Fade To Black (Into The Darkness Book 2) Page 15

  Kevin saw a groundhog scurry away through the undergrowth, its thick fur impervious to the thorny bushes. They passed several open fields and in one of them, startled a few deer, whose tails were all that could be seen as they bounded into the shade of the tall forest trees. After the open fields, they came to more tall oak trees, a sign that they were close to their destination.

  For the third time that morning, Dylan stopped and checked his front pocket to see if the key to the tractor was still there. It was. He dropped the backpack on the trail, and Kevin did the same. Each took a long drink of water and silently, but cautiously, looked at their surrounds.

  “Did you hear anything, like we’re being followed?” asked Dylan.

  “I don’t think so. It’s pretty barren out here.”

  “We’re almost home. I recognize this part of the trail. We’re close to that maintenance building and the tractor. The willow bush where we hid our gear yesterday should be just up ahead.”

  Kevin turned a curious eye down the trail. “Okay, then let’s get moving. We can ride the tractor home across that golf course and through the field.”

  As they walked down the bike trail, a pheasant rose from behind a bush and flew in front of them, noisily thrashing its wings. Then Dylan, who had been looking very carefully into the trees to his left, suddenly stopped. Kevin, seeing this and understanding the expression on Dylan’s face, looked around for any sign of danger.

  “What is it?” Kevin whispered, turned, and tightly gripped his pistol.

  Dylan was silent. He held a finger to his lips and looked at Kevin in such a way that he understood not to make a noise. Kevin pivoted around, looking deeply into the woods, and watched Dylan shoulder his rifle.

  “Somebody has been here,” whispered Dylan, as he chambered a cartridge. “I thought I heard them for a while now, and now I’m sure. Stay here.”

  He stepped off the trail and into the trees near the willow bush where they had stored their gear under it the day before. Dylan noticed one small branch on the outer part of the bush had been snapped off. It was still green and only hung by the bark. This was not the work of deer. Deer usually did not touch the bitter shoots of willow, especially not when they had all the forest and open fields to graze.

  Nothing but a man, or the blow of a heavy stick wielded by a man, could have broken the branch in that way. Walking to the bush, Dylan saw that the break was very recent. The branch was perfectly green, and the bark was still soft with sap. The next thing to catch his eye was a larger branch deeper inside the bush. While not broken, it did have scraped and torn bark, as if done by something sharp. He examined the ground. No stones or rocks, which could have caused the damage, were visible. Looking back at the bark, he concluded that the handle of a hatchet or machete had broken the outside branch and the weapon’s metal edge had struck the inside branch, damaging it, too.

  Dylan carefully looked around, but saw nothing else suspicious. There were trees, but not one of them was large enough to hide a man. There was not sufficient foliage to conceal anything. His hunter’s eyes could detect nothing else. There were no footprints on the ground. The tree branches were thin, exposing the sky through them. Whether the person lay in some depression on the ground, had covered himself with dead leaves and pine needles, or had already left, there was nothing to show. Yet Dylan was confident that someone had been there. After hearing Dylan’s explanation of the damage to the willow bush, Kevin agreed as to the cause, saying that they must warn everyone in their community that someone, maybe a drifter, was in the area.

  Dylan looked closely under the willow bush and noticed that the dead leaves had been disturbed, seemingly piled on the ground. He pushed the mound of leaves with his shoe and felt it stop, hitting something denser than the leaves. He pulled a black plastic trash bag from the pile and opened it. There was a stack of pamphlets from the nearby cult inside it. He recognized them as the same kind of pamphlet he had found at his house. He showed them to Kevin.

  “Was this here yesterday?” asked Dylan.

  “Maybe. But it’s not like I was looking for it.”

  Dylan suspiciously looked around, tightly clutching the bag in his hand.

  “What do you want to do? Do you want to burn them?” asked Kevin.

  “No, better not start a fire here,” replied Dylan. “This tinder would explode into an inferno.”

