by Drew Stepek
I cracked my neck, inhaled and pushed the needle into the center of my goop. As I sucked the Oxy into the barrel with the plunger, I let out a huge breath of relief and scratched my hair. I looked over at the opossum. It squirmed around a little. I knew it was in pain. I filled the syringe to the brim and then squirted out any air that might have made its way into the mixture.
As I started to make my way back toward the center of the trailer, I closed my eyes. To me, humans were much easier to kill and use are paraphernalia than animals. Humans had big mouths.
I hated my conscious. It was always in a tug of war with The Gooch. The funny thing being that The Gooch never made its way into my delightful dreams. Hell when I slept. Hell when I was awake.
When I reached the critter, I opened my eyes, lifted the needle back and sunk it directly into where I imagined an opossum’s heart would be. Almost immediately, the rodent’s body started to reject the drug. It desperately tried to break loose of the rope as its broken arms dangled around. It began going into cardiac arrest when I pulled the needle out and pushed its head to the side to secure myself from the piercing fangs. I closed my eyes again and then dug my face directly into its chest cavity. At first the taste was one hundred percent gamey vermin, but by the time I chewed my way through its ribcage into its heart, the taste was eclipsed by the delicious opiates at the center.
After less than ten seconds, the struggle ended. I snapped its neck to make sure it didn’t suffer any more than it had to and I tumbled backward into the jet ski with a palm full of guts. In the middle of losing my motor skills, I grabbed the life vest and tried to cover my prey. I missed and the vest bounced back into my lap. I sat there for a few minutes, shoving innards into my mouth catching my head from collapsing into slumber several times before I finally started to nod off. And then, I heard several small rattles and clicks. Before my eyelids closed and everything went black, six little pink noses crawled and bumped from their slumber. I threw up on myself and fell into hibernation as the orphaned babies desperately fought to slip under what was left of their mother to feed.
I woke up hours later when it was dark and realized what I had done. To be honest, I didn’t know how old the babies were and I didn’t know how long they needed to be fed by their mother. While I slept, a few of them managed to slip under their mother’s back. Opossums are, after all, marsupials, and they keep warm inside a pocket on their mother’s belly. Since she was cold and dead and not able to feed, I tried to collect them all and warm them inside the compartment on the non-moldy jet ski. I tore my life vest pillow into pieces and built the best nest that I could.
My ears picked up prowling steps close to the trailer. The steps were so faint, so carefully orchestrated, that they sounded like the pitter-patter of a light rain on leaves. I closed the improvised opossum nest inside the console but left it open just enough so the babies wouldn’t suffocate. I sat still, quickly realizing that whatever animals were surrounding me outside smelled the remains of the opossums’ mother that had been baking under a tarp in the hot Texas sun for hours. I scooted on my ass toward the back of the trailer and cut the dock rope that was tied to the brick. No need to give any creature easy access.
I shuffled back to the center and pulled my legs to my chest. It occurred to me that I was still relatively close to downtown Austin. How could it be that a pack of animals would make it so close to civilization?
Before I arrived at an answer, several snouts bumped up against and starting tearing at the tarp. The beasts started to yap. They were dogs. I started karate chopping and kicking in every direction. I looked back to the jet ski compartment that housed the orphans. The mongrels smelled the mother, but they would end up wanting the babies.
Reluctantly getting back into action and riding out the final few drips of my high, I rolled back to the front, dragging the tarp from under the bricks. When I was right on the edge, I grabbed onto the hitch and launched myself off the trailer. I dug my feet into the grass, stood strong and readied my body for the pending strike. As if nearly having my eyeballs removed from my head by the opossum mother earlier that day wasn’t enough man versus wild for the day, now I had to fight off a gang of beasts.
