Evil Heights, Book IV: In the Pit

by Michael Swanson

  Bad luck for some people can, at times, mean good luck for others. Morrison Printing was working on the reprint of the Schilt Candle Co. catalog and Lee's dad was working twelve hours overtime today, six to six. Since they weren't going to be able to go to church, Lee was free to go with Carl, and could avoid a morning of guilt with Mrs. Voorman.

  Lee walked under the PS&Y trestle, swinging the bayonet and trying to imagine what today would hold. When he got to the Willis house he was surprised to see Carl already sitting out front on the low sill of an open window smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee from a chipped cup. Carl had on the blue work shirt with the name Lonnie stenciled over the pocket, and his blue jeans were tucked into the tops of calf-high, green, rubber boots.

  "Well, shit,” Carl took a last drag and flicked the butt away, “There he is."

  Daryl stepped up to the door shadowed by a thin, worn looking girl who hung back in the gloom. Whatever it was she was wearing, Lee couldn't tell if it was a dress or a nightgown. Regardless, it was so threadbare and the armholes gaped so, that Lee had no trouble seeing she wasn't wearing any underwear at all.

  "Hey, Carl. Hey, Daryl,” Lee nodded to each in turn. “How y'all doing?"

  "I ain't seen you ‘round lately,” Daryl mouthed off boldly. “I guess, you been goin’ to summer school, or maybe Sunday school.” Daryl cast a glance back over at the girl to gauge her approval of his rapier-like wit.

  "This here's cousin Dora, Whitey and Earl's sister,” Daryl reached his arm around the girl's waist and drew her in, then pressed her up against the wall. “Her family's stayin’ with us for a while."

  Lee nodded to Dora. “Yeah, I already met your brothers Whitey and Earl."

  Daryl held her arms back and pressed his face into hers. There was no avoiding seeing Daryl slip his tongue all the way in as the two sucked lips like a couple of Chinese carp.

  Carl grinned nefariously. “They're kissin’ cousins."

  "I can see,” Lee agreed.

  When Daryl had his fill, he let Dora go. Without warning, as though he'd just been stung by a yellow jacket, he picked up one leg and began whipping one hand up and down snapping his fingers rapid-fire. As suddenly as he began, he stopped, then pointed his hand about like a pistol, using his thumb to fire off a shot at Carl and at Lee. “Hot-diggedy-damn!” he cried out. “That there's some hellacious poontang!” Finally he whistled, loud and long, and topped it all off by an encore of the blistering finger snapping, this time with both his hands.

  There was no doubt that Dora was impressed with the compliment.

  "Well, is Dora coming along?” Lee asked, slipping in an ain't to sound a little more home spun.

  Carl started actually laughing, another surprise for Lee. He'd never thought about a guy like Carl laughing.

  "Nah, Dora ain't goin',” Daryl broke in, his finger pistol prodding about Dora and causing her to squirm and giggle. “But she's always got me cumin'!"

  The only one who thought his joke was worth any finger snapping was Daryl. When he'd finished probing Dora, he treated everyone to a thankfully brief repetition of his earlier spastic performance.

  Carl, ignoring it all, downed the dregs of his coffee. “I guess we'll be headin’ out."

  Daryl stepped out onto the porch. He also wore rubber boots, though his were black. “What ‘bout Earl and Whitey? We ain't just gonna leave ‘em? Are we?"

  "Fuck ‘em,” Carl declared flatly. “I ain't waitin’ on them. Bunch a goddamn pussies anyway."

  From the sounds and smells coming from the back part of the house, the place sounded like a small diner. Whatever they were all eating in there, Lee couldn't tell exactly, but the sharp odor left no doubt it'd been fried in lots of hog fat.

  As though Daryl had anticipated what Lee was thinking about, he said, “Carl and me, we done ate breakfast."

  Carl stood up and put his coffee cup on the windowsill. Reaching in, he pulled out a well-worn machete. “What you carryin', Daryl?"

  "I got me this frog sticker.” He held up a metal pole with a barbed trident on the end. “And sure as shit, I ain't goin’ nowhere without my knife.” He patted the leather case at his hip.

  Nobody asked, but Lee held up his bayonet.

