by D V Wolfe
“It’s a good thing I love you,” Nya said. “Because you being a smartass every time I tell you to be careful or every time that I tell you something bad is coming, is getting old.”
I sighed. “Sorry Nya, what kind of facts?”
“From what I could decipher from their babble, there was a lightning storm with no rain in Nebraska, snowfall in May in Iowa, and a mutilated sheep herd in northern Arkansas.”
“How did they describe that last one using cheese?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Nya groaned.
“Well let me know what you find out.”
“Will do,” Nya said. “Get somewhere and rest that arm, far away from that tribe. And if you’re going to be a dumbass and go after that Rawhead, get some help. Don’t go off all Calamity Bane and get yourself killed, ok?”
I rolled my eyes. That was Nya’s favorite nickname for me. “Yes, mom.”
“You better be glad I’m not your mom,” Nya sniffed but I could almost hear her smile. “I would have drowned you at birth.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Be careful, Bane.”
“You do the same,” I said. I tossed the phone back onto the seat and looked at Noah. “Sorry, where were we?”
“Uh, you asked me if I wanted to make twenty bucks and I uh…asked you what I had to do to get it.”
I nodded. “Well I need a little help with something.”
“Is that what that phone call was about?” Noah asked. “With Nya and some ‘shit news’ and the...cheese?
I cut my eyes to him before turning my attention back to the road. “No that was something different. Don’t worry about it. If you’re willing to give me a hand in Jessup, there’s a crisp twenty in it for you, base rate. What do you say?”
Noah hesitated for a second, “Ok,” he said. “But what do you mean, ‘base rate’?”
I didn’t know how to appropriately phrase; ‘Noah, I need you to be the bait to draw out an evil hellspawn who likes to eat kids like you so that I can fry it’, without making him shit his pants so I didn’t answer him. I just smiled. Lucy swayed slightly as I moved to avoid another pothole as we crossed a county line. The pavement here was new and I pressed the gas pedal to the floor.
"What's the hurry?" Noah asked, fidgeting in his seat.
"We're late," I muttered.
"For what? And what’s a ‘Rawhead’? Is that like code or something?” Noah asked. His questions hung in the stale air of the cab along with the smell of my cooked arm. I couldn't be sure which was more unsettling to Noah.
The headlights reflected off of Jessup's five-mile sign and I let off the gas. The turn was coming up on the right and I looked for the little wooden cross.
"There it is," I said as I downshifted and cranked the wheel to the right. We slid from the sea of pavement into a dry creek bed of a dirt road. It wound around fallen trees and barbed wire fencing along the side of the hill that shouldered the highway.
As I eased up a particularly steep incline I turned to Noah, "Lean forward."
"What?"
"Kiss the glove box, Noah." He stared at me for a beat and I tugged at the back of the seat with my weak arm.
"Oh," He said, moving to perch on the edge of the seat. I pulled the seat forward and felt around, keeping my eyes on the packed dirt road ahead of us. Almost immediately my hand rested on the barrel of my ten-gauge and I lifted it out. I pushed the seat back with my elbow and turned the gun to set the stock on the floorboards between us.
"You know what to do with one of these?" I asked him.
"A gun?"
"Identification is a step in the right direction," I said. I pushed the gun towards him and returned my hand to the wheel to make a sharp turn around a crooked tree.
"Why do you have so many guns?" Noah asked.
"Why do you have so many questions?” I asked him. He made a little noise of annoyance and I grinned. After a second, he spoke up again.
"I've never..." Noah began, keeping the barrel of the gun at arm’s length.
"What? Skinny-dipped? Cow-tipped? Peed on an electric fence?"
"I've never....shot a gun."
"Oh, well that's about to be remedied. But don't expect my help with the other things. Except cow-tipping, I guess. My rules for that are about like my rules for shooting a gun: be the first to make a move and if you don’t knock ‘em down, run like hell."
"Ok, I think I'd like to get out now," Noah said quietly.
"Look Noah, you probably won't even have to shoot. This is a 'just in case' kind of thing. And just in case you have to use it, that's a revolving ten-gauge shotgun, built by Mr. Colt. "
Noah was silent and I could almost feel his mind weighing his chances of survival if he jumped from Lucy. "Noah, I'm not going to let anything happen to you.” I paused to steer around a sinkhole, hoping I could keep my word. God knew that would be a first. I looked over at him, “You watch any of those old western movies?"
"You mean with Clint Eastwood?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sure when he pulls out his gun and saves the girl or the town or whatever?" Noah nodded. "Well tonight, that gets to be you.” He just looked at me. "I'm hunting something. And I need some help," I said with a sigh.
