Absolution River (5 page)

XI

The drifter lay there for a few minutes to get his composure back. He looked at the ankle and it was already swollen to the size of a grapefruit. He got up on his one leg and limped himself back to his makeshift campsite. He was many miles away from help, but he had been injured worse before and resolved to continue his journey. As he collected his things and ate the last of his rations, he turned to where the wolf had attacked him. There was something about it that was familiar. He had seen the rage in the wolf’s eyes before. He grew up with that animalistic rage that did not understand its origins but was compelled to inflict it upon others. This was not simply the nature of the animal. There was something human in its cruelty. He was no stranger to this cruelty.

After this reflection with no conclusion, he was awakened by the pain in his ankle and was resolved to continue his journey. He began to push north, further into the Montana wilderness and further into isolation. Hours had passed and he began to think back upon how he had gotten to this point. There was never really a time that he could remember when he actually reflected upon his own life. He had resolved at an early age to simply exist. He glanced around the landscape and was reminded of all the beauty that dwelled in nature. The creek he walked along made the quietest of sounds but brought the most profound peace. The trees swayed under the wind, and the sun coming down over mountaintops brought rays of light in a multitude of colors. He was beginning to feel alarmed at his level of inflection and what pain may come of it. Not from the war so much as what led him to it. His father. What was it about that man that he hated so much and left him so scarred? He had shut himself off to the world when he was so young, at the moment of his mother’s death, a moment he not only blamed his father for, but also himself. A smell came in the air and he knew a storm was coming. Just as he made this realization, he noticed several stakes in the ground with various color tags on them. The wind began to pick up and he needed to find cover quickly. The ankle was beyond pain from the many miles of him pushing its limits. The rain began to come down in sheets and he fell in the mud in agony. The darkness around his eyes began to come in around him, as he knew that consciousness was no longer a luxury he could afford. As reality began to slip, so did the calm of the day, and within a few minutes there was a thunderstorm in full strength. The lightning crashed on the mountainside and the creek swelled another foot. The man looked up in his haze and thought to himself that perhaps today is as good as any to simply fade away. There would not be a soul that would remember his passing or even spend the time to look for him. He had no family, friends, acquaintances, pets, or even enemies, for that matter. He had never left much of an impression on most, as they simply thought of him as a ghost in the landscape, a soul forever lost, and one to never interfere with. His mind began to wander and his eyes began to close. The man fought and fought because that was what he did, it was all he ever knew. Should he lose consciousness now the current would wash him down into nothingness and into nothingness is where his mind was already. From the last glimpses of the forest to take with him to that other side, he saw a figure in the darkness of the rain. Barely perceptible, for all he could make out was soaking wet animal skin and a leather hat with the brim below his eyes. The figure came closer and closer as he slowly faded away.

XII

Arch picked his head up from the desk after setting it there for what he planned to be a few minutes. As he noticed on the wall clock above the file cabinet that it was two in the afternoon, he had a blank look on his face as he stared at the wall. The next moment there was a knock on the door.

“Not now!” yelled Arch.

“Sir, uh, it’s a lady from the Department of Agriculture. She has some questions for you,” replied Fred from outside the trailer door.

Shit, thought Arch to himself. “Give me a minute!” He got up and tucked his shirt in, though with his massive gut it was nearly impossible to do so. Like it would have mattered, as the sweat and tobacco stains on the once white shirt would cancel out what tucking in might accomplish. Arch pulled a comb out of his back pocket and combed his hair straight back in an attempt to cover the bald spot. He glanced in a very small mirror next to his desk and all he saw in it was the reflection of a thousand nights where he tried to be the first man in the world to drink, snort, and screw everything in a one-mile radius. Fuck it, he thought to himself for the tenth time today. He opened the door and saw a striking and very conservative looking woman in hiking boots, brown cargo pants, and a white button up shirt. Her hair was shoulder length and her eyes were stunning. Big and round as if they weren’t even real. She had a pencil behind her right ear and a thick clipboard that rested on her hip. She smiled.

