Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  “Stop that,” Telly said, waving her off.

  She opened the door and went inside.

  Telly was quiet for a long time, leaning on his cane and staring at the door as if expecting them to return. David didn’t know what to do, so he stood in place, fidgeting.

  “That didn’t go quite as well as I’d hoped,” Telly said, finally.

  “They’re mad at me,” David replied, gazing back in the direction of town. Unwanted, unwelcome, yet he couldn’t go home. He felt like he was standing in a room with no doors.

  “They’re not mad at you, kid,” Telly said. “They’re mad at me. It doesn’t matter. They can whine all they want, I ain’t changing my mind.”

  “They hate me.”

  Telly sighed. “They don’t hate you. They hate the idea of you. It’s not the same thing.”

  David grunted and turned away. In the distance, the truck roared to life and belched black smoke from half a dozen pipes. Telly seemed indecisive. He tapped his walking stick on the ground a few times, then shrugged and beckoned David.

  “Alright, kid, you ride up front with Gooty,” he said. “Just for now. I’ll work on the others. Trust me, they’ll come around.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  Telly patted David on the shoulder, though he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach him. “As soon as we get a routine worked up for you, you’re performing, and they can suck it up.”

  “Okay”.

  Telly pointed in the direction of the truck. “Head on up there. Gooty’s got a nice comfy seat for you. Just be careful climbing up.”

  David nodded, picked up his sack and headed back down the line of trailers. It was a long, lonely walk, and he wondered if he shouldn’t just veer off to the side and head into the forest somewhere. The truck gave a great bellow that shook the trailers and kicked up dust. David glanced over his shoulder in time to see Telly disappear around the corner. They didn’t want him, that was clear, and he had no home to return to. If he headed off into the forest, he could disappear, and nobody would ever know what had become of him. He figured he could survive reasonably well on his own, foraging for wild blackberries or muscadine, sneaking into town at night to steal tools and supplies from Vern.

  But for the thought of wild animals and wandering sick people, he might have done it.

  “They don’t have to like you,” he muttered to himself. “You don’t have to like them. Just keep quiet and do whatever Telly says, and at least you’ll get far away from here.”

  It seemed the best course of action. He gazed up at the truck, that chrome behemoth gushing black smoke and shuddering like a creature waking from a nightmare. The cab of the truck sat high above the massive tires, nestled between the smokestacks. Through the dusty rear window, he saw the vague shape of Gooty behind the steering wheel. Gooty probably hated him, too. What had he said? I don’t know how well you’re gonna fit in around here. A polite way of saying, You don’t belong.

  No, David would not ride in the truck with Gooty in unfriendly and inescapable silence. He stopped in his tracks, backed up a few steps and opened the door to the first trailer. He saw the small table and stools, his cot in the corner. He ducked inside with a last glance in all directions to make sure nobody noticed and pulled the door shut behind him. Comforting darkness filled the trailer. He knew he could feel his way to the lamp and maybe figure out how to light it, but he didn’t want to. In the dark, nobody could see him, and he didn’t even have to see himself. He felt his way across the room to the table, found a stool and sat down, dumping his sack of clothes on the floor.

  After a few minutes, the whole trailer shook, the truck gave a low growl, and they began to move. David reached out and rested his hands on the tabletop, feeling vibrations rise up through the coarse wood. It seemed right, somehow, everything shaking, as if it were all on the verge of falling apart.

  And then a strange metallic squawk burst out of the darkness, and a red eye flashed high up in the corner above Gooty’s bed. A hiss of radio static followed the squawk, and then a familiar voice, heavily distorted, spoke.

  “Hold up, Goot,” Telly said, the red eye flashing with each word. “Hold up. We got chasers.”

  Another squawk and hiss, then Gooty spoke.

  “You got it, boss.”

  David heard the squeal of brakes, and the trailer came to a grinding stop.

  “Stay in the cab,” Telly said. “In case we’ve got to make a run for it.”

