Shut The Fuck Up And Die! (4 page)

“
I . . . I don't care. I'd rather take
an ass whoopin' than die. And Mama would have your hide if she knew
you were drivin' like . . .”

“
I ain't scared of Mama, you little
pussy.”

Earl's voice was softer and his foot
eased off the gas pedal just enough that the bumps would no longer
jar his brother's spine and cause his teeth to clack against one
another. He adjusted the brim of his hat with one hand, looked at
himself in the rear view mirror, and scratched his chin. For a
moment, neither man spoke: now that the truck no longer clunked
with the washboard like ridges in the road, the soft strains of
Willie Nelson singing
Blue Eyes Crying In
the Rain
crackled through the dashboard speakers,
fading in an out through the hiss of the heater like a memory that
refused to surface.

“
I ain't scared of Mama.” Earl finally
repeated. “But, at the same time, I reckon she could live the rest
of her life without knowing 'bout this little argument of ours.
Sound about right, Daryl?”

Daryl only realized he'd been holding his
breath when he let it free with a quick sigh. The air pulled the
tension that had gripped his muscles for past ten miles from his
body and he slouched back in the seat as he closed his eyes.

“
Right as rain, brother . . . right as
rain . . . .”

Ten minutes later, the rusted Dodge pulled
onto a wide place on the shoulder of the road. It's headlights
punched holes in the darkness that surrounded it, illuminating the
trunks of trees that were clustered together so tightly that it
almost seemed as if they were seeking shelter from the frigid wind
that whipped through their boughs. Some of the branches glistened
beneath sheaths of ice and they clicked against one another like
chattering teeth as the truck's engine rumbled and sputtered below.
Except for these sounds the night was silent: no owls or
whippoorwills called out from the forest, no insects chirped amid
the rustle of unseen creatures slipping through the underbrush. It
was almost as if Winter had laid claim to everything living thing
within those dark woods, swallowing them into the glacial caverns
of its gullet where the warmth and light of the sun would never
touch them again.

A soft glow lit up the cab of the truck and
revealed the snow that swirled around it. Inside, Earl shifted his
bulk and stuffed his meaty arms into the sleeves of a flannel shirt
that looked as if it had been tailored for a giant. The cuffs were
ratty and frayed and the pieces of fabric that formed the left
lapel peeled away from one another, revealing the batting within;
but it was as thick as a jacket and was quilted with smooth, red
lining.

The passenger door opened, then thunked shut
as Daryl zipped his coveralls almost entirely up to his chin. His
hands were covered now in a pair of leather work gloves which he
used to pull a gray toboggan over his ears. At the same time, Earl
eased out of his own door and the front shocks seemed to groan with
relief as the entire left hand side of the truck raised half a foot
higher.

The pair walked around either side of the
truck, their feet crunching through the icy crust on the snow, and
plumes of fog curled from their mouths and noses. They worked
silently, each seeming to instinctively know what was expected of
him. Earl removed the black bungee cords that took the place of a
busted latch on the truck's tailgate and the shrill screech of
rusted hinges was like the fingernails of a demon raking across the
blackboard of the night. Almost before the tailgate had been fully
extended, Daryl scrambled into the bed of the truck and walked to
the other end in a half-crouch. Lying next to the rear of the cab
was a large, blue tarp that had been rolled into a burrito of
canvas and tightly cinched with twine. Daryl slipped his fingers
through the cord and grunted as he pulled the tarp backward. It
slid toward him a few inches and then he took a deep breath and
repeated the process. Again, the bundle inched closer and he
shuffled back a few steps before pulling again.

Despite the ribbed bed liner, it took the man
several minutes to drag the tarp to the very rear of the truck; by
the time he was finished crystals of frost had formed on his
mustache and he was huffing like a man who'd just finished a
marathon. He stood there for a moment with his hands resting on his
kneecaps, slightly bent over the large parcel at his feet. Sucking
in gulps of the cool night air, he motioned to the tarp with one
hand almost as if he were swatting some unseen insect.

In response to this gesture, Earl grabbed the
knotted string with both hands and yanked. For a moment, the blue
canvass slid toward him but then he was falling backward, his arms
flailing in the air like Goliath after David's stone had found its
mark. He fell onto his ass into a drift of snow and cursed beneath
his breath as he looked at the severed pieces of cord he held in
either hand.

“
Cheap ass shit. Where the fuck did you
get this, Daryl?”

He pushed himself off the ground and dusted
the snow from the seat of his pants with hands that were now as
cold as the metal on the truck's frame.

“
Shed. Was a whole spool of it out
there and . . .”

“
You dumbass mother fucker. You know
how old this shit is? We was using this to tie off 'maters when you
was knee high to a grasshopper. Stupid son of a bitch . . .
.”

