The Drought (19 page)

The whole town knew the story about Maple and her brown crayon. She had told the story at her father’s funeral. Jar knew that the little girl in his dreams was Maple. But he wasn’t just dreaming about a story he’d heard around town; the picture he had seen at the library was an identical match to the girl in his dreams. He also knew by the look on Maple’s face she had dreams about the dark man. He just didn’t know if she was having the dreams now, or if he was picking up on her dreams from fifty years ago.

Her next words answered his question. “I haven’t seen him in fifty years. When the drought finally broke, he just disappeared from my dreams. I used to think he must have got on a bus and headed out of town.”

Jar stated the absurd, “Maybe he left and now he’s come back.” The words were surreal, their utterance lending credibility to the impossible.

Maple nodded her head. With a shaking hand she reached for her pack of cigarettes and shook one out of the pack. “How long have you been having your dreams?”

Jar didn’t need to think about his answer, he responded quickly, but in a small voice. “Ever since Luke disappeared into the drainage pipe.”

Maple nodded, and took another drag off her cigarette. “I read about that.” She blew the smoke out in a wispy cloud and said, “Lot of weird shit happening around this town.”

“What happened back then? How did you make the heat go away?”

Maple gave a quick snort, half laugh; half frustration. “Hell, I was only a kid, I couldn’t do anything. My daddy sure as hell didn’t listen to me about those dreams. He was too busy trying to save the ranch.”

Jar was crushed. He needed more than confirmation he wasn’t insane. He needed a plan.

Maple stubbed out the cigarette and stared down at the table unwilling to look the boy in the eye. “There was this one thing I never told anyone about.”

Hopeful, Jar looked up. Maple’s eyes were distant as she started to tell her story.

“Hell, I don’t even know if this is a real memory or just a delusional dream. I was only eight or nine, couldn’t have been much more because I know the heat kept on for at least another year after this incident. But I got it into my head to start digging. It was after a night of dreaming about the dark man. I just couldn’t shake the feeling he was real, and living somewhere beneath Junction. I went inside, and like a child, I took out a couple of tablespoons. Like they would have done the job. I mean there were several shovels right out there in the shed and I go in and get the smallest digging devices I could find. Maybe I was afraid I’d actually find something if I used a big shovel.

Anyway, I’m out in the yard all day just digging away, in the blazing heat. I must have looked like a lobster. Didn’t have the sense to stop or drink water, I was possessed. And I was making progress. The hole was at least three feet deep when my daddy finally came home from the fields. I was down in it and I remember that earth was the first cool thing I had felt in years.

My daddy found me on the verge of collapse, those silver spoons clasped tightly in my hands. I was dehydrated, suffering from heat exhaustion and rambling about finding the dark man. I kept repeating, ‘Daddy, I have to keep digging, gotta stop the dark man.’ Hugh, my daddy was a tough man. Never saw him cry, not until that day. He thought he near lost me. I was in bed for almost two weeks after that day. Kep’ thrashing about, talking about the dark man.

Once he knew I was going to live, I guess he thought I was gone in the mind. Every time he looked in on me, there was this sad look on his face, like he was already mourning. Like I had already passed on. The heat does wicked things to a person’s mind. I’ve seen people go nuts out here, I imagine so had my daddy.

Years later, after the drought, I remember my daddy teasing me about that digging spree. He slapped his knee and said, ‘Hon, I just don’t know where you thought you were going to. There’s limestone under the dirt, you ain’t never gonna dig through limestone.’ He just thought that was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. Me, trying to dig through limestone.”

Maple stopped talking and looked Jar in the eye for the first time. “You know what I learned later on? Where there’s limestone there’s usually limestone caves. Little pockets under the earth, sometimes, huge caverns. If he’s real, that’s where he is. He’s found himself a little mineral pocket under Junction, he’s got his fire going and until he’s good and ready to leave, we’ve got the heat.”

*

Curtis palmed the pig’s eye and said, very quietly, “Little girl, don’t even move.” He raised the rifle slowly to his shoulder and lined up the sights.

Suzy froze. Her mouth was as dry as cotton and she could barely peel her top lip off her gum line. There wasn’t even enough saliva in her mouth to gulp in fear.

Holding the gun steady, Curtis curled his right index finger around the trigger and slowly pulled it back.

The next few seconds occurred so quickly, Suzy wasn’t really sure what happened first. She saw Curtis jerk back under the impact of the shot. Then she heard the report of the gun, which didn’t make sense to her because surely she would have heard the sound before the butt of the gun hit Curtis’ shoulder. Somewhere overhead a hawk’s scream ripped through the air. The dirt below her exploded and something sharp hit her in the face. Dully, she reached up to touch her face. When she pulled back her hand, she saw blood on her fingertips. In a stunned voice she said, “You shot me.”

Curtis threw back his head and laughed. He rested the butt of the gun on the ground and held the barrel loosely with his right hand. “Little girl, I just saved your life.” Then he pointed toward the ground. Suzy looked down and saw a headless Diamondback, writhing inches from her feet.

“Come on over here, nice and slow.” He held out his hand. “Where there’s one, there’s usually more.”

Suzy sagged in defeat. She was tired, hot, thirsty, hungry, completely terrified and she couldn’t have stopped the sobs coming up out of her chest if she tried. Her entire body heaved under the wracking sobs and her cry although not as high pitched, was almost as soulful as the dying pig.

“Awh, shit! Don’t cry little girl.”