  Carl walked over and picked up a canteen at the end of the porch. Daryl picked up a thermos with a string around it, and without so much as another word the three set off with Lee bringing up the rear.

  At first Lee was familiar with the area along side of the river. He and Ronnie had ranged through here for years.

  Carl led the way, clomping along in his boots and occasionally swinging his machete to knock down a wood spider's web blocking the path or to clear away a branch.

  To their left was the Yalahalla. It wasn't green, as it had been when Lee and Phoebe had tubed it. The rains had turned it a muddy brown, and though the water had gone down considerably, as evidenced by the trash caught high above the water line, the water was still murky.

  "Did y'all see how high up the river rose after the last rain?” Lee asked to Daryl's back.

  Daryl didn't look back but pointed out with his pig sticker. “If you see where them bushes is bent over, that's how high the water got."

  Lee judged from what Daryl said the water had crested only a foot or so from spilling over the bank. As it was, everything was still wet and swampy, and even though the morning cool hadn't been broken, the humidity was stifling and the air, thick and difficult to breathe.

  Carl moved quickly, never letting up or looking back. His boots were a tremendous advantage over Lee's tennis shoes, as the tractor-tread soles provided superior traction and being water, mud and thorn proof, Carl could step where he wanted.

  The trail they were following was becoming narrower and less worn with every step, and the bushes, brambles, and weeds became steadily thicker. Gobs of Spanish moss hung thick in all the trees, swaying slightly with any breeze.

  Twice they passed rusting hulks of cars, hidden in the thick growth. It seemed improbable that a car could have ever driven in so far down river, but nevertheless they were there. Seeing a piece of civilization like this, in total decay, always caused Lee to wonder about life. It was probably just his imagination, but he seemed to catch a vision or glimpse from the life of the object by just passing near. He knew that the paintless and hollowed out wrecks had once stood shining and new, maybe this one had once even been the pride of the dealer's showroom floor. Someone had paid hard earned money and driven it home on a first drive filled with pride. Once it had been cleaned and waxed. Now, it sat abandoned, its tireless rims buried in the mud, no upholstery or glass. What all had happened to it between then and now? he wondered. And how did it end up here?

  At one point where the trail ran right along the edge of the bank, Lee heard a splash and Carl sang out, “Did y'all see it?"

  Daryl ran with Lee right behind. When they got to where Carl was, he was standing at the edge of the bank, leaning out and pointing with a cigarette.

  "What?” Daryl was a little out of breath, and his face was flushed red. “What'd ya see?"

  "Damn ‘gator.” Carl spread his arms wide. “'Bout yea long."

  Daryl whistled. “Where'd the sucker go?"

  Carl waved his machete at the water. “He's down in there somewhere. Why don't you jump on in and flush him out?"

  "I think I'd just as soon watch you fuck Dora's mamma,” Daryl replied dryly.

  "With your dick,” Carl came right back.

  Having seen the daughter, Lee could only imagine the charms of Dora's mamma.

  "How far you figure we've gone?” Lee asked, hoping to avoid anymore discussion of sex with members of the Boone family.

  Carl plucked a long weed, broke it in half, and then stuck the stem in his mouth. “Just a couple miles, just getting’ started."

  "See, he's already draggin’ ass,” Daryl, sneered.

  "We'll see who's butt's dragging at the end of the day,” Lee replied casually.

  Before D
aryl could come back with something snappy that would undoubtedly contain a reference to Dora or her mamma, Carl set off, saying, “We ain't getting’ nowhere standin’ here jawin'."

  For a long time they marched along single file, not talking. At times the path stayed near the river, but some long stretches strayed away, weaving in and out of thick woods choked with scraggly pines and brushy hemlock. Near the river, there were always lots of dragonflies darting about, along with mosquitoes, black flies, and various wasps and bees. The croaks of frogs and chirps of birds mixed in contrast, along with the constant wavering drone of the unseen cicadas. Everything was alive and in some kind of competition, whether it was for space to grow and catch light, or to just to live long enough to eat something before being eaten. Lee loved it back in here. It was a place he felt truly free. To him, this was the real world.

  After what had to be three or four more miles, Carl stopped to rest, leaning up against a great, gray boulder spattered with chalky mildew. He flicked open his Zippo and lit a cigarette, holding it close in between his fingers.

