Ruthless by Carolyn Lee Adams Page A

bruises are still coming.”
    The boy’s happiness evaporates.
    â€œIt’s nothing to be ashamed of, son. It’s not your fault. It’s your daddy’s fault for leaving y’all behind when you were nothing but a june bug in the bassinet. Jerry, you know what a man’s job is?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThe job of the man is to keep the woman in line. It’s his job to be boss, keep things clear and orderly. If a man doesn’t run a tight ship, you get things like the way Avanelle is now. Don’t get me wrong; when she was young, she was just as bad. Difference was, Daddy whupped her proper and that kept her managed. Once your daddy run off, and Avanelle was head of her own household, she was allowed to run amuck. So those bruises aren’t your fault, Jerry. They’re your daddy’s fault. He’s the one who should be ashamed.”
    The boy looks pensive. Uncle Lou seems to read his mind. “It’s Avanelle’s fault too. But women, generally speaking, will run amuck without a man to be the boss. So try not to be too hard on your mama, Jerry. She’s just a woman.”
    He nods, but he doesn’t look particularly convinced.
    â€œNow, I’m going to take a little nap. Why don’t you do some hog scouting? You can take Boy and Biscuit with you, if you want.”

    Two hours later the boy returns with the dogs. Happy once more, breathless from exercise, he gives his report.
    â€œ Went down by the bear bucket and over two klicks northeast to Ravine B and found a sow, but she had piglets, so . . .” The boy’s sentence trails off into nothing. He sits down, knowing there will be no hunting today. Boy and Biscuit put their chins on his knees, and he playfully pushes them away. Tails start to wag and a game develops.
    Behind the boy, Uncle Lou straps himself down with two massive hunting knives and a rifle. “Don’t know why you’re getting comfortable.”
    There is disapproval in the man, disapproval that sends an electric shock down the boy’s spine. He jumps to his feet and grabs his coat.
    â€œLet’s go get us a pig,” says Uncle Lou.
    The boy isn’t sure if he’s referring to the sow, because that doesn’t seem right, or finding a different hog altogether. Either way, he’s not going to say a word.

    He washes his hands in the cold creek. They’re shaking. The sleeves of his coat are soaked in blood.
    â€œDon’t you forget the knife,” Uncle Lou says.
    The boy picks up the hunting knife and lets the water wash away the red. Along the gravelly bank is a line of dead piglets.
    Uncle Lou stands over him. Watching him. Bearing down into him.
    Biscuit limps up. Before the hog died, she did her work on the hound. The dog laps water from the creek, holding one forepaw in the air all the while.
    The boy can feel what’s coming before it comes, so he closes his eyes tight, but he can’t close his ears, and the rifle shot is deafening. His eyes are still shut, closing him into blackness, when his uncle says, “You can’t be afraid of killing.”

CHAPTER SIX
    I’M STRUCK BY HOW SLOWLY he walks. He’s taking his time. There’s no urgency, no panic, no worry in him. He’s confident. Maybe even enjoying himself, taking in the whole experience. It seems so impossible that a human could be this inhuman.
    As I sink even deeper into the rocky hillside, my fingers touch something warm and sticky. It’s my own blood, flowing from the bullet wound. I don’t feel real pain, only a vague hum of burning numbness.
    He’s getting closer.
    It occurs to me he also walks slowly because he doesn’t want to miss a thing. He’s being careful. Despite all of his earlier sloppi­ness, not tying me to the couch and going gunless during the hose-down, I now feel an attention to detail. Out here, hunting in the wilderness, Wolfman is in his element.
    And it