Going Home (6 page)

I was jerked back to reality by the thundering sound of an engine, a really loud engine. I stopped and looked back. In the northbound lane was Lonnie’s truck heading south. I guess he was doing that just because he could, with no authority and no rules. He let off the gas as he passed by. The median was between us, and Thomas threw a mason jar out the window; it shattered on the road. Looked like they managed to trade for some ’shine. That was all I needed, those two drunken idiots messing with me. But Lonnie got back on the gas and kept on down the highway. I walked for about another two hours; it was after two, and I stopped for a break. I slipped off the road into the woods a bit and dropped the pack and sat down.

I wasn’t hungry, but I drank some water and just sat there stretched out in the sun. I took the opportunity to change my socks; I’d been wearing the same ones for three days, and they were getting crusty. I let my feet air out for a while; the sun felt good on the tops of my feet. While sitting there, not really thinking about anything or looking at anything in particular, I realized I was looking at a piece of survey ribbon, the kind a hunter would use to mark a trail. I looked back toward the road and realized I had actually walked down a very dim trail, unknowingly taking the path of least resistance as I entered the bush.

After putting the fresh socks on and my boots, I walked over to the ribbon and looked into the woods. From there, I could see another. I walked over to it and repeated the process. Eventually I came to a nice ladder stand chained to a tree. I climbed up into the stand and sat down. It was a great location; there was a nice group of oaks out front with acorns all over the ground. Those and the giant salt block guaranteed a kill. I was sitting there looking around when I noticed some dried palmetto fronds. They just looked out of place. I climbed down and went over to them; pulling them aside, I found a green Rubbermaid tub underneath. I popped the top on it; inside was an assortment of items.

On top of everything in the box was something I just had to have. I didn’t really need it now, but I might later. It was a rather nice homemade gillie suit. It wasn’t like the military ones made for crawling; this was a stalking suit. It had camo on the front as well. Going through the box didn’t reveal anything else I thought I really needed. There were latex gloves—I already had some—and a bottle of water that might be water or a trucker bomb. There was a drag rope and a foam seat pad. Taking the suit, I headed back to my pack. This thing was too bulky to put in the pack. I cut some 550 cord and made some compression straps and compressed it as tight as I could and then tied it to the MOLLE webbing on the back of the pack.

Adding this weight was enough for me to reevaluate what I had that I could get rid of. Going through the pack, the only things I had that I couldn’t justify were the lineman’s pliers and the screwdriver. I took them out and set them aside. Strapping up the pack, I hefted it back on, hung the binos around my neck, and started out again. I had walked about an hour and a half when I heard the truck in the distance again. I stepped off the road, under the shade of the trees, and glassed the road. I could see the truck about a mile up; it turned off the road on the northbound side and disappeared. I have really got to watch for those two idiots.

Approaching the area, I saw the truck turn. I went off the road; a screen of brush was growing along an old fence line. The fence was down, so I just went into the field behind it so as to have some cover between me and where the truck went. As I got closer, I could see it was a house. It was another little stick-built cracker house. It sat on old brick piers about three feet high. Getting closer, I heard some loud voices. Frick and Frack were standing out in front of the house. There was a woman on the porch with two children, one of whom was just a toddler, and an old man off to the side in the yard. I paused for a minute to observe what was going on.

I heard the woman telling them to leave; she obviously knew them and didn’t want them around.

“Lonnie, you need to leave. Ryan wouldn’t like you being here, and you know it.” She was standing on the porch, leaning against a post, with her arms crossed.

“Ah, come on, Mandy, that’s why I’m here, jus’ ta check up on ya.” Lonnie’s speech was thick and slurred; he had obviously been into the ’shine pretty hard.

“I don’t need you to check up on me. I’m fine. Mr. James is here, and Ryan will be back soon. You need to go,” the woman replied.

“Mandy, I’m tryun’ ta be nass, and yer treatin’ me like shit. You ortta be nasser ta me. I kin hep ya till Ryan gits back.” He was leaning over the hood of the truck as he spoke, a mason jar on the hood. Thomas had one foot up on the rear bumper and his hands hanging over the bed.

“Son, you’re drunk, and she has asked you to leave. You need to go now.” It was the old man. On the porch of the house next door, an old woman was watching what was unfolding.

