Dark River Road (46 page)

“I got them. Hold on. Don’t move, okay?”

He went back up onto the porch and grabbed Mikey’s braces, and took them to him. The night air was brisk, and he stepped into his jeans and buttoned them, staring at the front of the house where he could see a lamp on in the living room. It flickered, cast weird shadows. It wasn’t a lamp. It was a fire. Probably started by one of Rainey’s damn cigarettes.

Oh God. Rainey. His truck stood in the driveway. He went still, staring at the flickering light visible behind the drawn shades. He should leave him there. If he was even still in the house.

“Where’s Papa?”

Chantry sucked in a sharp breath that tasted of acrid smoke. “I’ll get him. Don’t you dare move, do you hear me? I’ll skin you alive if you do. Stay, Shadow.”

If Mikey said anything to that he didn’t hear him. He ran up on the porch but didn’t dare open the door. He beat on the window but there was no answer. Maybe Rainey had gone to bed. He ran to the back of the house, beat on the bedroom window, and then saw that the back door had been left open. The screen swung gently, tapping against the frame. The fire was in the front. If he was quick, he might get Rainey out before it made its way down the hallway to the bedroom.

Smoke hung midway to the floor, so that he had to make his way crouched over, just beneath the thick layer that stung his nose and eyes and throat. Rainey was flopped across the bed passed out, snoring loudly. Chantry grabbed his arm, pulled him to the floor.

Rainey resisted, mumbling and flailing his arms. “Fire,” Chantry yelled at him, and gave him a rough shake. “Get up, you asshole or I’ll leave you here, I swear I will.”

Something must have penetrated Rainey’s drink and sleep-fogged brain, because he started cooperating and let Chantry lead him outside. They were both coughing like crazy by then and choking, sucking in huge gulps of fresh air when they made it down the back steps and into the dirt yard.

Rainey wore only his pants, half-open, sagging beneath his pot belly. He swore, squinted at the house, obviously still too drunk to think clearly. Chantry’s throat was raw, words rough.

“I got Mikey out. He’s in the front. Go use Dempsey’s phone to call the fire department.”

Pale eyes swung back to him. “I ain’t goin’ down there to that nigger’s house.”

Chantry’s mouth flattened. “Fine. Let the damn place burn all to hell then.”

He’d gotten almost to the side of the house when he happened to think of the box in the garage. It was all he had of his parents. Letters and old photos. He’d left Rainey standing by the mimosa tree, and now he passed him headed back behind the house.

“Where you goin’?” Rainey demanded, and Chantry kept going.

“I gotta get the box.”

When he went back out front, Rainey was standing, dazed and swaying, just looking at the house. Lights were on down at Dempsey’s house, and Chantry wondered if he’d seen the fire and called for help. Rainey swung around to look at him.

“Is that it? Did you get my money box?”

Chantry looked back at Rainey. “No. This is
 . . .
was Mama’s.”

“What? You left my money box in the house? Boy, are you crazy?”

Yeah, he probably was. He just looked at Rainey, then back at the house. Flames were easily visible now, licking at the window frames, curling out of a broken window pane.

“Get your ass in there and get that money, boy.” Rainey gave him a shove.

“No.” He glanced at the house, then back at Rainey. “You want it, you get it.”

Dempsey arrived, panting for breath, eyes white-rimmed in the darkness. “I called the fire department. Everybody out?”

“Yeah.”

“My money,” Rainey howled, and ran a few steps toward the house. “I gotta get my money outa there.”

“Don’t mean to be tellin’ you what to do, but you can forget anything in that house.” Dempsey put a hand out, but Rainey wasn’t even looking at him.

He stared at the house, wild-eyed, sandy hair sticking up atop his head like spikes. Then he ran around back, taking off at a dead run, bare feet churning across damp ground while smoke boiled out the front.

“Jesus God,” Dempsey said, and looked like he might go after him.

Chantry put a hand on his arm. “Let him go. The fire’s gotten to the back of the house by now. The smoke’ll be too bad for him to see. He won’t go in.”

Sirens sounded in the distance. Now he could feel the heat, even standing at the far edge of the yard, watched flames running along the edge of the roof, making a sizzling noise, tiny tongues lapping greedily at old wood.

A Cane Creek fire truck turned onto Liberty Road, sirens shrieking, lights flashing, and came to a stop. And then, just as Dempsey turned and started telling the firemen there may be someone still in the house, it exploded. The noise was deafening, filling the world with sound and light.

