Си Бокс - Dark Sky

“C’mon, Joe,” Brad called out. He sounded closer than Earl, and to his left. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. We can start shooting right now. We’ve got enough firepower to fill you all full of holes. Or we can light this shack on fire and pick you off when you come running out one by one.”

Kirby remained silent. Either he was hurt, not with them, or slinking along the outside of the cabin looking for a way in, Joe thought. He guessed the latter.

“ Answer him ,” Boedecker pleaded with Joe.

“I’m a dead man,” Price moaned.

Boedecker turned to Price. “You’ve put us in a bad spot,” he hissed. “Give yourself up to them. Be a fucking man.”

Price grimaced but he didn’t make a move.

Joe ignored both men while he surveyed the interior of the cabin once again. The log walls were old and crumbling but solid. There was no way they could batter their way out through the sides or back. Then he looked up and swept his eyes along the center beam and the sagging trusses that held up the warped sheets of plywood roofing. He could see gaps and exposed nails in the plywood sheets where they’d pulled away from the two-by-fours.

“Fuck it,” Boedecker announced.

“Don’t—” Joe started to say.

“We’ve got your boy in here, Earl,” Boedecker shouted. “You can have him if you let Joe and me come out the door.”

“Is that you, Brock?” Earl asked.

“It’s me.”

“Is Joe in there with you?”

“He is.”

“Why ain’t he talking?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Boedecker said, and he plucked the speargun from the top of the table and held it at the ready. Joe couldn’t fathom what the rancher’s strategy was.

“Please,” Price said to Boedecker as he stood up and backed away until he was pressed against the log wall. “Please don’t hand me over to them.”

“Shut up,” Boedecker said as he raised the speargun at Price. Joe leapt toward Boedecker, but as he did the rancher aimed and pulled the trigger. The speargun made the metallic thunk and the projectile flashed across the room and pinned Price to a log just above his clavicle and inside his shoulder. Price screamed out.

“That’ll hold him,” Boedecker said to Joe.

Joe was beside himself. “Brock, what did you do?”

“I saved our lives, Joe.” Then he tossed the speargun receiver to the floor and yelled out, “Come and get him, Earl. He ain’t going nowhere now.”

“I hope you ain’t killed him,” Earl called from outside. “That’s my prerogative.”

“You can’t do this,” Joe said urgently to Boedecker. “ We can’t do this.”

“Sure we can,” Boedecker said as he strode across the filthy floor and snapped back the bolt on the door to unlock it. While he did, Joe spun on his heel and lunged at the rolled-up bedroll.

In his peripheral vision, Joe could see Boedecker throw open the door and fill the doorframe. He held his hands up to show he didn’t have any weapons. Price whimpered and tried to pull the spear out of his body with both hands gripped around the shaft.

Joe slid the .22 rifle out of the bedroll and opened the bolt. His fingers trembled as he tried to fit a small cartridge into the chamber. He dropped the first round to the floor and snatched out a second. He shoved the rest of the loose cartridges into his parka pocket.

As he worked the bolt and pulled back on the knob until it was cocked, Boedecker yelled, “I’m coming out, Earl. I’m unarmed. Joe’s right behind me.”

Before he stepped out into the gloom, Boedecker looked over his shoulder. When he saw Joe with the rifle, his eyes got big and he said, “What in the hell are you thinking, Joe?”

“Go,” Joe said. “Get out of here.”

For once, Boedecker didn’t seem to have words available. His eyes beseeched Joe to toss the rifle aside and follow him outside.

Then a sloppy bloom of red exploded from between Boedecker’s shoulder blades at the same instant there was a massive short-range shotgun blast. It was close enough to the open front door that Joe saw the tip of the tongue of orange flame.

Boedecker spun on his feet until he was facing inside, then dropped to his knees in the doorway. A second blast took off the side of his head and he fell face-first onto the cabin floor.

Joe heard Earl say, “Jesus, Brad. Did you have to do that?”

“You said no witnesses,” Brad answered.

“That was fucking Brock,” Earl said. “He was one of us .”

“His name isn’t Thomas, Dad.”

As Brad talked, his voice got clearer and louder. He was walking heavily through the snow toward the front door.

Price froze and watched Joe as he raised the rifle and aimed it toward the open door. When Brad filled it, he was illuminated only by the glow of the heating coil. He held his shotgun loosely at his side. Joe said a prayer that the old rifle would operate and he placed the front sight on Brad’s glowing face just above his beard and pulled the trigger.

Click .

Nothing happened. Brad heard the sound and squinted toward its origin. Apparently, he couldn’t see Joe clearly in the gloom.

With shaking hands, Joe ejected the bad round and reached into his pocket for a fresh one. He couldn’t see well enough to know if the lead faced the correct direction while he rammed it into the chamber, but he assumed it was okay because the bolt didn’t seize up. Joe cocked the rifle again and raised it.

Crack .

Brad staggered and reached up with his free hand and covered his face as if he’d been stung by a bee. He cursed and backpedaled out of the light.

“What the hell happened?” Earl asked.

“Joe shot me,” Brad answered with alarm and disbelief. “ He shot me .”

Joe ejected the casing and fitted another round into the chamber.

“Joe, come on,” Earl said plaintively. “You didn’t need to do that. I thought you were a bad shot, but you proved me wrong, I guess. But this Price asshole means nothing to you.”

Joe took several strides toward Price and kept the muzzle aimed toward the open door. He thought he had a minute at most before Brad came back or either Earl or Kirby arrived.

He grasped the back end of the spear and pulled hard. Joe could feel the spear tip release from the log. The tip of the spear was barbed for fish, so he didn’t pull it back through Price’s flesh.

“Come on,” Joe said to Price.

“Where?”

“Follow me.”

“Follow you where?”

“Out of here.”

“How?”

“Here,” Joe said, thrusting the .22 into Price’s hands. “Keep that aimed at the door and pull the trigger if anyone steps inside.”

—

Carrying the stump he’d used for a chair from where they’d huddled around the heating coil, Joe kicked the bed away from the wall and dropped it onto the floor in its place and mounted it. His back was to the open door and to Price, who asked him if the safety of the rifle was off.

“It’s off,” Joe said. “It’s cocked and ready to fire.”

Presuming the cartridge is good , Joe thought but didn’t say.

“I’ve never shot a gun before.”

“It’s a good time to learn.”

From outside, Joe heard Earl lament, “Goddamn it, Joe. You shot Brad in the jaw.”

“You ruined his beautiful smile,” Kirby chimed in with barely disguised glee. “The girls won’t have anything to do with him now.”

Kirby’s voice came from the left side of the cabin, not the front where Earl and Brad were. Good to know, Joe thought.

He braced himself on top of the stump and reached up and placed both palms against a sheet of plywood that rode down the ridge of the truss and appeared to be nailed directly to the top of the log wall. He grunted as he shoved and he felt it give. But it wasn’t yet enough to create an escape route.