King of the Horseflies

by V. A. Joshua

  “What the hell are you doing? You trying to let whatever hocus pocus we’re running from find us? I’m sure Jerry is fine; he’s a grown man who can take care of himself. What WE need to do is keep quiet, head back to town, and tell the sheriff what’s going on.”

  Ricky gives him a look of agreement, and they continue to move on back towards town. A bone-shattering scream is heard maybe fifty yards away from the men. They both run at the sound of the shriek to see who it is that’s screaming and possibly stop who or whatever is attacking them.

  As they run through the fog and trees, an opening appears as the fog dissipates. They shine a flashlight across the ground and see a rifle lying on the ground with blood splattered across it.

  “Who’s gun is that?” Ricky asks.

  “I don’t know. Might be one of Jerry’s boys. Jerry’s got a handgun, I know that for sure.”

  “There’s no sign of either one of ’em.”

  They hear something running from across the fog opening. They both prepare their guns and flashlights, ready to shoot in the general direction of the sound.

  “Ricky? Wallace?” they hear Jerry’s whispered shout.

  “Jerry, Jerry, over here,” W2 screams.

  “What’s going on?” Jerry asks.

  “There’s somebody’s gun with blood on it. You know who it belongs to?”

  “Yeah, that’s Trent’s gun. Where is he?” he asks as he looks up. Jerry’s face looks as if he has seen a ghost. Paralyzed, all he can mutter is, “Oh.”

  The others look up behind them and see Jerry’s flashlight shimmering on a mangled body ten feet up, stuck in a tree. Ricky bends over, trying to throw up, but nothing comes out of him.

  “Damn it!” W2 shouts. The entrails are spread out to spell out something across the body.

  “What does it say?”Jerry asks.

  “S-T-O-N-E. Stone?” W2 answers with a question.

  “Stone? You mean to tell me that guy we were chasing did this?” Ricky asks still hunched over with both hands on his knees.

  “He’s probably watching us right now,” W2 adds.

  “You want the stone, huh? Well, you gotta come through me first!” Jerry yells into the forest, pumping his beretta in the air like a picket sign.

  Out of nowhere, an arrow shoots from the edge of the fog and knocks the gun out from Jerry’s hand. Before he can react, another arrow pierces Jerry’s good hand in the exact same spot Carver stabbed him in the diner. “Ughhh!” Jerry screams in agony, clutching his wrist.

  The three men start running in the same direction towards Safe, only not together. They don’t have to say what they all were thinking at the moment. They just know they have to run as if their lives depended on it, and they very much do. Although they run as far and as fast as they can, none of the men were runners at any point in their lives, so it is a short-lived sprint to safety.

  Jerry knows of a small cave that isn’t too far off from their current location, so he decides to go and hide in there. W2 and Ricky continue their quest to the town to inform Sheriff Williams of the onslaught that is taking place in his jurisdiction. Hopefully, he will have a better plan than the one currently being used, which is to “run for your life,” and his training doesn’t reflect the fear and anxiety that is so brightly displayed by Deputy Ricky. Hopefully, there are some tactics and some type of default protocol for situations that arise like this that the sheriff can provide.

  Jerry finds the cave that he will attempt to make his sanctum from the predator that trails his pace. Running, he slides down the mud- and pine needle-covered ground, grabbing the cave’s entrance for stability. With his hands still dripping blood, he tries to pull leaves on top of himself to create a camouflage. Jerry the mechanic lies in the shallow cave shaking. He’s not shaking because it’s the body’s natural mechanics to generate heat. No…Jerry’s shaking for the first time in his life since he was a little boy when his step daddy used to whoop him for no good reason other than just waking up in the morning. He feels vulnerable. Out of control. Weak…scared. Jerry tries to control the sound that’s been vibrating in his brain since he covered himself up. Between trying to control the tears that have begun to stream down his face and shaking uncontrollably, trying to prevent his teeth from chattering has nearly become an insurmountable task. He’s only able to control himself when he thinks he hears the sound of something moving just above him. He holds his breath. He hears a long, whispering voice.