Chantry automatically shielded Mikey and Shadow, bending over them like he could protect them from flying debris and balls of fire. Firemen yelled and uncoiled hose, someone shoved them toward the road to get them out of the way. Flames rose high into the sky, like fingers stretching toward heaven.

“Papa,” Mikey said.

Chantry just stared. No one could be in that inferno and live.

“Here,” he said, and spread out a blanket on the dirt floor, “you can lie down for a while.”

“Why are we here?” Mikey wanted to know after a few minutes. He still wore his pajamas and the braces Chantry had strapped on him. “How long are we gonna stay?”

Chantry debated a moment, then he decided truth was the only option. “Look, Mikey, if we stayed there they’d take us away. Put us in foster homes, separate us. I don’t want that. Do you understand what I’m saying? We can’t go back.”

For a moment, Mikey didn’t say anything. Lantern light flickered over his pale hair and in his eyes; then he nodded. “Sure. I get it. We’d belong to the state then and not each other. Okay. So what are we gonna do now?”

“I don’t know.” He looked away, out the kudzu draped entrance, to where the curve of the river was barely visible in the rising light. He could smell it and see it, familiar and ceaseless, a conduit to places he’d only dreamed about over the years. He’d always thought when the chance came to leave he’d jump at it. Now he just felt scared.

They stayed there all day without anything to eat but some candy he found in one of the tubs, but Mikey didn’t complain. Exhaustion set in, and they both slept, Shadow curled between them, warm and vigilant. When darkness fell, he woke up, and watched the river mist rise in a soft layer like gauze to obscure the bluffs.

He didn’t know what to do, where to go. He couldn’t even feed them without risking being caught but he had to try something. His belly ached, and he knew Mikey’s did too. Shadow just looked at him, head cocked to one side expectantly. Yeah, he had to do something.

Leaving Shadow to guard Mikey, he went back along the field road, keeping to the safety of the trees just in case. Once people realized they were gone, men would be out on horseback and on foot to search for them. They had to be away from here by then.

He felt like the yellow tomcat, skulking in the shadows in the line of trees edging the field, watching the road. He’d seen the cat do the same thing a lot, keeping just beyond reach, watching and waiting to see if food would magically appear and just what it’d cost in terms of compromise. Unlike the yellow cat, he couldn’t catch a fat field mouse to tide him over should he decide the compromise was too great.

Liberty Road was quiet. Lights were on in Dempsey’s house, but the charred, blackened hulk of their house still smoked. He could smell it, faint remnants of disaster, wood smoke and propane a lethal mix.

Something else mixed with the smell of smoke, and his stomach growled audibly. He put his clenched fist over it as if it’d be so loud it’d betray him. A curl of smoke drifted from the chimney of Dempsey’s house, carrying the distinctive odor of frying fish. His stomach growled again.

He knew Dempsey wouldn’t tell, but he didn’t want to put him in the position of having to lie, either. He weighed his options, thought of Mikey and Shadow, and moved from the trees to cross the field road.

He’d gotten about halfway across when Dempsey’s front door opened and he came out with a bucket in his hand. Chantry stopped, knelt down in the dirt, watching. Dempsey walked to the edge of the yard where the road came up to meet sparse grass, then set down the bucket. He straightened and looked around, almost straight at Chantry like he could see him in the dark.

“Boy, there’s food here. Money. If you’re out there listenin’, it’s for you.”

Chantry didn’t move. His heart hammered so loud in his chest it was a wonder Dempsey didn’t hear it. If he did, he didn’t say anything, just turned around and went back into the house. It was so tempting to go up on that porch and knock on the door, to let Dempsey make decisions. He wanted to. God, he wanted to just stop worrying and let someone else do it for a while.

But life didn’t work that way. Not his life, anyway.

When the lights went out in Dempsey’s living room, he stood up and walked to the edge of the yard. The bucket gleamed softly in the dim light of a crescent moon. He picked it up and took it with him, back into the woods, back to the river. Maybe he was on his own, but he wasn’t alone.

They might have stayed another night since it didn’t seem anyone was looking for them very hard, but early the next morning Chantry heard footsteps outside the cave and sat up, tensing as Shadow came up bristling and growling low in his throat. Mikey was still asleep, sprawled out on the blankets with his arms flung over his head.

Chantry stood up, stooping a little since he’d gotten too tall to stand up straight inside the hideout. He didn’t know who he might have expected to see staring back at him when he looked out the entrance, but it certainly wasn’t Chris Quinton.

“Thought you’d be here,” Chris said, and came inside without being invited. He looked at Mikey, watched Shadow warily when he showed his teeth.