Fugitive

by T. K. Malone

  She sat on the sofa, drank the whiskey, smoked her smokes, and mulled everything over. After about an hour, she kicked herself to her feet, told Clay she was going for a walk and snuck out through the front door.

  It was a clear night. At first, she just stood on the road, wondering which way to go. That instinct she’d learnt from Lester told her she couldn’t just sit there and wait for the inevitable. She knew Ray would come around, but she didn’t yet know what to do next. So she just stood and stared at a deadly quiet Aldertown. Then, putting one foot determinedly before the other, she walked toward its center. Though she couldn’t remember having grabbed it, she had the cattleman on.

  Trip’s little bar was around the back of his house, in a small stony garden bordered by a white parapet and leaning against the house. A couple of old metal tables and some chairs that had seen better days stood there, a few stools pushed up against a makeshift wooden counter. A bank of lights on the wall, probably using more electricity than the rest of the town combined, lit the area.

  He was a gangly youth and an odd soul, was Trip, always polite, always friendly, and full of beans. He was always full of beans. Some said he was a bit of a talker when your back was turned, but Teah had never heard him and didn’t hear enough gossip herself to worry about spreading the little she did hear. On any given day, you could usually hear laughter coming from out the back of Trip’s, but this afternoon it was silent. Teah had drunk there just the once, but it had been plain to see she hadn’t been welcome then, and she doubted she would be now. The only problem was, she decided, she had nowhere else to go. So she walked down the little alleyway that led to it and stopped at its end. Trip was behind the bar, wiping down the counter with an old cloth.

  “Teah?” he said, looking up.

  “Evening, Trip. Can I get a drink?”

  “You got any money?”

  “Nope. I’ll catch you a squirrel tomorrow. Do folk have money up here?” she asked but knew the answer.

  “Some still swear by it. Me? I need it to buy liquor down at Morton—they won’t trade for squirrels, but lucky for you, I will.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Wake, at Mary’s. Jenny’s wake. Why aren’t you there?”

  “Not the most popular person in town,” and Teah pulled up a stool and sat at the counter.

  “Heard there was a ruckus there,” Trip said, “but I was gone by then. Ray had a bit too much and took Hannah to task over something. Heard they rowed all the way home.”

  “Heard that, too,” said Teah, giving nothing away.

  “You not worried about the hunters coming?”

  “No. Could have been a dozen more reasons why Jake had a truck full of gasoline. That what they said at the meet? That hunters were coming for me, ‘cause I was a gridder?”

  Trip laughed. “You sure don’t sound like a gridder anymore. Reckon you’ve spent far too much time up here. Live here any longer and you might just catch the drawl one hundred percent.” He leaned on the bar and poured her a whiskey. “Yep, they said that you upset a prepper and he done put a snitch on you.”

  “And what do you think?” Teah asked, taking a sip of her drink and fishing in Lester’s coat for a smoke.

  Trip watched her every move. “Me? I think I want one of those smokes.”

  “Did you vote for me to go?” she asked, passing him one.

  Through the smoke, Trip nodded. “Sure did.”

  “Why? Because Ray told you that was how to vote?”

  “That ain’t it.”

  She took a draw of her own smoke and smiled. “What then?”

  “You should smile more often, and the hair, well, that plain makes you look like one of them super heroes in one of Saggers’ old comics—he showed you them?”

  “Nope.”

  “You should ask him. You could be one, what with your white hair, big coat and the cattleman. Grid-girl, something like that. You should ask him.”

  “You never answered my question, Trip. Why did you vote for me to leave town?” She was enjoying the conversation, just enough intrigue for her not to get bored, but not enough so as she was on edge.

  Trip pulled back from the bar and leaned against the wall behind. “I voted ‘Go’ because they’ll turn on you eventually. So I thought—you may as well go now as later, before we all start liking you.”

  Teah let out a short laugh. “And have you?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Taken a liking to me.”

  “Aren’t you with Saggers?”

  “Saggers? No.”

  It was Trip’s turn to smile. “Then maybe I’ll give you a chance.”

