Selected Stories

by Nate Southard

  Give it here, now, the voice say. Hand it over, and I won’t kill you.

  “What is it?” I ask. Maybe bad idea, but I want to know.

  Nothing important. Something old. Something that doesn’t belong to you.

  “Supposed to protect,” I say.

  The voice laugh. Hurt my brain. I fall to one knee.

  Demon so close. I see black fingernails. Broken fingernails. Hands become fists.

  Something feel warm in my hand. I look down. Bottle glowing brighter.

  Protect it? demon ask. How? What are you? A crazy, homeless woman. You’re nothing. Pathetic.

  He grab my hair. Yank. I almost scream. Bite tongue instead. The bottle is hot. I feel stronger.

  He say it again. You’re nothing.

  “No,” I say. “Samurai.”

  I swing the bottle. Strong. Sure. Arc over my head. It hit demon. Hit right on temple. His head shatter. Black glass rain down. Something crackle through his body. Then it fall. Hand not in my hair. Free to go.

  Stand and look down. No head on demon. Black glass everywhere. Look at bottle again. Just bottle, but not broken.

  I run away. Fast.

  Have to do something. Demons know about me, know about bottle. See more and more every day. Sometimes ignore me, just stand across the street and watch, let me know they see me. Other times they chase. Either way, they know me. They see my face and know I have bottle.

  I hide a lot. In dumpsters and storm drains. With rats and spiders. Once or twice, I break into cars, sleep in the back.

  When I can, I fold paper. Sometimes I think about the shelter. Scorpion didn’t kill. Didn’t even move. I worry about that, but I still fold. No choice. Make elephant. Make rhinoceros. Make dragon. All of them strong and sturdy, folds neat and clean. First fold easy. Second fold easy. Each time I finish one, I whisper in its ear, “I believe.” I have to believe, and I do believe. They will protect me like I protect bottle.

  I exercise. Pushups and sit-ups. Sprint down alley and back again and back again and back again. Have to be stronger, faster. Samurai can’t be weak. I practice fighting, throwing punches and kicks and knees at shadows and thin air. Don’t know if I do it right. Guessing. Learning from ideas and hunches.

  When the sun go down, I feel more afraid. Wonder if samurai are allowed to have fear. Don’t think so. Try to not be scared, but too hard. I hear voices, whispers. Demons looking for me. Looking for bottle. I hold bottle and feel it grow warm. What make bottle so special? I wish I knew. Maybe another angel will appear and tell me. Or maybe the angels are all gone. Just me left. Scared samurai with bottle and paper.

  Need to sleep. Afraid, but need to sleep.

  Keeps getting colder and colder. Too cold. Shiver when I should sleep. When awake, teeth clack. Almost break.

  Draw myself up tight. Become ball. Try to stay warm. Ball of shivering skin and bone. Wrapped in old coat and torn jeans and paper that will one day be bear or tiger or rattlesnake or elephant. Bottle in center. Protect bottle. It gives heat, but not enough. Not nearly.

  Dumpster warmer. Doesn’t smell so bad in the cold. When dumpster is too cold, sleep in storm drain. Little warmer there. Wish I could go back to shelter. Blankets and bed and heat and coffee there. Not safe, though. Demons can find me there, and I’m not allowed to fight them. And the paper animals won’t live. Something wrong at shelter. Ruin belief.

  Can’t feel my fingers. When I look, I see three toes gone black. Smallest on left foot and two smallest on right. Some memory say that’s bad. I cry. For a long time, I cry. Shriek and howl and sob and ask why angels don’t come. Ask why pretty man can’t hold my hand again and why do I have to be this way. Punch dumpster with hand. Hear something crush, but can’t feel anything.

  Hour later, hand real big. Hurt really bad. Throb. I cry again. Pretty man used to hold that hand.

  Wake up beside gorilla. Dragon on my other side. Bottle in my fist.

  Whispers nearby. Record-player voices. Scratch shiver down my back because I recognize them. Demons. More than one. Three voices in my brain. Bounce around. Confuse. Try to push them out and remember my thoughts. Hard to do.

