by Bryn Roar
The stories seemed endless, really. Skeevy and scandalous. Teenagers trying to one-up each other in their outrageous behavior. Bud found the whole thing tedious. He supposed that’s what was important, though, to someone trying to escape their youth. To rush headlong into adulthood. As if there was a pot of gold at the beginning of that drab rainbow.
For someone like Bud or Josie, who’d had their childhoods ripped away, that sort of impatience was a mystery. Sure, not everyone’s childhood is happy, but there damn well wasn’t a pot of gold waiting for them when they grew up, either! As the world had taught them a long time ago, life is no merry-go-round. It’s a mean, fire breathing, freight train, all too eager to run over the weak and aimless. And even though it isn’t particularly fast, the damn thing never stops rolling. If you wanted to survive its hungry wheels, then you’d best prepare yourself while you were still young and strong. That way, through some hard work and diligence, you could at least put some distance between it and you. He looked over at Josie and could tell her thoughts were running the same way, that she too couldn’t comprehended their contemporaries mindset.
She shrugged. “You can’t save the whole world, boyo. Besides, they’re not all bad, you know.”
Bud made a noncommittal grunt as they drew alongside the Circle Jerk, both of them craning their necks to peer out curiously at the one spot on the island that wasn’t instantly familiar to them. The trunks of several palm trees framed the large fire-pit in an octagon, the denuded logs worn smooth over the years by a steady stream of roosting rear ends. Cigarette butts peppered the sand, as if the area was one big nasty ashtray.
A pair of rusty steel drums stood close to hand, to catch the empty beer cans and bottles.
Ham had laid the law down on that count—trash his beach with their empties and he’d kick their candy asses out of here faster than a Noonan could say the “N” word.
Josie and Bud glanced over at the notorious sand dunes, rolling right up to the edge of the Circle Jerk. The hidden valleys tucked within were ideal for horny kids looking to get laid. Rusty had once searched the nefarious dunes with his metal detector, certain he’d find a mint in lost coins and jewelry. All he’d gotten for his troubles, though, were some nasty underwear and countless crusty condoms underfoot. Needless to say, he hadn’t been back.
Josie sighed in relief as the Circle Jerk and its hilly environs receded in her rear view mirror. That place had always creeped her out a little. Maybe because that’s exactly where her mother claimed she and Joe Rusty had conceived both their children. In the feckin’ sand dunes!
It was a bit of nauseating information she’d never even shared with Rusty Huggins.
Humiliating, is what it is! Dune babies! That’s what Joel and I are. A couple of groddy dune babies. Too poor to be conceived in a proper bed!
They continued up the beach until Bud reached the safest waters between the East and the South Side. They could now make out the lighthouse beacon sweeping across the ocean, warning boaters away from the hidden sandbars of Crater Cove, just a bit further up the coast. The summer cottages, all in a row on a sandy bluff off to their left, stood watch over a beach that was the nicest on the island, and thus off-limits to any rowdy teenagers. Bud parked the Jeep at the high tide mark, and he and Josie jumped out.
It was only five-thirty but the shadows were already growing long, the air a bit cooler now. Winter was waiting in the wings, impatient for its cue to take center stage. This far south, its yearly run was all too brief.
Josie pulled her picnic basket out the back of the Jeep, while Bud retrieved a blanket and a pair of beach towels. They’d stopped by Peg Leg’s for some gyros, salt & vinegar chips, spicy pickles, and a quart of Pete’s sweet-iced-tea. Bud laid the blanket out and was getting ready to sit down when Josie tugged on his arm. “Nuh, uh. I can’t eat until I wash off this stink. Come on, Bud. I’ll race ya!”
He grinned and raced her to the gently lapping shore. The South Side had the only really safe beach to go swimming on Moon. The maze of sandbars on the East End tended to create killer rip tides, while the West Side shore barely existed at all. The land there rose straight up from the sea, the ocean shelf far beneath ones feet. The North Side beach was actually quite nice, but that’s where the Research Center was located. And unless the mad scientists took the occasional dip, no one was doing any laps out there. Bud had asked Josie if she’d wanted to stop off for her bikini but she claimed it didn’t fit her anymore; she’d just go swimming in the clothes she had on.
“Get some shorts and a shirt for me to put on later,” she’d told him back at the museum.
He easily beat her into the surf and dove in with a rebel yell. After swimming several yards out, he came to a wading stop and shook the water from his hair, laughing at Josie, who was only now catching up to him. It wasn’t often he could out-swim her like that. “What a slow poke!” he taunted her. She was silently floating beside him, her head the only thing above water. “What took you so—”
Bud could only wade there with his mouth hanging open, struck speechless by the sight of Josie’s gym clothes, left in a heap on the beach. In the falling light, her white panties seemed to glow on top of the discarded garments.
Josie’s green eyes flashed. “What’s the matter, tiger? Crab got your tongue?”
