Just recently we watched on the news as the anniversary of Matt Sheppard's death came and went, and I listened with mounting fury as that idiot preacher spewed his hatred. I don't know about you, but I've never heard a true man of God that ever took it upon himself to pass judgment like Phelps did. I was so angry I had to go for a walk to cool down, but it made me stop and think as well, what were people thinking, and how did the families get through it. This story is intended to explore those feelings, and I hope in some way to say "Matt, we still stop and remember you".
Comments are always welcome.
Ataq_katt@hotmail.com
The Wild West:
Life in the western United States is much simpler than in the major cities.
Time moves at a different pace. The work is harder but somehow more satisfying, and relationships forged at an early age last a life time. Business is still frequently concluded with a handshake, and many people attach no stigma to owning weapons and hunting. It's almost expected. Gun control in much of the west is laughingly referred to as "hitting what you aim at". Most people living in the rural west scratch their heads in confusion while watching the news, unable to understand most of the major crisis moments of the day. For many of them the solutions to most problems are straight forward and simple. Most problems...
Brock Morgan woke up like he usually did the second the alarm clock went off, quietly playing a popular country music tune. He stretched with a grown and eyed the clock and then the window. It was just after four in the morning and it was still very dark outside. Living on a ranch in northern Utah this was a common time to get started every day. He lifted his tall ropey muscular frame out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom in the corner of his room rubbing his neck as he went. Tusker, his black lab thumped his tail a few times but showed no interest in getting off the bed or going out in the cold.
Brock had been getting up with his dad as long as he could remember to get the milk cows to the milking barns or to saddle horses to check the fence line or to take hay to the cattle in the winter or any of a dozen other activities that had to be done everyday. At 22 his chiseled form was the result of years of strenuous work, and his upper body was deeply tanned from working shirtless. From his waist down was pale white. He rarely wore shorts. On his right arm was a tattoo of a cougar's face forever caught in a scream and below that an arm band done in Native American style that had two feathers that looked like they hung down his arm. There were very few hairs on his chest, legs, or arms, and a razor line beard was carefully tended along his jaw line. He wore his light brown hair shoulder length, trimmed short on the sides and parted on the right, and his pale blue eyes studied his face in the mirror.
He went through his morning routine automatically, yawning hugely now and then, and rubbing his eyes. After a shower he dressed in Wrangler jeans, laced up his Justin boots, and pulled on a long sleeved t-shirt and tucked it in, finishing off with a hand worked leather belt that had his name on the back, a four inch folding buck knife in a leather case, and a small buckle. He grabbed a flannel shirt and turned out the light to head downstairs for breakfast.
"Morning." Colleen, his mother, looked up from a frying pan and smiled at him. She'd been up with her husband at three thirty for almost forty years.
Her two older sons lived in their own homes now, and her husband Dwight and her baby Brock were the last ones in the big ranch house. She looked forward everyday to the grandkids that had to be coming soon.
"Hey, Mom." Brock kissed her cheek and sat down at the table. "Is Dad outside already?"
"One of the cows is having its calf. Mike Taylor came and got him." Colleen set a plate of eggs and bacon on the table for him. "You and Tony still going hunting this morning?"
"If Dad don't need me, yeah." Brock peppered his eggs and sipped at his coffee. "If he needs me we can go tomorrow."
"I think he'll be fine." She sat down at the table with her own plate. "He's got five hands on today. Check with him but I think he'll shoo you off."
Brock chatted with his mother as he ate and was reminded more than once how guilty he felt that he hadn't found a girl he liked. She wanted grandkids more than anything, and so far his brothers hadn't come up with one, although Kent's wife was going in to see if she was pregnant. Colleen was excited he could tell. He got up and rinsed his plate, kissed her on the cheek, and took his Stetson off the hook by the door and put it on his head.
Brock preferred white straw hats, and this one was fairly new and still looked sharp. He pulled on his western cut down filled coat and headed out the door.
Mid October in Utah can be strange weather wise. At night it got as low as twenty four degrees, and could get as hot as around eighty. Brock's breath was clearly visible as he jammed his hands in his pockets and walked the hundred and fifty yards to the big barn where his dad was. He passed by his truck, a two year old Ford F 150, and noticed there was frost on the windows. Not a bad day to hunt though since it was clear.
