by Brian Hodge
Jess pulled out of town just before sunset. He’d pitched a duffle with everything that really mattered to him in the back of his truck, surprised, as he did so, at how little that amounted to. Clothes, a few books, some photographs and a half bag of pot he’d been saving in case he got laid off again. There was always road work, but he had a tendency to take too much unscheduled time off, and sometimes the work was too far away for the unreliable transportation his truck afforded. It ran well, but money for maintenance and repairs competed with money for things to take his mind away from Old Mill, and it wasn’t much of a contest. After this night, he intended to hit the highway and blend in with the whine of tires that called to him so frequently. If Teeter was right, he’d find his ticket out at The Swamp, and ride it all the way into a future that didn’t include Slug, Mabel, or Old Mill in any way.
He knew he should have stopped and picked the two morons up on his way out of town, but he just hadn’t been able to face them. Teeter would see the duffle, wonder what was up. Slug would drool and grin and start chanting PARTY – PARTY – half way to the The Swamp and not quit until someone handed him a beer or lit a joint. In his present state of mind, Jess was afraid he’d end up killing them both and dumping them in a ditch, and with the promise of freedom so close at hand, it seemed a poor risk to tempt fate.
Besides, he didn’t want them whining when he took off, and he intended to do that. Soon. If this shit they were talking about was what they said it was, disgusting as some of their stories about it might be, he would grab as much as his savings would allow and take off. Once he was on the road, he could find a way to exchange it for the money he needed to make a new start. That was the plan, and it felt good to have one.
As he passed out of town, a roar from above caught his attention and he glanced up. A yellow crop duster roared out of the clouds, strafing the road too low for any sane pilot and tipping a wing as it veered to the right and roared across a field, spitting a fog of bug-death in a white cloud as it passed. The plane barely cleared a tall Oak tree and sputtered off into the distance, half-obscured by clouds.
Jess grinned. Leonard was at it again. He flew his Cessna like it was a fighter plane, mounting attack runs on the cotton fields, calling out on air band to towers so far distant they never caught the signal, and performing some of the most entertaining dogfight scenarios with buzzards that Jess could imagine. The way Jess heard it; it was never quite certain in the offices of local authorities whether Leonard would retain his license. Leonard drank. A lot. No one had caught him piloting his plane in a less-than-sober condition, but that was more likely due to the fact that his “landing field” was somewhere off in the swamp than to actual sobriety. Truth was, as long as Leonard kept airborne, sprayed the crops, and didn’t hit anything, no one really gave a damn.
Jess shook his head and pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal. Seconds later he was slamming on the brakes with curse as a black sedan rounded the corner and slipped past. One moment he’d been alone, watching Leonard’s antics, the next …
“FUCK!” he growled, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. “Who the hell was that, anyway?”
He watched the car recede in the rear-view. It looked like one of the unmarked cars in an old X-files episode. The plates were North Carolina, but it wasn’t local.
Shaking his head again, he continued on. The fog from Leonard’s spray faded into mist and dispersed in the last of the red-glow of sunset, and Jess made the final turn toward The Swamp, leaving Old Mill and his “so-called life” behind him. One hand gripping the wheel tightly, he cut loose with the other and offered Leonard’s long-faded smoke trail a snappy salute.
The road ahead was a wash of shadow and fading sunlight. Trees folded out over the road, in a few places cut into odd shapes, like giant warped topiaries, where phone and power lines went through. Jess wondered, not for the first time, why the trees hadn’t just been felled, but he let it slip from his mind. Not important.
He focused on the road, avoiding as many potholes as possible, and followed as it curved deeper into the swamp.
Fires had been lit in a semi-circle of old corrugated metal trash cans around the barn. Assorted vehicles were already parked out front when Jess pulled in and cut his engine, nosing between a Jeep Grand Wagoneer with peeling plastic faux-wood-grain on its sides, and a low-slung Camaro with glistening black paint and bumper sticker of Calvin taking a leak on a sheriff’s badge emblazoned across the window. Business as usual.
