The men chuckled, then sobered.
“Out here, all this openness. Who gonna find ya?” Bob asked, wiping the sweat from his face.
“Who’d care?” the sheriff snorted.
“One less blackie to bother us,” the other added with a shrug.
“Killing me kills your profit. I bring a fair bit of coin to you, paying customers who like my show.” Honeysuckle knew her act provided good attendance. Curious people loved her “exotic” looks and the strangeness of her belly speaking abilities. They’d often try to touch her hair, her skin, and of course, Momma Wynn. Honeysuckle didn’t like equating her life’s worth with money—that happened all too often to her people—but that seemed all men like Bob understood.
Your grace is wasted on ‘em.
Bob paused and studied her as he stroked his double chins.
The others’ hard chuckles tapered off, and in the void, silence swelled.
Your good heart gonna get you chewed up.
“Ain’t you got somethin’ to say, Hercules?” The words thundered, spooking the men.
“Who said that?” Bob asked, looking around, pistol slicing through the air as he waved it.
“Don’t all you men folk got all the answers?” the same voice jeered.
“She said it!” The sheriff nodded at Honeysuckle.
“Nuh uh. Her lips didn’t move,” the deputy countered.
They looked around, at each other, and then back to Honeysuckle. No one else had arrived. She hadn’t moved. Instead, Honeysuckle held Hercules’ dark, angry gaze. The voice clearly wasn’t hers.
“Oh. You can’t, can you?” She smirked, but not on her own accord.
Hercules lunged at her, and she fired… wide. It was enough to force the sheriff and his deputy to return fire.
Confusion erupted around them as Momma Wynn’s anger rose. A crack of electricity made the deputy’s horse whinny and then collapse to the ground, rolling onto the man’s leg. Agonized howls joined the chorus of shouts and cursing.
Hercules dropped to the ground and tossed his arms over his head.
Bob shouted in fury and with fist raised, spun to face the sheriff. “Ya almost shot me!”
“Shut up! She’s gettin’ away!”
“Ma leg! Ma leg!” the deputy screamed.
Honeysuckle ran, scattering the prairie dogs and other creatures as she fled. She’d used her talent for mischief before, but this time it may have saved her life.
The tiny fire’s flames licked at the skinned rabbit with eagerness. Still daylight, Honeysuckle hunched down in an abandoned hogan, a home the Dine had used as a dwelling. Perhaps they’d had nothing left to fight for so they’d pushed on. Or were too weary of war. Honeysuckle had collected tumbleweeds and wood pieces scattered around the truncated trees to make a feeble fire. After that, she’d managed to catch a rabbit, snapping its neck to avoid alerting Bob to her location. Her hunting knife did the rest. The fire’s smoke only spoke to an occupant, not necessarily her. Still, an anxiousness settled around her. Each animal scuttling and twig snapping made her jump.
Full, with greasy fingers still tender from pinching the searing meat, Honeysuckle blew out a breath. She couldn’t stay here forever. Momma Wynn waited, as did the rest of her own belongings, back in her trailer. With her fear in full bloom, she didn’t dare chance a return without a plan. For now, the fizzing ceased inside, but everything felt just beyond her grasp.
She rubbed her arms, but that offered little ease from the raw anxiety crawling across her skin. Using the last stores of energy she had, she stood and peered out across the New Mexican landscape. The setting sun flushed the horizon with pinks and oranges. Such a glorious place for such ugly things to occur.
But she and chaos were old friends. Her life’s map bore many memories of conflict and close calls. Each time, Momma Wynn had been there, an ever-present pillar of maternal strength. This time Honeysuckle would have to be bold, and her boldness would need to stand alone.
But did she have to do it alone?
Don’t underestimate the things Imma do, Momma Wynn had told her this more than once. The dummy’s protection had saved Honeysuckle, too. Momma Wynn’s cold sensations left her feeling hollow like this hogan.
Why battle alone against the mob? Across the flat land, Honeysuckle glimpsed something in the falling light. Almost at once, she blended back into the hogan’s shadows cloaking herself in its darkness. The rustling grew louder as the minutes ticked by. She crawled over to the fire where her pack rested and fished out her hunting knife. Her rifle would announce her location to others, but she picked it up anyway. The blade would do, but having both made her feel prepared. She scurried back to her previous position by the door.
