Nightmare Man was still screaming his pet word.
This time, instead of trying to drown him out or shut out the sound, Ben ran away from him.
Nightmare Man doggedly followed. He couldn't overtake the fleeing Ben, but Ben couldn't get out of range of his voice.
As with most dreams, the where and when of this one were vague. Yet Ben somehow knew that he hadn't been able to run, free and unimpeded, for a long time. It felt wonderful, so wonderful that he became totally caught up in the thrill of it. He forgot his pursuer and lived only to run.
Then, suddenly, something was restraining his flailing legs...
He sat up in bed with a moan. His moving in his sleep had made the shackles dig into both his ankles, probably drawing blood. The connecting chain had never seemed shorter.
But now, irony of ironies, he realized something else. After a dream from which he'd been able to banish Nightmare Man, he finally remembered the word!
And it was just as stupid as he'd thought it would be.
He muttered it under his breath.
"Whatcha sayin'?"
Ben hadn't realized Clem was awake. He shrugged, and repeated the word aloud.
Clem looked around, puzzled. "Where? How could you see it, anyway?" The guards kept a light on all night, to make a point of the prisoners' lack of privacy; but it was too low a wattage to be of much use.
"I didn't mention it 'cuz I saw it," Ben explained. "I mentioned it 'cuz I was dreamin' about it."
Clem gaped at him. "That's the sort o' thing you dream about? An' scream about?" Edging toward the far side of his bed, he mumbled, "Maybe you really are crazy."
x
x
x
After breakfast the occupants of the bunkhouse were crowded into the back of a flatbed truck, as usual, for the drive to the day's work site. Two dozen of them, with all their chains linked together while they were in transit, to prevent escape attempts.
That struck Ben as unnecessary. How could anyone get away, when their individual leg chains forced them to walk like crippled old men?
He tried to put that out of his mind, and concentrate on the bright side of this particular day. The convicts were through with quarrying for a while, assigned to work on road repair. Traffic was being rerouted; they wouldn't be able to beg handouts from passing drivers, let alone try to seize vehicles. But they'd finally have nearby bushes behind which men could relieve themselves, without having to do it in full view of the guards. The thought of even that bit of privacy brought a smile to Ben's face.
On the other hand...one of those guards would be Teufel, newly rotated to the day shift. Having him around all day would be hell. Guess I should thank God he won't be oglin' my package every time I take a leak.
Clem made an observation about the weather, and Ben found himself absurdly pleased that if the youngster had really thought he was crazy, he'd forgotten about it.
I'd hate to lose him as a friend. First real friend I've ever had.
x
x
x
By midday Ben was so hot that the sweat was pouring off him. He risked taking a break. Leaning on his shovel with one hand, he used the other to mop his brow with the uniform shirt he'd shed a while back.
Hell, I ain't needed to take one o' them nice private leaks all mornin'. It's been hours since they gave us water, an' I'm losin' what moisture I got this way.
He remembered, idly, that Clem actually had shuffled off to do his duty in the bushes.
How long ago was that?
The heat might be addling his brain, but he thought Clem had been gone longer than he should have. Passed out back there? Or... It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn't seen Teufel for a while, either.
Just as he was straightening, grim-faced, he heard a scream from deep in the roadside brush. "Ben! Help!"
He dropped his shirt in the gutter, but didn't let go of the shovel as he raced frantically into the bushes. He used it like a machete, thrusting branches and brambles aside as he moved faster than he ever had in his life.
How am I doin' this? He could feel the familiar weight of the cuffs on his ankles, but they weren't slowing him down at all!
It didn't matter. He didn't take time to look at his legs, just rushed in the direction from which he still heard intermittent shrieks.
Teufel wants to rape Clem. I told Clem how I stopped him, with that two-footed kick to the groin. The kid will try to stop him that way too, but he ain't nowhere near as strong as me. He'll get hisself killed!
A shot rang out. Just one, with a horrible finality.
Ben froze for a second. Then he ran on, weeping, cursing. By now he heard other men crashing through the brush behind him - guards, of course, following his all-too-clear trail. But none of that mattered.
He burst into the clearing to see Clem's limp body sprawled face down, with a pool of blood under him. Over him was Bull Teufel, taking no note of Ben as he spread Clem's legs so he could get into the position he wanted. How can they be spread so wide apart, so easy? Normally, the shackles were only unlocked and one cuff removed while the men were getting their pants on and off, only removed completely for showering. Teufel shouldn't have had a key with him at the work site...
In any case, Clem's pants had already been pulled down below his buttocks, and Teufel's fly was open.
Ben was about to retch.
And then something in his mind went click.
