"Hey!" I said. "Hey, you!"
Right away, the guy stopped and looked at me, swinging the shotgun around in my direction.
"Get lost!" he hollered.
Though I’d come up blank when I’d tried thinking of what I’d say to him, words popped into my head all of a sudden. "I just wanna ask you somethin’," I said. "I was wonderin’ if you’d take me with you."
"You think I’m on a nature hike here?" said the guy. "Get lost, or I’ll blow your brains out!"
"The thing is," I said, expecting the gun to go off at any second, "that’s my boy there."
The guy looked at Sean, then back at me, without saying a word.
"I’m thinkin’," I said. "You got him fair and square, right? I can accept that. But who says we can’t share him?"
"Oh, this is good!" said the guy, laughing. "Good one!"
I glanced left, wondering how much longer Mike would take to circle around. "No, I’m serious," I said. "I promise I’ll be cool."
The guy laughed again. "Oh, well then," he said. "If you promise. Your word’s good enough for me!"
Still chuckling, he raised the shotgun...and turned it away from me.
Turned it on Sean.
"Better yet," he said, "how ‘bout we make it just the two of us?"
Sean looked at me. Small and helpless and scared, he looked at me.
Not crying but just on the verge. Lower lip quivering.
He looked at me.
And all at once, it hit me. For the first time in my life, the only time, I realized I would do anything to save him.
Anything.
"Wait!" I said. "I’ll prove you can trust me! There’s someone sneaking up on you right this minute! I was supposed to keep you busy while he sneaked up on you, but I say screw him!"
The guy kept his shotgun aimed at Sean but started looking around.
"You trust me now?" I said. "Will you take me with you if I tell you where he is?"
"Sure," said the guy. "Sure I will."
"He’s over there!" I said, pointing right...pointing in the opposite direction from where I thought Mike would be. "Over there!"
*****
For a long moment, the kidnapper squinted into the woods where I’d pointed, looking for a trace of someone in the shadows.
Then, we both heard a sound and looked the other way at the same time. A twig snapping.
And there was Mike, charging out of the woods.
The kidnapper swung the shotgun around and aimed it at Mike. Mike had his brass knuckle gadget raised in front of him, glowing bright red like a ray gun...but it was a
toss-up whether he’d get off a shot before the kidnapper blew another hole in him.
And there was Sean, bawling his eyes out in the middle of it all.
And there I was, maybe ten yards away. Heart pounding, mind racing.
Knowing this was it, my last chance. Wanting to move.
Not wanting to move.
Part of me wanting to let the guy blow away Mike because then Mike couldn’t take away my boy. Take away my second chance.
The other part of me knowing that the only chance I was ever going to get was right in front of me, the only chance I deserved. More than I deserved.
*****
As I ran toward the kidnapper, the shotgun went off, but I didn’t know if Mike was hit because I couldn’t look away.
The switchblade was warm in my hand and I popped the blade just before I got to him and then I
Just because you’re good for nothing, said Mrs. Pendleton
Then I drove it into his chest, the kidnapper’s chest, drove it in to the hilt.
Doesn’t mean you can’t be good for something.
I slammed him back against the rock and shoved the blade hard to one side and then back, ripping him open. He dropped the shotgun and howled in pain but he was big and the next I thing I knew he was throwing me backward coming down on top of me.
Good for something even if it’s
Too much weight to move, I was pinned to the ground, but I kept a hand on the switchblade and punched it deeper, going for his heart. He was like a bear, he grabbed my hand and squeezed until bones cracked and it hurt so bad I screamed and had to let go.
Then he pushed up and reached behind him, he had a knife in his chest and he could still crush my hand and push up and reach back and bring around a gun he must’ve had in the waist of his pants.
And then he jammed it in my stomach and pulled the trigger. Heat and pain poured through me and he pulled it again.
Three times and I was screaming and screaming and so was Sean.
Even if it’s just one thing.
And I remembered, I thought I’d forgotten but I remembered one moment.
Sean’s just a baby, and he won’t stop crying, and I pick him up and hold him in my arms and rock him to sleep.
Then I remembered another.
