The Flask

Chapter three.

3

   Ray was awakened by a recurring dream he’d been having for years; as many years as he could remember. It was the chilling sound of his mother screaming as she gave birth to his brother. Why he could remember this sound after all these years was a mystery to him, but he did, and it was as clear this morning as it was on any other. It always made Ray think about his childhood, made him think about how his mother had died giving birth to Kyle, with whom Ray had become very close. He remembered trying to teach his kid brother how to throw horseshoes. It made him think of how the old man had beat the living shit out of Kyle for all those years, blaming him for mom’s death. It made him think of how, at the age of fourteen, Kyle had reached his breaking point and jumped off the peak of the barn with a rope around his neck. Ray was the one who found Kyle afterward, and he always remembered how the kid’s eyes had bugged out, how his face and fingernails had turned purple, how his tongue hung out the side of his mouth, how he’d shit his pants, the smell…

   “Snap the fuck out of it” Ray said to himself as he shook his head to rid it of the vivid thoughts. He got to his feet and looked around. The horse stood there, lightly stamping its feet, patiently looking at Ray. The morning sun was slowly burning the dew off the saddle. Ray took a brisk walk over to a bluff to see if there was any sign of a river bed, but there was nothing. He walked back, folded up his bed roll, dusted himself off and got on the horse. He rode for some time until he came upon a stand of mature cactus. Ray got off the horse and pulled out his knife, plunged it into the side of a large plant, and carved a square chunk out of the tree. A small lizard sat in the crutch of the plant, flicking its tongue and watching him suspiciously. Ray scraped the inner flesh out onto a flat piece of rock, mashed it up, and offered it to the horse; he ate it readily. “I know it aint much old friend”, Ray said “but it’ll have to do for now”.

Ray sucked what little moisture he could from another section he’d cut from the plant, then mounted and rode off again. Soon all signs of vegetation had become scarce, and Ray became concerned. He was torn between continuing in the current direction toward Mexico or turning back to where he’d come from. He knew where he was, where he was going, and how long it would take to get there. He also knew that there was water to be found along the way: at least there was on his last trip this way about four years ago. But the weather had been extremely dry the last two years, and there was a strong chance that water wouldn’t be found. He pressed on. After weighing his options, he figured that, after killing two lawmen and an innocent woman, there’d be a cavalry searching for him if he went back. Ray rode all day again, and when the sun began to set, he made camp and slept