"What is it?" Noah asked. I didn't answer him. We'd come around the final bend into a clearing and the old farmhouse with the crooked chimney was before us, just like Sister Smile had told me. I eased Lucy into the trees a couple hundred feet from the cleared front yard.
"Ok, the hammer on that bad boy tends to stick so cock it like it hit your sister," I said, shifting into neutral and shutting Lucy down. I got out and quietly shut my door. I walked around Lucy, opened the toolbox behind the passenger’s side of the cab, and pulled out the cattle prod.
I stuffed the sawed-off into the duct tape and carabiner makeshift holster at my hip and rammed a handful of shells into my front pocket. I flipped the switch on the three-pronged cattle prod and I felt the sickening buzz under my fingers. Noah was still in the truck, his window down, watching me.
"What the hell is that?" Noah asked. He visibly shivered. "Whatever it just did made all the hairs stand up on my neck."
"Modified cattle prod," I told him. "Man at the store said it was guaranteed to fry a bull, mid-rut."
I looked over at Noah, "See, as badass as that Colt is, it doesn't have legs to come and cover my butt all on its own. I'm sorry but you're gonna have to carry it. I know, damn inconvenient."
He slowly opened his door and got out. He carried the gun like it was a live snake, held out in front of him as he stomped around to the side of the truck where I stood, waiting for him. I showed him how to hold it and cock it and then I let the hammer back and looked up at him.
"Now, you're about to see some weird shit. I need you to remember two things: Keep your head, and the most important thing, I mean more important than remembering to breathe," Noah leaned in towards me. "Don't shoot me."
I hoisted the backpack sprayer onto my back and screwed the prod onto the end of the hose. It had taken me a while to communicate to Randy, the old boy who made it, that it had to be hollow and able to be attached to a hose.
"Whoa," Noah said. "That can't be safe."
"Funny, the guy who made it for me said the same thing," I said, starting towards the house. I kicked through the dusting of white feathers scattered across the ground like snow under the light of the full moon. The damn Rawhead would have strangled every chicken on the place to cut the noise. There was a pale light coming from one of the dirty windows at the front of the house. I climbed the porch steps slowly, so they wouldn’t creak, with Noah trailing behind me. I felt the barrel of the ten-gauge bump into my upper thigh.
"Noah,” I whispered. “I've already had my six-month physical, and no offense, but I think with your flaming-hands condition, you'd make a terrible proctologist."
"What?" Noah hissed.
"The gun. Get the barrel out of my ass."
"Sorry," he
mumbled, quickly stepping away. I touched the doorknob with a single finger. I felt my skin stick to the freezing metal as I pulled it away. This was definitely the right place.
I opened my mouth to tell Noah the plan but a soft off-key humming from inside the house made me stop.
A gray hand, with black festering wounds, brushed long fingertips across the dirty glass on the inside of the front window, leaving four dark red streaks in the grime. I glanced at Noah who looked like he'd just ruined his underwear.
His eyes were wide, staring at the bloody marks on the glass and his head was making fast, tiny shakes as if his neck was screaming, 'no, no, no' with every movement.
"Hey," I whispered to him. His eyes cut to me and then back to the window. I grabbed the front of his shirt and gave him a little shake. He paused in his convulsions.
"Stay with me, Noah," I whispered. "That is a Rawhead. They kill and eat little kids. We're gonna take it out. Ok?"
Noah started to do the little 'no' shakes again and I grabbed him by the lips to stop him. I had his lips pinched between my fingers and after a moment, the fear became discomfort and then annoyance and he looked up at me.
"The plan is simple. Very simple," I said, keeping my voice soft and trying to get him to focus. "All you have to do is cock that gun and stand right..." I looked at the door and the porch ceiling, I re-positioned him a few inches over. "Here." I looked him in the eyes. "I'll take care of the rest."
Noah stood still but his eyes darted from the gun in his hands to the door in front of him and back. I moved to the side of the front door about three feet from Noah so the Rawhead wouldn't see me first.
"Are you ready?" I asked. Noah let out a strangled squeak.
"Close enough," I said.
I pumped the backpack sprayer, building up pressure inside the hose, ready to spray through the prod and I found the button with my thumb.
I took a deep breath.
"Noah!" I barked.
His eyes shot to me.
"Cock that gun!"
His thumb obediently pulled the hammer back, his expression still one of terror. The loud click almost seemed to echo across the yard. There was a pause inside the house, and the silence was worse than the creepy humming.
