by Bobby Norman
Their positions had changed. Harvey and Superman were up front while Raeleen and Hub brought up the rear. “I asked you yesterdee,” Hub said, quietly, “what th’deal was with Henry ‘n you didn answer me. He didn seem nutty when he’s little.”
“He drownded. When he’s eight. Fell off ‘at rickety little bridge over Wesley Crick, face first, ‘n knocked ‘is head on a rock. That’s how he got th’scar on ‘is eyebrow. By th’time I fished ‘im out, he wasn’t breathin’, color o’ catfish belly ‘n deader’n a turd. Scared th’livin shit out o’ me. I flipped ‘im on ‘is belly ‘n pounded on ‘is back ‘til he come ‘round. I don’t appreciate yer sayin’ he’s nutty. He’s a lot smarter’n he looks.”
“He’d hafta be.”
“You need t’stop sayin’ things like ‘at.”
“He think’s he’s Superman.”
She looked up ahead at a fully-grown, balding, overweight, thirty-three-year-old in a homemade Superman costume, his arms helt out like a buzzard lookin’ for somethin’ to eat. “After he drownded, he quit talkin’. Once in a great while he’d say somethin’, but very seldom ‘n most o’ th’time, even ‘at little, it wudn make no sense. They’s just words. Played with bugs. Pick ’em up ‘n lick ’em on th’back, ‘n if he liked th’way they tasted, he’d eat ‘em. Beetles mostly. They’s spicy. One day he seen Superman in th’funnies, took a shine to ‘im, ‘n started runnin’ ‘round th’house like ya see ‘im adoin’ here. Jumpin’ off things ‘n tryin’ t’run through closed doors. Th’day he seen ‘im in th’funny papers was th’day Henry Ivanzo Lusaw died ‘n Superman ‘n Clark Kent come t’life.”
As if all they had t’do was mention his name, Superman soared by, arms outstretched, scuffin’ up clouds o’ dust, goin’ ssshhhew ssshhhew ssshhhew.
“It wudn do ya no harm t’quit tryin’ t’trip ‘im up. Just t’let ‘im go on thinkin’ it.”
“I’m glad ya brought that up. I have been thinkin’….”
“I didn bring up nothin’, ‘n anything you gotta say, I ain’t int’rested in hearing, so just keep it t’yerself.”
“Don’t go cuttin’ me off like ‘at! Just hear me out. I had time now t’think ‘bout things, ‘n I cain’t help but see what a good job ya done raisin’ Harvey ‘n Henry…Clark.” Then he remembered the cape was out. “Superman. And despite you havin’ me shackled up, I still got a soft spot fer you ‘n them. I’m thinkin’ we get out o’ here ‘n start a whole new life, all of us, t’gether.”
She turned to him, batting her eyes, smiley-faced, “D’ya honestly mean it?”
“I bare m’soul to ya, showin’ my truest colors, ’n ya mock me.”
“Yer true color’s th’same as yer heart. Black. You know how many times I come up t’th’prison, lookin’ like a God Damn moon-eyed fool ‘n you never showed? Not once?”
“I’s too ashamed.”
“Ashamed…my…ass! You worthless, no ‘count thing. You ain’t never, in yer whole miserable life, felt shame. The only thing I ever meant t’you was a handy hole t’shove yer pecker in. Shame. Don’t make me laugh!” She stopped raggin’ on him just long enough for Superman to glide past. “The way you threw me ‘n them off, like we’s no more’n a holey sock, that hurt. Them little boys ast about you fer th’longest time. If you’da come down one time ‘n snorted on their little faces ‘n give ’em a stick o’ gum—one time, Hub—it woulda made all th’dif’er’nce in th’world. He’d never admit it, but you’re the reason Harvey chews Black Jack.”
“Hell,” Hub jumped back, “you lied to ’em. You told ’em I’s killed in a knife fight.”
“No, I lied that t’you jus t’stick it to ya.”
“Well, I didn throw ya’off. I’s locked up! What was I s’posed t’do?”
“I didn’t have it so easy,” she mocked. “I had t’sit on my fat, lazy ass in prison f’thirty years. I didn have a God Damned thing, ‘n I still had t’raise Harvey ‘n Clark” —Superman ssshhhew ssshhhew-ed by again— “Superman. Many’s th’time I had t’whore m’self out t’put food in their bellies, and th’whole time you had fifty thousand dollars squirreled away!”
“Tell me. What would you adone if I’da told ya ‘bout it?”
“‘At’s a stupid question.”