  His eyes told her he was playing, his lips that he wanted a clue—a small quiver to the bottom one. “Will it get me your vote?” she said, and slammed down her drink. “Another? A squirrel good enough for two?”

  “A whole squirrel? You’re in credit for a bit.”

  “What’s Morton like?” It wouldn’t hurt to get his view on it.

  “Morton? It’s ‘bout ten times the size of this place, but longer and thinner. It’s got a lake. Why? You never been there?”

  “Can’t say I have,” she lied.

  “Well, there’s a bar, a bit like mine except much bigger and indoors, and it’s got a proper counter. It’s got a proper shop, too.” Trip scratched his head. “And a bait shop, though that don’t do so good coz worms grow everywhere.”

  “They do?” Teah said, an evil smile curling the corner of her lips.

  Trip nodded. “Wherever there’s soil. Morton,” and he creased his forehead, “Morton’s got a bar. No, I told you that…”

  Teah looked at Trip, thinking he’d just lost his thread, but he was looking straight over her shoulder, his mouth now forming unspoken words. Without turning, Teah knew Ray had walked around the corner.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, and the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel came close. Teah kept her eyes on Trip. If Ray made a move on her, Trip would give it away, no doubt about that. All the while, though, the gangly barman remained still, so nothing was going to happen fast. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ray’s hand reach out and grab a stool, pulling it back.

  “I’ll have one of those whiskeys, Trip. What’s the matter? You turned into a statue?”

  Ray wasn’t even trying to hide his scabbed-over knuckles. If anything, he’d placed them on the bar to show them off. “Say,” he said, “are you smoking one of Saggers’ smokes? Are you, Trip? Only I’ve run out. Might have to take myself off up there and go and buy me some. Then again, it’s mighty rude to go knocking at this time of the afternoon, don’t you think, Trip?”

  “Mighty rude, Ray.”

  “Here,” said Teah, “save your boots and have one of mine.” She threw her roll onto the counter.

  Ray picked it up, playing with it, rolling it around between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re Saggers’? I only smoke his. Best darn smokes in Aldertown.”

  “Only darn smokes in Aldertown,” Teah pointed out.

  “Not true. Not true at all, is it, Trip? Trip, here, buys smokes in Morton.”

  “Some, but they’re not the same as Saggers’,” Trip said, finally finding his tongue.

  Ray tapped the roll on the counter. “Not the same as Saggers. Saggers has a unique brand of smoke, one that messes with your head, Trip. One that messes with my head, and one that messes with Teah’s head. Now,” he said, slipping one from the roll and holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, this here smoke, I think—and I could be wrong—is a little on the gray side of the law, and by gray, I mean down right illegal. If, say, Trip were to think a little selfishly and report this to the army in Morton, well, Saggers would be in a lot of trouble.”

  “You think they’d give a shit?” Teah said, now bored with the sound of Ray’s voice.

  “Oh, they’d give a shit, because they’d want some, and Saggers would have to supply it, and he’d have to work bloody hard for that m
oney he currently just skims off everyone.”

  “Doesn’t he already sell ‘em in Morton?” Trip asked.

  Ray slugged his drink. “Maybes, but the army don’t know, and they’d make him an unpaid slave, like the rest of us.”

  “Sounds like you’re just jealous of Saggers,” Teah muttered.

  “What’s he got that I’d want?”

  Teah offered her empty tumbler up to Trip. “Think I might have time for one more,” she said, and she put the cattleman on the counter.

  Trip served her. His hands rattled the bottleneck against her glass. “Coming up,” he said.

  “Cheers.” Teah raised her glass and downed the liquor. “Tell me, Trip, is beating a woman half to death a crime in Morton?”

  Ray pushed his stool back and lunged at the same time, but Teah was ready. She ducked beneath his reach and rammed her head into his stomach. He grunted in surprise. He’d been drinking, but so had she. It might come down to who’d drunk less, she thought, shoving with all her might. Ray fell back and she went with him, driving her head harder into his stomach as he hit the floor, then she somersaulted over him, landing in a heap by the parapet. Ray had clearly come off worst, though.

  “You damn bitch,” he growled through his gasps for breath, but then he pushed himself up. Teah jumped to her feet.

