John Robinson

Hadleyville, Kentucky, 17 September 1:16pm EST

Travis Walker muttered dark imprecations as he reached into the old John Deere tractor, trying to locate the wrench he’d dropped down past the motor a minute ago. Where was it? He hadn’t heard it hit the ground. Maybe somehow it had been caught in the fan belt. He squinted. Not there. With a sigh he straightened, and then squatted down, peering into the dim light underneath. Nope. Nothing.

Groaning again he got down on his stomach and flipped over on his back. If he’d known he was going to need a mechanic’s creeper for this, he would have brought Lester’s over from the shed.

With as much agility as he could coax from his tired, thirty-two year old body, the former Army Ranger captain wriggled his way underneath. The space was tight, but not too bad for his solid, six-foot-three frame. Travis was still amazed at how fast farm work melted away fat. He and his hired hand Lester Taine ate enough for three men, but the next day always burned that off, plus more.

A shadow fell across his legs. Speaking of Lester, it was him, back early from the store. Crawling out from underneath the wreck, Travis got to his feet, stretching as he worked the kink out of his back.

The other man spoke first in dull surprise. “Man alive, Trav. Whatcha doin’?”

“What do you think? Trying to see how bad old man McAllister hosed us with this piece of junk.”

“Can’t believe you’re still at it.”

The farmer cast a baleful eye on the tractor. “I think it ate my wrench.”

Lester barked a laugh, revealing a mouthful of gapped yellow teeth as he slapped his pipe cleaner-thin thigh inside his dusty jeans. Although the two men were close to the same age, he looked older. “You beat all, I swear. You’re the funniest dude I ever met.”

Travis doubted that, but didn’t reply directly. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah,” the hired hand drawled. “After pickin’ up the stock liniment at the co-op, I stopped at Willoughby’s, to see if they’d got in the new X-Men comic yet. They ain’t, so I didn’t dawdle around there. I don’t much like people jawin’ at me. You know that.”

Travis motioned at what Lester was holding. “I see you were there long enough to get yourself a soda.”

“Yep, sure did.” Upending the squat glass bottle, Lester took a swig, lowering it with a satisfied sigh and smack of his nearly nonexistent lips. “Orange Crush. Mighty good.” Then he frowned. “Mr. Willoughby said he might have trouble gettin’ anymore of it in. Said they wasn’t makin’ much of it these days.” Beneath his thatch of flame-red hair he lowered his brow in puzzlement. “How come it’s like that, Travis?”

“Changing markets. That’s all I can figure.” He shot his friend an amused look. “Your soda looks good and cold. I guess it didn’t occur to you to get me one.”

“Shoot!” Lester seemed genuinely distressed. “Naw, I sure didn’t. I’m sorry.”

He waved it away. “Not a problem. I probably haven’t sweated more than a gallon this morning.”

The dig went completely past the hired hand, right by and heading north. “Yeah, you look about done in. How’s about you lemme have another swing at that rascal? I bet we ain’t licked yet.”

“What’s the point?” Travis launched a disgusted look at the massive, rusty machine. “Maybe it’s time we write this thing off as a lost cause, and have Sam Potter haul it to his junk yard over in Tyler.”

“Aw, come on, not yet,” Lester pleaded. “Lemme have another crack at it. You know I ain’t real smart, but I ain’t never met a machine I can’t fix.”

Travis knew that for a fact. As dim as Lester was—and he’d be the first to admit it—the man was a stone genius when it came to mechanical contraptions.

Still, maybe there were some things that just couldn’t be fixed. This old tractor had proved it. Regardless of his previous crack, Travis bought it from Fred McAllister only because he knew the elderly farmer had just survived a disastrous harvest, and needed all the help he could get. The fact he’d paid more than twice what the junker was worth he would have shrugged off as not worth mentioning. He and Lester had spent the better part of yesterday trying to see if there was any hope of making it run. So far, it was “deader’n Kelsey’s nuts”, as Lester had so earthily put it.

“Are you sure you want to try messing with it again?” Travis asked. “You already put six hours in on it yesterday.”

“Yeah, why not. The corn’s still dryin’ in the field and the soybeans won’t yeller up for another week. Lately I’m just hangin’ around watchin’ my toenails grow.”

The other man shrugged. “Okay, have at it, but don’t spend all day. I noticed the paddock gate is looking saggy. Again. We’ll take a look at it later.”