  “Come on,” said Kevin. “We don’t need to hide anything in here anyway.” He pointed through the clearing towards the metal building. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Dylan, still carrying the black trash bag full of pamphlets, walked towards Kevin. Kevin was thinking of Mary and trying to repress his anxiety from the idea of strangers with unknown intentions being so close to her. Dylan, normally well aware of his surroundings in the forest, suddenly and unexpectedly felt something soft under his feet. Instantly, he jumped back as far as he could and trembled after realizing he had stepped on a copperhead. Lying on the cool forest ground, the camouflaged snake did not care to move when he had stepped on it. Luckily, for Dylan, the snake was still cold from the shadows of the tree canopy and not aggressive. He walked away from the snake and rejoined Kevin who, slightly dazed by the event, wondered if someone was watching them in the forest, hiding like the snake at Dylan’s feet. Kevin shuddered and was the first to break cover of the trees.

  Kevin stepped into the full light of the day. Dylan was right behind him. When Dylan was free of the woods and could feel the strong breeze at his back, he began to throw the pamphlets into the air. Casting them to the wind, they scattered and blew away.

  At the maintenance building, they found the tire iron that they had hidden in the bush, and removed the entrance door again. Kevin went inside and opened a large garage door. Before Dylan mounted the tractor, he remembered the need for fuel. They scavenged for gas cans. After finding four metal five-gallon containers, they went back to the underground tank and removed the camouflaged lid.

  “How do we get it out?” asked Kevin.

  Dylan stroked his beard and thought. “Do you think we could lower a small bucket with a rope?”

  “Maybe if we put a rock in the bucket so it doesn’t float,” answered Kevin.

  They found a plastic bucket, a handful of galvanized steel washers to add weight, and a nylon rope to lower the pail into the tank of fuel.

  Kevin volunteered to lower the bucket into the tank and fill the metal cans. Dylan, still suspicious, walked around the property near the edge of the woods. He saw nothing and was thankful that the steel building concealed what they were doing at the underground fuel tank, hiding their actions from the wooded area.

  Dylan came back around to Kevin and noticed that he had filled the first can. Dylan went to the tractor and emptied the fuel into the tank. He returned the can to fill it again and repeated the process until the tractor’s tank was full. When they had refilled all the five-gallon canisters, they replaced the underground tank’s lid and camouflaged it with dirt again.

  Dylan mounted the tractor. He pulled the choke back and, with a single turn of the key, the motor roared to life. He put the transmission into reverse and backed out of the building onto the level concrete parking lot. He nimbly jumped down, even with the backpack and rifle still on his back, and helped Kevin lower and lock the garage door. Just as before, they decided to replace the steel front door and its hinge pins, in order to prevent anyone else from taking anything.

  On the tractor, Kevin balanced himself behind Dylan. The tractor began to creep forward slowly as Dylan engaged first gear. As soon as he made it to the clearing in the trees, he accelerated on the bike trail and went through all the gears. He went as fast as he could, and soon enough, they were at the bridge spanning the stream. They crossed it and entered the neighborhood. Dylan stopped in front of his house. Kevin jumped down, eager to see his wife. The sound of the tractor had brought Mary and Dylan’s children to the front door. Kevin ran to his wife and embraced her. Mary held the children b
ack, keeping them on the porch and away from the tractor. Jim heard the commotion from his house and went over to speak with Dylan.

  Yelling over the noise of the motor, Jim shouted, “Where have you been?”

  “Have Kevin tell you, I have to go deliver a present.” Dylan released the clutch, and the tractor jerked into first gear. He turned the tractor’s steering wheel hard to the left and drove away after a quick wave to his children. At the end of the street, Dylan turned to the right and headed to Tom’s house. He planned to cross the stream where it was clear, wide, and shallow, near the community pool at the edge of the subdivision. On his way down the street, he saw John standing in his driveway, chainsaw in hand, staring at the tractor coming down the road. Dylan stopped in front of John’s house.

  Over the rumble of the motor, Dylan shouted, “Did you cut any wood?”

  John nodded. “A little.”