Older now, Sean runs around the apartment screaming and for once I’m not trashed and I chase him and catch him and tickle him. Both of us laughing.
Then another.
The same day I beat him black and blue for wetting his bed, the very same day, he gives me this picture he drew that looks like one big scribble and he says it’s a picture of him and his daddy and he says he still loves me.
Then another. And another.
One by one, they fell into my hands like diamonds. I’d let them slip away, but now, at the end, they came back to me.
Later, the kidnapper’s dead, I don’t know if it’s from the switchblade or if Mike shot him or what, and I have one last thing to do. One thing I was afraid of but now it’s easier.
Mike opens a shimmering window out of thin air, and he tells Sean he’s going to take him to a wonderful place with lots of people who’ll love him.
Sean turns to me and I can’t believe it, after all I’ve done he still turns to me like he cares what I have to say.
And my heart breaks.
"Go ahead," I tell him. "It’s all right."
Something Borrowed, Something Doomed
Back home, we had a tradition: the worse the weddin’, the better the marriage. That’s why our people worked so hard to ruin each other’s weddin’ days.
It gave the bride an’ groom somethin’ to overcome an’ a cause for hope...like, there’s nowhere to go from here but up. We told an’ retold the stories over an’ over, an’ they just got better with age.
But just like with anythin’, sooner or later someone’s gonna go too far. Take it to extremes. Face it, there are some calamities that just don’t sound better no matter how many times you retell ‘em.
Like the end a’ the world, for example. That was the monkey business my brothers got up to on my weddin’ day.
They figured, if they could pull it off, they’d set me up for the greatest marriage of all time, because how could you ruin anybody’s weddin’ day any worse than endin’ the world?
This just goes to show how dirt-suckin’ stupid my brothers could be.
*****
I guess I knew I was in for trouble when my brothers actually seemed to like my boyfriend, Bigfoot. (Nickname, it’s just a nickname.)
Now, my brothers had a long history a’ hatin’ my beaus and drivin’ ‘em off...but Bigfoot won ‘em over. Even Thirty Ought, the youngest and roughest, came around, which is really sayin’ somethin’.
"You better do right by him, Vicky," Thirty Ought told me one day, combin’ his fingers through his thick, black hair. He narrowed his bright blue eyes at me an’ nodded. "No funny stuff, understand?"
Part of it had to do with Bigfoot’s winnin’ personality. He was just the kind a’ guy who if you shot him accidentally while huntin’, you’d never forgive yourself.
The rest of it, from what I can see, had to do with him bein’ one a’ the best wildshiners around. Give him a glass a’ unprogrammed bacteria, and in nothin’ flat, he could turn forty acres a’ run-a’-the-mill woods into a fairytale kingdom a’ twirlin’ parasol
s and dancin’ geisha foxes.
He was better than any of us, which I have to admit made me hate him in a jealous kind a’ way at the same time I was fallin’ in love with him.
*****
Now, when I say he was better than us, that’s high praise. When it comes to wildshiners, my family, the Dozens, were second only to Bigfoot Tourniquet in the state a’ Best Virginia...ipso facto in the whole United States, since Best Virginia was the only state where wildshinin’ wasn’t outlawed. (We used to be West Virginia, till the National Guard got creamed in the mountain country an’ the Supreme Court exempted us from the genetic tamperin’ ban. The "B" is for "bioengineering," y’know.)
You wouldn’t believe what we were doin’ out there. Of course you’ve heard about the huntin’; maybe you’ve even been lucky enough to go on a safari through one of our exclusive altered game preserves.
But that was just the ass end of it, my friend. That was just the part we sold to make a livin’. What you didn’t see is that we’d made an art out a’ wildshinin’, just like our ancestors did with moonshinin’.
While the rest a’ the country had turned away from the biorevolution, we Best Virginians had become magicians. We had learned how to use the tiniest creatures to change the world in the biggest, most beautiful ways.
We worked miracles, or at least the closest thing to ‘em. There was just one problem.
As long as a human bein’s still doin’ the drivin’, the truck won’t always make it up the hill. Just like any creative types, sometimes we hit a roadblock.