“Is it? Wouldja bought food with it? With a hunerd-dollar bill? You? With a serial number th’law was lookin’ for? You might as well turned it in.”
“You still coulda told me ‘bout it. Gimme a reason t’carry on.”
“And you woulda left it alone? I couldn take ‘at chance. You’re accusin’ me of all kinds o’ things when what it boils down to is you not havin’ any faith in me. And what’s more, if Superman ain’t mine, then you whored yerself out ‘fore I went t’prison.”
“If I cuda told ’em you’s dead, I wuda, but I knew someday, you son of a bitch, they’d see you again ‘n then they’d know I’d lied to ’em. But I did lead ‘em t’blieve that maybe you wasn’t their worthless father t’try t’soften th’fact you didn care for ’em. Unforchnately,” she clenched up her fist, stuck out the knobby knuckle and clobbered his arm, “you sorry sack o’ shit, they are yours. Both of ‘em. Before you went t’Angola, yer pecker’s only one ever got in me. But, I’d druther they thought I got fucked b’Adolf Hitler than t’have ’em think I’s fool ‘nough t’be true t’you, somebody ‘at didn give a shit ‘bout me!”
“You gonna tell me ‘at fat thing with a dishtowel wrapped ‘round ‘is neck’s mine?”
“He’s th’spittin’ image o’ yer fat-fuck grandfather Cornelius! Th’fatness jumped a generation’s all.”
“But ya did after,” he said, defensively. It was a mistake.
She knuckled him again. “I awready toldju, t’keep from starvin’!”
“I oughta get a share,” Hub said pettishly and rubbed his arm. It hurt way too much to pretend it didn’t. “And I wish you’d quit hittin’ me.”
“A share in yer direction ain’t gonna happen. I’ll letcha have what was left from th’five hunerd I got from Ball. ‘At’s it.”
“Ain’t good enough. I ain’t th’least sore ‘boutchu sidin’ with Ball. You did whatcha thoughtcha had to, ‘n I understand that, but I’m gettin’ at least tweny fi’ p’cent!”
“No! You ain’t ‘n ‘at’s bullshit ‘bout you not havin’ a mad on me asidin’ with him! Yer mad as Hell over it ‘n we both know it.”
“No, I ain’t! Old age’s softened me.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it has.”
“Well, I’ll tell ya again then, ya got me all wrong.”
Then he noticed she wasn’t listenin’ to him, but concentrating on somethin’ up ahead. Superman. Weavin’ like a drunkard on a tilt-a-wheel. Maybe th’dishtowel’s knotted too tight ‘round ‘is neck, Hub thought.
“HARVEY!” Raeleen barked. Then she took off like a pissed-off she-bear, pullin’ off her backpack in the process. Harvey turned to see her pointin’ to Superman. “Catch ‘im! Catch ‘im!”
Superman had turned into a B-movie robot, stiff-armed and stiff-legged, fists bunched up, and the muscles in his neck stuck out like rope. His face was turning a hideous, blotchy purple.
Harvey dropped his pack on the ground, laid the Sharps on it, and jumped to Superman just in time to keep him from fallin’ face-first to the ground. He eased him onto his back. Superman was stiff as a board, jaw clamped shut, arms at his side, his whole body vibrating. By that time, Raeleen had skidded to a stop and dropped her pack beside him. She plopped down in the dirt and put his head in her lap.
Hub came up and saw that Superman’s eyes’d rolled up, showin’ white, snarlin’ and frothin’, flailin’ around like a puppet gone nuts. He’d bloodied his knuckles from his fists slammin’ in the dirt and pissed his pants.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“He’s havin’ a fit!” Raeleen said without lookin’ up.
Harvey flipped the top of his backpack open and rummaged around for somethin’ inside. He found a purple
-stained popsicle stick they kept for just that purpose. Raeleen helt Superman’s head while Harvey tried to wedge his jaw open.
Bein’ that Raeleen and Harvey were sidetracked, Hub looked hungrily at the Sharps layin’ beside Harvey’s pack, not ten feet away. He looked back and forth ‘tween the Sharps, Raeleen, Harvey, and the guns they had in holsters wrapped around their waists and determined he wouldn’t have time to get to it before bein’ seen.
No, he’d pass for now. They had a long way to go. Another opportunity would show itself. Besides, if he tried now and failed, that would be it. They’d never drop their guard again.
“What can I do?” he asked, his tone drippin’ with sincerity.