The Rawhead burst through the closed front door, filling the air with rotten wood and the stench of blood. It reached for Noah and I mashed the button.
I felt like I had been lifted an inch or two off the ground as the electricity and water surged together in a destructive arc, catching the Rawhead right on the top of its skull. Its yellow eyes were fixed on Noah, it's arms reaching for him. Instead of getting out of the way, Noah just stood there, the gun wobbling in his arms, and his feet planted as if he was frozen in place.
"Back up Noah," I shouted. Noah didn't move. With my free hand I pulled my sawed-off from its holster and flung it at him. The butt made contact with Noah’s forehead and knocked him back down the stairs. There was a bang and I felt the stabbing pain of rock salt bite into my face and left arm as Noah accidentally pulled the trigger on the ten-gauge. Luckily, the barrel had been aimed low and the sway-backed porch had taken most of the blast.
The Rawhead was jerking on the end of the electrical current like a caught fish, shrieking in pain. I pumped the water pressure harder. It jerked around and faced me and then it smiled. It was screaming and its flesh was starting to melt and it was laughing at me between shrieks.
"Time is running out for them," It screeched. "I can hear their screams that you have failed."
I felt the blood retreating from my limbs and my thumb was white-knuckled on the prod's button. I pumped harder on the water and the Rawhead exploded. Gray skin and rotten flesh rained down on the porch and the yard where Noah lay. Thankfully, I’d remembered to look down. I could feel the putrid mess on the back of my neck, but I'd managed to keep from getting it in my eyes. I released the button and let off the water pressure. When I was sure the charge was dead, I dropped the sprayer on the porch and brushed a few bits of black entrails from my shoulder. I looked down at Noah who was still on the ground.
"That was fun, right?" I said.
"That...." Noah wheezed “Gun."
"Kicks like a mule, doesn't it? I didn't mean for you to actually pull the trigger. The sound of the hammer cocking was enough to draw the Rawhead out. They hate any loud noises, but guns make them violent."
Noah rolled onto his side and coughed something into his hand. He looked at it and swore, "God, it fell in my mouth."
"Aww man, you should have kept it closed. Rookie mistake. And I tell you, that is a taste you can't ever un-taste," I said. Noah heaved. "That's it, get it all up, all those nasty Rawhead guts that may or may not be full of parasites trying to burrow into your sprouting wisdom teeth right now." Noah heaved again.
Pretty good for your first time though."
The floorboards next to me creaked and I turned. Through the hole that used to be the door, I saw a small, scared, and dirty face looking up at me.
"Hi Jasper. Are you alright?" I asked. The little boy didn't move. "Where's Violet and your momma?"Jasper held a small hand out to me through the hole in the door. I reached out and took it. "Come on Noah, time to get our 'three cheers' and let the credits roll."
I stepped through and over what remained of the front door and followed Jasper across the small living room. We stepped around the body of his father which looked like it had been there for several days. We passed a shrine of crosses in the hallway nailed to the wall. Some of them had been torn down and there were smears of dark blood trailed across those that remained. We went into a small bedroom and Jasper dropped to his knees in the closet and moved a milk crate out of the way to reveal a hole in the floor. I knelt down and stuck my head in to see his sister and mother, dirty like him and skinny as rails, hiding in the crawl space.
"What is it?" I heard Noah ask behind me. I turned to look at him, noting he appeared considerably worse for wear. He crouched down next to me.
"This," I said motioning to Jasper. "Is Jasper Crawford. And in here," I said, offering a hand to the little girl who took it and then her mother's hand before crawling out into the light of the room. "Is Violet and Mrs. Crawford."
Except for Mr. Crawford, the rest of them seemed all right. They were scarred now. They'd lost their ignorance and innocence to what was out there, but they were alive, and that was something.
I called emergency dispatch from my cell phone and told them how to get to the house. We cleaned up as best we could to make it look like an ordinary maniac had taken the family hostage and then we cleared out, leaving all three Crawfords sitting on the front steps of the house, waiting for the ambulance.
"How did you know their names?" Noah asked as we got back to Lucy.
"Sister Smile told me that a boy named Jasper outside of Jessup, at the end of a hillside road marked by a wooden cross was speaking to the dark, praying that God would save his sister, Violet, and his Momma."
"That's pretty crazy that she knew," Noah said, pulling his door open.
"Not really," I said. "Sister Smile is a Seer, she spends most of her time listening to the dark; well, when she’s not gnawing on some poor bastard. She hears the words we all say that are not meant for human ears."
I threw the sprayer in the truck bed and Noah tossed the ten-gauge behind the seat.
