Rain (an excerpt from part one)

RAIN

a short story by Conner Wood


PART 1: Changing Winds

I stare at the sky.
Above me, beautiful shapes swirl in light of gray and orange, over a sweet, clear, blue sky. The sun, draped behind this wonderful collage of nature's rawest form, bursts through the faults in the clouds covering, eliciting a heavenly glow beneath the scene.
Here, I can stand forever...
Swirling faster, the orange glow of something not quite contained grows. The clouds begin to break, and the icy blue sky absorbs the abandoned dabs of gray. The sun slowly takes rightful dominance of the sky once more, if only for a moment before the clouds take form again, and cover the great star.
If the sun was God, then he speaks to me always. For every day I watch the sky, and listen to him sing the melody of the world; wind and rain are carried on his tune alone, and, listening carefully, I can hear the notes with utmost clarity, like an orchestra that plays for me alone. Sometimes I shake my head at my naivety and think I don't know what I'm talking about. But then I look towards the sky and all the doubts seem to blow away, like the wind that walks the clouds across the heavens, clear of my beautiful sun.
But the clouds regroup and move over the star once more, and I look away, beginning to wonder how long I've stood here, staring at the sky.
Biting my cheek, the cold wind blows over me before I get the chance to cover my face with the collar of my jacket. Blocking my face I turn downwind, letting my exposed hands take the brunt of the cold carried in the breeze. Above me, the sky darkens and turns grey. My sun is gone for now.
I turn to keep walking.
I take two steps before something catches my attention.
A scent in the air.
A taste on the wind.
I look upwards and watch the rotating clouds overhead.
A crack of distant thunder rattles through the empty streets and I begin moving again, with the howling wind at my back.
A storm is coming.

