I turned my head to smile at the old men, but they had changed back into the younger versions of themselves. Crooked Walker‘s hair was long and black as night, tied in the back. He wore fresh buckskins over his lean muscles and stood very straight. He carried a lever action rifle and a large revolver was strapped to his hip. Looking down, I could see that he still loved my Red Wings. They looked to have been freshly oiled and brushed.
Dog Breath was dressed in a simple breechcloth. His skin was the color of plums and he was solid and formidable. There were great smears of war paint on his cheeks and his expression was fearsome. He carried a long bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of long arrows on his back. He carried a stone hatchet and looked ready for battle.
Now, while all of this was very encouraging, I looked down at myself and saw that I still wore my Brindle patch on my work uniform and a pair of tired sneakers. I would have been happy to have been ten years younger, or to have been given a good kitchen knife; something, anything, that may have been useful in our attack on Soliah. Crooked Walker and Dog Breath said nothing, but they brushed past me like I wasn’t even there. They headed straight for the house and after a moment spent sulking, I followed them, feeling naked and somehow alone.
I heard something in the woods, turned my head for a moment and they were gone. I lost a step and began to creep up along the cars without making a sound. I thought of my wife and grandfather, of Red and all of those who had died before me. These thoughts gave me strength and courage, and I never let them get too far from my mind. The long line of cars, vans, and pickups, looked like they had been there for years. Some of them had flat tires and all of them looked dull and neglected. How long had I been gone?
The closer I got to the end of the line, the more my heart began to pound inside my chest. This really was the end of the line. I wondered about Dog Breath and Crooked Walker. Where were they? Would they be waiting for me on the manicured lawn of the white house? I prayed for a weapon, I really didn’t care what. I thought a bazooka might be nice, but I had no idea of how to use one and I quickly prayed for something else. I did feel that prayer was my only hope to find something to fight Soliah with. He had already proven that my magic was no match for his. I began to look inside the grimy windows of the vehicles I passed. I was hoping to find a shotgun, or perhaps a hunting rifle. What I saw were cardboard pine trees and empty soda cans and I kept on praying as I neared the end of the line.
How I could have missed them is beyond me. They were waiting for me at the front of the line, gleaming in the sunlight as they sat parked on the lawn. My Whitehead Buster looked as if it had just rolled off the showroom floor. The Swinger Special stood tall and proud, the cables that ran up the boom looked brand new and the windows of the cab were clean and clear.
Abe Steinman stepped from behind the Buster. He was smiling. I took a deep breath and ran up to greet him.
“How do they look?” Abe asked, leaning one shoulder against my Buster. “They were in pretty rough shape. You really should take better care of your equipment.”
I shook my head and smiled. “How did you save them?”
“I heard a prayer.”
I hadn’t been expecting that and the words rocked me back on my heels. I stared at the old man and he gave me a sly wink. “Don’t just stand there like an idiot, come on up and say hello.”
I walked the remaining few feet up to Abe and I stuck out my hand. “Hello,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
Abe covered his face with a hand and shook his head. “I didn’t mean for you to say hello to me, I wanted you to say hello to your equipment. You need to get reacquainted.”
I shrugged my shoulders and thought about that. I knew these machines inside and out. I knew every nut and bolt. “I slapped Buster’s side and smiled. “Hello,” I said.
A blast of black smoke escaped from the stack and I jumped back. “Hello, Huck,” came a deep voice from somewhere inside the engine compartment. “It has been a long time.”
I felt the air rush from my lungs as I stared from Buster to Abe Steinman. “Don’t forget your Swinger Special,” he said with a grin.
“Oh, Huckleberry, just look at you,” exclaimed the Swinger. The voice was almost feminine. “Are you ready to knock over some bad guys? Hop on in, big guy! Let’s get swinging!”
“Oh my God,” exclaimed Buster. “Here we go again…”
“Now you stop that,” quipped the Swinger. “You’re just jealous that I get him first. You’ve always been that way, don’t you deny it, Buster.”
“Mr. Steinman,” said Buster. “Can’t you cut his vocal cords? I can’t sit here and listen to this.”