Looking around in panic, Curtis finally approached the girl and patted her clumsily on the back. “Come on now, let’s get you over to the house and see what Maple wants to do with you.”

They were approaching the farmhouse when the door opened and Maple stepped outside with a small boy at her side. He slowed down and said, “I found this one up in the live oaks.” He pointed at the boy. “Where did you find him?”

Annoyed, Maple snapped. “Right here on my doorstep. Let her go.”

Confused, Curtis released the girl. Offering an explanation in his own defense he said, “She was trespassing.”

Maple waved off his words the way she brushed away the flies that remained in constant attendance in her house. “They’re just kids. Go help Lionel with the pig. I’ll take care of the children.”

Maple assessed the girl. “I don’t suppose you’re hungry?”

Suzy nodded.

Maple’s next words nearly made Suzy swoon in gratitude. “After you eat, I’ll give you two a ride back into town.”

*

They were on the outskirts of downtown Junction when a gust of wind hit the truck. Fine, golden sand skittered across the windshield. Maple held her hand outside the window for a minute and shook her head grimly. Jar seeing the look, asked, “What? What’s wrong?”

“Sandstorm’s brewing.” She left it at that. But she knew about sandstorms, the same way she knew about droughts. She had lived through them both and one was usually the result of the other. The drought killed off the plants and shrubs. The earth didn’t have its natural protection. There was nothing to hold the earth to the ground. It only took a good wind after that. When she was a girl, they had brought in snowplows to clear the sand drifts off the highway. It was a hell of a sight, but not one she cared to see again.

Suzy sat in the middle, trying to keep her lanky legs out of the way of the gearshift. Her head was bobbing with fatigue and for once she was silent.

They passed Schreiner’s park and crossed over what was left of Lake Junction. Jar cast his eyes along the murky bottom wondering how much longer it would be before it went dry.

Maple asked, “So, how many of those milk jugs you say you filled with water?

“Twenty. I would have had more but I couldn’t find any more jugs.”

Maple nodded her head thoughtfully. “That’s good. That should do you for awhile.”

They dropped Suzy off first. The lawn in front of her house was uncut. It looked like tufts of dead hay. The front window glowed soft blue. Murphy was sitting in his recliner in front of the tube with an ice-cold beer in his hand, five empties by his chair, and six more waiting for him in the refrigerator.

Jar grabbed Suzy’s bike out of the back of the truck and handed it down to her. He said, “Hey, I figured out a way we can help Barry.”

Suzy’s tired face opened in curiosity.

“If you want in, meet me at the drainage pipe first thing in the morning.”

The budding curiosity on Suzy’s face closed up and she shook her head. “I don’t think I’m up for another one of your adventures.”

Jar’s voice was tense and rushed. “Please, Suzy. I need your help.” He climbed into the truck and leaned out the window. “Be there, Suzy. Come on, I need you.”

Junction, Texas

In another realm, somewhere between life and death Barry Tanner fled down the upper hall of his house pursued by a hostile presence. Before he could make it to the safety of the dumb-waiter, and pulley himself up to the third floor the specter leapt ahead of him and cut him off. Hostility rolled toward him in thick waves, pushing him away, bullying him down the hallway with a force as strong as a hard shove.

The force in the hallway was not singular, but collective and they knew he didn’t belong in their realm. He was a foreign object in their world and they sought him out each time he ventured away from the third floor.

One other room in the house provided him with safety, his own bedroom. Each time he came near his physical body he felt the connection with his mother stretch thinner. He wasn’t ready to let go yet, wasn’t ready to return to the living and face never seeing his mother again.

He backed away from the hostile energy until he felt a familiar current, an undertow pulling him toward his bedroom door and back toward his body. The collective force felt the current pulling at him and drifted back, giving his door a wide berth. He could see his own essence disintegrating, tendrils of light being suctioned beneath the crack and seams of the door.

A specter broke free from the mass and lunged toward Barry—a man’s disfigured face emerged stretching the air like elastic rubber. Terrified of the malignant presence stretching toward him Barry stumbled back to avoid the gruesome face. His shoulder hit the door. The undercurrent coming from his bedroom grabbed him and carried him through the cracks and into his room.

A slight noise from the bed made Maryanne Cook look up from the book she was reading. The boy stirred beneath the covers and she wondered if tonight would be an episode of thrashing. Stretching, she stood and placed the book on the chair. A quick glance out the window told her dusk was approaching. An unusual golden hue hung in the sky and a strong wind stirred the leaves of the pecan trees lining the front drive. If she had listened for it, she would have heard the sound of sand skittering across the paned glass but her apprehension of the coming darkness occupied her thoughts.

For the past five weeks she had been subjected to the solitude of the large house, her only company the comatose boy on the bed. A boy who at times could have passed for dead. She had tried to leave after three weeks. She had presented the boy’s condition to his father, insisting there was nothing more she could do. Nothing anyone could do until the boy decided to rejoin the living.

Griffin Tanner could be very persuasive with his checkbook. Each night she swallowed her growing fear and focused on the money she would have when her long vigil ended. Thoughts of the little house she would buy in Kerrville quieted her inner voice which whispered furiously each night,
he’s not going to let you leave
. And these thoughts as terrifying as they were, were nothing compared to the sounds of doors opening and closing, footsteps in the hall, the doorknob rattling and the absence of anyone in the hall when she got the nerve to jerk open the door and take a look.

At first she thought it was the long absent Mr. Tanner coming to check on his son but no one was ever in the hallway. Not on one single occasion.