William Rose: Shut the Fuck Up and Die!

“Just up this path a bit. Almost there.”

The two had walked into the woods, Earl leading the way with the blue canvas draped over his shoulder and Daryl bringing up the rear. The flashlight bobbed and weaved in the darkness, illuminating a narrow trail that had been beaten down into the snow. A few tracks could be made out and they were embedded into the packed down powder like molds: the split-toed hooves of deer, cat-like prints left by foxes, and even the large, perfectly circular toes of a black bear. But, for the most part, the game trail had been so widely traveled that the moisture had been squeezed out from the snow underfoot, creating a surface that was as slippery and treacherous as oiled glass.

The men inched forward with short, quick steps; perhaps it was the added weight, but the slick surface underfoot didn’t seem to have much effect on Earl. He headed deeper and deeper into the wilderness with the confidence of one who’d been born into the ice and snow. Almost as if he knew Nature would never dare humiliate him with another tumble into the cold. Daryl, however, didn’t fare quite as well: several times he felt as though he were the dinner plates in a parlor trick as the tablecloth was yanked out from beneath him. He slid, pinwheeled his arms for balance as the flashlight splayed crazily over the trunks of trees, and cursed to himself in the darkness. As long as he held the flashlight within his hands, the panic was kept at bay; but, in his imagination, he saw the Maglite tumbling through the air as the safety of its beam spiraled away from his grasp. He imagined the black of night rushing in, squeezing him from all sides, suffocating him with like a wet towel around the face. As a result, his hands trembled more than what could be contributed by the freezing temperatures and the beam of light quivered as if it, too, were terrified of what might lay within the shadows and gloom.

Finally, the two came to a small clearing and Earl hoisted the tarp from his shoulder. He allowed it to thump into the snow and took a moment to catch his breath.

“Good enough.” he panted. “Don’t have to go any further.”

Daryl eyed the trees and underbrush circling them as if he expected some vile and twisted creature to leap out at any moment.

“You sure? I mean, we ain’t been walkin’ but ten minutes and…”

“You want dry pants or not?”

Daryl nodded his head and snapped his mouth shut.

“Okay, then… as far as Mama knows we went the whole twenty minutes, okay?”

Rather than waiting for a reply, the man grasped one end of the blue canvass in his meaty mists and, without hesitation or ceremony, gave it a sharp pull. The rolled up canvas spun away from him like toilet paper across the bathroom floor, growing smaller with each revolution, until it was laid out flat against the forest floor.

Now that it had been unfurled, the body that had been wrapped tightly within its confines stared up at clouds the color of dirty cotton with eyes that would never see again. Its flesh was pale and bruised and sections hung from the carcass like tattered ribbons. The thing’s mouth was opened in a silent scream and barbed wire coiled around the skull like some sort of grisly gag. The little twists of metal dimpled the skin around the cheeks and the corners of the lips and dried trickles of blood surrounded the punctures like rust stains. Constellations of stab wounds dotted the torso and a wide gash curved across the stomach as if someone had attempted to carve a smile into the thing’s gut. Below this was the severed stump of a penis, cut so cleanly that it looked as if the organ had been cleaved off near the base of the pale and wrinkled sacks that hung just below.

“You sure this is far enough, Earl? I mean, if someone finds him, we….”

Earl grunted in disgust and rubbed his stomach as he looked over the body.

“Ain’t like nobody’s gonna smell him or nothing. Not as cold as it’s been. And Hell… you see them tracks. This time tomorrow and it’s gonna be picked clean. We come back in a week’s time, gather what’s left of the bones, and nobody will be none the wiser.”

“Sure died hard, didn’t he? Glad we still got the bitch, though….”

Earl ignored the grin that spread across his brother’s face and began freeing the tarp from the weight of the corpse. It’d been nearly forty minutes since he’d had an opportunity to relieve himself and his bladder felt as if he were about to pass shards of ice; he wanted nothing more than to be done with the work at hand, back in the truck, and heading toward the warmth and comfort of home. Mama would have a fire crackling in the hearth, hot coffee, and maybe even soup if they were lucky: she tended to reward the boys when they’d been exceptionally good and, in Earl’s mind, going out on a night like this counted as above and beyond. Maybe she’d even let him have a go at the woman after his numb skin had a chance to thaw.

“How much life you reckon she got left in her? She’s been lookin’ pale lately. Probably have to find another before long.”

The sound of Daryl’s prattling buzzed in Earl’s head like an annoying gnat that had become lodged somewhere between his eardrum and skull. Each syllable caused him to inwardly cringe as his muscles tensed in response: couldn’t the fool ever just shut the fuck up? Even for a minute?

“Hope the next one’s just as pretty. And brunette. I loves me some brunettes….”

Earl took a deep breath as he rolled the tarp back up and tried mentally counting to ten. A wind had picked up and between its chill and the barely suppressed urge to beat the mortal fuck out of his little brother, he’d begun to tremble. The quivering caused his already stressed bladder to tingle and ache, as if the flow were building pressure within his body and would soon burst free.

“Remember that one brunette, Earl? Had the tattoo of the little stick figure and lawnmower right above her bush? ‘Bout the cutest damn thing I ever did see. Wonder if Mama would let me draw one of them on the next one?

Earl would be damned if he was going to stand out there in the cold and piss himself like his sorry excuse for a brother had. . Kicking the tarp to the side, he unzipped his fly and closed his eyes as the warm liquid surged out. The entire lower half of his body felt as though a great weight had been lifted from it and he sighed; tendrils of steam rose from the now-wet corpse at his feet and, with the urgency of his bladder relieved, his aggravation with Daryl also receded and he could think clearly again. Though he hated to admit it, his brother was right: the girl back at the house was fading fast and wouldn’t last much longer.

The cold bit through the slick vinyl of Mona’s parka and crept through the layers of batting and her sweatshirt. She and Matt had tried walking for a while with their arms draped across one another, but the futile attempt at sharing body heat had been awkward; they tended to fall out of step and had staggered along the road like a pair of drunkards weaving home from a bar. Despite the freezing weather which numbed their noses and lips, both of them had worked up a sweat beneath their clothes as the grade had grown progressively steeper. The last thing they needed was for one of them to fall: the loose powder would sneak its way down into their clothes, melt against their warmer bodies, and plunge their internal temperature to the point that even the icy drifts would feel warm in comparison. So they shuffled forward, shoulder to shoulder instead, each one hunched over in an attempt to keep the wind from peppering their faces with flurries.

“H-humans should r-really consider hibernation.”

Mona’s teeth chattered as she spoke, infusing her words with a slight vibrato. She tried to smile but her skin felt as if it had been pulled like plastic wrap against her skull; her flushed cheeks stung and the corners of her mouth felt as if they were about to crack open.