  Too late. Somebody kick me. Hard toe in ribs. Pain and heat and fire in my side. Scream and suck air. Curl into tighter ball.

  Second kick come. Harder than first. Somebody stomp. Shoulder want to crack but doesn’t. Screech through bared teeth.

  Eyes open. See faces with moving scratches, hear laughter. I snarl.

  Samurai.

  More kicks. More laughing. Everything hurt. Seeing stars, but cold has gone away. Only pain left, and maybe that’s good. Try to draw it in, contain and use it.

  Then I lash out. Roll onto back and kick up. Both legs a piston. Catch a demon’s chin, and black glass shatters. More kicks come. Back and sides and legs and arms. I still make it to my feet. Bottle in my left fist. Burns. See it glow in corner of my eye.

  Swing bottle, aim for closest crackling face. Glass burn in my hand. Fire at end of my wrist. Demon throw up arm. Block, but his sleeve catch fire. Empty voice become empty scream. Static at full blast. Twisting and spinning. Pinwheel. Fire spread, and I watch. Everything feel strange. Wrong but right. I did this. Samurai protecting bottle. Fighting with bottle. Angels on my side.

  Something cold punches into me. Air gone, no breath. Look down. Last demon twists knife in my belly. Now I scream. Fire in my belly and then ice and then fire and then ice, and it hurt so much.

  Try to swing bottle again, but can’t. Arms too heavy. Bottle drop. Clink against concrete.

  Demon jerk knife from belly. Stick it back in. Scratchy face so close to mine. Breath smell like dead dog. Laugh sound grinding glass. Voice in my head again.

  You lose.

  Knife come out again. I fall to my knees. Getting colder. Gorilla on one side. Dragon on other.

  Demon reach for bottle.

  Blood in my mouth. Bitter. Through bared teeth, I whisper.

  “I believe.”

  They attack. Gorilla leap and dragon take flight. I smile bleeding smile. Thrashing paper latch onto demon, and demon stagger back, fall over burning demon. Dragon twist and bite. Gorilla smash. I hear glass shatter, and hen everything is quiet.

  On hands and knees. Reach to belly and feel blood on hand. Blood all around me. Getting colder and colder, but I smile. I see bottle. Bottle safe. I protect. Samurai.

  I lie on alley floor. Stomach burn when I roll onto back. Then get cold again. Coldest yet. Gorilla and dragon stand nearby. Watch me. Protect me.

  Light coming from somewhere close. Not sure. It’s everywhere. Everything. Gorilla and dragon don’t notice. Just shuffle beside me. Not so cold anymore. Feel warm. Warmer. Like blankets and pillows and hugs and a hand in my hand.

  Light get brighter. I close my eyes and open them again. Close them. Open. Close. Then there really is a hand in mine.

  I open my eyes and smile again. Pretty man smile back.

  IT BURNS

  Charlie woke to hands clawing at him. A scream ripped through his chest but left his mouth as a weak moan, his mouth as wide and round as his frightened eyes. The hands remained on him, fingers scrabbling, and he fought to break free of their awful touch.

  “Charlie, c’mon!”

  The sound of the voice calling his name—the terror that ran through it like veins of ice—shattered the illusion of attack. In a flash of realization, he knew the fingers were frantic instead of menacing, their touch meant to awaken and not to kill. When his eyes focused, he saw Jeff looking down at him, his own eyes wide with fear. His friend’s face had gone stark white, an expression of pure terror carved into marble. Had Charlie scared him just by starting awake?

  Charlie’s answer came with his next breath. The thick, strangling scent of smoke filled his nostrils and sent a hot spike through his heart. In an instant, he was out of bed, covers dragging behind him as he shoved Jeff to one side and raced for the window. He couldn’t see much. A black fog had dropped over the renta
l cabin. It writhed over the glass like it was searching for weak spots to exploit, as if it needed just the smallest crack so it could grab hold and rip open the window in a single, violent motion.

  He spun, looking to Jeff for answers. Thundering footsteps sounded from downstairs. “What the hell?”

  “Eric smelled it, I think,” Jeff said. “He woke me up and then went to get Mike and Denise.”

  “Forest fire?”

  “I think so.”

  “How close?”