Lonnie turned toward the old man, leaning against the truck and resting on an elbow propped on the hood. “Err, whut, ole man, you gonna make me? Whutcha gonna do, call the fuckin’ law?” He laughed and reached over for the jar.

“Lonnie! I told you to git. I don’t want you around here; now go!” Mandy was starting to get a little worried, and it showed in her voice.

Dammit, what the hell. I don’t want to get involved in this shit, but this guy seems to attract it like a Muffin Monster. I dropped my pack and kept watching through the binos. With no man-made noise, and the fact they were all speaking in raised voices, I heard them clearly. Lonnie spun the lid off his jar and took a long pull; he drank the raw, hard liquor like only an alcoholic could, like it was water. He finished off by wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and spinning the lid back on.

“Mandy, I’ve tried to be nass, but yer jus’ bein’ a fuckin’ bitch.” He was looking at the old man when he said this. The old man took a step forward.

“All right now! You get—” He was cut off. Lonnie lunged from his rest on the truck with surprising coordination considering his level of intoxication. He caught the old man square in the nose with a hard right. His nose exploded, and he went down hard. Mandy screamed, as did the old woman next door; she was running toward her husband. Thomas came around the truck and was standing behind Lonnie.

“Ay, Thomas, throw ’iss piece a shit outta here.” The old man was on the ground, and Thomas started for him.

Lonnie turned toward the porch. Mandy could see the crazy in his eyes. She ran into the house, herding the kids in front of her; they were already crying. Lonnie walked up onto the porch. Mandy had shut and locked the door. She was screaming through the door; you could hear the fear and the tears in her voice.

“Get outta here. Leave us alone!”

“I tried to be nass. Now wurr gonna do is my way, bitch!” He reached behind his back and pulled out a stainless short-barreled revolver.

Mandy was still screaming, “Ryan’s gonna kill you, Lonnie. You know he will!”

“Ryan is on a rig in the fuckin’ gulf. He ain’t cumin any tam soon en ewe know it. Now open this fuckin’ door!” He was standing in front of the door, scratching at his head with the barrel of the revolver, his hillbilly hat rocking back and forth.

“He’ll be here soon. Go away; please go away!” She was crying now.

From behind, in a taunting manner like that of a school yard bully, Thomas was pushing the old man back toward his house. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him. What in the hell? What in the hell could I do? There were two of these window lickers and at least one gun.

“What’s a matter, Mandy, you thank yer pussy’s too good fer me? You always been a damn tease. Well, I got news for you, bitch; yer gettin’ yers today!” With that, Lonnie kicked the door in.

The hard, dry pine of the old door frame splintered with a crack that sounded like a rifle shot. Mandy was immediately terrified, and this in turn terrified her kids. They were all screaming and crying, and Lonnie was screaming and cussing—all this served to bring the chaos unfolding in front of me to an overwhelming crescendo.

“Thomas! Get yer ass in ’ere!” Lonnie shouted.

From inside the house, the sounds of furniture slinging across the floor mixed with glass crashing and breaking. Adding this to all the existing chaos, it was more than the senses could take. My heart was pounding, and my adrenaline was pumping. Thomas turned and headed to the porch steps. When he did, suddenly everything slowed, and the sound was blocked out. It was as if I stepped outside the situation and was looking in. I dropped the Devildog from my waist and pulled the XD out and stuck it in my waistband. I pulled a spare mag out and put it in my left front pocket. I took my jacket off and dropped it on the pack. When I dropped the coat, I saw the hatchet. My Gerber hatchet was tucked between one of the sustainment pouches and the main pack; I pulled it out and removed its sheath.

Thomas was on the first step to the porch. I took off across the road in a crouch, double-time. I was moving at about thirty degrees away from the house toward the woods on the right side. I made it to the bush as Thomas entered the house. There were three windows on this side of the house. The one in the living room was blocked on the lower half by a fuel oil drum set on two concrete saddle stands. I used that as some cover and moved to the side of the house. Getting flat on the wall in front of the tank, I drew my pistol. Inside I heard Lonnie struggling with Mandy. She was definitely putting up a fight.

