Darkness upon the Land

When he tore around the corner of the house to investigate the scream from the barn, Reuben was horrified for a split second that he arrived just in time to witness Alexia getting murdered. Without any break in his stride, he yelled her name as she hit the ground. He saw the gunman’s aim switch to him, so he suddenly altered his trajectory as she grabbed something from the ground and threw it at her attacker. His astonishment at the fireball that exploded was in unison with his relief she was not only alive but also still kicking.

The thug was engulfed in flames as he and Alexia tumbled away from each other. She scrambled madly toward the end of the barn and hollered that the pistol was on fire. As he dove for shelter behind the shed he’d vacated earlier when this whole mess began, he briefly wondered what else could go wrong.

Watch it – that was a dangerous question.

At least there wasn’t any wait for the pistol to shoot and explode all at once. He immediately darted to where she sat leaning against the wall, and dread descended upon him that she might be alive but actually wounded. Her assertion that it was only an outburst meant he had time to deal with the screeching hoodlum near the other end of the barn. Although he’d brought the rifle with him because it was already in his hands, he was concerned about firing it because there had been no opportunity to confirm the barrel was unobstructed. He leaned it against the wall and strode toward the flaming miscreant.

Gunner had retained enough sense to try rolling to snuff the fire, but the thickened gasoline wasn’t going to be defeated quite that easily. Reuben hesitated for a second as he debated grabbing a horse blanket from the barn to help smother the flames. His attention was immediately divided between the burned robber and Liana, who’d just stepped out on the back porch.

“Et y’ou Alexia?” She called.

He yelled back in Cajun, “Behind the barn! She just had an outburst.”

It was a good thing for Gunner that Liana was still incapacitated. Otherwise Reuben believed she would have marched over with a bottle of oil and dowsed him.

“And Adrian?” The exchange continued in Cajun.

“In the barn. Send somebody out here with a towel or something!”

There was quick movement around the door, and Liana stepped inside just before Doreen came running out. He wasn’t sure whether to be more impressed by her speed, or the fact she was actually carrying a large, white dishtowel instead of a jug of alcohol.

She thrust the towel into his hands. “Is Adrian all right?”

He switched to English. “Alexia seemed to think so.” His attention returned to the flailing profligate. “She’s in the barn.” Doreen scrambled into the outbuilding, and he strode toward Gunner.

The thug was on his knees and swatting at himself as though he was being bombarded by flies. His eyes were either clamped shut or swollen, and the stench of burned hair and an almost putrid flesh aroma made Reuben’s stomach tighten uncomfortably.

“Hold still and I won’t knock your block off,” he growled as he approached.

Gunner’s retort was the same unimaginative recommendation he’d heard many times before, so he wasn’t at all gentle as he clapped the towel over the goon to pat out the flames. The malefactor cursed again as he swung blindly at Reuben and connected with his ribs.

“Have it your way, then!” He snapped. He drove his elbow into the side of Gunner’s head. The gangster screamed as he was knocked to the ground. Practically pouncing on top of the hood, he finished smothering the flames.

Doreen came out of the barn, apparently trying to block Adrian’s view of his “aid and comfort” to Gunner.

“Don’t go yet!” Reuben grunted as he jumped back to his feet.

“But Adrian –”

“She can go back to the house.” He strode past Doreen. “I need you to keep this guy under wraps.”

Appearing visibly shaken, she urged the girl to run to the house and not look back. He grabbed the rifle and carried it back to Doreen to thrust it into her hands.

He stated loudly for Gunner to hear, “If he makes a move, blow his head off.” Then Reuben leaned closer to her and murmured, “For the love of God, don’t shoot this thing!”

After carrying Alexia back to the house, he ordered Mitch to come along as he returned to the front yard that had been vacated by everybody else who had been there. Now bereft of his rifle, Reuben definitely wanted backup, even though he doubted Mitch would so much as say “Boo!” if an altercation occurred. But Percy and Carlo were apparently still upstairs, and frankly he was inclined to trust the older man more.