“It ain’t nothin’ new,” Raeleen said, “we got it. Just stay back.” Then to Harvey, “Get it in there!”
“I’m tryin’,” he snapped. He didn’t appreciate Raeleen snappin’ at him. He was fightin’ to get the stick in Superman’s mouth without gettin’ bit. It had happened before, and he was more than a little gun shy. Finally, he wrenched Superman’s jaw open and wedged the stick in. Superman chomped down hard, growlin’ like a rabid dog.
That much accomplished, Raeleen laid Superman’s head on the ground and rolled over on top of him. “I got ‘im, get th’jar.”
Harvey picked up Raeleen’s backpack, unbuckled the flaps, turned it up on end, and dumped the contents in the dirt. Then he fumbled through it until he found a small, half-pint Mason jar with awl-made air holes punched in the lid. He took a second to shake it up then squinted through the glass. “Shit, I dunno if it’s still alive,” he said and shook it again.
“Well, is it’r ain’t it!” Raeleen growled.
“Quit yellin’ at me! I ain’t sure. We shuda got a fresh one. I don’t think about it all th’time.”
“Here!” she demanded, wagglin’ her fingers to Harvey. “Hold ‘im.”
Harvey handed the jar to her and took over holdin’ Superman down while she shook it up.
“What is ‘at?” Hub asked.
“Come on, you son of a bitch. Move!” Raeleen demanded, tapping the glass with her fingernail.
Finally, it moved and she unscrewed and removed the lid. Harvey gripped Superman’s head and twisted it to the left, baring his neck. Raeleen pulled his collar down and smacked the jar’s mouth on it.
“What th’Hell’re you doin’?” Hub asked.
Raeleen and Harvey watched the little yellow spider scuttle to Superman’s neck and bite him. “There she goes,” she said.
Superman never felt it. Raeleen pulled the jar away, slipped the lid over the top, shook it up, and slapped it on his neck again. “One more. Come on, one more….” The spider bit again. “There ya go.”
She pulled the jar off, screwed the lid on, and stuck it in her pack.
“He,” Harvey said.
Raeleen looked at him, confused. “He what?”
“The spider. It’s a boy one. You said ’there she goes.’ It’s a boy spider. Girl spiders’re a lot bigger.”
Raeleen started laughing. There they were…in the middle o’ nowhere…sittin’ in the dirt, tryin’ their best to keep somebody dressed up like Superman alive by gettin’ a spider mad enough to bite him in the neck. While white-haired Hub stood off to the side, shackled, holdin’ a leather bag with fifty thousand dollars in it. And Harvey was givin’ her lessons on the differences between girl spiders and boy spiders.
“Lift ‘is head,” Raeleen said. She reached for Harvey’s backpack and noticed that in his hurry, he’d left the Sharps within Hub’s reach. She looked up at Hub and Hub just looked at her as if he’d never thought of goin’ for it. Placing it out o’ reach, she pushed the pack’s contents around to make an indentation and placed it under Superman’s head. He was already startin’ to wind down.
“Well, ‘at’s ‘at,” she said, groaning to her feet and brushing off the dirt. “We ain’t goin’ no futher t’day.” She fished the manacle keys from her pocket, gave ’em to Harvey, and nodded to a small tree. “Fix ‘im up over yonder, then come back here ‘n help me with Superman.”
“I’cn help ya,” Hub said.
“You got but two jobs,” Raeleen said. “Luggin’ th’money ‘n keepin’ yer mouth shut.”
Harvey unlocked the manacles and removed the bag, and Hub rubbed his wrist. “Take yer pack off.”
Hub took it off, and Harvey led him to a small tree and chained him up.
CHAPTER 36
Three-thirty a.m. Hub was off by hisself, layin’ on his back, his manacled legs wrapped ‘round another tree, sawin’ logs. Raeleen and Harvey were side by side. Superman was ten or twelve feet to Raeleen’s left and opposite the fire from Hub. The full-blown seizure, combined with the effects of the venom, had knocked him out. Raeleen had tucked him up good and tight with a blanket over his shoulders and under his chin. He hadn’t moved a whisker since Raeleen and Harvey carted him into camp. His breathing was slow and deep. Ever once in a while, he’d kinda moan or whimper.
The night was fairly pleasant. Night birds, crickets, and bullfrogs chirped and sang. The campfire had burned down, leaving orangy-yellow ghosts to bob up and down, peekin’ out o’ the embers. Over the last few minutes, a soft wafting breeze had come up, sniffing and feathering in soft, pillowy waves through the camp. At first, it was barely enough to disturb the snakey tendrils of smoke from the campfire, but as it grew in intensity, it also grew warmer.
