Through Darkest America-Extended Version (29 page)

Lewis and everyone else had plenty on their hands right now. He didn't think they'd be worrying over one prisoner who couldn't help or harm them, one way or the other.

And if the Rebels broke through… He'd given some thought to that. When it happened—and he figured it would—he sure didn't intend waiting for an invitation to get away. Just how he'd bring that off he couldn't say. But there'd be a chance. And he'd take it.

And after that? He wouldn't even let himself think about it. He wasn't even sure he knew how. He couldn't remember a time when he'd just done whatever he liked, or gone wherever he wanted to—without someone saying what he had to do.

When they came for him it was in the early hours of the morning. He didn't even know they were there until they'd jerked him up off the floor and set him on his feet. The first jolt of pain shot all the way up his leg and set him howling. He tried to pull away and tell them he couldn't walk; that it was all a big mistake, but they wouldn't listen. When he fell they just picked him up and started him off again. Or gave him a quick boot in the ribs to show they meant business. He couldn't go down the stairs so they dragged him most of the way; the bad foot hitting every step until it hit so many he couldn't feel it any more.

Before they strapped him in the big oak chair they stripped him naked, not bothering to look for buttons, just ripping and tearing until everything was gone. There were two big logs this time and they strapped his ankles to both of them, stretching his legs wide and leaving a big open space in between. His senses were near drowning in pain, but exposing him like that brought him up again quickly. He was suddenly struck by a cold, terrible fear worse than any-thing he could remember.

He called out again and again, telling them he didn't know anything, that he shouldn't be there. If they'd just listen to him they'd know that. Where was Lewis? All they had to do was ask Lewis. He'd tell them it was all a mistake.

But they were gone, then, and there was no one in the room to listen. All he could hear was his own heartbeat. All he could feel was the pain coming back into his foot again, and the awful coldness of the room that went all the way to his bones.

Chapter Thirty-Two

T
he waiting. That was it, he decided. The waiting was supposed to be the thing. Make him sit there naked and cold with his legs spread out and plenty of time to think about what they were going to do to him. So when they did finally come he'd be begging to tell them what they wanted to know.

That's what scared him more than anything. Knowing that Lewis had lied about all of it—and maybe Kari, too— just to get him thinking everything was all right again. They'd set up the whole business just for this
and he didn't know anything to tell anyone…

His mind raced. Maybe there was something. Maybe he could
make up
something! Tell them he did see Pardo hide the guns. That Lewis was right—they were back there at the rise where they'd camped. He had watched Pardo and Kin and Jigger put them there when the troopers attacked. He'd seen the whole thing, but he was too scared to tell them before because he'd figured they'd think he had something to do with it, and that wasn't so.

Would they believe that? They'd have to!
Lordee
,
there wasn't anything else he could do!

They wouldn't stop. Not right away. He might as well get used to that. They'd keep it up for a while, just to make sure. But they wouldn't do it too long. It wouldn't be as much. He'd keep telling it over and over and they'd—

His heart stopped. The door opened behind him. Footsteps on the damp floor. More than one man. Two. Maybe more. The cold swept through him. He shook all over. Lewis, then. And the others. They'd start, now. What would they do first? The other foot? The same one?
Oh God, not between his legs please don't let them do that!

One of the men walked around in front of him. Howie had never seen him before.

 
A soldier. Heavy brows, short hair, and a wide mouth. He stood perfectly still, studying Howie carefully. He squatted down and inspected the bottom of his foot. Howie winced, but the man didn't hurt him. He got up, left, then came back with a torch. Howie blinked in the sudden brightness. The soldier stood there another moment, holding the torch high. His face was like stone. Then he put the torch in a holder and went away. Howie heard him say something but couldn't hear what it was.

"
What!
" The voice behind him roared. Howie jumped against his bonds.

"Major Lewis … you responsible for this?"

"Sir . . .”

"Just
answer
,
godamn
you!" It was a harsh, rasping voice, like a man with something caught in his throat.

"Sir . . ." Lewis hesitated. "I explained that. We questioned the boy about the guns …"

"You did more than that, Major."

"Sir, we had to establish—"

"You had orders!" the man snapped. "The boy was not to be
touched!
"

"Yes, sir. I'd like to point out . . ."

"Don't you point out nothing to me, Major. What you do is get yourself out of this room. Fast. You hear?"

The door opened, then closed again. Howie let out a long sigh of relief. He could have hollered out loud. He didn't know who the man was and didn't much care. He'd given Lewis pure hell for what he'd done, that was enough! They'd let him go, now. At least, there wouldn't be any more business with the pincers. Maybe he could…

The soldier moved around in front of him again. This time the other man was with him. The soldier was helping him, like he couldn't walk well by himself. When they got in front of Howie, the soldier set a little stool down right between Howie's legs and helped the man down on it. The man looked up at him and smiled.

"Hello, Howie Ryder. It's been a long time, boy."

Howie stared. A little cry caught in his throat and died there. He knew it was really all over, now. He'd come all the way around again and there was no place else to go. He wasn't even scared anymore. He knew exactly who the soldiers had gone out to meet in their fancy uniforms and why he was there and what was going to happen.

Jacob just sat there and smiled, with the terrible, ragged thing that wasn't a mouth anymore. His face was crossed with ugly white scars, and there were empty black holes where his eyes ought to be.

"You know me, then," said Jacob, "that's good. I've been a long time looking, Howie. And I've thought about you. Reckon you've thought some about me, too."

