The darkness of the clouds was not yet upon us, but we could feel the pressure. Virgil and I watched the store for a long moment before we made any move. In the corrals there were a handful of mules. In another pen there were some goats and pigs. Toward the back of the property was a long milk barn with a few cows behind the barn, but there was no one moving about.
When we finally walked out of the thickets and up to the store we found the scene was nothing more than another gruesome field of carnage left by Degraw. He killed three men. The older tall fella we cut down who had been strung up and hanging from the ridge beam had also been shot and castrated. And two other men, younger Negro fellas we found dead off the side of the porch. Both men had gunshot wounds to the head.
When we walked out the back door we saw another person. A skinny young Negro fella, he was standing in knee-high grass in front of the milk shed. He appeared to be looking directly toward us, but something seemed off about the way he was just standing there, staring at us. The milk shed backed up to a stand of hackberry trees that were currently covered with an anxious murder of crows. They were cawing and cackling as if they were a chorus of angry mourners.
The young man stood perfectly still, looking at us, and then he fell face-first and disappeared into the high grass in front of him.
When we got to him we discovered he had a long, bone-handled knife sticking out of his back. The wound had left a trail of blood that had traveled all the way down his backside to the lower portion of his legs. His face was turned to the side and he was trying to look up at us with his large eyes.
“Help me,” he said.
He was a delicate and gentle-looking fella with smooth skin and almost feminine features.
I got on my knees next to him and leaned down, looking at him.
“We are here for you,” I said.
He just looked at me with terrified, shifting eyes that were full of tears.
“Just be very still,” I said. “Close your eyes.”
He was beyond frightened and his eyes started moving nervously, but he did as I instructed and closed his eyes. I looked up at Virgil, then to the knife in the young man’s back. I held out my hand, then got a hold of the knife, pulled it from his back, and when I did the young man screamed out in pain as his eyes bolted open.
Virgil retrieved a wheelbarrow that was leaning up against the milk shed.
“We are gonna get you out of the grass and inside the store,” Virgil said.
“You just do your very best to breathe,” I said. “And though I know it’s hard, just try to remain as calm as you can . . . Okay?”
He bit his lip and nodded.
Virgil looked to me. We got on each side of the young man, lifted him out of the grass and into the bed of the wheelbarrow. Then I positioned myself between the handles, lifted the wheelbarrow, and swiftly moved him toward the store.
Once we had him inside we placed him on his stomach across a table that we covered with a blanket. I cut open his shirt and saw that he had been stabbed twice. We scoured the store for medicinal supplies, coming up with alcohol and bandages, but he was bleeding badly and for now all we could do was clean and keep pressure on the wound.
Virgil leaned down and looked at him closely.
“We are gonna do what we can to get you outta here,” Virgil said. “But you just need to stay strong.”
The young man nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay . . .”
“How long ago did this happen?” Virgil said.
He shook his head a little.
“Two, three hours, maybe.”
“How many of you were here at the store?” Virgil said.
“Mr. Gibson, he own the place, and my papa he worked for him, my cousin, too.”
“That it?” Virgil said. “That is all the folks that were here?”
“Yes sir,” he said. “But no more, they . . . they been killed.”
He started crying.
I looked to Virgil. He followed my look to the blood that was continuing to flow from the wound. I shook my head and looked back to Virgil.
“Maybe it will help if we sit him up,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“We are gonna have you sit up here, okay,” I said.
He nodded and Virgil helped me turn the young man to his side and sit up.
“Stay strong,” Virgil said.
The young man nodded as he stared at Virgil.
“What is your name, son?” Virgil said.
“Gracie,” he said.
“Well, Gracie,” Virgil said. “We are gonna do everything we can to help you here, young man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Then he just looked at Virgil and me and shook his head and said, “Why this happen?”
“No reason,” Virgil said.
“Crazy man just came in here. He told my daddy and my cousin to hang Mr. Gibson or he’d have Mr. Gibson hang them.”
Virgil looked to me but did not say anything.
“That’s what happened?” I said.
“No, he shot my daddy and cousin, just shot them in the head, then shot Mr. Gibson in the stomach. Then he strung up Mr. Gibson while he was alive. Then he cut off his . . . privates.”
Gracie stopped talking. He looked down, then looked back up to us.
“He . . . he cornholed me . . . before he stabbed me,” he said. “He did that to me . . . Made the lady watch.”
“What lady?” Virgil said.
“She was no lady, no woman,” he said weakly as tears fell from his eyes. “Not really, she was a girl, younger then me . . . I’m fifteen.”
“Goddamn,” I said.
Virgil shook his head.
“Settlers’ girl.”
I nodded.
“What’s the closest town to here?” Virgil said.
“Twenty miles, up the road here, there is Rose Rock,” he said.