Animal (Part 1)

The fields are burning. Embers light fires that spread through the corn. Dust and shades of ash flee into the sky, spilling stains of gray upon the earth. Unholy fire laying bare the field. Screams of brothers and sisters echo into the deep night. The fires illuminate the land, scoffing the darkness. High above crows circle the fields, watching the slaughter with uncaring glee.

The boy pushes back the tall grass, watching the men on black horses. The tall man on the darkest horse turns to watch the flames. His eyes, darker than the deepest canyon, piercing like knives, lock upon the boy. The man smiles, his shining teeth reflecting the light of the licked flames. Teeth like ice, eyes piercing the boy’s heart. He removes the flattened, ash stained hat from his head, letting his tangled mane of hair fall upon his shoulders. His revolver lies across his chest, glittering soundlessly in the light. The man draws his gun in one swift motion and fires. The boy’s face distorts as the bullet sprays his brains across the ground. The boy falls hard into the dirt below, dust kicking up.

The man holsters his weapon slowly, deliberately stalling the moment of the kill. He lets the power of the boy flow through his veins. The smell of flesh permeates the earth. The man’s smile fades as his men approach him cautiously. A single tear falls from the man’s eyes, brief and absolute, soon dried from the heat of the fire. He turns back and throws another torch upon the corn. His horse trots into the clearing, moving away from the flames. The man’s form is enshrouded by darkness as he approaches the cold night. In an instant, he’s gone.

* * *

John wakes. His eyes open slowly. His heart beats wildly in his ears, his labored breath slowing in shudders. The covers of the bed are drenched in sweat. He stretches out his arm, feeling for the safety and security of his love. No such security lies. He jolts up and glances around the room. Rose sits in a small oak chair across from him, combing her long, brown hair in smooth strokes. She stares deeply into the homemade vanity mirror. John slides his legs out over the bed and sits in silence. Rose stops and sets the comb down lightly upon the vanity’s counter.

“I remember building that for you,” John whispers.
“I remember too.”
“It took me three days to get the frame right.”
“You told me,” Rose replies.

John smiles.

“It was a gift for you.”
“My father was impressed.”
“I didn’t build it for him, I’d have built it even if he’d hated me.”
“I know.”

Rose stands and makes her way to the bed, sitting beside John without a word. John’s breaths slow as Rose places her hand upon his chest, her head against his.

“I love you. I do,” John whispers.
“I know.”

* * *

The corn field sways with the wind, the stalks moving in quiet melody. The deep sun beats down upon the dry earth, waves of heat radiating from it. A patched scarecrow sways in the wind. John watches with quiet eyes. From behind him a melody bursts through, echoing through the fields. John turns. His father sits in a rickety rocking chair, playing harshly yet majestically upon his aged fiddle. The fiddle is his soul, his power, a part of him. His grandfather carved the instrument long ago. Someday in the late twilight hours, many years from now, the fiddle will be John’s. His father finishes on a quiet note which echoes into dust.

“Beautiful, father.”
“Thank you, John.”

His father stands and moves to the front of the porch, standing beside his son.

“Droughts have been strong this year.”
“Yeah.”
“What will we do?” John asks.
“We’ll be alright.”
“We always are.”
“We always are.”

The sun turns to dusk, sinking behind the swaying fields. Rays of shaking color spill across the sky.

“You better get inside, it’s getting dark. Make sure your brother washes up," John's father says.
“Rose is probably laying out supper. You coming, pa?”
“I’ll meet you there. I wanna watch the sunset.”
“Like you did with ma?”
“Yeah, like I did with your mother.”
“I’ll be inside, pa.”
“Go on.”

John turns and enters the house, leaving his father alone on the porch. John’s father stands tall, staring into the sky. A tear wells at his eye and falls silently to the ground below. More tears follow. John’s father falls to his knees, his face in his hands. The sun sinks into the earth and all is dark.

* * *

“God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference. Watch over us in your paradise when we pass from this life into the next. Amen.”
“Amen.”

John sits beside Rose at the small dinner table. Across from them his father sits beside Samuel, his younger brother. Steam rises from the fresh feast laid out before them.

“Please pass the peas,” Samuel says.

The family sits in silence. Finally Samuel breaks the aging quiet. He sets his fork down and glances at his father.

“Father?” he asks.
“Yes Samuel?”
“Why do you never speak of your life before ma, before the war ended?”

John’s father sets his fork down.