The heat from the burning pickup had subsided enough to make their jaunt past it doable albeit a bit toasty. The first man he had beaned was actually staggering to his feet. Taking advantage of the thug’s grogginess, Reuben immediately tackled him. The miscreant, a fellow of fair complexion but with dark, curly hair, looked like he might actually be in his thirties. He cursed as he was knocked to the ground.

Reuben wrestled with him while barking to Mitch, “Grab the guns!”

There were two military style rifles also lying on the ground. Mitch wordlessly obeyed as Reuben wrangled with his opponent and forced him to lie face down on the road. With one knee pressed into the man’s back, he pinned his arms behind him and glanced toward the second fellow, who was still lying on the ground. An eerie sickness swept through him.

It was Slim from back at the clinic in Esperanza, only without his paper star. The wound in the side of his skull had bled profusely, staining the man’s forehead and eyes and puddled around his head. But Reuben could still recognize him because he now realized who had hollered at them earlier. Slim was no longer twitching, but his eyes also didn’t have that dead look. The man did look unusually stiff, with arms flexed over his chest, hands balled in fists, and legs extended straight out.

He turned his attention back to the man he had pinned. “Now listen up and listen good. We’ve already taken down everybody else, even the ones that tried to sneak in. You’re the last one able to stand. Give it up or you won’t be able to do even that.”

Curly sputtered that same overused recommendation Reuben was getting tired of hearing. He rammed both knees into the invader’s back and leaned toward Curly’s ear as the man began struggling to breathe.

“This is called asphyxiation,” he growled. “If I get my other man on top of here with me, you won’t be able to breathe at all. Now if I get up and let you take a good, deep breath, you need to say something I want to hear. Otherwise you’re going back down to smother-land. Got that?”

He leaned back, and after Curly coughed and sputtered, the man suddenly began to retch. The stench of vomit assailed his nostrils as Reuben pulled the ruffian up slightly by grasping his upper arms. Mitch seemed to moan and back away.

“Don’t get too far,” Reuben warned. He twisted Curly, still on his knees, around to face Mitch. “Now either point one of those at this prisoner or trade me places.”

Mitch seemed befuddled for a couple of seconds as he slung one rifle over his shoulder and finally raised the more military model to a shooting position. Luckily the prisoner was still too disoriented to take advantage of the situation.

Reuben pushed the man back to the ground and confiscated three full clips jammed into his pockets. Then he ordered Mitch to bring him the other firearm.

AR-15 in hand, he snapped at Curly, “Try anything funny and I’ll blow your kneecaps off first.”

The thug muttered curses as he staggered to his feet. Then Slim mumbled something incoherent.

Mitch practically jumped. “He’s still alive!”

“For now,” Reuben muttered as another discordant tremor rippled through him. Recognizing Slim somehow made his assault more personal. He barked at Curly, “Head up into the yard!”

The criminal sullenly obeyed, although he remained unsteady as he wobbled around the smoldering pickup. Reuben ordered him to sit under the live oak tree, and Mitch seemed relieved when he was told to go into the house to update Liana and then help his wife to guard Gunner.

He stood in front of his prisoner with the rifle braced against his ribs. The swelling on the front of the man’s head seemed to be larger than it was a couple of minutes ago. The clothing was a bit nondescript – stained blue jeans and a wrinkled, black tee shirt with what looked like the Kama Sutra of skeletons printed on the front.

“Which group are you with?” Reuben growled.

The crook only glared at him.

“Your comrade back on the driveway is associated with the city hall in Esperanza.” He kept his voice low. “But the punk we’ve got out back looks like a bona fide gangster. I smell a change in the wind. So let’s establish a little understanding between you and me. I ran out of patience ten minutes ago. I’ll be more than happy to do this the hard way – for you, that is – and give you a whole new experience in pain until you start telling me things I actually believe is the truth. Or you can start cooperating now and we’ll give you some aspirin for that headache and a dry place to stay next time it starts raining.”

