Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  The moist and nasty sound of bone crunching and flesh splitting open made a strange harmony with the musical breaking of the bowl, and Hess crumpled. David fell against him, slid off, thumped into Cakey and landed on the carpet.

  “That’s for you, rube,” he said.

  Cakey picked himself up and stumbled back, the bandage on his shoulder seeping blood. He grabbed Hess by the nape his neck, lifted him and thrust him out of the window into the waiting crowd.

  “There’s your refund, you rubes,” he cried, shaking a fist at them.

  David turned to the door. Telly was picking up whatever was near at hand and flinging it at the rubes. Shoes, a makeup brush, a small pillow, jars. One of the rubes had his shillelagh and swung it at him but missed. Others reached for him. Gooty stood nearby, clutching a fresh bottle and taking occasional swings at the crowd, though he rarely came close to hitting anyone.

  David examined the bowl in his hands. It had shattered right down the middle, leaving a jagged edge. Good enough. He ran for the door. His skin felt like it was burning.

  “Telly, Gooty, move,” he shouted.

  Telly glanced over his shoulder, saw him coming, and tumbled out of the way, and Gooty stepped aside. David grabbed the bowl in both hands, thrust it out in front of him and charged the crowd. Half a dozen bodies were crushed together in the open doorway. They saw him coming and grasping arms drew back, lurid grins faltered and some turned to flee. The one with the shillelagh lifted it, then seemed to reconsider and stepped back. David charged right into their midst and drove the jagged edge of the bowl into the mass of diseased faces.

  Howls of pain, spatters of blood, the cracking of teeth and bone. The shillelagh fell to the ground. The bowl broke into bits, and rubes fell back from the door, one of them clutching his face.

  “Kill the rubes,” David screamed. He threw the pieces of the bowl into the crowd, then stooped and picked up the shillelagh. “Kill every damned dirty rube!”

  He unleashed his full fury on the few still standing in the open doorway, bringing the shillelagh down again and again, aiming for eyes, noses, smashing someone’s fingers against the doorjamb so savagely that they bent backward.

  “You want more show, here’s your more show,” he cried, in a high cackle that he did not recognize as his own voice. “Here’s your more show, rubes! Take it! Take more show!”

  Something in his demeanor broke through the crowd’s fog of infection and madness. Fear took the rubes, and they fled from the door, clutching bruised faces and bleeding noses. The crowd parted right down the middle. But David kept on swinging, hitting the door, the frame, the floor, hitting nothing at all.

  “That one’s insane,” one of the rubes said. “Don’t go near him.”

  “Dirty rubes,” David howled. “Come get more show! More show! Come get it!”

  He took a last great swing, hit the door, and snapped the shillelagh in two.

  The rubes did not seem to notice that the weapon was broken. Many of them were already running away, some cowering, others crawling around on the ground and moaning. Karl reappeared, bloody lip and black eye—rubes had been winding chains around his body to bind him, and the chains fell to his feet as he stumbled into the trailer. David moved out of his way, but his whole body felt electric. He spun wildly, swinging his hands, looking for someone to hit. Cakey and Annabelle gaped at him from their place beside the broken window.

  “They’re leaving, kid,” Telly said, picking up the broken pieces of his shillelagh. “Hey, kid, the rubes are leaving.”

  Gooty finally stepped over to him and grabbed his wrists.

  “Hey, man, it’s over,” he said. “They’re leaving.”

  David gave a last great cry that turned into a sob. He fought back tears. He didn’t want to cry. He wanted to bash scabby faces and break limbs. Gooty tried to draw him into an embrace, but David slipped out of his grasp and stumbled across the room, collapsing onto his seat beside the sink.

  Telly peeked around the corner of the open door, then kicked the door shut.

  “And there they go,” he said.

  “Ah, those disgusting rubes,” Annabelle said, examining her bleeding hand. “I better not catch anything from this bite. I’ll burn down their whole stupid town, just you see if I don’t.”

  “That’s the spirit, lady,” Cakey said with a smile, plopping down on his chair.

