Double Exposure (18 page)

Remington whistles.

—You lost, boy? Come here.

He does, wagging his tail, whimpering.

—That’s a good boy, Remington says, as he pats and rubs him. You got a name?

Searching the collar beneath the tracking device, Remington smiles and shakes his head when he reads it.

—What’s his name? Gauge asks.

—Killer.

He laughs a lot at that, his face showing genuine amusement.

—Now that you’ve got some company, can I go? Remington shakes his head.

—Let’s go. Time to move.

Using the tree for support, Remington manages to get upright again.

—Need a hand? Gauge asks, smiling.

—Walk.

He does, and Remington falls in a few feet behind him, whistling for the hound to join them, which he does for a short while before veering off into the woods and disappearing.

L
eg worse.

Much worse.

Swollen.

Stiff.

Nearly unusable.

His dragging boot leaves a smooth flat track smeared with blood in the soft dirt.

—We’re almost to the other side, Gauge says. You gonna make it? I’d hate for you to miss the surprise.

—I’m gonna make it—all the way out of here.

—Man needs a dream.

Remington steps closer, holds the.38 down low, aims, and shoots Gauge in the right calf.

His leg buckles and he falls down, rolling, grabbing his leg.

—Fuck.

Breathing fast and heavy. Pain contorting his face.

—What the fuck? What was …? That was … unexpected.

Once the initial pain has passed and his breathing’s under control, Gauge begins to laugh.

—Goddam. I’ve got to meet this girl of yours.

—You never will. Now get up and let’s go.

—Let me bandage my leg.

—Now.

—Okay. Okay. Don’t shoot. He smiles. Holds his hands up.

It’s as if Gauge is actually enjoying himself. He’s having fun, Remington thinks. He’s not afraid of dying. He doesn’t feel anything, doesn’t have normal reactions.

Stumbling onto his one good leg, he begins to hop unsteadily toward the river.

Moving more slowly now, the two men look like lost and wounded soldiers attempting to return to their platoon.

—They’ll catch up to us fast now.

—If they’re still out here. They may’ve gone home.

—They’re here.

W
orld spinning around him.

Dizzy.

Unsteady.

Weak.

Gauge could easily overpower him if he tried. He doubted he could even get a shot off or hit him if he did. He’s been through too much, too tired, too banged up from the wreck, lost too much blood from the bullet hole in his leg.

But Gauge has his own problems.

Limping.

Hobbling.

Trailing blood.

—Still can’t believe you shot me.

—Probably won’t be the only time today.

Gauge laughs.

—I’m beginning to think none of us’re gonna make it out of here. This whole thing’s just fucked.

—Even if you walk out of here—

A round hits the tree next to his head, splintering a piece of the bark off and hurtling it toward his face.

Ducking as best he can, he lunges for Gauge, grabbing him around the throat, jamming the gun into his ear, and spinning him around toward the gunfire.

Covered from the back by a thick oak and in the front by Gauge, Remington is protected for the moment.

—Tell them to stop shooting—unless they’re trying to hit you.

—Hold your fire, Gauge yells.

Another round rings out, sails by.

—Stop shooting, goddam it.

The shooting stops.

In the silence that follows, Remington can hear the river. So close. Almost there.

—How the hell he get the drop on you? Donnie Paul yells.

—I’m shot.

—Tell them to come out where I can see them, hands in the air.

—They won’t—

—Tell them I’ll kill you right here and now if they don’t.

—Come on out, guys. He’ll shoot me if you don’t.

—No, he won’t. You’re the only leverage he’s got.

—Let us walk to the river, Gauge says. No harm in that.

—I know what you’re saying, Arlington says, but I ain’t coming out where he can shoot at me.

Remington thumbs back the hammer of the gun, jamming the barrel harder into Gauge’s ear.

—We’re both bleeding pretty bad, Remington yells. Y’all keep telling me I’m not going to make it out of here alive, so what’ve I got to lose? At least there’ll be one less sociopath in the world. Besides, I drop him, I think my chances are still pretty good to make it to the river and get help. Made it this far.