The wind stilled and thickened with each breath. A thatch of cacti shuddered moments before the wooden doll emerged. Momma Wynn. Some rogue debris stuck to her hair and clothing, but she reached the outer edge of the yard.
“Momma!” Honeysuckle dropped the weapons and raced out to retrieve her.
Once she scooped the doll up, the cold crawling inside her returned. Despite this, she was comforted.
“Be calm,” Momma Wynn whispered.
“How’d you get here? How’d you find me?” Honeysuckle searched the surroundings. No one. She pivoted back inside with her heart pounding.
Stunned, she sat down beside the fire. As she plucked the debris out of Momma Wynn’s hair, she peered at the doll’s short wooden legs.
“Momma?”
“Yeah?”
“How’d you find me?” Honeysuckle’s mouth had gone dry.
“I’ll find you no matta where ya go. We one.” Momma Wynn laughed as if the question was ridiculous.
It raised chills across Honeysuckle’s arms. “What that mean?”
Honeysuckle cradled Momma Wynn in her lap, both facing the fire. Momma Wynn’s head suddenly turned 180 degrees to face Honeysuckle.
“I men’ what I said. We gonna be together always.”
Momma Wynn’s painted-on mouth jeered at her.
“What if I find a man I like?”
“Then you find him dead.”
Honeysuckle froze. An impulse to throw Momma Wynn into the flames shot through her. It might sever the tethered link between them. Would she wither if their link did? She squeezed the dummy. She just didn’t know. One toss and drop, then it would be all over. A moment of hesitation made her hands shake.
With a sigh, she set Momma Wynn down beside her in the dirt. The twisted head didn’t sit right with her.
Momma Wynn righted herself and then stretched out—her hair becoming leaves, limbs lengthening to adult size. Momma Wynn became more, a full tree of life. Now, as big as Honeysuckle, Momma Wynn scooted away from the fire, as if she knew Honeysuckle’s previous dark thoughts. Honeysuckle couldn’t ever be sure. Their bond left them tethered both physically, but how else did Momma Wynn find her? Sometimes, Honeysuckle suspected the doll could read her mind, too. Momma Wynn had taken control of her body before, so why not her mind?
At this, a chill skated over Honeysuckle.
“You think you gonna be done with me.” It wasn’t a question, but a heated declaration. “You want your freedom.”
“I do.”
Not until that moment did it solidify for Honeysuckle that she did. She’d never liked being shackled. Once she got her freedom, she loathed to lose it. Although Momma Wynn had brought her success and a job, she’d also cost her. Honeysuckle’s life was too high a price to pay for Momma Wynn’s temper. If Momma Wynn killed any or all of the men in the mob, then things would only be worse. Momma Wynn’s unpredictable nature threatened any chance Honeysuckle would have for a safe and normal life.
“Not gonna happen.” Momma Wynn’s branches rustled in warning. “We gonna be together alway.”
“You don’t want me to be happy.”
“Thought you’d be happy breathin’,” Momma Wynn mocked.
Honeysuckle glowered and crossed her arms in a
huff. Across the fire pit, Momma Wynn chuckled at her pout.
“Only me gonna save ya.”
“I don’t need savin’.” Honeysuckle grunted at the hard resentment staining each of those words. The boast sparked an idea inside her, but instead of speaking it aloud, she tucked it away for later.
“Yeah, you do.” Momma Wynn rose and moved around the circle, closer to Honeysuckle.
“Savin’ is for sinners.” Honeysuckle stood up.
“You ain’t no saint.”
“You ain’t neither.”
Momma Wynn’s leaves rustled in the ensuing silence, but she didn’t jeer. No snapping comeback. Maybe she heard the resolve in Honeysuckle’s voice.
Good. Honeysuckle grinned. It felt good to stand on her own feet.
As the day bled to night, Honeysuckle wondered how long before Momma Wynn knocked her to her knees.
Or Bob hanged her by the neck.
