Free Renewal 4 - Down on the River by Jf Perkins

else, especially Mexicans. She was unaware that he was in real danger, until she saw Dad’s reaction to his wound. Now, she held Jimmy on her lap facing her as she watched over Arturo. Jimmy was over the reunion love and squirmed to get down and play with Tommy before they were sent to bed. She held her baby boy for ten minutes longer, and finally let him escape.
    We were watching from a distance, not sure what to do to help. We were aware of our parents’ sense of hopelessness, and that translated to a certain sense of restlessness for us kids. Kirk and I walked out beyond our tree house and stood on the steep slope while Lucy tried to get Juannie to eat and helped put the leftover food back in the Carroll’s cooler. I sat on Dad’s tree stump sawhorse while Kirk practiced drawing his automatic pistol and aiming it at any tree he decided was the enemy. He went at it with a deadly obsession that seemed creepy at the time, but paid off hundreds of times in the future.
    His other favorite pastime was sharpening a short machete he had commandeered from our tool stash. Dad called it a cane knife, but Kirk called it his new best friend. Over time, it not only became razor sharp, it slowly changed shape from a utilitarian tool into a sinister looking weapon. Kirk slowly carved and smoothed the handle until it fit him perfectly and ground the blade into a gentle curve that he claimed was to improve the balance. The rounded hook on the back of the blade, used for grabbing cane and shearing it, morphed into a deadly metal talon, and ultimately the spine of the blade was sharpened as well, until the entire blade was one continuous razor edge. He spent many hours working with it, testing it on wood and weeds, and once even used it to shave his wispy facial hair. At some magical point in time, he decided it was perfect for his dark needs.
    The next morning, Arturo was still sweating and talking in his feverish sleep. Mom and Dad exchanged worried glances, as Dad made another liquid antibiotic solution and poured it slowly into Arturo’s mouth. Dad had made a rough rope system for lifting supplies into the treehouse, and  we quickly cobbled together a human shaped basket to get Arturo under shelter. It took three of us to hoist Arturo up to the second level of the treehouse, and carry his unconscious form into the tent. Juannie spent most of her time sitting with him, and Lucy and Tommy went back to their role as primary entertainment for Jimmy. Dad gave Arturo his medicine every four hours, like a clockwork machine.
    After two more days, it was clear that Arturo was improving. The red streaks were gone, and while he still felt hot to the touch, he was no longer shiny with sweat. His skin had lost its grayish undertone, and he no longer thrashed and mumbled in his sleep. For the first time, Dad expressed some confidence in the man’s recovery. On the 7th of July, Juannie had taken a break from her vigil, and the rest of us were milling about on various idle projects, basically surviving the heat of a Tennessee summer.
    We heard a panicked yell from the treehouse.
    “Hey! Where the hell am I?” It was Arturo. “Hello!”
    I was the first one up the ladder, and burst in on Arturo, who was trying to unzip the sleeping back, and failing. The zipper was caught in the material.
    “Hey, Arturo. Let me get that for you,” I said, holding out my hands in an instinctive I-mean-no-harm gesture.
    “Bill? Bill! It’s you. We made it back?” Arturo was confused.
    “Yeah, Arturo. It’s me. You’re back. You’re safe.”
    “Is everyone else ok?” Arturo asked, with his wild eyes starting to calm a bit.
    “We’re all good. Francine didn’t make it, but everyone else is fine.”
    Dad stuck his head in the tent. “Hey, Arturo!” He drew the name out like a game show announcer.
    “Hey David,” Arturo relaxed, seeing his new but trusted friend alive and well. “What’s up?”
    Dad grinned with a single laugh that caught in his