Dwight Morgan was as tall as his son and ruggedly featured. He was still in pretty good shape for a man almost sixty, and shared his blue eyes with his son. He rested against a wooden gate and smiled as Brock pulled the barn door closed and walked over to him. Brock was his pride and joy, showing more interest and skill in working the ranch than either of his older brothers. Brock felt the same connection to the land and the animals that he did and it pleased him. "Morning, boy. Sleep good?" He clapped his son on the shoulder.
"Yeah, Pop." Brock rested his arms on the gate and looked into the pen where two of the hands were drying off the new born black and white calf. "No problems, huh?"
"Naw." Dwight shook his head. "Smooth as glass. Mike was done when I got here." Mike Taylor and his son Colton had worked for the Morgans for over eleven years. "You and the city kid goin' huntin' today?"
"If you don't need me." Brock answered.
"Hell, we're good." Dwight pushed his hat up on his head and grinned at his son. "Don't be getting' that little shit lost, now. We'll never hear the end of it."
Brock chuckled and shook his head. Tony Bentley would forever be known as the city kid. He'd lost his parents in a car accident when he was fourteen and had come to live with his aunt and uncle who were friends of the Morgans. That was almost eight years ago, and Tony still wasn't a local to most of the people in the county.
"I promise, Dad." Brock stood up and punched his dad in the shoulder affectionately. "I'm taking Dollar and the General, okay?" The General was Brock's palomino, a four year old gelding, and Dollar was one of his dad's horses, a five year old quarter horse that had taken a shine to Tony.
"Better take my truck then, son. Yours ain't strong enough for the trailer when you get up in the steep hills." Dwight nodded. "There's fifty gallons of water in the tank in the back. Throw in a bail a hay."
"Yes, sir." Brock lifted his hand in a short wave and headed out the door.
For then next forty five minutes he hitched up the trailer, got the horses loaded, double checked the tack and saddles, and got two of his rifles and two pistols and belts from the house. Finally he packed a cooler with sodas and snack stuff, and his mother provided him with sandwiches for lunch. He and Tony weren't going far, but they'd be all day. He kissed he cheek again and headed over to Tony's to pick him up.
Tony in Brock's mind was like a ball of lightening looking for a place to go off. When they'd met in their freshman year at school it seemed unlikely that the two of them would get along at all, let alone become best friends. Where Brock was sort of quiet and easy going Tony was an energetic talker, often stirring people up with his opinion. Brock more or less dressed cowboy, and Tony usually was in the latest fashions. Brock listened to country, Tony liked Limp Bizkit and Blink 182. Brock drove a Ford like his dad, Tony had a Mustang GT with a worked over six speed tranny. Brock was a listener, Tony always had something on his mind. Night and day.
The way they'd met was almost a legend to some of their friends. When Tony had first arrived from California he was a bit of a shock to the locals, and had been in more than one fight because of it. For the most part Tony could hold his own. He'd taken martial arts classes and was actually pretty good, but rednecks will occasionally fight dirty to prove a point, and one fateful afternoon the odds were four to one against Tony. Brock had just put his books away and was headed out to meet the bus when the fight broke out, and for some reason he still didn't quite understand he got mad that the guys he knew would gang up to kick the shit out of the new guy. He shoved his way through the crowd and felt the heat of his anger in his face. He recognized the ring leader and wasn't surprised at all. Kerry Jensen.
Kerry had a nasty streak in him and loved to pick on which ever unsuspecting little guy he could find. His acne marked faced seemed to always be in a sneer, and although he was strong he was also somewhat flabby. His dark hair always looked greasy. He and Brock had gone the rounds before when Brock was still fairly short. It hadn't happened again until that day. "Go away, Morgan, this don't concern you." Kerry snarled, pausing before he kicked the new kid in the ribs.
Brock let fly with a right hook that split Kerry's lip and lifted him off his feet. He landed on his back in the dust and Brock spun to confront Kerry's toadies. "It does now." He said quietly, holding his hand out to pull Tony to his feet. "Let's make this interesting." He said to Tony, eyeing the other three. "Think you can take them if I fuck up the fat one?"