Clem is dead. But I don't want Clem to be dead, an' I know how to make him not-dead. I was born knowin' how to make someone not-dead!
He lunged at Teufel, and with one swing of his shovel, he bashed the brute's head in.
Then he stepped back, confused. What just happened?
Clem stirred, rolled over, and sat up. "Ben? Oh God, what -" He realized his pants were down, and began to whimper.
Ben was at his side in an instant. "Clem! You all right? Don't worry - I got here before he could rape you. How bad are you hurt?" It didn't seem serious, so Ben began hastily helping the kid pull his pants up.
"N-not at all, I guess. He fired a shot, an' he musta missed, though I can't see how. Maybe he just wanted to scare me. Then I ain't sure...maybe he hit me an' knocked me out...or maybe I just fainted..." Clem's voice trailed off as he spotted Teufel's body. "Oh, God. Is he d-dead?"
"Yeah, he's dead. I killed him." Ben took another look at the blood he'd seen under Clem, and decided the boy's visible scratches and bloodied nose must, somehow, have accounted for all of it. "You were out cold, an' I thought you were dead. I just lost it, took a wild swing at him with my shovel 'cuz I was so furious - an' that one blow killed him."
Of course that's what happened!
Someone came crashing out of the bushes. But as Ben spun around, meaning to shield Clem, he saw that it wasn't a guard. It was Whit Adams - running full tilt.
"Hawkins!" Adams paused, panting, to catch his breath. When he was able to speak, he said, "D'you understand what the hell's goin' on?"
Ben belatedly remembered the chains. Looking at Adams, he saw that the man still had leg irons on both ankles; but only a few of the chain links remained, and they didn't connect. He had complete freedom of movement.
Ben didn't need to look down to realize the same thing had happened to his chains - and Clem's.
"No," he said. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. Could I possibly -? No, that's insane! He asked Adams, "Did everyone's chains break? An' how did it happen? I was distracted, just sort o' realized it after it was done."
"Yep, it was everyone. All at the same time. An' the chains didn't break, exactly, some o' the links just crumbled." Then Adams saw Teufel's body. "Oh, Jesus. You'd better get outta here. We'd all better get outta here!" And he was off.
As more sounds came from the surrounding brush - now clearly including the voices of guards - Ben pulled Clem to his feet. "He's right. C'mon, Clem, stick with me."
Clem made a move to pick up Ben's shovel. "We may need this -"
"No!" Ben grabbed him in time. "Don't touch that!"
"But we may have to defend ourselves -"
"Don't ask questions. We're leavin' it, y'hear? Now c'mon. Run!"
Run with me, Clem, but leave the shovel. The weapon that's got my prints on it, an' no one else's. I don't know how long I'll be able to protect you. But one thing I can do is prevent your bein' charged with the murder o' Bull Teufel.
x
x
x
As they fled through the countryside, Ben realized that if he and Clem had been the only escapees, they wouldn't have stood a chance - even if they had somehow gotten rid of their chains. But with two dozen fugitives on the loose, running in all directions, warden and guards would be in a state of total confusion.
When they brought in bloodhounds, they might give priority to chasing the truly dangerous criminals. Even if they did focus on nabbing Teufel's killer, Adams' having left his scent at the scene would draw off some of the hounds.
But as soon as they run the prints on that shovel, Ben mused, they'll zero in on me. So Clem an' me can't stay together long. I don't want him gettin' killed by accident when someone's gunnin' for me.
In the short term, Ben's know-how and common sense stood them both in good stead. He broke into a modest farmhouse when the family wasn't at home, so they could filch some food and clothing. He showed Clem how he forced the lock, and explained how he'd chosen the place and how much - or rather, how little - it was advisable to steal. ("For the time bein', till you can get your life straightened out, you'll need these skills to survive. Pick houses where you ain't gonna be seen by neighbors. Wait till you're sure no one's home. An' then, don't be greedy. If you just take a little food, or some wore-out clothes that look ready for the ragbag, the folks you burgle may not bother to report it.")
They visited another farm, in another county, to use the tools in the barn. Ben managed to get the leg irons off both Clem's ankles, and his own right ankle, before they heard the voices of approaching men.
Ben dropped everything. "Okay, gotta run for it!"
"But you've still got -"
"Never mind. I'll get it off later." Or be buried wearin' it. "Run!"
As they dashed through a cornfield, Clem was wailing, "They heard us! An' they'll see them leg irons we left!"
"Yeah. But don't worry. When they see we didn't steal nothin', they'll be too grateful to tell the law we were here." I hope.