I clenched my fists and bent my arms forward. The first of the four Pit Bulls jumped onto the jet ski and ripped the dead mother from the seat. It shook the skeletal remains around in its jaws, trying to get at any meat that remained. As the two closest hounds sketchily prowled to size me up on both sides, the fourth leapt onto the seat of the other jet ski, clicking the compartment shut. He lowered his muzzle, sniffed at the little treats inside and started pawing at the seat cushion. The hair on his shoulders all the way down to his tail raised as he squealed a little to report his frustration. His brother on jet ski tossed the mother’s bones to my feet. The dog on top of the babies started slashing into the seat cover with his teeth and his brother joining in on getting to the delightful center.
The twins walked back and forth like they were skinheads. They never took their eyes off of me. Rather, they yipped at each other as if they were having a conversation about how they were going to take me down. Their conversation ended and before I had the opportunity to secure my position, the twins both catapulted themselves at me.
The dog on my left jumped toward my top as the other took my legs, tripping me up. I smacked onto the ground and immediately threw my arms over my head like I was in a hockey fight. The heavier of the two bit into my side below my ribcage. I rolled on top of him, trapping his snout under the weight of my chest. As the other bit into my leg, I hammer-fisted him between the eyes, causing him to lose his balance and slump back on his hind legs. I nabbed the dog under me and cradled his neck as I mashed him into my forearm. He snapped at my cock as his dizzy, chicken shit of a brother got his bearings back.
Before the hound I was wrestling with had the chance to bite my pork and beans off, I snatched him up by the loose skin under his chin and, as I got to my feet, I lifted him up over my head and threw him back toward the cul-de-sac. He yelped as his butt crunched into a big rock on the side of the driveway. Obviously bruised, he started licking at his hind quarters.
The dizzy dog bolted toward me, growling. I flopped onto my back to brace myself and as soon as he was on top of me, I boxed his ears with my knees, pulled back my fist and struck him three times on the nose. He became unsteady and went limp in my lap and started panting as his eyes jerked around looking for an exit. I released him, he kicked his paws into the air and then staggered to his brother, who was still licking himself by the rock. He nudged his brother and they both scampered away toward the tree line on the other side of the house.
The two on the trailer continued to bite, thrash, lick, and paw at the jet ski compartment. I started running around the trailer in circles, howling and creating commotion like an insane person. I picked up a brick and threw it at them. Luckily, they took this as my last warning and started rushing to join the rest.
“That’s right, motherfuckers! Get outta here!”
One of them stopped in their tracks as the other continued. He turned around to look back at me. He stuck out his tongue and panted a bit as he wagged his tail. When I realized that he wasn’t going to give up on eating the delicious babies, they came together, regrouped and immediately began charging me.
BAM!
BAM!
BAM!
All four turned one hundred and eighty degrees, falling over their own speed and fled back toward the tree line. My head bobbled around on top of my neck. The two owners of the jet ski trailer were running toward me, clanging on pots and pans. All of the dogs escaped and hid out of sight. One of them managed to escape with the remains of the mother opossum. They were most likely going to pass out if they shared that meal that was filled with drugs.
I pulled a long strand of fabric from my severed right pant leg and sat down on the tailgate of the trailer. I clinched my body and pulled up my ragged shirt to look at the bite wound below my ribs. The two men
stopped in front of me and whispered to each other.
I picked a tooth out of my side and flicked it into the grass. I put up my hand as to acknowledge peace. “Thanks.”
If the opossum and the Oxy had given me any strength at all, it was completely depleted by that point. I took several deep breaths and closed my eyes to relax and collect my simple little thoughts for a minute. I opened them up and casually looked back at the nest I constructed for the babies. It looked as if the pack had penetrated the seat cushion enough to give them air. The refreshment of the moonlight pulsated my eyes as I closed them again. The slap, slap of two pairs of flip flops inched closer to me.
My head fell to my chest. Please don’t be vampires. Please don’t be vampires. Please don’t be vampires.
“Hey, bro,” one of them said. “What the fuck?”