He turned to glare down at Kerry.
"Sure." Tony said, breathing hard. He didn't question the providence that brought Brock to help him, he just fell into place covering Brock's back, a place that would become his alone.
"You made a big mistake." Kerry growled, picking himself up off the ground and wiping the blood off his mouth. His eyes were lethal as he glared at Brock. "You're dead, Morgan."
"Bring it on, big mouth." Brock answered levelly. "You talk a lot, let's see it." Kerry moved at him, telegraphing his intent clearly, and Brock met him halfway with an upper cut, sending his attacker into the dirt again. A cheer rose from the crowd, and Brock turned just in time to see Tony level one of his opponents with a spinning kick to the jaw. The fight was over. They'd never mentioned it again, although from almost that instant there was a bond they couldn't explain.
Brock pulled up in front of Tony's house and waved as his friend instantly appeared on the porch and jogged to the truck. For once he was dressed similarly to Brock in jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat. The only time he dressed like that was when they were going riding or helping out Dwight at the ranch. Tony was a couple inches shorter than Brock but was built close to the same. He wore his dark hair short and had a goatee. His green eyes mirrored the energy he had inside. He grinned as he climbed in the huge Ford F 350 Crew Cab. "Bout god damn time. We're burning daylight, punk." He slammed the door and accepted a cup of coffee from Brock.
"Punk?" Brock laughed and pulled the truck and trailer out onto the road. "You're kind of a little bitch to be callin' me punk." He grinned at his friend and flipped him off.
"Oh you know you're my favorite bitch." Tony laughed, rising to the usual insults. "If it weren't for me you wouldn't know what tough love was." He turned the radio to a rock station and chuckled as Brock coughed on his coffee,
"Fucker." Brock laughed and wiped coffee off his chin. "I brought you the Remington. The Winchester ain't a good saddle gun."
"Cool." Tony looked on the seat behind him. The two rifles, two pistols, and holster belts they always took riding were on the seat. He'd never even handled a weapon before meeting up with Brock. Now he was fairly comfortable with them, although he really didn't enjoy hunting. He did it to be with Brock. "Uncle John wants a buck this year. He bought my tag and license so I guess I better not disappoint him." Tony's uncle liked the taste of venison and kept it in his freezer. Tony didn't care for it.
"Dad said he'd have em butchered. John don't have to do it." Brock sipped at his coffee. "I thought we'd go to that meadow where we went fishing a couple months ago. It's on Curtis' property so there won't be anyone up there we don't know. He gave us permission. I got the note in my wallet."
"Staying over night?" Tony asked, unzipping his coat. It was warm in the truck.
"Fuck that. It's to cold at night." Brock made the turn that took them towards the mountains that bordered Utah and Idaho, the Sawtooth Range. "Just a day trip, man."
It took almost an hour to get to the dirt road that cut off towards the mountains and then another half an hour to get into the canyon. The sky was barely turning towards blue when they finally stopped. They carefully got the horses out of the trailer and put them on lead ropes while they checked their gear.
Brock put his pistol in the holster and secured it then handed the other belt to Tony. Tony put it around his waist and buckled it, accepted the other .357 revolver and checked the loads, slipped it in the holster and snapped the restraint. The first time Brock had insisted that he wear a pistol he'd felt like an idiot. It was like something out of a John Wayne movie. Brock explained that it was for snakes or badgers or coyotes, but Tony refused. Two hours later they'd seen a rattle snake and Tony changed his mind about the pistol. Now, several years later, Brock and Dwight had turned him into a respectable marksman. They both put on hunter orange vests, gloves, and hat covers.
They saddled the horses, made sure they were covered with orange markings to make them visible to other hunters, and Brock mounted General Jackson and then held both rifles while Tony climbed up on Dollar. When he was situated he handed one of them across and then put his across his shoulders with the sling. "I think if we go up the north side and work our way to the top we can come down through the other side and tie the horses up. We can walk the canyon and circle back up to get em." Brock showed the path he was talking about by pointing. Tony nodded and urged Dollar to follow.