That night, as they hid out in an encampment of dispossessed Okies fleeing the Dust Bowl, Ben told his friend they'd have to separate. "I'm sorry," he said, as he saw tears welling in Clem's eyes. "Maybe you should try to latch on with some o' these people. Don't go to your ma or your sister - those are the first places the law will look."
The boy pleaded, "Why can't I stay with you?"
"One reason," Ben said wearily, "is that I'll be the most wanted of all us fugitives, 'cuz it was me killed Teufel. You'd never be safe with me. An' besides that...I'm goin' to the first place they'll look for me. To my ma's."
Clem sat up straighter. "Why, for God's sake? You just told me -"
"Yeah, I know. But my ma's sick. She needs me."
"Needs you to get killed?" Fortunately, before Ben had to think of an answer for that, the kid went on, "She don't even love you!"
Ben said quietly, "No, she never loved me. But think about this. Maybe a mother deserves more credit for raisin' a kid she didn't want or love.
"For all I know, my ma coulda been raped. Whether or not that was what happened, she coulda tossed me in the trash the day I was born. There was no one else who gave a damn.
"But she raised me the best she could. She didn't show me no affection, but she didn't abuse me. An' I always had food an' clothes, till things got so bad that there warn't none for neither of us."
My ma brought me into this world. An' I can keep her from leavin' it - decades before her time - if she'll let me.
She may not let me. But I gotta try.
Goin' back there will prob'ly get me killed, one way or the other. But I still gotta try. Gotta show not so much her, as myself, that I ain't no spawn o' Satan.
I can't explain that to you, Clem. I wish I could. But you're better off, safer, not knowin'.
Clem couldn't understand Ben's reasons - the ones he'd admitted. He wouldn't have understood the others, either. Still only a boy, he cried himself to sleep.
Ben waited till after midnight. Then he made silent preparations to leave. But he paused for a last, sad look at his sleeping friend.
Damn. I know what's gonna happen to you. You'll get caught an' sent back to the chain gang. You'll admire some other hotshot young robber - an' he won't try to convince you it's a bad life. By the time you've served your ten years, you'll be a hardened criminal. This penal system makes hardened criminals.
I'm sorry, Clem. You deserved better.
He bent to smooth the younger teen's hair, then quietly slipped away.
x
x
x
Next day, as he trudged through the Dust Bowl toward his mother's farm, he was still puzzling over what had happened. He'd convinced himself Clem had never been dead; that wasn't the problem. What he couldn't understand - or didn't want to understand - was the sundering of the chains.
If I didn't have this leg iron on my ankle, I'd be thinkin' I may be so crazy that I imagined the whole thing.
But the leg iron was there, tangible proof. The chains had existed, and they'd "crumbled."
I know what makes chains crumble. But it shouldn't do it all at once, or in a matter of hours. It should take a long, long time.
And yet he couldn't shake the memory of Nightmare Man's screaming a certain word. Screaming it over and over until he, Ben, had finally gotten the message and spoken it aloud.
Spoken it aloud. As a verb, a command?
Shuddering, he whispered it again, under his breath.
"Rust."
x
x
x
The End
x
x
x
Author's Afterword, updated 5/2/09: My idea that Avatars could command metal to rust (and the power over a mountainside that I attributed to Hack Scudder in my earlier story "Murder") were of course suggested by Ben's having discovered he could stop and restart a Black Blizzard.
All we had learned in Season 1 was that Ben was a chain gang escapee wanted for murder. It was often assumed that murder was the crime for which he'd been sentenced to the chain gang; but we didn't know that. (Harsh punishment was meted out for minor crimes in those days. The 1934 film I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang is based on the true story of a man who was sentenced to ten years on a Georgia chain gang for taking part in an armed robbery that netted the destitute robbers $5.80.)
Later, series creator Daniel Knauf told fans his real intent was that Ben had been sentenced to the chain gang for "assaulting a bank officer" (who'd presumably come to foreclose on the family farm), and had killed a guard in the course of his escape.
Still a mystery: Management's enigmatic assertion, when Ben resisted the idea of killing someone else to bring Ruthie back to life, that Ben had made that type of "one-life-over-another" choice before. Many fans believe all it meant was that when he killed the guard in order to get home to his ailing mother, he was making a value judgment that his mother's life was more important than the guard's. (What did he intend to do when he got home? Mr. Knauf has told us Ben had no thought of healing his mother; he merely hoped to "help" her as any son might. He was in total denial regarding his powers.)
A final note: Teufel is the German word for "devil," and there actually is an identically spelled surname. The name may have a different origin: the German word rhymes with "joyful," and I've only heard the name pronounced to rhyme with "ruffle." But I couldn't resist using it for this particular villain.