“Samuel, some things need to be kept silent.”
“You mean buried," Samuel whispers.
“No, I just can’t say. I want to keep you safe. I’ve done wrong. Before your mother I was a bad man, and even after I took many years to change. I’m afraid...I’m afraid that if my past returns it will bring my old self with it, and I can’t let that happen. I don’t want my past to poison you.”

John’s father picks up his fork and resumes eating.
Samuel stays quiet.

* * *

The man on the tall horse pushes his way through his small band of men. He stands before a two story house, many years old, kept warm and safe by the family that resides inside. Across from the house stands a small stable with a large barn beside it, both aflame. The whining, neighing cries of the horses pierce the wind, pleading in some unknown language for mercy.

From inside the house sounds of struggle are heard. A gunshot echoes. The band of men fall silent. The frame door bursts open and a man with fiery, red hair is dragged out, struggling against the two men that hold him. He is dressed in dusty, white pajamas, his hair askew, his eyes wildly searching for some sign of hope.

Another cry echoes in the house and a woman in a blue, silk night gown is pushed through the doorway, a third man leaping upon her and slapping her face.

“Dirty bitch bit me!” he screams.
“Take your hands off the lady,” the tall man commands.
“But she bit me!”
“A lot worse will happen to you if you continue to question me, boy.”

The man quiets and lets the lady drop, returning to the line of men behind the tall man. A screaming cry of an infant is heard within the house. Finally the last man emerges, pushing two young children, one a boy, the other a girl, onto the lawn. Both stare up with wide eyes. The tall man drinks in their fear, savoring it like some sweet nectar.

The two men holding the red head let him drop to the ground.

“That’s all of them, sir, save the child inside,” the first says.
“He shot Carson, sir. In the throat. He’s dead, sir,” the second adds.

The tall man’s eyes sparkle as he stares at the red head.

“Pity. Carson was a good man. Loyal. You were always loyal, Charlie, followed me for years. Till the war ended. Been seventeen years hasn’t it?”

The red head looks up.

“Please, please don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”
“They always say that. ‘You don’t have to do this.’ But I do, Charlie, I do. I’ll whither and die if I let the idea of mercy take hold of me. I am no saint.”

The woman, Charlie’s wife, whimpers. His children hold each other tight. Charlie glances back at them and turns to the tall man.

“Please. Just let them go.”
“I heard you’re a preacher now, Charlie,” the tall man remarks, ignoring the plea.

The tall man raises his head and laughs into the cloudy sky. Charlie is silent.

“A preacher, Charlie! A preacher. Tell me something, does God truly forgive all? Does your God truly save the righteous and damn the wicked? Because last time I saw you, you weren’t no saint. Did your God forgive you, Charlie? Did he take you into his open arms and purify your past sins? Tell me, are you a purified man?”

Charlie bows his head.

“Your family know about you, Charlie? They know what you done? You know what I think? I think you’re still a rider, a hunter. You killed one of my boys. Now that’s not something a preacher does. Did you like it, Charlie? Did killing Carson take you back? Did it give you that rush you used to preach so passionately about? The thrill you got when you killed a man?”

Charlie looks up at the tall man.

“My wife knows. And my children would know.”
“They all know now.”

Charlie shakes his head.

“You ain’t a man.”
“What?” the tall man asks, his voice a sliver of sound.
“I said you ain’t a man. You’re something cold and vile, something spit up by the devil. You ain’t a man. You’re an animal.”

The tall man smiles.

“Be that as it may, Charlie, we came hear to talk about you. You killed my man, Charlie. You abandoned me. I can’t let that go unpunished.”

The tall man glances from Charlie’s wife to his two children and back to Charlie. The baby’s cries still issue from the house. Charlie shakes his head, crying.

“Not them, please, just kill me and leave.”
“I can’t do that, Charlie, you’ll pay your debts. But you killed one of my men. Which one of them you hold least dear? Because I’m taking one, and I leave the choice to you.”

Charlie shakes his head. His wife tightens her grip on the children.

“No, please. I can’t. Please.”
“Vengeance is a funny thing, Charlie. It always has a way of evening the field.”
“Please," Charlie begs.

The tall man shakes his head.

“I gave you an offer, Charlie, I think it’d be wise that you take it.”
“Please.”

The tall man sighs and draws his revolver.

“Then I’ll take them all.”

Charlie’s eyes widen and he lunges at the tall man who strikes him down. Two men grab hold of Charlie as he begins to kick and scream. The tall man turns and approaches Charlie's wife and children.