Shadows moved beyond the fires, and as he stepped down from the cab of his truck, the distant sound of voices floated to him on a gentle breeze. It was oddly silent. The fires snapped and popped now and then, and the voices grew louder as he approached the group already gathered, but something was wrong. Something he couldn’t immediately put his finger on.
As he moved past the barrels and into the doorway of the barn, whatever it was melted away in a wave of music, blasting from a huge portable stereo balanced precariously on some crates in the corner of the room. It was actually pushing it to call it a room. There were walls, and the weather was effectively banished by a rickety hay-loft and the roof beyond, but “The Swamp” was no ballroom.
“Jess!”
It was Teeter, rocking his way out of a crowd and swaying to whatever the weird, bass and drum techno beat was that pounded from the stereo. The music insinuated itself into the motion of everyone present. Those who walked were synchronized with it; those standing still swayed to the beat. In this crowd, Teeter’s patented motion was less out of place than usual. Behind Teeter, Slug grinned and raised a beer over his head. Jess could see the big idiot mouth the words “Gonna … Party.”
Teeter leaned in as he passed an ice filled barrel and snagged a cold beer. Milwaukee’s Best – nothing but premier suds for The Swamp, Jess thought. He was already thinking about places where they could pronounce Heineken when Teeter slapped the cold can into his hand and grinned.
“We were startin’ to think you wouldn’t make it,” Teeter said. “Mabel’s been asking about you.”
Jess let his gaze slide along the wall until he made out Mabel’s slender form. She was in the center of a circle of men, two truckers Jess was vaguely acquainted with and a couple of guys he’d never seen before. Her hands were raised high over her head to show the ample curves of her breasts to better advantage. Her head was back, her eyes closed, and she was dancing.
“Looks like she found a way to console herself at the loss of my company,” he remarked dryly.
Teeter followed his gaze, and then shrugged. “Didn’t say she was lonely, just said she was asking.”
Jess popped the top on the beer and took a long swallow. The music seemed out of place in the rickety old building, and at the same time, it fit. The walls were grimy and mildewed. The few pieces of furniture scattered around weren’t much better. There were blankets unrolled on the floor, space staked out by those intending to make a night of it, with bedrolls and coolers.
Jess had staked his own claims here often enough. His gaze slid back across to Mabel’s swaying form. More than once, she’d shared that claim. He took another sip and watched her dance, thinking.
Mabel wasn’t beautiful. She was rough-cut and angular, huge wide eyes and pouty lips, hair reaching nearly to the small of her back and flowing out over her shoulders in dark waves. He’d tried to describe her once, and the word that had stuck had been striking. Mabel was a striking girl. Hell, she’d given up on girl a few years back. She was a striking woman, but she had a bushel-basket of bad habits that Jess couldn’t quite get past. Most of that basket was filled with other men.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Mabel’s eyes flashed open.
Jesus, he thought, How can anyone’s eyes be that wide?
Mabel untangled herself from her admirers and swayed across the room, her gaze locked to Jess’ own. He found his eyes straying to her breasts, then to the curve of her hips. He cursed under his breath and met her gaze again. She was
smiling, and much closer.
“Heard you were coming, Cowboy,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “Knew you wouldn’t miss something this good.”
Jess fought his nature and kept his gaze steady on hers. Her eyes seemed wider than he’d ever seen them, and a shiver ran up his spine. She moved very slowly, her body seeming almost to squirm. He shook his head.
“I heard a lot of things,” he replied. “One time I heard you say I was the only man for you. Makes me a little leery of promises.”
Mabel licked her lips. “Promises are made to be broken, Cowboy. If there was no risk, what fun would it be?”
She turned her back on him, just as she drew close enough to touch, shaking her head so her long silky hair fell over him in a soft shower, and she danced. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The scent of her was intoxicating, and he wanted to curse again, but this close, he knew she’d hear him, and just that second, he didn’t want her to stop dancing.
“Keep that up and I’ll cum in my pants,” he whispered hoarsely.