I make my way back into the center of town, a small cluster of older buildings set within the constraints of a modern era of newer architecture. Out of place and isolated, I feel completely at home within the district. It's almost a small town within a town, the old, square, wooden and brick buildings are totally out of connection with the tall, concrete high rises just a block further away. It's almost like the inhabitants of the previous generation just packed their bags and moved across the street, and started building a new city from there. Only a few inhabitants occupy this district, mostly older types and displaced loners like myself. Since most of the buildings have been converted into bars, the drinking crowds tend to flock here during the night, mostly the students and younger people from further out.
As I walk along the sidewalk at the edge of the street, I shift the weight of my pack to my other shoulder so I can dig the cigarettes out of my jacket's pocket. A drum-like beat of lightening rumbles somewhere in the distance, seeming to echo forever in the night. I pop a smoke and stare at the now dark, ominous sky. Something's not right.
Something in the air tonight...
I light up a cigarette and blow smoke through my nose.
Fucking intuition. Gets you every time.
The wind picks up again and I have to hold onto my cigarette after it almost blows away. I bite down on it instead, and button up my jacket and tighten the straps on my satchel before moving again.
My home is far from this quaint little city. I have a house in the sticks, miles from civilization. Miles from people. That's how I generally like to live. Away from people. But every now and again I travel to town to pick up some things...see how some people are. I'm not quite so much a hermit as a hick, but I'm not a normal face in town. I have some friends here. Well...I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends. But there are people here that I take an interest in seeing from time to time. But I've been gone longer than I ever have before. Sadly, I know things have probably changed since I last left. Changed for the worse...
On this particular trip my truck broke down on the freeway, just outside of the city. It was bound to happen sooner or later, my truck being something of a rusted piece of antiquity. I had walked the remaining two miles to town, hoping on my way back to get a ride from someone. But I just got here, and it's already dark.
Strange...it's late in the season, but it still shouldn't be dark for another hour or two...
The wind picks up again and my hat almost blows from my head. I grab onto it at the last second and pull it back on, tightening it over my head and holding the front end down. I grin. I probably look like a fuckin' cowboy.
Another flash of lightening lights up the night and I'm beginning to worry. I haven't seen a storm like this in a long time. Not since, well...a long time, anyway. Being raised in Oklahoma, I learned early in life to respect the power of a storm, the hand of God...
I duck into an alcove between two old, cinderblock buildings as another bolt of lightening hits a church steeple not two blocks away. The wooden cross perched atop catches fire in a rain of sparks before dying out in the same instant, leaving a blackened, charred stump where the left arm used to be.
This is getting to be serious weather.
I'm about to make a break from my cover when I hear a car horn. I turn and look over my shoulder to see a white pickup truck slow to a stop in one of the parking spaces lining the narrow road. The driver's window rolls down and reveals darkness within. I step forward, cautiously, remembering I'm not well liked by some people.
And then a friendly face makes an appearance.
- Billy Wiseman, is that you?
- Hey, John, how are things?
The man inside the truck is the mayor of this little part of the world, John Jacobs III. He's one of the friendlier people in town, which is probably why he's the mayor. He was my history teacher in high school, years ago. The big, bearded man was easily imposing enough on any teenager to get their shit together and listen. But I hardly know a nicer person. I make a point of seeing him when I'm in town. But it's been a couple of months since I've been around.
- Oh, well I must say, it's been going just fine, now, Billy. Things have been happenin' while you been gone. The bond just passed to restore Veteran's Rock, over in the square. 'Bout time, too. Damn kids been treating it like a monkey pen, just tearin' it up. Terrible, terrible stuff they do.
I pause.
- I'm glad to hear that.
- Thought you'd like to hear about that whenever you came back to town.
Veteran's Rock is a big, red boulder perched in the middle of town square. Presumably it was so large that they couldn't move it, blast it, or break it apart. So the people just built around it. Inscribed on it, today, are all the names of those of this town that have died in war's past, going all the way back to the Civil War up to the latest war in Iraq. I have friends on that rock...some of the newer additions... It's large and at an angle, surrounded by a metal hand rail that teenagers use to skate on. They trash it, though. Every year the damage gets worse. With the latest war being unpopular, some of the bastards think desacrating the recently added names is a form of protest.
- So what brings you to town, Billy? You ain't been this way in some time.
- Thought I'd come by and see some people. Need to pick up some things, coffee, cigarettes, shells. Maybe a newspaper.
I pause for a second, thinking of today's date.
- Today's the festival, isn't it?
- Sure is, Billy. Some of the people have gone home, but quite a few are still at the square, having at it. Most the town, really. I was just headed home from there.
The wind picks up again and blows the stump of my cigarette out. I flick it away and look at the dark sky. The brewing storm...
- That big a turnout with a storm coming?
- Yep, sure surprised me too, yes it did. Most folks been plannin' for this for quite a while, though, so I suppose a little rain ain't somethin that's gonna dampen their spirits.
- This looks like a little more than some rain, John. But I ain't like most folk, so I guess I don't really know what's goin' through their minds.
He's talking about the annual South District Parade and Festival. Been going on every year since the town was built, I suppose. Nobody's known a year when there wasn't a festival. Most of the town usually attends the party in the square, well into the night.
- Well, you might think about stopping by, anyway. You're not around as much as you used to be. Might do you some good to catch up, Billy.
No. It wouldn't. But I don't say as much.
- I'll be in town for a while. My truck is broke down out on the freeway. I just walked into town, and with this storm gettin' close, I think I might have to stay for the night.
- Well, lordy mercy, why didn't you say so! I'll have ol' Dan Woodrow take his tow-truck out and bring it over to his shop. I'm sure he can fix it right up!
- I'd appreciate that, John. I was hoping for a ride back to my truck, but that'd do just fine.
Lightening strikes a telephone pole a hundred yards down the street, throwing sparks into the air. We both stare at the dying sparks before looking into the sky, a little foreboding sinking into our guts.
I look back at his pale features and bearded face before deciding I've been outside long enough. This isn't the best time or place for conversation, right now.
- Well, I better be going, John.
- Yeah, best not get caught outside in this, huh? Ha! Tell the folks at the square that! Well it's been nice talkin' to you. I'll make sure your truck is in Woodrow's shop by tomorrow, okay?
- Yeah.
- Take care, Billy.
I watch him drive away into the dark. After he's gone, I think about getting indoors.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
I start to walk again when a street light not far from me begins flickering on and off. I stop dead in my tracks and watch. More thunder echoes in the night, somewhere not far from me. A shiver runs up my back like the lightening flashing over my head.
A memory untangles itself from the back of my mind and forces it's way into my eyes. And for a moment I'm living in the past.
I'm shaking.
I close my eyes and push it back down.
Push it all back down. As far down as it'll go.
I open my eyes and spit on the ground.
I try to light a cigarette but the wind is too much. I crumple it in my hand and throw it away, frustrated.
The past is a dead thing.
Must be why it fucking haunts me.

Black.
Everything was so black.
Black blood means a gutshot. A bullet through the liver, dead in twenty. If you're lucky, the bullet splintered and really tore you up, and you'll probably be cold in ten. This particular wound means one thing: slow and painful death. Always.
I was covered in blood. I'd never seen so much of the stuff in my life. It was all almost totally black. Darkest shade of red I could ever imagine, I looked like I had been sprayed with oil.
I reckon that's what the people thought when they first saw me. They didn't seem too concerned at first.
The bloody ax in my hands gave them pause, though.
A nearby streetlight flickered in front of the diner. We all faded in and out of darkness, like a flikering movie reel.
Even the light it afforded in brief intervals was to no avail against this darkness. It seemed to consume the light, growing like tendrils of black...like something...alive.
So, so black...

