Evil Heights, Book IV: In the Pit

by Michael Swanson

He hollered out, “Y'all got any Roman candles?"

  Ronnie and Lee held up their bags.

  The guy waved, arcing his hand repeatedly back over his head, inviting them to join their side.

  The others at the far end of the field immediately set up a shout trying to entice Lee and Ronnie to cross over to their side of the field. Since there really wasn't any loyalty to anyone here and you could attack your own people and even change sides at will, it really didn't matter which side they joined.

  Lee thought for a second and decided there would be better protection behind two cars than one truck, so they ran down to join the boys hiding behind the cars. Of course, as soon as the group behind the pickup saw where they were running, they all opened fire on Lee and Ronnie.

  Experience was the key to survival at the bottle rocket wars. His first year, Lee had learned sharp eyes were as valuable as quick feet. As he ran, he never took his eyes off the people shooting at him, easily dodging the few rockets that flew straight enough to be a threat.

  Two boys from the pickup broke out running together, arms stretched out, smoke and sparks sizzling from the ends of the Roman candles they carried.

  Lee and Ronnie's new allies returned a cover fire, aiming a barrage of bottle rockets at the advancing Roman candle attackers.

  Roman candles are nothing more than a cheaply made cardboard tube stuffed with balls of gunpowder. Each brightly colored flaming ball shoots out, followed by an unpredictable delay of smoke and sparks until the next one fires. You can never tell how powerfully the ball will shoot out, how far it will go, how long until the next one fires, or even if the thing is about to explode in your hand. But because of the devastating effect of actually being hit by one, it was a powerful weapon when it worked. Of course, when it ran out of shots, you were at the mercy of whomever you were just shooting at.

  The two boys from the pickup, running and dodging the opposing fire, had only wasted a few fire balls before they got into effective range. Lee had made it to the safety of the cars first, as he was a much faster runner than Ronnie. Lee hadn't seen that Ronnie had tripped on his shoelace and fallen. By the time he had stopped and looked back the two with the Roman candles were closing in as Ronnie was getting back to his feet.

  A purple blast shot out straight and hit Ronnie in the leg, forcing him to turn back and run the other way. An orange fireball from the other boy hit him square in the back splattering a shower of sparks.

  Lee knelt down and was working frantically to tear the clear wrapper off of his bundle of Roman candles. He looked up just in time to see Ronnie take the shot in the back. He pulled one stick free and ripped the paper end off, exposing the fuse. Lighting a match, he touched it to the end, and the Roman candle sputtered to life. Grabbing two more in his other hand, he ran to Ronnie's rescue, lighting the other two off of the flames shooting out of the first.

  The two boys had Ronnie trapped by the baseball backstop at the end of the field. He had one of his arms up in front of his face and with the other he kept his brown paper bag of fireworks behind his back. Ronnie was doing a pretty good job of dodging the erratic shots. But as the boys closed in, Ronnie had less and less room to run. The two were so intent on their victim, they never saw Lee come running from behind.

  The boy on the left hit Ronnie with a well aimed blast. The other one hollered out, “Give us your fireworks, and we'll let you go."

  Lee held the first Roman candle he'd lit with one hand, and the other two, which were just coming to life. His first shot, from only about twenty feet away, caught the boy dead center on his back. The pair of Roman candles in the other hand fired almost at the same time, one fireball curving off to right, but the other, a green one, flew straight, hitting the other boy on the left in the arm, just above the elbow. Lee wasted no time, closing in and hollering out a rebel yell.

  The boy on the right turned, one hand flailing at the back of his singed t-shirt. He aimed his candle at Lee, but it flamed out and died. The next blast from Lee's Roman candle wasn't very strong, more of a poop than a pop, but it did hit the boy in the leg. Not waiting for more, the kid dropped his spent candle and took off for the pickup. Lee concentrated all three on the other boy, who was totally overwhelmed as they all fired at once. He dropped his Roman candle, and covering his head and eyes with his arms, he fled.

