Gather Her Round

by Alex Bledsoe

  He meant Mandalay or Bliss, and she knew it. “No. If it was important, they’d have already contacted me.”

  “I’ll need you as a witness.”

  “I thought you didn’t need witnesses anymore.”

  “I didn’t say they needed it. I said I did.”

  She kissed him. “I’ll be right there.”

  He went into his study, picked up his book of marriage vows, and went back to the kitchen. The coffee was ready, so he poured cups from the carafe and set them in front of the others. “Anyone want cream or sugar?” They both shook their heads.

  He sat down and took a sip from his own cup. “All right. If you two genuinely want me to perform your marriage right now, I will. It’ll be a Christian ceremony, though; that’s what I am, and it’s what I do. Have you written your own vows?”

  Duncan and Renny exchanged a look. “No,” they said together.

  “Then I’ll use the ones in the book. I’ll redact them a little, since you’re both Tufa. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes,” Renny said before Duncan finished drawing breath to answer.

  “Don’t start yet!” Bronwyn called. She rushed into the kitchen with her mandolin. “Me and Magda—” she indicated the instrument “—have a song for you.”

  She sat down, picked a few notes, then said, “I think this is a beautiful song, and I hope you do, too.” Then she began to play and sing Angus and Julia Stone’s “The Wedding Song.” She modified the lyrics a little, changing the line to “make more babies on the beach.” When Bronwyn finished, Renny was crying openly, and even Duncan’s eyes were full. Craig slipped a box of tissues in front of the girl, and waited while she composed herself.

  At last Craig said, “Well, then. Should we stand?”

  “I’d rather sit,” Renny said, and took Duncan’s hand. Her grip was like death. “If you don’t mind.”

  “That’s fine, too, under the circumstances.”

  Bronwyn stood to one side and began to softly play the standard “Cindy.” He opened the book. “I’m going to skip the whole ‘dearly beloved’ part. Duncan and Renny—”

  “Renata. My full name’s Renata June.”

  “Mine’s Duncan Boyle.”

  “Duncan Boyle and Renata June, I require and charge you both, as you sta—uh, sit here in the presence of God and the night winds, before whom the secrets of all Tufa hearts are disclosed, that, having duly considered the covenant you are about to make, you do now declare before this company, your pledge of faith, each to the other.”

  He caught Bronwyn’s look of surprise. He’d modified the traditional vows to reflect the Tufa beliefs, something she’d never have expected. He’d explained to her back when they first married that he wanted to understand the Tufa and find common ground, not rail against things he didn’t understand. His superiors would no doubt disapprove, but he’d managed to earn the trust of her people with this approach, and a few had even attended services at his church. That was a bigger testament than even he comprehended.

  “Be well assured,” he continued, “that if these solemn vows are kept unviolated as God and the night winds demand, and if steadfastly you endeavor to do their will, they will bless your marriage.”

  He paused, looked at them both, then said, “Duncan, look at your bride and repeat after me.”

  Duncan looked at Renny, who continued to clench his hand harder than ever. He wanted to be nervous, scared, excited, all the emotions he’d assumed he would feel on his wedding day. Instead, he was just numb, flailing and unmoored inside as he repeated the words, forgetting them as soon as they left his lips.

  Then Renny repeated the same vow to him.

  And just like that, he was a married man.

  28

  Janet drove so slowly, she was certain they could walk to their destination more quickly. Yet each time she asked, Mandalay just said calmly, “Keep going.”

  “I’m not sure we can get back out as it is.” The road—really a pair of dirt ruts with an overgrown strip between them, sandwiched between saplings and thick undergrowth—closed in around them. Branch tips scraped the sides of the car and made nails-on-chalkboard screeches against the glass. For some reason, the most depressing songs she knew ran through Janet’s head.

  “And if I could move, I’d get my gun…,” she murmured aloud, the rough passage adding a vibrato to her voice.

  Mandalay said, “What?”

  “Sorry. Just a song stuck in my head. ‘Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town.’ Kenny Rogers.” She frowned. “Now, why would I be obsessing about a damn Kenny Rogers song?”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s because of where we’re going.”

  “We’re taking our love to town?”

  Mandalay chuckled. “No.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  For a long moment the only sound was the greenery battering all sides of the car. Then Mandalay said, “Rockhouse’s cave.”

  Janet slammed on the brakes. Even though the car was barely moving, the jolt still flung Mandalay forward against her seat belt.

  Janet stared at her. “I’m sorry, I must have earwigs or be in a temporal bubble or just be a really stupid hillbilly, because I know I didn’t hear you correctly.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Janet put the car in reverse and twisted to look out the back window. All she saw was a red glow on the cloud of dust raised by their sudden stop.

  “Wait,” Mandalay said calmly. “Let me tell you.”

  “They hang dead bodies to keep people out,” Janet said, easing the car back along the path. “They have rape rooms. They brew meth and moonshine right in the fucking cave.”

  “Please, stop. It’s important.”

  “Not to me.” She barely stayed on the path and just missed backing into a tree trunk.

  “I understand why you’re afraid.”