  Chasers? David felt a sick sense of dread. He rose from the table and rushed to the door, fumbling for the handle. He wanted to see, and he didn’t. Who else, after all, had any reason to chase after them? Only one that David knew of. He held his breath, turned the handle and eased the door open. Sunlight poured into the trailer, and he heard, above the rumble of the truck engine, shrill voices and a familiar high whine.

  There were a handful of working vehicles in Mountainburg but only one that got regular use. As David peered through the open door, he saw it, a rusty little ruin built on the frame of an old Jeep. It shook like a pile of trash in an earthquake as it thumped its way across the open field. The owner was an ugly mess of a man named Cash, a local handyman, Vern’s cousin and a terrible drunk. His cheeks and the tip of his nose glowed a perpetual crimson, and old pockmark acne scars made his face a lunar landscape. He was behind the wheel. Vern, scarcely fitting into the narrow seat, sat beside him. They were both screaming as they approached, their voices drowning each other out, so that they sounded like a duet of madmen.

  The car was headed straight the trailers, a hundred yards away but moving fast. The shell of the vehicle, made of welded bits of scrap metal, wood boards and chunks of plastic, shook and creaked in protest. Vern rose in his seat, bracing himself against the frame, and pointed a fat finger right at David. For all his ill health, Vern had good eyesight.

  “You ain’t takin’ him!” That shrill voice pierced through the cacophony. “Davey don’t need no job!”

  Cakey and Karl stepped into view. Cakey, still in full make-up, and broad-chested Karl made a strange pair, two lunatics stepping out to meet two madmen. Cakey had a long pole in one hand, and on the end of that pole was a nest of sharpened nails, gleaming in the sunlight. As he moved to cut off the vehicle’s approach, he took the pole in both hands and raised it high up over his head. Karl watched, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Vern’s pointing finger shifted from David to Cakey. They were within fifty yards of the trailer now and showed no sign of slowing down, as if they intended to drive right through, smash the whole thing to bits and snatch David out of the wreckage in passing. Cakey strode toward the Jeep.

  “Don’t you do it,” Vern shouted, as the Jeep bore down on him. “We’ll run you flat over!”

  “Roadkill clown,” Cash howled, hunched over the steering wheel.

  Cakey waited until the Jeep was almost upon him, kicking up plumes of dirt and grass as the tires dug into the ground. At the last moment, he hopped back out of the way, a graceful and theatrical hop from the ball of his left foot to the ball of his right. The vehicle swerved to try to reconnect, but it just missed, bathing him in a wave of dust. As it passed, however, Cakey did a pirouette, dainty and absurd, one foot lifted high, his head tilted back, and as he spun, he brought the pole down. The nest of nails swung around in a blur of sparkling metal and caught the front left corner of the vehicle. They tore through the headlight, shattering the cover in a spray of clear plastic, then ripped through thin aluminum and brittle wood with a satisfying crunch and snap. Finally, they pierced the tire, which burst with the force of a small bomb, and then the long wooden pole snapped, the jagged end flying off into the distance.

  The car spun as Cash, eyes wide, fought with the steering wheel, trying in vain to maintain control. The shredded wheel caused the left front end to dig into the soft earth, and the back of the Jeep whipped around. Vern grabbed wildly at the frame as his door swung open and his whole huge self threatened to fly out of
the car.

  And then the Jeep tipped onto its side. Up and over it went, throwing off bits of metal and wood and plastic like some kind of lumbering earthbound firework. It came to a final groaning stop upside down. Vern and Cash both slid from their seats and landed in the ruins of the roof, arms and legs askew.

  Cakey cast aside the broken pole, and he and Karl strode up to the car. Vern and Cash were struggling to free themselves from their makeshift cage, moaning and cursing and pushing at the heap of wreckage all around them. Cakey stooped down beside Vern, snagged his forefinger, the one he was so fond of pointing at people, and gave it a good twist. Vern yelped.

  “I don’t like the look of you, rube,” Cakey said. “What’s the big idea of trying to chase us down?”

