Filed to story: Return of the Reaper Story
“What unit?”
“Company C, 3rd Battalion, 8th Cav.”
“Iraq?”
“Yeah. Two deployments.”
“First or second Fallujah?”
“Second. Part of the surge. You there?”
“March 2004.”
“Bullshit. First battle was in April.”
“Someone had to go in ahead of y’all.”
Wesley gave Isaac a harder look before glancing away.
“So, what we do now?” Wesley asked.
“That was you took a shot at my daughter and me.” Isaac’s voice was flat and even, no trace of anger or resentment.
“Didn’t know that was a girl.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
Wesley shrugged.
The steel kettle burbled, and they both looked at it. The spout was spitting steaming droplets into the fire, where they hissed.
“You’re sittin’ on the coffee,” Wesley said, nodding at the trunk under Isaac.
He stood and undid the clasps to open the trunk with one hand. A can of Folgers sat atop resealable sacks of rice, beans, and flour. He tossed the coffee to Wesley, who, using a flap of deer hide to protect his hand, poured a steel mug full of boiling water and tipped coffee in from the can. He offered his guest the mug, but Isaac gestured for him to take the first drink.
“Like I asked, what do we do now?” Wesley asked after his first tenuous sip of the scalding brew.
“I’m thinking that’s up to you,” Isaac said.
“Say what?” Wesley was perplexed, with a tinge of impatience in his voice.
“You been up in this holler a year or more. Before that, you were somewhere that didn’t suit you. Maybe you got in some trouble. Maybe you just chucked it in and came here to clear your head, and when that didn’t work, maybe you decided you belong up here.”
“You know a whole shitload about me, huh?”
“I know what I see. I’ve seen a lot of the same shit you’ve seen.”
“That make us brothers?” Wesley’s impatience had turned to scorn.
“All I’m saying is, I’ve been where you are.”
“Where’s that?”
“Coming home and spending months drugged up on painkillers. Then back to a life you barely remember with more drugs to help you cope. Walking around looking at life through the wrong end of the scope like everyone, and everything is right there but out of your reach. After a while, even the drugs don’t help you sleep. You spend your nights feeling angry or scared and your days feeling hollow inside.”
The edge came off Wesley’s hard gaze, but his lips remained turned up in a smirk.
“And you’re gonna tell me how you got past all that.”
“Naw. I’m still working that shit out myself. I’m not here to teach you the way out. Just sharing, I guess.”
“I wanted to feelsomething, you know?” Wesley lowered his gaze to the ground, looking through the steam rising from the mug resting on his knee.
“It’s not enough. That I cantell you.” Isaac stooped forward to take the mug from his hand, then sat back down and took a long draw of the hot, rich coffee.
“I guess. But stayin’ in Pulaski wasn’t workin’ for me.”
“You stay up here, and chances are you’ll get sick or injured and the coyotes’ll eat you.”
“Or some redneck motherfucker will come up here and put a bullet in me.” There was a trace of a smile in the words.
“Or some hillbilly motherfucker. Or an asshole down from Nashville on a long weekend from his law firm.”
Wesley made a pfftsound with his lips.
“Well, thanks for the coffee.” Isaac rose to his feet and handed the mug back.
Wesley watched Isaac open the farm coat to return the automatic to its holster.
“You might want to pile some more brush around the tent. I picked it out even in the dark.” Isaac turned and walked east into the trees.
Wesley watched him step over the trap lines and make his way toward the sumacs.
“I never meant to hit y’all,” he called after the man moving away into the gloom.
“I know that,” Isaac replied, invisible in the dark.
Champ had a politician’s smile,as empty as the promise behind it.