“No,” Charlie whispers.

The tall man shoots the woman twice through the chest, turning and planting a bullet between the eyes of the two children, the boy first, the girl next. The bodies fall to the ground quietly. Smoke rises from the barrel of the tall man’s revolver. Charlie’s screams of rage echo in the empty field, matched by the intensified cries of the infant inside the house. The tall man glances at the house and back at the screaming man. He smiles.

The tall man walks up the porch steps and opens the frame door, entering the house.

The band falls quiet. Charlie weeps. The baby’s screams continue. A shot rings out. The baby stops.

Charlie screams wildly, shaking uncontrollably. The tall man emerges from the house, whipping the barrel of his gun. He stops to casually check the bottom of each of his boots for stains and steps out onto the browning lawn. Spittle drips from Charlie’s mouth. His eyes are swollen. The two men release him and he runs to his wife and children. He sits beside the girl and boy, holding each of them in his arms.

‘Why!? Why did you kill them first!? Why did I have to see it?”

The tall man stands over Charlie and drops a revolver on the ground.

“I got one more bullet, Charlie. It’s for you. Pick up the gun and face me.”

Charlie continues to sob.

“I know there’s a lot of hatred going through your heart, Charlie, flowing through your veins. But just take pride in the fact that you raised them well, that they’re in a better place.”

Charlie reaches for the revolver and lifts it up. The tall man is quicker, he draws his shining, black gun, the gun carved from the screams of the dead, and fires once into Charlie’s gut. Charlie lets the gun drop and sits staring at the tall man. Blood quickly spreads down the white pajamas. He gasps and looks down, stroking his children’s hair. He smiles.

Charlie raises his head and stares into the tall man’s eyes.

“Animal,” he chokes.
“What?”
“Animal...”

The tall man turns and marches back to his band. The men stare at him with eyes full of wonder and fear, respect and hatred.

“Load up. We’ve got a long ride ahead.”

The men turn and mount their horses. The tall man, the rider of the darkest horse, leads the way. Dust kicks up as they pass down the road, leaving the fire that has spread all across the lawn behind them.

* * *

John wakes again in a fury of fright, jolting up in his bed, breathing heavily. Rose sits up and grabs hold of his hand. His hands are slick with sweat and numb from cold. He begins to slow down as Rose holds him close.

“Bad dreams?” she asks.
“Always.”
“Are you ok?”
“You’re here.”
“That’s not what I asked."
“You’re here. So I’m ok.”
“Ok.”

Rose kisses John’s cheek lightly.

“And we’re okay?” she asks.

John reaches down and feels her stomach, and though he can not feel his son, he knows that he is there.

“Yeah, we’ll be okay.”
“Ok.”

John lays back down with Rose beside him. The feel of her breasts at his back, of her warm breath, soothes him. His shuddering stops and he lays still.

“I love you,” he whispers.
“Goodnight.”

John’s eyes close and in a few seconds he is swept away, his nightmares gone.

* * *

John pushes his way through the corn field, shucking vines of corn and placing the cobs into the basket at his side. Harvest season has come, it’s the time to gather. John’s father is hitching the wagon, preparing it for the journey into town tomorrow.

Samuel stands beside John, shucking the corn on the vine beside him. John iwas Samuel’s elder by two years. Samuel spoke often, John did not, but they made words count.

“You’re doing it wrong,” John remarked.
“What?”
“I said, you’re doing it wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Samuel asks.
“I mean you’re doing it wrong.”
“How?”

John sets his stalk down and moves around Samuel.

“You need to take all the leaf off, and take it off in one straight motion, not too slow, but not too fast either. Take it one strip at a time all the way down. Don’t start another till you’re finished.”
“Ok," Samuel replies, motioning for his tools.
“Did you get all that?”
“Yeah.”

John smiles and goes back to his stalk. They are quiet for a while before Samuel speaks again.

“Do you think pa’s alright?”
“What do you mean?”
“I see him cry sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking.”
“I think he just misses ma," John says.
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”

Samuel moves on to the next stalk, placing the ears of corn in the basket.

“Almost full?” John asks.
“Yeah.”
“Just take it up to the wagon when you’re done.”
“Do you think pa was ever a bad man, like he said?”

John sighs.

“I don’t know, I can never picture pa as a bad man, but if he says he was then I believe him.”
“Ma straightened him out didn’t she?” Samuel asks, his eyes glittering.
“Yeah.”
“Ma was tough.”
“Yeah she was.”
“I miss her.”

