Northern Will

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The late fall air choked out what warmth the sun had brought to the north.

“Danny, bring that candle closer here.” Marcel jostled a padlock hooked to a wooden chest. The cabin was rotten, inside out, death clung to its crevices like blight holds to the poor.

Danny, careful to keep the flame as he brought the dripping candle, “Don’t ya think we oughta start a fire ‘fore goin’ through a dead man’s stuff?”

Rick Russel hovered over Marcel’s shoulder, “‘Ain’t no way the shabby ‘ol fucker who built this place ain’t got no hooch hidden in one these cupboards.” The looming oak shook and weak twigs scattered over the riddled roof.

Leroy, tall with a full unkept beard, stood staring with lustful eyes, from one end of the room to the other, “The long frog song will sing you the truth.” He sang, a loose gargled sound. “The truth, the truth! She’s a whore!” He whooped and cackled, only pleasing himself.

Marcel shook his head, bitterness penetrating through the slits between the log walls. “Three nights, Danny. Three nights he’s been keepin’ on like this.”

Winston stubbed the wood fire stove, “Ooo! Damn it!” He limped in a lame circle, his plaid jacket thickly matted with dirt and sweat.

Danny abstinently stood holding the candle over Marcel’s view, “Why ain’t we buildin’ a fire in there?” He complained.

Rick Russel, still watching Marcel pick the lock, though the picking was more of an assault, “Cause this stuff’s bound to keep ya warmer than any fire could.”

“She’s a whore!” Leroy erupted from his isolation.

“Danny, make him cut that out will ya!” Marcel snarled.

“Whatta ya want me to do? He don’t even know he’s out pissin’ on the rocks like the rest of us.” His voice low incase Leroy would hear, his lunatic’s smile all too knowing for Danny’s comfort.

“Just git ‘im to stop.” Marcel growled. “Take ‘im to git some firewood, why dontcha?”

With sweeping ‘o’s, “Oh, that long frog song she be singin’!” Leroy began swaying as if the night was dancing with him.

“Danny!”

“Oh, all right!” Danny picked up his knees, high with frustration, “Come on, Leroy.” He planted the candle on the windowsill, wax sputtering onto the damp wood, “Let’s take a walk.” He guided Leroy by his shoulders, passing through the door hanging by rusted hinges.

“Big man, Marcel.” Rick Russel jested, inches from Marcel’s ear.

“Gittin’ them outta here will help git this job done.” Marcel grumbled, yanking at the lock, “Now go fin’ me a bar to break this off with.”

“‘Go fin’ me’? Well, aren’t we feelin’ awful mighty?” Rick Russel spit by Marcel’s boot. Marcel, head unmoving, looked at the glob of saliva, then at Ricky.

“Just an accident.” Ricky chuckled like a hypocrite and turned to attend to his assignment, kicking fallen debris as he went.

Danny and Leroy shuffled towards the tree line, vaporous clouds of breath fading above their heads. The breeze blew brown crusted leaves overtop their worn boots.

“Sure smells nice, don’t it Marcel?” Winston took a huge wiff, “The fresh forest air.” His light voice chimed as he lazily fingered dust off of frames and poked at fresh moss.

“Smells like rot.” Marcel pressed on his knee to stand. His body had been hurting for days, no food, sleepin’ on frozen ground. Even with every terrible night they’d had, there was something about tonight that’s got him particularly agitated. Maybe it was that he was all out of 211? He was startin’ to feel the cold set in.

“We’d been in the desert long time, nice to have a change in scenery.” Winston submitted.

“Ain’t no reason bein’ polite to a man you’ve seen shittin’ himself drunk! Ain’t that right, Marcel!” Laughed Rick Russel, his teeth even more demented in the dim candle light. “Maybe next time you can hold his petticoat for him, Winston!” He laughed foully.

“Well, he was sleepin’ when he did it.” Winston said confusedly.

Rick Russel howled, “You sure are stupid, aren’t ya Winston, man.” Slapping his neighbor hard on the back.