—Listen to him, Gauge says. Come out.

—Right now, Remington says, or I swear to Christ I’ll put a bullet in his ear.

—Goddam it, Arlington, Donnie Paul. Get your asses out here right now.

The two men step out of the woods and slowly begin to walk toward them.

When they are within twenty feet, Remington motions for them to stop.

—Put down your weapons and start walking in the opposite direction.

—Fuck that.

—Hell no.

—Just do it, Gauge says. You know this ain’t over.

The two men carefully set their rifles on the ground.

—Now start jogging back the way you came and if I see you again, I’m not going to negotiate or count or hesitate. I’m just going to put a bullet into the reptilian brain inside this skull.

—Go, Gauge says. What’re you waiting for. Run.

They turn and begin to walk slowly away.

—I said jog.

They pick up the pace a bit, but don’t actually do anything that could be misconstrued as jogging.

When they are no longer visible, Remington shoves Gauge toward their guns, and they begin to stumble over to them.

Close.

Ten feet away.

Five.

As they reach the weapons, Arlington steps out of the woods beside them and starts firing with a semiautomatic of some kind,.9 millimeter or.45.

Without releasing Gauge, Remington swings the small.38 around, takes a quick breath, aims, squeezes off a round. Then another. And another.

The third hits Arlington in the right cheek above his mouth.

He falls and doesn’t get up.

—Goddam, Gauge says. That’s impressive. Pretty slick, there, slick. Nice and cool, Cool Hand Luke. Somebody shootin’ at them from close range, most men panic.

Numb.

—Shut the fuck up, Remington says.

—You did what you had to, son, comes Cole’s voice. Don’t waste time worrying about it. Just keep moving.

—Donnie Paul, Gauge yells, if you’re around here, don’t do anything stupid. Get out of here. I got this. Everything is under control. Go on now. Get. You’re just gonna get one of us killed.

Releasing Gauge, but still keeping the handgun trained on him, Remington bends down and picks up the rifles, slinging the strap of each over an arm.

—Let’s go, he says, pointing toward the river with the revolver.

Walking.

Shuffling.

Limping.

—That’s four shots, Gauge says.

—Huh?

—Four shots. One in my leg. Two misses. One in Arlington’s face. You shot the poor bastard in the face. Reckon that’ll be a closed casket service. Anyway, that’s four rounds. Snub-nose like that holds five, so if it was full to begin with, you only have one shot left.

—It was, and one is all I need.

T
he river.

All roads have led here.

It is both destiny and journey.

He recalls bits of Emerson’s poem, “The River.” His mom had made him memorize it, telling him everyone who lives on or near a river should, and he does now what he didn’t as a child. He thanks her.

A
nd
I behold once more

My old familiar haunts; here the blue river,
The same blue wonder that my infant eye
Admired, sage doubting whence the traveler came—
Whence brought his sunny bubbles ere he washed …

Here is the rock where, yet a simple child,
I caught with bended pin my earliest fish,
Much triumphing,—and these the fields
Over whose flowers I chased the butterfly …

Me many a sigh. Oh, call not Nature dumb;
These trees and stones are audible to me,
These idle flowers, that tremble in the wind,
I understand their faery syllables,
And all their sad significance. The wind …

I feel as I were welcome to these trees
After long months of weary wandering,
Acknowledged by their hospitable boughs;
They know me as their son, for side by side,
They were coeval with my ancestors,
Adorned with them my country’s primitive times,
And soon may give my dust their funeral shade.

A
s he searches the area for Tanner or any of the others that might still be out here, he gives thanks for the river, Emerson’s words still echoing through his head.

—You’re here. You made it. Time to let me go.

—We’re gonna leave here together.

—Never gonna happen.

—Me and my three guns beg to differ.

—You’re gonna let me go. Just wait.

Walking down the muddy bank to the river’s edge, Remington backs up against a cypress tree and pulls Gauge in front of him.

Leaning against the tree, Remington lifts his right leg slightly to take the pressure off the wound.