“Sounds all right by me.” Reaching down, Lester snagged a three-sixteenths socket wrench from the toolbox, eager to show what he could do.

“While you get started,” Travis said, “I think I’ll go inside and grab a glass of iced tea. Would you like one?”

Lester was already leaning inside the tractor, his voice muffled. “Naw, I’m still fulla Orange Crush. I already done drank five of these bad boys at Willoughby’s.” The skinny man could consume an unbelievably prodigious amount of the stuff. “Ya’ll go on, now. Lemme at this beast.”

Five sodas, plus the one he was holding. That just might be a personal best. With a grin and a shake of his head, Travis headed across the dusty barnyard, up the three wooden steps and onto the porch leading into his small neat clapboard house. Hand on the doorknob, he paused, looking at the frame. Paint still looks okay, he mused. White usually weathers well. Probably good for one more winter. Provided it’s not too rough.

#

Thirty minutes later he was at the stove, frying up some eggs for a late lunch, when he heard the kitchen door behind him slam. He turned, spatula in hand. It was Lester hustling in, covered from the chest up with dirt and grease, and beaming like he’d won the lottery.

“It’s fixed!” he crowed. “Didn’t I tell you I can fix machines? Didn’t I tell you?”

“Calm down. What are you saying?”

“I’m tellin’ you, I fixed it!”

“McAllister’s tractor?”

“Whattaya think I’m talkin’ about? She’s runnin’ like a top.”

The other man furrowed his brow. “You won’t get offended if I find that hard to believe.”

“Man, you allus were a stubborn cuss. Even as kids you was that way.” A wide grin split Lester’s soiled face. “Turn off the fire under them eggs and I’ll show you!”

Moments later both men stood beside the old tractor. The September sun overhead blazed unseasonably hot, making the rusty red steel too warm to lay a hand on.

The young farmer gave the machine an appraising gaze as he addressed his friend. “So you’re telling me you fixed this nightmare, huh?”

“Yep. And I can tell by that look on your puss you don’t believe it. Why don’t you climb on and see?”

“All right, I will.”

Once up on the scorching, cracked black vinyl driver’s seat, Travis placed his hand on the key, turning it to where it clicked. With a disbelieving look of “yeah, right,” he pressed the starter button with his thumb.

There was a second’s pause, and then with a muffled roar the engine came to life, nearly causing Travis to jump. It ran like that a moment before settling down to a soft mutter it hadn’t made since the day it rolled off the assembly line.

Thoroughly flummoxed, he let it run a few minutes before shutting it off, his eyes wide. Surely that was a fluke. Surely. On the ground beside him Lester grinned like a kid at Christmas.

Once more Travis mashed the starter. Again the forty-year-old tractor awakened, purring like new. To really make sure it wasn’t just his imagination, he took it on a circuit of the yard. It didn’t even hiccup.

When he shut it off this time and climbed down, the look he gave Lester was one of utter bafflement. Travis shook his head as he handed him the key. “Okay, for once I don’t know what to say. And I know you’re dying for me to ask. How did you do it?”

Lester was nearly jumping up and down. “Trav, it was the craziest thing. I was pokin’ and proddin’ around that ol’ engine block, wonderin’ if I’d shot my mouth off for good this time, when all of a sudden, bang, there she was!”

“What, already?”

“The answer! Like a movie in my head! Of how to fix it! It was like … aw, it’s hard to say it. But it was like that ol’ tractor was a baby toy or somethin’!”

“A toy?”

“Yeah, I could see what it was right off! It was easy! A little a’ this, a little a’ that. Inside of fifteen minutes I had her runnin’ real smooth. I knew you couldn’t hear it inside the kitchen. That’s why I had you come out and see for yourself.”

With a laugh Travis clapped his friend on the back. “What can I say? Lester, you’re a genius.”

The hired hand returned an embarrassed grin. “Aww …”

“A movie in your head. With all the problems we have of trying get this place to turn a buck, maybe I should get one of those.”

“Maybe you should at that,” Lester agreed, pocketing the key.

Travis turned and started for the barn. He’d only taken a step when a sudden breeze, cool with the portent of delayed autumn, caressed the back of his neck. It should have felt nice.

It didn’t.

He looked around, all his senses at full alert. Nothing. But still … something. A strange, jittery sensation seemed to be borne along in the capricious wind. Rather than a refreshing, he felt oddly chilled. And not just on his sunburned skin, but further back.

Deep down, where the dark things dwell.