Skin Trade

by Tonia Brown

  “Are you sick?”

  I knew what he was asking, and to be fair to him, I’m sure my wellbeing was quite the mystery. I settled on a partial lie. “No, he never infected me. Mr. Boudreaux said he wanted to wait a while before he made me like that. I think he wanted my help. I wouldn’t have given it to him.”

  “Good, then you can help me. There is much work to be done.”

  I didn’t ask what deed was coming. The man wanted to put a stop to Boudreaux’s ranching nightmare, and he intended to finish the job. I was only too glad to help him in any way I could. We spent the better part of the morning piling the bodies onto a makeshift pyre, save for Boudreaux and his manservant.

  “Leave those two for the wandering dead,” Mr. Theo said. “You’re right, they deserve far worse, but that’s in God’s hands now.”

  After the bodies were destroyed, we ravaged the house for supplies. Mr. Theo made it clear that we were to burn the house and grounds as well, but first we took a quick and much-needed meal. I wanted to ask him so many things, to thank him for taking mercy on Pete’s corpse, and commend him for his actions against that monster, Boudreaux. But we both ate in awkward silence, that unsure timidity often shared by new acquaintances. Once we had our fill, Mr. Theo brought about his wagon—complete with a grizzled old goat that had seen much better days—and we placed the supplies aboard. We led the wagon to a ridge overlooking the ranch, where he bade me guard the lot as he went back to set the house and barn ablaze. After this, he returned, and we watched Boudreaux’s property burn for almost an hour, again in awkward silence.

  Once the house was nothing but a blackened, smoldering shell, I asked, “What do we do now?”

  “We don’t do anything,” Mr. Theo said. He reached into the wagon and tossed me one of the sacks we filled with dried goods and then handed me Boudreaux’s gun. “You head east, and keep at it until you make it to the border. If you push yourself hard, you should make it by tomorrow afternoon.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re sending me back?” Granted, I would’ve loved nothing more than to get back to safety, but I had nowhere safe to go.

  “Yes, and if I had known there was a survivor, I would’ve saved you a goat. Sorry about that. But Buck here is enough of a mouth to feed. I didn’t need the worry of two more to-”

  “I don’t care about the goat. I can’t go back.”

  “You don’t belong here, Samuel. This is no place for a kid.” He looked at his goat and sighed before he added, “This is no place for anyone.”

  “I’m not a kid!”

  “You’re not a man either.”

  He had more of a point than he realized. “If I’m just a kid, then how can I make it out there alone?”

  “Because you’re lucky. Aleixandre was a first-class coward. This area rarely sees any undead these days. Just keep your pistol handy and your eyes open. You should be fine. You’ll find more trouble getting through the border than anything else. I assume your name was entered on the registry? Pretend you’re making a supply run, and maybe you won’t have any problems slipping through. They’ll search you top to bottom, and I mean all the way to the skin. You know, just to make sure you aren’t bitten or infected. But after that, you’re free.”

  That settled it. I would never survive such an intimate search. I was on the registry as a young man, not a young woman. They wouldn’t believe I was Samuel when the proof said Samantha. Besides, I suspected Boudreaux had some kind of deal with those at the border. If I showed up unharmed, they would wonder where he was and what happened to the deal.

  “I can’t go back,” I said. “I want to go with you.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion,” Mr. Theo said and prompted his goat forward.

  “Please, Mr. Theo, I want to stay with you. I have nowhere else to go.”

  “Listen, son, I don’t like people. I especially don’t like whiny-mouthed brats. Get on back home. And if you don’t have a home, make yourself one. You won’t get the chance to do that where I’m heading. There is only death out there. Death and destruction.”

  “And the skin trade.”

  Mr. Theo winced, as if I had struck a blow to his very heart with my words. “Trust me, son, that’s not for you either.”

