney of Dempsey’s house, carrying the distinctive odor of frying fish. His stomach growled again.

  He knew Dempsey wouldn’t tell, but he didn’t want to put him in the position of having to lie, either. He weighed his options, thought of Mikey and Shadow, and moved from the trees to cross the field road.

  He’d gotten about halfway across when Dempsey’s front door opened and he came out with a bucket in his hand. Chantry stopped, knelt down in the dirt, watching. Dempsey walked to the edge of the yard where the road came up to meet sparse grass, then set down the bucket. He straightened and looked around, almost straight at Chantry like he could see him in the dark.