Salted (9781310785696)

by Galvin, Aaron

  “Dolan!” Smith yelled. “Get off him. Now!”

  Lenny would not. Each punch brought a different face to the forefront of Lenny’s mind. He saw every taskmaster who’d ever beaten him. He saw August Collins, forcing him to bring runners back to their miserable lives of servitude. Foster was Lenny’s guilty conscience, the part of him that even now debated whether the reward of his own freedom outweighed the cost of enslaving Weaver.

  Lenny reached inside Foster’s jacket. He yanked the gun from its holster, shoved the barrel under Foster’s jaw, and pulled the hammer back. “Got ya! Now, tell ya old pal Smitty to lower his gun.”

  “Never…”

  Lenny focused on Smith, but kept the gun pointed at Foster. “Ya gonna kill me, deputy?”

  Smith trained his aim at Lenny’s forehead. “If you hurt him—”

  “I already hurt him!” Lenny said. “Ya keep aimin’ that gun at me and I’ll kill him. Drop it!”

  “You won’t, Dolan. You’re no murderer. You’re a catcher…like your father. Maybe even a runner, but—”

  “I’m no runna.”

  Smith smirked and lowered his gun a hair. “Maybe you should be…”

  “Dolans don’t run!”

  “Believe it or not, but I know that better than most,” Smith said. “But you can’t save everyone. One day you’ll see that. Owners…they keep you loyal by promising to hurt the ones you leave behind. Truth is, they need our kind too much to kill us all…It’s an empty threat, son.”

  “Nah,” said Lenny. “I seen what mine does to a catcha’s family when we don’t come back.”

  “All the more reason to run then. Come with us. The man we work for knows things. He has friends in deep places, if you take my meaning.”

  “Uh huh. So I let ya pal here go and come with ya. Ya take me to ya guy and he makes all my problems go away, right?”

  Smith took a step forward. “Your family’s known for being great catchers. Come with us and my friend will give you a job to utilize those talents of yours in a better way. Heck, those bruises you gave Foster speaks that you’re capable of handling yourself. Consider it your resume.”

  “What if I don’t wanna be a catcha no more?”

  “You’ll be more than that. You’ll be a releaser,” Smith said. He took another step forward. “We catch runners, then free them! Give them back what they once had and help them disappear from the Salt forever. We help them swallow the anchor.”

  “Yeah? So release me now.” Lenny dug the barrel of the gun deeper into Foster’s throat.

  Smith backed off. “It’s not that simple. First you have to talk to the man in charge.”

  “What about my Pop?” Lenny said. “Can ya friend release him too?”

  “Let’s go ask him together.”

  “Fine. Get him on ya radio. And drop ya gun, Smitty. I’m not gonna tell ya again.”

  Smith lowered his gun, but did not drop it. He never saw his assailant, nor did Lenny before it happened.

  Paulo sprang from the tree line and batted Smith’s arms downward. The gun clattered into the brush as both men tumbled to the ground.

  Foster used the distraction to aim an elbow at Lenny’s face. Had Lenny been taller the blow would have broken his nose. Instead, the young deputy’s arm caught the top of Lenny’s head, knocking him off balance.

  Lenny rolled away and back onto his feet. “Back off, Fosta!” He whipped the gun up.

  The deputy stood. “You think that’s my real name?”

  “Not gonna matter in a second.”

  Foster rushed him.

  Lenny trained his aim and shot Foster in the thigh. Buckets of Blood! Someone had to hear that gunshot!

  Blood oozed from Foster’s leg. He rolled on the ground, clutching at it and swearing.

  Lenny stashed the gun in his pocket.

  Smith grunted nearby, his face turning purple from the chokehold Paulo had him in. He gasped a final time and passed out.

  “What’d ya do, kill him?” Lenny asked.

  Paulo rolled Smith’s limp body aside. “Me? You shot one of them.”

  “Neva mind that, we gotta bail. Those other cops will be here any minute.”

  “You want to take them with us?”

  “Nah. They’ll slow us down.”

  “Nothing slows me down,” Paulo said.

  Lenny ran toward the Commons area and Deserts exhibit. “Come on already!”

  Paulo caught up quickly. He grabbed Lenny’s arm and slung him around onto his broad back.

  “Huh uh! No way,” Lenny protested. “Ya not carryin’ me!”

  “Sorry, Len. You might not like it, but we’re faster this way.”

  Lenny wrapped his arms around Paulo’s neck and choked him for good measure.

  “Loosen up,” Paulo panted. “Unless you’d rather I carry you like a baby. Where am I going?”

  “Bang a left after the monkey pens,” Lenny pointed. “Go south past the pony rides and farm animals till we hit the wall.”

  “Up and over?”

  “Aye,” Lenny said.

  Paulo turned left, passing the restaurants and bathrooms along the way. More than a few visitors further in all took notice of Lenny and his noble steed.

  “How’d ya find me, Paulie?”

  “Was on my way out…had to double back when…I saw cops…Knew something…wrong when…didn’t hear back….”

  “From me?”

  “Ellie…”

  Paulo ran by the animal farm where employees led kids around on the pony ride. Lenny had the passing thought that his ride, while bumpy, at least wasn’t going around in circles.