The crisp New Mexican wind whipped, and Honeysuckle rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with one thought. Water. Clutching her knife, it took several fast blinks before she oriented herself. She took in the shadowy and strange surroundings with fear pumping through her. The blackened fire pit still sent a thin trail of smoke into the air. It stained the room with the scent of burnt hair and soot. Farther away, between the pit and the entrance, Momma Wynn lay face down in the dirt.
The wind wasn’t the only thing that snatched her awake. Crunching of boots on dirt and snapping twigs alerted her through sleep’s thin veil to something approaching. With her hunting knife, she stood up and crept to the sole window. On tiptoes, she peered out into the new day. Just before dawn, only a sliver of sunlight provided illumination. Figures stumbled around in the gloom. Their lanterns bobbed like fat junebugs lazily bouncing in the air. The curses sounded human enough.
Darn it! They found her!
She had minutes, maybe, to plan a way out. She rubbed the remainder of sleep from her eyes with the back of her blouse. As she stepped back, she tripped over Momma Wynn. She caught herself, and she stared down at the dummy. Honeysuckle braced for the familiar belly speaker to start.
No cold inkling erupted inside.
“Momma?” she whispered.
Nothing. Only the rawness of her own terror. A strangely new emotion that made her a bit ill.
“Honey!” Bob shouted and brought her back to the situation.
“Come on outta there.”
Honeysuckle gripped the knife’s hilt tight, thought about the number of pistols out there, and picked up her rifle. The round space made her a sitting duck. Trapped, it was too late to leave. Swearing, Honeysuckle pressed herself flat against the wall beside the entrance. With luck, she’d be able to use the element of surprise to take out a couple of them before she died. She’d go down fighting, not on her knees pleading for mercy.
The first man inside caught the rifle butt with his face. He howled and swung blindly. Thankful for her dark skin, she blended into the shadows. When her assailant stalked by her, unaware, she swung, and then ducked into the next patch of shadow. She repeated this several times, extending the element of surprise. The narrow entranceway forced them to enter one at a time.
“Git her!” the sheriff howled.
Honeysuckle rolled across the dirt and tripped the second guy. Easy enough, since he dragged one of his legs. He fell on top of the other man. The deputy’s youthful voice coughed out a groan. The men’s frustrated shouts as they struggled to untangle themselves amused her.
“That’s enough, Honey.” Bob’s tone made Honeysuckle’s pause.
She stood up and turned to face him. He held a pistol in one hand and a lantern in the other. An oily grin emerged from the dark stubble crawling across his double chins.
“Git on up now.” Bob pushed his girth farther into the space and directed her with the gun.
Hercules silently followed behind and squeezed into the narrow available space.
“This is a real shit hole, innit?” Bob barked out a laugh.
Bob and Hercules threatened on her left, the sheriff and the deputy to her right. She couldn’t see a way out, but then the cold burst blossomed up from her belly. Honeysuckle shuddered, not in fear nor from cold, but rather from Momma Wynn’s unfurrowing full fury.
“Beware.”
That simple word thundered.
“Who said that?” Bob searched around.
“My belly’s speakin’,” Honeysuckle explained. “You oughta listen.”
Hercules’ pinched and pained expression conveyed his anger. The dawn’s light illuminated the inside of the hogan and the men therein. They put their lanterns down in the dust.
“She doin’ it again,” the deputy stammered as he got to his feet. He held a hand to the left side of his head, where blood trickled between his fingers. He’d been sent in first.
“A trick. Nothin’ more,” Bob countered.
At this, the wind roared through the hogan so powerful it blew off the cowboys’ hats. Momma Wynn’s power unraveled in the confined area, stirring up dust in hungry gusts.
Momma’s coming.
As soon as she thought it, the air shifted.
Spooked, the sheriff shot toward the exit. “Git outta my way!”
Bob blocked the door, and the sheriff shoved at the mass. He failed to move the huge man. Bob didn’t budge. “You ain’t leavin’.”
Roughly the same height as Bob, the sheriff leaned in close and poked him with his own gun. “You gonna stop me? Didn’t think so.”
Without waiting for a reply, he wedged himself through a sliver of space and out the hogan.
The deputy bolted, too. “Ain’t worth this witchcraft shit.”