“Sir, I thought I might be able to ask you a few questions. My name is Marie, I’m from the Department of Agr-”

“Yeah, yeah, you said, come in,” Arch ordered.

“Oh, okay, thank you,” she replied, stepping through the trailer’s entrance.

“Where you from again?” Arch asked.

“The Depart-“ Marie attempted to reply.

“No, no, your accent.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, yes, I moved here from Paris when I was young.”

“Ah, how fascinating,” Arch stated sarcastically.

Awkward silence. “So…if you don’t mind, a few questions?” Marie asked.

“Shoot.”

“Now I want you to know this is all preliminary and I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes or anything,” Marie started.

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, well, okay.” She smiled and looked down to her notes. “I am an investigator with the Department of Agriculture assigned to corporate logging firms to ensure ethical practices in the communities that they operate.” Arch nodded. She acknowledged and looked back down at her notes. “So, we have been getting some unofficial reports of people being asked to leave their property when they have not signed over any lease to log their land. So my question to you, do these reports have any validity?”

Arch simply stared at her for a few moments. He pulled open the bottom left drawer of his desk and looked to grab a pack of cigarettes. He stared at the bottle of whiskey and glanced at her again, thought it best not to reveal any impropriety in the operation, especially drinking whiskey straight at 2:30 in the afternoon. He grabbed the cigarettes and a book of matches. He lit one and placed the cigarette between his lips and took a long puff. He blew it straight at Marie, but pretended it wasn’t intentional. He stared outside and looked at the rain beat against the window.

“Blowing pretty hard out there huh?” Arch asked.

“What?” Marie replied.

“The wind, the rain, you know the storm,” as Arch pointed outside.

“Oh yeah, whew, must be hard to work in this.”

“We work in it all, sweetheart,” taking another puff. “I ain’t got a clue as to what those people are talking about. Everything we do here is on the up and up. We didn’t get to be the best logging operation in Montana for kicking people out of their homes,” Arch stated.

“Hmm, okay, there have also been reports about the residents being warned not to speak out against any operation in the area or there may be repercussions,” Marie said.

“What kind of repercussion?” Arch replied slyly.

“Well they said that if they didn’t sign over their deeds at reduced rates, someone was going to come find them, and remind them of what an agreement means. These are just reports.”

She smiled.

“Ah ha, I see.” Arch replied, “Nope, none of that funny business going on here.”

“I have a couple-” Marie attempted.

“Well, if that’s all, we really have a lot of work to do here.” Arch insisted.

She smiled again. Marie got up and walked over to the door. She handed Arch her card, forcing him to walk over and retrieve it. He did.

“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Grimes,” Marie said as she walked out the door. The rain was pouring and she placed the metal clipboard over her head as she ran to her Jeep Cherokee. She got in and sped off. Arch watched her as she left. He had seen folks like her through his whole career, never stopped him once. Time and time again they tried, but he always found a way around it, or through it. They had never come with such specific information before, which caused him to skirt the edges of alarm. He may need to call an old friend.

“Hey!” Arch yelled to Fred, who was smoking a cigarette in his truck. “Why the fuck everyone not working?”

“Well, sir, they’re a bit shaken up.”

“’Bout what?”

“We went to that cabin, you know, that the scouts found?” as he put the cigarette out and ran into the office out of the rain.

“Uh-huh.”

“One of the guys stepped in a bear trap, took his leg clean off.”

“Shit.”

“We got him to the hospital, he’s gonna live.”

“What about the cabin?”

“There was some old guy livin’ there.”

“Some old guy?”

“Yeah, he was like a frontier person or something. Had a bunch of animal skins he was wearin’. I think he did something to that trap to make it for humans.”

“Why you say that?”

“It was filed down, like a teeth of razor blades.”

“What you tell em’?”

“We’re coming through in a couple weeks, best be gone.”

