Vanessa

by David Howells

Chapter 15 – KLUKKERS

  Curtis Basrap had no job. The Depression had seen to that. “Fuckin’ politicians,” came a well-known Curtis quote. It didn’t much matter who he aimed his frustrations at, for the same adjective would always accompany the noun: niggers, Catholics, Jews, chinks, or anyone else who got in his sights. His wife had left him a year and a month ago. Went home to Mamma, she did. “The bitch. Fuckin’ women,” he said at the bar, sitting next to his shadow, Tom Pitcher. Tom never married, did have a job (pushing broom), and didn’t have much luck with the ladies, at least not the pretty ones. Especially not the special one he had eyes for.

  “Damn straight right on that one, Curtis. Ain’t hardly a one that appreciates a real man anymore. If you ain’t got the ‘do-re-me’, you ain’t got the ‘seafood Mamma’.”

  There weren’t any arguments from the others at the Railside Tavern, for many were in the same boat, more or less. Curtis had made money from his father’s still up north of town. Daddy wasn’t around anymore. Drinking too much of his own brew gave Daddy something the doctors called a funny name: ‘see roses’. “Guess it had something to do with the red blotches on Dad’s face put there by moonshine,” he would say. Curtis was following in his father’s footsteps, others would say.

  “Shit fire in Hell, Tom. Nothin’s goin right for nobody. Goddam niggers take all the jobs and what they don’t get, fuckin’ chinks take the rest. Jews got a strangle hold on the economy and the unions don’t do shit.” He liked to talk like that, sounded real smart. Learned it from the local Dragon, who was more educated than he was. Didn’t matter what you looked like or earned, though, when you got your sheet on. “You know what we gotta do? Get rid of them, push’em right out. They got no right bein’ here. Ship’em back to niggerland by the boatload. That’s how they got here, anyway. Lazy bastards, don’t work a lick in the fields anymore anyway, so what good are they?”

  Tom was used to his mentor’s mutterings. Curtis was a big man and most folk gave him wide berth. Tom wasn’t so big, but he felt larger under Curtis’s protective shadow. Lot of people talked bad about his friend, but they kept shelling out coins for the Everclear the Basrap family was famous for (the secret ingredient was one drop of gasoline per gallon of Everclear). Local gumshoes left Curtis alone. They were scared of him, they were. Some Fed had come snooping once, they say. Weren’t going to do any snooping anymore, from what Curtis says.

  “Pisses me off, Tom, that they built a church and a school. What does a nigger want with book readin’, anyway? They too dumb to do anything with it and even if they weren’t, then they too lazy to work with it. I don’t read and look at me! Gotta show’em, Tom, show’em all to get the hell away from here. Ought to leave our town the way it was supposed to be, just like Dragon said. ‘Racially pure’ he says. Makes sense to me.”

  “Me too, Curtis.” Other members of the invisible empire nodded and mumbled assent. It was a smart thing to do when Curtis was tying one on.

  Curtis looked at Tom. “Glad you think so, ol’ buddy. Cause the time is come.” Curtis had heard about a get together at that church tonight. Even that pretty lady teacher was going to be there. Curtis smiled even more. If it worked like he planned, it was going to be a hot night in more ways than one! He would teach the teacher a thing or two. Tom hit it on the head, he did, saying the women didn’t know what a real man was like. Well, that little doe was going to learn what a real southern buck could do, tonight! He had it all planned out.

  They walked down the road to the edge of town. There were only two of them. Seems the other ‘Inn-habitants’ had other plans. Just as well. “Pansy asses, that’s what they are. We gotta take action, just like Dragon says, and they all has excuses. They all has lacey panties on. C’mon Tom, almost there. I got some surprises for them blackies.”

  Tom was getting excited. Curtis could be pretty crazy, but that was part of the fun. There had been some scary times before, but those times made the best stories, didn’t they? Couldn’t hurt scarin’ those niggers a little, anyways. Maybe they’d move out after all. Maybe he’d get a shot at that teacher. He’d teach her a few things, he would. Curtis would have first go at her, sure. He wasn’t above being next in line, though. Beats nothing.