  “Do you?” She slammed on the brakes. “Near as I can figure, you’ve never been afraid in your life. Everyone makes sure you’re covered in Bubble Wrap and only bump into things with rounded corners.”

  “That’s not true. I’ve been afraid.”

  “Oh yeah? When? What could possibly scare the great Mandalay Harris?”

  In a small, flat voice, she said, “When the night winds spoke to me in human words from right behind me.”

  This brought Janet up short. She put it into park, took several deep breaths, and said, “Mandalay, I know you have a reason for this, and I appreciate your trust in me, but I’m about to pee my pants. I’ve heard way too many stories about what they do in that cave, and I don’t particularly want any of it done to me. So I think maybe you should go get Bliss Overbay or Bronwyn Chess to come with you.”

  “I need you. I need your musical talent.”

  “For what?”

  Mandalay looked out at the night, then turned back. “That banjo we got from Popcorn? The tuning pegs are made from finger bones.”

  It took Janet a minute. “Wait … human finger bones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whose?”

  “Whose do you think?”

  Janet barked out a laugh at the absurdity, then said, “You’re really testing my bladder control here.”

  “Adam didn’t die the way everyone says. I don’t know if he was murdered, and if he was, I don’t know for sure who’s responsible. But I do know how to find out.”

  “By going to this cave and playing that banjo?”

  “Yes.”

  “What song?”

  “The song that comes to us.”

  “Comes to us from where?”

  “Where do you think?”

  There was just enough light for Janet to see Mandalay’s eyes reflect like an owl’s, big and round and silver.

  * * *

  Duncan drove Renny’s truck, the one that had belonged to Adam, in silence. The radio was even turned off. The roads between Unicorn and his home were twisty and tricky, so he was careful. He had the most precious cargo in
the world: his pregnant wife.

  His wife.

  His baby.

  Holy shit.

  He glanced over at her. She looked at the ring on her finger in the light from the dashboard. It wasn’t anything spectacular—he’d never even gotten her a proper engagement ring, so the band was both plain and solitary—but she seemed happy with it.

  “How you doing, Mrs. Gowen?” he asked.

  “All right.”

  “And how’s Baby Gowen?”

  “He’s fine. He seemed to take the whole wedding as a good sign.”

  “Smart kid.”

  She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

  “Now that you’re married?”

  “I know, right? It’s the dumbest thing. I used to make fun of girls who just wanted to get married and start having kids. It’s like, ‘Don’t you have any dreams or goals in life?’ But now look at me.”

  “I hope you still have some goals and dreams.”

  She laughed. “That’s the thing, Dunk. I never really did. I mean, I knew I needed a job, and someday I’d probably get married. But I was never driven to do anything.”

  “You were driven to get married,” he deadpanned. “I drove you.”

  She snorted. “Are all your jokes going to be that bad?”

  “Probably.”

  She took his right hand and squeezed it. “Well, then, I guess I better get used to it.”

  “I guess you better.”

  She let go of his hand and looked again at her ring. “It just feels like everything is going to be okay now.”

  “Don’t jinx it,” he joked.

  And then the giant pig was right there in the middle of the road.

  The headlights illuminated its low-slung head and humped back. It faced the truck head-on, and the image burned itself into Duncan’s mind: eyes glowing red as the light reflected from the backs of its retinas, huge tusks sticking out yellow and curved from the lower jaw, and the mouth and nostrils wet with pig snot and saliva.

  Duncan twisted the wheel reflexively to the right, but they were at the point of a curve to the left, so before he could turn back, they crashed through the slender trees at the shoulder. It seemed to happen in slow motion: one moment the trees with their bare lower branches were lit brightly, and then they slipped out of sight beneath the truck’s hood.

  The trees siphoned off most of the momentum, so that when the truck flew over the edge of the hidden ravine, it plunged straight down.

  The front end slammed into the mud at the bottom with a loud squelch, burying the headlights, and the rear of the vehicle tipped forward. It leaned against the far side of the ravine, chassis exposed, cab almost upside down.

  The air bag deployed on impact with the trees, and now Duncan struggled to get out of it. It felt like being stuck in mashed potatoes. “Renny!” he cried as he tried to see her. He reached for her, but couldn’t find her.

  At last the air bags deflated. She hung from her shoulder belt at an odd angle. He couldn’t breathe at the thought that she might be dead, but her eyes opened and she said woozily, “What the fuck, Duncan?”

  “That pig,” he said. “That pig was in the road!”

  “What pig? I didn’t see anything.”

  “The one that killed Kera and Adam! It was right there!”

  She tried to swing her arm around to undo her seat belt, but it wouldn’t move. “Dude, I think my arm’s broke.”

  “Hang on, I’ll get you.”

  He tried to pop her shoulder belt, but it wouldn’t budge. He undid his own, and spent an awkward moment twisting around for a better position. Then he tried again, but the mechanism was thoroughly jammed.

  “Dude, have you got a knife? Just cut the damn thing.”

  “I don’t,” he admitted.

  “A redneck without a pocketknife,” she said with a mocking shake of her head. “What sort of man have I married?”

  He looked around. The impact had stalled the engine, but the dash was still lit, and he turned on the dome light. It showed him Renny’s pale face, and her right arm, twisted in a way it wasn’t meant to. This was serious.