  “How do you know? You don’t even know me, but you can decide my future just like that?” I resisted the very feminine urge to stamp my foot. “Mr. Theo, I came out here to learn a trade, and I intend to do so. Pete wanted this more than anything. Not just for himself, but for both of us. I will not let his death be for nothing. Now, will you teach me? Or shall I learn alone, by trial and error?”

  He kept his back to me as he said, “I have nothing to teach you.”

  “Then I will learn on my own.”

  “So young and already so stubborn.” Mr. Theo looked back to me and gave a sad smile. “Maybe Aleixandre was right. Maybe I’ve been on my own for too long.” He turned away and clucked his tongue, to which Buck began a slow shuffle from the ruined remains of the Boudreaux estate.

  With a heavy heart, I watched him lead his goat away. I didn’t know how I would manage once he was gone, but I would be damned if I was going to let him tell me what to do after I had come so far to get where I was. Never mind the fact that I was in deeper trouble than I had ever been. Alone, in the depths of the Badlands, without a clue as to how I would survive.

  I realized I was doomed, but I was doomed on my own terms.

  Mr. Theo was perhaps fifty feet away when he stopped and looked over his shoulder to me. He then said something in such a soft voice that I almost didn’t hear his words.

  He said, “Try to keep up, son.”

  And so I did.

  ****

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  ****

  Chapter Ten

  That first day, we spoke very little, concentrating instead on getting as far away from the rising smoke columns of our deliberate destruction as fast as we could. We pressed on and on, almost running at some points, well into the evening and night. I tried my best to follow his instructions, to ‘keep up,’ but before long, I became so tired I was afraid I might collapse and he would leave me behind. After trailing Boudreaux’s wagon on foot just the day before, followed by my rough sleep filled with spectral accusations, I was quite exhausted. I kept these complaints to myself, however, not wishing to appear too frail for the work. Theo seemed to sense a deeper discomfort in me, for just after the sun set, he suggested we pitch a simple camp. Once our small fire was set, we took a sorry meal of hardtack and some kind of pungent cheese, passing the water skin back and forth between mealy mouthfuls.

  “You set a rough pace,” I said. “I hope I’m not posing a burden to you.”

  “Not at all,” Theo said. “I don’t mean to seem to be in such a rush, but I worry the smoke might attract trouble we don’t want to deal with.”

  I hadn’t thought of such things. There was so much to learn. “Will the smell of charred flesh really attract the undead?”

  “Perhaps, but it’s not the dead we have to worry about. It’s the living.” Mr. Theo took a long swig from the skin before he continued. “Seems like there’s more living folks out here these days than there are undead.”

  “That’s good, though, isn’t it?”

  “No, because there are no good men out here. Only outlaws and outcasts, hungry for the freedom the Badlands offers those brave enough to come and take it. If those vultures see that cloud of black rising from Boudreaux’s place, they’ll come sniffing around to pick at what’s left. And take us apart in the process.”

  “Vultures,” I echoed, latching onto the word and rolling it around in my tired mind.

  “But I must confess: Part of our speed is out of necessity. I went out of my way to deal with Boudreaux and his lackey. My territory runs farther northwest of here, and I need to get back to my line if I am to make the best of what is left of the season.”

  “Thank you for what you did back ther
e. I don’t know what would’ve become of me if you hadn’t stepped in when you did.”

  “That’s easy; you’d be dead. But try not to think about it. Rest awhile, and we will start out again when you’re able.”

  I yawned and rubbed at my tired eyes. “I hate to say this, but what I really need is sleep.”

  Mr. Theo sighed with some level of disappointment. “Then sleep a few hours. Buck could use the rest anyway.” He stroked the neck of the old goat, who grunted in commiseration.

  “Yes, sir.” I made myself as comfortable as I could on the hard ground, cuddling under the blanket he lent me for the journey. “Wake me when it’s my turn to stand watch.”

  “You sleep as long as you need. I’ll keep watch.”

  “Don’t you want to sleep?”