I looked at them but didn’t respond and rubbed my eyes with my thumbs.
“He’s talking to you,” the other spat as he kicked at one of my boots.
“Yeah, bro.” I recognized him as Cody Walker from the license.
I continued to remain silent. Before I could let them know that I didn’t appreciate being kicked, a pistol cocked. I dropped my hands off of my face and opened my right eye. I sniffed up some blood that was trickling from my reformed nostrils. “You have a gun?”
I opened my other eye to see Cody’s pal turn the six-shooter sideways. The chamber was loaded.
“Fuck yeah, I got a gun, bro,” he boasted as he kicked at my other boot. “Answer me. What the fuck?”
I lifted my tattered shirt to reveal the bite marks. “If you had a gun this whole time, why didn’t you help me with the dogs when they were tearing me to fucking shreds?”
Walker stepped forward. “We don’t want any cops around here. Those are my guard dogs.”
The friend laughed and slapped Cody on the back. “Word up, bro,” he shouted louder than any gun. His face was beat red and his nostrils flared wide and narrowed about ten times.
HeLLo, cocAinE.
I rose up. “Look guys. I don’t want any trouble.”
Cody sized me up. “Well, you found it. You trying to steal our sleds?”
I stepped closer to him. “Sleds?”
The other dude stepped between us. “Yeah, douche. The fucking jet skis.” He pointed to the trailer behind me. “They’re totally ruined, old man.” A light powder dusted his nose hairs. If they had coke, then they might have heroin. If they had heroin, then I could probably get into their house and steal it. Maybe I’d kill them for kicking my boots and yelling at me.
“No, bro,” I said, attempting to communicate in their language. “I wasn’t trying to steal your jet skis. I was out all day getting wasted and I got lost.” I pulled out the rest of the Oxy and shook the bottle. “I did too much of these kickers.”
He popped the collar on his Polo knit shirt and pulled up his board shorts. “Whatcha got there? Penicillin?”
Cody followed suit and also pulled up his same brand, different colored board shorts. They were both laughing in unison. “Yeah, Penicillin. Do you have the sniffles or something?” A fist bump followed.
I tossed the friend the bottle. “It’s OxyContin, guys.”
Cody intercepted the bottle and signaled for his friend to ease up. He read the side of the bottle and tossed it back to me.
The gunman un-cocked his firearm and tucked it into the back of his shorts. “Hey,” he said. “Sorry about that.” He hesitated but then started to extend his hand.
I reached toward him. “Yeah, man. I was stumbling down your street when I passed out on your trailer. Then, your dogs attacked me. Think I was too wasted to realize where I was when I woke up.”
He curled his fingers back from the shake and walked past me. Concern grew in his tone as he circled the trailer. “Fuck, bro.”
“Is she there, Braxton?” Cody pushed me aside as he also started analyzing the trailer. “There’s blood everywhere.”
“Wait, is who there?” I asked.
Braxton spun around hysterical. “Possie. It was our pet opossum. She just had babies. Goddammit!”
I played dumb. “They got her. I’m not sure where the babies are.”
“Bullshit. Those dogs are terrified of her, bro.” Cody hopped up on the trailer and immediately noticed the demolished seat cushion. He flipped it open. “They’re here. It looks like Possie built them a special nest inside the jet ski to keep them safe. Man is she smart.”
Even though it was ridiculous to consider that an opossum could open the compartment under the seat of a jet ski, tear up a life vest and create a bed inside and then carefully move each of her babies into it, I didn’t take credit.
“Braxton,” he yelled. “Go get a small box out of the garage.”
Braxton did as he was told and sprinted toward the garage.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Get up here and help me.”
I walked up onto the trailer and he started delicately handing me the babies one-by-one. “Cradle them together,” he insisted.
Braxton came running back and headed toward original nest.
The babies remained asleep, despite all the commotion. “Have you guys done this type of thing before?”