Arch stared at him, then outside into the rain. “Get them back to work right fucking now, I’ll take care of this frontier man.” Fred ran out to the men and began to yell at them as he was often yelled at by Arch. A vicious cycle stopping at its origin, the rage of Mr. Grimes. Arch walked out in the rain. What was left of the hair on his head was matted down with the torrential rains, making him look even balder. He looked over at Fred’s old truck and saw a hiking boot sticking out of the bed. “Hey! Wake up! Time to work, asshole!” wondering how anyone could sleep in this rain. He realized immediately the leg had no owner in close proximity. He grabbed the hiking boot with leg in tow and dragged it across the muddy roads used by the heavy equipment. The sound of the wood chipper was getting louder now, and the crews all stopped in horror as they witnessed what the boss was carrying. Arch tossed the leg into the chipper. He turned around, “back to work!”

XIII

Marie looked in her rearview mirror back towards the work site, then onto the road. The windshield wipers rhythmically moved back and forth. The rain came down in sheets and she was soaked to the bone. The heat was blasting on high, and with it came the sleepiness from a long day out in the bush. She came from Denver and was here for an investigation. The city was more her style. The comforts of a Starbucks up the street and her little corner government office overlooking the front-range. As she was daydreaming of an iced mocha latte from her favorite little café, she noticed a small and seemingly abandoned gas station just outside of the wilderness area. The fuel gauge was pinging towards E. She pulled in, turned the jeep off, and sat there with her head back on the seat. Her eyes briefly closed, and she eventually pulled herself out and stepped into the store. The majority of the shelves were empty, with a homely attendant intently staring at her. She was a beautiful woman and the likes of her didn’t enter places like this regularly. The man at the cash register had an old John Deere trucker hat and disheveled hair on his head and face. In his mouth was a large amount of tobacco, which he spit into a cup that he promptly returned to its place next to the Slim Jims on the counter.

“Miss,” the attendant said emotionless as he tipped his hat.

“Hello.” Marie replied in the most polite manor while avoiding eye contact as much as manners would allow. She was no stranger to strange men being as beautiful as she was, living in a big city. She decided to make this a quick stop. Caffeine and food were the top priorities. She hadn’t eaten since the drive from Billings. On the bare counters were some warm glass bottles of Coke and some cans of Vienna sausages. Oh goody, she thought to herself, with the image of the iced cold latte with condensation dripping down the side still fresh in her mind. She grabbed the Coke and eyed a Snickers bar on the way to the cashier. Setting the items down on the counter, she noticed the spittoon not inches from her Snickers. In the back of her throat she felt a little movement but she managed to keep it in.

“That’ll be all, miss?” said the attendant in a very peculiar manner. Like there was a joke that only he knew.

“Yep, that’s all.” She smiled and glanced at her vehicle out front. “Wait. Need ten dollars for pump one.”

“Ten dollars pump one, you got it.”

He went to grab the Snickers but grabbed the spittoon instead. The sound of the saliva dropping into the cup seemed to echo through the entire building and he looked into her eyes throughout the process. She had a look of disgust, and begged in her mind for him to just ring it up so she could head back to her hotel. He finally rang up the items and $1.50 later she was out the door after one last look back at the attendant who did not take his eyes off of her for one second. Marie got into her jeep and took a long swig of the Coke and tore the wrapper off of the candy bar, taking a bite. The jeep started easily despite its age and she was back on 90 heading south toward butte. She pulled into the motel just outside of the city and remembered that she paid for gas she never got.