  “I got a fucking tractor and twenty gallons of fuel on my nature walk.” Dylan extended his middle finger and pushed his foot hard onto the accelerator as he released the clutch.

  Nobody noticed John’s wife peering from behind the bedroom drapes, laughing at her husband.

  The tractor jerked forward, and Dylan steered it toward the clearing. He drove it across the stream and disappeared through the trees onto Tom’s property.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dylan bounced on the seat as the tractor crossed the stream onto Tom’s property. On the other side of the stream, Dylan stopped the tractor. He stood up from the uncomfortable seat and looked around for Tom, but did not see him. Driving the tractor slowly forward, he continued to look around, staring deep into the garden and the rows of corn. Just as he parked the tractor by the barn door, he saw the screen door at the rear of Tom’s house swing open. Tom tilted his hat back and Dylan could see Tom’s eyes widen with amazement. He turned the tractor off and jumped to the ground. By the time Dylan removed the four cans of fuel, Tom had walked up behind him. Tom’s eyes filled with wonder as they caressed the tractor and four containers of fuel as if they were a mirage.

  Tom pointed to the cans. “Fuel?”

  Dylan nodded.

  “Full?”

  “Yeah, and it’s all for you. Where do you want them?”

  “Fill my tank. John got the truck running.” Tom grunted as he gave the barn door a heavy push. The metal rollers screamed for lubricant as the door slid open. “Park that thing in here by my truck.”

  Dylan mounted the tractor once more. With a quick turn of the key, it sputtered back to life, and he drove it into the barn. Tom had already begun pouring the precious liquid into his truck. When the truck’s tank was full, the few gallons that remained topped off the tractor and partially filled one of Tom’s empty containers. When he dropped the last empty fuel can on the stack with the others, it made a hollow clank and echoed in the barn.

  “Where did you find a tractor?”

  “It was just lying around.”

  “Was the fuel just lying around, too?”

  “Yeah.” Dylan leaned back on the rear wheel of the tractor and crossed his arms.

  Tom squinted one eye and looked at Dylan, the tractor, and the empty cans. “I learned a long time ago when to not ask any more questions. Come in the house so we can talk about something else.”

  Dylan went into Tom’s house through the screen door on the back porch and entered the kitchen. He sensed the musty smell before he entered the house. Centered in the Formica countertop was the white porcelain sink. Portions of the white enamel had chipped, and beneath the chipped surface was the color of dark metal. The chrome faucet had been rotated back toward the window overlooking the large garden in the backyard. A stainless steel canning pot was sideways in the sink, the likely culprit for many of the surface chips in the sink’s enameled finish. Next to the sink was a galvanized metal bucket full of well water. Dirty plates and eating utensils were scattered about the countertop. The kitchen table, covered with a vinyl tablecloth, was stacked tall with boxes of empty Mason jars. Dylan pulled a chair back from the table and sat down. Tom did the same.

  Dylan touched a case of Mason jars, still wrapped in plastic. “Do you think you have enough jars?” he asked sarcastically.

  “My mother loved canning from her garden.” Tom took his cap off and put it over his heart. “God bless her soul.” He put the hat on a case of the jars. “You should see my basement. It’s stocked full of canned food. That’s what I’ve been doing with the garden. Canning, just like I watched my mom do years back.” Tom stood up and pointed out the window. “That goat was her idea.” He smirked. “She wanted a goat, said she was going to make cheese.” He shook his head softly and smiled as he sat back down.

  “I’ve never tried goat cheese,” said Dylan.

  “And you won’t, either. That one has never been pregnant. Never had a chance to get any milk. We got it right before all this happened. I came up here from Joplin to help them get rid of things, and then they buy a goat. Go figure.”

  “Joplin? I thought you said you were from Springfield?”

  “Yeah, just outside of Springfield, in Joplin.”

  “But Joplin isn’t close to Springfield.”