“I can see my work here is done,” said Abe. “I’ve got to run, good-bye!”
I quickly turned, but Abe seemed to have vanished into thin air. Buster began to move on his tracks and he spun around until he faced the dead cars on the driveway. There was no sound from the big diesel and I thought about that. I heard a dull thud and I returned my attention to my Swinger. The boom had fallen and was lying across the lawn.
“What did I ever do to you?” asked the Swinger, defensively. “Each and every time we’ve gone out on a job together, didn’t I smash things into small enough pieces for you to handle? Do I somehow threaten you? Trust me, you’re not my type.”
“Make him stop, Huck!”
“Wake up, Buster. “This is the twenty-first century!”
“Huck?”
“Let’s get at it,” I shouted, pointing up at the freshly painted house by the lake. “We’ve got a job to do, boys. A lot of people are depending on us!”
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” exclaimed the Swinger and the boom rose high in the air. “Hop in, Huckleberry, let’s kick some ass!”
Why I thought it would be so easy, I didn’t know. I ran up to the Swinger and climbed inside the cab. The levers looked shiny and new and none of the gauges had broken glass. The old seat with the duct tape was gone and a brand new one had replaced it. I took the controls in my hands and made a few practice swings. The five-ton wrecking ball sliced through the air and obeyed my every command.
“Ooh!” purred the Swinger. “That feels good.”
I shot a look at Buster and I can’t tell you how, but I could feel that he was laughing at me. I didn’t care. I returned my attention to the house and aimed the Swinger in that direction. The tracks bit on the lawn and we moved silently across the green grass. The sound of the engine had been replaced by something that sounded more like heavy breathing.
We stopped at the southeast corner of the house, just where I had stopped all those years ago. The thought of that caused a chill to run down my spine. This had been a long time coming. I would keep the wrecking ball above the foundation and pray that everyone would be safe in the basement. A voice reassured me that it was a good plan.
There were no words, no cries of triumph as I pulled on the handles and the heavy wrecking ball began to rear back, suspended by the cable attached to the tall boom. I was ready for this and I wanted to get it over with. I slammed the controls forward and the Swinger swung hard, propelling the wrecking ball with a velocity that was frightening to behold. Five years of frustration were riding on that wrecking ball and I gritted my teeth as it neared the point of contact with the house.
The ball connected with the corner of the house with an explosion of flying debris. The ball entered on the side and exited through the back, leaving two clean circles in the corner of the house that looked like giant portholes. I groaned, in my excitement I had hit the house too hard which had minimized the damage. I pulled hard on the brake to stop the cab from twisting, which in turn stopped the boom and caused the five-ton ball to arc high in the air on its cable. I waited for it to reach its summit, released the brake and reversed the swing. I performed the maneuver perfectly and I felt a rush of pride at not losing my touch. The boom groaned, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the added weight caused by the momentum of the ball, or because the Swinger
felt a rush of mechanical adrenaline. The ball connected again, this time striking from the back and exiting the side of the white house. The result was the same, which was impossible.
I let the boom follow the swing, which caused the ball to lose speed and I released the cable. The five-ton ball fell to the lawn with an audible plop, burying a quarter of its mass. I stared back at the house. Two direct hits should have caused ten times the damage. I had now created two perfect eyeballs in both the back and the side of Soliah’s home. The second hit should’ve caused the upper two stories to crash down upon the first, at least in that corner of the house. What I saw defied logic. The red carpeting on the floor gave the eyes I’d created a fiery glare. I should have taken that as a warning.
I popped open the door and stepped down on the steel cleats of the track, which were covered in ruined grass and soil. The air was still and quiet, the sun resting somewhere around three O’clock. I had expected some sort of a reaction, flying missiles or lightning bolts, something. I had thought Soliah would come flying out the door with a rifle, or much worse. I mistakenly thought that I had caught him out of the house. I hopped down off of the track and approached the first set of holes.
“That’s close enough,” hissed the Swinger. “I don’t like this, Huck. Let’s take a few more raps on that old barn, it’ll come down.”