  “Jeeerrrryyy?” it says in a taunting voice. Jerry begins to cry out loud.

  “What do you want!?”

  “I need to go through you,” the voice returns.

  The two men have stopped running but are walking feverishly to get to their destination when they are stopped in their tracks by a blood curdling scream.

  “Yaaah!”

  The two men look at each other with sweat dripping off of their faces. They realize that Jerry isn’t beside them and that he hasn’t been for a while. Maybe we were blinded by fear and had no concern about anyone but ourselves in the heat of the moment. When did we lose him? Maybe he tripped and fell? Or maybe the stranger got him and plucked him straight off the ground. Jerry could be hanging in the trees waiting for someone to come pull his body down four days from now so he could have a proper burial. Not that anyone would show up, but proper nonetheless.

  “I ain’t going back, you can get that out yer head right damn now,” W2 spouts off.

  “I-I, I wasn’t,” Ricky begins his rebuttal.

  “But I’ll tell you what, I’m too old to be running from the boogie man. Plus if I run one more step, I’ll probably kill myself by having a damn heart attack.”

  “You’re going to stay here?”

  “Nope. Not staying. I’m gonna show that bastard who the real hunter is in these woods. Go head in to town; I’ll make it back there, trust me."

  “You sure?”

  “Ricky!”W2 shouts as if to say, will you shut up and go already.

  Ricky flinches from being startled then turns and runs, all the while still looking back at W2 in disbelief.

  W2 searches for a secure spot that he can hole up in with a good view of the woods around him. He finds a fir that is set on the edge of a clearing that he can hide underneath. Wallace has a great vantage point and should be able to hear and see anyone or anything that comes by at a 180 degree angle. He reaches into the side cargo pocket of his camo pants then inspects his ammo to confirm that he still has them and that they didn't fall while in retreat mode. He doesn’t care about much of anything except for when it comes to hunting. His Nosler M48 rifle is his girl. He has even taken the liberty to name her. Nina. “Good ol’ Nina,” he likes to say after every successful shot. She’s put food in his belly and saved his life at least twice. Most recently was from nearly being blindsided by a black bear after seeing an 18-point buck grazing just out of his field of vision. He was in his hunting stand when he saw the deer look up and take off running. He climbed down to see if he could catch it after it stopped running. The problem was he should have tried to look to see what startled it, but he was too focused on how beautiful it would look sitting on his living room wall. While trying to follow it, out of the thick brush came a bear standing on two feet in full attack mode. It seemed as if it were standing right on top of him. The hunter had become the hunted until one shot to the head from “good ol’ Nina” ended it all.

  Now here they are again, waiting like they always do when they go out on the land. One thing that he’s not sure of is if he’s doing the hunting or if he’s the hunted. He waits and waits. Still nothing. Not a sound except the night and the sound of his heart beating. The rhythmic combination of both tones sing like a melodic bedtime lullaby, rocking him closer to a peaceful slumber. His eyelids feel like five-pound weights are set on top of them trying to force his eyes closed. Waiting. Still waiting. “Could the stranger have wandered far enough around that he could’ve just not seen him walk by?” W2 thinks to himself. “Maybe he
…” W2 dozes off in between thoughts. His head bobs, and he awakens. “…is halfway to town,” he continues. Still waiting. His head bobs again, but he doesn’t wake right away. Suddenly he hears a whisper.

  “Hey,” says Carver right next to W2’s ear.

  “Gaa!” W2 screams as he awakens, wide eyed.

  Ricky walks down a steep embankment clutching his gun.

  Pow!

  The deputy hears a gun shot that resonates throughout the valley. “Almost feels like déjà vu,” he thinks as he looks backwards. He trips over a branch, knocking himself off balance, and begins to tumble down the side of the embankment towards some smaller trees. He drops his gun to try and catch himself from the fall, but to no avail. Ricky hears a pop as he slams his shoulder against the base of a tree.

