From the recesses of his memory, Albert recalled the story of Odysseus’s escape from the cave of Polyphemus. The blind Cyclops had let his sheep out to graze, feeling their backs one by one to ensure that his prisoners were not escaping. However, Odysseus and his men had cleverly attached themselves to the undersides of the giant sheep, using them to slip away to freedom, undetected. It should have been an inspiring image. But Albert was no Odysseus. And Clinch was not blind.
Albert crawled on his stomach through the packed flock, resisting the urge to retch when he felt his hands press into the soft, wet piles of sheep shit and the puddles of foul ovine urine. He slowly made his way, inch by inch, toward Curtis. How much farther did he have to go now? Thirty feet? Twenty? He would have to risk a peek. He held his breath and peered over the top of a sheep back. Curtis was now only about fifteen feet away. Depending on where the outlaws were, he might be able to sprint for it. He turned and looked in the other direction …
… and almost had a stroke. Lewis was standing within spitting distance, facing away from Albert. Albert dropped to the ground and lay motionless on his back. He dared not make a sound. After a few moments, he tried to focus through the mini-forest of sheep legs to see if Lewis was still there, but it was difficult to make anything out. He looked up, but all he could see was the underside of the nearest sheep. Its pink sheep dick stared at him with its single cyclopsian eye—making him think again of Polyphemus—and pissed in his face.
Albert remained frozen, fear now mingled with horror. Once the sheep was finished evacuating its bladder, Albert wiped off his drenched face with his sleeve, trying desperately not to throw up. After he had more or less collected himself, he decided to risk another glance. He slowly peered over the sheep’s back once again. Lewis was gone. He had moved to the other side of the flock. In fact, all the members of the gang were on the opposite side. They appeared to be preparing to search the barn. He would never have a better chance.
His heart in his throat, Albert took a deep breath … and bolted to his feet. He charged through the remaining sheep, scattering them on either side, as he made directly for Curtis. Luck was on his side. He had almost finished untying Curtis’s reins when one of the outlaws spotted him.
“Clinch!”
Clinch and the other members of the gang whirled in Albert’s direction. They immediately drew their guns and started for him, but Albert swung into the saddle and spurred Curtis into a gallop. The outlaws raced to their mounts and broke into pursuit.
Albert leaned in hard as he pushed the horse faster than he ever had in his life. “I never make you go fast, buddy,” he pleaded. “Give it to me today!”
Comprehending, Curtis took his speed up a half notch. Albert could hear the pounding of outlaw hooves behind him as Clinch and his men gained ground. When the surrounding vegetation diminished and the chase reached the open prairie, Albert knew he was in for the long haul. There was nowhere to hide out here. Nothing to do but keep running until escape or death won the day.
And then the gunfire started. The shots were deafening, and out of the corner of his eye Albert could see little geysers of dust erupting from the sand as the bullets struck the ground, several of them just inches away from Curtis’s hooves. “Curtis, you outrun these guys, and I’m gonna take you to a horse whorehouse. You’ll get so much horse pussy. Just please, go faster.”
The gang was still gaining. One of the bullets punctured a hole in the canteen attached to Curtis’s saddle. Water sprayed out behind Albert as he kicked hard at Curtis’s sides. Albert had never ridden so fast and so hard, yet he knew it was not enough. And then something caught his eye off to the left. He turned and saw a puff of black smoke on the horizon.
It was his only hope. He veered hard left just as a bullet whizzed by his right ear. He exhorted Curtis again and again, knowing it was useless—the horse’s legs were already pumping at top speed. Finally, Albert crested a small rise and saw the train tracks below. The freight train was traveling on a perpendicular course to his own. He would get only one shot at this, but if it worked …
He headed straight for it. A few more bullets whistled by him, and then one grazed him on the ankle. He realized it was almost the exact same spot that Charlie Blanche had shot him not so long ago.
The train raced onward, and he raced toward the train. At the final instant, Curtis uncorked a last reserve of speed, evidently bottled for just such an occasion. Horse and rider dashed at the tracks a mere half second before the train barreled past.
For the moment, Albert was safe.
Clinch and his gang were forced to wait for the train to pass completely before they could resume their pursuit. The outlaw horses idled aggressively back and forth, fueled by the fury of their masters. At last, when the caboose whizzed by and shrank into the distance … Albert was gone.
Clinch stared darkly at the receding train as Ben galloped up beside him. “What the hell do we do now, Clinch?”
“Now,” Clinch said, “we find my wife.”
By the time dusk fell, Albert had managed to find a suitable spot to make camp. Not that he had any supplies—the well-stocked bag he’d prepared was still sitting on the floor back in his abandoned cabin. A small amount of water had remained inside the punctured canteen, but Albert had drained it hours ago. He would have to find water soon, or he’d be in real trouble. He might be a little hungry, but he could at least rest for the night and figure out his next move in the morning. And there was even a bit of green vegetation in the area, so Curtis wouldn’t have to go to sleep on an empty stomach. God knew the horse deserved a good meal after the way he’d come through for both of them.
