Page 23 of Blood Ties

Kai

D ad catches me coming out of the bathroom just after dawn, freshly cleaned off from the incident in the basement and still hot with embarrassment over it. I try to keep my head down and slink past him, but he juts out an arm to stop me.

“You’re coming hunting today, boy,” he barks at me. “Go get dressed.”

My heart sinks, but it’s not like there’s any chance to say no. So five minutes later I’m rushing out to his truck in my camo and boots. When I open up the passenger door, Uncle Frank shoves me right back out, giggling as I stumble.

I ride in the truck bed, hat pulled down over my eyes. At least it gives me time to catch some extra sleep.

*

I WAKE AS THE TRUCK shudders to a stop. One fist rubbing my eyes, I climb out and wait for my dad to hand me the backpack. As always, Dad and Uncle Frank carry their guns; I carry the gear.

The longer we walk, the heavier it gets.

Straps digging into my shoulders and weight pressing into my spine.

Sweat dries in an itchy film over my skin.

But I grit my teeth and carry on. We go deeper and deeper into the forest, until the branches are so thick overhead that I can no longer see the sun.

The air is thick with humidity. Everything smells like earth and green and, buried beneath, a hint of rot.

It’s too quiet today. Even the birds are hushed.

There’s a buzz of anticipation under my skin, a churning in my stomach. I try not to think about Riley at home with nobody but Knox around. But it’s probably me I should worry about. Dad hasn’t brought me hunting in a long time. We all know Knox is better at it. Why insist on bringing me today?

But I already know. He did it because he didn’t want to leave me alone at the house with Riley. Because he doesn’t trust me.

The back of my neck prickles. I’m all too aware that Dad and my uncle both have guns pointed at my back right now as I walk, unarmed, through the trees.

Dread sloshes around my stomach as we trek through the woods, pausing only to check for deer sign — scrapes where bucks have dug in the dirt, rubs left on trees from their antlers. Dad takes the lead as we get closer to quarry, but my uncle stays at my back. I can feel him watching me.

I drop to a crouch at a hand signal from my Dad. His eyes are ahead. I strain to see what he’s seeing, but it’s hard from my position behind a tree. I crane my neck out, ever so slightly—

Crack . I flinch at a gunshot from behind.

For a split second I’m certain there’s no deer, that Frank’s shot was meant for me. Any second now the pain will bloom, hot and wet, and I’ll look down and see red, red—

But then there’s the wail of a wounded animal, the crash of a buck stumbling through the trees ahead.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, rise on shaking legs to follow the blood trail.

This is my part of the hunt. I pull out my switchblade, flick it open as I approach the panting, still-thrashing animal.

I wait until it starts to weaken, until its terrified black eyes start to close, and then I kneel in front of it and cut its throat.

My dad and my uncle watch as I field dress our prey. It’s been a while, but my hands still remember the motions: cut open the belly, pull open the entrails, clean out the chest cavity. It’s bloody work, but I’ve done worse. Soon I’m caked in red up to my elbows, and the job is done.

I wipe my forehead with a mostly-clean part of my sleeve. “Finished,” I say. The first word I’ve spoken since I left Riley.

I recognize Dad’s steps behind me, see the barrel of his gun out of the corner of my eye. I’m perfectly still, crouched on the ground in front of the carcass. I’m not sure where Frank is, and if I turn to look, it’ll show them how scared I am.

A gloved hand falls on my shoulder. I flinch, but my dad just squeezes.

“Good,” he says. “Clean work.”

I slowly turn my head and squint up at him. “Thanks?” My heart is still thumping in my ears. This is weird. I can’t remember the last time he praised me.

“Back in my day,” he says, in a conversational tone, “we used to cull the weak ones like you.” He spits. “No use watering down the bloodline.”

My body goes rigid. I expect his gun to swing my way any moment, but a second passes, and then another. “...Why didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “Well, your momma fought tooth and nail to keep you. And after she was indisposed, we needed someone to do the woman’s work ‘round the farm.” A shrug.

The barrel of the gun lowers a fraction.

“Anyway, you were good for keeping Knox in line. Too much fire in that one. Like he got everything that was s’posed to go to you.

” I have no idea what the fuck that means — how do I keep him in line?

— but Dad continues before I can question it.

“Point is, we ain’t always see eye to eye, but you’re still my blood,” he says. “You know that?”

I nod, mouth dry, throat tight.

“That’s important,” he says. “It’s everything.

Our blood. Our land. Our traditions. I know you think you’re better than us just ‘cause you didn’t get the urges.

.. but you’re still a part of it all. Still got that Duvall blood in you.

You got more in common with us than you do with the rest of the world.

” He pats my shoulder and I suppress another flinch.

“We all got a hand in what happens at the farmhouse. Don’t we? ”

I stare down at my blood-drenched gloves. “Yeah.”

“That’s right.” His hand still rests on my shoulder. “That’s the way it’s always been, ever since granddaddy built that farmhouse. Our own place, where we can’t be chased out or hunted. Where we can all do the things we need to do.” His hand tightens. “And if one of us goes down, we all do.”

I barely feel his bruising grip, still staring numbly at my own hands.

But it’s not a deer carcass I’m seeing in front of me, not an animal’s blood staining me up to the elbows.

It’s Felix, Caleb, May. The latest in a long line of corpses I’ve hacked up and fed to the pigs.

My hands are just as dirty as the rest of them.

“I know,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere, Dad.”

As if I could. As if I ever could. Even without Momma and Riley to tie me to the house, without the threat of my dad and uncle and brother to stop me from leaving, there’s no place for me outside of that house. Nowhere I’ll ever be free from the things that I’ve done.

My Dad chuckles. “Course you ain’t.” He finally lets go of me. Then, and only then, does he shoulder his gun, satisfied by my submission. “Now haul that deer back to the truck for us.”