Curly continued to glare. The fact he kept his silence instead of spewing insults at Reuben possibly meant he was a prime candidate to keep for questioning. It would be a lot harder to get the information out of him, but he probably knew more than the rest.

“Your buddy out back is in bad shape,” he continued. “His burns run the gamut from first to third degree. Now Liana, you know who she is, right?” The thug’s expression never changed. “She’s a darn good healer. She can put out the effort to patch him up. But if you remain obstinate, if your pain tolerance proves to be quite high, I’ll have other plans for him. If you don’t talk, I’ll get him to talk. How much more miserable do you want him to be?”

For a person with any humanity, that question should have caused some flicker of concern to at least dart across Curly’s face, but the man only continued glaring. There was no doubt he was going to be a tough nut to crack, but information was extremely vital to them.

He heard somebody come out on the front porch, but didn’t shift his attention from the miscreant. Then he heard Liana holler at Percy and Carlo, and it took them only a minute to come down the stairs. After she sent Carlo into the house, Liana told Percy to accompany her. Both walked over to Reuben.

“How’s Darius?” He asked.

Her response was in Cajun. “Larissa is applying pressure to the wound. As long as he doesn’t get an infection, he’ll live.”

He switched back to Cajun, “This is convenient for you and me, but what if this joker actually speaks the language?”

She addressed the prisoner, and used a couple of words Reuben had never heard before but from the context had a darn good idea what they meant. Curly’s expression never changed. So the conversation continued in Cajun.

“He doesn’t,” Liana stated matter-of-factly. “Otherwise he’d be trying to punch me in the mouth right now.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Any luck getting him to talk?” Her attention shifted to Reuben.

“He’s tight as a clam.”

“He might not be sure what to say.” She returned her gaze to Curly and switched to English. “Who’s the president?”

He glared at her.

She looked at Reuben and bluntly stated, “His injury is too severe for him to be any good to us. Just shoot him.”

As shocking as her order was, he understood her motive and promptly raised the firearm to his shoulder while Percy spat a four-letter word. “Shouldn’t I try for a flesh wound first?”

“Titus!” Curly blurted, proving her theory was correct.

“Hold up.” Liana raised her hand, and he lowered the rifle slightly. Her attention returned to Curly. “What year is this?”

“Twenty thirty-five,” he growled.

“How did that truck catch fire?”

A hint of uncertainty softened the man’s scowl. He glanced toward the smoldering pickup, but made no response.

“Nice concussion,” She muttered before resuming in Cajun. “Who else have we got?”

“One drowned in the swamp and the other one is lying on the road. He’s still alive, but he doesn’t look right.”

“I’ll check him out.” She looked toward Percy and switched to English. “Let’s go down to the driveway.”

He wordlessly followed as she slowly but steadily walked that direction. Reuben’s focus returned to Curly.

“In case you still aren’t thinking straight, I’ll repeat myself. You can cooperate and talk now, or resist and talk later, but either way you will talk. The only choice you have is how soon.”

The prisoner only glared. Reuben allowed the silence to remain between them, but it gave him a moment to gather his thoughts. With all the crises he’d had to race back and forth between, the reality of what he’d been forced to do this morning only now began to sink in. Good Lord, had he really behaved that badly? Less than an hour ago he had pondered if he was fulfilling the mission that had made his life necessary, and then shortly thereafter began disregarding the lives of others. The fact he had acted to defend the viability of everyone here didn’t offer enough consolation, and a horrible possibility occurred to him.

Merciful God … he didn’t want to be a killer.

By the time Liana returned with Percy, nothing had changed with the prisoner.

She kept to English. “He’s bleeding into his brain. The only person who can help him now is a neurosurgeon, not an over-educated traiteur.”

“So he’s not getting back up?” Reuben asked.

“Not in this day and age. Any luck with this lowlife?”

“That has yet to be determined. I think we’ll –”

Shouting and screaming started up in the back yard again. This time it was immediately followed by rapid gunfire.