  Through the shattered window, they could hear the retreating howls and cries of pain from the rubes. Cakey brushed some of the shattered glass off the table, so he could rest his arm there.

  “We gotta get out of here before they decide to come back,” Telly said.

  “What are we gonna do about the tent?” Karl asked, picking up a damp washcloth from the makeup table. Despite the fact that the washcloth was covered in greasepaint, he pressed it to his swelling eye.

  “As soon as the rubes leave, we’ll take it down,” Telly replied. “All quick-like.”

  “There’s rubes lying all over the ground out there,” Karl said, easing down onto the couch.

  “As long as they keep on lying there, what’s it matter?” Telly pointed at Gooty. “You get to the truck. Get it running. We’ll pull that tent down in record time and hit the road before they know we’re gone.”

  Gooty nodded.

  Outside, they heard a single high-pitched wail followed by a sound that might have been cheers. Annabelle crept over to the shattered window and pulled back the shade. As she peeked outside, Gooty stooped down and began retrieving the fallen bottles, setting them back into the cooler and righting it. David curled up on his chair, trembling violently. The red fog had lifted from his thoughts, and he felt only a deep and terrible emptiness. Gooty was right. The crazy had finally come out. That thought kept running over and over in his brain. The crazy had finally come out.

  Telly looked sadly at the broken pieces of his shillelagh, sighed and tossed them into the corner. This, more than anything, made David want to cry again. He fought it, but a single tear trickled out. He quickly wiped it away.

  A shadow fell over him. He glanced up. Cakey was standing there, grinning. David returned the look as long as he dared, then dropped his gaze to the floor.

  “You surprised me, kid,” Cakey said. “You’re a real scrapper.”

  He laid a hand on top of David’s head and mussed his hair.

  “If I had it in me, I might even say I’m a little bit proud of you,” Cakey said.

  David grunted. He felt like laughing. Laughing and crying and vomiting, all at once. He shut his eyes.

  “Welcome to the circus, Disturby,” Cakey said.

  Annabelle gave a little gasp.

  “What now?” Telly asked.

  “The tent,” she said. “They’re setting it on fire!”

  Chapter Nine

  Everything Must Burn

  “We gotta save the tent,” Telly said.

  “Let it burn,” Gooty said. “We can get another one! You crazy clowns really want to run out there and fight both the rubes and the flames? Stupid idea. Really stupid.”

  Karl, frowning, rose from the chair and tossed the washcloth onto the table. His eye had swollen shut. He was a mess of scrapes, scratches and bruises, but he bared his teeth and cracked his knuckles.

  “Rubes want a fire?” he said. “We’ll give ‘em a fire. Like Annabelle said, we’ll burn down their whole plague-ridden town.”

  “No,” Telly replied, setting his hat on his head. “No burning towns. We try to salvage the tent, and we get out of here. That’s it. Okay?”

  He looked at Karl, his jaw set, daring a challenge. Karl shrugged. Telly turned his gaze to Cakey.

  “What’re you lookin’ at me for, boss?” Cakey said. “Annabelle and Karl are the ones wanting to burn everybody.”

  Telly looked at Annabelle, but she was busy cleaning her hand.

  “It’s all gonna burn eventually anyway,” Cakey added. “Everything is.”

  Telly ignored the comment and walked
to the door, grabbing the handle.

  “Who’s coming with me?” he asked.

  “I’m coming,” Karl said, dabbing the blood off a long scratch on his arm. “I owe those rubes some payback.”

  “Can you see out of that ruined eye?” Telly asked.

  “I’ve still got one good eye,” Karl replied. “That’s all I need.”

  Cakey pushed himself out of his chair. “You know I gotta come with you,” he said. “Gimme a second. I need to compensate for the useless arm.” He turned and stepped around the table, heading to the hallway and the bedrooms beyond.

  “Leave the gun in the trunk,” Telly called.

  “Ain’t going for the gun,” Cakey said, slipping into one of the bedrooms.

  Telly opened a drawer on the makeup table and pulled out a small black billy club. He looked at it, clearly unhappy at having to resort to something so much less than his shillelagh, then slid it through a loop on his belt.

