But if I stay where I am, I’ll be strangled by The Tree’s green arms just like Lester. I can’t imagine a worse death. I’ll take my own life first. But how? No weapons, no pills …
My God! I’m actually trying to think up a way to kill myself.
I take a breath and draw my feet in toward my body. I manage to get a knee on the ground, though my ankle is bursting with pain. I see only one avenue of escape. I have to scramble over these fucking tentacles and get back to where I landed when I fell down the hole. Then, somehow, I have to claw my way up a side of the hole to the surface of the ground. Simple.
I give a cry and lunge forward, thrusting my body over the writhing vines, my right foot and leg a painfully throbbing and slowing weight. My hands touch her tentacles—cool, yet pulsing with life. And strength. I move slowly through the pain toward the sunlit spot where I landed. I see my left hand come into sunshine there. I sob with relief and lurch forward until it warms my entire body. I raise my right hand to a root protruding from a side of the hole about two feet above my head. I clench my teeth and painfully haul myself up to a sitting position.
I’m gonna do it! Yes sir, by God! All I gotta do—
The root shudders and twists in my hand. It’s alive!
Before I can react and drop it, it wraps itself tightly around my wrist. At the same time, I feel a similar pressure around my left boot at the ankle. Yet another of her tentacles pulls my injured right ankle out from under me and wrenches it back, holding it firmly. I cry out. I’m lying down now, my right hand captured and held above me. Her roots are stretching me out as if I’m on the rack.
“Ahh, Jesus. Frank … Frank?” He’s nowhere near, I know, but I yell for him anyway as more of her insidious vines slide up onto me. My right knee pops as her roots pull it in two different directions, and I hear myself scream.
No more. I can’t take any more. I’ll black out from the pain and that will be a blessing.
There’s something red then at the corner of my eye. It’s a refill can. The one Lester had been carrying. It’s almost hidden behind the big man’s body. Even if I could reach it, it’s no good to me now.
Another tentacle glides up over my groin and onto my chest. It pauses, then creeps toward my neck. I grasp it with my free hand and try to pull it down off my chest. As if playing, it jerks away from my hand and continues on its way to my throat. It’s so smooth. It has no eyes, no feelers or antenna of any kind. It’s blind, driven by malevolent instinct upward where it coils itself around my neck. It’s cool and almost feels good on my sweaty throat. I spit at it, a feeble gesture, but all I can muster right now. I know I’ll soon join Lester-Lee. Stretched out and helpless, I wait for the end.
“Frank?” A weak cry. The coil squeezes tighter.
My uncle’s name is the last word I’ll ever speak.
A blur then. Something … boots. Scuffed cowboy boots hit the mushy dirt near my head. Along with a pair of skinny legs in faded blue jeans. And then—thank you God—on top of those jeans is a bare-chested Frank, my wonder-uncle. And he’s holding the other sprayer! Canine feet arrive then, strong, with nails extended and digging in. Aggressive as hell.
I want to cheer, but I have no air. I struggle in the iron grip of strangulation. Through dimming eyes, I see Frank start pumping the sprayer. Louie is at Frank’s side, barking.
I want to watch. How often does a show like this come on? But my world goes dim, then even darker, and almost black. I float in a land without air. It’s as if I’m adrift in a murky pool of water but tethered by a steel-like band around my neck.
From a distance comes a warm, salty mist that bathes my face. It drops lower, to my neck. The band loosens. Then it gives way completely.
Air!
My starved lungs are jumping inside my chest. They suck in life.
A hissing sound. Sizzling, like meat being seared. Hot tentacles scurry off my body, seething, thrashing. An acrid burning smell envelopes me as I gulp down the pungent, fetid, blessed air.
I cough, great racking spasms that threaten to bring up the entire lining of my throat and stomach.
Right hand free now—the spray has burned off the rope—I touch my neck and rub it gingerly. I realize my foot is free now too. My entire body is free!
“Jesus Christ,” I murmur.
“Kind words indeed, but I wouldn’t go that far,” I hear my uncle say. “Just an old man doin’ his best.”
