Sugar Birds

by Cheryl Grey Bostrom

  Aggie considered jumping onto the trail ahead of them, then thought better of it. What if he trapped them both? I’m too scrawny. He’d catch me. Use me to get Celia to do what he wants. But if she ran for help, she’d lose them. And what if nobody was in the house? No, no, no. She wouldn’t leave Celia. She’d stay with her friend, find a way to help.

  Celia slowed, pulled some bread from the bag. Aggie squinted at her hand. Not just bread, a sandwich. Celia flung it like a Frisbee. Aggie wanted to dive for it, but it sank in a thicket.

  “Look, Cabot. We hung out for a while. We had a good time. You showed me around and I’m glad about that. And now we’re moving on. Why is that so hard for you to get?”

  “Your memory’s failing you, girl. Last week you were so into me you wanted me to drive you to your empty cabin. You weren’t talking about moving on then.” He ran his hand over his mouth and back across his chin. “And the way you kiss me? Invitations. Promises.”

  Celia’s head tipped to the side as she listened. She didn’t seem so scared of him right then. More perplexed and sad than worried.

  Don’t let him suck you in! Aggie wanted to scream.

  “I think we speak different languages, Cabot. No kiss of mine promised you anything more. I was wrong to give you that impression, but you read way too much into it. I read you wrong, too. You seemed like somebody who got how mad I was at my family. Somebody who would understand me, care about what I was going through.”

  “I get you, all right. Every time I think of my mother sitting in the dark with her cigarette and that bottle, I want to find my dad and …” He punched his fist into his hand. “We’re alike that way, Celia.”

  She backed away from him and shook her head so hard her ponytail slapped her face. “No, we’re not. Maybe at first, but not now. I raged at Daddy all the way to my grandmother’s, you know that? After months of crying, my anger made me feel alive again. Then what did I do? I flew toward you like a stupid mallard answering a duck call. You were even angrier than I was. I don’t want to be like you. We’re done, Cabot. You can’t have me.”

  She was scared again. Aggie could tell by the way her voice caught and cracked. But brave.

  Cabot looked irritated, as if her words bumped him like insects. “This is all Burnaby’s fault. He wants my job, and now he’s trying to steal you, too. If he had his way, he’d take everything I’ve got.” He moved toward her, lifted a strand of hair off her face. “You’re blind, girl. And confused, that’s all.” He took hold of her arms, kneading them with his thumbs. “C’mere, baby. I don’t want to lose you.”

  She shook him off and trotted backwards down the trail. “I’m sorry about your parents, Cabot. But I can’t fix this for you.”

  “Hey. Nothing to fix. Once Burnaby’s out of the way, we’ll be fine.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The guy’s got problems, Celia. I think he was stealing tools before Loomis laid him off. He’s mental. He starts spazzing when I tell him to do something. He lights fires when the job gets too tough for him. He’s not safe to have around the farm. I wouldn’t be surprised if he lit his parents’ house on fire. Loomis is gonna can him, if I have anything to say about it. I’ve almost got him convinced.”

  Aggie wanted to scream at him. She grabbed a rock and cocked her arm, held it poised for a beat, then slowly lowered it.

  Celia’s face knotted at his accusation. “You’re wrong, Cabot. He’s not that way at all.” She hurried down the trail, flinging more sandwiches. Cabot caught up and bumped her heels, talking close to her ear.

  They were outdistancing Aggie. I can’t hear them! She dipped through the woods, advancing on the pair until the trees thinned, then angled into better cover. By the time she swerved back toward the trail, the low rumble of Cabot’s voice had quit. She couldn’t hear Celia, either. Panic dropped on her like a noose. Where were they? She launched herself into a tree and climbed, hunting for a glimpse of his bright shirt.

  There. A flash of red showed in the clearing near the root cellar. She reached for a cottonwood limb, but instead of her usual quick grip, her hands faltered and she scrambled to hang on. Her legs seesawed as she inched hand over hand, until she planted her feet on a branch. She grunted with the effort, her biceps rubbery. “Please, please, arms, don’t let go.”

  On another limb, she contorted her body for a clearer view through the canopy. A breeze fluttered the leaves, so that they opened and closed over Cabot and Celia below. Cabot’s hand gripped the cellar door. Celia twisted the empty Wonder Bread bag like a washcloth, her hands tight.