“Sure confident for a man that goes by his first an’ last name. Blame it on your illiterate mamma.” Marcel cut.

Winston coughed up a sick laugh, “He calls himself that ‘cause the factory he worked at before bein’ a destitute, had so many Ricks workin’ on their roll they had to start callin’ them all by their last. Man ain’t got no last name, so they gave him one. Russel. Rick Russel!” Winston laughed out another croak, “Made ‘im feel special, so he kept it.”

“If you two mutated sheep don’t quit your mouthin’ right now, I’ll cut those flappin’ lips off for ya!” Rick Russel postured towards them.

Marcel moved to his hip for his knife, then flipped around, groping at his empty belt loops. “Which one of you scum bags stole my knife!?”

“Wasn’ me, Marcel, I wouldn’ do that.” Winston pathetically put his hands up in front of his chest.

“Nah, I ain’t got no need for a rusty toothpick. I’ve got my own. Sharper ‘in yours too. Or was. Haha!”

“God damn.” Marcel paused for a moment, thoughts ticking their tracks. “Eeck!” He shook his head at the loss, no way he’ll find it now. The rats dug and gnawed under the floorboards.

Winston, coddling, “How do ya think you lost it, Marcel?”

“How should I know, Winston? Not havin’ seen the losing’s what makes it lost!”

“Think it could be in the river?”

Marcel checked behind the decrepit bed frame for something to break the lock, “Forget it,” he muttered, moving with heavy feet to check under the bed, “Too late ta search for it now.”

“Sure wish we had some liquor.”

“Quiet, Winston.” Marcel barked.

Mocking coyotes celebrated a found carcass in the distance. Rick Russel sniffed and wiped a drip from his nose. Another gust of wind came through, crackling the branches above. Winston hawked up something dark and pulled out a twig he’d whittled that afternoon from his front pocket. This sure was an unsettling night, thought Marcel. The candle flickered, threatening to lose out.

“Say Marcel, whatta ya recon those two doin’ out there so long?” Asked Winston, straddling a chair, arms resting over the back, twig hanging out his loose lips.

“Fuck should I know?” He glared over at Winston, “All that complainin’ for liquor, ain’t ya gonna help?”

“Awe, Winston, you’ve gotta stop believing he knows anythin’ jus’ ‘cause he’s good lookin’ an’ has mos’ his teeth.” Rick Russel twitted.

The oak groaned, miserable and achy. Yes sir, something ‘bout this night had Marcel real agitated. Agitated and without a knife... He spotted something dark and heavy behind the wardrobe, and crossed to it with relief. He dragged the iron poker over the rotting wood. Two long steps to the chest, one hard swing down on top of the padlock, and the heavy metal lock crumbled to the floor.

“You crazy bastard!” Rick Russel cheered.

Marcel dropped the poker and lifted the lid. Roach and rat feces, beetle carcasses and cobwebs littered the bottom. He lifted out a 32 oz jar of crystal clear shine. Winston and Ricky whistled with thrill and delight. Marcel handed it over, then produced a second large jar.

“Woo-wee!” Ricky took a swig from the first, “Sss-t-ah! Christ almighty, there’s that bittin’ relief!”

Winston snagged it from him, not so careful to not spill, and spun his chair to face the cold wood stove. Marcel pulled up a questionable stool, and dropped into the hard rickety support with the release his body had been waiting for.

Footsteps in the gravel came from the West. The creaking door dropped open. The three men turned over their shoulders to see Danny in the doorway, arms full of branches and sticks, a limp dumb face. His steps were paced and even as he crossed the room, saying nothing as he approached the stove.

“Where’s Leroy?” Winston asked, wiping a drip off his chin while he passed Ricky the hooch, nodding at him to send it to Danny.

“What, he wouldn’t shut up so ya killed him?” Rick Russel jeered like a drunk idiot, spitting as he spoke and taking another swig before moving the jar on.

Danny took the jar and stared into its icy reflection. The coyotes broke into hysteria, their yips and calls floating like abandoned souls into the cabin.

