Another thing he'd learned after the first year, when he'd worn shorts, was to wear blue jeans. Sure, they were much hotter, but they protected your legs from just about anything that came at you, including the squadrons of evening mosquitoes.
He was just stuffing another bottle rocket into his tube when someone grabbed his shoulder. Ronnie had run out of ammunition, and had snuck back, taking the fence line around instead of risking coming straight across the field.
"Hey, Lee, I'm ready to go,” he hollered out over the noise.
Lee touched the punk's glowing ember to the fuse and shoved the stick in the hole. Aiming casually, the rocket wooshed out, almost making it to the enemy's ranks before burying into the grass and exploding with a smoky pop.
Lee lowered his smoking tube. “Sure, I'm ready to go. I've only got a few left myself. You want to help me shoot ‘em off?"
"I left my tube with a kid who didn't have one,” Ronnie replied.
Lee turned to the guy standing next to him but had to duck when a rocket soared through. He tapped the kid on the shoulder. It must have been a surprise to Ronnie when he saw that it was Jeff standing next to Lee.
"Hey, Jeff,” Lee yelled. “We're leaving. You want the rest of my bottle rockets?"
Jeff looked over at Ronnie, then back at Lee. “Sure, give me all you got."
Lee dumped the bottle rockets out on the hood of the car and wadded up the bag, saving the other stuff and left his tube leaning against the car.
The darker it grew, the more people began to arrive. A few others had brought in their cars, but most, upon seeing the smoldering truck, had turned back out of the field and parked down the road.
As Ronnie and Lee peddled their bikes away from the sewer plant cars were stretched out on either side of the road and more people were just coming in.
The two boys were riding side by side. “We'll have to come later next year,” Ronnie called over to Lee. “Look at all the people."
Lee eagerly switched on the light on the Schwinn, this being his first time to really ride it in the dark. Ronnie followed along behind as they expertly wove their way through Pickford Acres, towards Ronnie's house. At almost every house they passed families were outside shooting off fireworks. Some yards were filled with little kids, running about helter skelter, waving sparklers. A few others, big spenders, had mortar tubes in their driveways and were firing off the big stuff, which exploded in the sky just like the annual fireworks show at the V.F.W.
They made a point of stopping off at Old Lady Ringle's and set off an M-80 in the culvert under her driveway to keep another tradition alive. They were two blocks away when the smoke began to clear, and the dispatcher at the police department picked up the call.
Nostalgia washed over Lee as they rode past his old house. The lights were on, and a semi truck's tractor was parked out front, filling the tiny drive. He found himself wishing he was going home here tonight. Now that it had become totally dark, he was trying to think of options to get home that didn't include going all the way around highway 57 and then riding through the dark down Seminole road.
When they at last arrived at Ronnie's, Lee was at a loss for any safe way to get home. Spit Creek would still be impassable, so that only left the long way.
Lee got off his bike and leaned on the handle bars. “Ronnie, do you think I could spend the night?"
Ronnie had, of course, let his fall near the bushes, and that was where it would stay. He had to kneel down to retie his shoe. “Fine with me. We can ask my dad.” He stood up. “The thing is, what about Maggie?"
"I can call. They're over at Uncle Ed's."
"Sounds like a plan to me.” Ronnie jumped up on the porch. “I imagine you'll want to put your bike in the garage."
After putting his bike away, Lee came in through the kitchen's back door. He looked up the number for Ed Miles from the white pages book he found in the cabinet. He started to lean against the wall while he dialed the phone, which hung on the wall by the refrigerator. Realizing how dirty he was he leaned away and was happy to see he hadn't left a mark on the wall.
It rang and rang until Lee was almost ready to give up, but finally Uncle Ed answered. He was relieved when Ed put his father on the line instead of Maggie. He didn't even have to go into his planned speech about Maggie always saying it was dangerous to ride on the highway at night, as his dad, who sounded pretty well lubricated, told him it was fine with him if he slept over at Ronnie's.
Lee hung up and went into the living room to find Ronnie standing before his dad with his hands in his pockets.
