So far, Huck and Dewey Strait are just trying to survive under the abuse of their father. But Dewey is growing bolder and Huck has found out that his father has assaulted a little girl. They send their momma to town and decide to confront their father now.


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Dewey watches me, waiting for me to signal him or make the first move. I look into my daddy's eyes and see nothing. There is no remorse, no anger, nothing but emptiness. He ain't never loved anyone or anything and for that I feel sorry for him. Love is what keeps you going, keeps you alive. He reminds me of that copperhead. One purpose in life. If it comes down to it, and it's me or the snake, I'll kill the snake. I'll kill him before he hurts anyone else.

I hold up the hoe, turning it one way then the other. "Come on and get it," I say.

Daddy tires to run between us, take us by surprise. I'm guessing he figures if he can get to the house, he can get his shotgun and finish us both off. But Dewey throws his foot out, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"You stupid piece of-," Daddy snarls but gets cut off when Dewey kicks him in the side.

"Don't you call me that no more."

"I shoulda' pushed your momma down the stairs when she come crying to me 'cause she was knocked up."

Dewey doesn't blink. "Maybe you shoulda'."

Matthew lays in the dirt on his back, staring up at us. "Go on, do it. If you're gonna kill me then do it. Neither one of you got the balls to do it. Two pathetic momma's boys," he says, a tired laugh follows it and he looks from me to Dewey. "Which one of you is gonna be the hero?"

Dewey looks over at me, then glances towards the woods. "Can't kill you just yet. Wanna show you what I made for you."

Daddy sneers. He's waiting for one of us to back down. He don't understand how fed up we are of him. He don't know that we're coyotes and they don't leave wounded, they kill.

"Get up, Daddy," I say, prodding him with the toe of my shoe.

"I ain't going nowhere with the two of you."

Without warning, Dewey bends down and grabs his ankle. He starts dragging him through the dirt.

"Stop it. Let go of me. Huck, stop him!"

I answer with a ragged howl.

I stay back, watching this like it's a dream. I'm in it but I'm not really me. I stare at the drag marks that his body is leaving. I follow it with my eyes and watch as the dirt is suddenly wet. He pissed himself. Matthew Strait is finally afraid. He tilts his head, looking at me with such confusion in his eyes. His reality is hitting him now. His sons, a boy and a dummy, are going to kill him.

Dewey keeps dragging him, through the overgrown brush and further into the woods. Matthew cries and hollers as the brambles and saw grass tear his skin. "We're almost there, Daddy," Dewey says. He's got sweat dripping like a faucet into his eyes and onto his shirt.

"What's your momma gonna say? You ain't got the balls," Matthew hisses, but his voice shakes with fear.

Dewey grabs him under his arms and nods for me to help him lift Daddy to a standing position. We hold him on the edge of the pit, letting him admire all of Dewey's hard work. "I sharpened every one of them. Just for you."

I look over at Dewey. There ain't no backing down now. This is where it ends. A pit in the middle of the woods will be the final resting place for Matthew Strait. With a nod, we heave him over the edge.

There is no scream, no sounds of a tortured soul getting what's coming to him. Just the chirping of the birds as the sun settles closer to the horizon. I close my eyes and start to pray. "Dear God, I know what we did ain't right but," I stop when Dewey elbows me.

"No! We ain't saying no words over him. We done what needed to be done. Saying a mouthful of pretty words ain't gonna save his wretched soul nor ours."

Dewey's right. No amount of praying will change this.

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Dewey stands there, long after our deed has been completed. He don't smile or gloat, hell, he ain't said anything at all for several minutes.

"You okay, Dew?"

He don't look at me, keeps his eyes on the man in the pit. "You know, I thought it'd feel good once he was dead. Thought I'd be so happy. But, I still ain't happy. This didn't change nothing, really."

"You still believe it was the right thing to do, don't ya'?"

He nods, his shoulders lifting slowly under the weight of his thoughts.

"Doing what needs to be done don't mean it's gonna make us happy."

Dewey takes his foot and pushes some dirt into the hole. "What are we gonna tell momma?"

"He went fishing."

"What happens when he don't come home?"

"We can worry about that later. Now, let's get this hole filled in."

It takes almost an hour to fill in the pit. Dewey looks down at the shovel and heaves it into the brush.

I put my arm around him, and lead him out.

"Huck, you think coyotes feel bad after they kill?" he asks.

"No. Coyotes do what coyotes do. It's as simple as that. He made us coyotes, Dewey. He may not have known he was doing it, but this was still his doing."

Dewey sniffs, and I see a tear trickle down his cheek. I'm real glad he's crying. He ain't lost his soul. He feels something, and that means he still got his soul.

I feel nothing, not for what we done, not for that man. I'm glad he's gone.