“Must’a really found a feast out there.” Ricky said, shaking his shoulders in his coat to cast off the creeping feeling of heavy hands resting on him. “Hey, get this fire started, why dontcha.”

“Where’s the ‘ol bastard now then?” Marcel asked as he broke up the twigs.

“You didn’t jus’ leave ‘im out there, did ya?” Winston’s voice was slack, his head beginning to bobble.

“Not alone.” Danny said, taking another deep drink.

Marcel produced matches from his back pocket and lit the leaves he’d swept up from the floor, “You two didn’t happen to see nothin’ out there, did ya?” He cracked a long branch and parceled it on top.

The three men waited, the only response came from the hissing of leaves and twigs catching fire and the shuttering, shrinking candle.

“Hey! If there’s somethin’ out there, we got a right to know.” Rick Russel whooped.

“I didn’t see nothin.” Danny took another gulp, and passed it back to Ricky, who gripped it, looking at Danny through slit eyes, feeling warm now.

Danny looked up across the new fire to Ricky, only his eyes shifting, the light creating caverns in his hollow spaces from hunger. Ricky shivered.

“He kept goin’ on. Singin’ bout his whore. Kept it on till… till he just stopped and fell over backwards.”

“What ya spewin’, man?” Ricky glanced back and forth between Winston and Marcel to see if they were hearing it, or believing it.

Winston scratched behind his ear, “Like some sort of heart attack, er somethin?”

“Just tellin’ you what happened. That’s what you’re askin’ after, ain’t it?” Danny moved the jar from the old stool, sat, and sipped.

“Why you sick flea bag, I’ll beat the truth outta ya if ya don’t…” Ricky lunged at Danny, drips of moonshine leapt from the jar. Winston grabbed it from him like something precious.

The fire broke, and the last branch tumbled into the ash. The four men stopped, staring at the dimming heat. “Didn’t get very good wood.” Marcel said, crouched near the mouth of the stove, “Burned up quick.” Marcel blinked slow and heavy. “We need more wood.”

“We should go in groups.” Winston offered.

“Won’t make a difference.” Danny’s arms hung loose, like a puppet in wait.

Marcel turned his body to Danny and took the jar dangling from his clawed fingers, “Finish telling us what happened to Leroy, Danny. He just fell over backwards like that? Did ya check his pulse? He had been losing ‘imself the last few weeks…”

“Yeah, maybe he had some bad water or somethin’. Worms got in his guts, ‘er brain.” Winston blurted.

“Did ya kill ‘im? He’s a big man.” Ricky interrogated.

Danny sat silent.

Winston, blankly staring, “So he’s dead”... and drank.

Scratches came from the bushes surrounding them. “If he attacked ya, tried to kill ya, we won’t hold it ‘gainst ya if you had to be the one to send him out.” Marcel said, locked on Danny, searching for any signs of unsteadiness.

“What I told y'alls the truth.” Ashamed, Danny said, “There was nothin’ I could do.”

“Marcel, the fire’s dying. We need wood.” Winston was wobbly, standing and handing off the moonshine to Ricky. “Let’s go, Marcel.”

“Right.” Marcel replied, “Let’s go.” He stood and moved to the door, his large legs covering the space of the small room in several strides. The moonshine’s warmth moved down to his toes without the blockage of bent knees.

Rick Russel fumbled in his back pocket and produced a knife. Holding it out wavering between him and Danny, “No hard feelins, but I ain’t goin’ to get no damn wood, not when I’m good an’ settled. An’ if I have to stay alone with the likes of you, I sure as hell ain’t doin’ it without some distance.”

“Go ‘head.” Danny said, his eyes black and face gaunt in the dim glow.

“Don’t be stupid, Ricky.” Marcel said with his back to them. He kept walking, organizing thoughts and information. As if either were reliable. If Leroy is dead, no point lookin’ for the body. The coyotes found it, you could be sure. And if he wasn’t, was he still alone an’ delusional? An’ if he was, was he dangerous? It just didn’t add up. His mind may have been goin’, but his body was strong for his age. Danny was a shifty fellow, but no more ‘in the rest of ‘em. It ain’t makin’ no sense.

