Shut The Fuck Up And Die! (5 page)

Rather than waiting for a reply, the man
grasped one end of the blue canvass in his meaty mists and, without
hesitation or ceremony, gave it a sharp pull. The rolled up canvas
spun away from him like toilet paper across the bathroom floor,
growing smaller with each revolution, until it was laid out flat
against the forest floor.

Now that it had been unfurled, the body that
had been wrapped tightly within its confines stared up at clouds
the color of dirty cotton with eyes that would never see again. Its
flesh was pale and bruised and sections hung from the carcass like
tattered ribbons. The thing's mouth was opened in a silent scream
and barbed wire coiled around the skull like some sort of grisly
gag. The little twists of metal dimpled the skin around the cheeks
and the corners of the lips and dried trickles of blood surrounded
the punctures like rust stains. Constellations of stab wounds
dotted the torso and a wide gash curved across the stomach as if
someone had attempted to carve a smile into the thing's gut. Below
this was the severed stump of a penis, cut so cleanly that it
looked as if the organ had been cleaved off near the base of the
pale and wrinkled sacks that hung just below.

“
You sure this is far enough, Earl? I
mean, if someone finds him, we . . . .”

Earl grunted in disgust and rubbed his
stomach as he looked over the body.

“
Ain't like nobody's gonna smell him or
nothing. Not as cold as it's been. And Hell . . . you see them
tracks. This time tomorrow and it's gonna be picked clean. We come
back in a week's time, gather what's left of the bones, and nobody
will be none the wiser.”

“
Sure died hard, didn't he? Glad we
still got the bitch, though . . . .”

Earl ignored the grin that spread
across his brother's face and began freeing the tarp from the
weight of the corpse. It'd been nearly forty minutes since he'd had
an opportunity to relieve himself and his bladder felt as if he
were about to pass shards of ice; he wanted nothing more than to be
done with the work at hand, back in the truck, and heading toward
the warmth and comfort of home. Mama would have a fire crackling in
the hearth, hot coffee, and maybe even soup if they were lucky: she
tended to reward the boys when they'd been exceptionally good and,
in Earl's mind, going out on a night like this counted as
above and beyond
. Maybe she'd even
let him have a go at the woman after his numb skin had a chance to
thaw.

“
How much life you reckon she got left
in her? She's been lookin' pale lately. Probably have to find
another before long.”

The sound of Daryl's prattling buzzed in
Earl's head like an annoying gnat that had become lodged somewhere
between his eardrum and skull. Each syllable caused him to inwardly
cringe as his muscles tensed in response: couldn't the fool ever
just shut the fuck up? Even for a minute?

“
Hope the next one's just as pretty.
And brunette. I loves me some brunettes . . . .”

Earl took a deep breath as he rolled the tarp
back up and tried mentally counting to ten. A wind had picked up
and between its chill and the barely suppressed urge to beat the
mortal fuck out of his little brother, he'd begun to tremble. The
quivering caused his already stressed bladder to tingle and ache,
as if the flow were building pressure within his body and would
soon burst free.

“
Remember that one brunette, Earl? Had
the tattoo of the little stick figure and lawnmower right above her
bush? 'Bout the cutest damn thing I ever did see. Wonder if Mama
would let me draw one of them on the next one?

Earl would be damned if he was going to stand
out there in the cold and piss himself like his sorry excuse for a
brother had.. Kicking the tarp to the side, he unzipped his fly and
closed his eyes as the warm liquid surged out. The entire lower
half of his body felt as though a great weight had been lifted from
it and he sighed; tendrils of steam rose from the now-wet corpse at
his feet and, with the urgency of his bladder relieved, his
aggravation with Daryl also receded and he could think clearly
again. Though he hated to admit it, his brother was right: the girl
back at the house was fading fast and wouldn't last much
longer.