I paused then continued on toward the house. I had to see what I was up against. Maybe there was a support column inside there that I needed to find. There had to be some sort of clue as to why the place hadn’t crumpled or the entire corner hadn’t been blasted to bits.
“Huck? Come back here… I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
I ignored the Swinger and continued to slowly approach the house. I could smell something that smelled like pot roast mixed with the distinct scent of hot apple pie. My stomach nearly screamed. I hadn’t realized that I was so hungry. I stepped closer, now merely five feet from the house and well within the danger-zone. I knew better than to do this. I should have stayed safely in the cab of the Swinger until the place was rubble. I could see the kitchen from where I stood and I was close enough to see a single place set at the table.
A steaming bowl of pot roast sat on the table. There was freshly baked bread, a tall glass of milk, and a big slab of apple pie. All I had to do was step inside and take my place at the table. I could hear my stomach growl as I took another two steps and leaned my weight against the house. I tested my weight against it and it seemed solid and sound. The table was eye level and the smells were too much for me to bear. I examined the hole, I could easily climb through.
“Huck!” shouted the Swinger. “You get back here right now!”
“I heard, but I was already climbing inside the kitchen. A man’s stomach has its own compass and I was foolishly following mine. The smell was overpowering here and I rushed the last few feet to the table. I gave the room a quick once-over, but a pride of hungry lions could have been stalking me there and I probably wouldn’t have noticed. My hunger had robbed me of any sense of reason. I sat down at the table and lunged for the fork.
A hand appeared out of nowhere and it grabbed my wrist with enough strength to nearly crush it. I gasped and found myself staring into the distorted face of Soliah. “Why Huckleberry,” he said with absolute delight. “Welcome home.” His skin was apple red and the horns on the sides of his head were pearl white. He grinned at me with a set of shark teeth.
I shocked myself by throwing my face forward into the bowl of stew. I still have a hard time believing I did that, but my stomach was still very much in control. Soliah roared with laughter as I began to snarf up the food in great gulps. He continued to laugh as I chomped like a starving pig. Even as I ate, I knew that was exactly what he wanted me to do. The bowl seemed as bottomless as my hunger and I slopped up the food as fast as I possibly could. Suddenly, something wriggled inside my mouth and I jerked my head back. The bowl of pot roast was now full of baby snakes, as was my mouth. They writhed in agony as I had bitten a good many of them in half, the proof was in the bowl. I spit out what I could and cleaned out my mouth with my free hand. One of the snakes bit my tongue just as I began to throw up.
Soliah released me and fell flat on his back, laughing hard enough to shake the entire house. I fell from my chair and found myself on my hands and knees, unable to do anything but expel the contents of my stomach. My eardrums threatened to burst from Soliah’s terrible laughter. He did not stop until I had finished. I sat back and felt as weak as a small child. I looked for the holes in the kitchen wall, but they had seemingly vanished. I should have known that it had all been a trap. My stomach had betrayed me.
“My, my,” said the Soliah devil. “What a hideous mess you’ve made, Huckleberry. Now, clean it up!” Soliah’s soft voice had become deeper with each word he said, until the last few had sounded like the low notes of a tuba.
He rose to his hoofs and began to circle me as I sat on the floor. I was extremely sick, dizzy and so nauseated that I couldn’t look at the floor to see what I had done. He lashed out with one of his hoofs and kicked me hard on the back. “Stop,” I pleaded. “Please…”
He kicked me again, this time a wicked shot that caught me on the side of the head. “I ordered you to clean up your mess,” growled Soliah. “Did you think I was joking?”
I held my hand to my ear and it came away covered in blood. A tear fell, was this how it was going to end? I certainly thought so. I began to scrape the chunks of vomit into a pile with my bare hands, which only caused me to have another wave of dry heaves. Some of the chunks were still moving. He kicked me again in the lower back; knocking the wind out of me and sending me face-first into the pile I’d created. Whatever strength I had left was instantly gone, I didn’t even have enough to lift my head. I managed to roll my head sideways, smearing the mess onto the floor. I closed my eyes and prayed for death.