  “Grrr…Ahhh!” he screams in agony after trying to contain the pain within himself. He lies backwards against the tree, trying not to move, as he assesses the extent of his injury. He attempts to take a breath, but it hurts too much. He tries to move his shoulder, but it feels like it’s on fire. The deputy thinks to himself, “Either my ribs are broken or my shoulder is dislocated. Or maybe both.”

  He shifts against the tree to turn on the side that doesn’t hurt. “Why? Why is this happening to me? I'm not a bad person. I joined to ‘serve and protect,’ not get chased by a mad man. I mean, I helped beat the guy, but he deserved it. The sheriff is never wrong. Right? I do what he does. Someday I’m gonna be the one to take over as sheriff, so I gotta be ready.” He looks through the trees as he lies on his side, and he sees what seems to be light. He leans closer to squint and realizes that the light that he sees is a reflection of the town’s yellowish street lights on the wet road. He sighs in relief. The deputy finds the energy to get up and continue making his way down the hill. He left his rifle behind somewhere in the brush while he was busy falling, but he still has his issued weapon holstered.

  Ricky finally makes it to the street, but he walks with his right shoulder slumped down and his knees half bent. If anyone was on the road, they would think it was a zombie walking down the street, especially since his uniform is wet, ripped, and dirty. His goal is to make his way to the sheriff’s house just like the sheriff said for them to do. The town looks eerie with no lights on in any of the buildings and a thin layer of fog hovering above the street. Unfortunately, the sheriff lives clean on the other side of town from here, but the station is just down the street. He can’t get into the building, but he does have the keys to one of the squad cars. As he makes his way to the car, he fumbles through his pant pocket for the keys with his opposite hand. He pulls them out and unlocks the car door. He climbs in and starts it. He says to himself, “The sheriff ain’t gonna believe this.”

  Chapter 5

  A Dark Reunion

  A beautiful two-story home set on the edge of town stands out from the other houses in the surrounding area. It has a big wooden front porch that wraps around the entirety of the house with white banisters that follow along. It would be the storybook perfect house with a white picket fence and house-shaped mailbox. Some would think that it’s a house Martha Stewart herself lived in, or at least designed. As peaceful and serene as the lot is, there is no Martha Stewart inside to sit and talk to about crafts. The only person close to that description is the woman that occupies the premises, Linda Kay Babbitt. She lives there with her husband, William Henry Babbitt, the small town of Safes’ sheriff. To the rear of the house is a shed or garage that is nearly the polar opposite of the pristine house that towers over it. The white paint is chipping, dull, and turning brownish. The glass-topped garage doors are inoperable and will not budge even if you used a forklift to raise them. The only way in or out is through the side entrance. Inside is where the sheriff keeps his tools and a small workbench that he is seated in front of on a wooden stool. He has the stone in a vice with a small awl and hammer in his hand trying to see if he can chip a piece off. He takes a swing.

  Bam!

  Since his return, he has been trying to figure out what it is and what the possible value is, if any. Bam! So far all of his research and inquiries say that it’s a lump of coal.

  Bam!

  He thinks to himself, “Why would he risk his life to get a small piece of this all too common mineral? Maybe he is one of those deeply superstitious people that would risk neck and head to have his good luck charm back in his possession.”

  The sheriff hears the back screen door of the house squeak open. He grabs an oily rag and covers the stone so his wife doesn't see it. She knocks on the door before entering.

  “Babe?” she asks.

  “Yup?”

  She opens the door and in walks a graying blonde in her 50s who clearly takes care of herself. She works out mainly to keep her husband from giving her a hard time about being in shape, even though he himself has let go around the belly.

  “What you still doing up?” he asks. She walks around to his back and puts her hands on his shoulders to give him a massage.

  “Well, you been gone all day yesterday and half of today. I was hoping you would come relax next to me. I really don’t want to get used to sleeping alone.”