"No, Ronnie. Not tonight,” Mr. McGiver said, with extra emphasis on the “not” and “tonight."
Haltingly, Lee said, “My dad said it was alright if I spend the night."
Mr. McGiver turned in his chair. “Sorry, Lee. Not tonight. We're leaving really early in the morning tomorrow. We need to be at my brother's in West Virginia before dinnertime. You know you are always welcome here, but another night would be better."
"Aw dad!” Melissa complained. “Lee hasn't slept over with Ronnie since before he moved away. We all kind of miss him."
Mr. McGiver steadfastly shook his head. “We're going to be leaving before sun up. We can't expect Lee to go home at four thirty in the morning. I tell you what,” he reached out clasp Lee by the shoulder, “As soon as we get back from our trip I'll talk to your dad and see if you can have you spend a whole weekend. We'll maybe even head to the coast and spend a day fishing. How's that sound?"
Melissa who was already in her nightie sat up. “Can I go, too?"
Ronnie's dad let go of Lee and sat back. “Sure, we'll all go."
Melissa's glared eagerly at Lee. “Keen-o."
Ronnie walked out with Lee on the porch, asking, “You going to be all right going home?"
Lee had stepped down off the porch and was gripping his handlebars. Lee gave him a grim smile. “I hope so."
Traffic on the highway was light, but those who passed him were moving along at a fast clip. It seemed he rode through a ghost town. Just about everything was closed for the Fourth of July, except the Dairy Dream and Payton's Esso. No matter how much he tried to steel himself to it, Lee couldn't quit thinking about the long stretch of darkness on Seminole Road.
On a spur of the moment decision he turned into the Dairy Dream where everything was all lit up, and cars full of teenagers filled the parking lot. Radios were blaring, girls were preening, and boys were trying to look tough. One of the baddest cars in the valley, a yellow ‘56 Chevy, was parked next to a low-slung, bucket-T which sported lots of chrome and a blower. Two guys with cigarette packs tucked into the sleeves of their white t-shirts, wearing black loafers and sporting slicked back hair were leaning on the cars and talking. Lee found himself captivated. He was so looking forward to the day when he would be a part of this grown-up crowd, the same as his dad and Uncle Ed had once been.
Lee ordered a large chocolate dipped cone. He felt a little self-conscious because he looked like he'd been dragged under a car, but for once being a kid was an advantage, for no one really paid him any attention. He sat on his bike with one foot down on the curb to balance and unsuccessfully tried to eat the cone before it melted.
A car pulled off the highway into the Esso, running over the black tube in front of the pumps, which sounded the double clang of the bell. Lee was surprised to see Carl Willis step out of the office, wiping his hands with a red rag he'd pulled from his back pocket.
Stuffing the rest of the cone into his mouth, Lee wiped his sticky fingers on his blue jeans and peddled over just as Carl was putting the hose back in the slot.
"Damn, boy,” Carl said, stepping back. “What the hell happened to you?"
Lee grinned. “I went to the bottle rocket wars."
Carl looked surprised. “You know about the bottle rocket wars? Shit, I'm goin’ over there myself in about an hour when I close up."
Lee held up his right arm to show off one of his burns. He'd gotten th
is badge of honor fending off a Roman candle ball which had bounced off a windshield and almost caught him unaware.
Carl shook his head. “You sure as hell don't act like a kid, do you?"
Lee took that as an enormous compliment.
Carl plucked his pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket. Leaning back against the gas pump he lit one up and asked, “So how's the action this year?"
"Pretty good,” Lee replied. “A truck blew up.” No sooner had he said this than Lee realized how strong the reek of gas fumes were where they were standing. But though Lee was now acutely aware of where they were the smell of gasoline didn't seem to bother Carl one bit.
"Aw shit.” Carl took a swipe at the gas pumps hose. “I missed it. You ain't shitten me?"
Lee shook his head.
"Damn!” he said, taking another swipe at the hose. “And here I am workin'."
Lee was standing with the bike between his legs. It was a little difficult as he had to stand on his toes to keep his balance. “Hey, Carl,” he said, spinning the peddles back around with one foot, “I heard it was you who found that little girl in the river?"
