IT WAS Wednesday afternoon just after supper when Jared approached Jabbo out by the trailer. Jabbo was eating a Moon Pie and sucking the chocolate from his fingers. He eyed Jared with distrust.
At first Jared just stared at Jabbo, and then he said hesitantly, “Can I talk to you fer a minute?”
“Whut you want?” Jabbo asked harshly.
Jabbo’s tone made Jared reluctant, and he asked cautiously, “How’d you like to make some money?”
Jared watched the giant black man’s reaction closely.
“Dain’ whut?”
“Nothin’ much. It would be worth fifty dollars to you.”
Jabbo appeared interested. He said in a guarded tone, “Whut you want me to do?”
“Just open the gate tonight and let me out. My woman’s feelin’ poorly, and I need to go to the store real bad and get some stuff fer her. You let me out, nobody will ever know you did it, and I’ll come back real soon.”
“You got the money?” Jabbo asked.
Jared reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. He handed them to Jabbo and said, “Fifty dollars.”
Jabbo took the money and put it into his pocket. He said, “Whut time you want to go?”
“As soon as it gets dark.”
Jabbo wheeled suddenly and went into the trailer.
For a moment Jared stared after him, wondering if Jabbo would really open the gate or if he had given his money away for nothing. He knew that if Jabbo kept the money and left the gate locked, there was nothing he could do about it. But he was willing to take the risk.
He went back to the barracks and sat on the ground outside the room. He had said nothing of this to Cloma, for he knew she would be frightened by the danger involved and would try to persuade him not to do it, and he had not told Cy when he intended to put this plan into action.
Cy came back outside and sat beside him. For a few minutes they made trivial talk, but Jared was completely detached from everything except the approaching darkness. Cy noticed this, and wondered about it. Always before, Jared had seemed to enjoy their conversation as the camp settled into the night; but now, for all the attention he was paying to Cy’s remarks, Cy might as well have not been there at all.
Jared did not speak to Cloma or even look into the room when he got up and walked slowly toward the east end of the building. The moon had not yet arisen, and the fields outside the fence were seas of darkness. He could not see the fence or the gate as he skirted the edge of the yellow cone being cast outward by the floodlight. His heart pounded as he moved past the clump of Australian pines.
When he reached the fence, he stopped and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he pushed his body against the gate. It opened. He stepped outside and closed the gate behind him.
For a moment he looked back and searched the area around the gate. When he detected no sign of movement, he turned and started along the dirt road. He had an overpowering urge to break and run, but he knew he must not allow his footsteps to shatter the quietness of the fields and echo back into the camp. He moved slowly and carefully, one step at a time, feeling his way along the powdery trail as would a blind man. He looked back only once, and it seemed to him that the floodlit buildings were a thousand miles away.
Just as he reached a point forty yards from the highway, the truck’s headlights came on and centered on him. The unexpected shafts of brilliant light blinded him, and he tried to shield his eyes. He heard the roar of the engine as it came to life, and then he heard the screech of tires. He realized vaguely that the pickup was moving directly toward him. For a moment he was unable to control his body; then at the last possible second he jumped aside as the truck rushed past him and skidded around wildly, once again bathing him in the blinding headlights.
Jared felt terror invade every part of his body as the pickup rushed at him again. He turned and ran into the field to his right. The truck also turned and came at him again. He stumbled as the limbs of the tomato plants grabbed at his legs; and when he tried to break free of them, the pickup started circling him. It did not come directly at him again until he ran blindly toward the south end of the field.
Each time the headlights seemed certain to smash into him, he managed to jump to the side; and then the game began again. He ran and circled and dodged and fell and then ran again; but no matter what he did, he could not escape the menacing beams of light.
He had reached almost total exhaustion 1 when he felt the sharp sawgrass cut into his legs. He fell forward and landed in soft muck that splattered across his face. For a moment he lay still, panting and unable to breathe, then he looked back just as the headlights were turned off. He did not realize until then that the truck had been herding him into the marsh.
For several minutes more he did not move. There was no sound coming from anywhere except a bellowing off to his right. He had never before heard such a sound, and then he remembered what Cy had said about the alligators. The total darkness addled him, and he could not tell from which direction he had stumbled into the swamp.
He finally pushed himself up and staggered forward, but with each step he took, he sank deeper and deeper into muck and water. He could hear swishing sounds as snakes scurried out of his path. When the water level reached his chest, he turned and moved in the direction he thought he had come. The water gradually became shallow again, and then he was suddenly back in the edge of the field.
He sank down to the rocky soil and breathed deeply. About a mile to the west he could see the dim lights of the camp. After he rested for a few minutes, he got up and headed east across the field. He had moved only a few yards when the headlights came on and once again centered on him. He felt he did not have the strength left to even try, but he started staggering through the tomato plants.
The truck came at him again and again as he ran and stumbled and fell and ran again, and then he realized that the game was ended. If he continued to run they would kill him, so he dropped to the ground and lay still.
He heard the door swing open as the truck stopped ten yards from him, then he heard the rush of feet. The first blow stunned him as the pistol smashed against his face. He was surprised that it caused so little pain, and he did not put up his hands to ward off the blows. He was too exhausted to care what they did to him, and it was a relief when he felt consciousness slip away.
The jolt of his body hitting the floor of the truck bed aroused him, and he heard Clug say, “We goin’ to take him to the sinkhole?”
“Naw,” Jabbo’s voice came to him. “Mistuh Creedy say bring him back to the camp. We goin’ to take the girl.”
Blackness closed in on him again, and he knew nothing more until he hit the ground outside his room. He felt himself being pulled inside and thrown on the bunk, and he had a twilight realization that Cloma and Kristy and Bennie were crying hysterically; but he could not force words from his mouth.
Jared looked up and discovered that he could see and hear, but he could not move or speak. He listened as Jabbo grabbed Kristy by the arm and said, “Mistuh Creedy say fo’ you to come to his place.”
He heard Kristy scream, “No! No, Papa! I’m afraid! I don’t want to go, Papa! I’m afraid!”
Jared tried with all that was left in his body to push himself up, but he could not do so. He watched helplessly as Jabbo dragged Kristy to the door.
Cy suddenly stepped out of the darkness and said, “Why don’t you two niggers leave that girl alone? Is Creedy pay in’ you that much? You done enough to her pa already.”
“You want some too,” Jabbo asked, his eyes glazed with hostility.
“I’d as soon as not!” Cy shot back angrily. “You goin’ to give it to me by yo ’self, without no help from Clug? You try it by yo ’self, I’m goin’ to beat tha’ livin’ shit outen you.”
Jabbo stepped toward Cy, dragging Kristy with him, then he stopped and said, “I’ll settle wid you later. We gotta take the girl now.”
Cy watched Kristy struggle as Jabbo pulled her to the pickup; then he stepped into the room and said to Cloma, “Is Mistuh Jay hurt bad?”
“I don’t know,” Cloma sobbed. “Oh my God, I just don’t know!”
Cy went to the bunk and examined Jared’s face and head. Then he turned to Cloma and said, “I don’t think he’s got nothin’ broke, but they sho’ whupped up on him real good. Ain’t no need fo’ you to fret so. He’ll git all right in a few days, an’ I’ll help look after him.”
Cloma sat on the edge of the bunk and bathed Jared’s head. She said to Cy, “What did he do?”
“He snuck out fo’ Homestead,” Cy answered. “I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. He thought it were a game. I tried to tell him these folks ain’t playin’.”