Jacob waited. His smile faded and his face went dark. "I want to
hear
you!"

"I . . .” Howie found his voice. "I don't guess there's
nothin
' to say."

Jacob looked pleased. "Dory here says you
growed
some. I guess you have. Don't
sound
like a boy anymore." He shook his head thoughtfully. "A lad sure fills out fast 'bout your age. Just springs up like a young tree . . .”

Jacob stopped. Pain seemed to crawl quietly over his face, making the white scars move like live things. After a moment, the features relaxed again. "Dory remembers how you was, though," he said finally. "Got a good look at you when we was up to your Pa's. Not many seen you then . . . besides me. They was mostly
loadin
' up wagons down at the trees. You remember all that, boy?"

Howie swallowed. "I remember it."

"
Lordee
," said Jacob, "there's
a
awful lot I remember about that day, and the ones that come before. I can just sit back sometimes and let things come into my head, and see what color the sky gets at morning, and how a fine column of troopers looks riding up a draw on good horses."

He savored his thoughts a moment, then leaned toward Howie. "You really
growed
up, have you?
Gettin
' to be a man." Jacob's hands searched out blindly and found Howie's legs. Howie shrank back from the touch. Jacob grinned at that. He let his hands slide up Howie's legs and over his thighs and come to rest between them. He squeezed lightly, and Howie's heart stopped.
Now, he thought, oh God it's going to be now. . .!

Then Jacob let him go and leaned back on his stool. "You sure ruined me there," he said soberly. "You tore me up
somethin
' awful, Howie. I think about
havin
' a woman, and how it is, and then I think about you …"

"
Godamn
you!
" Howie blurted. He couldn't stop himself, no matter what. "Just what'd you
figure
I'd do . . . walk up and . . . and shake your hand or something? After what you done to my mother and Papa!"

Dory started swiftly forward, one hand whipping down in an open fist. Jacob felt him move and waved him back.

"Howie . . .” The empty eyes reached out for him and he was sure they could see him, right out of nothing. "I reckon you're
kinda
scared, ain't you, boy?"

Howie almost laughed. "Yeah," he admitted, "I
kinda
am."

"What you think I'm
goin
' to
do
to you?"

"Just about anything."

Jacob nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I can see how you might figure. What would you think if I was to tell you I ain't
goin
' to do nothing at all? What'd you say to that?"

Howie did laugh this time. "I ain't that dumb," he said. "I don't figure you come all this way for
talkin
'."

"Well," said Jacob, "like I say, I can sure see how you might figure. I'll tell you something, though, and you can believe me or not. Talking's 'bout all I
did
come for and that's the truth. You done some bad things to me, Howie. But there's no taking them back, and I don't
blame
you for '
em
. I'd have done the same thing if it was me."

"I . . . don't reckon I'm
goin
' to believe that," Howie said warily.

"Don't blame you for that, either," said Jacob. "All I really figure on doing, though, Howie, is telling you what we done to your mother. I think that's something you ought to hear. I want you to know how we stripped her down naked and wired her to that bed. And how every one of them troopers of mine had her. And while we're talking, Dory," he said quietly, "I'd be pleased if you'd get that knife of yours and take out one of this boy's eyes. I don't reckon I got to tell you not to go too fast . . .”

Chapter Thirty-Three

A
lazy sun dappled the forest floor with shifting coins of gold. He stretched and stared up at the dazzling brilliance, then lay back and closed his eyes. He could hear the drone of bees circling the big oak, and smell the cool crushed odor of fern…

Without opening his eyes he reached over and let his hands slide down Kari's soft nakedness. His fingertips brushed the tips of her breasts, wandered past the flat curve of her belly, and came to rest between her thighs…

Papa looked down at him, his big shadow covering the sun. "That's wrong, Howie," he said sternly. "I taught you better, boy. The Book says that if a man do consort with the beasts, then he shall become as the beasts…"

"No, Papa, it's Kari. She's a girl. She ain't meat! Honest!"

"Howie, I done everything I could for you. I took you into
Bluevale
and let you see the stuffed nigger and got you a bone-handled knife. And then you go and do a thing like this."

"No, Papa, it's Kari. She . . ." He turned to look at her and the big mare grinned up blankly and reached out to grab him between his legs. Howie shrank back in horror…

"You can look all you want, Howie," she told him, "but just don't go feeling around or anything."

"Kari?"

Papa's arrow dug into her face, just above her mouth. Another quivered in her eye…

"Don't, Papa!" Howie cried. "Please don't!"

Papa was trying to ready another arrow, but he was having trouble with it. His eyes were black and empty and he couldn't wipe the dark away without dropping the bow. With his other hand he struggled desperately to keep his belly together, but they'd split it bad and the guts kept falling out in soft puddles to the ground…

"Just look is all," said Kari. "Don't go trying to touch something…"

When he woke up he knew right where he was and what had happened and just what they'd done to him. He heard his own scream somewhere and then the pain came down hard and put him under again.

The next time, he prayed for sleep or death or anything, but nothing happened. The hurt was unbearable, but he couldn't leave it. He knew there were places to go that were dark and soft and quiet where you couldn't feel anything at all, but he didn't know how to get there…

He could see, with his good eye. The gray wall. A spider- web crack like a tree branch winding up past the dim torch. Without moving his head he could look down and see his arms strapped to the chair and his legs spread over the flat logs. Everything seemed all right between his legs. They hadn't done that yet. They would, though, Howie knew. Jacob was going to take it all.