Reap by Rickstad Eric

Author:Rickstad, Eric [Rickstad, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-09-30T04:00:00+00:00

Under a sky dark and roiling thunderously, Reg drove a one-lane dirt road, beginning to wonder if he hadn’t made a wrong turn at the fork back when he’d first set out. As he drove the road grew treesuffocated, diminished finally to two ruts that eked a crooked and confounding way through the trees, a passage corrupt with frost heaves and hollows, fallen limbs and upcreeping springs.

Eventually he came upon a logging road that branched off to the right. He remembered Lamar pulling off onto a logging road, but had no way of knowing if this was the one. The road was blocked by a fallen tree a little ways up. The Camino wouldn’t make it too much farther anyhow, and this was a good place to turn around in later. He pulled in, and heard the crunch of metal and breaking glass. “Fuck,” he said and shut off the engine and stepped out of the Camino. A fallen limb had shattered a headlight. He touched the starred glass, burring his finger on shards; he sucked at the blood. “Fuck,” he said. The woods were cool and the wind had grown stronger. Reg bent backward, kneaded his lower back with his fists. The wind lulled, as if catching its breath, then strengthened again. He put on his denim jacket, turned up the collar and threw the duffel bag over his shoulder. Hungry, he swore at himself for not having bought food at the store, some jerky, at least. He began walking down the overgrown logging road.

After a while, as one logging road branched off to another, and another, and his winded breaths had fallen in time with his steps, he began to feel the first spit of cold rain on his cheek. Some ways back he’d passed the head of a logging road that had been blocked by a state forest gate; he’d thought the gate had looked familiar; it was hard to tell: all of them were painted the same municipal yellow. He craved a cigaret, having forgotten his on the dash. And in the glove compartment, forgotten too, a flashlight. The afternoon had grown darker, it seemed. It was a tricky time. One moment the world grew lighter with each blink of the eye. The next, darker. It was hard to know how late it was. Reg stopped to gain his breath. It was raining harder now; up ahead he saw a seam, a broken vein that ran through quaking ferns, upsetting their natural harmony. It might have been the trail to the cabin. He looked up the logging trail unsure where he had to turn off, if he was even on the right road. He took a deep breath and set off through the ferns. Black gnats clustered about his head, bore into the tender flesh behind his ears, and flew into his nose and eyes and mouth. He swung at them, spat them out as if he’d bitten into bad meat. Goddamned didn’t he despise the

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