  Aggie laid her head on the branch to see better and scrunched her brow. Why can’t I understand them? The bark felt cool against her face, and she closed her eyes. If only she could rest here, tune out the blurry voices arguing below her. She stuck out her lower lip and puffed air onto her forehead, as if blowing away fog. Then Cabot shouted, riveting her attention to the scene below.

  Purple-faced, he threw his hat to the ground and swore. Then he grabbed Celia’s arm and wrenched it, pulling her toward him. She howled with pain and landed on her knees. He dragged her to her feet and shoved her into the root cellar ahead of him. Aggie held her breath until he barged back outside, holding the shotgun. When Celia’s knee jutted through the doorway, he kicked it, yanked the door closed, and flipped the heavy latch into place. Inside, Celia screamed.

  She’s trapped! Aggie lurched, off-balance. Her legs shook like Jell-O, but she managed to stand. Colorful dots sparkled in her field of vision. I’m on my way, Celia. She aimed her foot at a lower limb to begin her descent, but missed and fell backwards out of the tree.

  CHAPTER 41 ~ AGGIE

  Game

  Aggie stirred. Was that her brother’s scratchy voice? So far away. A dream? Her eyes flicked open. She was lying on her back beneath giant trees on a thick mattress of decomposing leaves. But where? And why was she so sore? She raised her arm in front of her and pulled up her sleeve. Skinned. Bloody. Her other arm? Same. Then more voices. Someone screaming, “Let me outta here!” and thumping something. Beating on that door? Celia? Another man’s voice. Who was he?

  She remembered. Cabot kicking Celia, slamming the door, holding the gun. Her own hunger and weakness and the haze clouding her mind like soot. The falling that seemed to last for hours. How long had she been unconscious? And how was Burnaby here, too? Where’d he come from?

  She wiggled her fingers and toes. Bent her arms and legs. Everything still worked. She located the branch where she’d been sitting and tracked her route to the ground. Hardly surprising that she ached. If Celia hadn’t been screaming and pounding that door, Cabot would have heard Aggie crash through those branches. He’d have captured me, too.

  Instead, she sprawled flat on the ground between Celia, howling from her prison, and Burnaby, who traversed the anthill trail into the clearing and stood face to face with shotgun-wagging Cabot.

  Hold on, Celia. Aggie regarded the door, which vibrated with every thump, then squirmed like a newt toward Burnaby. He needed her more right now.

  Her bewildered brother set a basket on the ground. He looked past Cabot as if the man were invisible and stepped toward the cellar.

  Cabot glowered. “Can’t you leave us alone?”

  Burnaby turned back to Cabot. “Who? Leave who alone?”

  “Yeah, like you don’t know. Dogging me and Celia.” Cabot held the shotgun at his hip and leveled it at Burnaby.

  “I saw Celia head this way, but she never spoke about meeting you.” Burnaby’s expression stayed mild, as if Cabot were pointing a feather duster at him.

  “She don’t tell you everything, dumbass.” Cabot stepped closer to him. “What’s that around your neck? A chicken bone? You chew on it between meals?”

  Burnaby regarded the curved bone. “An owl ilium. Owl’s hipbone. A gift.”

  You don’t have to explain anything, Burnaby. The man’s just taunting you.

  “Gift huh?” Cabot raised the bone fr
om Burnaby’s chest, wrapped his fingers around the chain and yanked. “What’s it worth to you?” He shifted the gun and swung the bone on its broken chain like a pendulum.

  Burnaby flattened his lips as if he tasted something sour. “It’s mine, not yours.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. What will you do to get it back?” He balled the chain and bone into his hand and poised to fling it into the underbrush.

  Burnaby lunged at his hand, but Cabot stepped out of reach. “Ah, ah, ahh.” He ticked his index finger back and forth. “No grabbing.” He walked toward the chimney.

  “Let’s play a little game, Burn. That’s what Celia calls you, right? Burn?”

  Burnaby’s eyes followed Cabot’s fist. He didn’t answer.