I try to laugh but cough instead. I feel Louie’s warm, rasp-like tongue on my face and then Frank’s strong hand under my arm, lifting me up.
“Come on Cassidy, get up. Let’s get outta here. Dott and Charlotte are waitin’ for us.”
I stand, kitten-weak and shaking, resting the bulk of my weight on my left foot. I want to tell Frank we’re no way outta here just yet, but when I look at him I finally succeed in laughing. He’s a wild man; his face is framed in filthy, used-to-be white hair that’s standing straight up. His scrawny chest is covered with mud and dust; he looks like he’s been underground for days.
“You’re not lookin’ so good yourself, Cassidy,” he says. “Start workin’ your way up this side here and grab anything. There’s a cloth rope we made about half way up. I’ll push you—”
“We’re not through here yet, Frank. We have to—”
“Sweet baby Jesus!” Frank says. He’s just seen Lester’s body, partially hidden by grass and rock. “Is that Lester?”
“Yeah. Never had a chance, poor bastard.”
Louie starts trotting over to the body, and I’m alarmed. I’m not sure just where those killer vines are. “Get back here, Louie!” I’m surprised to see that wonder-pup instantly obey me.
Leaning on Frank, I look past Lester’s body through the beams of sunlight that illuminate the heart of The Tree. She’s a bright green nightmare, a hideous giant just a few yards away. She seems quiet now, at least somewhat subdued. Even her army of vines is still. But I know she’s conning me, leading me to think she’s defeated. I can feel her evil. And her patience. She’s regrouping. This monster is far from beaten.
I know you’re pissed Mama Tree. So … what’s your plan now?
“Poor fellow,” Frank says, looking at Lester. “I’m so sorry.” He’s breathing hard, fighting back tears. “We’ll have to rig something, Cassidy, to get him back up the hole—outta here.”
“Yeah. But we’ve got a bigger problem right now. Take a look around, Frank.”
The tentacles Frank has sprayed are lying shriveled and burned on the cavern floor. Several healthy ones have drawn back, I see, away from the lethal spray. They’re just a few feet away, however, and they’re twitching as if anxious to get back to work.
“Look at all these dead … things, Cassidy. I think we’ve stopped her.”
“No, Frank, we haven’t. She can grow new vines in a flash. That’s her beating heart we’re looking at; she’s very much alive. She’s after the world, Frank, and we have to stop her. We have to kill her. Right now.”
I’m talking as if we can kill her. We only have one sprayer, because I can’t find mine, and one can of refill. That may not be enough.
And then I see it! Oh my God; there’s my sprayer! It’s lying almost covered in dust, just a few feet from where I landed.
“There’s my sprayer, Frank,” I say pointing.
“I don’t know about this, Cassidy. I think we should just get—”
“Look at her, Frank. Look at her heart, beating away. She’s healthy as a horse, and like I said—she’s after the world.”
Frank takes a breath, and I brace myself for argument, but the old man just closes his mouth and stares at the monster’s beating heart.
“I … guess you’re right, Cassidy,” he says after a moment.
I nod, smiling and slap him on the back. “I’ll get my sprayer,” I say and limp the few feet over to it. At this moment I seem to be almost numb to the pain in my leg—what a blessing that is!
My sprayer is heavy which means
it’s full or very close to full. I check the nozzle which is still open. Louie comes to my side growling, with the ruff on his neck and back standing at attention. I have no idea what good the dog may be in this bizarre situation, but I’m comforted by Louie’s presence. I look back at Frank who’s right behind me, sprayer clutched to his bare chest with one hand and arm and the other on the pump—he’s at the ready. I’m at the ready myself, dragging Lester’s refill can along behind me. The three of us are geared up and primed for battle.
We start off. I’m limping but leading the way toward her heart. She responds by sending her green arms to meet us. When I’m about ten feet away from her advancing tentacles and her heart, I figure that’s close enough and begin pumping my sprayer,
“Now, Frank!” I yell. “Let her have it!” The two of us open fire.
Her limbs thrash wildly as the spray hits them, like snakes gone mad. They sputter and hiss in their death throes. But more come quickly to take their place. She seems to have a limitless quantity of those things inside her. My belly cramps in visceral fear as the truth hits me.
