Colin Winnette - Haints Stay

They had him down again, pressed against the earth. This time, a knife was drawn. One of the shadows set to sawing at the howling body, and it writhed for a moment before settling back into the ground like a dark, dull piece of landscape.

The boy was shivering, watching them remove pieces of their kill and set them in what must have been pockets or pouches he could not see. They disassembled their kill, much like Brooke had disassembled the deer — hungrily, without hesitation, but with pride.

“Gather what food they have and whatever else is useful,” said a voice. “Count the blankets.”

The three other men set upon the camp while their apparent commander continued to saw at the body before him.

“Two blankets,” said a voice, “and tamped down earth evidencing a third body somewhere.”

“Warm?”

“All warm.”

“Women?”

“One woman and something small.”

“A child.”

“A family.”

“They’re hiding then. Still here somewhere.”

“Are you still here?” The voice was yelling, turning its way through the darkness.

Something within the boy wanted to cry out. He curled his lips inward and held them together with his teeth. Something was working its way up and out of him. He felt out of control and desperate, as if he were about to die. If he made a sound, they would be upon him. If they stepped any more in his direction, they would feel his presence and be upon him. If they discovered him, no one would save him.

“Hey,” yelled the voice. “You.”

“Set their things into a pile and burn them. If they’re on the run, whatever it is they’re running from will appreciate the help.”

The three men gathered Brooke and Sugar’s belongings into a pile. Onto the pile they poured something that occupied the boy’s nostrils and brought water to his eyes. The pile took flame and two of the men grabbed the carcass of their mutilated catch and dragged it behind the two other men, who were now making haste before them.

Brooke and Sugar’s few belongings burned, and the boy released into a small pile at the base of the tree behind which he had been hiding. He breathed and breathed and breathed again, imagining the four men appearing suddenly again and gripping him by the hair and dragging him out, out into the darkness where he would vanish completely and be no more.

Brooke and Sugar appeared then at his side and Sugar lifted him. They moved from the rough fire spilling out onto the grass and crackling throughout the woods. They walked and the boy shook. Soon the woods were blue with the oncoming sun and they were in a landscape that looked no different than what had come before, other than its absence of fire, its relative quiet and the new light born from between the branches of the trees.

“They took our food,” said Brooke.

“They were locusts,” said Sugar.

“Are they coming back?” said the boy.

“Not on purpose, I imagine,” said Sugar.

“I’d like to kill them,” said Brooke. “I’d like our things back.”

“Our things are gone,” said Sugar. “We’ll acquire new things.”

“Not our deer,” said Brooke.

“Our deer is gone,” said Sugar.

“They’ve got our bundles,” said Brooke.

“Why did you hide?” said the boy.

“Why did you?” said Sugar.

“We didn’t hide,” said Brooke. “We waited and watched.”

“Were those men after you?” said the boy.

“No,” said Sugar. “They were after something else. But now they know we’re out here.”

“And they’ve got our deer,” said Brooke.

“Will you not be able to let this go?” said Sugar.

“I don’t think so,” said Brooke. “I’d like to eat. I’d like to avenge our blankets.”

“Then we’ll return to the site and follow their trail until we overtake them,” said Sugar.

The smell of the fire was still thick in the air. Its source, easy to locate. The ashes were wet — drowned hastily with water or urine — but still smoldering beneath a cool layer. Dew spattered the trampled grass. A bent streak of grass, mud, and blood led out into the woods.

“They’re very long gone if they’re any kind of travelers,” said Sugar.

“We’re traveling light,” said Brooke, “compared.”

They poked into the ashes with a branch each and upturned nothing of use.

The boy was shivering, wet with sweat and dew.

Sugar handed him a pinch of tobacco from his sock and the boy put it in his mouth.

“You smoke it,” said Sugar, a thin sticky paper pinched between his thumb and pointer finger.

The boy spat out the threads and scraped at his tongue with his fingernails. Sugar put away the paper.

Brooke followed the edge of where a body had fallen and then been dragged into the woods. The streak wound its way through the trees for as far as his eyes could see. Sugar followed close behind, and then the boy, still scraping at his tongue with his dirty nails.

They heard the four men before they saw them. The boy clung involuntarily to Sugar. The men had taken no precaution to go unseen. They were all laughter and campfire in a clearing. It was barely dusk, nearly nighttime. Brooke and Sugar did not speak, but separated to trace a half circle, several feet from the men and their fire. The boy clung to Sugar for several feet before Sugar paused, gripped the boy’s two hands, and pulled them from his own shirt, detaching him. He kept one small hand cupped in each of his own. He led the boy by those two small hands to a tall, wide tree and sat him on its opposite side. Sugar raised a finger to his lips then released his grip, abandoning the boy to watch the woods opening out and away from what was about to happen. As Sugar retreated to his post, the boy watched the open wood for only a moment before shifting to the tree’s edge and following Sugar’s movements with his gaze.

The boy could not tell for sure, but the four men seemed suddenly hesitant, maybe even alarmed. They quieted. They glanced about themselves. One held a knife in his left hand. It had a thin curving blade. Suddenly Brooke and Sugar were upon them, and Brooke had sunk his thumbs into the eyes of the one with the blade. He collected the blade and stepped away from the flailing body. Sugar was sawing through the rigid meat of another man’s gut with a tool the boy could not make out from where he sat. Brooke took the curving blade then and applied it to the neck of yet another man, opening him up like a coin purse and spilling his contents onto the blankets and bundles before him. The fourth man rose and made for Sugar, who turned to receive the first blow. He was knocked into the coals of the fire and Brooke came up behind the fourth man and set at slicing him in the lower ribs and back with the curving blade, over and again. The man had something horrible about him that did not moan or stutter at the cuts. Instead he turned to greet the knife with his open palm, to accept it as if it were an offering. The blade remained in his palm as he drew it from Brooke’s grip. He held the pierced palm up over his crooked face, and unsheathed the blade from the net of bone and flesh.

Sugar had batted the coals and ash from his body and was collected then, lunging toward the man holding the knife and approaching Brooke. The man swung around and greeted Sugar’s advance. Back and forth he swung to counter the movements of Brooke and Sugar, who were slowly gaining inches on him. The man then threw the curving knife with enough force to puncture Brooke’s advancing thigh, and as Sugar leapt toward him from behind, he dodged the advance and moved forward to recollect the knife from Brooke’s leg. Brooke howled for only a moment, then watched as the man moved away to make a safe distance between the three of them. There was blood at his mouth. Even more at his ear. He was staggering now, soaked in blood down the back of his shirt and pants. He appeared light and trembling. Brooke and Sugar watched him like a wounded deer. He was nearly set to bleed out and they would have him. They waited and the boy watched and the fourth man glanced around the campsite to confirm that he had lost each and every one of his men. There were bloody piles and bundles gathered by the bedding. A low fire. The woods were quiet until the man dropped to his knees. He held the knife out with both hands now, a bit of slobber at his chin.