  Daryl squatted down on a rock and held up his fingers. “How ‘bout a smoke?"

  The corner of Carl's mouth curled up, something like a grin. “Yeah? Right?"

  "Come on, Carl,” Daryl whined. “I ain't had me a smoke all day."

  "You mean I ain't let you bum one from me all day.” Carl patted the pack in his pocket. “These is all I've got to last me.” He took another long drag, waited a moment, then blew out a huge cloud of smoke. “I tell ya what. Next store we come to I'll buy another pack, and then I might let you bum one."

  Daryl scowled and threw a stick off into the brush.

  Lee took a seat on a smaller rock and un-slung his canteen, opening the top and taking a long drink of the cool water. “Y'all know this place back in here pretty well, don't ya?"

  "Shit, you ain't seen shit yet,” Daryl replied, angrily. He was working to untie the twine that kept his thermos to his belt so that he could unscrew the cap to get a drink. “You're gonna piss yer pants when ya get back up in here for real. These is what we call pussy woods, huh Carl?"

  Carl looked at Daryl, obviously thinking about something, then said, “You know Daryl, if you think I'm gonna do somethin’ when Lee there gets fed up with your sassy ass mouth and slaps you upside the head, you're in for a powerful surprise."

  "I ain't said shit!” Daryl replied, though he didn't look up.

  "I don't give a damn what you say or don't say. I just thought I'd let you know where I stand.” Carl crossed his arms and leaned back. “It'll be between y'all two. I'll just watch."

  Lee hadn't really been bothered by Daryl's attitude. He'd kind of expected it. Ignorant boys always tried to sound mean to make up for feeling inferior. Lee knew that from way back. Most of the time, they really didn't mean anything, and almost never did they really want to back up a smart-ass mouth with their fists, unless they were a lot bigger than you, or you were stupid enough to let them push you around.

  This time though, Lee could tell by the way Daryl was looking at him while avoiding eye contact that he was being sized up. Another lesson Lee had learned long ago was that the best defense was a good offense.

  He set his canteen down next to the bayonet, then stood up. “If you got a problem with me Daryl, I think Carl's right, and it'd be best if we settled it right here, right now.” To show he wasn't fooling, he put his hands up, rolling his hands into tight fists and took a step forward.

  "I didn't say nuthin'.” Daryl's decision had obviously been made. “I don't want no fuckin’ fight.” Then to save face, he added. “If I kick his ass, we're gonna have to carry you out of here."

  "Yeah, right,” Carl said, matter-of-factly. “Then have a drink, and let's get goin'."

  Lee dropped his fists and went back to the rock he'd been sitting on. Before he could pick up his canteen, he felt the telltale sting and swatted a mosquito, which had taken the opportunity of his distraction with Daryl to sneak up on his neck. Drawing away his hand he could see he'd got it too late, as along with its crushed corpse was a smear of his own blood. “Mosquitos'll suck you dry out here,” Lee said, wiping his hand on his blue jeans.

  "Bout the same as Dora, huh Carl?” Daryl said weakly.

  Carl took another drag. “You got me. You're the expert there."

  He started to flick the cigarette away, rolling it up between his thumb and cocked forefinger. But he stopped.

  "You want this?” He held his hand out to Daryl.

  Daryl jumped up and ran over, pinching the small butt from Carl's fingers. He sucked on it like he was drawing out life itself.

  Without another word, Carl set off up the trail.

  Still sucking at the tiny cigarette, Daryl stooped over and with his other hand he picked up his canteen and frog sticker. Falling in behind his older brother, he finally said, “Thanks, Carl."

  If Carl heard it, he didn't acknowledge it.

  The high bluffs to the left of the river had slowly leveled away. Both sides of the riverbank were thick with huge trees dark and ugly, all of which were choked with Spanish moss. Along the low banks sprouted an abundance of dark green swamp fronds mixed in with enormous red-veined elephant ears. The thick mud on both sides was populated with a host of crawdad nests, each a hollowed out cone of mud, resembling a pile of carefully laid poop. The high water from a couple of days ago had spilled over the low banks and washed through here depositing a layer of mud and rotting vegetation that smelled thick and green. Lee vowed as he slogged and slipped along that if he ever came back in here he'd have himself a pair of boots just like those Carl and Daryl wore.