  “Annabelle?” he asked. “Coming?”

  She had returned to the table, rooting through the small wooden box that held first aid supplies. She produced a small white bottle of alcohol and a wad of cotton. She shook her head without even looking up and showed Telly her bleeding hand. Two teeth had broken the skin, making a small but ugly gash just above the base of her thumb. She dabbed alcohol onto the wound.

  “Well, everyone else is going,” Telly said. “We’re not leaving you in here by yourself. Come on.”

  Annabelle glared at him. “Fine,” she said, pressing a bandage to her hand.

  “David?” Telly said, pointing at him.

  David didn’t want to go. He wasn’t sure he could make himself get up out of the chair in any case. In the wake of his strange violent episode, his limbs felt rubbery. Cold sweat trickled down his face. But he shrugged. It was the most he could manage.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Telly said. “We’ll all stick together. Let’s go.”

  David passed a hand across his forehead, wiping away a sheen of sweat, then he grasped the rim of the sink to lift himself up. As he struggled, Cakey returned, wielding an aluminum baseball bat. He thumped it against the table in passing.

  “I’m ready,” he said. “Rube skulls will break tonight, friends.”

  Telly turned to the door. “Okay, here’s the plan. We make sure the way is clear for Gooty, so he can get the truck started. If it’s not, we clear it. Then we scare the rubes away from the tent and salvage what we can.”

  “Scare them away?” Karl snarled. “I’m gonna pound them like nails into the earth.”

  “Nope,” Telly replied. “We’re just trying to scare them away, so we can get our stuff. When they run, don’t chase ‘em. Let ‘em go. Got it?”

  Karl grunted. Telly opened the door and stepped outside. Karl came next, then a very reluctant Gooty, dragging his feet. Cakey came next, and finally Annabelle, who cast a questioning glance back at David.

  “You’re coming, right?” she said. “We might need you.”

  David nodded, released his death grip on the sink and made his way across the room. He followed the others outside, closing the door behind him. A crescent moon hung low in the sky like a toothy smile. David saw bodies scattered in the grass and heard weak moans. Some were crawling away, some clutching faces, bellies or limbs. Telly led them down the porch steps and away from the bodies. When David hit the bottom step, he slipped in a pool of blood and clutched at the railing to keep from going down. Everything inside of him screamed at him to go back inside, latch the door and hide.

  The back corner of the tent, the very place where David had stood hours earlier and watched the show, was on fire. Long tongues of orange flame licked up the canvas. Roughly a dozen rubes stood around it, clapping and shaking their fists. A few of the injured were crawling toward the tent, as if the fire might heal them.

  Telly pointed toward the truck.

  “A few lying on the ground between here and there,” Telly said over his shoulder. “Gooty, think you can make it?”

  Gooty shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to.”

  “Anyone gets in your way, call for us,” Telly said. “Disconnect the cables from the generator, then get in the cab and lock the door. Get it started. If we get overwhelmed, drive toward us. Mow down whatever stands in your way.”

  “Got it, jefe,” Gooty said.

  “Okay, go.”

  Gooty took a deep breath. The orange light of the fire flickered in his eyes. He turned, clasped his hands for a moment, as if in prayer, then took off running down the line of trailers. The first body he came to, lying on its side beneath the broken window, he hopped over and kept right on going.

  “Okay, to the tent,” Telly said to the others. “Do what you have to do to run ‘em off.”

  “We can always get another tent, like Gooty said,” Annabelle said, fiddling absently with the bandage on her hand.

  “Yes,” Telly said. “But we’re gonna try to save this one.”

  “We don’t let rubes take nothin’ without a fight,” Karl said.

  Telly pulled out the billy club, slapped it gently against the palm of his hand and started toward the tent. Karl and Cakey came next, walking tall, Cakey dragging the end of his bat on the ground. Annabelle held back, casting furtive glances at the bodies on all sides. David came last, wringing his hands so hard they ached.

  “Place of blood,” one of the rubes near the tent shouted. “Place of terror. Burn it! Burn it all! Everything must burn!” A thick, phlegmy voice. Others cried out in response to this. One of them lifted a torch and shook it. The fire had reached the top of the tent and was spreading quickly now, smoke and embers rising into the night.