“Marcel! Hey, Marcel, wait up!” Winston hurriedly caught up to Marcel in the open. With short breaths, he asked, “Whatta ya think it’s all about?”

“Don’t know.” He bent to pick up a broken branch, his eyes lifted, searching the darkness. A loon called out from the east, mm-ooo-uu-uk, mm-ooo-uu-uk! “How’ve you been sleepin?”

“How I been sleepin?” Winston gathered a few twigs. “Erm, I don’t know. Cold. Hard on the rocks. Why ya ask? Not like you ta care.”

“You notice anythin’ strange?” Marcel pressed.

“Strange? Like outta the regular?” He was drunk, the breeze lifted and rustled the sagebrush, the cool bright smell dousing them. “Wait, yeah. I think I noticed somethin’ the other night. Thought it was just some rats, packin’ in the bushes. But when I fell asleep, I was dreamin’ about rats too. How’d you know?”

“I didn’t. Keep pickn. Anythin’ else?” Marcel kept his eyes alert and his heart as even as an uneasy man could.

“Erm… not too much different. We’s jus’ been walking like we always do. But you know, Leroy… poor man. Mustta been real dehydrated.” Winston picked a few sticks… “Wonder if Danny killed ‘em.” Not thinking until after he had admitted it.

Marcel’s mind compulsively went to where his knife would be, “Not sure.” The darkness was beginning to infiltrate their minds. “Couldda.”

Winston’s breathing was heavy from the cold and the surmounting uncertainty. “Ah!” He recoiled from the branches he had been groping at, “God damn!”, his pile cracked to the hard ground.

“What is it?” Marcel turned toward him, remaining in his place. “Speak, damn it!”

“N-n-not sure, I think… I think somethin’s there! I grabbed somethin! I was just reachin’ for those sticks there, and I grabbed somethin!”

“You ain’t hurt, is ya?” Marcel moved to Winston and began grabbing up the bundle he’d lost. As he reached for a branch fallen beneath the sage brush, he saw the likeness of a crumpled hand in the half moonlight. Without moving, barely breathing, “Wouldn’t of been an arm you grabbed, would it of?”

“Ahh-uuhg…” Winston groaned. Hesitant, he crouched next to Marcel, “Leroy?”

“Follow that arm to the rest of the body, an’ I reckon we’ll know.” Marcel let the bundle fall to his side as he rose slowly to part the bushes.

“Well!?” Winston lurched, startling Marcel.

“For fuck sake! Why don’t ya come look for yourself if yur so curious?”

The two men crept towards the bushes, unevenly splitting the sharp twigs. Winston swam backwards, tripping over the wood. Marcel stood frozen, staring into the whites of Leroy’s gapping eyes.

Winston danced about over the jenga pile of sticks and twigs on the ground. “We don’t know nothin.” He scurried about like a cornered rat.

Marcel, unable to tear his eyes away from the rigor mortis, “Exactly. We’ve gotta be calm about this. If Danny offed him, we’ll be going back to a fresh murder. If he didn’t and the old man just died of a cold heart, we can’t go in makin’ accusations, and we sure as hell ain’t showin’ up towin’ him along!” His voice grew tight.

“So what do we do?” Winston’s face felt hot.

“Suppose all we can do is get Danny to confess.” Marcel tore himself away from the corpse and began to gather the branches again.

Winston attempted to collect himself, “So we go back, pretend like the only thing we’s seen out here is rocks and weeds.”

“Just follow my lead, an’ don’t say nothin’ too stupid.”

Winston’s mouth twitched into a crumpled frown, as he collected the branches, “Let’s make it fast.”

“What are you tellin’ me for?”

“I aint tellin’ you, I’m tellin’ me.” Winston whisked the branches up and took off back to the cabin. They left the brittle fingers cupping the empty stars.

