Harlan County Horrors Part 6

A man like my father, that's who.

I punch my forehead, hard.

And a few hours later, I'm lost among the trees. This isn't easy to accomplish, due to my impeccable sense of direction. But I manage, somehow.

Once again, the natural world makes me feel small, connected.

Calm.

And I realize I'm not even looking for my wife and son anymore.

Because without my fury, I'm numb.

Empty.

Or maybe not.

Maybe the words on Log Rock were meant for me.

Maybe there's a monster inside me.

I laugh at the thought, and then feel an aggressive desire to return to my tent.

But I ignore the emotion.

Eventually, I find myself staring at a patch of thirty-two luminescent flowers, and part of me hopes that my Filter will malfunction again.

Then my wish comes true.

And there are thirty-two men and women sitting on blackened circles of earth, weeping, screaming, the hairs on their bodies sticking straight out.

They look ridiculous.

I search their faces, looking for my father.

He was caught four years ago, so there's a chance he's serving his time here.

I used to tell myself that I didn't want to confront my father, but right now I feel eager, desperate.

And I don't know if I want to hug him or kill him.

Probably the latter.

But I don't find out, because he's not one of the men.

As I sit there, watching them shake and jerk in agony, I begin to feel a faint cramp in my chest.

Empathy.

I feel sorry for these insurrectionary b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, when I can't even muster the same sentiment for my own missing family.

There must be something truly wrong with me.

"You deserve this," I whisper.

These people are political prisoners of the worst kind. And if the Guardians didn't force these traitors onto the anomalies, the unhampered energy would erupt and find another human body to bind with. Man, woman, or child.

The energy doesn't discriminate.

So if someone has to suffer, better the guilty than the innocent.

Better them than me.

According to Warden Rose, criminals are like coal. If you press them hard enough, they'll eventually become diamonds. But once in a great while, the Guardians find themselves clas.h.i.+ng with an unfortunate soul beyond help, beyond hope.

Hunter Hill is one such devil.

"I can't give you back your family," the warden says. "But I can give you Hunter."

So about thirty minutes later, I'm underground, in a white room, holding the warden's gift.

Hunter struggles against the ropes.

Useless.

I let out a primal roar, and judging by Hunter's expression, I'm a monster in his altered vision.

A monster with black matted fur and metallic fangs.

Just like the warden promised.

"Beg," I say. "Beg for your life."

Hunter trembles. "I ain't playin' your games no more, Rose."

"I'm not the warden."

"Whoever. Just do what you come to do and let me back in my cage."

"You're not going anywhere until you beg."

"No."

I growl and slash his face with my claw.

"f.u.c.k you, Rose," Hunter says.

"My name is Samson Carter," I say.

"Don't ring no bells."

"You killed my family." I take the gun out of my pocket.

And how this looks to Hunter, I don't know. Maybe I'm ripping the weapon out of my flesh.

"I knowed you was Rose," Hunter says.

"Will you stop saying that?" I say. "I'm Samson Carter."

"You got the warden's gun."

"He let me borrow it."

"Nah, you'd never let anybody touch your pistol."

After a deep breath, I point the gun at his face. "You killed my family, and now you're going to die."

"I ain't no killer. That's why I got sent here in the first place."

"Shut up." I c.o.c.k the hammer.

A tear rolls down the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's cheek, and he closes his eyes. "Goodbye, Earl."

I lower the gun. "Who's Earl?"

"I weren't talkin' to you."

Again, I point the gun between his eyes. "Who's Earl?"

"A better man than you."

And I consider pressing the matter further, because I see love and respect for this man swarming in Hunter's eyes. And if this Earl is a prisoner in this facility, maybe I could torture him in front of Hunter.

The warden would probably permit me that right.

But I'm feeling more than a little tired.

So I pull the trigger.

And Hunter's skull bursts with fall colors, dazzling my eyes.

I laugh.

Then metallic fangs gnaw on my innards, and I double over and vomit.

I've killed men like Hunter many times before.

But somehow, this feels different.

I feel different.

And maybe the warden was wrong about me.

Maybe I'm not brokenhearted.

Maybe I'm just broken.

I try to stand, fail.

The audience laughs.

I'm in a cave, and Guardians fill the amphitheater risers, and Warden Rose approaches me, smiling.

"What am I doing here?" I say.

"You're here for the show," the warden says. "You're going to entertain us with your comedy."

"What?"

Warden Rose helps me to my feet, then points his pistol at my face. "Get on your knees."

I obey.

"Beg for mercy," he says.

"Why are you-"

"Beg!"

"Please. Don't shoot me."

"You can do better than that."

I force my hands together. "Don't shoot me!"

The Guardians laugh.

Warden Rose lowers his weapon and smirks. "You're pathetic. You know that, don't you?"

I don't move a muscle.

"I asked you a question, Earl," the warden says, looking right at me.

"What?" I say.

"I said you know you're pathetic, don't you, Earl?"

I don't know why he's calling me that, but I nod anyway. "Yes."