“Ms. Cassie and her daughter were kind enough to take us into their home. She also happens to be a nurse.” The brush of Momma’s fingertips against my cheek along with the massage of the cloth in Ms. Cassie’s possession, lulls me back towards la-la land.
“Well, I thank for what you did, ma’am. For bringing us here and patching me up like this.”
She shakes her head. “No need for thanks, son. It’s the least we could do after what you done for us.”
“So, how do I look?” It hurts to smile.
“Like shit.”
“Bethany! You watch your language, young lady.” Momma scolds her with a stiff index finger. Bethany waits till Momma’s back is turned and winks at me. “It’s just a few scratches; the pain is mostly from the bump you took.”
“You got lucky, son, real lucky. That barrel gone a couple more inches left and you wouldn’t have a head to hurt, that much I do know. Lord was looking out for you, yes sir.” Ms. Cassie drops the rag back into the bowl of water, leaving it this time. “As things stand, we just picked a little bit of metal out of you, no big deal, it should heal up right nice. We just gotta keep an eye on that bump you’re sportin’ on your noggin.”
“I’ve got a pretty thick head, I wouldn’t worry too much. Where’s Lee?”
“He’s been taking this pretty tough. He blames himself.”
“That’s ridiculous, tell him to get in here.”
“He’s downstairs, dear. You can see him later. You can talk to him then. For now, you need to get some rest.”
She’s right.
And I do.
Doesn’t take long.
The warm cloth on my head.
Momma’s fingers in my hair,
once more,
I sleep.
***
When my eyes open again, the candle is nothing more than a disfigured thimble of wax. The flame, in its death rattles, shrinks and swells, and shrinks and swells. The room is empty save for the saxophonist pinned to the wall and the pile of boxes in the closet. The water and the rag seem to have disappeared along with everyone else.
Sitting up is no small feat. My head is still throbbing, though it’s a far cry better than before; the brass band has retired its cymbals and fired the drummer. The room around me quakes as I attempt to stand, my stomach lurches, a cold sweat seeps through my pores. I sit at the edge of the bed, trying to pull myself together, readying for another go.
The linens are stained red with my blood. I’d have to buy her new ones. Or perhaps we’d save their lives again and make it up in trade.
I find success on my second attempt. The room is still expanding around me and lurching back and forth, threatening to toss me over and down, but I’m managing.
Almost to the door.
I grip the frame and catch my breath. There is muted conversation just over the second floor balcony. The orange glow and the crackle of a burning fireplace rise from below, taunting the black chandelier hanging quietly before me. I push out into the walkway, dragging my weight along the banister to the top of the narrow staircase, preparing to make my descent.
Lee is leaning back on a black leather sofa blowing steam from the top of a blue and white teacup. Cassie is beside him laughing, dropping her hand to her knee at something he’s said. Her daughter is kicked sideways in an oversized easy chair with a book open in her lap. There is a flat screen television over the fireplace and large black book cases to either side; books, pictures, figurines, and a record player fill out the shelves.
My foot comes down on the top step and a shriek echoes from beneath the floorboards and explodes against the high ceilings.
“Son, whatchu doin outta bed? You done lost yo’ mind?”
Lee beats her to the top of the stairs, which is fine by me. She’s seems nice enough, but she’s a taskmaster, no doubt, and would most likely bob my ears and have me back under the covers before I could take another step. “Come on, Two-Step, just hang on to me, we’ll get you down. Slowly but surely, that does it.” By the time he gets me to the couch, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Lee sits beside me, looking me over with the hesitant anticipation of a father watching his child take their first steps. “How’re you feeling, kid?”
“Like I got shot.”
“Listen, I’m...”
“Stop it, don’t even go there. We saved lives. You saved lives. Who put him down for good, was it you?”
He looks at me. It carries a weight, the kind of weight that comes with having to kill another man. I know because I feel it too. “The next round, after you fell, went in his head.”
