End of the Road Read Online Free Page B

blaring from inside the
cab, the kind that sounded like wild animals banging on a log and
screaming their fury at the night sky – angry music for an angry
world.
    “ Hey. What you got there,
boy?”
    The punk’s drawl was thick as syrup, the
taunt in the last syllable as obvious and old as the ranch. Older,
really, and an anachronism these days, or so one would have
thought.
    “ Mending a fence,” Curtis
had said, his tone neutral, looking up from his position as his
dogs growled their sense of impending menace.
    “ You work for the folks got
this property, boy?”
    “ It’s mine.”
    Chortles of laughter emanated from the
truck.
    “ Well look here. We got
ourselves a high tone, don’t we? Must be awful smart to have a big
piece like this – but not so smart you can get yourself someone to
fix your fences, huh, boy?”
    Curtis put down the bail of wire he was
holding and stared at the drunk, waiting for the situation to
either escalate or sputter to a close. He doubted the driver was
courageous enough to tackle him. Rather, he and his companions were
drunk and bored and looking for trouble, but not the kind Curtis
could bring.
    The driver caught the look in Curtis’s eye –
unflinching, impassive – and hesitated, the taunts from his two
friends insufficient fuel for the fire he’d need to take Curtis
on.
    “ What are you staring at,
boy?” the driver sneered, as if by speaking he could muster
strength.
    “ Nothing.” Curtis spit,
gaze never leaving the driver’s even as he leaned slightly to the
side. “I’m staring at nothing.”
    Curtis’ inflection gave the driver pause,
the few simple words rendering judgment he hadn’t expected. What
had seemed like some fun suddenly wasn’t. The game had somehow
changed, and even though there were three of them against one,
something about Curtis’s demeanor served as a warning more clear
than the rattle on a snake’s tail.
    They stared at each other, Curtis taking the
driver’s measure and finding it wanting, inadequate to the task at
hand, and a moment passed between them that seemed to last an
eternity – a moment where the driver looked into the abyss, and it
more than returned the favor.
    “ Well fuck you, man. Too
damned stupid to get outta the sun. What am I wasting my time for,
anyway? This is bullshit,” the driver said, first to Curtis, then
his friends, before he tromped on the gas, the big motor’s throaty
roar trailing the truck as it sped to catch up with its
friend.
    Curtis had returned to work that day,
patching the spot Bart favored when sneaking out at night, always
the instigator, dragging the more obedient Tag with him on his
adventures. No further sign of the trucks disturbed his
self-imposed duties, and he’d continued with his task until the
deepening dusk declared time out.
    The following morning the swelter had hit
earlier than usual. He’d known it was going to be bad before he’d
stepped out onto his porch, the modest home a quarter mile from the
road, a senile grove of trees providing meager shade in this, one
of the hottest months.
    The fence posts were flattened, tire tracks
an unmistakable signature. His heart sank when he saw the forms of
his two dogs, already bloating, a cloud of black flies swarming
over their bodies a dozen yards from the gate.
    The dirt got hard the deeper you dug. Three
feet down, it turned to clay, unexpectedly, packed densely by
gravity and some long-forgotten sea.
    That night he’d found the truck at one of
the bars near the county line, a place where the no accounts could
fight and drink and tell lies, laughing about their exploits. He’d
promised Meg he wouldn’t fight, and he’d meant it – one of the
conditions she’d put forth for marrying him after a whirlwind
courtship during a period where his anger would bubble up, seeking
an outlet, a safety valve for his soul, and he’d prove how tough he
was with the rednecks that always seemed in plentiful supply. She’d
put a stop to that,