  Tom tilted his head back and stared down his crooked nose at Dylan. He narrowed his eyes and his bushy eyebrows wrapped tightly around them. “Now, you listen to me. When I asked you about that tractor and the fuel, you lied to me. I got the hint. I told you I learned a long time ago when to not ask any more questions, and I shut up. You need to do the same.”

  Dylan stood up and could see Tom clench his mighty fists. Standing, Dylan was now at eye level with the kitchen window and could see the two crude graves in the backyard. “Are those really your parents, or did you kill somebody to get this house?”

  Tom’s face was red with anger. His jaw muscles were visibly flexing and he was grinding his teeth. “You better sit down.”

  “You’re not a contractor, are you?”

  Tom exhaled, closed his eyes, and tilted his head forward. The tension in his body evaporated. “No, I’m a criminal. I was in prison for years, but I didn’t kill anyone. Those are my parents, and this is my home. My parents loved me, and I loved them. They never judged me for all the mistakes I made. Every time I got out, they brought me back here. I tried to start over, but screwed up every time and went right back behind bars.”

  “Alright, I’m not asking anymore questions.” Dylan sat back down.

  Tom raised his head and shook it to clear his thoughts. He slid a sealed Mason jar across the table to Dylan.

  Dylan looked at the jar of clear liquid and said, “I’m not thirsty.”

  “It’s not water.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It goes by many names.”

  Dylan unscrewed the lid and started to lean forward to smell it, but his head quickly reeled back. “Alcohol!” exclaimed Dylan, as his nostrils curled.

  Tom laughed at the reaction and slapped his thick muscular hand on the table. “And that’s what we’re going to turn the corn into. I’ve got a still hidden in the back of that barn.”

  Dylan stood up again, visibly angry. “We had a deal! You got what you wanted, and we get a share of that corn.”

  “Hold on.” Tom held up his hands. “You’ll get your corn. This is another deal I’m talking about now.”

  Dylan sat back down and put the lid back on the jar of alcohol.

  “You get me sugar, and I’ll split my moonshine with you. I’ll need a lot of sugar.”

  “You’re making a big mistake. We need food, not alcohol. People are starving.”

  “Don’t worry about that. You found a tractor. I’ll let you plow up as much of this land as you want. It’s about forty acres. You can feed everybody with that much land, but they just have to wait until next fall’s harvest. We can trade that alcohol for food in the spring, Dylan. That’s when it’ll be worth more. The store-bought liquor should be gone by then.” Tom rubbed his chin and squinted an eye at D
ylan. “Just get me sugar, buckets of it.” Tom pushed the small jar closer to Dylan. “Take this to where people are bartering. You’ll see what it can do. It’s better than gold.”

  A shadow went across the screen door, and the two men could see the outline of a man’s body coming closer to the screen as he walked across the creaking wood planks of the old porch. When the specter leaned forward to peer through the screen, they saw that it was John. He had followed Dylan, again.

  “Hey, John,” said Tom loudly.

  Startled, John jumped back and then fumbled for the door handle. He opened the door, but did not come in.

  “Shut the damn door. You’re letting the flies in!” yelled Tom.

  John leapt across the threshold. The rusty spring pulled the screen door shut, slamming it behind him.

  “What’s going on?” asked John. He leaned back onto the edge of the countertop and knocked over a plastic cup. It rolled off the counter, onto the floor, and landed near Dylan’s foot. Dylan lightly kicked it back toward John, without saying a word to him. They ignored each other.

  “We’re talking business.” Tom smiled.

  Dylan pushed the Mason jar away.

  “The corn? Is that what you’re talking about?” asked John. “I’m ready whenever you are. I just need some time to get a crew together.”

  Dylan did not say a word. He was still ignoring John, and John was doing the same to him.

  “Something like that,” said Tom, as he threw a look at Dylan across the table.

  Tom picked up another small jar of alcohol and handed it to John.

  “What’s this?” asked John, as he opened the lid. The fumes invaded his nostrils, and he quickly held the jar away. “Don’t answer; I just figured it out.”

  “John, that’s liquid gold,” Tom replied. “We’re in the moonshine business now.”