  “I see you’re watching. Thatta way. Pay attention. Then the game won’t be too tough for you.” He waggled the white bone inside the old chimney’s firebox. “Let’s play Finders Keepers. You keep your eye on the chicken bone. I’ll drop it. And if you can find it, it’s yours. Got it?”

  Burnaby locked his eyes on his gift. The broken chain caught the sun and scattered sparks of light.

  Cabot brandished the gun. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “I understand.”

  “Glad to hear that.” Cabot hiked backwards up the dike while he kept the gun pointed at Burnaby. He gathered bone and chain into his free hand, wound his arm like a pitcher, and aimed for the river.

  Her brother stood motionless, except for that cheek of his.

  “Oh, swimming’s too hard for you?” Cabot wagged his fist. “Poor baby.” He returned to the center of the clearing and pretended to study the fir that held Aggie’s treetop bed. “Hm. You like climbing trees better?” He feigned a throw into the branches and looked at stoic Burnaby. “No? Okay. Stand over here so you can see me real clear.”

  What was he doing? Aggie forgot her pain and hunger. Her muscles wound tight, ready to spring.

  Cabot rotated the gun’s muzzle. “Move, Burnaby.” Her brother walked around the chimney until the barrel stopped revolving. “Yeah. Right there.” Cabot swished through the ground cover and stood against a tree, about a horseshoe toss away from Burnaby. “I’ll make it easy for you. It’ll be somewhere between you and me.”

  He balanced the gun over his arm as he tied a knot in the broken chain and rocked the bone back and forth like a hypnotist’s charm. Then he wadded it into his hand and, as if he were lobbing a softball to third graders, threw the bone a few feet ahead of him. It vanished into the thick greens.

  Burnaby’s body flinched. His eyes fixed on the spot.

  “That’s right. Keep your eyes on it. Now all you have to do is walk straight to it and it’s yours.” Cabot propped the gun against the tree behind him and raised his hands. “No pressure.”

  What was he doing? Aggie analyzed the ground cover. What had Cabot hidden in there that could hurt her brother? Burnaby walked forward, his eyes still glued to the spot where the bone had fallen through the leaves. Then Aggie remembered. She opened her mouth to scream.

  Too late.

  Burnaby took four steps toward Cabot. On the fifth, he collapsed into the well.

  CHAPTER 42 ~ CELIA

  Creature

  “Get away from me, Cabot.” He was stepping on my heels. I felt the heat of him on my back, his breath on the side of my face as he talked, inches from my ear. Gram’s house shrank behind the hill as he intercepted my retreat and pushed me toward the woods. I wanted to stop walking, slap him and tell him to get lost, but something about the press of him, the way his presence closed around me out there in the open field terrified me. He seemed bigger, more powerful. Menacing. I had to keep moving.

  His words blurred—and were so far from what was real. I was walking in a nightmare. He told me I needed him, wanted him. And that he wanted me. That wherever I went, he’d be waiting. He said other stuff, too, about touching me, and my skin crawled as if bugs were swarming on it. Sweat dripped down my chest. My lungs shrank.

  In a few minutes, Burnaby would head this way, gathering bones at the anthills. If he encountered Cabot out here … I picked up my pace, hoping to put some distance between the two. If I got through the woods, I’d run for it. Find Loomis.

  But when we approached that abandoned farm, he said that Burnaby was missing some bricks and was a danger to me and the dairy and that he, Cabot, was here to save me from him.

  His words burned little holes in my eardrums. “You are a deluded liar, Cabot, and I think Burnaby has saved me from you.”

  When I said that, he threw his hat on the ground and swore at me with words so filthy I felt contaminated. Sliced open. I truly expected to see blood. Then he cranked my arm behind me until I cried out and fell over. But bad as the pain was, the fear was worse. He shoved me into that little hobbit cellar and closed us both inside.

  I dropped into hell. The terror of it. He held me torqued like that while he pulled a gun from the top shelf.

  “Wait for me, sweetheart.” His voice flattened to a dead calm. “Be right back. I have something for you …You’ll forget all this. Gonna make sure nobody interrupts us.”

  Then he pushed me back against the shelves and opened the door.