  "Shit fire!” Daryl screamed, hopping back in a jerky legged jig. “Moccasin!"

  Lee peered ahead, his bayonet ready while Carl came running back.

  "Where?” Carl asked, intent on the bushes.

  "Right goddamned there!” Daryl pointed with his frog sticker at a blackened log. “Sonofabitch bit me."

  Carl took Daryl's long steel rod and prodded it about. Suddenly with a violent thrust, Carl drove it into the shadows, the tendons and lanky muscles standing out on his arms as he ground down fiercely.

  "Did ya git ‘em?” Daryl asked leaning in.

  Carl hauled up the metal rod. At the end an enormous brown snake was coiling round and round, writhing up the shaft, the trident's barbed center prong driven clear through its body just behind the wide, flat head.

  "Shit, Daryl,” Carl brought it in closer to get a good look. “This ain't no piss ant moccasin, this fucker's a rattler."

  Daryl knelt down and frantically peeled back the high top of his boot and rubbed around on his calf. “Aw sweet, fuckin’ Jesus, thank ya Lord,” Daryl looked up. “He didn't bite through."

  Carl shook the rod around but couldn't dislodge the shake. He ended up pounding it to the ground, then stepped down with his heel on the head to hold it still, while he ripped the barbed prong back out. Then, like plucking a flower, he reached down and grabbed the body and held it up to count the rattles. Reflexively, even though it was dead, the long body wrapped up around Carl's arm.

  "Shit Daryl,” Carl ran his fingers across the scaly sections, “You ‘bout got done in by a granddaddy. This motherfucker's ten years old."

  Daryl's face was white, and he was still inspecting his boot to find the puncture marks. “Shit Carl, you had to have walked right past it. How come he didn't take a bite at you?"

  Carl grinned, dropping the snake to the ground, where it continued to twist and convulse. “I guess I just stirred him up for ya."

  "Thanks, a whole fuckin’ lot,” Darryl said, standing back up.

  Carl's grin disappeared. “Anytime.” He reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out the pack of Lucky Strikes, and lit one up with another quick click and snap of his Zippo. When he breathed out, the smoke hung heavy in the still air.

  Lee stepped up and took a closer look, then his grin spread wide.

  Daryl was still rightfully shaken up,
but now his immediate fear was mellowing leaving only anger. “What the hell you think's so funny?"

  Lee knew Daryl wouldn't like it, but he couldn't help himself. “You should've seen yourself.” Lee did a quick imitation jerking up one leg and hopping over sideways. “I don't think I ever seen anybody jump so fast.” Lee repeated the motion to the other side.

  Carl sucked his cigarette, keeping it tight in between his fingers, and smiled.

  "Fuckin’ good thing I did, too.” Daryl stomped on the snake's head, grinding it into the mud with his heel. “We'll see how you do with the next one,” he glared.

  "Don't tear it up,” Carl cautioned. “We'll fetch it with us to Porter.” He flipped the cigarette butt off into the brush and looked at Lee. “He eats snakes. Probably do somethin’ with the skin and rattle, too."

  "If there's any tradin’ to do,” Daryl spoke up. “This ‘un's mine."

  "I killed him,” Carl shot back.

  "With my sticker,” Daryl protested.

  "Okay, then you get to carry its slimy ass,” Carl said, ending the argument.

  Daryl bent down and grabbed the snake, then shook the head to dislodge the clumps of mashed in mud. He gave Lee a smug look and then flung the body over his shoulder, the head hanging down in front near his knees and the rattles almost dragging the ground.

  "That's one hell of a snake,” Lee paid a compliment where it was due.

  "Some folks call a rattler this size a Texas night crawler,” Carl responded. “There's a bunch of ‘em back in here.” He then picked up his machete from where he'd stuck it down in the muck, and they formed up ranks to move on.

  The first sign that they were nearing Porter's shack was the sharp smell of burning kindling mixed with a sweet-sour reek of stewing mash. Little-by-little as they came closer Lee began to notice broken bottles, rusted cans, and other assorted trash lying about to either side. The dense woods were thinning, many of the bigger trees having been cut and hauled off, with only the jagged and molding stumps remaining. They entered a clearing emerging from the few scraggly pines and ragged, straggling bushes; here the smell was the strongest.