  Jeff shrugged.

  For a short moment, time appeared to stop and then reverse itself. The smoke on the window froze and then rolled back. Words crawled back into Jeff’s mouth. Then everything started moving forward again, and iron bands squeezed Charlie’s heart, the metal forged in both fear and a determination that was almost rational.

  “No bags. We don’t have time to pack them or the car. Everybody gets dressed, and we get out. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” Jeff said.

  “Tell the others. We meet at the front door. Nobody goes outside.”

  Jeff nodded and then spun and charged out the door. Charlie looked to the window again. He could still see sunlight cut through the smoke, and he hoped that was a good sign. Jesus, what if it had cut off the road? Would they be able to hike out? No. They’d never survive something like that.

  Some spring break. Should’ve gone to Miami like every other kid from Indiana. Instead, they’d decided on a week in a secluded cabin spent drinking and smoking themselves into a stupor. Even now, his latest in a series of strong hangovers was peeking through his terror. Perfect. Burned alive in his T-shirt and boxers with a knot in his stomach and a whiskey headache. Not even enough time to pull on a pair of jeans. Wasn’t that just awesome?

  He shook his head, trying to toss the thoughts aside. There were much more important things to worry about. Standing in the middle of his room, he didn’t feel any heat. Maybe that was a good thing. If the fire wasn’t close enough to feel, then maybe they could get out before it swallowed them. As he watched the smoke roll across his bedroom window, he tried to think of precautions and a plan, anything that would help their survival. Heat was a problem, but the smoke was an even bigger killer.

  In the next instant, he knew what to do. Hurrying, he grabbed a handful of shirts from his duffel bag. He took a second to make sure he had five, and then he bolted from the room and across the hall, cranking on the bathtub’s faucet. A vibrating sound filled the room for a second, and then water belched from the tap and began to run steadily. He shoved the entire handful under the water and turned it over until he was sure all five shirts were soaked through.

  Voices shouted from the front door, and he raced down the hallway to find he was the last to assemble. His friends huddled in a tight knot, all of them in various forms of sleepwear. Looking at them, he saw an assortment of fear. Jeff remained fairly calm, the car keys tight in his hand. Eric had a hand on the door, probably checking it for heat. The fact that he was able to hold it there eased Charlie’s fears only the slightest bit. Denise looked at him with wide eyes. She held one of Mike’s hands in both of her own, and when he saw Mike’s face he understood why. What he could see of Mike’s face behind strings of black hair was the pale, shaking face of a boy terrified of the thing in the closet. He could almost see the panic rippling beneath Mike’s skin, could certainly see the tears shimmering in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. As he took four quick steps to meet his friends, he decided he’d need to keep an extra eye on Mike. Panic would be trouble, even if he could already feel it roiling in his own belly.

  “Everybody take one,” he said as he handed out the shirts. “Tie them over your nose and mouth.”

  “Oh fuck, that’s right,” Eric said. He was already securing his shirt into place. “Saw this on Survivor Man or something.”

  “Let’s hope it works,” Jeff said

  Mike made a sick noise and then groaned, and Denise reached up and patted his cheek. “We’re going now. It’s okay.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Eric asked.

  Jeff jiggled his keys. “I’m going with pedal to the floor.”

  “That works.”

  Charlie nodded. “You take shotgun, Eric.”

  “Um…?”

  He ticked his eyes toward Mike and back again.

  Eric got it. “Sure thing.”

  “Okay. Straight to the car. No looking around. We agreed?”

  Nods and a few grunts answered him. Good enough.

  Jeff thumbed the fob on his keychain. “I’m gonna bang the hell out of this. Car should be unlocked when we reach it.”

  He stepped closer to the door. “Mike, put on your mask.” The guy got to work, wrapping the shirt around his face with trembling hands. Charlie used the distraction to lean into Denise’s ear.

  “He’s freaking out, so make sure he rides bitch.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it. He goes in the middle, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Charlie took a deep breath and held it before he closed his hand around the cabin’s doorknob. When he grabbed it, he waited an instant. When the metal didn’t melt the skin of his palm, he released the air in his lungs and turned to his friends.