“Thomas, take ’ese two brats an’ put ’em sumwhur!” Lonnie shouted.

“Leave my kids alone, you asshole!” Mandy screamed.

“Yew do whut yer told, and they won’t git hurt!” Lonnie bellowed back.

“What’cha want me ta do with ’em, Lonnie?” Thomas was as dumb as I was told.

“Put ’em in the fuckin’ closet!” Lonnie ordered.

Mandy was still struggling and cried out for her children. It sounded like she got away from him for a minute, but Lonnie had had enough. Mandy let out a cry. “That’s it, bitch!” A loud slap came from the house, and it sounded like she hit the floor. I chanced a look into the window and could see Lonnie grab her by her hair and start to drag her down the hall.

“Git ur ass in the bedrum, dammit. I’ve waited a long tam fer this! Yew deal with ’em snot-nosed brats. Yew kin have a turn on ’er when I’m dun.” With that Lonnie dragged her into the bedroom and partially closed the door. Thomas grabbed both of the wailing children by the arm and dragged them to the closet. He opened the door and threw them in. “Shut the fuck up, you damn brats!”

He slammed the door and started to pull the coffee table over to the door. While his back was to me, I crawled up onto the porch and got up beside the screen door. Taking off my hat, I threw it on the porch in front of the door by the steps and tried to get as flat as I could against the wall. The coffee table banged down on the floor.

“Gawd damn screamin’ runts, fuck!” Thomas said as he walked toward the door. He stopped just inside the door, and I heard him digging around his pockets. The unmistakable sound of a Zippo lighter popping open came from no more than six inches from my face and then the strike. I could smell the tobacco catch and heard him close the lighter. In the back of the house, Mandy was still screaming, and the sound of tearing fabric filled the house.

“Now im gunna show yew whut yer good fer!” Lonnie yelled.

“Then I will,” Thomas said as he pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, the door banging shut behind him. He stepped out to where my hat was lying on the porch. His right hand was in the pocket of his jeans, and I could see the grip of the revolver sticking out of his back pocket; Lonnie must have passed it to him, or he had his own. Thomas was looking down at the hat and stuck the toe of his boot out toward it. I took a step closer to him as I raised the hatchet. I brought it down with all my might on the crown of his head; the wet thunk sound was sickening. He immediately went limp and fell face first on the porch, his head hanging over the first step and the handle of the hatchet sticking straight up.

I opened the screen door and sidestepped inside. The bedroom door at the end of the short hall was open about four inches, and I could make out movement but not much else. I eased up to the door and brought my pistol up; my eyes were burning a hole through the front sight. Inside I heard Mandy gagging and Lonnie cursing.

“Open yer fuckin’ mouth, bitch!”

I used my left elbow to push the door open. Mandy was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked. He was standing in front of her with his pants around his knees. He had two fists full of hair pulling her head toward him. “Hey, Lonnie,” I said in a low voice. He turned his head over his left shoulder. I squeezed the trigger, and the round hit him just below the corner of his left eye, snapping his head back. That stupid-ass hillbilly hat flew from his head as his lifeless body fell to the floor. The explosion of the shot caused Mandy to scream out; she flung herself back onto the bed and pulled her knees up into a fetal position. I looked down at the body. There was a terry cloth robe lying on the end of the bed. I picked it up and moved toward Mandy; my hands were shaking so badly that I thought I would drop it.

I tried to cover her, but she was fighting me, screaming like a banshee. “I’m not going to hurt you! Calm down!” She was obviously in shock. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her. On the nightstand was a glass of water. I picked it up and threw the water on her. That stopped her, and she fell back on the bed, sobbing, not even trying to cover herself. I took the robe and covered her. “I’m not going to hurt you, and neither are they. Can you get up? I’m going to go get your kids. Can you get up?” I was trying to calm her down and get her head working again.

“My kids?” She sat up clutching the robe.

“Yeah, they’re okay. I’ll go get them. Get yourself together and come out. I don’t want to bring them in here. She looked around the room and gasped, covering her mouth. Most of what little brains Lonnie had were on the wall and curtains, along with hair, meat, and bone. It was a horrible-looking damn mess. I pulled the comforter off the bed and threw it over his corpse. “Come out when you can, okay?”