Mabel laughed. The sound was musical, filtering up through the music and back again in a soft rain and before he could say another word she’d spun, wrapping him in her arms and planting her soft lips against his, tongue probing. He didn’t resist.
Mabel pulled back slightly. Very slightly. “It’s the bomb, Cowboy. You tried it yet?”
Jess shook his head. “I heard from Teeter,” he said, “but I don’t put much faith in anything Teeter tells me. He said you were into it, and that was enough for me.”
Mabel laughed again, and Jess leaned in, grabbing her head between his hands and kissing her deeply, stifling the sound. When he finally pulled back, he spoke softly.
“There aren’t a lot of things I’d take your word on sweet lips. Getting high is one. Teeter thinks everything rocks, if someone will talk to him, and Slug wouldn’t know high from a stomach ache. Fuck, he was talking about licking bugs. You’re different. You live for this. I know. If you lived for anything else,” he paused for effect, “you’d have ridden here with me.”
Mabel tensed, just for a second, and then she continued her dance.
“Never been a sweet talker, have you, Cowboy?” she whispered. “There’s a dozen men here who’d give up a week’s wages to be this close to me. A couple whose wives would kill them, and me to spite.”
“I didn’t call you over here,” he said, grinning.
Mabel tossed her head, her hair slipping over his face in passing. She tried a pout, but it didn’t fit, so she smiled.
“You know me too well.”
“To know you is to love you,” he half-whispered. The words caused another tense moment. Mabel hugged him quickly, pressing the softness of her cheek into his chest and sending the scent of her hair teasing through his senses.
Jess shook his head. This wasn’t why he’d come. In fact, in part this was why he wanted to leave. Mabel, Old Mill, and what passed for life there – these were realities Jess was more than ready to be rid of.
Teeter came rocking over again, moving more slowly as he caught the momentary intimacy between Jess and Mabel. He had something in his hand, and when Mabel caught sight of it, she gave an excited giggle.
“Get on over here Teeter-Totter,” she crooned. “Let’s show ol’ Jess what we’re talkin’ about.”
Teeter’s grin widened at the invitation. Slug stood by himself, over toward the wall. Jess glanced over and saw the big idiot start to laugh. Slug wasn’t talking to anyone. No one was anywhere near him. Jess knew, in fact, that some joke made as long as eight hours before had finally clicked, and Slug was joining in a long-dead laugh.
“Jesus,” Jess whispered, turning away in disgust.
Teeter had stepped up beside Mabel and was digging around in his pockets. He produced a baggie and a tattered, soiled pack of rolling papers. With surprising dexterity for a drunken idiot, he managed to wrap one of them around a few crumbled leaves of something bright green and pungent, lick the paper to seal it and twist the ends shut. He held the joint out to Jess, who took it, eyeing it suspiciously.
The story was that this shit would kick his ass. He’d had weed from the same farm a thousand times or more, and it had never been any great shakes. Tommy and Dickey Murphy grew it, and they didn’t have much more luck with pot than they had with their father’s soybeans. It would get you by, but you sure didn’t want to spend money on it. Something had changed. So he was told. Something was in that field, something more than pot. Something that infected everything, amped it up and gave it kick. Fucking Slug had been licking the bugs from the field and getting high.
Jess rolled the joint under his nose, trying not to think of the fact that Teeter’s tongue had just licked the length of it. It smelled the same as always, a mixture of bad pot and some sort of Alfalfa. Grass, in a more literal sense than any sixties hippie had ever meant it.
“What the fuck,” Jess growled. He fished a worn Bic lighter from the pocket of his jeans and slipped the joint between his lips. “Worst I can get is another headache.”
He lit the joint and took a long drag. It was the same harsh, throat-numbing taste as always, but he held it in his lungs by force of will. There was something, an odd taste, a tingling on his tongue. Probably his imagination, but...
He exhaled, and Mabel giggled, taking the joint from between his fingers and bringing it suggestively to her lips. Jess had a question half-formed, but it died on his lips.
“You felt it,” Teeter said grinning. “Saw it in your eyes.”