  Well. He would not lock me in that dungeon. I leapt at the opening and shoved my leg between the door and the jamb. Of course he couldn’t close the door with my knee right there, so he kicked it. Kicked my knee so hard I toppled back inside. Before I got up, he hurled the door and threw the latch. I do believe that by the time I stood and screamed his name, he had convinced himself that I had assaulted him. He was that delusional. That crazy.

  I screamed until my throat was raw and tightening. Pounded on that door as I leaned against it, supporting my injured knee. I tried to guess his next move, but terrible thoughts intruded, crowding out anything rational. Now, instead of Cabot breathing on me there in the dark, fear pressed into me, drinking oxygen from the dank air around me. I picked a box off a shelf and beat it into the door until the cardboard broke and little tubes scattered all over the floor. Then I heard men’s voices.

  One of them was Burnaby’s.

  I felt the blood leave my face. Cabot was outside with a gun, alone with Burn. I could tell that Cabot was taunting him, ordering him around. Frantic, I ran my fingers over the door, the hinges, pulling at them. My breath came out ragged. Phantom earwigs crawled across my neck, down my back.

  Outside, Cabot laughed. What could be funny? I screamed again and was slamming my fists against the door when the latch rattled, something thudded to the ground, and the door pushed against me. I jumped away as a scrawny, bedraggled creature with matted clumps for hair burst through the door. A girl’s soft, high-pitched voice came out of its mouth. She was holding the broken door latch. And she said my name.

  “Celia! Get Cabot under this tree—so he’s right under me.” She pointed at a plum tree and sprang into its limbs. Stunned, I stood there until she blended in with the leaves.

  Aggie!

  I limped outside. Cabot was pointing his gun into ground cover beyond the chimney.

  “What’d you do with him, Cabot?”

  He whirled toward me. I ducked as the gun’s muzzle moved with him. “How’d you get out?”

  He clearly hadn’t seen the girl.

  “Where’s Burnaby?”

  “He left. Wanted to give us some time alone. Said to tell you he’d see you around.”

  “Yeah, right. You have another little rabbit burrow to hide him in?”

  “My pretty girl sure has grown a mouth on her.”

  I backed toward the tree as he sauntered my way. The gun rested crosswise in his arms, like a newborn.

  I shivered from the ache in my knee, but I stood there like bait. I didn’t understand Aggie’s plan, but hers was the only one on the table. If she wanted me to lure him under the tree, I would lure like nobody’s business.

  Cabot stopped about ten feet away. Too far. Aggie said to get him beneath her.

  “Why are you
backing up, pretty lady? I won’t hurt you.”

  “You already did.” I scowled at him as he ran his eyes down my body. More earwigs. “And I’d like to hear why.” I tilted my head and hip. Flirty.

  I took another step backwards as he approached. Just one more step, Cabot. One more. I forced myself to study my fingernails, as if his delay bored me. What would Aggie do once he stepped into that bullseye below her?

  I found out.

  Her scream preceded her. As she sprang onto Cabot’s back, her legs clamped around him like a spider and she clawed his face and gouged at his eyes. Bit his ears. Then she bit his neck as hard as I’ve ever seen anyone bite anything. Ever.

  Cabot howled and dropped the gun. He flailed at Aggie’s arms as her fingernails drew blood from his eyelids and cheeks. She screeched at me. “The gun. Pick it up. Point it at him. At his chest!” My hands and fingers were useless, but I lifted the weapon, held it level, and pointed it in his direction.

  Then that little wolverine slipped off him like fog. She ran to me and wrested the gun from my shaky grip. She must have guessed I’d never touched one, must have seen my shock and fear.

  Cabot moaned and clamped his hands over his eyes. Blood trickled from his neck and cheeks. He wiped his face with his palms and opened his eyes a slit, then wide—as he took in that dreadlocked, dirty little elf.

  Though Aggie barely reached my shoulder and weighed no more than a minute, she held her finger alongside the trigger and was aiming right at his chest.

  “Hands on your head.” Her voice was thin as thread.

  Cabot held his hands at shoulder height and hesitated. His body coiled. He was going to try for the gun.

  Aggie saw it too. “On your head!” Her finger went to the trigger.

  Cabot sneered at her and laced his fingers over his skull.

  “Get over by the well.”

  He threw me an angry glare and swaggered toward thick ground cover near the chimney.

  “On your stomach. Now.”