American rust Read Online Free

He picked one up. It was the size of a baseball, or larger, cold and very heavy. Maybe too heavy. He wondered if there was something else. No, there's no time. Get in there. Don't use that same door.
    After coming quietly through the back door he could see what was happening. Murray was laid out on the ground. The Mexican was standing behind Poe holding something to Poe's neck; his other hand was down Poe's crotch. Poe had both hands in the air like he was telling the man to calm down. They were standing in the light from the fire with their backs to him. Isaac was in the dark, invisible to others.
    “Otto,” the Mexican shouted. “I ain't got all fuckin day.”
    “Your little buddy ain't outside,” said a voice. “He must of already took off.”
    The Swede came back from the other side of the building with his face shining in the firelight, grinning at Poe like he was happy to see him. Isaac found his grip on the bearing, felt how heavy it was, five pounds, six pounds, he rocked to his back leg and threw as hard as he could; he threw so hard he felt the muscles in his shoulder tear. The bearing disappeared in the darkness and there was a loud crack as it hit the Swede in the center of the head, just at the top of his nose. The Swede seemed frozen in place and then his knees went loose and he seemed to fall straight down, a building collapsing on itself.
    Poe broke loose and went running out the door; Isaac stood frozen for a second, watching the man he'd hit, the hands and feet were twitching slightly. Go, he thought. Murray was still lying on the ground but Jesús was now kneeling over the Swede, talking to him, touching his face, though Isaac already knew—knew from how heavy the bearing was, knew from how hard he'd thrown it.
        — — —
    They could barely make out the train tracks in the darkness. It was raining again. Isaac's hands and face were slick with mud and his shoes were heavy with it and he was soaked through but from sweat or rain he didn't know.
    You need your pack, he thought. No, you can't go back there. How bad is that guy hurt? That thing was really heavy, your arm hurts just from throwing it. You shouldn't have hit him in the face.
    Up ahead, they could see the lights from Buell; they were getting close. Poe turned suddenly and began to make his way through the brush toward the river.
    “I need to wash myself,” he told Isaac.
    “Wait till you get home.”
    “He touched me right on the skin.”
    “Wait till you're home,” Isaac repeated. His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere else. “That water won't clean it anyway.”
    The rain was turning into sleet and Poe was wearing only his T-shirt. Soon he'll be hypothermic, Isaac thought. Neither of you are thinking straight, but he's in worse shape—give him your coat.
    He took off his coat and handed it over to Poe. After hesitating, Poe tried to put it on, though it was too small. He handed it back.
    Isaac heard himself say: “We should run so you can get warm.”
    They jogged for a while but it was too slippery. Poe went down twice in the mud, he was in bad shape, and they decided to walk again. Isaac could not stop thinking about the man lying there, it had looked like blood coming down his face but it could have been the light, or anything. All I did was knock him out, he told himself, but he was pretty sure that wasn't true.
    “We need to get to a phone so we can call 911 for that guy. There's one at the Sheetz station.”
    Poe didn't say anything.
    “It's a payphone,” said Isaac. “They won't know it was us.”
    “That's not a good idea,” said Poe.
    “We can't just leave him.”
    “Isaac, there was blood coming out of his eyes and the way he was moving around it was just reflexes. If you hit a deer in the spine it does the same thing.”
    “We're talking about a person, though.”
    “We call an ambulance, the cops will be right behind them.”
    Isaac could feel his throat get tight. He thought again about