*******
Afterwards, Bud watched Josie swim leisurely for shore, emerging from the sea like some mythical goddess, her skin shiny, slick, and wet. This was a new angle for him and Bud reveled in Big Red’s astonishing beauty. She toweled off slowly for his benefit, glancing at him over her shoulder, completely secure in her healthy naked body. Just as slowly, she shimmied into the fresh pair of shorts and shirt he’d brought along inside the Jeep.
Bud knew it was just a big old joke to Joe, a parody of what she thought a strip tease might be, but he doubted if the real thing could have possibly been any more erotic.
The floorshow regrettably over now, Bud looked for his T-shirt, hoping it was still floating nearby, but the claret reflection on the surface of the water was the same color as his shirt, and his search proved fruitless. He sighed and left the ocean, hoping Josie wouldn’t tease him for being aroused so soon, after their latest bout of groping.
With a knowing smirk on her pretty face, Josie greeted him with a towel, roughly scrubbing his hair, chest, and arms, drying him off in a manner that wasn’t at all maternal. Bud snatched the towel away from her when she lingered too long on his wet shorts.
“What are you? A troublemaker or something?” Despite another mind-blowing orgasm, Bud was already feeling frustrated and provoked. How long would hand-jobs and heavy petting suffice their needs?
What was that she said last night at the Drive-In? A year or two before having sex?
Can we really wait that long?
She giggled, watching him wrap the towel around his waist, his penis heavy and stiff again underneath his wet shorts. “Where’s your shirt?” she asked him.
Bud couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “Damn, Josie! You practically clawed it off my back and set it adrift out there,” he said, pointing testily to the ocean. “It’s probably half-way to Bermuda by now!”
Josie tipped her head back and laughed. She enjoyed seeing Big Bad Bud Brown so gawky and a-tremble. Pouting like a little boy. Belatedly, she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, love. Here, put me towel over your shoulders. I suppose you could wear the shirt I worked out in,” she said, gesturing over at the pile of wet and sandy clothes she’d retrieved and tossed into the back of the Jeep.
Bud eyed them doubtfully. “Yeah, right. Damn it to hell, Red! You owe me a Famous Monster’s T-shirt! You know they don’t make those anymore!”
She poked him in the chest. “Then you should have grabbed it instead of me arse, Romeo.”
Bud dropped onto the blanket with a sigh, his legs crossed over each other. Josie patted the top of his head like a good little dog, and then set out their dinner on paper plates. M
unching on a spicy pickle, Bud couldn’t help but smile. It was hard staying cross with Big Red. She looked so damn cute in his oversized gym shorts and Property of the U.S.S. Enterpoop T-shirt. Her unencumbered breasts bobbling so fetchingly underneath the thin layer of cotton, her feet sprinkled with fine white sand.
Like confectioner’s sugar, he thought, staring at her delectable toes. He shook the fog of teen lust from his head. Lately, all he could think about was Josie’s body. What the hell’s the matter with me? Even her sandy feet arouse me!
He focused his thoughts on other matters. Like how serene the ocean looked, awash in the red glow of the moon, so fat and full in the falling light. The lights twinkling on, across the water, on the mainland, like waking stars in the heavenly firmament. The lulling rhythms of the surf washing towards them as high tide crept in. The Ding! Ding! of an unseen buoy out by Crater Cove, and the wispy clouds creeping up from the south. Hinting at troubles ahead. The very outer bands of Hurricane Jack, still three days distant, had begun to brush across the island.
Bud frowned. Damn. That’s one big ass storm.
Josie took a bite of her gyro and glanced over at Bud, suddenly remembering his mysterious comment earlier in the day. “Hey love, what was that you were saying this afternoon? Something about being held at the Research Center against your will?”
Bud told her what he and his dad had talked over that morning. What they knew; what they suspected.
“So you don’t remember a thing about it, huh?”
“Nope. That’s what bothers us. I remember my brief stay in the Beaufort Hospital before that, so why not this?”
Before deliberating on it further, Josie answered him. “He hypnotized you.” Her statement didn’t come out as a theory or suggestion. Just a simply stated fact.
“Hypnosis? What makes you say that?”
“Oh, I heard he was proficient in the art,” she said, thinking fast. “You know, for people trying to lose weight, stop smoking, that sort of thing. It just stands to reason; how else could he get you to forget a whole time period of your life?”
Bud mulled it over and shrugged. It made sense, he supposed. He would run it by his pop later on. He couldn’t wait for the hurricane to pass over so he and his dad could get to the bottom of all this! He was convinced, more than ever, that the Center—and Bidwell, by his association—was involved in his mother’s death. In fact, he was so engrossed over this that he didn’t stop to scrutinize Josie’s sudden insight. If he had, he would’ve realized he’d never heard of Bidwell using hypnosis before with his patients. Nor did the man advertise the arcane practice.