  “I’m fine. I can go for a long time without proper sleep. Comes with the job. You get used to it. Eventually.”

  I settled into my blanket, but my nagging conscience wouldn’t let me rest. “Can I ask a question?”

  “You just did.”

  I smiled in the darkness, amused by his candor. “You said you warned Boudreaux once already. That you would make him stop if he didn’t quit.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve always been a man of my word.”

  “I gathered as much, but how long have you known he was doing what he was doing? I guess what I mean is, well, if you knew he was killing folks, what made you wait to put a stop to it? What made you give him a chance?”

  The long silence that stretched behind this question left me squirming. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything bad on his part, but it seemed odd to me that if he knew, if he was sure that Boudreaux was infecting young men for their skin, then why did he wait to do anything about it? If he hadn’t waited, if he had acted sooner, then Pete would still be alive.

  After almost a full minute of this silence, I scrambled to cover my poor choice of words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by-”

  “No need to apologize, son,” he said over me. “You asked a frank question, and you deserve a frank answer.” He paused again, as if gathering his courage. “Truth is, I’ve known for a long time, but waited to act until the moment was right. I’m sorry if it was too late to save your friend. Or anyone else.”

  Within his confession, my own guilt swelled like the rising tide. He was honest with me, yet I still kept the secret of my true sex from him. I knew the time would come to make my own confessions, but not tonight.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” I said.

  “Am I?” he asked.

  “You said there were no good men out here. You’re a good man, Mr. Theo.”

  He snorted. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “You are,” I insisted. “You might not have been able to save the others, but you rescued me. That makes you a hero as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I hate to burst your bubble, but you can keep your gratitude. I’m no hero. I’m nobody.”

  “But you deserve-”

  “Do you think I wanted to rescue you?” Mr. Theo asked over me in a loud shout. “I wasn’t interested in saving anyone. I wanted Boudreaux to stop what he was doing because he would’ve flooded the market with too much quality leather. I couldn’t compete. He was going to drive me out of the trade.”

  I swallowed hard, but said nothing. I couldn’t speak.

  Mr. Theo prodded the fire, putting out the larger flames, dampening it down to a handful of winking embers. Darkness crept up on us with the subtlety of a wolf leaping on a wounded rabbit. Mr. Theo’s face melted into that gloom, his ebony skin becoming one with the shadows until all I could make out was the gleam of his frosted eyes and the occasional flash of his bone-white teeth. In this utter blackness, he spoke again, his voice ringing hollow in my tired ears.

  “When I first found his place, he was gone, and I knew he went to get more of you boys. I knew what he would do to you when he got back, but I waited. I found those young ‘uns trussed up like that, and I could’ve put them out of their misery weeks ago, could’ve burned the whole thing to the ground long before he returned, but I waited. I waited because I wanted Aleixandre to know who took him down. I wanted him to know it was me. I wanted my face to be the last thing that son of a bitch saw before he fell.”

  Again I said nothing. Words both cruel and kind abandoned me, leaving me silent with grief and regret over broaching the subject in the first place.

  “I’m no hero,” Mr. Theo said. “There aren’t any heroes out here. Just bad men and worse men. Then there are those you pray to God you never have the misfortune to cross paths with. But the thing you gotta remember is God stopped listening to the likes of us a long time ago.”

  I reckoned those last words were the truest thing I’d ever heard anyone say. It seemed as though God didn’t listen to anyone these days, no matter how good or bad. And each of us was a little of both, Mr. Theo and myself. All things considered, his self-interest concerning Boudreaux’s demise didn’t change the fact that he had saved my life. (Or, at the very least, what little was left of my dignity.) As I succumbed to my exhaustion, I pondered how I could make him understand this.

  The next morning found us both as silent as the grave. Mr. Theo said nothing, but seemed troubled by his own admissions. I didn’t have anything else to ask or add. I wished there was some way I could tell him that I didn’t judge him for the source of his actions, but I supposed avoiding the topic altogether was best. For now, at least. We packed up camp and were on the trail for a fair number of hours before he dared to break the silence.