  Lee chased after them, racing up the field and easily catching up to the boys who couldn't really run at all. Lee scored two direct hits, the last one causing the boy to stumble in the grass and fall face first in the dirt near second base. Passing him, Lee closed in on the other boy until he realized the entire group behind the pickup had him in their sights.

  One bottle rocket actually clipped his ear, exploding just behind his head and another sailed between his legs. Suddenly it seemed the air was alive with rockets. Still running, he bent low and dropped the first candle, which was spent. He stopped abruptly, throwing off the aim of the people behind the truck. Going down on one knee, he actually took aim with his last few shots, one of which bounced off of the back window ricocheting around the bed.

  After this good shot, the vengeful fire from the group behind the pickup became intense. They reacted like a nest of angry yellow jackets. Realizing his candles were almost gone, Lee dropped them and ran straight back, leaping between the cars as bottle rockets sizzled in from behind.

  Ronnie was kneeling by Lee's bag, lighting two punks, holding the stems in his mouth while he kept a lit match under the tips.

  "You okay?” Lee asked.

  Ronnie handed him a punk, then held up his right arm. He had a burn about the size of a silver dollar above his elbow. “They got my shirt too,” he said, pulling out his t-shirt in front to show Lee the singed black mark in the center. “Hey, thanks for saving me."

  Lee didn't reply as he was in a hurry to unwrap his first gross of bottle rockets. Another thing he'd learned his first year was that in the thick of battle, it was amazing how quickly he could run through 144 bottle rockets, especially since a bottle rocket is nothing more than a small paper tube filled with gunpowder and attached to a thin piece of stick, usually red. It was a miracle when any of them actually flew straight and delivered the firecracker like explosion at the end of the flight. The first year they hadn't known to bring tubes to aim the rockets and had merely thrown them. A tube, they'd since learned, increased the accuracy tremendously.

  The package of rockets came apart, and Lee picked up his bag and tube and quickly found a spot near the front of the dented and rusty Buick Roadmaster on the right. He pulled one of the rockets from his bag and stuck the business end into the tube, so only the fuse and the thin rocket stick protruded. He touched the end of his glowing punk to the fuse, and as soon as it sparked, he shoved the whole thing in and sealed the hole with his palm. Holding the tube at his shoulder, he aimed as best he could, and the little rocket wooshed out, starting out straight, almost hitting the pickup before veering off to the left and exploding with a loud pop and burst of smoke.

  Like two ships at sea in an Errol Flynn pirate movie, both sides exchanged fire, with either group whooping and jeering with every hit.

  Ronnie had set up with his tube behind the old black Ford on the left and was doing pretty well for himself. Unfortunately, in a hurry to load his tube, he dropped it, and it fell on the hood. A teenager with a bad case of acne yelled angrily, “Hey kid, watch what you're doing, you'll ruin my paint."

  The original high school student, who'd waved them to join the group, stopped his firing and looked at the car's owner. “Merl, leave the kid alone. What the hell you doin’ bringing this piece of shit to the bottle rocket wars for anyway if you're so worried about the damned paint? You'll be lucky if it don't get burned up."

  A whoop and a roar from the entrance to the field announced the arrival of some new participants. Another pickup, its bed chocked full of guys, hurtled in through the gate. Each guy in the back was hollering, and the driver was laying on the horn, as they cut random donuts,
spinning around and flinging dirt and grass out behind the rear wheels.

  The truck was a light blue Chevy, with massive pipe bumpers painted white in the front and rear. It made one last big circle and then straightened out and drove straight at Lee's group. The driver locked up the brakes and spun the wheel so the pickup slid to a stop twenty feet from the cars, with the bed facing them. The boys in the back were ready and heaved entire strings of Black Cats at the cars, while others brought their Roman candles to bear in a furious fusillade.

  It was every man for himself behind the cars as the strings of hundreds of firecrackers erupted, flinging the stinging, burning little devils everywhere. Fireballs from the Roman candles seemed to be careening in from every angle. Lee huddled down near the front tire and covered his face and head with his arms, twice having explosions singe his skin and one rung out right next to his ear. To top it off, one of the guys in the truck heaved an M-80 which blew up with a force of an entire brick of Black Cats.