  Telly tightened his grip on the club and raised it. Cakey lifted the bat and slung it over his shoulder.

  “This is a bad idea,” David heard Annabelle mutter.

  One of the crawling rubes rose on his elbows, looked at them through a mask of blood and shrieked.

  “There,” he said. “There! There! Clowns!”

  This drew the attention of those standing at the tent. They turned as one, and David was shocked to see Hess standing in the midst of them. His face was a ruin, a jagged wound running from his left jaw line, slicing through his lips, up to his right cheekbone. He had a torch in his hand, and he pointed it at them. His mouth was moving, but the words came out as unintelligible hooting and grunting, spitting blood and teeth. Still, the other rubes seemed to understand him and formed a line in front of him, clenching fists, brandishing sticks or rocks. Scabby heads and sooty faces, ragged clothes, dirty hands, a nimbus of fire around them, they looked less than human. David froze in his tracks. He could go no farther.

  The first rock flew in a low arc. Cakey took a step to one side and nailed it with the bat. It broke into pieces with a high, metallic clank. And then the rubes charged. Telly met the first of them, ducking a fist, cracking a kneecap with his club and tumbling away. Karl met another, taking a kick to his shin as he grabbed the rube’s whole face in his fist and drove him back. As he did, another rube came up beside him, swinging a long, crooked stick. Annabelle reached out to grab his wrist, but the force of the blow knocked her hand away, and the stick caught Karl just below the ribs. He grunted in pain and stumbled to one side, losing his grip on the rube’s face.

  Cakey, meanwhile, gave a playful spin of the bat and met the half dozen who came for him.

  “Evening, gentle-rubes,” he said. “Welcome to the end of all things.”

  Another rock sailed toward him. He dodged it, spun and brought the bat around. The rubes tried to deflect the blow with their forearms. Bones broke and bodies fell. Three went down, crying out in pain and gripping their arms. The other three came from the side, fists swinging. Cakey took two solid blows, one to the cheek and one to the chest. He brought a knee up into the groin of one rube, brought the bat down on the head of another, and dodged the gnashing teeth of the third.

  Karl was not faring so well. His limited vision no doubt hinde
red his ability to keep track of multiple assailants. One of them kept swinging away with his crooked stick, while the other ducked and weaved and punched at him. Finally, Karl landed a solid punch on the unarmed rube, busting his lips and knocking him to the ground. And then the stick caught him on the side of the head, and he dropped to his knees.

  Annabelle, meanwhile, hunted around on the ground and came up with a rock. She bounced it in her hand a couple of times and threw it with all her might at the rube with the stick, hitting him in the throat. He gagged and sputtered, dropping the stick and clutching his throat.

  David, through all of this, remained in a half-crouch, shaking violently. Suddenly, he felt something clamp down on his ankle. Glancing down, he saw a long, grimy arm reaching up from the sparse grass. The same crawling rube who had given warning, a long-faced old man with blood pouring from a gash on his forehead, had taken hold of him. He opened his mouth, revealing broken teeth.

  “Leave me alone,” David shouted, trying to pull free.

  The rube had him like a vice, and he pulled David’s foot toward his gaping mouth. David lost his balance and started to fall. Instead of fighting it, he let his weight carry him down, turning toward the rube and bending at the knees, so that he landed on top of him. His right knee slammed into the side of the rube’s face and drove it into the dirt. David didn’t weight much, so he didn’t do much damage. But it was enough to force the rube to let go of him, and when he did, David leapt up and tumbled away.

  When he turned back toward the tent, he saw that the flames had engulfed the whole back half. Where the canvas had burned away, he saw that the benches inside were also on fire. Cakey was still swinging away with the baseball bat, holding his two remaining assailants at bay. The three with broken arms had fled. One other was curled up on the ground, clutching his face. Karl was dealing with one remaining attacker. He punched wildly, but most of his blows hit air. Annabelle cast about for another rock but only came up with dirt clods and pebbles.