Unlike most urban areas the air in northern Utah is crisp and clear. Tony felt the chill of it as he breathed and thanked God yet again that he'd ended up where he had. When his parents died he'd been terrified to go and live in Utah. It seemed like a death sentence to end up in the middle of nowhere where the population of the entire state wasn't even two million people. A lot had changed since then. Thanks to Brock he'd seen things he never knew existed in the mountains, could ride a horse fairly well, and had worked on a ranch.
He swallowed hard as the emotions of the moment hit him. He didn't know how Brock felt but Tony had long ago figured out how much he loved Brock. At first it had been almost a hero worship after the fight had happened, but as they became friends it was something more. A lot more. As quickly as the feelings hit they were shoved away hard with a surge of guilt. Tony looked away quickly as he realized he'd been closely studying Brock's angular features. His cheeks went hot in the early morning chill. His true feelings about Brock shamed him. He sighed heavily and guided the horse through the scrubby cedar trees and large rocks.
Brock found a place he liked and slipped gracefully out of the saddle. He tied off the lead rope to a tree and took a large orange blanket out of one of the saddle bags and tossed it over the General, watching as Tony did the same. A few minutes later he'd distributed snack stuff and a couple of water bottles between them and they set off down hill together. After hunting together for a few years with Dwight the two of them knew what they needed to do, and Tony cut off and went over to the other side of the narrow canyon so he could see whatever Brock jumped up.
By the time the reached the area they liked it was full sun and Brock made his way over to Tony. Tony stood at the top of a tall rock outcropping that they'd sat on before. It gave them a good view of the entire canyon and they could see the horses easily. Brock sat down and un-slung his rifle and then took off his coat, crushing it down into a small pocket sewn in the back, leaving him in a flannel shirt and the orange vest. Tony did the same.
"I didn't see anything fresh." Brock said quietly as he scanned the hillside with his eyes. He took out his water bottle and took several large swallows.
"There's some guys over a couple canyons." Tony said just as quietly. "I think it's your uncle Dave." He accepted the bottle and took several swallows.
"Dad said he'd be out here. Eldon Daines and my cousins were coming. Wonder if they're up here?" Brock looked back towards the top of the ridge line. "I didn't see anyone moving."
"Me either." Tony took off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "Christ it's hot for fucking October."
"That's why we came here instead of going over to Cache Valley." Brock chuckled. "Everyone went towards Bear Lake `cause it's cooler."
"You know better than me." Tony chuckled. "I never saw a deer before I met you." He went silent abruptly as Brock grabbed his arm and pointed. Almost together they brought their rifles up and trained the scopes where Brock had been looking. Tony moved slowly, looking for movement or familiar objects and almost missed it before he moved back. Three little white asses moving carefully up the side of the hill across from them. "Horns?" He asked in a whisper.
"Not yet." Brock breathed, concentrating. Instinctively he'd moved so that his knees were bent and he rested his elbows on them for stability. Just below the first deer he'd spotted was more, and he waited for them to clear the trees. At last he could finally see horns, a three point. "See him?" He whispered. He eased the safety off on the rifle.
"Yeah, big bastard." Tony answered. "Take him." He kept the scope on the animal to see where Brock's shot hit out of habit. There was a roar next to him as Brock pulled the trigger. Tony saw the animal stagger. "To high." He said.
Brock inhaled and let it out slowly and stopped, lining up the sites again.
He squeezed carefully and slowly and his rifle bucked against his shoulder. He knew before he put the scope up again it had been a clean shot. "He's down." Tony grinned at him and lowered his rifle. "Good shootin', Tex."
"There!" Brock pointed past Tony's shoulder and Tony whirled around, bringing his scope up. The two shots had scared four more deer up, and Tony felt his pulse quicken. He'd never been really wild about killing, but the Morgans and his aunt and uncle ate the meat and used the leather, so for him it wasn't like a waste. He sited carefully and looked for horns. "Third one!" Brock whispered harshly. Tony trailed down slightly and found the rack of horns. "Fuck, he's huge!" Brock chuckled.