  There was the church. The school was dark, but the windows of the church glowed bright. They could hear the children singing inside and people laughing. They could smell good things to eat. That made Curtis all the madder. He thought, “Why should they have whole families when I don’t? Why should they eat fine when I eat what I shot or caught?” No one cooked for him! Well, he was going to do some cookin’ tonight. “Yessir!”

  Curtis told Tom to wait there, and snuck around to the back door to block it. Then he padded back up front, took two stashed railroad ties (he was one of the strongest men in these parts) and blocked the front doors. Tom got more and more uncomfortable, seeing Curtis take some stashed jugs and douse the walls all round the church, from where he could hear an old Gospel song started up. What the Hell was he doin’? No, it couldn’t be.

  Curtis struck a match and saw the slow drip fruits of his labor leap to take on an unholy life that hungrily licked at church walls, forcing him to jump back quick or get singed. Curtis trotted up to Tom and tossed him a single barrel shot gun, keeping his old man’s double barrel for himself. Tom could only stand there, holding onto the aging firearm, staring at the conflagration. Both men were amazed at how flammable Curtis’s Everclear was, and they hadn’t anticipated that the wood used for the church was old and dry. This was going to put a crimp on Curtis’s plans for one of the inhabitants of the church. “Oh well, other fish in the sea,” he thought.

  The screams could be heard now, of women, men, and, “Merciful Jesus, Curtis!” They could hear the efforts of people inside trying to break down the doors. Nothing was going to get by those wedged railroad ties. He saw someone trying to get out of a window.

  While Tom started running for the front porch, Curtis made for the north side of the building where a man’s face and hands could be seen through a partially broken window. “We’ll see about that, nigger!” he shouted. Curtis was close enough to just raise the shotgun up and fire. No need to aim much. The man was gone, and Curtis laughed loud and long. “Fry, nigger!” Curtis had put a tie by the building to pull the teacher out of the church, but things had gone too far for that. The fire was just too far advanced.

  Tom was trying to get to the two ties and managed to knock one down to the porch floor, but it still blocked the door. They were damned heavy. How the hell did Curtis haul both of them up here so quiet? The flames were rising higher by the minute, by the second. The heat was blistering his face, and his overalls were beginning to smoke. Tom had to get off the porch or explode. He tried twice more to go back, but it was hopeless. “They’re screamin’, Gawd All Mighty!” All he could do was stand back and stare in horror at the flames, now licking at the sky in wicked delight. What had they done, for Christ’s sake? His eyes were torn away from the fire by a sight just as evil.

  Curtis, his work finished, went back one more time to his hidden wagon. There was one last thing needed to complete the masterpiece. Folks were coming now and they had to see the hero dressed right. “Yessir, folks will be talking about me for many years to come, for sure.”

  Tom saw Curtis, standing there with his sheet on, shotgun still in hand. Others came and bore witness to the nightmare. Curtis’s white sheet and hood now blazoned orange and red from the colors of a dying church’s agony. Curtis looked up to the roof and was pleased all the more. On top of the church he saw it, a sign from God Himself: a burning cross.

  Tom saw Curtis look up and followed his gaze. He saw the cross, and its implications meant something very different to him. The fullness of the crime tore his heart apart. Tom Pitcher may not a big man, but he could do one last deed of redemption, maybe. He began to walk his last mil
e, one that measured eighty-five feet long.

  Curtis saw the townspeople and felt power. He saw his approaching comrade and felt more power. Tom’s flocking to his leadership would start the landslide. It was the beginning of the rally that would cleanse the South, just like Dragon said. Maybe they’d elect him the new Dragon. Why not? No one else was taking the horns. Their numbers had been declining badly with the Depression. He would change that with fire and blood. Fire and Blood. That was the motto of the Salvation Army, wasn’t it? Well, he’d put new meaning into that, too. Curtis turned to greet his first follower in his holy war, only to see his first in command raise his old man’s old single shot to Curtis’s chest.

