So Cold the River

come to town today, and it wasn’t leaving soon.

“What do you want?” Eric Shaw repeated, advancing up the trail toward Josiah. “This doesn’t have anything to do with us. Not with her, not with me.”

“I think you’re wrong on that score,” Josiah said. “It has much to do with you.”

“How?” Shaw said.

“You give my name to another,” Josiah said. “The one who took me from my home, who shed my blood and took me from my home, and you honor him with my name. Don’t even see that you brought me back home, you dumb son of a bitch. You brought me home, and there’s scores to be settled.”

The words had left his mouth without a beat of hesitation, and though they were not his own words, he believed them.

“Brought me home and then thought you could control me,” he said. “Hold me back with water. A fool’s notion, Shaw. There’s not a force in this valley stronger than me.”

Shaw tilted his head and blinked at Josiah. “He’s in you,” he said. “Isn’t he?”

Josiah didn’t answer.

“What do you mean?” Danny said, and Josiah didn’t care for the intense interest in his voice.

“Campbell,” Shaw said to Josiah. “You sound just like him now.”

Above them the sky had darkened to near black, the wind rising to a howl though the rain had ceased altogether. The next wave of storms was here.

“How would you know the sound of his voice?” Danny said.

“Trust me, I know it. I’ve been listening to him for a few days now. Seeing him and hearing him.” He turned back to Josiah. “You don’t look like him yet but you carry his voice. He’s in you now.”

“Always was,” Josiah said. “Did you not hear what I said? We’re of shared blood, you ignorant son of a bitch. The years don’t matter—we’re linked, and always have been.”

“No,” Shaw said, “not like this. He’s in your mind, damn it, he’s turned you into something—”

Josiah stepped forward and swung the shotgun, caught Shaw in the temple with the barrel and knocked him down into the wet grass. Danny gave a little grunt and stepped forward and Josiah turned and stared at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing. I’m not—”

“You move toward me again, and I’ll shoot you just as fast as either of them.”

“Damn it, Josiah, he just told you the truth.”

“Hasn’t been a word of truth left his mouth since he set foot in my valley.”

“Bullshit. Campbell’s infecting your damn brain just like he says.”

Shaw spoke up again, his voice thick with pain. “Let Claire go, at least. Let her go, and whatever problem you’ve got with me, we’ll figure it out. But she’s not a part of this.”

Josiah stared down at him and watched blood seep out of a wound near his hairline and trickle down the side of his face and drip into the grass. The blood looked black in the shadows, but then the lightning flashed again, and in that instant he saw the bright red of the blood stark against the white of Shaw’s face.

“Think for a minute,” Shaw said, speaking as if his tongue were hard to move. “Think about what you want, and what you can actually get. You want some money? Okay, I’ll get you money. But what else can you hope to get out of this? Why do you have her tied up like that? What does it bring you?”

“It’ll bring,” Josiah said, “what’s been owed.”

“What’s owed to you?”

“This valley,” he said.

“I don’t know what that means. And I don’t know how hurting my wife can help you get it.”

“It’s a matter of power,” Josiah said. “I would not expect a man of your dull mind to conceive of just what that means. I ran this valley once, held it in the palm of my hand. I’ll do it again.”

There was blood still dripping off the side of Shaw’s head. Josiah must have hit him a good one; his left arm was shaking as if caught by palsy.

“Stop letting him talk for you!” Shaw shouted. “Just think for a minute, think about what’s real. You’ve got police after you. If you stay here, you’ll be arrested. But I can get you some money and then you can leave—”

“Shut your damned mouth,” Josiah said. “If I required a suggestion from you, I’d let you know with my gun.”

But Shaw’s words were getting to him, crawling in his head and clouding his sense of purpose. What did he want? Why was he here? He turned away from the others, toward the western woods, and let the wind fan hard into his face. He could smell the storm on it, could taste its anger. He wanted to be alone with that wind for just a moment. Just one long blink.

Shaw went for him when he closed his eyes. Josiah hadn’t been paying attention to the gun; it hung loose at his side, leaning against his thigh, and Shaw almost got to it. Got a hand on it, in fact, clawed at the stock and almost tore it from Josiah’s grip.

Almost.

Josiah snatched it away from him and swept his left fist down like a hammer, caught Shaw square in the forehead. He hung on, though, keeping one arm wrapped around Josiah’s waist and throwing punches with the other. Josiah staggered backward and got his free hand on Shaw’s belt and heaved. Then he had space to lift the gun as Shaw came back at him a second time. Josiah twisted it so the butt was pointed down and slammed it at Shaw’s face, missing and hitting his shoulder. There was a snapping sound and a cry of pain and Shaw fell back into the grass and the mud. Josiah lifted the gun again, hoisting it high this time, and as the woman gave a choked scream against the tape over her mouth, he had a flash of memory, saw himself down in the ditch with that detective again, swinging the cinder block. This time he tempered the blow. Brought the stock of the gun down with wounding force but not killing force. He caught Shaw on the top of the head and he dropped and stayed down. Conscious still, groping around in the dirt as if he intended to rise but eliminated as a threat for the moment. Josiah wanted to hit him again, full strength, but he held back, thinking of the man he’d killed too early last time.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake now. The dead couldn’t remember you, and Josiah wanted this son of a bitch to remember him. Long may he live and remember. That was Campbell’s instruction. Shaw had wanted to tell tales about the family? Wanted to exploit the Bradford name? Let him tell this story.

Josiah dropped to one knee beside Shaw, felt through his pockets. No weapon, but there was a phone. Two phones, in fact; one looked already ruined by water. Josiah set both of them on the ground and smashed them with the butt of the shotgun while Shaw lay at his feet and moaned, writhing. Josiah knelt again, took him by an ear, pulled his head back, and looked down into the faltering eyes.

“You ever heard a dynamite blast? Up close, in person?”

Shaw’s lips moved but no words came. His eyelids fluttered, then jerked open again when Josiah twisted his ear.

“Picture a full case of it going up, with fifteen gallons of gasoline to help it along. Think you got an idea of what that’ll sound like? I hope you do, because you’re not going to be there to listen. Won’t hear the sound itself, but you’ll hear plenty about it. Might start hearing it in your dreams. I’d imagine you will. When they take her bones out of the fire, you won’t be able to stop imagining just what it was like. Be imagining for a long time, I expect. Enjoy that.”

He slapped Shaw’s head back down and straightened up, walked over to the wife, wrapped his hand in her long dark hair, and jerked her to her feet. Danny made another sound of disapproval, and Josiah turned the gun barrel toward him.

“Back up the trail, Danny boy. We’re going back up the trail. You walk ahead now. I’ve got a sense you can no longer be trusted to stand behind me.”

“Damn it, Josiah, leave her here. Leave her with him. Ain’t no reason to take this thing any farther. We’ll get in my car and get you out of this town. Wherever you want to go, man, we can get you there.”

“That’s where you’re confused,” Josiah said. “You think I want to go somewhere else. That’s not the case. I just got home.”