SCENE FOUR

The cold bit through the slick vinyl of
Mona's parka and crept through the layers of batting and her
sweatshirt. She and Matt had tried walking for a while with their
arms draped across one another, but the futile attempt at sharing
body heat had been awkward; they tended to fall out of step and had
staggered along the road like a pair of drunkards weaving home from
a bar. Despite the freezing weather which numbed their noses and
lips, both of them had worked up a sweat beneath their clothes as
the grade had grown progressively steeper. The last thing they
needed was for one of them to fall: the loose powder would sneak
its way down into their clothes, melt against their warmer bodies,
and plunge their internal temperature to the point that even the
icy drifts would feel warm in comparison. So they shuffled forward,
shoulder to shoulder instead, each one hunched over in an attempt
to keep the wind from peppering their faces with flurries.

“
H-humans should r-really consider
hibernation.”

Mona's teeth chattered as she spoke, infusing
her words with a slight vibrato. She tried to smile but her skin
felt as if it had been pulled like plastic wrap against her skull;
her flushed cheeks stung and the corners of her mouth felt as if
they were about to crack open.

“
Hang in there, baby. Someone's bound
to come along sooner or later.”

Matt tried to make his tone sound light
and cheerful, but a fear had gripped his insides with a hand colder
than the frosted guard rails that lines the edge of the hill. He
wasn't exactly scared of dying; he'd come to grips with his own
mortality long ago and harbored no illusions about the frailty of
life. But the thought of Mona lying in a snowbank with blue lips
and ice encrusted eyelashes kept haunting his vision. In her, he'd
found the perfect partner: she was beautiful in her own quirky way
and always made him feel like a nervous schoolboy eagerly awaiting
his first kiss. She was the only person, in fact, who he had ever
truly cared about. Everyone else in the world was simply looking
out for themselves; they would stab you in the back with a smile
and then dance a jig on your grave if given half a chance. They
were devious and self centered and could barely be considered human
at all. But Mona . . . she was like an angel who'd been sent to
help guide him along his chosen path. She touched him in ways he'd
never realized he
could
be
touched, both literally and figuratively. She was the one person
who knew all of his secrets, every nook and cranny of his mind . .
. and life without her would be unbearable. He'd been down that
road before: it was full of brambles and briars that raked at the
soul, traps and snares . . . but with his woman by his side, those
obstacles bowed like servants to a greater power.

“
How long do you think it's been,
Matty?”

“
Nine, ten miles maybe. You tried the
cell lately?”

She nodded her head, causing the fur-lined
hood of the parka to bounce with the movement.

“
N-no signal. Not out here in Bumfuck .
. . you sure do know how to plan a honeymoon, babe.”

He glanced at her to see if she were truly
angry with him, but her eyes twinkled beneath the shadows of her
hood like a pair of jewels.

“
Only the best for my wife.”

They walked in silence for a while, listening
to the rhythm of each other breathing and the shuffle of their
footsteps. The snow seemed to muffle everything, to make it sound
as if it wasn't quite real. It was all too easy to imagine that
this was nothing more than a dream: that one of them would wake up
to the drone of the heater and the lull of tires rolling over
pavement. However, the wind would occasionally gust and the needles
of pain it jabbed into exposed skin were enough to drive home the
reality of the situation.

“
I'm so tired, Matty. So tired . . . .”
Mona's voice was barely a whisper. “I feel like I could just lay
down right here and go to sleep.”

Fear clenched Matt's heart and he whipped his
head toward his new wife. She'd begun stumbling, her heels kicking
up these little eruptions of snow as her knees buckled. His own
calves felt as if the muscles had turned into overcooked noodles
and spasms formed hard little knots in his thighs.

“
Don't you do it, Mona, you hear me?
Don't you lay down on me, girl.”

“
I don't regret anything, you know. I
just want you to know that, Matt. In case . . . in case anything
should . . .”

“
Don't talk like that! You're gonna be
okay.
We're
gonna be okay.
We've been in tougher situations than this, right? Remember Rock
Hill? Remember Townsend? Just hang in there, babe.”