“Well then, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”
“But I missed—Two-Step—I missed and you got shot, almost killed. I keep screwing it up, every time I’m let out of the gate, I screw it up.”
“Let’s say you don’t miss. You hit the guy, right between the eyes, just like you were intending. He falls just the same, or maybe he falls different. His trigger finger jitters and my brains end up on the sidewalk, or he hits one of these ladies. You did it right this time man, we did it right. This time we were able to save some people. That’s something to hold your head up about.”
“He’s a wise boy, wise boy indeed. You’d do yourself well to listen to him.” Ms. Cassie bobs a finger at him before rising from the couch and making for the kitchen.
“It’s good to see you up and about, Two-Step.” He shifts around like he wants to shake hands or hug or something. He settles for a pat on the shoulder and a smile.
Ms. Cassie returns with a cup of tea sliding around in the middle of a matching blue and white saucer. “Here you go, son, this stuff, it’s good for the mind.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The fragrant steam caresses my nostrils and works its way behind my eyes, clearing my head and pulling the pin on my frazzled nerves. All at once, I deflate and am suddenly aware of just how soft this couch really is; a man could live on this couch. “Momma and Bethany?”
“They’re upstairs catching some shut eye.” Lee sets his glass back in place with a tiny clink.
“Good for them, I’ll probably join before too long.” I hesitantly sip at the pale liquid. Its green tea, post-apocalyptic green tea, and the best I’ve had. “So, Ms. Cassie…”
“Just Cassie will do.”
“Manners have got a death grip on my tongue, but I’ll try my best.” This grants a nod of approval, her hair shifting from black to gray and back again in the jittery firelight, her lips pursing against a mouthful of tea. “You’ve got power. Why the darkness? Why the charade? Why the candles and fireplace?”
“Them boys you shot, they aint the end of it, not by an acre and a mule, no sir.” Her hands are like fine paper, curled around the glass, shaky, threatening to flake away before our eyes. “There’s plenty more, rollin’ round, lookin’ for whom they may devour. They just waitin’ for a black face to show so they can smash it; especially ours. Plus, them demons is attracted to the light.” She signals towards her daughter, who simply raises an eyebrow and turns yet another page in the book propped across her lap.
“Who were they, the men we killed?” I ask.
“Pastor Waters crew; men from the congregation.”
“When you say pastor, you mean like a pulpit and a Bible, like a real pastor?” The fireplace pops and sparks as if sharing my curiosity.
“Yep, they as crazy as the day is long. Didn’t have much of a congregation before, but then all this started. Folks wanted answers. They gave em’ answers all right. They started roundin’ up all the black faces in town. Took us all to this compound they’d built over by the little league field. They was tyin’ us to poles in the middle of the outfield, cuttin’ us up with razors and shinin’ spotlights on us, lurin’ the monsters in with the smell of blood and the lights. Works too, monsters come every night, like dogs, they know where they get fed. When they finished, they lure em’ back out again.”
I'm foggy, no doubt. But had my head been clear, I'm confi
dent that I still wouldn't be able to comprehend such senseless barbarism. “But…why?”
“We didn’t hang round to find out, no sir. When everything went down, we was in the grocer pickin' some food for the week, along with a cousin of mine. Folks went crazy. We hid out in the back, locked up in one of them offices. Followin' sun up, we was makin’ our way to the house, they picked us up on the street, which is a blessing I suppose, cause that kept em' from findin' out where we live. We all three made a break for it when we got the chance. We got separated in the woods, pretty sure he got eat up. After that, we took up in the motel, and you know the rest.” She shakes her head and stares down into a half-empty glass.
“I’m sorry.” I am. “Wish there was something that we could do.” There isn’t.
“You already did it, son. We’ve all lost somethin’, ain’t no amount of sorry going to change that. We just gotta keep the faith, and keep on pressin’ on, amen.”
I smile. I can’t help but smile. Ms. Cassie has a warmth about her that these times have not yet stolen. It’s contagious. “That’s a positive outlook.”