I do what I always do when I can't forget.
I try harder.
After a moment of staring into the dark sky, I swallow hard and crack my knuckles as thunder echoes in the distance again, getting closer...louder.
I begin moving again. Slow, at first. But after a moment I get my rythm back in my steps. The memory is gone.
For now.
Some distance down the road, I look down the street and see a flashing neon sign atop a brick building at the edge of an alleyway, tucked away in the corner of the street by an intersection leading into the center of the district, the square. I squint my eyes carefully to read the sign, but I already know what it says.
Duke's Bar and Grill. One of the last memorials to the almighty Mr. Wayne.
I smile my cracked and crooked grin.
My home from home.

I walk through the door with all the John Wayne, cowboy, asskicking bravado I can muster. It's a rule there. Enter as the Duke would.
And as I figure, I'm met with about as much stoicism as a bar full of outlaws could be expected to give to an impeding John Wayne.
I hear glass shatter, a belch followed by cursing, and something crash.
- Well I'll be God damned!
I tilt my hat toward the surprised bartender.
- Barkeep.
- Billy Wiseman! Is that you? Bring yourself over here and lemme get a good look at you, boy! How you been? Ain't seen you in some time, son.
I smile for the old man and cross the hazy, low lit room over to the bar. The few patrons present come to life as they hear the bartender's booming, ragged voice. I pull up a stool and take a seat in front of the balding, little old man. He straightens his tiny, round glasses and pulls a fresh Miller out from somewhere under the counter, sliding it in front of me. We shake hands and smile.
- Damn, it's good to see you, Vern.
- Likewise, Billy. How you been? How you been?
- Alright, I suppose.
- "Alright, I suppose", he says. What the hell have you been up to? You ain't been in town in a couple of months. I know you ain't out at that shack of yours just playin' with yourself. Where are you workin' right now?
- Huntin' mostly. Sellin' furs, some meat, whatever I don't use. I do a little handiwork over at Charleston Ranch sometimes. I get by.
I lie.
- Well it's good to have you around, son. Not too many folks with much sense are around anymore. Alotta people pullin' up stakes and headin' north. Truth be told, I thought you might be one of 'em. It's mostly been the younger types. Only the old-timers like me are stickin' around, stinkin' the place up.
He frowns after that last sentence and pours himself a shot of whisky. He nods to me and slugs it down, slamming the glass on the counter.
- Well, shit, Vern. I never figured you one for the younger crowd.
He lets out a bark of ragged laughter.
- That is true. Well drink, son, drink! It's on the house tonight.
- Nah, I couldn't...
- Nonsense, boy! Hell, Barry's around here somewhere. Lemme go find him for ya...
He limps off into depths of the kitchen, adjecent to the bar. I swig my beer and take in the dark lighting, the smell of smoke, the old music on the jukebox, and the nagging voice in the back of my head, that says "drink".
I grin and drink, feeling the first mellow sensation I've felt in months creep over me.
If there's a place I do belong, it's right here.
Home sweet home.
And then the lights overhead are eclipsed, and a long, dark shadow hangs over me. Someone very large is standing behind me, and isn't gonna be moving anytime soon.
Putting my beer down, I crack my knuckles and slowly turn in my seat.
I have to look to the ceiling.
Standing in front of me is a six and a half foot tall mountain of carved obsidion as big around as a fuckin' tree. Two golden hoops the size of door knockers are looped in it's ears, and a hook that looks like it came off a fishing line is gouged through it's left eyebrow.
And then I see white.
It's smiling.
I think about pulling the knife from my pack and sticking it into this monster's face, but it wouldn't do anything other than piss it off.
I leap off my seat and hug the giant bastard, instead.
Two mammoth arms wrap around me and squeeze, threatening to crush my chest, should he feel the need.
- Billy!
Booming laughter erupts beneath the white apron my face is mashed against.
- You son of a bitch! I never thought I'd see your mangy ass again!
- Well, Barry, I do like to surprise people.
I'm yanked away and shoved back into my seat with a massive finger pointed at my face.
- You can start surprising me by not being such a smartass.
Barry picks up my beer and drains it in one motion. Vern reappears at the bar and two fresh bottles slide in front of us.
- How you been, Billy?
- 'Bout the same as when you last saw me. How 'bout you, you fuckin' gorilla?
He slugs down half of the new beer in one swallow.
- Watch it.
I smile and take a drink of my own. He starts to drain the rest of his drink, but stops. He looks at the bottle and frowns before setting it down and staring at the bar.
- Things are different, now.
I light up a cigarette and give it to him. He tucks it into the corner of his mouth and I fish another out and do likewise. I snap my zippo shut and toy with it.
- Not all that much.
- Tell that to those savages at the square, right now. There's half of what there was last year. Alotta people are gone, Billy. This city's dying.
- The old, city, anyway...
Vern took a long, deep sigh after he said that. That told me all I needed to know about how things were. Vern's as close to the heart and soul of this town as it's possible to get. And truth was, I figured as much.
- Bullshit.
- Well, what do you know? You been out in the woods, playin' Red Dawn for so long you don't know nothin' about what's happening here or with who. You need to be more into current events, brother. You got history here whether you like it or not.
He blows a perfect smoke ring and lets that remark hang, knowing the weight it carries behind it.
I hate to think of myself having history with anything. That implies belonging somewhere.
- Well. You seem to be taking care of yourself. How's the grill holdin' down?
He takes a nearby whiskey bottle and pours a line on the worn-out bar, before dropping his cigarette on it.
I smile. The flames coming from that shitty grill are more than the match of this recreation.
He douses the fire with a glass of water from a nearby table and swigs his beer, not all at once, now. I lift my own beer to my lips.
- This place is a God damned fire hazard.
We all laugh.
I hear the front door open some distance behind me, but I'm feeling the best I've felt in a long time, so I don't pay attention to it.
Until a sharp voice cuts through our bullshitting and sends a cold shiver up my back.
- Billy fucking Wiseman. Just my night.
Yeah, I think to myself, taking another drink of my beer.
Just my night.