A surprise for Lee was the change that came over Carl's face. The way he shook his head said it all. “That was some shit. I knew she was dead the second I saw her. She was floatin’ over in an eddy and had her arms all splayed out. She looked bad. Don't take long for someone to be dead in the water before they start to bloat all up."
Carl took a long drag and then blew it out through his nose. “You ever seen anything like that?"
Lee nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I have. I was there last week when they found that guy Boyd. They took him out from behind one of those wrecked houses over by the marsh. I identified him."
Carl tucked his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and pulled a red rag from his back pocket, absently wiping at a blackened thumbnail. It appeared he could smoke and talk without any need for his hands. “I'm tellin’ ya what. A whole lot of weird shit's been happenin’ ‘round here. You know, I got me some Cherokee blood. My great grandpaw was a shaman. I feel things.” He touched his chest with the hand holding the rag. “You see things with your heart, not your eyes. That's the Indian way. And when you see with your heart you see lots of things that you couldn't see before. That's how I know.” Carl, always serious, now looked grim. “And I'm tellin’ ya, at night, when it's dark, there's some serious shit goin’ on. You can ask that little dead girl."
"I had something chase me down Seminole Road the other night,” Lee blurted out.
"Probably that goddamn mangy ass dog, Sticker.” Carl plucked his cigarette from his lips and pointed at Lee. “I'm gonna shoot that fucker and use his butt for turtle bait one of these days."
Lee shook his head. “I don't think it was Sticker."
Carl looked at Lee, his silence a powerful indicator that he was going to mean what he said. “After what I told you happened to me back in Broaddus Marsh, I pretty much keep the hell away from your side of Spit Creek. In fact I stay the fuck away from Cherry Heights. I'll go way the fuck up the Yalahalla and spend night after night all on my fuckin’ lonesome. And let me tell ya, there's some serious shit livin’ back up in that river. But you ain't never gonna find my ass walking down Seminole Road once the sun's gone down. There's a helluva lot of big-ass frogs over in Broaddus Marsh, but since the best time's to gig ‘em is after dark, I let ‘em alone. Like I told you,” he again pointed at Lee with his cigarette. “You go in that marsh at night, and you ain't comin’ out. That's nuthin’ but a fact."
Carl paused and dropped the butt on the concrete, crushing it out with his foot. “You're riding that pretty new bike home that way ain't ya?"
Lee nodded.
Carl just looked at Lee and was silent.
Lee broke the tension. “Well, I guess I'd better be getting on home."
Carl pulled another smoke from his pocket and lit up, flashing his Zippo. Again displaying his lighter like a gunslinger might his revolver, Carl flicked the open and back with a sharp click, pulling it in and out of his pocket as if it was a holster. Blowing smoke out his nose he added, “If I was you, I think I'd ride real fast."
"Carl?” Lee wanted to change the subject. “You still planning to take a hike up into the woods to see Porter like you said the other day?"
Carl leaned back against the gas pump. “That's the plan."
"Can I still go?"
A wicked smile spread across Carl's face, and he rubbed under his chin with his knuckles while he showed he was considering it. “You show up over at my place this Sunday real early, and you can come along."
Lee twirled his left peddle with his foot. “How early is early?"
"Round sun up,” Carl said flatly.
"I'll be there,” Lee offered resolutely. “Is there anything I should bring?"
"A bottle of water or a canteen, and a good knife if you got one. You'll probably need it."
Bugs were buzzing around the fluorescent fixtures below the filling station overhang, thumping around and casting vague shadows.
Lee put a foot on a peddle. “I'll be there."
"Remember what I said,” Carl offered. “Ride fast. Don't look back for nothin'. You'll be okay."
Lee gave him a nod, then gripped his handlebars and stood down on the peddle, riding out from under the lights of the station.