From the corner of her eye, Josie watched Bud’s face. It remained passive and at peace, blissfully ignorant. An imperceptible sigh escaped her lips. That was close! If he ever found out what happened, I’d be visiting him on death row. For he’d surely kill that rat bastard…
They finished their supper without further comment on the matter, talking softly and reveling in each other’s company. It was nice spending time together, just the two of them. After putting their trash in the basket, she laid down on the blanket with her head on Bud’s lap. She had to be at the Portmans’ soon, but was reluctant to leave the cradle of those strong limbs. It hadn’t escaped her notice how calm Bud was at the moment. His usually nervous hands were at rest on her hair, gently cupping her head like a crown. In fact, Bud was so still Josie had to look up to see if he might not be dozing. Her eyes found his, staring down at her in total tranquility. The thought that she might be at the center of this newfound peace made her feel all warm inside. Proud of the serenity she’d managed to impart.
If only for a little while.
Their eyes drifted apart, towards the autumn colored sky. He sighed contentedly as they watched the red clouds crawl over the luminous face of the moon, dying it maroon. Like some giant Easter egg. “Look,” Josie said, pointing up at the heavens. “There’s blood on the moon tonight.”
*******
Once again, Rusty and Tubby couldn’t focus on the movie, My Bodyguard. Josie’s news had kept them distracted all afternoon. Tubby thought it looked like a great picture, too. It seemed to fit his situation so well. Bud Brown had proven to be not only his bodyguard, but a darn good friend to boot. Just like the two fellows in the movie.
He and Rusty had set up a tent in the middle of the empty lot, with speakers on either side turned all the way up. They were sprawled out on their sleeping bags, facing the front of the tent and the screen beyond. Fireflies poked holes in the night, further distracting the boys from the plot.
As the end credits rolled, Rusty remarked: “Matt Dillon sure does play a convincing asshole, don’t he?”
“Yeah, he’s got that Lester Look about him,” Tubby remarked offhandedly. His mind was still on other matters. “Do you really think Mr. Brown would call our parents if we didn’t go see Dr. Bidwell tomorrow?”
“Afraid so,” Rusty said, nervously adjusting his glasses. “Bilbo wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. Thing is, I think he might be right.”
“Are you saying you trust Dr. Bidwell now?”
“Nah, I’m just saying one or all of us may have gotten the disease without even knowing it. Mind you, we should still keep our mouths shut around the man. If we did get it, though, then Bidwell’s our best chance at a cure.”
“Why can’t we go see a doctor on the mainland? That way we don’t have to worry about the Center quarantining us at all!”
“Won’t work, Opie. Think about it. Since it’s more than likely this rabies virus is a newly developed strain—”
“Then only the Center would have the vaccine,” Tubby sighed.
“There is one thing that still bothers me,” Rusty said, scratching his head in the darkness. The movie had run through, and Mr. Tolson had turned off all the lights. The only illumination was coming from the blood red moon above them, and the fireflies still flitting about.
“Yeah? What’s that, Gnat?”
“Why didn’t it work for that Wilson dude? The vaccine, I mean.”
“You mean the fellow that Bud shot?”
“Uh-huh. The very same one they said hadn’t been shot! Can you say cover up? Just the same, I’m glad for Bud’s sake they did cover it up. But if this guy worked with the test animals, like they say he did, then it stands to reason he would’ve been inoculated against the virus.”
“How do you know he had the disease? Maybe—”
“Are you forgetting what Bud and Big Red saw that night in the Pines? The glowing red eyes, the wet growling, as if its throat and mouth were full of phlegm?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tubby said. They remained silent for a moment. Then Tubby remarked, “I don’t pretend to know what I’m talking about here, but if the Center was working on different strains at once…”
Rusty picked up his friend’s train of thought. “Then maybe they haven’t had time to develop a vaccine yet! Damn, Opie. For a white boy you’re pretty smart.”
Tubby turned on the propane lantern he’d brought along, dispelling the gloom. He smiled. “I know, right? And for the love of God, please stop calling me Opie!”
“Whatever you say, Opie. Your theory, I’m afraid, does lend more credence to Bilbo’s concerns. It means Doctor Bidwell would be our only hope if one of us caught his nasty version of rabies.”
Tubby slyly searched Rusty’s face. His friend seemed no more distressed than usual. He wondered if Rusty even recalled all that saliva covering him that day. Because if any of them were apt to catch the disease—
“You fellows all tucked in?” said Tubby’s dad, popping his head into the tent.
“Dang it, Dad!” screeched Tubby. “You scared the bejeezuz out of us!”
Frank wagged a bony finger at his son. “Watch your language, Ralph Tolson! If your mother heard you talk like that she’d break out the Lifebuoy.”
“Sorry, sir,” Tubby blushed. His eyes shifted over to his friend, who was literally biting his tongue. “We we
re just telling ghost stories and you popped in at the worst moment. Scared me is all.”