Joseph Love - Kill Town, USA

“Good. We’re stuck together now.”

“I don’t mind being stuck with you. If your life is going to turn into a war zone, there are far worse people to be with.”

“Watts.”

She sighed. “Watts was a war zone.”

“Tom mentioned you stayed with him sometimes. When you and Watts were at it.”

“I wanted a divorce. Watts didn’t believe in it.”

“You could have left.”

She took hold of my hand and stopped walking. She lifted her jacket and shirt and put my hand to her ribs under her left breast. It was concave, the ribs felt swollen where they’d healed. “I did leave. I just wanted a day or two away. I went to Daddy’s. Daddy had to sit there and watch while Watts....”

“I’m glad he’s dead, then,” I took my hand away. “But I hate it for Tom.”

“There was a heartbroken man,” she said. “Wasn’t anything he could do. He felt helpless. We both did.”

“You had to go back.”

“But I didn’t have to love him. You can shut someone out of your heart pretty easily.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’d be surprised if you had a heart.”

“My Mom. I lived with her a while after Dad died, but she didn’t want a thing to do with me. I could tell she didn’t want me around. I spent all my time making her mad. I burned her clothes. Crushed her cigarettes. I killed her dog. I slit its throat in front of her. It was a cruel thing to do and I regret it. She got rid of me. The court tried to send me to live with some family. I didn’t know them. I was old enough to work. I left their house and went to work.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I deserved it for what I did to that dog. I’m not cruel. I always loved Dad better than her. He was smart. Hard-working. She,” I stopped at the thought. “She didn’t love me.” It was something I’d never said.

We crested the hill. A house was visible across a field. I could still hear the creek below. What looked like an oil lamp burned inside the house. A yellow light flickered in the window.

“We should stay clear,” Audrey said. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

I tried to agree, but was blinded by a flashlight. Audrey and I stopped to shield our eyes. The light bounced around, shaky and dim.

“Can you get a good shot?” A girl asked.

“Not really, hold the flashlight better.”

“Are they fat like the one in the barn?”

“No. They stopped.”

“Hey!” I yelled.

“I don’t think they’re dead.”

“Shut up, I know that.”

“Get the flashlight out of my face,” I shouted.

“Them guns loaded?” The boy asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“So are ours.”

We dropped the Remington and the Winchester. The flashlights moved out of our eyes and onto the guns. A boy and a girl crawled out of a feed barrel. The girl quickly picked up the guns, a barrel in each hand, the butts dragging the ground. The boy carried something larger than a twenty-two.

“I know you got a handgun. I see it bulging in her coat.”

Hesitantly, Audrey held out the gun.

“You, too,” he aimed the rifle at me.

I held out mine, too.

“You best come back to the house,” he picked up the guns and stuffed them in his jacket.

“She best be careful with those rifles. I said they’re loaded.”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“You think my sister’s stupid?”

“I don’t know you or your sister. But the guns are loaded.”

“She’s fine,” he said. “Come on before I get bored and shoot you anyway.”

“How old are you?” Audrey asked.

The boy got behind us and whacked my splinted foot with the butt of his rifle. I dropped to the snow. “Old enough to notice him favoring his right foot. Move it.”

“Well,” Audrey said. “I’m twenty-seven. My name is Audrey and he’s Jack. His leg is hurt.”

“I know it. Walk.”

The little girl walked in front of us, leaving snake tracks with the rifles. “Georgie, you shouldn’t be so nasty. You wasn’t even supposed to leave your room tonight. Now you have to tell Daddy why you was out after curfew.”

“You do, too. So shut up, brat.”

“I’m gonna tell Daddy you was being nasty and unsportsman.”

“Shut up.”

The girl never looked at us, just dragged the rifles lazily along. “He’s ten since you asked,” she told us.

“Almost eleven,” he mumbled.

“And he’s not friendly. So he hangs out with his sister a lot. But she—that’s me—can’t hardly stand him. He’s a pain in the a-s-s.”

“I’m telling you swore.”

“I didn’t swear, I spelled. His name’s Georgie. He doesn’t go by George. Don’t ask why a-cause I don’t know. And his sister’s—my name is Mai. And I am seven. And I spend time with Georgie because I feel sorry for him.”

“You the one don’t got friends.”

“He’ll talk and talk. But you don’t have to listen. Georgie, do you want to knock or should I?”

“Hell, I ain’t about to knock at my own house. Just go in.”

“Ain’t your house, it’s Daddy’s house. And Mama’s a-cause she runs it. Every place has an owner and a manager. And they are in charge.” Mai turned around to us. “Do you believe that, Audrey?”

“Believe what, sweetie?”

“Every place has an owner and a manager.”

“That sounds right.”

Mai dragged the rifles to the side of the porch and set them in the snow by the steps. Then, we followed her up the steps while Georgie barged in the house, the hallway mostly dark with a gentle glow from the hidden lamp. We stayed outside with Mai. She was dressed head-to-toe in pink winter wear. Her cap, puffy coat, and vinyl boots were all a size too large. Standing still, she looked like a lawn ornament. We heard yelling. And silence. Footsteps boomed toward us, vibrating our feet as they got closer.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think Georgie told on me for swearing.”

“That’s good, sweetheart,” Audrey said.

Mai smiled. “Jack doesn’t talk a lot,” she whispered.

“Tell me about it,” Audrey whispered back.

A short, wide man came to the door. Georgie was tucked shyly behind him. At the end of the hallway, I saw a woman. She was their mother I guessed. She stood with a kerosene lamp in one hand.

“I told you they wasn’t like the others,” Georgie said.

“You speak?” The man’s voice was soft but loud.

“Of course,” Audrey said.

“Him,” he pointed to me.

“He doesn’t say much,” Mai whispered to him.

I stared at the wide man.

“Get inside. Come on,” he pushed open the screen door and held it for us as we trailed in melted snow and dirt. As Mai came in, her father stopped her.

“You put their guns by the steps?”

“Yessir.”

“Grab them real quick and bring them in.”

I turned, “They’re loaded.”

“You think my daughter’s stupid?”

“He thinks Mai’s stupid, Daddy,” Georgie said.

Mai kicked the door open and yelled, “He don’t think I’m stupid, Daddy! He’s just a worrier.”

Mai dragged the rifles across the hardwood floor and stopped next to us at the kitchen table.

“They got a deer gun and a cannon, Daddy.”

“I see they do. Why don’t you hand them here and go to bed?”

“Yeah, get to bed,” Georgie said.

“Boy, go to your room. You’re already in trouble,” Mai handed over the rifles and the man set them on the kitchen table. Georgie and Mai skulked off to their rooms. “Why don’t we talk in private,” he pointed to the hallway.

He led us into a spare bedroom. The twin bed had one pillow, the pillowcase freshly starched. Audrey and I sat on the bed. He sat on the small, unfinished desk in the corner. His wife stood in the doorway holding the lamp. He reached out to me, hand open. I shook it.