  “You still want to learn the trade?” he asked.

  I was flabbergasted. “You’ll teach me?”

  “I reckon I owe you that much.”

  That was it then. He didn’t want to teach me. He felt he had to. “Don’t do this out of guilt. It’ll only get messy if we end up hating each other-”

  “Listen, young ‘un, it don’t matter how the fence gets mended, as long as the cows stop getting out. Now, you willing to learn or not?”

  How could I argue with logic like that? “I’m willing.”

  “Fine, then. I’m not sure you’ll like what I’ve got to teach ya, but I’ll teach you everything I know.”

  Thus, Mr. Theo began to educate me on the ways of the skin trade.

  His talk of the trade was different from Boudreaux’s, concentrating on the actual work of tanning rather than just relating an oral history to a captive audience. I listened on in a rapt morbidity as he painted horrific scenes of carnage.

  Much as Boudreaux explained, the key to good leather was clean skin with little—or preferably no—signs of rot. The average revenant caught in the wild produced no more than six to eight square inches of useable hide, which was the main reason Boudreaux and his full-body pelts posed such a problem to the market. Facial skin was typically off limits, because it suffered too much trauma brought on by the beast’s eating habits. The neck and chest tended to suffer from similar trauma. Most revenants bore gaping holes in their torsos, grisly blowouts thanks to a buildup of gasses produced during that slow putrefaction process. This made any hope of salvaging supple abdominal skin another lost cause. But the extremities, the upper thighs, buttocks, and the insides of the upper arms, these were the most likely places to pull good skin.

  “The most important thing to remember,” Mr. Theo explained, “is never to handle a revenant’s flesh with your bare hands.”

  “You did,” I reminded him.

  He smirked. “Then I guess I’m wrong. The most important thing to remember is to do as I say and not as I do. Follow this rule before all others, or you’re on your own. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Which makes the second rule-”

  “Don’t handle the dead with my bare hands. Yes, sir. I don’t want to get infected.”

  “Well now, the infection isn’t as vicious as the rumors make out. It takes a fair bit of blood on just plain old exposed skin for it to worm into
your system. You practically have to bathe in the stuff to pick it up that way. But give the blood an open wound that runs straight to the veins, and you haven’t got a chance. Like a bite, for example. That’s the most common way to get it. A rev bites down on you with his bloody mouth, breaks open your skin, and you get sick soon after.”

  “How about a cut?”

  “Sure. A cut is more troublesome. A little nick or scratch should be fine, but a deep wound is an open invitation to infection.”

  “That’s what happened to Pete. Boudreaux put some kind of powder on his open wound.”

  “Powder, huh?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what it was.”

  “Probably dried brain.”

  “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

  “Be that as it may, the sickness is in the brain. The brain soaks it up like some kind of sponge. Which is why we use it to tan the hides. Tanning a revenant with its own brains pulls the infection out of the skin. Makes it safe to handle. And sell.”

  “Boudreaux said that’s why you were shooting the revenants in the head, to ruin their worth.”

  “True.”

  “I also hear tell that the tanning process is some big secret. That you men would die rather than reveal it.”

  “Also true.”

  “Then who created it? And if it’s so secret, how did others learn it?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions, don’t ya, son?”

  Mr. Theo grew quiet, and I knew I had overstepped my bounds again. Me and my big mouth! Would I never learn? But no, he was just considering the question before leaping to an answer. Unlike me, he thought his words out carefully. This was something else I hoped he could teach me.

  After a bit of thought, Mr. Theo said, “It’s my understanding that the first man to figure it out sort of stumbled on it. By accident. I don’t think he ever intended to share the secret. Certainly didn’t want the trade to get the way it is now. But others stole the process by spying on him, and now it’s a sort of shared shame. We all work the job, and we all agree to keep our mouths shut about it.”