Please don't fuck up, Tony thought to himself. He calmed his breathing and saw out of the corner of his eye that Brock had brought his rifle up to ghost Tony like he'd done for Brock. He took a breath like Dwight had shown him, slowly let it out, and put even pressure on the trigger. The rifle slammed into his shoulder as it went off and he hurried to re-sight it. He moved carefully to find the deer and almost panicked when he couldn't see it until Brock began to laugh.
"Fuckin' show off." Brock clapped him on the shoulder. "A perfect two hundred yard shot. I wish dad was here."
"I don't see him!" Tony said sharply. He didn't want to maim the damn thing and have it wander off to die. He scanned with the scope looking for it. "Where'd it go, Brock?"
"It rolled down behind that big rock, buddy. Chill out, ya got him clean."
Brock stood up and shouldered his rifle. "Let's go see yours first. I think it had a huge rack. Dad'll be real proud of you." He held out his hand and pulled Tony to his feet.
Tony didn't feel particularly proud to have killed something but he couldn't help but be excited. He hoped that Brock planned on cleaning the damned thing out because he sure as hell wasn't going to. He'd watched Brock and Dwight gut several deer and elk over the years and always had to walk away.
They headed up the canyon towards the deer, taking their time. It was warming up fast and Brock handed Tony the water bottle. They made their way down to where the narrow creek ran through and Tony was about to step across when something caught his eye. He stopped and glanced towards a tiny clearing, craning his neck to see through the trees. "Brock, there's something over there." He pointed towards something flapping in the breeze about a hundred yards from them.
Brock turned and looked and then used the scope on his rifle to get a better look. "It's a tent or something, but it looks like its torn up." He stepped back across the creek. "Let's go see what's up." He led the way through the buck brush.
What they found shocked them both. The small camp they stepped into had been ransacked deliberately, and the tent had been shredded with a knife from the look of it. Food items were scattered and stomped into the ground, and the tent poles were bent around trees. Brock looked at the carnage and felt nervousness make his neck hair stand up. "What the fuck happened here?"
"Oh my God." Tony said in a strangled voice. There was an arm laying on the ground behind a long rock. He handed his rifle to Brock and ran over to it. Behind the rock he found a naked form, bound hand and foot, beaten and cut with a knife. The body was turning blue from the cold, and its pale blond hair was blood matted. Tony felt the world spin around him as he carefully rolled the body back to look at its face. "Brock! It's Cade Daines!" He wailed. Brock moved around the rock and knelt down, setting the guns aside. Tony checked for a pulse and his eyes met Brock's. "He's alive!"
"Cut him loose!" Brock commanded, pulling his knife out. "Get your coat out and wrap it around him." He cut the rope around Cade's ankles as Tony got the one on his wrists. He looked around at the surrounding woods nervously wondering if whoever did this was still around.
"Give me your coat." Tony held out his hand to take Brock's and unfolded it out of the little pouch. He carefully slipped it under Cade's shoulders and fastened the snaps, noticing as he did that the word "FAG!" had been cut into the kid's chest with a sharp knife. He felt rage boiling up into his stomach. He slipped his coat under Cade's ass and fastened it around his waist and legs. Various cuts had been made in the boy's arms and legs as well, though not deep enough to be lethal. Cade was covered with bruises. "Brock, doesn't he always hang with Trevor Yates?"
"Yeah I think so." Brock moved towards the fire pit to get it going.
"So where is Trevor?" Tony asked, pulling Cade up into his arms so he could get him closer to the fire when Brock got it going.
Brock shrugged and looked around. "Let me get you some heat and I'll look." A thought crossed his mind and he pulled his pistol and fired it three times in the air. Tony jumped.
"What the hell was that for?"
"If anyone's close to us it's a distress call." Brock holstered the gun and bent to start the fire. It didn't take long. "Stay with him. I'm going to look around and then get the horses. One of us needs to go get help."
"You ride a lot better than I do." Tony offered. "Can you get a cell signal out by the highway?"
"I think so." Brock brought the rifles over to where Tony could get them. "We still don't know who did this. Keep your eyes out." Without really thinking he bent down and hugged Tony briskly. "Don't fuck around. If you need to shoot, okay?"