  "Hey!” one of the bigger teens, who looked like he must be a football player, yelled back at the truck. “M-80s are illegal. Y'all could kill somebody."

  Someone in the truck screamed back with a rebel yell, and another guy leaned out of the open passenger side window sitting on the edge and hollered, “Duck you suckers!” as he lit another M-80.

  Lee hadn't wasted anytime. As soon as the barrage of firecrackers had slowed, he grabbed two packs of Black Cats and stripped off the paper. Holding them together and sticking his punk into the paper, he charged out from behind the Buick.

  Both guys with Roman candles drew down on Lee but missed, one shot only flying out a few feet and the other fireball curving off at a weird angle. Like he was hurling a grenade, Lee flung the pair of hundred packs into the back of the pickup.

  Out of the five, maybe six guys in the truck bed, all but two leapt out before the strings of firecrackers went off. Lee could see frozen in a firecracker's bright flash a vision of one of the late jumpers in mid-air, flapping his arms like a great big chicken, as multiple bursts of flame erupted all about. The driver of the pickup popped his clutch throwing the boy seated in the window back. He lost the M-80, though the fuse was already lit. It fell in the grass and everyone scattered as it went off with an enormous burst of flame and a powerful ear ringing concussion.

  Two of the guys who'd just ejected from the back of the pickup joined the group behind the cars, while the rest of their friends ran behind the truck, trying to catch up with the blue Chevy before it skidded to a stop joining the other pickup on the far side of the field.

  The football player was pissed. “M-80s are illegal!” he yelled over and over to the two pickups.

  "Let's get ‘em!” Lee hollered. His ears were ringing, not so much from the firecrackers which had just exploded in close proximity, but from the concussions of the powerful M-80s. He pulled out his two packages of Roman candles and held them up. “Who wants to get those assholes?"

  He was immediately mobbed.

  Ten boys in total marched out leaving two to sort of guard the fort. Ronnie had contributed some of his Roman candles, so each boy was armed with two. They advanced in a steady line somehow reminding Lee of a revolutionary war movie he'd seen. Since it was Fourth of July, all they needed was a drummer and fife player to make the whole scene almost authentic.

  When they were within fifty feet of the two pickups, they all lit up.

  Another M-80 sailed out tossed by someone concealed in the blue Chevy's bed. Once again, the concussion and blast were tremendous.

  Lee and their group didn't falter in the face of the opposing fire. A well-aimed bottle rocket that Lee couldn't dodge glanced off his shoulder and another exploded in the grass at his feet.

  At twenty feet, as a group, they were able to concentrate all the fire from the Roman candles on the two pickup's beds. The enemy had no choice but to abandon ship and run, as fireballs of every color spewed out, bouncing around in the beds and careening off the roofs and doors. Some of the escaping boys must have left their fireworks in the beds, as firecrackers started going off and bottle rockets spewed out fizzing and rocketing out in all directions.

  Someone hollered, “Run!"

  Lee still had a few shots left in both of his Roman candles, but something about the panic in the voice of the person who'd yelled run caught his attention. He dropped the still sizzling tubes and turned in one move. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the boys to his side doing the same.

  Lee was quickly in the lead but had only made about fifteen feet when the bag of M-80s in the back of the blue truck went off. The multiple concussions were enormous, knocking Lee to the ground as surely as if he'd been tackled from behind. The pickup's gas tank ruptured, and the truck exploded moments later, flipping up end over end to land upside down in a ball of flame.

  Lee had seen the truck fly up into the air, and he needed no further incentive to peel himself up off the ground and run back to the cars as fast as he could.

  Ronnie was one of the last to get back behind the cars, both shoelaces flopping as he ran.

  "Damn, Lee!” he hollered. “Damn, did you see that?"

  Lee's ears were ringing. He had barely heard Ronnie, even though they were standing face to face. They leaned up against the fender of the Ford and watched the thick, black cloud billow up into the darkening sky.