That’s why, even after the end a’ the world, I still haven’t finished bringin’ my dead mama’s favorite memory back to life.
*****
My mama, Circa Dozen, was one a’ the original genebillies who fought off the National Guard an’ founded Best Virginia. She was also one a’ the greatest weddin’ wreckers of all time.
I’m proud to say I got to be part a’ some a’ her finest achievements...like, for example, the second weddin’ of her best friend, Mona Fingerling. Mama really pulled out all the stops that day, as in recreatin’ the plagues that Moses brought down on ancient Egypt in the Bible.
Mona would laugh about it later, but she was screamin’ her lungs out when the frogs an’ locusts jumped all over her while it rained blood from the church rafters.
It had been a lot a’ work for the whole family, but it was worth it. While everyone else in the church shrieked an’ ran, my brothers an’ I howled with laughter.
Up front, Mama an’ I tossed handfuls a’ glitterin’ pixie dust in the air. My five brothers scattered around the church did the same. The dust was full a’ designer microbes set to trigger the next plagues.
Moments later, the mayhem shifted to complete chaos as sores an’ boils broke out on every patch a’ bare skin in the place (except our family’s, because the microbes were programmed not to affect us).
Mona turned around, her face blotched an’ blistered, an’ locked eyes with Mama. "This is horrible," she said between sobs. "You’ve ruined everythin’!"
Mama grinned proudly. "We’ve ruined everythin’," she said, wrappin’ an arm around my shoulders an’ huggin’ me against her side. "Don’t forget my daughter an’ my boys. It was a team effort."
Mona barely managed to pinch a small smile out a’ her swollen face. "This is the worst ever, I think," she said. "Could be a hell of a marriage."
Mama laughed an’ winked at me. She didn’t look much older’n I was, thanks to a little personal wildshinin’. Her long hair was almost as black an’ glossy as mine, her eyes almost as bright blue as mine, an’ her pale skin nearly as smooth. "What do you say to that, Vick?"
Right before the herd a’ diseased livestock put in an appearance, followed by a storm a’ baseball-sized hail, I smiled. "I just hope my weddin’ day’s half as bad as yours, ma’am," I said, not realizin’ that my words would someday come back to haunt me.
*****
It really wasn’t the rhinoporcupine’s fault I ended up covered with his poop.
He was somebody else’s creation, a stray who’d wandered into my family’s genefields. When I injected him with the hypodermic end a’ my six-foot cattle prod, shootin’ new genetic instructions into his system, he right away moved to obey.
Problem was, that big spiny critter swung around so fast I had to stumble outta his way an’ hit the ground. He didn’t seem to notice that the load a’ crap he dumped as he lumbered by landed square on top a’ me.
It was then, as I sat there, covered in steamin’, reekin’ orange goo, that I heard what sounded like someone chokin’ to death. Spottin’ him a few yards away, I realized that chokin’ sound was just his way a’ laughin’.
"Oh, man!" Bent over with his big catcher’s mitt hands on his softball-sized kneecaps, he was laughin’ so hard he could barely get his words out. "I am so sorry!"
"No need to apologize," I said, smilin’ as I reached for my cattle prod/hypodermic rod. The guy didn’t set off my warnin’ bells, but we Best Virginians have had a thing about strangers ever since the National Guard scampered through our front yards.
"Actually," said the guy, still laughin’, "I do need to apologize. See, the rhinoporcupine’s one a’ my livestock."
"And who does that make you?" I put my rod down an’ sunk my hands into the rancid muck.
Still laughin’, the guy straightened an’ pushed his glowin’, golden hair outta’ his eyes. He was a suncatcher, one a’ the more successful human offshoots whipped up in the "Home Genome-Makeover" craze from back before the bio-engineerin’ bust. Soaked-up sunshine lit every hair follicle on his licorice body like fiber optics in a coal seam.
I thought he was just beautiful.
"Family name’s Tourniquet," he said. "We’re wildshiners from down Huntington way."
"Nice to meet ya’, Mr. Tourniquet," I said, shortly before I pitched big soppin’ handfuls a’ rhinoporcupine poop at him. "Lucky for you, I happen to be the welcome wagon. Now aren’t you gonna ask me ‘bout our special way a’ welcomin’ folks in these parts?"