Concurrently, they both responded yes as if saving opossums was everyone’s civic duty.
Cody placed the last baby into my arms and pet it on the head. “Bro, you reek. Are you, like, homeless or something?” He looked into my eyes out of concern, although I figured he was way more concerned about the baby opossums than me.
I tried to deflect attention away from me and to Braxton. “Is that nest ready?”
He ripped off his Lake Travis embroidered knit top—as if it was in his way—and slobbered. “I’m going as fast as I can, bro.”
Cody grabbed me by the back of my shirt and walked me slowly around to the side. Then, he started plucking the opossums out of my arms and cautiously planted them into the box nest. He picked up the box and race-walked like he was in a picnic egg run over to one of the pickup trucks. He opened the passenger’s side door, pulled up the seat and gently laid the box onto the backseat.
Braxton ran to the truck and handed Cody his gun. “Keep this,” he said. He then walked to the driver’s side, cranked on the ignition, slammed the door and rolled down the window. “Call Whitley and tell her what’s going on, bro.” Then, he spun the truck around and peeled out of the gravel driveway.
Cody and I stood there watching the taillights disappear.
“Who’s Whitley?” I asked.
“Oh right,” he returned. “You fucking smell, bro.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, unlocked it and searched for her name.
Phone. That’s right. My phone fell off the trailer. I walked away from him and acted like I was studying the damage.
He snapped his fingers at me and pointed to the ground in front of him.
I raised my eyebrows and nodded back as I stepped on my phone. I bent down and picked it up to show him that I wasn’t up to no good. He nodded back in approval as if my retrieving my phone was something that needed to be sanctioned.
I walked back to the tailgate of the trailer and took my seat.
He raised the gun back out and walked toward me. “Get up.” I raised my arms up and complied. He shook the gun toward the side of the house. “Walk over there.”
Even though I thought for a second that he wanted to take me to the side of the house to put a bullet in my head, I decided that these two pussies wouldn’t kill anyone. I mouthed Put the gun away as he pressed the phone against his ear.
“Oh right.” He laid the gun down on the trailer. “Whitley. It’s Cody Walker. BroSkiz.” He paused for a second. “Oh, yeah, my name comes up.” He paused again, most likely to get an earful about being stupid. “Brax is on his way over there.” He waited again and then bent over at the side of the house to turn on a spigot. He signaled for me to turn around and he picked up a hose gun. “I don’t know if he
has your blow with him. Possie was killed by the dogs.”
I took off my shirt, lifted my arms and got a whiff of my pits. Damn, this guy wasn’t kidding. I smelled awful.
“No, the babies are alive. He’s bringing them to you now.” The freezing hose water pulsed into my back. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to get into the rescue. Call the doctor,” he responded. “Turn around,” he instructed me. “Not you,” he told Whitley. He aimed the nozzle at my cock and fired it.
“Careful on my dick,” I warned him.
“Oh yeah,” he said first and then, “No, I’m not having sex with a guy,” to Whitley. “I’m washing down some bum who passed out on one of my trailers.” He stepped around me and started fanning water all over my body. Thankfully, he was careful on the wounds. “Brax should be there in like ten minutes. I gotta go.” Before he hung up the phone he said, “Fine, the coke is free if you help the babies.”
Cody took a final pass at me and then turned off the hose.
I rubbed the water into my body and tried to get all the dirt off the wounds. “So, Whitley is a doctor?”
“Naw, she is some cokehead who works at the Austin Wildlife Rescue. She steals prescription drugs for us and trades them for blow.”
I dug into my side with my fingernail and pulled out another tooth particle. “So, does this type of thing happen regularly?”
He scratched his nose. “What?”
I spit out some animal hair. “Your dogs attacking people?”
I don’t think he understood the question. It was pretty obvious that these two knuckleheads needed four Pit Bulls to protect something, and the last thing they wanted was someone bitten by one of their dogs and a call to the cops.