  He dug out his cell phone. He got no signal. “Let me see your phone.”

  “It’s in my pocket. You’ll have to get it.”

  He reached into the back pocket of her jeans and fished it out. She got no signal, either.

  “I’m going to climb up on the road and see if I can get a call through,” he said.

  “I’ll just hang around,” she joked, but he could see the veins on her neck and forehead bulging from her upside-down position. It couldn’t be good for her, or their baby.

  “I’ll hurry,” he said, and kissed her. “I love you.”

  “You have to now,” she shot back with a smile. “I’ve got the hardware on my finger and the software in my belly.”

  Duncan worked his way out the driver’s-side door, landing in cold mud as he fell on his face. He got up, shook himself off, and looked around. In the dim light, he saw that the gully’s sides were twenty feet high, and the bottom was muddy from runoff coming from higher on the mountain.

  He grabbed a protruding tree root and ascended toward the road. Cold water soaked through his shirt and jeans, since he had to press himself against the mud to climb. Just as he was about to reach the top, he remembered something.

  The pig was still up there.

  He hadn’t hit it, and it certainly hadn’t looked scared.

  He was absolutely sure he had seen it. It had been right in the headlights, massive and dark and bristling with hair and fury. He’d seen it before, after all, from the same angle, that day it killed Adam; it wasn’t like he’d mistake a cow or one of those emus for it.

  He rose enough to peer over the top edge of the gully wall. He smelled wet leaves and dirt, along with the metallic odor of the wrecked truck. There were no streetlights this far out of town, but he could see the road fairly clearly.

  It was empty.

  “Duncan?” Renny called from the wreck. Her voice was shaky. “You still there?”

  “I’m here,” he answered as he pulled himself up onto the shoulder.

  “I’m getting cold down here.”

  “I’m on the road. It won’t be long.”

  He pulled out his phone and checked it. As he did, he noticed the battery icon in the corner was now a mere sliver of red. He got no signal, and he barely had any juice left.

  He checked Renny’s phone. It was completely dead.

  He turned off his phone to conserve what he had. “I have to find some high ground to call,” he told Renny.

  “Don’t leave me here, Duncan,” she said in the most pitiful voice he’d ever heard.

  He never imagined Renny capable of sounding so helpless, and it broke his heart. “I won’t, honey. I just have to run up the hill.”

  He looked in both directions. Which way actually did lead closer to town, and to any cell signal he might pick up? He was disoriented in the darkness, and his head just couldn’t sort it out. He’d driven this road many times, and should know exactly where he was. He looked back the way he’d come, and saw only highway twisting out of sight around a curve. Then he turned toward the way ahead.

  And almost screamed.

  Because there was the pig, looking elephantine in the darkness, silhouetted black against the lighter gray of the highway pavement.

  He stared. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Was it a shape made of shadows?

  He had just about convinced himself that it was, when it grunted. The noise was so low that he felt it in his chest like a hit on a bass drum.

  It took a step toward him, its hooves clacking on the road.

  He turned and ran the other way. He heard it clacking on the blacktop behind him, gathering speed.

  29

  Mandalay said softly, barely moving her lips, “Janet, were you ever terrified before?”

  In the same tone, Janet answered,
“Yes, ma’am. Up to and including right now.”

  The two girls stood at the bottom of the steps that led into the moonshiners’ cave. Every eye in the considerable crowd was now on them, and all music and conversation had stopped.

  Janet had parked in the field with the other cars and trucks, worried that the soft ground would make it impossible for them to leave in a hurry. Carrying the banjo, she followed Mandalay right past the skeletons hanging at the entrance, the ones that might have been headless deer but looked awfully human to Janet. It didn’t help that she had to pass them in the dark, with only the light from Mandalay’s key chain flashlight to guide their way.

  And then, about halfway down the narrow passage, they hit the smell.

  Janet had encountered some rank things before—any girl growing up on a farm wasn’t fazed by strong odors—but this was different. It was a combination of harsh chemicals, urine, the odd whiff of decaying vegetables, and over and under and around everything else, the miasma of unwashed bodies.

  She stopped and gagged. “Oh my God, wait a minute.”

  “It’s harsh, I know,” Mandalay said.

  “It’s fucking awful. I’m gonna throw up on this banjo.”

  “It’ll pass.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. It’s just one of their little tricks to keep out people who ain’t supposed to be here.”

  Janet fought the nausea down. “Like us?”

  “Most definitely.”

  With a final deep breath, mainly through her mouth, Janet stood back upright. Mandalay appeared totally calm.

  “What will they do when they see it’s us?” Janet asked.

  “They’ll listen to our song.”

  “The one we’re going to make up on the spot.”

  “Yes.”

  “As plans go, this isn’t one of the best I’ve heard.”

  “It’s all we’ve got.”

  So they’d pressed on and emerged into the cavern, and found themselves face-to-face with thirty Tufa who’d just as soon kill them (or worse) as look at them. And, despite their sullen silence, they certainly didn’t seem inclined to listen.

  Mandalay said loudly, “Is Junior here?”

  Her voice echoed in the immense cavern.