  “Tom?” That was Curtis’s last word.

  Tom felt he had made himself major domo to the Devil’s own kinfolk. Worst of all, he had stood by and allowed ultimate evil to have its way with innocent children and their parents, in a CHURCH, for Christ’s sake! He knew his soul had one chance. Another may never come again. With the shotgun, cold in his hands despite the heat of the church, he walked. Someone else would push his broom tomorrow and people would have to buy their hooch elsewhere. Tom stopped five feet from the man he once called friend, raised the rifle, heard the final word of the condemned and pulled the trigger of judgment. The rifle dropped to the ground just after its victim did. The screams had stopped from the church. They stopped just after the roof collapsed. Tom bent down over Curtis and picked up the double barrel. He turned to the church and walked up to the porch. The flames were dying down, but it was still a furnace. What was left of the standing walls were black shadows whose top edge, windows and doorway were glowing Halloween orange, coloring the spectators so that they looked like the waiting line for Satan’s gates. The crowd had now reached well over two hundred and that number was still growing. Those that were there saw yet another sight none would forget. Like a backwoods prophet, Tom Pitcher slew the Klukker and walked right into the flames of the church’s front porch. It had to hurt him bad, and they could see his clothes catch fire. Yet, Tom didn’t scream or run. He just knelt before the doorway. The church doors had fallen back, affording a view of perdition itself. Tom put the barrel of the shotgun to his jaw, aiming so that he would never hear those screams again. The blast startled everyone and emptied Tom Pitcher’s head of memory and pain.

  The crowd saw Tom’s hat blow off and sail backwards in an odd way. A hat should catch the wind and only go a short distance. It landed after a flight of ninety feet at the feet of Reverend Thomas Haskins. In the slowly dying light of the dead church, he could see the reason for the hat’s ballistic qualities. “Oh, my.” It wasn’t empty.

  The screen only gave a brief glimpse of the lives of Tom and Curtis, but it was enough. Ryan and Vanessa looked at each other.

  “Heaven claims its own, Love, and so does Hell.”

  Ryan SatCom’d Allen to have the return tickets ready at the airport counter. The trip was silent after that. The limo company was closed by the time Ryan had called, so Allen dug up a local cab. The driver turned out to be a pleasant man, experienced enough to know that his talents for chipper conversation were not called for now. It was in the wee hours when Ryan arrived at the hotel. The cabbie wished the gentleman a good evening, then went home to feed his goldfish.

  Late hour or not, all were waiting up to hear what had happened. Besides involving someone they cared about, the news would make a lot of difference in how plans were to proceed. When they found out Vanessa was still on the team, a cheer broke out which made her very happy. The story of Natalie really didn’t take long and everyone felt more confident about their goals after hearing it. The follow up on the Klukkers that didn’t survive their evil rampage was grim. What they did was so unthinkable that, even though it happened so long ago, it still was able to evoke rage and great sorrow. “Served them right,” was the consensus.

  Ryan insisted on hitting the bed before any more plans could be made. Allen promised him a couple of real interesting twists when morning came. He was not kidding.

  The next morning at breakfast, down in the restaurant, Allen led off. “Whom were you planning on Vanessa handing the two kids off to?” Ryan blinked. He hadn’t decided. Vanessa headed the list on full transport out of there, but there might be plenty of candidates among the Union men, if horse assisted rapid transit were necessary. His Great Grandfather, maybe?

  Allen leaned over with a most mischievous look on his face. Rachel had heard it, already. Cat and the Angel were, for once, of one accord. Everyone was smug and conspiratorial. Ryan was getting excited. The feeling was electrifying.

  Allen took up the lead, again. “Which of the soldiers has thrown more monkey wrenches into the works than any other? Jed Patterson, right? There is such a great hatred and craziness in him and, somehow, she can use that to her advantage as a weapon to break up the plans made against her. Got it so far? Listen. Annie’s going to be absolutely bedazzled with the spectacle that will be going on. Add to it big time by changing a main course in her day’s usual menu. Stop Jed from going after Annie.”