  The other pickup, miraculously, hadn't caught fire and its driver jumped in, fired it up, and pulled it away. There were three guys hanging on inside the back of the bed as it bounced its way out of the gate heading for the main road.

  Lee counted seven guys in a half circle around the upside down pickup watching it burn.

  The gangly teen had gotten in his Buick and was trying to get it started. The battery was low, and it would only chug slowly.

  He leaned out of the window, “Some of y'all give me push."

  The football player had his bottle rocket tube and was leaning against the Ford. “Come on Merl, I'll give you a push later. It's just getting good."

  "The cops are gonna come for sure, John,” the Dodge owner replied.

  "There ain't nobody out here to call the cops. Besides, we ain't done a thing,” the big guy shot back coolly.

  Four guys had separated themselves from the half circle around the burning truck and marched directly to the cars.

  A rangy boy, with a western style shirt and white, blonde hair led the way. When they got to within ten feet he stopped and shook a fist. “You mother-fuckers are gonna pay fer my truck!"

  The big guy, John, put his pipe down, leaning it up against the front bumper. “We're all real sorry about your truck.” He stepped forward. “But them's the breaks. Y'all are the one's who were using M-80s."

  "Fuck you!” the rangy teen spat. “Y'all burned up my damn truck!” Utterly losing control, he hurled himself at John, who calmly threw a right jab, and the rangy teen in the western styled shirt added a broken nose and a missing tooth to his growing list of woes. Two of his friends jumped forward, but the entire group from behind the cars including Lee and Ronnie rushed out to John's defense

  The blonde guy, now with quite a bit of blood coming from his broken nose, was helped to his feet by his friends. With the odds at four against a dozen they obviously decided any more fighting would not be in their best interest. Turning around as they walked towards the gate, the truckless boy wiped his mouth, and pointed at the football player, screaming, “I'll remember you, you son of a bitch."

  "Anytime. Anywhere,” the big guy replied coolly.

  That excitement over, Lee made a quick inspection of his bag of fireworks. He still had more than a gross of bottle rockets, four packs of Black Cats, and the stuff he'd gotten free. He was planning on saving some of the firecrackers to use throughout the rest of the year until fireworks went back on sale before Christmas.

  "Hey, y'all,” the football player called to the remaining boys. “That fire is spreading. We better go stomp it out before it sets the whole county
on fire."

  Following the big teen's lead, they all ran across the field, and using only their feet, they stomped on the burning grass until they had put out all the flames. A charred black circle spread out around the still burning truck for a diameter of twenty feet. It was fortunate that they'd had such a good amount of rain last week, or the fire might have really spread.

  "We'll have to choose up new sides,” John suggested. He pointed at a group to the left. “Y'all come back with me to the cars, and we'll drive mine over here and set up our fort."

  This meant Ronnie and Lee would now be on opposing sides. They walked back together, but once back at the cars Ronnie picked up his bag of fireworks and joined the boys who were going with John to park just up wind of the burning truck.

  It was beginning to get dark; the clouds were going red high up in the sky to the west and purple in the east. Another group of six boys came through the gate, one of whom Lee recognized as Jeff. The others were boys from his group. The battle hadn't restarted yet, so they walked over unmolested.

  "Hey, Lee,” Jeff pointed at the burning pickup. “What happened?"

  Another kid butted in, “We're havin’ a bar-b-que!"

  As always, Lee was prepared for trouble, but nothing in Jeff's attitude was hostile, quite the contrary. He sounded like he was glad to see Lee.

  "This guy's truck blew up.” Lee traced a circle in the air with his finger. “You should've seen it. It went end over end."

  "Aww, shit!” Jeff turned to his buddies, “We missed it."

  A bottle rocket bounced off the hood of the Buick and popped almost immediately. The war was back on.

  It had been dark for almost an hour when Lee began to run low on bottle rockets. Counting what he had left, when he looked up, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rolled up windows of the Buick. He couldn't believe what he looked like. He was completely sweated down, and there only a few places on his face that weren't streaked with black. There was one small burn on his face, and though he didn't really feel that one, he could feel the sting of the burns on his arms and fingers.