We don’t have enough spray—even with the refill! She can probably outlast us. and that means she’ll win.
I want to drop the sprayer, grab Frank and Louie, and run like hell. Make that limp like hell.
This green bitch is going to defeat us!
Looking at her, I think of a huge octopus that can somehow grow an endless supply of arms. How does one kill an octopus? I have to get closer, closer to the bulk of her heart. That’s where she’s giving birth to these unholy things. Her tentacles are at my feet now, and two slither up onto my boot.
“Frank,” I yell over my shoulder, “I’m gonna jump over these guys. We gotta get closer to her heart.” I see Frank’s eyes widen; they’re huge with fright. “Cover me!” I shout and leap into the seething green army.
Slippery! No purchase for my boots anywhere. I lurch forward, knowing if I fall I’m a goner. I shoot some spray at my feet and slog on. It’s like being mired in living ropes of quicksand. At my side, Louie snaps and snarls as he tears into the tentacles. He whips them about as he shakes his head from side to side in a froth of canine rage. I hear sizzling behind me and know that Frank is spraying like mad.
Three green snakes slide up my leg toward my belt. In a frenzy, I turn the sprayer on my groin and then down my legs. The tentacles hiss and burn as they fall off. I push on, fearful now of my own hysteria. I’m afraid I’ll lose my mental grip and bolt mindlessly.
And now she’s less than five feet away!
Time stops. As if surprised by my nearness, she pauses and we pause as well. I stop my clumsy advance, and she the relentless march of her army. We study each other. I replenish both sprayers with Lester’s refill can. There’s a perpetual hissing sound coming from her, like a huge snake about to strike. She stinks. Her pores suck air in and then blow it out in a hot, fetid gush. She smells like a dank, rotting plant that’s never seen the sun, along with a decomposing animal reek.
I’m close enough now to see that her core, her heart, is covered with pale green vines, tightly woven together. They’re protecting her heart. If I can get this spray past that tight weave …
I adjust the nozzle to “stream” and stagger closer. I pump the sprayer up and turn it on, thrusting the nozzle so close it’s almost touching her. The stream hits her heart and runs down its surface. She writhes and wheezes in pain. I lurch closer. I ram the nozzle through the weave and gun the lethal liquid directly into her heart.
Have these miserable creatures destroyed me? Never! That simply cannot be.
I hear the death throes of my tentacles, my loyal protectors. Their hissing is constant now, telling me they are in terrible pain. Their pain slowly becomes mine now, as I don’t have the strength to fight through the effects of the deadly elixir that is being sprayed on us. It’s a liquid, scalding fire that burns my living green flesh into white ash. The pain is unbearable … but of course I must bear it—I have no choice.
I am The Matriarch.
In her cell, Lindee Banyon claws at her head, drawing blood. Her face is distorted in anguish.
Deputy Stanley Mack picks up his inter-office phone. “Backup!” he yells. “She’s tryin’ to kill herself!”
I see the rope-like flesh of The Tree’s heart wriggle and squirm. And, fall off her. With the torrent of spray, her protective weave comes undone, exposing a soft, yellow-green muscle that gives off a rotten, sugary stench. I begin to cough, and I hear Frank gagging behind me.
Frank and Louie come up even with me, and we stand side by side, spraying and streaming and barking until her arms are killed and The Tree shrivels in on herself. She becomes self-consuming, a pathetic shrinking mound of smoking tissue.
We empty our sprayers.
SUNDAY EVENING
We sit quietly on the porch. I’m sprawled in a chair, my throbbing leg resting on a cushioned chair while I nurse an Irish and ice and smoke a cigarette. Frank sits with me at the table, a glass of the Dickel in his hand. We stare at the half loaf of sliced rye and wedge of cheddar Charlotte has set out for us. Louie sleeps soundly under my chair.
Pink blisters are blooming on our arms and faces—clusters of them—kisses from the Mama Tree. Exhausted and filthy, I’m a hollow man, drained of energy and everything else … except worry.
Is she really dead? Did we really kill her?