Hub opened his eyes. He didn’t move, though. Somethin’ was wrong. A dry, staticky somethin had rolled over the camp like a gauzy shroud. The somethin’ wrong was in the breeze. It had come with it. Like it was hiding within. Like a gator under the water. Hub watched the tree limbs around him slowly lean over and back. Then he looked to the stars. But they were gone. It wasn’t clouds, though. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky all day, and hadn’t been when they turned in.
Now, the breeze began to sound like voices, whispering. He was sure of it, but he couldn’t make out what they were sayin’ or exactly where they were comin’ from. The words grobbled in his ears like pebbles rollin’ in a creek bottom. Shivers ran up and down his spine. He wondered briefly if he might not be fully awake. God knew he had experience in dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened ’em again. Still no stars.
The breeze whispered again, nearer this time. There was a whispery, breezy response from the camp’s other side. Then he heard another, from another direction.
Suddenly, he shuddered and sucked in a lungful of the warm air. Something, feather-soft, had touched his left cheek. Either that, or it had passed close enough to stir the air right at him. It was that soft. He was paralyzed with fear. Not just ‘cause o’ that, though. There was a…presence. He tried to listen for a clue that would give him an idea of what it was, but his heart was pounding so hard, it was all he could hear. His nutsack was wrinkled up tight. Then he come conscious o’ the fact that he could hear nothing. His breathing, yes. His heart, still, yes. But that was it! It was if everthing but the visual had died.
The breeze picked up, stronger and warmer. He watched tree limbs movin’ but he couldn’t hear ‘em! He looked at the fire—although small, it was still burning, but it offered absolutely no light outside of itself. If he stood up, he wouldn’t cast a shadow. If he put his hand to it, it wouldn’t burn him.
Then...
to his side! Something moved! Black on black, but so quick he couldn’t tell what it was. The next second, it was next to him, on his left, to the side of his face, low to the ground, like it was crouched. Then, instantaneously, it was over his face, hovering, weaving back and forth, back and forth, like the head of a cobra. Just as suddenly, it was back by his left cheek, weaving, serpentine, lookin’ at the corner of his eye. Close. Very, very close.
An image popped in Hub’s mind. Floating like that snakehead by his ear. Hairless with huge, goggly eyes that took up most of its face. It didn’t have a nose to speak of, just two narrow slits. Small, pointed ears and teeth like needles. It
was either a dark or grayish-green, the size of a small dog with a bulbous head. It was lookin’ at him, grinning hideously, daring him to move, hopin’ he would, and if he did, it’d pounce. He might not be able to see it, but it was real, a thing…with purpose and intent. Evil, dark intent. As sure as Hub knew his own name, he knew its sole purpose was pain and hurt.
The only other times in his life he’d been this frightened was in his nightmares with the witch. This thing had to be either her, or of her, but Lootie’s only other form had always been Ret. Although…if she could be Ret, why not this thing.
He was brought back when he felt its breath puffin’ on his cheek. But then he realized that whatever it was, breathin’ wasn’t somethin’ it did. It didn’t require breath. No, it was just somethin’ to remind him it was there. He could feel the heat. It was that close.
Then…it was moving again, around his body, jerking quickly but with the ease of thought, glaring at him, full of hate, pain, and evil hunger. Hateful, hungry, and warm. And it never stopped lookin’ at him. Grinning. Grinning. Grinning. Staring. Glaring. It wasn’t concerned that Hub knew it was there. In fact, just the opposite. It wanted him to know. It wanted to frighten him. It had succeeded. It knew that, too. It knew exactly what he was feeling, gorging on his terror.
The warm breeze grew to a hot wind, now roaring like a hurricane, and as it rolled hurly-burly through the camp, it swirled around Hub’s body, wrappin’ around him like a spider cocooning a June bug. He wanted to scream, but he was either too scared or somehow paralyzed. The thing, whatever it was, both did and didn’t want him to move. His not moving meant it could drag the moment out, make it last, ‘cause when Hub did move, it’d attack, and the game would be over. He also knew the attack would be short and it’d hurt.
A lot.
He felt the warmth of its face moving along the contours of his body, then returning quickly to the side of his face, always back to the left, to see his reaction. A cat playin’ with a mouse.
Then it stopped. He and it detected some other thing at the same time. Something was coming. Something even more hideous than this thing. IT was bringin’ it! It had….