  “Hannah fight back, did she?” she taunted.

  Ray growled again, unintelligible curses, picked up a stool and ran at her, swinging it high above his head. It took Teah by surprise, the stool smashing into her side, pushing her over the low parapet, where she fell to the ground. Her back exploded in pain as the air was forced from her. When she looked up, Ray was standing on the parapet, silhouetted against the bar’s lights.

  Teah tried to get up, but her strength had left her. He jumped down, his first kick hitting home into her kidneys. She yelped and rolled over, but he caught her again, a kick straight to her face. Her head snapped back but she tried to relax, to absorb the shock, but he was already on her, pulling her to her knees by the lapels of Lester’s coat.

  “Where’s your fight now, woman,” he growled as his fist coiled back. Then he unleashed his punch, and her cheek exploded in pain, blood and spit flying from her mouth. She crashed against the parapet, stunned. Ray gasped, his breathing heavy, and sized up his next kick. She saw it coming but wasn’t quick enough, taking its full force in her groin. She rolled over, knowing she had to get up and start fighting back or there’d only be one end.

  Gathering everything she had, she sprang forward, but he was ready and jumped out of the way, his fists smashing into the small of her back. Teah crumpled to the ground again but rolled away, until she came up against a small tree. She pulled herself up by it and spun around.

  Ray was slowly walking toward her, his breathing labored. “Had enough yet?”

  She crouched down, looking for a weakness to attack, but his boot came out of nowhere and struck her squarely in her chest. But as the air fled her lungs again, she instinctively caught his foot, jerking it back with the last of her strength. Ray fell back, awkwardly, a snapping sound coming from the leg he stood on, as it folded beneath him. He cried out in pain when his head smashed against the parapet.

  Teah kept her eyes glued to him, not trusting her sudden change in fortune, and gathered her breath. She knew she should finish it while he was down, knew she should play by Lester’s rules, but she couldn’t move, the brief fight having sapped her energy and drained her of her anger. She was breathing hard now, her strength returning in a trickle. Teah staggered toward him, picking up a decent-sized rock on the way and raising it above her head as she approached him. His head rested temptingly against the wall, ripe for bursting, but then she stopped at the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked.

  “Put the rock down,” Trip said, his voice cool and collected.

  “Ain’t… Stones…” Ray dribbled through his blood-frothed mouth.

  Her resolve quickly sapping, she dropped the rock with a dull thud beside Ray.

  “Now, ever so carefully, you get yourself over this parapet and sit in that there seat.” Trip waved the gun barrel at one of the tables. “You and me, we're going to have a chat.”

  Teah nodded and eased herself over the parapet, all the while keeping an eye on Ray’s prone body. Now the adrenaline had subsided a little, the sight of Ray’s busted leg made her feel a bit sick. Bone and sinew were visible, mixed with the blood-pooled dirt in which his leg lay. He’d never walk a straight line again, that was for sure. If only the luck she’d finally found had stuck around a little longer.

  She slumped down on the chair. “What’s up, Trip?” He’d circled round and gotten himself over the parapet, now peering at where Ray lay. “What’s with the gun?” she asked. “Me and Ray, that was just between the two of us; it was always coming.”

  But Trip said nothing, only kept the gun pointing at her as he looked over Ray, shaking his head. “Made a pretty mess of this leg,” he said. “Head too. There’s blood and shit coming out of that.” As fast as a flash, he brought the butt of the gun down on Ray’s head, again and again, then trained the barrel back on her. “Now he’s definitely dead.” Trip clambered back over the parapet and went to the bar, the gun not wavering once. “Trouble is, folk are going to find him.” He brought out a shovel and threw it at her feet. “So, you best get digging, but before you start, you wanna drink? Maybe a smoke, eh?”

  “Please.”

  “Okay; coming right up. Now, let’s get things straight. I got me a pistol too, so I’m going to put this big old gun down now, just so as I can get you a drink and rest my arms. Fighting’s a weary business, even for the casual observer.”

  “You want me to dig the hole on my own?”

  “Yep, and a nice hole, mind.”

  “Why should I?”