And that was how I met my future husband, Bigfoot Tourniquet.
*****
Six months later, I stood over my mother’s burial plot, tryin’ to finish the one last thing I had to do for her.
Circa had died a week before a’ the crumbles. The one blessin’ was that she got to know my future husband before she went, as Bigfoot an’ I were pretty much joined at the hip by then.
He couldn’t help me with what I had to do for Mama, though. It was a wildshiner tradition, like ruinin’ weddin’s. The firstborn had to ‘shine up a permanent livin’ memorial depictin’ the deceased’s favorite moment on Earth.
Problem was, I couldn’t get the damn thing right. Mama had left specific instructions, but the moment kept comin’ out wrong.
Mama’s instructions were mostly in the form a’ genetic code, so I didn’t know exactly how every little detail would come out in the end. I knew enough a’ the big picture that I could tell I wasn’t even in the right neighborhood, though.
I tried again in the fadin’ summer twilight over Mama’s plot, tossin’ fistfuls a’ pixie dust from two pouches, then addin’ pinches from three others. The shimmerin’ powders danced in midair, mixin’ an’ whirlin’ faster an’ faster, becomin’ a rainbow vortex that groaned an’ expanded.
The dust sparkled an’ swirled as the microbes worked their magic, spinnin’ earth an’ air an’ water an’ life into a whole different arrangement a’ matter an’ energy. Within the walls a’ the funnel, shapes appeared an’ moved an’ grew, half visible like a body behind a shower curtain.
Then, the vortex peeled away in ribbons all the colors a’ the rainbow, revealin’ its handiwork.
Right there in front a’ me was a scene from Mama’s weddin’ day, big as life. In a gown a’ pure white light, ringed by tiny, flutterin’ cherubs, Mama kissed her new husband full on the lips. The two of ‘em floated in midair, slowly rotatin’ six feet
off the ground. All around ‘em, the guests an’ preacher an’ weddin’ party drifted through the air, too. Even as the congregation floated upward, the walls a’ the church came tumblin’ down, collapsin’ in clouds a’ dust an’ heaps a’ debris.
All through it, Mama never stopped kissin’ her groom. Tears a’ joy streamed down her cheeks, an’ she held his face lightly in her long-fingered hands.
I’d failed again. It wasn’t the moment Mama had chosen, the one she’d written about in her will.
So I wasn’t done yet. I’d have to keep tryin’ till I got it right...no matter how much I hated the moment she’d picked.
Which I did. It might’ve been Mama’s favorite moment a’ her life, but it was about my least favorite moment a’ mine.
*****
Maybe I should’ve just let my genius nut-job brothers take care of it. A year later, I still wasn’t havin’ any luck with Mama’s memorial, while my brothers managed to end the whole world on my weddin’ day.
Delaney, the only one older’n me, had promised me somethin’ special in the way a’ weddin’ ruination...but talk about your record for genius an’ stupidity all in one. I mean, what kinda’ brain trust ends the world while they’re still livin’ on it?
Durin’ the ceremony, though, you’d hardly have known they were up to anythin’. Four of ‘em were lined up as Bigfoot’s groomsmen, an’ Gila, the second oldest at twenty-six, was the best man. All five wore white tuxedos that set off their thick, black hair...an’ boy, were they wearin’ the poker faces. Those long, black lashes a’ theirs flicked over bright blue eyes that looked pure an’ innocent as the new-driven snow on the Best Virginian mountaintops.
Naturally, this got me all the more worked up.
Things only got worse as the ceremony went on...an’ by worse, I mean everythin’ went perfectly. Unlike other brides an’ grooms, Bigfoot an’ I traded rings without havin’ ‘em snatched an’ eaten by stampedin’ human hearts brandishin’ handguns. We said our vows without bein’ drowned out by twelve-foot-tall opera-singin’ Viking women with horrible body odor. We kissed without the church turnin’ into a fiery hell complete with howlin’, pitchfork-totin’ demons in silver bikinis.
Scifi Motherlode Page 24