“It’s the only one I know.” She wraps a toasty hand across my knee. “It keeps these old bones goin’, keeps my feet movin’. Speakin’ of which, ya’ll want some music? I got me a record player that ain’t seen much playin’.”
“I wouldn’t mind some music, so long as it doesn’t perk up any ears out there.” I motion towards the front door.
“We’ll keep it nice and low.” She sets her glass on the coffee table and makes her way to the bookshelf, fighting a considerable crick in her back. She shuffles through four faded album covers, removes one, turns it twice in her hands, and sets it on the turntable. There is a small hiss as the needle connects with the vinyl, and then something familiar and beautiful fills the room.
“That’s Sarabande by Handel; I love this piece.” I place my glass opposite Ms. Cassie’s and drop back into the embrace of the couch, breathing in the swell of the violins and the deep bass of the cellos.
“You’ve got an ear for music, son.”
“Two-Step is quite the dancer.” Lee raises his glass to me.
“Oh really? I did a little jazz in my younger less shapely days.” Her laugh is a deep baritone. “What sorta dance you do, son?”
“Interpretive mostly, well, pretty much that’s all I do.”
Her eyes narrow as she shakes her head. “I never would have guessed it. I’d be right giddy to see what you can do, if you’re feelin’ up to it. Don’t want you fallin’ and me havin’ to patch you up again.”
“I think I could manage a step or two, so long as I got my hat.”
Lee is up before I can finish my sentence. “Hang on one second, I’ll go grab it.” He’s back and dusting it off moments later. “A couple pellets went through, and there’s some blood on the inside. We fixed it up the best we could.”
I flip it up and secure it in place, setting it low atop my brow. “It adds character.” I push myself up on the arm of the couch, shooing Lee away at the same time. “I’ve got this, have a little faith.” I look to Ms. Cassie and she smiles, urging me on with a nod of her head.
I am at the front of the room now. Turning away from the fireplace, the heat is rushing up my back, and massaging the tension from my shoulders. Ms. Cassie’s daughter has closed her book and is sitting upright in the chair, all her attention honed in on my next move.
I am dizzy.
My legs are weak.
It’ll be nothing fancy, just the basics.
I close my eyes and catch the next swell. It takes me. Each note acts as a signpost telling me where to turn, stop, and start. I’m down and up, flourishing on the sonic tide that envelopes me like a starved lover. No room, no audience; just the music and the movement.
And I am still.
Dizzy.
Weak.
But…still…
I am on my knees, staring at carpet fiber. There is silence. And then there is Lee, boosting me atop his shoulders, pulling me to my feet.
“That was something wasn’t it?” Lee drags me back to the couch, letting me free-fall once he’s gotten me positioned over the cushions.
Ms. Cassie just nods for a bit, as if replaying the scene in her head. “That was…something. Don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like it.”
I tip my hat to her. “Thank you, ma’am.”
29
I’m lying in the aisle of Pastor Waters sanctuary. My face is battered and my hands are tied. Lee is beside me, groaning, in a similar state of disarray. His eyes are all but swollen shut and rich, red, blood oozes through his teeth, and clutters his beard. He’d gotten the worst of it. As I stare up at the chandelier adorned triangle ceiling, I feel a rage turned inward. The events replay like a highlight reel; I curse and edit every step.
I should have done it different. I caved too easy. Attachment trumped strategy. Hindsight is 20/20. Hindsight is life and death. It’s a feeling I imagine is quite common among the defeated; football coaches and generals. I feel more like the latter. My troops scattered. My people in bondage.
I’d been asleep upstairs when the front door had come off the hinges. The first shower of automatic gunfire tore through the ceiling before my feet were even on the floor. I’d locked and loaded my rifle and hauled it to the top of the stairs, but it was already too late. They had Momma and Bethany. They had Ms. Cassie and her daughter. They had them on their knees with M16 and AK barrels embedded in the hollow of their skulls. Lee was already relinquishing his weapon a few steps down from where I’d stood. With shaky knees, he’d plead, “Don’t hurt them, please, whatever you want, just don’t hurt them.”