Albert hadn’t realized he’d had it in him, but when he’d seen an open boxcar coming along the track, he’d known it was the difference between life and death. He’d gone at a hard gallop straight toward the side of the speeding train. Curtis had leapt into the open boxcar, and he and Albert had been carried off to safety. Albert had never loved the animal more than he did right now.
“Curtis, you saved both our lives today. As soon as we’re out of this, I’m gonna find you some horse whores, just like I promised.”
Curtis snorted his enthusiasm for the concept.
Albert ruffled the horse’s mane affectionately. “Now,” he said, turning his attention to matters of immediate concern, “how the fuck do you make a fire?”
THWACK!!
He was unconscious before he realized he was not alone.
Edward sat on the bed in his room above the shoe-repair shop, dressed only in his drawers. Ruth stood before him with a giddy smile on her face. She wore nothing but a simple chemise. It was a big night for both of them, and the special moment was now at hand.
“Okay, here we go.” Edward grinned, his bare feet tapping the floor with nervous energy.
“Are you excited?” said Ruth.
“I am. I’m really pumped.”
“Me too.”
“This is gonna be my first vagina,” he admitted with a blush.
“You’ve never seen one?”
“No. I feel like I should have a piece of cake or something. Y’know, to celebrate.”
“Yeah, I’m actually a little nervous myself.”
Edward giggled. “You’re nervous? Wow, and you’re a prostitute!”
“I know, right?” she said, joining in the laughter. “Okay. Ready?”
“Yup!”
Ruth pulled up her hem, exposing her womanhood.
Edward’s bright, eager smile became flaccid, then finally disappeared. He stared in silence for a long while.
“What?” she finally asked with a furrowed brow.
“Um …”
“What’s wrong?”
He pointed. “It’s … that right there, right?”
“Yeah.” She indicated. “It’s from here to here.”
“Huh.” He put his chin in his hand ponderously and leaned back a bit with the air of a math professor piecing together a difficult equat
ion. “It’s … I … wow, I don’t … I don’t get it.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I—it’s just—weird. It’s a weird thing. It’s like … someone wrapped a firecracker in roast beef.”
“Well, yeah, but there’s a lot more to it.” She opened it up, showing him the rest.
His eyes snapped open in shock. “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, my Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Were you injured? Are you in pain right now?”
“No, Eddie, it’s supposed to be like this.”
“It is?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yeah. Well, I mean, maybe not exactly like this, but listen—it’ll feel good. For both of us.”
Edward calmed a bit. “Gosh, I’m sorta glad I didn’t have that piece of cake.”
She smiled comfortingly. “Eddie … just trust me.”
Ruth extinguished the light, discarded the chemise, and climbed into bed with him. She eased his head gently back down onto the pillow and climbed on top of him, guiding his twitching penis inside her.
“Oh, boy,” he said with alarm. “Okay, easy, now, I’m—okay. Oh. Okay. Okay, I see. Yeah, now I get it. ’Cause of the warm and the soft and—yeah. Yes, okay, yeah, God would want this.”
The first moment of carnal pleasure Edward Phelps had ever experienced was almost immediately cut short when his amateur pounding was interrupted by an even harder pounding on the door.
Ruth sighed loudly with annoyance and climbed off him. She hastily threw on her chemise and padded across the room. When she opened the door, she found the last person she’d expected to see.
“Anna?”
“Ruth, can I come in?” Anna said, in a clear state of distress.
“Um, yes. Yes, of course.”
Anna hurried into the room as Ruth shut the door behind her.
Edward sat up, scrambling to cover his nakedness with the sheets. “Don’t come over here! I don’t want you to see my penis.”
Edward’s penis appeared to be the last thing on Anna’s mind. She had ridden straight out to the ridge from Albert’s cabin, then realized she could not go any farther. Since she had been old enough to understand what her life really was, she had been running away from herself. She had denied the woman she wanted to be for too long, and it was time for that denial to end, at any cost—even death.
She knew her redemption lay with Albert. Unfortunately they’d been separated, and she did not know where he’d gone. She didn’t even know if he’d escaped. So she’d backtracked to the cabin, which she found deserted. For lack of an immediate plan, she sought out Edward and Ruth back in town, but when she’d arrived at the saloon at dusk, the word was that Clinch and his men were out to hunt her down. And now here she was.
Anna ran to the window and looked out. From the upper level that housed Edward’s apartment, she had a clear view of most of the thoroughfare. Almost immediately, she spotted them. Five figures, moving up the street, methodically entering each building. As they moved a little closer, she could make out their faces. It was Clinch, all right. As she watched them, trying to get a sense of their search pattern so she could strategize her escape route, he looked directly up at the window. Anna quickly closed the curtains. “Shit!” Had he seen her? She thought he’d made eye contact, but she couldn’t be sure. “Ruth, I need a place to hide!” she said breathlessly. There wasn’t much furniture in the room and no closet to speak of. Under the bed? Behind the dresser? Neither were promising choices. As they frantically looked for an option, they heard the sound.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Ruth ran to the side window and looked out. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “The side stairs. He’s coming up the side stairs!” The glass was warped and caked with dust, but there was no mistaking the shadowy figure making his ascent toward the apartment.
