A Boy, a Shirt, and the Dark [joshua]

He woke in the tent. The smell of roasting pig filled the space, coming in waves. He rubbed his eyes. They were full of sleep and dust. He rolled onto his stomach as a rush of cold air ballooned his covers and something hard and flat stung his behind.

"Get up," she told him, "The noonday sun has come an' left."

He stumbled out into the light. She threw his shirt at him. The camp was busy.

"Go for water," she said. He heard the pail hit the ground at his feet as he squinted in the brightness.

The boy grumbled. It was a nearly half a mile to the hole. He pulled his shirt over his head and stepped into his boots, looking around the camp. The men had moved on to the second house. They were building it next to the first. The cousins had moved in and were busy playing out front. The boy wished for a house. The Roaster was hard at work.

"Smells goooooood," the boy said to the Roaster, "Hey, you see what John's doin' to that jack over there?"

The Roaster frowned as the boy pointed. The Roaster turned to look and the boy dug his whole hand into the pig. He cried out in pain and took off running. His hand was bright red and pieces of pig were flying everywhere. The Roaster let out an angry growl and sat down on his stump. The boy struggled to get the shreds of meat into his mouth as he laughed. He ran over the hill and out of sight.

* * *

The crest was just up ahead. He struggled to keep from spilling what water he had left. There was smoke rising from the camp. Lots of smoke. Why would they be roasting so much meat? He thought for a minute about what could be burning and then he stopped and dropped the pail. He ran up the backside and stood on the hillcrest. The whole camp was burning. There were people lying on the ground. The Roaster was bleeding. She had come apart. The cousins were not moving. There were bottles all around, what looked like hundreds of bottles. There were large men roaming.

Panic. The Unspeakable Truth. The boy fell out of sight behind the crest. He could feel tears building in his eyes. He crawled back up and slowly peered over the hilltop at the men. They had not seen him. He scanned the valley. Down on his left at about a half mile was a stand of brush. On the other side of the brush stood a dozen men on horseback. The men on horseback were slumped over and not moving. They wore shirts and boots like his family. They looked familiar but he could not tell from where he sat. Maybe they had not heard the attack on the camp. The sun was setting. The boy waited.

When it was darker the boy began moving around the bottom of the hill toward the men on horseback. They were still. As he got closer he could see that they too had bottles strewn everywhere. He hid behind a bush and watched the men. They were asleep. The place smelled of alcohol. He did not recognize them. He circled round the Sleeping Drunks on Horseback and crawled toward the camp.

As he got closer he could see the large men sitting together and eating the roast. They wore animal skins and had long beards. He could not understand their talking. He slowly crawled up to the back of his tent and lay there for a long time. When he was sure he had not been seen he slowly lifted the hem of the tent and peered inside. The top was smoldering and the smoke was thick. As his eyes adjusted to the light he could see the outline of Mother in the corner. Not wanting to move, he reached out as far as he could to touch her leg. He stretched and stretched. She shifted. Her eyes opened a small bit and she recognized him. He started to cry. She could not lift her head.

"Boy!" she snapped, "Run."

He stared at her, nearly sobbing.

"Run!" she whispered.

He stood up in a jolt. The men heard him. He did not know where to go. He ran right through the middle of the camp, past the men, and out into the valley.

* * *

He tasted dirt. His ears were stinging from the blaring siren. He heard a loud crash back on the other side of the train. It was followed by another. An animal squealed and he heard the faintest yell before it was cut short and drowned out by the rushing locomotive. His pursuers has not been able to stop their mounts and had hit the train. Good. But not all would be so unlucky.

He looked down the track. The last car was far but coming quickly. He forced his legs beneath him and winced in pain. He knew his Freedom Within Reach was only freedom for a moment. He began to run.

His speed was gone. His body was failing. The panic was the same but fatigue was taking over. He longed for the safety of his bed and the smell of roasting pig. He longed for Mother and Father, the ranch. He longed for bulls. All were gone now. Now it was just him, his shirt, and the dark. Go. Go. The sound behind him changed. What was present was now fading. The train had passed. He looked over his shoulder and was surprised at the distance he had covered. The men were coming, less now but quickly, some had turned back. He didn't want to die.

The woods were dark and large and seemed so close, yet the steps kept coming and he felt naked in the open valley. They were much faster than he now, even with no horses. He could hear them spiting and swearing. And then, for the first time in so long, he could hear nothing. No footsteps, no yelling. He stopped and slowly turned around, peering into the dark.

He stood there, confused, silent. Everything seemed wrong. He was about to turn and run to the nearby treeline when a light shone upon him like a beam from heaven. He was blind. He heard a snicker. Then a loud pop and a blazing pain in his leg. He fell to the ground in shock. They had guns.