The last week in this hotel had been painful enough but knew she had to be there for a while longer. Until she could determine what, if anything, this Grimes guy was up to. There was definitely something about him that didn’t sit right and she was determined to find out what it was. There were leads she wanted to follow up on, but with the long day and the heavy rain outside, tomorrow would prove to be her only option. Just too tired. Marie walked up the exterior stairs to her room on the second floor and walked into her hotel room. It was small but clean, and at $40 dollars a night she was able to keep the difference in the per diem from the department. There were empty pizza boxes on the floor and papers strewn about. She walked over them all and turned the shower on. As she stared into the mirror she could see the lines of age beginning to show their true depth as the rain washed away any makeup she put on this morning. Turning forty wasn’t easy and this job was all she had. Sacrifice after sacrifice for her work left her with no husband, no children, and the prospects fading as fast as her beauty. After a long, hot shower, she put a towel on and walked toward the bed. She found what was left of the Snickers bar next to her keys and devoured it. Can’t do pizza again, she thought. The bed was stiff but her eyes were heavy. Her arms stretched across the bed as the sleep began to overtake her and her hand brushed against some papers. She opened her eyes and looked to see a map she had been working on. There was a pattern forming of the complaints. The logging company was obviously moving south and she had marked all of the homes in the logging company’s presumed area of operation. She noticed one small home that she hadn’t checked yet. Better check that one tomorrow, she thought as the map dropped by her side and she faded into slumber. Her dreams were of her childhood in the rural areas outside of Paris. Her father would come home from his bakery smelling of the most amazing confections. Her mother who slaved in the kitchen had prepared the greatest meals for them and a smile went across her face as she moved deeper and deeper into sleep.

…

The attendant of the gas station watched the woman leave and thought to himself a particular set of horrible scenarios. The man made another deposit into the spittoon and left the register. He only got about one customer a day on this road, and selling gas and Slim Jims wasn’t his main profession. He walked behind the counter and opened the door to the back office and storage area. There was an old dilapidated cot with dirty sheets and pillow along the back wall of the office. All along the walls were pictures of naked women in compromising poses. There were other pictures on the wall in the darker areas of the office where the small light in the room could not reach; pictures of men, women, and families enjoying the happiest parts of their lives. Most of them looked like the stock photos from department stores that sold frames, but these were not. The rest of the room contained a large assortment of shoes and trinkets that were not his. He would never purchase any of these items, as he was not the type of man to take pleasure from the things that most would. His pleasure was in causing chaos. Disrupting the natural order of things. He didn’t even remember how he got to this place and he didn’t much care. He sat in the seat of the office and spit onto the floor. No point in pretending civility. Along the walls were books of ancient literature, Plato, Socrates. Every novel of Hemingway was also among them. The attendant was not a stupid man. He liked to think that he was above what society deemed normal, he had transcended into something more visceral; an element of the earth much like fire and water. His purpose was simply as a tool for those who would need to achieve their ends. He did not care about their ends, but simply the journey to those ends was where he found his calling. As the bulb that lit the room swung to and fro it illuminated a wooden board with hundreds of scratches in the manner you would score a tic-tac-toe game. Four slashes with one diagonal across. On the desk was an old phone with the message light flashing. He spit onto the floor again and pushed old candy wrappers off the phone and picked up the receiver. He dialed one and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey Sol, its Arch, got another job for you; like the others. Need it done soon, you got three weeks. You know what I want you sick fuck, let me know when it’s done.”

The message ended and Sol returned the receiver to its home. He sat there for a moment and turned around in his old swivel office chair. He put his hands behind his head and swallowed his spit this time. He looked up at the wooden board with the scratches and thought for a moment. Getting up, he moved toward a large wall locker in the storage room. He unlocked it slowly to reveal a hand grenade with a pull switch tripwire attached to the grenade’s ring. He removed the tripwire and opened the locker cautiously. Inside of the locker on the left interior of the door hung old dried-up pieces of ear he had collected during his journey of self-discovery. They had been decades old now and could not be deciphered as anything human at this point. In the main compartment of the locker were a set of well-worn fatigues and an assortment of rifles, pistols, and hand grenades. He pulled out a sniper rifle, one that he had spent many nights with staring down the scope looking at the very same individuals whose pictures hung on his walls. As he was done inspecting his equipment and removing the rifle, the light revealed the right locker door interior. In it were horrific images of him and his victims in Vietnam. One particular image showed him calmly smiling while lying on a mound of burnt bodies. His hand behind his head and eyes closed; like a day at the beach. He slammed the doors shut.