Anna ran to the window that faced the thoroughfare and pushed it open. She climbed out onto the roof, made her way carefully down the wooden planking, and jumped.
When she landed, she was face-to-face with Clinch.
At that same moment, the shadowy figure reached the top of the stairs and kicked open the apartment door. Ruth and Edward found themselves staring down the barrel of Lewis’s pistol, his rat like face scowling at them with accusation.
Edward extended his hands in an appeal for mercy. “Please don’t shoot us on sex night!”
Lewis grunted angrily but left them in one piece.
“I’m not suggesting we run with this,” said Edward when he and Ruth were alone, “but when he pointed that gun at us, my erection came back.”
Albert blinked groggily as he regained consciousness. The world was dark and blurry. Everything was swimming in marsh water. He tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes but found that he was unable to do so. In addition, there was an intense pain in the back of his head. He was lying on his back on some sort of hard, narrow surface. It was terribly uncomfortable. When he looked up, he could make out a series of undefined shapes surrounding him from above. Faces?
He tried to get up, but his hands were bound tightly behind him. And then he realized he wasn’t lying on his back at all. He was standing … tied to a post of some sort. He blinked hard a few more times, and the world coalesced into clarity. The shapes he had seen were indeed faces. Thirty of them, to be exact. Old faces, young faces, puffy faces, gaunt faces—and all wore expressions of hostility.
Apaches.
Albert looked down at his feet, knowing all too well what he would find there. Kindling. They’re going to burn me. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Literally. Albert had escaped Clinch and his gang by a hairsbreadth, only to wind up cooked like a turkey by a tribe of renegade Apaches. For about the millionth time in his life, Albert had the thought that had become as familiar as a pair of old shoes: God, I fucking hate the West.
Three of the Apache warriors approached him, holding lit torches. Astonishingly, one of them looked familiar. He’d seen drawings of this man, and one time even a photograph. It was the infamous Apache chief Cochise, who had earned a reputation as a force to be reckoned with for his resistance to the expansion of white civilization throughout the territory. Jesus, I’m the last guy you should be killing, thought Albert. I hate white civilization as much as you do.
Cochise raised his torch and spoke in the Apache language, “White man, because your people are such huge assholes, I am going to light you on fire.”
The three Apaches moved toward the pyre and prepared to light the kindling.
Albert spoke suddenly. “Stop!”
The warriors moved back, startled. Not because of the word he’d said but rather because he’d said it in perfect Apache.
Cochise ordered his men to stand down for the moment. They complied but kept their torches at the ready. He then addressed Albert, once again in his native tongue. “How is it that you, an asshole, have the power to speak our language?”
Albert answered with perfect diction. “I am a nerd asshole. Since the other white assholes do not like me, even though I am one of their own, I have always kept to myself. Therefore, I have read many books, know many languages, and am good at math.”
Another Apache spoke up from the group. “Quick, what is 27 times 89?”
“2,403,” said Albert.
Several of the warriors murmured among themselves, aware that the white man had answered correctly.
“Why are you out here?” asked Cochise.
“Please untie me, and I will tell you.”
Cochise turned to the two torch-bearing warriors. “Well, he speaks our language, which means there’s no reason not to trust him.”
Albert breathed a sigh of relief as they lowered their torches and cut him loose.
Some time later, Albert found himself sitting around a campfire with Cochise and about nine or ten of the other Apache warriors. It was a scenario he never would have imagined in a billion years. Nonetheless, they were anxious to hear his story and to know how and why he had wound up all the way out here by himself.
He told them everything.
“… And after I escaped on the train, I rode like the wind,” he concluded, “and the next thing I remember is waking up in your camp. And now I have no idea what to do.”
Cochise regarded Albert for what seemed like a very long time, then turned and whispered something to the leathery-skinned Apache elder seated at his right. The elder slowly nodded. Cochise turned back to Albert. “I will show you the way,” he said.
He gave a wordless hand signal to one of the younger warriors. The man rose from the circle and stepped away into the darkness. He returned a few moments later with a cactus bowl containing some sort of viscous liquid. The warrior handed the bowl to Cochise, who took a sip and then passed it over to Albert.
“What is it?” Albert asked uneasily.
Cochise gave him a meaningful stare. “Your path.”
Albert didn’t recognize the fluid in the bowl, but he had a pretty good sense of what it was, having just been through this with Anna and her goddamn cookie. “I’ll freak out, I know it,” he said, giving Cochise a look of severe apprehension.
“You won’t freak out, I swear.”
“You don’t know me. I’m serious, I’m very sensitive to drugs.”
“Nerd.”
The other tribesmen joined in the taunting. “Nerd! Dork! Tool!”
Albert reluctantly submitted to the peer pressure. “Okay, fine!” He downed the rest of the liquid.
Almost instantly, the Apaches’ taunting expressions shifted to shock and alarm. “He drank the whole bowl!”
Albert froze in panic. “What?”
Seth MacFarlane's a Million Ways to Die in the West Page 13