"You're scaring the shit out of me. Go and get your ass back here." Tony tried to smile but it looked weak. He watched as Brock jogged to the tent and looked inside the remains and then trotted up the hillside. Tony sighed and looked around, feeling his heart racing. He glanced down at the kid in his lap and swallowed hard, imagining himself in Cade's place. There but for the grace of God, he thought.
Brock made record time getting back to the truck and had the trailer off the horseshoe hitch in the bed in less then three minutes. He started the truck and was about to head for the highway when he saw two four wheelers heading towards him fast. He jumped out and ran out to meet them, relieved that it was his uncle Dave. His cousins Cliff and Peter were on the other bike. "Tony's up there about a mile." He pointed up the canyon. "We found Cade Daines near the top. Someone tried to kill `im!"
"Calm down, Brock." Dave Morgan killed his machine and got off. He was a large man, standing 6' 4" with a thick build. "Tell me what happened." He ordered. Brock quickly outlined what they'd seen. When he finished Dave turned to his sons. "Eldon headed back to camp with his deer. Go get him and take him up to where Tony is." Peter nodded grimly and gunned the four wheeler, tearing back the way they'd come. Dave pointed at the truck. "Go do like you was, Brock. Call 911 and tell them where we are. Tell them they need to send a helicopter. An ambulance will take forever. Wait for whoever shows up. I'm going up and see if I can move him."
"Thanks Uncle Dave." Brock nodded and ran around the truck.
Tony felt Cade move and he looked down to see Cade's brown eyes looking up at him filled with pain. "Don't move, Cade. I don't know how bad you're hurt." Cade swallowed and cried out silently and Tony stroked the side of his face. "Come on, Cade, I need you to stay with me, okay? Help is coming. Focus on me, okay?" He gently pulled the kid closer to him. "Who did this to you, can you tell me?" Cade tried to speak and Tony leaned down close.
"Trevor! Where's Trevor?" Cade was almost inaudible.
"I don't know, Cade. Brock is looking for him." Tony felt like he was going to cry. He swallowed hard and sniffed loudly. "Just rest. Stay with me." Cade closed his eyes and rested his head on Tony's arm. "Bastards!" Tony whispered harshly and felt a tear run down his cheek. "Fucking bastards!"
About twenty minutes went by and Cade's breathing was getting ragged. Tony kept the fire up even though he personally felt like he was getting burned. Cade's skin was much warmer but the blood had started flowing again, too. He jerked his head up at the sound of a four wheeler coming towards them. Nervously he reached for his pistol not knowing who it was. One thing was straight up, they weren't going to hurt Cade again. Not while he was here. He swallowed nervously.
"Tony?" Dave called out as he killed the bike and came through the thick brush. "Tony Bentley!"
"Over here!" Tony called out, relieved. "Dave, I'm over here! Hurry!" He felt the tension slide out of his shoulders as he saw Brock's uncle come crashing towards him. "He isn't doing so good!"
"Anyone else up here?" Dave asked, kneeling down beside them. He unsnapped the jacket over Cade's chest and his face went crimson.
"Cade asked about Trevor but I haven't left him." Tony said, fastening the coat up again.
"I'm going to take you guys down on the bike. If you can hold him we'll be able to move pretty good." Dave stood up and looked around. "Stay put a minute while I have a look, okay?"
Tony laughed nervously. "Not going anywhere, man." He watched Dave walk into the brush and disappear. The sound of a couple more four wheelers came from farther up the canyon and Tony watched as Brock's cousins led Eldon Daines towards them. Dave walked back into the clearing about the time they pulled up. He went quickly over to Eldon and stopped him from getting off the machine briefly. "Eldon, he's alive. Get a grip on yourself."
Eldon's face was ashen as he stepped off the bike. "What happened?" He asked in a gruff voice, covering the ground to where Tony sat in few steps. He met Tony's eyes for just a second and leaned down over his son, running his eyes over the visible wounds. He choked off a sob when he opened the jacket to look at his son's chest. "Oh sweet Christ!" He whispered harshly.
"Dad?" Cade opened his eyes and whispered almost soundlessly.
"I'm here." Eldon's voice broke and tears streamed down his face. "Son, who did this?" Cade's eyes rolled white and his head lolled back. "Cade?" Eldon shouted.