  “You can’t come into our town and take people away,” Vern wailed, his voice thick with pain. “Davey belongs at home, workin’ for me, and that’s where he’ll go.”

  “I don’t think you understand what kind of people we are,” Cakey said in his harsh growl of a voice. “We’ve dealt with worse than you.”

  “Don’t you touch me,” Vern cried.

  Cakey gave his finger another good twist and rose. Karl, meanwhile, had stooped down beside Cash, regarding him silently as Cash groaned and writhed and tried to claw his way free. Karl’s bland expression gave way to a slow, and very satisfied, smile. He reached through the shattered window of the Jeep and grabbed a fistful of Cash’s greasy hair.

  “Sweetheart,” he said. “I only do this so you’ll know I care.”

  He gave a quick yank and ripped the hair out. Cash shrieked.

  “Kill you,” he shouted. “Kill you!”

  Karl rose, scattering the hair on the ground at his feet. Then he and Cakey traded a grim, pleased look and started back toward their trailer. David was still frozen in the door, gripping the handle in one trembling hand. The overturned car shifted, part of the frame collapsing, and the headrest of Vern’s seat pinned him to the ground. David didn’t want to see anymore. He backed into the trailer and started to close the door, but Cakey, walking away, rounded on him suddenly.

  “You,” he said. “Kid. You’re supposed to be riding up front with Gooty. That’s what Telly said, or did he misquote himself?”

  “Yes, sir, I am,” David said.

  “Then get up there,” Cakey said with a wave of his hand. “Dumb rube.” He glared at David and stalked away.

  David waited until they were out of sight, then pushed the door open. Vern and Cash were cursing and pulling at each other, trying to get enough leverage to force their way through crushed and crooked windows. Vern spied David and waved him over.

  “Davey,” he said. “Get over here and help me out.”

  David stepped down from the trailer and stood in the dirt, staring at their fat red faces and feeling a very familiar queasy fear. Two bloated monsters, with bleary eyes and brown teeth. Cash had bright droplets of blood on his scalp, Vern a small cut over one eye.

  “The boy ain’t strong enough to pull us out,” Cash said. “Davey, go into town and get help.”

  “Tell your Mama we got attacked,” Vern said. “Hurry up.”

  David stared a moment longer, waiting to feel anything approaching compassion for these two, but the fear and sickness drowned out everything.

  “No,” he said, at last. “I won’t do it.”

  He turned and headed for the truck, the shouts and curses of Vern and Cash chasing him all the way.

  “You rotten little brat,” Vern shouted. “I’ll wring your neck! I’ll tear your eyes out and skin you alive!”

  “You get back here, Davey, if you know what’s good for you,” Cash added. “You get back here!”

  And finally, David could take the sound of them no longer. He clapped his hands over his ears and ran.

  Chapter Four

  Debris on the Highway

  Up close, the truck looked like a big crooked mountain of greasy chrome, and the tires in their massive wheel wells were half his height. David found the climb up to the cab somewhat daunting, hopping from a narrow running board to a tiny step and reaching way up high to grab a handle. He was halfway up when the engine revved, and the whole truck shook. His feet slipped and swung free, and he found himself dangling from the handle. He almost lost his grip but managed to kick both feet up onto the step and used the momentum to propel himself to the door.

  When he pulled the door open, oily gray smoke poured out. He turned his head, coughed, then slipped inside. Considering the size of the truck, the interior of the cab was surprisingly small, two seats with generous cushions taking up most of the space. Gooty sat behind the steering wheel, a cigar clamped between his teeth. He revved the engine, tapped one of the gauges with a finger and reached for the gear shift. Only then did he notice David.

  “Oh, hey, man, where’d you come from?” he said.

  David closed the door, but the smell of cigar smoke was overpowering. Fighting the urge to cough, he rolled down the window and leaned out for fresh air.

  “Telly sent me up here,” he said.

  Gooty gave him an appraising look, then grunted and turned away.

  “Is it okay?” David asked. “I’ll go back to the trailer, if you don’t want me here.”