Camp was dark when they returned, the faint smell of burnt litter wafted from the open door. Danny’s dark silhouette barely visible by the light of the embers. Neither men cleaned their boots when entering. Neither said a word as they closed the distance between them. Marcel dropped the wood and began to bring the lame fire back to life as Winston stood awkwardly behind, watching Danny from a short distance. “Where’s Ricky, Danny?” He questioned.

“Said he was gonna take a piss. Drank lotta shine.”

“No chance he was leavin’ these four walls...” Winston tossed his bundle to the side and crossed back to the door frame, “Ricky! Rick Russel!” Swinging back to Danny, “Where’d you put ‘im?”

Danny chuckled bitterly, “Put ‘im? Watch you think, Ricky an’ I got into it after y’all left?” He took a mouthful of liquor and stood up, “Nah, that ain’t the case.”

Marcel kept at the fire, but watched Danny from his peripheral vision holding tight to the iron poker, “He been gone long? Maybe he was spooked to shit.” He laughed, hoping to hold a facade.

“Hey, look here, I don’t trust that he went to take a piss, an’ I want to know where the hell Leroy got off too.” Winston’s voice was stiff and unconvincing.

Marcel, prodding the embers with the iron poker, “Git yur head, brother...” directing his words down and at Winston.

Movement came from the foliage to the East, gravel crushing underfoot. Bushes raked at the body, and leaves scattered underfoot. “Ricky? That you?” Winston called out over his shoulder, keeping his stance towards Danny.

A twig snapped. Rick Russel stumbled up out of the darkness and through the open door, flaccid and hanging on the frame, chuckling to himself.

Winston, relieved, approached to escort him back to the broken half circle around the stove. “The hell you laughin’ ‘bout, man? Don’t you know somethin’s goin”.... He stopped mid stride, put off by Ricky’s sinful grin.

“You ain’t wrong o’l pal.” Ricky's grin grew to a rotten smile. Winston stuttered backwards, Ricky’s gnarled rotting teeth spread across his pitted face. “While you were away, kindly pickin’ kindlin’, Danny here and I had a little heart to heart.” He walked tall, his legs crossing far over the other.

Marcel, glanced at all three men. Ricky across the way, moving in. Danny to his left, back hunched. Winston to his right, bumbling about, trying to catch his balance. Marcel steadily gripped the hot iron bar. “What sortta deal, Danny?” He challenged.

Ricky, chest spread, taking long dancing strides towards the growing fire, the floorboards groaning with displeasure, “Oh, the type of deal that keeps a free man livin’ free. You see, Danny here, told me everything, an’ he was pretty sure the two of you might find Leroy out there, an’ fancy yur-selves high and mighty. Turn ‘im in.”

“We didn’t see nothin.” Winston stammered, “We promise. Just stick and brush.”

Ricky continued as Danny glowered in the corner, “Awe, yeah, I can understan’ your tryin’. But even if it weren’t so clear yur lyin’, we wouldn’ be able ta trust ya anyhow.”

“Danny,” Marcel tentatively appealed to his travel partner, “He attacked you, you said so yur-self. Ain’t no crime in self defense.”

“Wasn’t no self defense.” Ricky sneered, nasty and gleeful, “Nah, his poor ol’ uncle was sufferin’, we all saw it. Danny Boy couldn’ take it no more, knowin’ the rest of his life wouldn’t be worth livin’. Ain’t that right, Danny? Go on, tell ‘em what you told me, so they knows why they’s got ta die.” His voice leapt, dismissing Danny’s attempt to speak, “You planned to put him out like a good horse gone lame.” His laugher like a mule’s.

Danny lifted his face, eyes wet. Marcel couldn’t make out if he meant it. “Told Ricky, if he helped me bury Leroy’s body, I’d split the inheritance with ‘em.”

“Leroy ain’t got no inheritance.” Marcel contested, blood rushing to his dizzy mind.