“Shut up,” Jess replied, irritated, slapping at the moron. His hand felt leaden, and he watched, fascinated, as it flashed before his face. His fingers were stretching, or they seemed to be. His hand moved, but the fingers stayed behind, elongating and trailing along like wisps of smoke. Jess stared, and it wasn’t until after he heard the hard smack of flesh on flesh – a long time after – that he turned slowly to where Teeter had been standing.
Teeter wasn’t there. Or, more precisely, Teeter had tottered. Jess dropped his gaze to the ground at his feet. Teeter was just sitting up – slowly – as if floating up from the floor.
“Jesus,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You nearly took my head off you asshole.”
The words pulsed. The sound was loud, and then soft – a suction-cup to the eardrum effect that reminded Jess of the kettledrum in his high school band class.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
The room had slowed to a time-warp jumble of images. Jess turned again, nearly spinning himself off his feet. Mabel had taken her hit and leaned past him. He wanted her to stand still, but before he could force his voice into action, she’d brushed her breast against his thigh and leaned down to pass the joint to Teeter. Teeter was still rubbing his chin, and Jess saw with fascination that the idiot was spitting. Blood. The red streaks hesitated in the air, and then splashed on the floor in patterns so fascinating he could have watched them all night. Would have watched them all night, but Mabel was still moving, and she was no longer focused on Teeter.
“Holy shit,” Jess repeated, wondering if he’d said that already, and knowing that if he hadn’t, he was caught in the oddest temporal loop any Star Trek fan had ever imagined.
“Give it a minute, Cowboy,” Mabel whispered.
How had she gotten her lips so close to his ear without moving?
Had she moved?
Had he?
He started to speak, but Mabel held a long, slender finger to his lip and shook her head. He could see himself in her eyes.
“You say holy shit again,” she said, “and I’ll have to have ol’ Teeter kick your ass.”
Jess started laughing, and realized a second later that it was a mistake. He couldn’t stop the echoes of his own mirth from reverberating through his mind. He put his hands to his ears. Or tried to. He thought he might have done it, too, but Mabel twined her fingers with his and held him still, pressing herself against him and still dancing slowly.
“How,�
�� he whispered. “How do you … “
“I told you Cowboy,” she said softly, “give it time. This isn’t your bargain-basement shit, you know what I mean?”
He did, but opted not to nod. After his experience with the laughter of a few moments before, he was beginning to understand the consequences of simple motion.
He knew she was right. Within moments he’d begun to adjust. He matched her motion, pressed closer, and he no longer felt as if he would topple to the floor beside Teeter. The wash of color and sound solidified into a very different image than he’d last glimpsed – and that gave him a moment’s pause – but it was solid enough. Mabel was certainly all there. He’d never seen her so hot. Her eyes literally glowed, and the trill of her laughter teased through him in waves he could feel, slipping bone-to-bone in his chest – and lower.
Teeter was back on his feet, and, apparently catching the scent of burning hemp – and whatever-the-hell else was in that joint, Slug had joined him. Teeter had taken his hit and passed the burning butt to Slug. Somehow, the constant rocking that characterized Teeter had taken on a rhythm that normally wasn’t there. Or was it that Jess had never noticed? The freak swayed and rocked, just like he always did, saying something that Jess couldn’t make out. It wasn’t that the words were unclear, but that they were unimportant. Jess brushed them aside mentally in favor of concentrating on his friend’s motion.
Mabel, meantime, had wrapped her arms around Jess’ neck from behind, clasping her fingers on his chest and pressing into his back. She was a tall girl, able to pull this off without standing on her toes, and Jess felt the burning pinpoints of her nipples slide in provocative circles against his shoulder blades.
All around the room, others were lighting up. Faces faded in and out of Jess’ vision. Couples stumbled by, or danced around them, causing flickering shadows to mimic their motion on the dingy walls. The furniture and blankets, coolers and even the radio dissolved and reformed into a single, combined image.
“Come on, Cowboy,” Mabel whispered in his ear. “We need to show you something.”