Traffic was pretty light since it was a holiday and in no time Lee found himself stopped under the yellow flood of the streetlight at the corner of the highway and Seminole Road. Keeping one foot down and the other on a pedal, he looked over at Little's, which was all closed up. The fluorescent bulbs lighting the sign over the awning gave the empty oyster shell parking lot an eerie green cast. Lee looked back, peering down into the dark of the road and feeling his every breath.
He was glad he'd decided to leave his extra fireworks with Ronnie. He didn't want to worry about losing the bag if he dropped it. He knew that like Carl had advised, once he started, he wasn't going to stop until he hit his front porch.
For one long moment he looked up and down the highway, but no Javier was to be seen. For the last time he though about riding all the way over to Uncle Ed's, but he knew Maggie'd kill him if he suddenly showed up looking like he did. And it wasn't just that he was dirty and sweaty, he knew he smelled like burnt gunpowder. After minutes of mulling over every prospect, he decided to just go.
Lee had formulated a plan and decided to stick to it no matter what. He'd start out fast but nothing crazy. At the first sign of trouble, or if he even suspected anything at all, he'd pour it on and bust his heart before he'd slow down.
When he put a foot on the pedal, Lee felt as though he was standing at the very edge of the tall high dive at City Park pool. Looking down those seconds before and knowing you were about to feel your stomach fly into your throat was always the scariest part of it. Once you'd stepped off and were falling, that was all just thrill.
And as he stood here now, Lee's heart was already pounding. But unlike up on the diving platform, though he was set clear through with apprehensive anticipation, once he'd taken this plunge and disappeared off into the precipice of this darkness what he was sure was awaiting him was anything but thrill.
Lee swallowed it all back and steeled himself. He began pedaling, standing up on the peddles and building up speed using long, powerful strokes of his legs. It was amazing how quickly the friendly pool of light below the streetlight was left behind. Slipping quietly into the darkness, the wind sticking his t-shirt to his skin, Lee concentrated on looking out ahead.
He was enormously grateful for the beam of light his Schwinn's headlight cast out ahead on the road. At the speed he was going, he could quick glimpses the potholes from about ten feet in front. Still, that really wasn't enough lead-time to miss hitting them all, but did it allow him time to anticipate the jolts and impacts.
Lee had sweated down at least a dozen times already today, and now a fresh coating of sweat was running down his forehead and also trickl
ing down his ribs. Usually at night there was always the sound of the crickets and cicadas, and since he was passing by Broaddus Marsh to his right there were usually the chirps of frogs, but all he heard was his own breath, the scrunch of the tires, and the occasional bang and rattle of his chain every time he hit a good-sized pot hole.
Almost as quickly as Lee became aware of the peculiarity of the silence, he became aware of a different sound, coming as if from out in the swamp. At first, he thought maybe the tinkling was just a part of the clatter of his bike's chain up against the chain guard every time he hit a bump, but quickly it stood out as a definite sound all its own. And in casting a quick glance off over his right shoulder what Lee saw caused him to hit the brakes and come to a stop.
Out here Broaddus Marsh was thick. The tall stands of barren trees were choked with Spanish moss, and there was a thick gray mist which had risen up from the muck and mire. Off in the distance, seen as if miles away, but somehow visible through the trees there was a light. A light where there definitely should be none.
Lee stood out in the middle of the road, breathing heavily, occasionally swallowing dryly, and catching his breath. It wasn't just a single light; it couldn't be the lantern of some crazy redneck out gigging frogs or hunting turtles. Even though Lee could tell it had to be far off, the light was bright, but warm, not like incandescent bulbs, but like candle light or lamp light. And it didn't move at all. If it was a hillbilly out amongst the cypress in his skiff the light would have to move. The more Lee looked, the more he was sure this light came from the windows of a house, a big house. The lights were so bright it seemed as if it was all lit up for a party, and definitely, the source of the light was also the source of the music he was hearing. Focusing all his attention so that he didn't even breathe, Lee stood and listened. And the longer he held still the more sure he was it wasn't just the tinkle of a piano he heard, but there was laughter and the sounds of men's and women's voices. Then just as suddenly, it was gone, winked out, nothing but blackness and the silence all around.
Evil Heights, Book IV: In the Pit Page 8