“Buncha yella-bellied bastards!” Bob shouted after them before putting his attention back on Honeysuckle. “Welp, the law ain’t here, so we ain’t gonna follow any rules now, Herc.”
The wind began again and coupled with the laughter, wild and evil. Honeysuckle’s insides froze. Wincing, she struggled to stay conscious. Bob and Hercules staggered as the world shook. They toppled over onto each other. Once one men hit the ground, the weeds scrambled up from the earth. They pinned the men against the dirt and choked them. Gagging sounds rose up against the day. Honeysuckle fought the frost from consuming her by trying to stay awake. If she blacked out, she’d fail. Momma Wynn threatened to take over, and she’d kill them. The vegetation coiled around their necks. Their faces paled before turning to shades of blue. The men’s gurgling faded as Momma Wynn sucked the life out of them.
Honeysuckle staggered over to the men. Momma Wynn’s roaring laugh echoed in malicious glee.
“Not again!” Honeysuckle couldn’t tolerate the callous disregard for life any longer.
“They mean to kill ya. Let them die!” The wind whirled in greater intensity, crushing the life out of them. Momma Wynn controlled everything, even her. Now. This was the time. If Bob and Hercules died, there would be more bounty on her head. Not only that, but their deaths would resolve nothing. She wanted to be in control of her life.
“Stop!” Honeysuckle’s heart thundered in her chest, and it burned, hot in outrage. “Enough!”
She screamed so loud, it pulled from the depths of her being. It shot through her like a geyser, flooding her with fire. Honeysuckle raced to the men and began tearing at the weeds. As she tore through the restraints, not only those from the ground, but also inside herself, she beat back the icy feeling. It retreated with each snap. The yuccas cut and scratched her skin, tearing at her flesh with eager defiance. She grinned at the pain, and the cold recoiled further back into her belly.
What you doin? Momma Wynn shrieked. Panic stretched the words thin.
“I’m gettin’ back my voice!” Honeysuckle grunted.
“Let me up!” Bob yelled. He thrashed about, his pudgy parts flailed against his bonds and strained against them. They didn’t yield.
Honeysuckle crawled over to her hunting knife where it’d been discarded in the whirlwind. She hurried ba
ck to Bob and Hercules and sliced through the vegetation. Covered in dirt and slashes, Bob lumbered to his booted feet. Beside him, Hercules scurried back from her, got to his feet, and fled.
“Honey?” Bob croaked, rubbing his neck beneath his fleshy chins. He then patted his holster for his pistol, but it lay several feet away. His eyes darted to Honeysuckle as realization dawned across his face. He licked his lips.
“Shut. It.” She stood up and poked him in the flabby folds of his chest. “Imma go and you ain’t gonna follow me. Ever. Got it?”
Bob opened his mouth but closed it quick. Instead, he nodded before walking out the hogan, grumbling under his breath.
After he left, Honeysuckle picked up her rifle, sheathed her knife, and shouldered her satchel. A numbness took up residence inside her. Momma Wynn’s familiar cold comfort had gone. With a glance down at the broken and battered doll, Honeysuckle took in a deep, steadying breath. Now, she’d do the next shows of her life alone. It felt both strange and exciting. An internal quiet made her uneasy, but in time, she’d adjust.
At last she’d found her voice.
Her belly would speak for her no longer.
16
Walk the Dinosaur
John G. Hartness
A Bubba the Monster Hunter Short Story
I stepped off the airplane and wobbled a little, but I didn’t fall down. I also didn’t drop to my knees and kiss the tarmac, although I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind. I stood there for a minute, blinking against the bright sun pounding through my sunglasses, and waited for my stomach to settle.
“Rough flight?” asked the man sitting on the tailgate of a rust-and-blue GMC pickup truck, maybe a ’70 or so model.
“What makes you say that?” I asked. I was pretty proud of myself for not puking, but I did want to know if I was particularly green.
“I’ve seen a lot of people fly into here, and I never seen Randell puke before.” He pointed off behind me, and I turned. The pilot was bent over by the front of the plane, revisiting the pizza he’d put down in Atlanta just before we took off.
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