  “It’s fine, man, fine,” Gooty said. “Do me a favor. Take a peek back there and see what’s up with the crashed rubes.”

  That was one thing David did not want to do. In fact, he never wanted to see Vern ever again, if he could help it. But it was easier to get it over with than to argue the point. He leaned out the window and looked back down the line of trailers. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the engine was making a loud hissing sound. Cash had worked himself most of the way out of the driver’s side window, but Vern remained trapped under his seat, kicking in vain at the crumpled door and cursing. David quickly ducked back inside before he was spotted.

  “Just sitting there,” he said.

  “Car’s not on fire? Nobody’s burning to death?”

  “Smoking a little bit is all. No, nobody’s burning.”

  Gooty nodded, grabbed the gear shift and set the truck rolling. In the side mirror, David watched the big wheels churning through the sparse grass of the field, leaving ruts as deep as creek beds. Vern and Cash faded into the distance, two pinkish lumps in dirty clothes, writhing and cursing. David rolled up the window and slumped back in his seat.

  The road out of town wound its way past the field, up a low rise and eventually joined with an old highway that ran like a crooked gray river alongside a high rock wall. The road was poorly maintained, pitted and cracked, weeds eating through the asphalt in many places. Sections had been hastily patched, but the repair work only made it worse. Nevertheless, the massive truck rolled over every obstacle, shrugging off potholes and decimating small bits of debris.

  David had a moment, as a wall of trees slipped past them on the left and Mountainburg disappeared from sight, where a kind of vertigo set in, as if the whole world had broken loose and was falling away. He saw Mama, her big fleshy face and her ragged old housedress, and he felt something akin to sadness. Not exactly the grief of leaving behind a loved one, but the inner crumbling of an old life, all of its respective memories and experiences toppling into darkness, out of reach. He gripped the edge of his seat and shut his eyes, but the vertigo only intensified.

  “You okay, muchacho?” Gooty asked. “You look like you’re gonna throw up. Stick your head out the window if you gotta do that, okay? I don’t want that smell in here.”

  David opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not gonna puke,” he said. “Pass out, maybe, but not puke.”

  Gooty stubbed out his cigar in an ashtray below the gear shift. David recognized the brand, the same kind of short, fat cigars his mother smoked, sold by a local tobacconist out of the back of a covered wagon. Awful things that smelled like burnt hair and dirt.

  Gooty flicked his eyes at David, then back at the road. “What’s the problem?”
/>
  “I don’t know,” David said. “Everything, I guess.”

  “You want me to pull over and let you out? You can walk back to town.”

  “Oh, gosh, no,” David said. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

  Gooty drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and fell silent, and David was glad for it. He didn’t feel like talking. He stared out the window at the changing landscape, steep forested hills falling away into a shaded valley. David did not know this place. He had come to Mountainburg with his Mama as a young child, and most of his early memories had been scoured away by the years-long nightmare of Vern.

  “Is he gonna come after us?”

  David had grown used to the silence, so Gooty’s voice cutting through the low and ceaseless rumble of the engine startled him. It took a moment to process what Gooty had asked. He stumbled for an answer.

  “Your old man,” Gooty said. “Your padre.”

  “He’s not my padre,” David replied. “He’s nobody’s padre.”

  “Is he gonna come after us?” Gooty said. “He seemed pretty set on taking on you back.”

  David sighed. “I’m sure he’s super mad about losing the help—that’s all I am to him, really, cheap labor to help him with his dumb little projects—but when he gets over that, I don’t think he’ll miss me. He wouldn’t waste the effort chasing me down, and even if he wanted to, even if Cash could get his car running again, he wouldn’t waste the fuel. Leaving town to come after me means missing out on possible jobs, and money’s all he really cares about.”

  “If that’s true, why didn’t you run away before?”

  “I don’t know,” David said, resting his cheek against the cold window beside him. “I don’t want to talk about Vern anymore. I don’t want to talk about him or Mountainburg or anything else I just left behind.”