Jeff Hirsch - The Darkest Path

I moved down the hall, muscles tight as iron, stepping carefully so none of the wood slats in the floor would send up an alarm. There were two bedroom doors, but which was Wade’s and which was the girl’s? I took a guess and pushed one open. Inside, a cool night wind streamed in through gauzy curtains to where the girl lay on her side beneath the sheets. A rustic-looking desk sat under the window, covered with papers, pencils, and books. A stuffed bear sat in the corner. The girl turned over, sending a jolt through me, though she didn’t wake.

I drew her door closed behind me and kept going. The last door opened onto a larger bedroom where Wade slept beneath an ornate gun rack. There was a hunting rifle, but I didn’t see the 20 gauge.

My heart was thrumming in my ears as I searched the room. His nightstand was empty except for a lamp and a book. The dresser top was barren. My nerves buzzed. How long had I been in the house now? Ten minutes? An hour? Either seemed possible and either was too long. I was pushing my luck. Bear and I had made it this far on our own; maybe…

But then I saw it. Just below the open window was a pile of discarded clothes. Boots, a shirt, a pair of jeans. I checked that Wade was still asleep and then I made my way across the room. When I lifted the jeans, there was a faint metallic clink and I knew I had found what I was looking for. I slid my hand into the front pocket, and Wade’s truck keys spilled into my hand.

“Stand up and raise your hands.”

My world collapsed to a single dark point. I stood slowly, the keys dangling from my hand. Wade sat up in bed, the 20 gauge steadied on one knee, pointed straight at my chest.

“Grey Solomon sent me,” I managed to say, my voice trembling.

“Don’t know anyone named Grey.”

“I’m not Path.”

Wade kept the shotgun trained on my chest as he went to the window. He turned from me just long enough to draw the curtains back and scan the grounds outside.

“He told me you used to help people like me,” I said. “But I didn’t want to get you and your girl involved.”

“So you figured you’d just steal my truck.”

“I was going to get myself to the Wyoming border and then leave it somewhere it would be found easy.”

Wade closed the curtains and returned to the bed. I took a step forward, but stopped when the barrel of the shotgun rose again.

“So you’re a capture, then.”

I nodded.

“Where from?”

“Cormorant. In Arizona.”

“And Grey Solomon brought you here.”

“Most of the way. There was a roadblock and I bailed out.”

“Grey doing okay these days?”

I flinched and tried to hide it. “He’s fine,” I said, my voice husky. “He sends his regards.”

Wade studied the wrinkles on the bedsheets in front of him. Close up he looked hawkish and severe, with a sharp nose and piercing eyes. His gray hair hung in untidy waves around his head.

“Got any supplies on you?” he asked. “Food? Water?”

“No, sir.”

Wade looked me up and down, then sighed deeply and slid out of the bed.

“Well, come on. Guess you can add stealing a pack and some food to your story if you get nabbed.”

Wade dressed in the dark before leading me out quietly past his daughter’s room. He lit an oil lamp in the entryway and carried it to a door at the edge of the kitchen. Wade nudged it open, revealing a rickety flight of stairs that led down to a dirt-floor basement. It was lined with steel shelves full of supplies.

“Have at it,” he said, standing at the doorway. “But I hope you like Spam.”

I hurried down the stairs, eager to be on my way and out of Wade’s life as soon as possible. I was halfway to the floor when I heard the basement door slam behind me.

I turned back and found Wade looming at the top of the stairs, his back to the door, his shotgun aimed at my head.

“On your knees,” he said. “Do it.”

I rushed him, hoping to catch him off balance and make it through the door, but days on the road made me too slow. Wade grabbed a fistful of my jacket and threw me down the stairs. I hit the dirt with a shock and my vision grayed out. I could feel myself slipping away, but I thought of Bear out there alone and I reached up and grabbed hold of the nearest stair, feeling myself sink even as I climbed. Wade’s boot pressed into my back, pinning me to the floor.

“Please…” I said in a thready mumble. “I was just trying to…”

There was a rattle of chains and I felt a steel cuff locking onto my ankle. Wade pulled me off the steps, then dropped down by my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Some Path folk I know will be stopping by tomorrow. Gonna have to turn you over to them, son.”

“No,” I said. “You can let me go. I won’t say anything. I swear. They’ll never know I was here.”

“Sorry, son,” Wade said as he climbed the stairs. “I’ll leave you a lantern to see, and you’ve got enough slack to get to the food and water on those shelves. Looks like you could use both.”

“They’ll kill me.”

Wade stopped. He gripped the barrel of the shotgun and stared at his feet, his back to me.

“I’ll put in as good a word for you as I can,” he said in a near whisper. “They’re fair people. They’ll listen.”

Wade moved a single lantern onto the top step and then started out the door. The sound of Bear’s barking came from somewhere outside.

“Wade. Wait!”

He closed the door and threw the lock home. I made another stab at getting up, but I was too weak. The chain tangled my feet and I went down again. A door upstairs opened and closed shut again. Bear’s barking became louder and more hysterical — then there was a yelp and he went silent. I scrambled to my feet.

“Bear!”

Seconds later the basement door flew open and Wade dragged Bear down by his collar. He said nothing, just dropped Bear in front of me and then went back up the stairs, locking the door behind him.

I pulled against the chain until I could reach Bear. He was lying on the bottom step, looking up at me with a dazed expression. I pulled him into my lap, forcing him to stay still while I ran my hands over his body. My heart raced, but there was nothing. No blood. No broken bones. I let him go and he squirmed out of my lap to explore the basement.

I stared at the door, trying to control the rage building up inside me. I jerked hard on the chain around my ankle, but the other end was padlocked to one of the steel shelves. My head swam from the exertion. I breathed deep and slow until it cleared and then I made myself search the rest of the room for anything I could use. Nothing. Dirt floor. Concrete walls. No tools. No windows. Only one door and a lantern that I couldn’t reach.

I fell back into the dirt, staring at the door. It seemed impossible that we could have come so far for this. End of the line. I heaved at the chain in frustration and hissed in pain as the steel cuff bit into my ankle.

Bear barked behind me and I turned. His front paws were up on the shelves, scrabbling at the stacks of food that sat there. Crackers, beans, tuna, cases of water. Trapped or not, we were both still starving. I grabbed anything with a pull-top lid and tossed it into a pile on the floor. We ate four cans of tuna between us, along with handfuls of saltines. I filled the empty cans with water and let Bear drink.

There was a rattle as the lock at the top of the stairs was thrown. I sat there, struggling for some kind of plan but feeling myself crumple under my own bone-deep weariness. I reached for one of the bottles of water and my hand brushed an aluminum lid. I hissed and yanked it back. A thin trickle of blood ran down one finger and into my palm. I held the lid up into the light and ran my thumb along its keen edge.