Just flag down a passing boat and get out of here. That’s all I have to do. Call the cops and an ambulance. I’m gonna make it. Get Gauge in custody. Check on mom. Get treated. Bring investigators back out here.

Shooting pain.

Gasp.

—How long you think before you pass out from losin’ all that blood? Gauge asks.

—You better hope a long time. I feel myself about to go, I’m gonna shoot you before I do.

—Killer, you know I wish you only the very best, Gauge says with a smile. Always have.

—You’re leaking a good bit of oil yourself.

—Not even a quart low yet.

Withdrawing the knife from his pocket, Remington opens the blade, turns slightly, and begins to carve MM into the bark of the tree.

—Hell you doin’? Gauge asks.

Remington doesn’t respond.

—Who’s MM? That your girl?

Remington shakes his head.

—Then who?

—Not who, what.

—Then what?

—Stands for
Memento Mori.

—For what?

—Ancient Romans used to write it on everything.

—What’s it mean?

—Just a reminder.

—Of what?

—Mortality. It means remember that you’re mortal. Remember you’ll die.

—We really need a reminder? Hard to forget out here today.

W
hine of an approaching boat motor. Sound of salvation.

Remington scans the woods around him and down the banks beside him for any signs of Tanner or Donnie Paul. Sees none.

—Help me flag the boat down, Remington says.

—Gladly.

—Try anything and I squeeze the trigger. Got no reason not to now.

—I ain’t gonna try anything.

As the boat draws closer, Remington nudges Gauge forward, and the two men step down to the water.

—See if you can get their attention, Remington says. Gauge does as he’s told.

Still a good ways away, the driver throttles down the engine and the boat slows, its bow angling toward them.

—It’s almost as if they were looking for us, Gauge says with a smile.

Remington’s stomach sinks.

—Back up, he says.

He does.

Wrapping his arm around Gauge’s throat and pressing the gun against his temple, the two men resume their previous position in front of the large cypress tree.

—Anything happens, Remington says, you die first.

—Fine with me if we just stand here until you pass out or bleed to death, but you’re gonna let me go.

—That you jumping up and down and waving your hands, big G? Tanner asks.

Releasing his grip around Gauge’s throat, Remington removes the radio from his pocket.

—Pull the boat up to the bank and get out or Gauge gets a bullet to the head.

—Almost there.

A good bit bigger than Mother Earth’s boat, Tanner stands behind a windshield and steers the boat ashore. As the bow touches the bank, Tanner cuts the engine, opens the center section of glass, and steps through it into the front part of the boat.

When he squats down to lift something from the bottom of the boat, Remington thumbs back the hammer.

—What’re you doin’? Remington says. Get up.

—Wait for it, Gauge says.

—Don’t shoot, Tanner says. Just gettin’ somethin’ you need to see.

In another moment, Tanner is helping Caroline James up, her frail body looking even more vulnerable out here. As if a mirror reflection of Remington and Gauge, Tanner holds Caroline in front of himself and points a gun to her head.

—Mom, Remington says in that way that only a child speaking to his mother can.

—
T
old ya you’d let me go, Gauge says.

—Remington, are you all right?

His mom is still in her pink pajamas and robe.

—Got your address from the truck, Gauge says.

—I’m fine, Mom. You okay?

—You gonna lie to your mother? Gauge whispers.

—I’m okay, honey. Don’t worry about me. What’s all this about?

—My camera trap took pictures of them killing a woman.

—We’re not the only ones who’ve killed out here, Gauge says.

There used to be more of us. Your son shot a man in the face just a few minutes ago.

—That true?

—Yes, ma’am.

—I’m so sorry you had to do that, she says.

—They weren’t none too happy about it neither, Gauge says.

—That one’s got a smart mouth on him, doesn’t he?

—Yes, ma’am.

—Yeah. Yeah. I’m just a psychopathic smartass.

Rustling leaves.

Snapping twigs.

Swishing grass and weeds.

Donnie Paul steps out of the woods not far from the tree Remington is propped against.

—He fuckin’ shot Arlington in the fuckin’ face. You see that?