I turn in my seat, one hand holding my beer, the other sliding inside my pack, laying on the bar. I feel the hilt of my knife and I slide it from it's scabbard without pulling it free of the satchel.
It's Rodney Parker. Three of his cronies, too.
If there is a man on this earth that truly wants me dead and buried, it's this man standing before me.
Because I've buried some of his own.
Thunder lights up the dark room in a flash, and Rodney and his cronies' silhouettes are burned into my eyes. In that instant a hundred memories resurface themselves inside my head. I feel dizzy, but fight the naseau down into my gut.
It's so quiet in the bar you can hear the dying echo of the lightening rattling through the streets. Even the God damned jukebox stops playing.
I slide my beer from my lips to the base of my hand, where I can break the bottle, if neccessary. With my knife in my other hand I could probably hold off the four of 'em. For a while, anyway.
Vern tries to diffuse the tension.
- Hey there Rodney, you ju-
- Shut the fuck up, Vern.
The other patrons in the bar bolt up from their chairs and slide the tables back to make room for the possibilty of a brawl. Nobody moves after that. I can see Barry in the corner of my eye, cracking his knuckles, sizing up Rodney's company. I can count on Barry. But everyone else in the bar is a liability.
Rodney speaks. If his voice was poison, I'd have dropped dead.
- What are you doin' back in town, Billy? I thought you'd left for good this time.
I take a drag of my cigarette and blow smoke out my nose.
- Last I checked, this was a free goddamned town.
He balls up his fists, his black eyes trying to shoot holes through me.
- Not for murderin' sonsabitches like you, it ain't.
He takes a step forward, his stupid fucking friends taking positions around him. But he doesn't step closer yet.
He's sizing me up. He doesn't know what I'm ready to do, though. My head's been tilted, my face in the shadows. I raise my head so he can see my eyes. And maybe some of the shit that's lurking behind 'em, too. I don't blink.
- Rodney.
He blinks.
- You really want to do this?
I let the words hang in the air, and thunder echoes in the distance.
Finally, he unclenches his fists. He spits on the ground and walks back through the door, his friends in toe.
After they leave, people return to normal, murmering amongst themselves about the encounter. Barry sits back down. Vern starts wiping the counter with a rag. I drain the rest of my beer and stub out my cigarette in a nearby ashtray. I glance at Barry.
- Didn't know Rodney was still around.
- Where the fuck else he gonna be?
- All that talk of people movin' away, like to hell if I know.
Vern sets another beer in front of me.
- He's been lookin' for trouble, that one.
I push the beer back to him.
- No. Just me.
I throw a ten dollar bill on the bar and grab my pack. Vern shakes his head.
- Billy, no, it's on me tonight.
- Vern. Take the damned money.
I get up and head towards the door.
- I'll be back later.
Vern shouts from the bar.
- Where you off to?
- To see some dead people.
The door shuts behind me and I'm back in the storm.