I picture the small pile of wet, gray-green ash that’s left of her—sprayed right to Hell by our synthetic testosterone.
Is she really dead?
We emptied our sprayers into her heart and then called to the women to help us up the sides of the hole with the cloth rope they had made. I’ll never forget the sight of the strapping Dott Pringle in her harness-like bra. She was an avenging goddess. And Charlotte standing there bare breasted was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. She helped haul us up, and I couldn’t keep the lecherous grin off my face. I gave her my shirt, and she blushed.
We partially reloaded our sprayers from the remaining refill can, and the women helped us descend once again. We sprayed the now motionless monster until her mass dwindled to a tiny residue of pale-green mush.
In my head, I know she’s dead. I can only hope that when I get some rest, I’ll know it in my gut as well.
A sheriff’s patrol car pulls up, stirring the dust in the drive. Frank had called Manny’s office and learned he was dead. He had apparently been stabbed several times by his wife; she was found near his body in a state of mindless hysterics. Frank also learned that Al Schmidt was found dead at his home, apparently bludgeoned to death. A bloody shovel was nearby on the floor. His wife wasn’t there. While I’m no fan of Al’s, I’m sorry he met such a violent end. Was it more crazed women doing him in?
Deputy Jim Collins is now the acting sheriff of Diablo County. He and two deputies climb the stairs to the porch.
I lower my leg and put the heels of my hands on the table. I begin to push myself up to a standing position.
“Sit down, Cassidy,” Frank orders, and I gratefully do as I’m told. “Sheriff, this here’s my nephew. He’s got a bad leg.”
Louie rouses himself briefly, checks the new sheriff out, and settles back down to sleep.
“We’re pleased to see you, Depu … Sheriff Collins,” I say and shake his hand.
“Yeah, it’s an awkward situation,” Jim says. “I doubt I’ll be sheriff long. At the moment we’re waiting for the new man to arrive. Should be here soon.”
“Anything new on Al Schmidt’s death?”
“Not yet. His wife seems to have disappeared.”
I nod. “We’ve got a lot to talk about here, Sheriff. It’s a crazy story, but I need to tell you. And I need your help with the mop up of this tragedy.”
“Sure, I’ll do my best.”
We all sit down. “We’ve got a man down,” I say, anxious to get on with this. I can’t get over that good man’s death, and I hate the fact that Lester-Lee is still down in that g
odforsaken cavern. “He’s dead, and we need to get his body up and out of that Goddamned hole.” My eyes fill, and I feel like a little boy.
“Sure, you bet. But I don’t have the full story.” He slides into a chair, and the two deputies stand at his back. “What’s happened here?”
I decide on the truth, bizarre as it is, and start talking. I tell Acting Sheriff Collins about a fig tree that—after the recent earthquake—suddenly produced a fig that caused loving women to run amok, to go berserk and start murdering their men.
“I know this story sure as hell requires a giant leap of faith, Sheriff Collins, and I can’t imagine any thinking person believing a word of it. But it is the truth.” I tell him about a young girl with an evil mother, a gelding horse, and the death of my love Charlotte’s little sister, Shelly. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and look back to see Charlotte standing there with Dott at her side. I’m grateful for their presence. I finish my saga, and not once do Sheriff Collins’s eyes leave mine, and not once does the lawman allow himself a smile of disbelief or derision.
I polish off my whiskey and wait for the net to be thrown over me—for the men in white coats to come and haul me off.
“Well, Cass—”
“Oh and Sheriff,” I say, “you’ll need to arrest Kate Hammond as an unfit mother if that’s possible and arrange for her daughter, Molly, to be placed with another family … hopefully mine. And you should look into the activities of the McClain sisters. I don’t know if there are any husbands or boyfriends there, but if so, you’ll need to look for them and make sure they’re still alive. The sisters are under the influence of the figs, so be careful around those two, Sheriff, because they don’t take kindly to men. And, I’m pretty sure I know where you’ll find Kate’s husband, Victor.”
“I see …” the sheriff says. He sits for a moment, looking like he doesn’t see a damned thing. “That’s a pretty wild story, Cassidy,” he says finally.
The Matriarch Page 24