Red White and Black

Chapter Twenty Six - Part B

Sammy

He waddled into the kitchen and grabbed another cold beer from the fridge. He held the bottle against his forehead thinking it might offer some relief before realizing the temperature in the room had cooled with the onset of the storm. Outside, the ferocity of the wind continued to escalate, causing him the to consider the possibility of heading for the storm cellar. He worried for a moment about Abbie and his mother, then realized the hospital was the safest place they could possibly be right now. The kitchen window was still open filling the room with cooler air but he figured it would begin to rain any minute so it was time to slide it shut. The last thing he needed was to be mopping up water. Through the window he noticed the neighbor kid Markus trudging through the yard and heading to their back door. He was leaning forward into the wind as he walked and it looked as though the wind could pick him up and toss him about like a kite at any time. The kid disappeared into the house and Sammy leaned against the countertop and opened the bottle.

The wind gusted again, this time much stronger. He heard the house creak under the strain and then the tortured sound of splintering wood filled the air. A loud crash startled him and the ground shook. He managed to spill beer all over the front of his shirt.

"What on earth was that?" he wondered aloud.

He peered out the kitchen window and saw a huge oak tree, the one that had dominated the neighbor's back yard for decades, had toppled into their house. Not on top of, but into and through their house. As he watched, the lights in their house flickered and died.

The house Markus had just entered.

Without pause Sammy grabbed a flashlight and headed next door. The pain in his leg became a footnote as he eyed the devastation. It was a enormous tree and it had crushed the house. The back door had racked in the frame and he had to shoulder it open.

"Hey! Markus? You in here? You alright?"

"Help," came a weak response. "I'm trapped. I can't move."

"I'm coming, hang in there kid."

Sammy picked his way through the kitchen fearing the worst. Who could survive this? "Where are you? Can you hear me?"

He waited for a response but the wind pushed against the tree and it shifted, settling and causing an eerie creaking noise to echo through the house. A low moan came from the bedroom area down the hallway.

"Markus, are you in the bedroom? Can you hear me?" He waited again. "Are you hurt?"

"Help me! My arm, I can't..." The rest was unintelligible and lost in the cacophony surrounding him.

The ideas Sammy had been nurturing over the previous week dissipated like mist on a sunny day. The only thought registering was that of someone calling out in pain and in desperate need of help. He pointed the beam of the flashlight down the hallway but the trunk of the tree and broken rafters blocked any possible access.

"Markus?" he called. "I am gonna go call for help. Hang in there and I'll be right back. You hear me? Markus?"

This time there was no answer and Sammy feared the worst. The poor kid could be crushed underneath and may not be able to survive unless he could get help right away.

Sammy rushed through the kitchen and out the door. As he jumped the hedge a distant part of his mind wondered how he could move like that without collapsing in pain. But there was no pain, he felt nothing. He rushed up the stairs to his own back door hoping he could get the police or fire department on the telephone--anybody to help--and that the lines weren't down.

His kitchen was dark. The whole house was dark. Hopefully, the phone still worked.

He was halfway across the kitchen when his toe caught on the braided rug his mother kept under the table, sending him sprawling face first across the floor. His flashlight hit the floor then winked out leaving him in total darkness. He hoisted himself to his feet and leaned against the table, cursing the stupid rug and angry with his mother for insisting on having one in the first place.

"No!" he raged. "Can anything else go wrong?"

Now his knee erupted in pain; the intensity narrowing his vision to pinpoints. A still coherent but tiny corner of his mind knew he was about to faint and collapse in a heap. Instead. he allowed himself to slump to the floor and rest for several minutes, concentrating on breathing evenly until his vision cleared and the pain abated enough to allow him to think.

"Why me?" he asked, burying his face in his hands.

"Could be because you a jive-ass racist cracker?" said a voice as a beam of light flashed on and into his face. "This mess exactly what you deserve."

"Who's there?" Sammy tried to scoot away from the light but was already back against the cabinets.

"I'm the brother that's gonna set things right." Sammy was able to make out a dark figure in the reflected light. "You been actin' all high and mighty and now..."

"Get the hell outa my house!" He struggled to his feet, pulling himself up while fighting to hold down the sandwich he had just eaten, the taste of bile and meatloaf filling his mouth. Leaning against the counter, he spat the foul taste into the sink. "Now. One more time. Get out of my house or I'm going to..."

Pain exploded in his shoulder. He had been clubbed by something, without warning or opportunity to deflect it. He staggered away then doubled over with his stomach rebelling and ejecting its contents across the floor.

"You ain't in no position to make threats, white boy."

He was shoved forward, smashing face first to the floor. He heard the crunch of his nose breaking and felt warm blood seeping from his face to mingle with the vomit already smeared across the floor. A knee planted across his neck held him pinned and unable to move while strong arms yanked his hands back. He twisted in an attempt to resist but the pressure on his neck increased, grinding his face into the floor and threatening to suffocate him. Then he felt a coarse rope wound around his wrists and tied off leaving him helpless and in agony.

"He ain't goin' anywhere."

The beam of another flashlight cut through the room, or had there always been two? Everything seemed confusing now.

"Well, you quite the boy scout. Look's like he's tied up good," observed a second voice. Sammy recognized it. Or he thought he did.

The first one snorted out a laugh.

"I bet you got a merit badge in honky tying."

They both broke out into spasms of laughter.

"And now, justice is about to be done," said voice two.

"Whooowie! Move over Martin Luther King, the civil rights movement has been reborn. Hallelujah, amen!."

"Uh-huh. That'll come. But right now, I think this sorry piece of white trash oughta be introduced to my friend from Louisville." Out of the corner of his eye, Sammy could see a baseball bat.

"And would ya look at that," exclaimed the mystery voice. "It be the very same bat that caught me in the ribs the other day."

It was Jay C. He figured it out just as the bat descended and pain blossomed throughout.