Laymon Laymon: The Woods Are Dark

“Where are you taking us?” Sherri asked. She sounded, to Neala, remarkably calm.

The men didn’t answer. From the start, they’d said very little. All four stayed quiet and solemn, as if carrying out an unpleasant necessity.

The boy ran ahead of them. At the rear of an old pickup truck he tried to open the tailgate. He was still working on it, without success, when one of the men arrived and gave him a hand. Together, they dropped the gate. It fell with a clamor that resounded in the night’s stillness.

The boy scampered onto the truck bed. The man walked to the cab. As he climbed in, the others pushed Neala and Sherri toward the pickup’s rear gate.

“This is kidnapping, you know,” Sherri warned them.

“That’s the least of your problems, sister.”

They were tugged and lifted onto the metal floor of the truck bed. A man on the ground swung up the gate. It crashed into place. He latched it, climbed aboard, and sat down at Neala’s feet.

The truck started to move, lurching over the rutted lot. Neala’s head banged the floor. She lifted it.

“Stay down,” said the man beside her.

After a turn and a final sharp bounce, the truck steadied out.

We’re on the main road, Neala realized. Heading west. Back the way we came.

“Where are you taking us?” Sherri asked.

“Not far,” said the man beside her.

“You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?”

The question made Neala’s stomach hurt. Why couldn’t Sherri keep her mouth shut!

“Not us,” the man said.

“I want to check them out,” said the boy.

“Help yourself.”

“For Christsake, Shaw,” said the man beside Neala.

“Ah, let the kid,” argued the one at her feet. “No harm done.”

“It isn’t right.”

“So what the hell is right?”

“He’s pushing twelve,” said Shaw—the boy’s father? “He needs the education.”

“Every time we get a good young one, Timmy’s at her. It’s disgusting.”

“Going queer, Robbins?”

“I just don’t think it’s right. Do you? We don’t have to turn into a bunch of savages, for Christsake. Next thing you know, we’ll be the ones raping and…”

“That ain’t allowed, and you know it,” Shaw said.

“It’s the next step, damn it! We let Timmy do whatever he wants, next thing you know he’ll be screwing ’em.”

“No I won’t” Timmy pouted.

“He knows better than that.”

“You ever tell him what they did to Weiss?”

Silence.

“I don’t want to scare you, kid, but we used to have a guy named Weiss on these runs.”

“Shut up, Robbins.”

“Weiss knew better, too. He knew the rules.”

“Robbins!” Shaw snapped.

“Let him tell,” said the man at Neala’s feet. “The kid better know, for his own good.”

“We had this really beautiful gal, about four years back. Weiss couldn’t stand it. We should’ve stopped him. I don’t know why we didn’t, but I guess we were tempted, ourselves, and figured we wouldn’t mind watching him. Safe enough, just watching. Anyway, he had her right here in the truck.”

“He screwed her?” Timmy asked. Neala heard eagerness in the boy’s voice.

“A few days later, he vanished. Weiss and his whole family: his wife and three kids. They vanished in the middle of the night, right out of their home.”

“Maybe they ran away,” Timmy suggested.

“No. The Krulls got ’em.”

“How do you know?”

“We found evidence,” Shaw explained.

“So just remember Weiss, when you get an urge to start exploring our ladies here.”

“It’s okay, long as I don’t screw ’em.”

“Christ, kid, where are your brains.”

“Knock that off,” Shaw snapped.

“Dad, can I?”

“Let him,” said the man at Neala’s feet.

“Just a little?” Timmy asked.

“You want to end up like Weiss?” Robbins asked.

“Long as I don’t screw ’em…”

“Shit,” Robbins muttered.

“We’re almost there,” Shaw said. “Go ahead, but don’t dawdle.”

Timmy crawled to Sherri’s head. Kneeling, he leaned over her.

“Don’t touch me, kid,” she snarled. “I’ll kill you, I swear it.”

Timmy looked at his father.

“Just shut up, sister.”

“Yeah!” Timmy said. “You’re just a big ox anyway. Who’d want to feel you up?”

He suddenly lunged onto Neala, his belly pressing her face, his hands pulling her shirt from her waist. She felt his hands rubbing her belly, pushing under the waist of her corduroys, one reaching inside her panties and moving in deep, fingers pressing and entering her.

With her free right hand, she hammered the center of Timmy’s back. He jerked with the impact. Then a spasm of coughing shook his body. His hand went away. So did the pressure of his belly on Neala’s face.

“Damn it Robbins!” Shaw shouted. “You shouldn’t have let her do that!”

“She caught me off guard.”

Timmy knelt above her, shaking as he coughed.

“Goddamn bastard,” Shaw muttered.

The boy was crying, now. He suddenly gasped, “You!” and punched Neala’s face with a small, hard fist. She flung up her arm to stop the next blow, but Robbins had already shoved Timmy. The boy tumbled backward.

“That’s enough,” Robbins said.

“Dad!”

“Nobody touches my boy, pal.”

“Yeah? I do. The kid’s out of hand. He’s starting to act like a shit, and I’m not going to let it go on. Not while I’m on this run.”

The man at Neala’s feet said, “What’s got into you, Robbins? All the lad wanted was to cop a little feel. How come you’re so touchy, all of a sudden? Last week, you were helping him. You stepped on that gal’s hand, remember?”

“I don’t feel so great about that, either.”

“What the fuck, did you get religion or something?”

“Something.”

The pickup lurched as it turned onto a dirt road. Overhead, the woods closed in, shutting out the moonlight.

“Who’s for a nightcap?” Lander asked, once they’d carried the suitcases into cottage twelve.

“You mean a Pepsi?” Cordelia asked.

“Whatever you like. Pepsi, 7-Up, hard stuff. We’ll hoist a couple to fortify Ben and me for the long trek back to three.”

“Dad’s trying to mollify us,” she told Ben.

Lander opened his travel bar. “Vodka for me,” he said, smiling at his daughter’s remark. After all, she was right. She may be a smart aleck and oversexed, but she wasn’t stupid. “A Manhattan?” he asked Ruth.

“That’ll hit the spot.”

“What’s your pleasure, Ben?”

Cordelia smirked at the boy. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “You won’t be getting that tonight.”

Lander was pleased to see Ben blush.

“Just a Pepsi, I guess.”

“We don’t have any ice,” Ruth told them.

Cordelia smiled. “I saw a machine by the office.”

“I’ll go get some,” Ben volunteered.

“Good man.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cordelia said. At the door, she turned to Lander. “Don’t worry, Dad, we won’t indulge in sexual escapades.”

They left.

Lander poured rye into one of the glasses from his case. He opened the small vermouth bottle.

“You sure opened a can of worms,” Ruth said.

“It’s vermouth.”

She ignored his attempt at humor.

“The can Lander explained, “was open already. I only tried to put a lid on it. Not even that, really. If they want to have at it, let them do it on the sly. It’s more fun that way, anyhow. ’Stolen sweets are best.’”

“I don’t know,” Ruth said. “Maybe we should let them share a room. They are eighteen, you know. In a couple of months, they’ll both be going off to Santa Barbara, and we won’t have any say in what they do.”