  He lays his head back in enjoyment of the back massage. “Yeah, I just been doing some research on a bag I found. You know I’m still searching for that guy that got out of lock up, right?”

  “Well, how did he get out in the first place?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. He—”

  Headlights flicker through the garage door, drawing his attention.

  “That must be the guys getting back in town. I told them to meet me here when they got back in town.”

  “Okay, well I guess I’ll head back inside and let you get back to it,” she replies. She gives him a kiss on his temple and walks out. He gets up to see who has pulled into the driveway. The sheriff walks around to the front of the house still in his uniform. He sees his other squad car and someone struggling to get out. Finally, the door swings open. Ricky gingerly gets out of the car slumped to the side with a painful look on his face.

  “What the hell happened to you?” the sheriff asks in a what’s wrong now tone of voice.

  “They’re dead,” he replies as if he’s in shock.

  “What? Who’s dead?”

  “That thing that you left us out there to slow down killed everybody,” says Ricky.

  The sheriff’s nervous twitch makes him put his hand on his gun as if he could go fix it.

  “So you mean to tell me that one man, unarmed, went against six and killed everybody?”

  “Naw, sir; he got us one by one. We were spread out so we could make sure he couldn’t get by us. He almost got me, but I managed to escape with W2.”

  “So where is W2?”

  “I don’t know. He said he would meet me back here. I heard shots go off after he stayed back. I’m not sure where he is.”

  “So what’s wrong with you?”

  “I think my shoulder is dislocated and my ribs broke.”

  “Damn it!”

  “Listen, we did exactly as you said!” Ricky attempts to raise his voice.

  “I know, I know. Listen, I need you to head over to County and get yerself looked at. I’ll handle what’s going on here in the morning.”

  “Willy, after the things I’ve seen, I don’t think you should stay here. Especially with your wife and all…I, I, I just don't know."

  “Ain’t nothing gonna happen. He doesn’t even know where I live. So go on now.”

  Ricky stops and looks around.

  “I’ll be back as soon as they set my shoulder,” says the deputy.

  “Take yer time. We'll be fine,” the sheriff responds in a nonchalant voice.

  They begin to walk towards the cop car together. Ricky gets in, and the sheriff shuts the door for him.

  “Just take yer time,” says the sheriff.

  Ricky starts the car and begins to back out of the driveway. The front door of the house opens, and his wife walks out.
Ricky then flips on the headlights and drives away.

  “Is everything all right?” his wife yells from the porch. He turns around and walks towards her.

  “Yeah, everything is all right. Ricky just fell down and messed his shoulder up. He’s headed over to County to get it looked at.”

  “Oh my, is it bad?”

  “Yeah, he’s okay. He wouldn’t be drivin’ if it was too bad.”

  He looks down the road and sees his tail lights in the distance. He looks the opposite direction to see if anything else was coming down the road.

  “Honey, I’ve known you for most of my adult life. I know when something is wrong,” she says.

  “Naw, it’s nothing to be too concerned about.”

  “Concerned and not too concerned still equals concerned. What’s going on?”

  “Ricky thinks that fugitive we were chasin’ is headed back to town.”

  “So? Wait, you think he’s coming here don’t you!?”

  “No, he doesn’t even know where we live!”

  “Well, you make sure it stays that way,” she says with both arms folded in front of her.

  Linda turns around and walks in the house. The sheriff looks back at the road then follows her inside. He walks through the living room past his dining room to a room that he has dedicated to himself. It has pictures and mounted animals that he has successfully hunted. On one of the walls he has a collection of weapons that he has acquired over the years. It consists of everything from crossbows to shotguns and handguns. He grabs his favorite gun from the stash, a black Mossberg Thunder Ranch 12 gauge shotgun, and a box of shells. He walks to the back door that exits from the kitchen and heads to his work bench to grab the stone. William returns to the house, enters the living room, and sits in his chair facing the front window. For now, all he can do is wait and protect the fort.