“Get up!” ordered Soliah. “Get up, or I’ll make you hurt in places you can’t imagine. You’re going to clean that mess up and then you and I are going down into the basement. There are some people down there who would like to see you. We don’t want to disappoint them, do we?”
I opened my eyes and saw a metal bucket sitting six inches from my face. Somehow, I managed to sit up and I found the strength to wash the floor. Thankfully, Soliah seemed to be finished with my beating and I gradually came to my senses. I was weak, but the nausea had passed after I was through cleaning up after myself. I got to my feet and stood there defiantly, staring into the face of the devil, himself.
“Today we’ll make a man out of you,” Soliah quipped in his impossibly deep voice, which was still full of southern charm. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time, Huckleberry. I’m sure that you cannot imagine what this means to me. Today is the day you become master of this house. Today is the day you release me from my earthly duties. I suppose I should thank you for that, but I’m just not ready to do that quite yet. I do hope you will forgive me.”
“Get on with it, Soliah,” I wheezed. “You don’t have to thank me and I sure as hell won’t ever forgive you.” I then walked to the sink and quickly cleaned myself up. I half expected him to try and stop me, but he stood on his furry legs and waited patiently for me to finish. Looking out the window above the sink, I could see the Swinger where I had left it, standing idle and looking sad on the lawn. Beyond that, standing at the edge of the woods was the Buster. I had let them down. The thought made my eyes burn.
“Follow me, Huckleberry,” beckoned Soliah, waving his muscular arm at me. “I’ve got something to show you in the basement. I promise you won’t be disappointed. After you see what’s down there, maybe then you and I can make a deal for those earrings?”
I held my hand up to my good ear and felt the bear-claw earring. I moaned softly. There was nowhere to run, even if I suddenly found the strength. I thought I knew what was waiting in the basement and prayed that I still had the power to bargain for their safe release.
The first thing to hit me was the stench. It rose up from the depths and smelled unlike anything that had ever assaulted my tortured nostrils. The air smelled thick and stale, what you might imagine the inside of a coffin to smell like after a few months buried in the earth. I gagged and held my hand over my mouth and nose. Soliah watched me with interest. “Why Huckleberry,” he said with amusement. “I would have thought you would be accustomed to bad smells by now.”
I walked the final three steps to join him at the stairs and I felt the blood drain from my face. The stairs were made of stone and they looked as old as time. A reddish light emanated from below and it allowed me to see at least one hundred feet down, but the stairs didn’t end there. Only Soliah knew how far down they actually went. The stairs were covered in a black moss and the stone walls oozed with slime. The steps were very steep, yet wide enough to allow two men to descend together, but that would bring you dangerously close to those walls and whatever dripped down from above. A tendril of smoke rose from below, glowing red in the eerie light.
I did not want to go down there.
“What’s the matter, Huckleberry? You look like someone just shit on your grave.”
“What’s down there?” I managed to ask. “How far down does it go?”
“When are you going to wake up and smell the coffee?” Soliah asked; his deep refined voice edged in sarcasm. “They go all the way down and you sure as hell know where they lead. You first, my boy, we don’t have all day.”
I took another look and my feet froze. I stood between Soliah and the door and took a deep breath. I was still weak from my time spent in the kitchen and it was taking all my willpower not to run away as fast as my legs would carry me. “I don’t want to go down there,” I said. “I don’t want to die.”
Soliah’s eyes bulged from their sockets and he bellowed with a laughter that echoed down the stairwell. He laughed for a long, long, time. “You never cease to amaze me, son. I declare, that is about the funniest thing I have heard in twenty centuries. I would have thought you had figured it out by now. You are dead, my boy, and you have been dead these past five years. Didn’t you ever wonder why your life went down the toilet? You let your friends down and have been living in your own little hell. Now, its time for you to see how the other half lives. Move it!”
The words hit me so hard that my knees threatened to buckle. That certainly explained a lot of things, but I had never even considered it. If what he told me was true, how was it possible that I still felt pain, love, and loss? Why did I still feel hunger and humility? If this was death, what did death really mean to anyone? That was my last thought as I felt Soliah’s powerful hands slam into my back and I was sent flying into the abyss.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brindle's Odyssey Page 37