  “’Cause there ain’t enough squirrels.”

  10

  Teah’s story

  Strike time: minus 60 minutes

  Location: Aldertown

  There was no way this hole was going to be as nice as Jenny’s, Teah decided. Sweat was dripping off her, her arms were screaming in pain, her coat long discarded. The ground was tough, full of bony roots and lumps of rock. She thought she’d uncovered a skeleton more than once, and more than once, she wondered how many other bodies were buried in Trip’s garden. The scrawny barman had pulled a table and chair up to the parapet, sitting there sipping whiskey and smoking smokes.

  “Why d’ya kill him, Trip?” she asked, wiping her brow.

  He craned his neck to have a look into the hole. “Still a ways to go.”

  “No, tell me.”

  “Him? Ray? He was a bastard. A bad man. World ain’t going to miss him, is it?”

  “No, but why’d you want to do it? I was ready; I had the rock in my hands.”

  “Drink?” Trip offered.

  “And a smoke?”

  “Reckon we’ve got the time. Though it’s getting dark. Tell you what, you finish digging it and I’ll fill it in. I hate digging, especially in the dark.”

  Teah sat on the wall. She ran her filthy fingers through her hair and took a breath. “Back when Ray first came in, your hands were shaking.”

  Trip passed her a lit smoke. “What, like this? Here, T…Teah, here. H…h…have a s…s…smoke, T…Teah. Like that?”

  Teah could have laughed if she’d had the energy, but she managed a smirk. “Yeah.” Looking at Trip, she wondered if he really had been faking fear, but somehow believed he had.

  He shrugged. “He’s a bully, Ray. Well, he was. He ain’t gonna bully anyone no more. I let him think I was a pussy, that way he didn’t bother me. Then, well, then I found it useful.”

  She took a drink. “Useful?”

  He blew a smoke ring and watched it drift away into the dusk light, its shape almost dancing at first, but then bending and breaking up, until it was nothing. “Growing up around here—not so much fun if you haven’t got a Pa to watch your back. There�
�s beatings and what not that every old ’un likes to think is their sole duty to fix on you. So you get a village full of fathers, but only the bad bits.” He took a swig on his drink and looked up at the sky. “Got used to skulking. Got used to hiding, and slowly, I got used to being Trip.”

  “Being Trip?”

  “Being the awkward kid, the one who walks into a tree the size of a redwood like it wasn’t there, the kid who slips in the mud, the kid who—well, you get the picture. They started calling me Trip, and I found out that that was a safe name. No more beatings, no more anything, just a little ridicule and the odd shaky hand. Just up here, mind.” He raised his glass. “Don’t take no shit in Morton—cheers.”

  “No shit.”

  “Way I figure it, Teah—you and me—we aren’t too different. You keep your head down, but then, you take so much and…”

  “Nah, Trip,” Teah said, getting up. “You had it worse. At least I got to grow up.” She picked up the shovel and got back in the hole. “Gonna take some digging.”

  “Man’s gotta have a nice hole,” Trip mused.

  “Say, you think anyone does like digging?”

  “Nah,” and Trip put his feet back up on the wall.

  Teah dug and dug, sliced through roots, teased out rocks, and straightened each side, one by one. When done, she jumped up onto the edge, rolled and stood.

  “That a good enough hole?” she asked, and threw the spade down. The night had long gotten hold of the day and shoved it behind the mountains. The stars and a full moon had come out to celebrate the demise of Ray. Without a prayer, or even asking Trip, she dragged Ray’s carcass over and rolled it in, not giving it a second look as it thumped to the bottom. “Can I fix me another drink?”

  Trip looked up. “Sure. I’ll get to filling. You pass me the pot under the counter? Oh, and mind the rifle while I do the shoveling.”

  “You trust me?”

  “What? With the gun? Yeah. Don’t think we need it now. He’s definitely dead. The pot?”

  Trip hopped over the parapet and grabbed the spade. “Second thoughts, don’t worry about the pot. Worms’ll die before I get ‘em to Morton. No good dead,” and he set about filling the hole. “Ain’t often there’s two burials in Aldertown,” he said as he hit his rhythm.