“
May be stupid, . . . 'least I ain't
fat and ugly.”

Earl glared as his hands balled into fists
and the red glow of the taillights seemed to be the fires of Hell
raging just beneath his skin. His jaw was clenched so tightly that
it was almost as if he were trying to keep these flames from
shooting from an opened mouth and incinerating his little brother
on the spot. His massive frame trembled with what could have either
been either the cold bite of the air or repressed pressure building
up within.

“
Look numbnuts,” he finally spat, “just
turn on the damn flashlight. I'm cold and tired and not in the mood
for any more of your shit.”

Daryl patted the pockets of his coveralls
like a man who just realized he'd misplaced his wallet. His eyes
shifted from his brother to the darkness of the forest that
surrounded them before his shoulders drooped.

“
I . . . I'll go get it. I left it in
the . . .”

“
Sweet Jesus, you retard! Can't you do
anything right?”

“
I said I'd go get . . .”

“
You just never mind. I'll get the damn
thing myself.”

Earl stormed around the truck, his stream of
mumbled curses muffled by the shuffle of feet that cleared snow out
of their way like a plow. Throwing open the driver's door, he saw
the Maglite instantly. It was half burrowed into the crack between
the bench seats and the backrest and he snatched it so quickly that
it almost seemed as if the man thought it were trying to get away
from him.

Glancing back through the rear window, Earl
saw Daryl hopping from one foot to the other as he rubbed his
forearms with gloved hands.

“
I'll teach ya to fuck with me, you
little pansy.”

And, with that statement, Earl pushed in the
little knob that turned off the truck's lights.

Darkness rushed in from all sides like a
ravenous pack of animals. At the same time a shriek cut through the
night. The shrill sound came in short, quick bursts and rattled
with the force of terror. In the blackness, it was all too easy to
imagine that the cries were coming from a frightened, young girl
instead of a full-grown man.

Earl closed his eyes as the corners of his
mouth turned up into a smile. If anyone had been present to observe
the way he stood with his head cocked slightly to the side, they
may have mistaken him for a man lost in the appreciation of a
particularly moving piece of classical music. He held this pose for
close to a minute before snapping on the flashlight and returning
to the rear of the truck.

Before he'd even closed half the distance,
Daryl scrambled into the narrow beam of the Maglite like a moth
hopped up on speed. His cheeks glistened with a sheen of tears and
his eyes were wide and bloodshot as clouds of breath belched from
his quivering lips. The younger brother had his hands cupped over
his groin, as if expecting to be kicked at any moment, and he
almost seemed to cower in the safety of the flashlight like a
beaten animal.

“
What the . . . .”

Earl wrinkled his nose as his nostrils were
stung by a sharp, pungent stench.

“
Did you piss your damn self
again?”

Daryl whimpered softly and recoiled from the
force of the words hurled at him.

“
You little fuckin' pussy. Pissing
yourself like a baby.”

“
You know I don't like the dark, Earl.
You
know
it.”

“
I got half a mind to make you ride
home in the back . . . what'cha think of that, you candy-ass son of
a bitch?”

“
I couldn't help it.” Daryl's voice
raised in pitch as he pleaded with this brother. “Why the hell did
you turn of the lights anyway, Earl? Why'd ya do that? You know how
I am and . . .”

“
Shut your booger hole and take the
damn light, you stupid piece of shit.”

Earl thrust the flashlight at his brother and
for a moment the younger man seemed almost afraid to touch it; he
reached forward and then pulled his hand back as if expecting the
black cylinder to come alive and strike at him. He looked from the
beefy hand wrapped around its base to the scowl of the man at the
other end of those arms and blinked back the tears which still
shimmered in his eyes.

“
I said fucking take
it!
”

Without further hesitation, Daryl snatched
the Maglite from Earl's grasp and held it close to his chest like
some sort of magic talisman. Relief brought color back to his face
and he wiped away the film of ice that was beginning to form from
the tears with the back of his hand. At the same time, Earl
returned to the bed of the truck and hoisted the tarp over his
shoulder with a grunt.

“
Come on, wussy . . . let's get this
shit over with.”

Now that they were back on familiar
territory, Daryl's heart began to slow it's breakneck rhythm and
his labored breathing started to even out. The surge of fear had
momentarily overridden all other sensations: he had known only the
fluttering of panic deep within his stomach, the tenseness of
muscles that felt as if they had been pulled so tightly that they
were mere seconds from snapping, and the feeling of that he had
somehow been reduced to the size of a small child. But now that the
adrenaline was receding, Daryl became aware of the chill that
seeped into the wet stains on his coveralls and his face warmed
with shame. He'd have to do better, have to really pull his own
weight. He needed to show Earl that he wasn't some sniveling little
coward, needed to remind him that he was capable of . . . .

“
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?”