Panic fluttered Matt's heart and blood surged
through his veins, causing his temples to throb with a whooshing so
loud that it drowned out nearly all other noises. Even his own
voice sounded as if it were being heard by a fetus within the
womb.

“
I'll carry you, baby. Want me to carry
you for a while? I'll do it.”

He saw Mona's trembling lips move, but her
voice was as lost as if he were watching a silent film.

“
Come on, piggy back, baby. I can do
it, really I can.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes and he felt their
warmth trickle down his cheeks. Mona shook her head and everything
within Matt felt as hollow as the chocolate bunny he'd surprised
her with last Easter. He couldn't let her give up, couldn't allow
her to leave him . . . .

Through his veil of tears, it almost looked
as Mona had begun to glow softly. As if Heaven were shining down
through the darkness and calling his angel home. She tripped over
her own feet and fell to her knees in the middle of the road.

As Matt rushed to her side, another sound
encroached upon blood swishing through his head. This was a low
rumble that sounded as if the earth were about to crack open.
Perhaps Satan himself was rising from his subterranean lair: he
would appear in plumes of sulfuric smoke and bathed in the
flickering fires of Hell, ready to do battle with his timeless
nemesis for the possession of this single soul. At the same time,
the glow around Mona intensified, like God was readying himself for
this struggle and calling upon a legion of angels to watch His
back.

Scooping his wife into his arms, Matt closed
his eyes and clenched his teeth so tightly that it felt as if they
were only moments away from shattering like porcelain. They
couldn't have her, either one. Jehovah, the Devil: he would fight
them both, would pull ethereal arms from sockets to use as a clubs
as he beat back the heavenly host and hordes of demonic warriors.
He would stand over his dear, sweet Mona and unleash a fury that
would make the Book of Revelation look like a lullaby.

The rumbling was now so loud that he could
feel it vibrate within his chest and he opened eyes that were now
as hard and cold as the chunks of sooty ice lining the road.

“
They can't have you, baby.” he
whispered. “You're mine . . . .”

The glow was now so bright that it
almost seemed as if they inhabited an island of daylight amid a
darkened sea. And was it just his imagination or could he hear the
frenetic squeal of fiddles, like a muffled call to arms for the
gathering armies? But would either side actually choose
The Devil Went Down To Georgia
as
the armageddic equivalent to fife and drums? For Matt was sure
that's what it was now: the Charlie Daniel's Band turning an epic
struggle between Good and Evil into nothing more than a
hoedown.

The volume of the music increased and a thin
voice wavered through the hillbilly onslaught.

“
You folks need a lift?”

The words came from a thin, mustached man who
leaned out the passenger window of a battered truck. For a moment,
Matt simply crouched there as he blinked his eyes. Part of him was
certain that it was nothing more than a trick of his mind; that if
he were to run up to the truck it would dissipate like a mirage in
the desert.

“
That your woman, buddy? Looks like
she’s ‘bout to freeze her tits off. C’mon . . . get your asses in
here. We’ll give ya a lift.”

Matt threw up his hand to indicate that he’d
heard the man and whispered to Mona as they struggled up from the
snow.

“
We’re gonna be okay, sweetie. See?
Didn’t I tell you?”

The cab of the truck was cramped and had the
lingering stench of urine for some reason. The driver, whose name
they’d learned was Earl, took up most of the seat with his wide
girth and the smaller one was wedged between him and Matt like
mortar between bricks. Mona sat on her husband’s lap with her legs
slightly off to the side and her head resting on his shoulder.
Despite the warm air that had gusted over her face for the past ten
minutes, she was just now beginning to regain feeling on the tip of
her nose and earlobes.

“
You folks are lucky we came along when
we did. Highway patrol done closed down the road down near the
bottom of the hill. You musta passed through just a short piece
before, I reckon. Where you headin’ anyway?”

The one named Daryl seemed to do most of the
talking with his brother only grunting a reply every now and
then.