  “Guys, let’s try to keep our shit together, okay? Don’t panic. We’re…we’re gonna get through this just fine, I think.”

  Eric shot him a sarcastic grin. “Promise?”

  Instead of answering, he twisted the knob and yanked the cabin’s door open wide.

  He took a single step through the door before the heat hit him. It was like a cloud that didn’t so much slam into him as wrap around him. The heat was so thick and dense that for an instant he thought it might slow him, that the dash for the car would be more like a desperate crawl through molten amber. Instead, he ran, feet pounding across the gravel. When he saw the lights on Jeff’s Toyota flash through the gray curtain of smoke, he threw a look over his shoulder to make sure everybody was following. They were. He raced around the car and yanked open the back door. A second later, Jeff slid across the car’s hood on one thigh, a move right out of an action movie or TV show. When he gave his friend a look, Jeff only shrugged and grinned before opening his door and climbing behind the wheel.

  Charlie stood in the wedge of his open door and watched the rest. Eric all but dove into the passenger seat, while Denise was almost dragging Mike by the time they reached the car. When she opened the door, she had to shove him inside, and Charlie braced himself in case Mike tried to rush out the driver’s side. The fact that he didn’t make a break for it gave Charlie a little hope.

  Ignoring his own advice and knowing it was a terrible idea even as he did so, he looked at the cabin. Black smoke filled the sky behind it, an angry wave that kept climbing higher and higher. Orange embers whipped through the air, tumbling over the cabin’s roof. Not good. It was close. Holy shit, the fire was close.

  He dropped into his seat and slammed the door shut behind him. “Go!”

  The engine was already purring, and it whined when Jeff hit the gas. Charlie heard gravel spray, and he almost screamed as he imagined the car getting stuck, the entire group trying to dig it out as flames swallowed them. But then the Toyota surged forward, its tires finding traction, and he felt the scream evaporate in his chest.

  Jeff drove them in and out of smoke, some thick-as-oil fog and some gray wisps in the otherwise clear air. Charlie kept his eyes open and moving. He watched the surrounding forest for any sign of fire, checked the road for debris or broken pavement. Every few seconds, he looked to see how Mike was holding up. Each time, he grew a little more certain his friend could be a serious problem. He was all but vibrating in his seat. Both hands had curled into fists in his T-shirt, and his eyes were clamped tight, squeezing more tears out by the second. His breath was a series of short gasps, and Charlie thought maybe he would pass out and maybe that would be for the best.

  “How far to the main road?” Eric asked.

&nb
sp; “Four goddamn miles,” Jeff answered.

  A whine escaped Mike, followed by a stream of syllables. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh…”

  Charlie reached over the seat and gave Jeff’s shoulder a strong pat. “You’re doing awesome, man. Just keep rolling.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Jeff kept the car on the road and moving. Seconds ticked by in almost complete silence. Charlie watched Jeff click on the air conditioner and almost laughed. It would have been a nervous sound, though. Dangerously close to a scream. He didn’t want to think about what that would do to Mike.

  The road twisted and turned, weaving in and out of more smoke. Eric sat hunched forward, both hands on the dash. He began to drum his fingers, and Charlie watched Mike’s fists grow harder, wringing at his T-shirt like a throat he was trying to throttle.

  “Two miles down,” Jeff announced.

  Mike’s syllables changed. “Come on, come on, come on, come on…”

  Denise squeezed his arm. “It’s okay, baby.”

  “Come on, come on…”

  Then the sky grew darker. At least Charlie thought it had grown darker. It took him a second to realize the smoke around them had grown as thick and black as midnight. In the distance, he saw fire licking at the ground and trees. No good. He felt his heart kick up the tempo in his chest, and sweat stung at his eyes. The car slowed, and he wondered if Jeff had seen the fire or was only concerned with the smoke that was pressing in on them like a mob. He was still wondering when Jeff rounded another bend and brought the car to a halt.

  “What are we doing?” Mike asked. His voice was a screech, and his eyes were closed so tight white lines shot out from their corners. “Are we out? Please somebody tell me we’re out.”

  “Almost,” Denise said.

  “Then why the fuck are we stopped?”

  Jeff’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.