John nods.

“So do I.”

John goes back to shucking. Samuel is quiet again. John throws the stalk down and dumps his ears into the basket, moving onto the next stalk. He stands and watches his brother work.

“You’re still doing it wrong.”

* * *

John’s father closes down the wagon and heads back to the porch, wiping the sweat from his brow. Like John and Samuel, he’s dressed in dusty work slacks, a thin straw hat atop his head. He takes his seat on the porch while Samuel and John approach from the fields.

“Get washed up, boys.”
“Yes sir.”

Samuel goes in the house first, John takes a seat on the porch while he waits for Samuel to get finished.

“Pa?” he asks.
“Yes, John?”
“Do you still think about ma?”
“All the time.”
“You miss her?”
“Of course.”
“Pa?”
“Yes son?”

John takes his father's hand in his, clutching it tight.

“You’re a good man. No matter what darkness followed you or follows you today, you’re a good man.”

His father nods.

* * *

John and his father sit alone on the porch, clean shaven and dressed for the night. Their good clothes are laid out for them for tomorrow.

“Rose is a good girl," John's father whispers.
“What?”
“I said Rose is a good girl.”
“I know.”
“She’ll make a good mother.”

John pauses and stares at his father. His father smiles.

“I’m not stupid you know, she has the same signs your mother had with you and Samuel.”
“I didn’t realize-” John begins
“Don’t worry about it, John.”

John sighs and turns to face his father.

“What if something goes wrong?” he asks.
“I thought the same thing.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. You’re going to be a great father.”
“Like you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

His father laughs. Together they watch the sun as it sinks beyond the corn.

* * *

“Wake up!”

John jolts awake. His father stands over them, the family’s Winchester rifle closed tight in his pale fists. He’s still dressed in his pajamas. He throws the rifle to John.

“Pa, what’s going on?”
“Get up!”

John grabs Rose and together his father leads them to the hallway, Samuel stands waiting for them, he holds two silver platted revolvers, one in each hand. He passes one to John’s father. John watcheshis father load the chamber that glitters in the dark.

“Pa, whose gun is that?”
“It’s mine, I’ve kept them hidden.”
“These were the pistols-?”
“Yes, that I used.”

Outside, a frenzy of shouts and banter can be heard.

“Who’s out there, pa?” John asks.
“Bad people, John.”
“Who are they?”
“People I never thought I’d see again. Now, I need you to take Rose and Samuel and get out the back. Hide in the tall grass, they won’t be looking for you. They don’t know you exist. Your mother isn’t the only reason I watch the sunsets. They come by dark.”

John’s stomach churns. His veins flow with ice.

“Pa, what are you gonna do?”
“I’m gonna try and save us.”
“Pa, no. There has to be another way, let’s all leave and hide in the fields.”
“They’ve torched the fields, John, unless I meet them they’ll torch the house, then they’ll track us down.”
“Pa. You can’t go, you’ll die.”
“This has been long time coming, John, and now it’s here. I won’t hide," his father replies, his eyes set as stone.

John shakes his head and stands still. His father wrappes his arms around him and kisses his forehead.

“You’re carrying this family now, John.”
“Pa...”

Without another word his father is gone, out the front door and standing on the porch.

* * *

The tall man is waiting. John’s father steps slowly down the porch walkway and into the night.
The fires already blaze all around them. Ash and dust float by as John’s father faces the tall man. The silver revolver glitters in the night, a picture of a wolf carved in the side. The tall man’s revolver is already drawn. Moonlight shines brightly along its dark surface, illuminating the wolf engraved on the handle.

“Hank,” the tall man whispers.

John’s father nods.

“Where’s the whore?”
“My wife. She’s dead.”

The tall man falters.

“Dead?”
“Dead.”
“Looks like you’ve become what you started out as. Nothing. Search the house.”

Three men march up, the first a young boy with blonde hair about John’s age, the other two haggard and bearded. John’s father grabs the young boy by the shirt and kicks down, snapping the boy’s ankle. As the boy drops he raises the revolver and fires two bursts in quick succession. The first man drops in a haze of blood as the bullet pierces his throat. The second catches one through the eye. He slumps to the ground.

“No one will enter my house.”

The tall man approaches and stands over the three men. The bearded man chokes and thrashes in his death throws, the tall man watches until he stops. He turns to the young man who lays moaning on the ground, grasping his shattered ankle.

“I’m sorry-”

The tall man shushes him, holstering his weapon.

“It’s okay," he whispers.