"He's okay, sir." Tony slipped his hand under the jacket and could feel the boy's pulse. "He's gone out on me a couple times like that."
"Eldon, we need to get him to the bottom. Brock called 911." Dave gently pulled the other man to his feet. "I think you should let Peter run you down. Tony can hold Cade on my machine, okay?" Eldon began to sob openly and looked back down at his son. "Come on, let's get moving." Dave guided him towards the other machines. "Cliff, bring Eldon's bike. Tony, can you lift Cade yourself?"
Tony carefully scooped the sixteen year old up and nodded, getting to his feet. Cade couldn't weigh one thirty. He walked towards the others. Dave helped him get on the back of the four wheeler and get settled, and he watched the other two machines move out ahead of them. Dave got on and started the bike, following them.
The ride wasn't the smoothest, and Tony had to work to keep his balance and hang on to Cade. As they neared the bottom of the canyon they could see two Sheriff's vehicles parked by the horse trailer, and Brock was leading another up from the highway. Before they stopped Peter had already turned around and was taking a deputy back up to the camp with two more following on Eldon's bike. Dave pulled over to the group and stopped. One of the deputies walked up and waved. "Hey, Dave, how are you?"
"Hope you got paramedics somewhere, Andy." Dave carefully stepped off the four wheeler. "This kid's been beaten goddamn near to death."
"That's them now." The deputy hooked his thumb over his shoulder and stepped over to Tony and looked down at the boy in his arms. "You okay Mr. Bentley?" Tony smiled slightly and nodded, watching as the deputy carefully opened the jacket over Cade's chest. "Son of a bitch!" He swore quietly.
Brock ran up with two paramedics and carried a case for them. He set it down and moved out of the way as they carefully stretch Cade out on a blanket so Tony could get off the bike. As they started working Brock put his arm around Tony's shoulders and guided him towards his dad's truck. He noticed that blood had soaked through their coats and was on Tony's shirt and pants. "You okay?" He asked quietly. They stopped a short distance away and looked back at the commotion.
"I guess." Tony's face was unreadable. They both looked up towards the east as the sound of a helicopter could be heard. It took about twenty minutes for it to land, Cade to be put aboard, and take off again. They watched together as it took off, and Tony began to shake. He angrily tried to ball his fists to stop it, but the shaking got worse. He tried to swallow but his throat was frozen in place. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Ready to go home?" Brock turned towards him as the chopper moved out of sight. "Dad and a couple guys are coming after the horses and deer...Tony?"
He noticed the look on Tony's face and the paleness of his skin. He looked like he was going to pass out and he was shivering so hard he looked like an earthquake. "Tony, what's wrong?" He put his hands on Tony's shoulders. "Hey!"
"It could've been me." Tony whispered so quietly that the wind carried it away. He seemed to shrink on himself. He hugged his sides hard and felt his eyes burning. He choked back a strangled sound.
"Huh?" Brock bent closer, worried. "Tony, you're scaring the shit out of me." Tony moved towards him and Brock hugged him close. "What's the matter?"
"It could've been me!" Tony growled, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks and cutting trails over his chilled skin. He wrapped his arms under Brocks powerful arms and felt the dam break. He sobbed uncontrollably on Brock's shoulder.
Brock was stunned. He didn't know what to do and it scared him. "Easy, Tony, I'm here." He said quietly, holding him tight. "It's over, man. Cade'll be fine. You did it." He was confused about what Tony said but it wasn't a big deal. For now his best friend needed him.
"Oh, fuck. Don't you get it?" Tony said in a strange voice against his shoulder. "Brock please don't hate me!" He whispered harshly.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Brock leaned back to meet his eyes.
"I'm getting pissed off here, Tony. You and me are way past best friends.
What are you talkin' about?"
"Brock I'm gay too!" Tony hissed. His face looked tortured and he sniffed loudly. "What if it had been me up there?"
Brock's jaw moved but nothing came out. He felt like he was going to swirl into a black hole or something, but he couldn't look away from Tony's bloodshot green eyes. "They'd have to go through me." He said quietly. Tony's chest hitched and he let Brock pull him back into the hug. " Nobody hurts you man, not ever."