All eyes had been on me. Their lives balanced precariously on the tip of my trigger finger.
They’d cried.
Except Momma. She was the strong one. Momma just shook her head, urging me to stand down.
“Two-Step, it’s a no go, just set it down. Save it for later.” Lee had assured me as he’d laced his fingers behind his head.
Once they’d gotten us downstairs and away from our weapons, two of them took to kicking the mess out of us while the others loaded the girls into the idling pickups waiting out front. Momma and Bethany had clawed, bitten, and begged, but it made no never mind. They just laughed harder and kicked harder. I’d never taken a beating like that in my life. I was thankful to have blacked out halfway through. I came around as we were being dragged through the sanctuary doors and discarded on the plank wood floor.
I struggle and kick out at the pews, leveraging one off the ground and moving it forward with the shrill yell of polished wood upon polished wood. I wriggle to loosen the restraints, but there is no budge to be had. “Damn it,” I arch my back and butt off the floor, trying to gain enough room to get my arms around, under, and in front of me. “We’ve got to get to Momma and Bethany. I swear on everything, Lee, everything, if they hurt them, I’m burning this place and these people to ashes.”
“Two-Step…listen…just,” his words are stammered and obscured by flesh and chipped teeth. He spits a wad of saliva and blood and starts again. “Unless you’ve got scissors or a samurai sword, or are, pound for pound, the world’s strongest teenager, we aren’t breaking out of zip cuffs. We’ve got to play it cool for now. Don’t rock the boat; we can’t do anything if we're dead.”
“I’m all out of plays here, Lee, all out. They’ve got all of our gear, everything from the duffels. They’re gonna kill my mom and my sister. I don’t give a damn about myself or you, no offense, but I’m not gonna let them hurt them, so you need to help me think of something.”
He drops his forehead to mine, a dense layer of blood and dirt still separating us. His eyes are mere slits in a pulpy pile of flesh, as if someone replaced the lids with dried prunes. “We’ve got to look for the moment. We look for the moment and then we make something happen. If you keep going off, and kicking stuff, they’re going to bury us behind this church. We can’t do a thing if we’r
e buried behind the church, you agree with me on that?”
“Yeah, I agree.”
“Smart kid,” he rolls away from me onto his back, groaning at the motion. “Feels like someone broke a glass off in my chest. Bastards definitely loosened a rib or two. What about you, you feeling alright?”
“Banged up, but I don’t think anything is broken.”
“Good, that's good. When we get out of here, what do you say you and me take that camping trip?”
I look at him and manage a smile. “You're on.”
The double mahogany doors behind us spring open like a set of curtains, wrestling back the shadows, and spilling light across our broken bodies. Three sets of heavy boots march down the aisle as the portal behind them closes. Even upside down and distorted by draw distance and illumination, I immediately recognize one of them: Dorian. The Massai Warrior from the roadblock we’d come across yesterday. The man I’d almost shot. The man I should have shot.
A black automatic handgun secured in a nylon thigh holster is his only weapon. Flanking him is that pencil mustached trigger-happy psycho he’d referred to as Donny. The third man is unfamiliar to me. They both carry the heavy artillery.
“I thought you folks were headed west, and yet here you are.” He stands over us with his hands on his hips. “It vexes me. I’m deeply vexed.”
“Well, I thought ya’ll were a couple of destitute survivors keeping an eye on the roads for the good of humanity, so count me vexed as well.” I roll onto my stomach, craning my neck.
“Well now, you’ve gone and gotten yourself into a pickle; a fine pickle, very fine. You shoulda just kept on driving, just kept on keeping on.”
Donny lifts his upper lip and flares his nostrils as if he’s about to sneeze. “We shoulda just plugged em’ like I said, just turned em’ all into swiss cheese, saved ourselves some dough on the flexy cuffs.”
The Rabid (Book 1) Page 16