He picks the boy up and begins to pull him toward the band.

“Thank you," the wounded boy sighs.
“Don’t thank me.”

The tall man slips the hunting knife into the boy’s side. The boy’s eyes open wide and he sputters twice, holding the tall man for support. Finally he slides down the tall man’s chest and crumples to the ground.

“Still no mercy?” John’s father asks.
“None.”

The band of men, three members less, begin to encircle them. John’s father counts them quickly.

“Only fifteen," he remarks.
“More than enough.”
“You’ve lost your followers.”
“I’ve lost nothing,” the tall man snarls.

John’s father and the tall man stand facing each other, fires burning on all sides.

“This is where it ends, Hank.”
“So be it.”

John’s father and the tall man draw their weapons. Two shots echo into the night.

* * *

John, Rose, and Samuel sit hunched in the cornfields, watching as the man they call “pa” slaughters the two men with two quick shots.

“Jesus,” Samuel whispers.
“We have to go,” John says, “we have to go.”
“Go where?”
“They have not approached the barn yet, we can get the wagon and ride away.”
“And leave pa?”
“Samuel, what choice do we have?”

Samuel swallows hard and nods.

“Rose, I want you to stay hidden.”
“No, I’m not staying here without you.”

John grabs her by the shoulders, tears burning his eyes.

“Listen to me, you’re all I have now, we’re all we have. I fear everyday for you, and I dream that you die every night. Please, that dream is here. The man out there, he is the figure who haunts me at night. I fear so much for you, Rose. Please, don’t risk yourself. I can’t let you go. I won’t be able to.”

He kisses Rose passionately, holding her close.

“Stay,” John whispers.

* * *

Together Samuel and John make their way to the barn, as they pass they can see the tall man standing over the choking outlaw. John unhitches the wagon while Samuel ties the horses.

“Okay, we ride out when we get the chance and grab Rose, they’ll chase us but I think pa might keep them busy.”
“A lot might go wrong, John," Samuel warns.
“I know, but it’s all we can do, ok?”
“Ok.”

From outside two gunshots echo. Samuel and John rush to the side of the barn. The tall man stands, holding his shoulder, blood dripping slowly down his arm. John’s father holds his arm to his gut. Blood pours into the dirt below.

“I’m gonna shoot you once for every year, Hank,” the tall man whispers.

The tall man pulls the trigger, John’s father’s right finger disappears in a spray of blood. The tall man fires again, this time in his leg. He drops to the ground, his pistol sliding away.

“No, God no!” Samuel screams into his hands, muffling the sound.

Samuel moves forward but John holds him still.

“Let go of me!” he shouts, struggling.
“No.”
“Let go of me!”
“He’s dying, Samuel, we can’t help him.”
“No...”

Samuel turns and mounts the wagon, John beside him. With a crack of the whip the horses lunge forward out of the barn. The tall man and his band don’t hear the coach until it is halfway to the tall grass. The tall man turns and fires the remaining bullets into the horses, they tumble to the earth with a crash. John and Samuel are sent flying to the earth.

Samuel turns and raises the rifle, firing into the crowd of men as they approach the wagon. Two drop in the dust. John’s father is left kneeling in the dirt. He lunges forward and grabs the pistol with his good hand. He sends the band scattering as he catches two more in the back,squeezing the trigger till it clicks empty.

“I’m getting pa,” Samuel shouts.
“No, Samuel!”

John turns to chase him and feels a sharp pain pierce his leg, he falls to the ground with a bullet lodged in his calf. Blood pours from the open wound, saturating the ground. Samuel reaches his father and takes hold of him.

“Pa.”
“Samuel?”
“So he’s your son.”

The tall man stands over them.

“Bring the other.”

John feels himself being dragged through the dirt to where his father lay. A trail of blood follows behind him. He feels a coldness begin to spread. The outlaw drops him next to his father.

“So the whore had children.”
“She was my mother,” Samuel spits.
“She was a whore.”
“You’re nothing...” John whispers.

The tall man faces John.

“You’re nothing.”

The tall man leans close to John, bending down, and stares at the boy. The black cavern’s of his eyes seem to swallow John’s soul.

“I...am God.”
“God’s don’t bleed.”

The tall man stands and empties the chamber into Samuel’s chest. He draws his second pistol and puts a bullet in the head of John’s father. John can hear himself screaming. He can hear Rose screaming. The tall man strikes him hard across the face and he finds himself lost in the dark.

Copyright 2008
Michael Carr