Danny shook his head, eyes closed, “He did. Had coins in a bank. Whole lotta land too. Told me so a few weeks back. He’d been travelin’ like the rest of us since his wife died an’ he had nothin’ to live for no more.” The body of the cabin creaked in protest to the weight of the wind.

“That’s right fellas! I’m a landowner now!” Ricky shouted through the star punctured roof.

Winston with a half drank jar on his knee, “I… I… I just can’t un’erstand it. How comes you didn’t ask us to help you bury yur uncle Leroy too, Danny?”

Marcel took the jar next to where Danny was sitting, mind blank looking out past the walls, past the brush and the trees. He sloshed the fiery liquid in his mouth, listening hard for an answer.

“Somethin’s a comin.” Marcel stated in a flat tone.

Danny, reanimated, followed Marcel’s gaze. Ricky, delighted with Winstons whimpering, mocked his fear and confusion like an older jealous cousin. Ripping the jar from Winston, he sauntered over to Marcel, took a long deep gulp, twitched the blade of his knife in the fire light, “You bet yur ass somethin’s a comin.” A hot breath hissed through his teeth into Marcel’s face.

From outside, a faint whistle wafted in like gas in a chamber. Ricky’s spine went rigid, and all four men stood hard and still, listening in hope it was their imaginations.

Rick Russel chortled, “Ha, night birds even know it’s your last.” Sticking the blade under Marcel’s chin. Another whistle blew in, closer now.

The door gave a long painful creak as Leroy’s big boot pushed it open, “Evening' fellas. Havin’ a party without me?” He entered the cabin, “Tisk, tisk, tisk.” One hollow step after the other, he made his way slowly to the chest, tipped the lid, and it gave a hard slam shut.

Winston jerked, and stammered, “How… how you doin’ that, I mean, how you standin’? I mean, we saw yous dead.”

Leroy, sound of mind, beamed, “Ain’t no one gonna offer me a drink? Shoot, that’s alright.” He padded the air. “Well, after Marcel here dismissed us the get firewood, my good for nothin’ nephew tried to strangle me like an ol’ rooster.” He chuckled as he lowered himself to sit, crossing his legs comfortably, “Now ya see, I had it all planned out. Told ‘em I was a wealthy man wonderin’ of a broken heart.” He grinned to himself, “I wasn’t no part of his growin’ up, he wouldn’t know no different, an’ he ain’t a smart man neither.”

Danny attempted words, but Leroy spoke over him, “Said I’d got savin’s stashed up, an’ property for miles.” He paused to take in the sight of the four stunned men. “I needed ta find out how loyal he was planin’ to be. Seein’ as you can’t trust no man to have yur best interest in mind over his own. Not even family”... He turned his head severely to Danny, “So I started actin’ like my mind was gonin. Became a burden to see how loyal a nephew I got.” Leroy rolled his lips and sucked his teeth. “Course I ain’t got no money...”

Rick Russel howled and spun towards Danny, eyes wild with disbelief. Leroy laughed, entertained, “Great story, ain’t it?”

“But, we saw you in the brush.” Marcel spoke low and with carefulness.

“That was a bit of added fun for me.” Leroy jeered, “My traitor nephew tried ta kill me with his bare hands, so I faked a heart attack, made him believe he got off easy an’ nature done it for ‘im. Coward slunk off to leave me for the coyotes. You two chumps,” pointing his finger back and forth between Marcel and Winston, “came a lurkin’. So I decided ta have a little fun. Laid down where ya’d find me.” He burst into a belly laugh, “I couldn’ of counted on ya grabbin’ my hand like that!” He roared, enjoying the looks on their idiot faces.

“But Uncle Leroy…” Danny started.

“After that, I sat at the cabin wall, listenin’ through. Heard all ‘bout the scheme Ricky and Danny cooked up.” He stood slowly, showing no signs of pleasure. “It got me thinkin’ on what a group of no good feral varmints ya’ll truly are.” He looked down to his feet, hands clasped behind his back as he began a pulsing step around the room. In unison, Danny, Winston, Ricky, and Marcel pivoted to keep their eyes on Leroy.