  Ryan looked incredulous. “OK, Houdini. Just how have you managed to pull that particular rabbit out of your hat? Mind you, I no longer doubt your abilities, but I would dearly love to learn the inside dope on this piece of legerdemain.”

  Allen’s smile grew bigger. “Every plan ever made for escape was made behind Jed’s back. I did some research on this guy. He’s nutty, sure, but there’s a whole lot of good in his background, just as you said. Supported his whole family when his Dad died; that’s a goal I can identify with. Yes, he’s angry and she’s his target. The fact that she drove a kitchen knife into his spleen doesn’t calm the flame either. Now, what would happen if we tried a different approach? Convince him that the worst thing he could possibly do to Annie is to take her children from her. Have Vanessa hand the kids to Private Patterson! Tell him that this is his ticket not only for revenge, but for his freedom, and the troop’s, and the children which he probably has no real grudge against.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Talk, argue.

  “Now, let me get this straight.”

  Argue, debate, silence.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!”

  “You’d better not be, Darling. I have plans for you, later.”

  Ryan smiled, looking at Allen, shaking his head all the while and said “Great, great grandson of an old fart, you are a genius.”

  “There’s more, commander. Look at how many men Covington has been able to get to cross over. Look at the dates, look at the numbers. None of them are impressive, but look at the general pattern.”

  Ryan looked, and saw. “Hey you know, it was nothing for decades after the initial breakouts, then a drib, another drib, then a bigger drab, mostly recent. What are you getting at, son?”

  “We’ve been saying all along that one of the problems of getting a few across here and there is that Annie has more gigawatts to focus on fewer targets. If that’s so, how come one successful escape was followed by another and then another? Maybe the more that get through, the weaker she gets. There’re fewer soldiers to threaten her, or whatever it is that she uses to get juiced. Even if we just get a dozen by on Saturday, it may make her weak enough to blast through even more on Sunday.” The boy needed knighting. Why didn’t he think of that? He wasn’t used to feeling so short sighted. The little whelp. “There’s more yet, Chief, though I’m not sure as to how this figures into things. I did some research. There were sixty-five men on that original raiding party. Two thirds of them were dead within six months of the farm raid.”

  Ryan said, “Whoa, partner. This was the Civil War. Soldiers got killed by the bucketful. What happened, did they run into a Confederate force?”

  “That was part of it. Hood managed to get his digs in. Covington’s group got hit and lost a forth before they knew what was happening. Most
of the rest got away. The thing that I’m wondering about is that the rest died with a diagnosis of consumption, pneumonia, or heart attack half a year after the Instate event. Within another month, all but two were gone, same reasons. Those died a month later, same causes.”

  “Holy crow,” said Ryan, “...what are we dealing with here, the ‘Mommy’s Curse’? You think she hexed them to death?”

  “I don’t know, but you explain it. Annie’s a powerful spirit and she wanted the boys with a vengeance for vengeance. What else explains it? The next thought is, could she do it again, still an angry spirit, now aware of our presence and intentions?”

  Ryan’s thoughts were interrupted by a surprisingly loud belch. All eyes turned to Gustav, who was thoroughly embarrassed.

  “Good heavens, I am so sorry. All these hours we’ve been putting in and the running around, I’ve been getting some indigestion lately.” Vanessa, at times like these, liked to read the expressions on her friends’ faces. Allen and Ryan were surprised, but amused. Rachel was a little disgusted. Marianne looked a little concerned, telling Vanessa which of the group was going to insist Gustav get an early bedtime tonight. Rachel was used to ‘mother henning’ for youths. Marianne took on older chicks to cluck over, maybe in compensation for never having had to change diapers.

  Gustav downed an antacid and the plotting went on. Four days, including today, until the big event. There was much more to do, now.