Michael Smith - Rivers

Cohen screamed, “Get on the tree! Crawl across!”

The truck swayed and seemed like it might be ready to go again and he helped Mariposa get to her feet and she fell forward and onto the broad tree trunk. Cohen got to his knees and got up and did the same. That way, he screamed and she turned and wrapped her arms and legs around the tree trunk and began to nudge along. Cohen was right behind her and they kept on, little by little, until they saw the tree roots and the ground out behind them. Jump! Cohen yelled and Mariposa went as far as she could along the trunk and then she got on her knees, on her feet, and dove over the edge of the clump of roots and disappeared. Cohen followed her over and they were not out of the water but they were out of the flood and they helped each other to their feet and they trudged through the knee-deep water. When they came to the end of it, they collapsed, lying on their stomachs, their faces buried in folded arms, waiting for someone or something to show them mercy.

UNDERNEATH EVAN’S WINDOW WAS WHERE the awning first came loose and with a loud crack and then a metal groan it ripped from the brick building facade and twisted away in the night. The stragglers outside had run for cover and the wind howled through the square and piece by piece the awning was torn away and it slammed against buildings or flew through windows or shot off into the dark. As if signaled by the rise in the storm, Charlie’s men kicked the door and splintered the frame and came into the bedroom.

In the passing hours, Evan had sensed the storm gaining strength and he had awakened Brisco. Brisco whined and moaned about it but Evan told him he had to get dressed. Get your shoes and your coat and hat. Don’t argue with me just do it. When the men came into the room, Evan and Brisco sat on the bed, Brisco crouched close to his brother, scared of the storm and scared that Evan had told him they might have to get out of here and scared that Evan couldn’t say where they would go if they had to get out of here. Evan wore his coat and he held his hand inside, gripping the pistol.

“You ain’t got to get up,” said the man with the birthmark. The other one came in behind him and went looking in the closets and dressers, digging into the pile of clothes in the corner and disgusted to find nothing. He checked the other room while the man with the birthmark stood at the foot of the bed and stared at Evan. He had the stare of the sleepless and his upper lip quivered.

“Holy hell,” the other man yelled from Cohen’s room. “Hit the damn jackpot.”

“What you got?”

“Got rifles and lo and behold a sawed-off shotgun. Holy hell.”

“Bring them on in here.”

“Hell, just found a pistol, too.”

The short man came into Evan’s room holding the rifles and shotgun and several boxes of ammunition across his arms. Cohen’s pistol was stuck in the front of his pants.

“I damn well knew you had some shit in here,” the man said as he took a Remington and a handful of cartridges and loaded it. Then he held it on Evan.

Evan hugged at Brisco and said, “Don’t point that thing at him or me. You got what you want now go on.”

“We ain’t got it all,” said the man with the birthmark. Outside a piece of the awning smacked against the building and busted out a window in Cohen’s room. Brisco shouted and they all jumped.

Evan sat up and yelled, “Hell you don’t. Go on.”

“He’s right. Let’s get on,” said the short man and he moved toward the door. The other man grabbed him and said, “We ain’t going nowhere.”

“You ain’t staying here,” Evan said.

The rain and wind rushed through the broken window and the man said, “Not going out there for damn sure. Besides you got something else. I saw your boy slide a little something to you. Where’s it at?”

“I don’t have nothing.”

Brisco yelled, “He don’t have nothing.”

“Shut up.”

“Let’s just get,” said the short man.

“Where is it? A few dollar bills?” the man said and he shoved the rifle toward Evan. The wind howled through the broken window.

“You damn coward,” Evan said.

The man with the birthmark looked at Evan surprised, then looked at his partner and laughed. He turned back to Evan and said, “What’d you say?”

“You ain’t shit without that gun.”

“Don’t matter what I am without it, ’cause I got it.”

“Come on, dammit,” the short man said.

“I ain’t coming on. You got any money?”

“Charlie’s gonna give us some more.”

“You and me ain’t never gonna see Charlie again. This boy’s got a wad and I’m getting it,” he said and he aimed the rifle above Evan’s head and fired, a spattering of plaster raining down on Evan as he ducked across Brisco. “Where is it?” the man said.

Evan stayed across Brisco. Didn’t move or answer.

The man lowered the rifle closer to Evan and fired again and this time the shot pierced the wall not a foot above Evan’s head. “Jesus Christ,” the short man yelled.

“Shut up,” the man said. “I don’t wanna shoot your ass with your boy here but I ain’t asking but one more time then I’ll find it on your dead body. Where’s it at?”

“Okay. Okay,” Evan said. “Just don’t shoot no more.” He lifted his head off Brisco, who was crying now with his face down in the pillow and his hands pressed over his ears. Evan looked at the short man with his arms out like a rack, holding the other guns. The man with the birthmark lowered the rifle a little and the wind howled through the square. Evan sat up and looked down inside his coat and said, “Here, you can have it all.” He then pulled out the pistol and shot the man with the rifle in the shoulder and he fell back out of the doorway, and then he fired on the other man, who was dropping his armload and reaching for Cohen’s pistol. Evan hit him in the rib cage and he went down. Evan was out of the bed and on his feet and the man with the birthmark was trying to get back up and fire again but Evan hit him again in the chest and he went back flat and motionless. Brisco screamed with each shot and tried to burrow into the mattress and the short man got to his knees and was pulling the pistol when Evan shot him again and he fell back with flailing arms.

Brisco screamed and the storm raged. Evan’s hands shook as he held the pistol on the men. He moved closer and nudged the short man with his foot. He didn’t move. Cohen’s pistol was on the floor next to him and Evan nervously bent down and picked it up. Then he stepped out of the doorway and nudged the man with the birthmark and he was dead, too. Evan put both pistols in his coat pocket and he was shaking and light-headed. He knelt down to pick up the other rifles but he couldn’t calm down, so he tucked his hands under his arms as if to force them to be still. He squeezed his eyes shut and took heavy breaths and hurried to gather himself so he could get to Brisco.

He only gave himself seconds, and then he pulled out his hands and for some reason blew on them. Then he grabbed the Remington and the other rifles and Cohen’s shotgun and took them into the other room. He set them on the bed and the rain was blowing in the window and glass was scattered across the floor. He went back to Brisco and he sat down on the bed and pulled the boy to him and held on. It’s all right. It’s over. It’s over. It’s all right.

Then he heard footsteps above. Big, pounding footsteps. Then he heard a door open and the footsteps move to the top of the staircase. A voice yelled, “I don’t give a damn who’s down there but I’m coming and shooting first and asking second!”

“Don’t shoot!” Evan yelled back. “It’s over!”