With no warning, Leroy slung a .41 magnum, and before the sound stopped, Rick Russel flung backwards, his limp body falling on the stool, both tumbling over together. Blood leaked out of a hole in his chest. They stood staring at the gnarled flesh. Winston shaking.

The ringing faded, “First place for the lowlife willin’ to sell his soul for a fantasy!” Leroy’s tongue glazed over his darkened teeth as he smiled and slicked his hair.

Winston bolted for the door, tripping over the chair and falling to the ground. Petrified, he scrambled to his knees to find he was looking down at Leroy’s scuffed boots. His gaze moved up slowly, until he saw the delight in Leroy’s eyes. Just as he opened his mouth to plead with him, Leroy put the barrel to his forehead and pulled the trigger. Winston’s body laid crumpled, his half skull oozing out steaming pulp.

Leroy, confident, turned his back, making his way to the center of the room, “Now, I’d considered forgiving you, Danny. Seein’ how much I love my sister…” Spinning around with the gun lifted at Danny’s heart and a wicked smile, “But, it seems all a whore can produce is a scoundrel.” Lightning left the barrel. Danny’s body seesawed backwards, the legs moving independently of the torso, catching on the stove, layers of skin sticking to the hot metal like chicken breast on an un-oiled pan. The body collapsed in a heap. It took only moments for the reek of frying skin to fill the room.

“Shame.” To Marcel’s surprise, Leroy lowered the revolver, “I know you're the smarter man, Marcel. So I’ll tell ya now. It holds six flat-nosed, ‘210-grain bullets, just fast enough’.” He spun it, caught the handle, his left hand hovering over the hammer, aimed right at Marcel’s lungs. Marcel flinched and clung to the iron poker. Leroy smirked.

He lowered the gun and relaxed his stance, “Ain’t it a shame. No man’s choices affects only him.” He held the .41, looking in on its details, silver curves glistening. Then raised his eyes to Marcel, “You an’ I know it. Everyone else’s gotta pay the price for one man’s greed.” He tapped the barrel in his left hand, “I thought ‘bout it... lettin’ you live.” Leroy took a step to the left, the foundation echoing, “Like I said, ya ain’t empty headed. Could use a man like you, mean an’ calculatin.” Another step, the warped floor complying to his weight.

Only Marcel’s eyes moved, digging for Leroy's ploy. His breath was low and muffled in his ears, the gunshots having injured his hearing. But his sight was clear. One more step an’ he’d be in distance. Leroy had been trackin’ left, thinkin’ Marcel was right handed, seein’ as that’s the hand holdin’ the rod. But he’d had a bad shoulder injury years ago, an’ had to learn to chop wood with his left.

Leroy kept on, “But ya see, I ain’t too keen on a man thinkin’ he’s so much betterin’ me. Somethin’s gotta be done ‘bout the self righteous in this world, e’en the Bible say so.” He arced the gun, racking the hammer, lifting it from down by his knee, up until he had Marcel in its sights again.

Marcel passed the iron poker from his right hand to his left, feeling the weight land in his palm. He tucked his head to his shoulder like a football man in play, and lifted the poker as if it were a Roman spear. His boots slick with Danny’s blood, he took one long lunge and slipped. Leroy fired, and the deafening ring of blistering metal set out.

Both men opened their eyes. Leroy, slowly. Seeing the top of Marcel’s head. His vision blurring, he fought to focus his eyes. The iron rod had jammed through his stomach, as smooth as if he were made of nothing but butter. Marcel was ran through on the other end, eyes wide in shock and confusion, watching the crimson leach out over his hands, still clinching the iron. The revolver slipped from Leroy’s hand, clattering to the floor. Marcel’s knees gave out, taking Leroy down with him. Leroy sputtered, blood popping from his mouth. Marcel’s color was quickly fading. The men twitched, consciousness escaping.

It was a cold dark night, in the North, in a land not many men traversed, and there was only wilderness left to attend to the grievances and to the bodies.