  “She didn’t say anything back…” said Paulo. “Something’s wrong…”

  Ya tellin’ me. Merrows floatin’ through hoops, a Nomad in an aquarium, and anotha Selkie crew huntin’ Marisa Bourgeois…why should something be wrong, Paulie?

  A twenty-foot concrete wall stood before them. Paulo never slowed. “Hold on…”

  Lenny clung tighter and braced for the impact.

  Paulo jumped and kicked off the wall, the same way Marisa had. Grunting, he grabbed the top and pulled them over. He reached behind him on his way down, cupping Lenny’s butt with his forearm in case his captain fell.

  Lenny let go once they landed.

  A crowd gathered near the zoo entrance amid flashing red lights. A helicopter whirred overhead. Lenny shielded the sun with his hand and saw Channel 9 emblazoned in green along its side.

  “Paulie, go blend in at the gates and find out what ya can—” Lenny looked over his shoulder.

  Paulo had already turned to make his way to the bus parking lot.

  “Hey, slow down!” Lenny threw his wallet of Dryback money. He landed it close enough that Paulo paused.

  “What was that?”

  “A clue, ya blubba’ head!” Lenny picked the wallet back up. “What happens if ya get to the bus and find deputy marshals all around it?”

  “Why would they—”

  “’Cause they know who we are!” Lenny smacked Paulo’s thigh. “They know our names and who we work for! Those two we just tuned up? They’re Selkies. And the older one knows who my Pop is.”

  “If they’re catchers—They might have Ellie!”

  “I know!” Lenny tried to shove him. “That’s what I’m tryin’ to get through to ya! If we’re runnin’ up there, let’s have a plan—”

  Paulo sprinted for the parked bus.

  “Paulie! We need a…aw, forget it.”

  Lenny followed him. Minutes later, they reached the bus. He considered the upside that Ellie had parked near the outermost edge in case the group needed to make a quick getaway. It also limited any cover Lenny and Paulo may have when running for the bus.

  Paulo hunkered beside the nearest car.

  Lenny proceeded toward the trunk. He crouched next to one of the wheels and peered around it.

  Their bus door opened. A lean man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt tucked into torn up whi
te jeans stepped off the bus. Shaking his ratty, unwashed hair out of his face, he glanced around the near empty lot as he dug into a bag of stolen pretzels.

  The Leper from the Shedd!

  Zymon Gorski descended the steps and yelled at the Leper.

  “I thought we locked Zymon in the hold…” Paulo said, more to himself than to Lenny.

  We did. Lenny thought, watching Zymon’s seedy guardian drop the pretzels and vanish up the steps. Someone let him out.

  KELLEN

  “Winstel…hey, boy,” a man’s hoarse voice beckoned from a jail cell across the row. “Come on now. Might as well talk to me! We got nothing better to do locked up in here.”

  Kellen lay on his bunk, yawning. Trying to sleep the previous night had done little good. Every time he closed his eyes, Kellen saw Garrett Weaver’s legs turn black and shiny.

  He rolled on his cot, punched the cheap, flat pillow. More of the even cheaper detergent and body odor from the cell’s last occupant seeped into his nostrils. Kellen snorted, tossed the pillow on the floor, and lay on his back. He stared at the concrete ceiling.

  He’s not coming for you. Not now. Not ever. They’ve both left me.

  “Hey, Winstel! If you ain’t gonna use that pilla’, toss it over to me!”

  “I’m not going to give you my pillow so stop asking, old man!” Kellen shouted back.

  One of the officers had dragged the town drunk in sometime in the night and thrown him in a cell on the opposite side.

  “Old man, huh? How old do you think I am?”

  “Leave me alone, Boone.”

  “Guess how old I am.”

  “No…”

  “Come on,” Boone urged. “Hey! I’ll bet your pilla’ you cain’t even come close.”

  Kellen glared at his obnoxious neighbor. “I’m not betting you anything. Shut up!”

  Boone Merchant sat on his cot, a gaunt scarecrow with his knees hugged against his chest. He had rolled up his jeans like a flood might cascade into the cellblock at any minute. His head bobbed right and left, and his arms twitched of their own accord. Boone stroked his sparse, dirty beard, and patted his hands against the sides of his metal cot.

  “Okay…Hey! Wanna know a secret that ain’t no secret at all?” He grinned at Kellen with the five teeth he still had. “Well, come on, don’t ya wanna hear my secret? I’ll tell you if’n you ask nice.”

  “Fine. Tell me.”

  “You’re going to look older than I do before they let you out again!” Boone howled. “Heard ’em talking about it over the radio ‘fore they brought me in here. They thought I was drunk again and passed out in the back of their car, but I’s just playing opossum. Till I really passed out, that is. Then I weren’t playing opossum. I’s just drunk.”

  Kellen sat up. “Heard who talking? What did you hear?”

  “Your daddy and the sheriff and all the rest of them ol’ boys what run around together. Your dad...Marty…ah, he’s a good man. Buys my drinks a lot a times. Buys ’em a lot more since that whore mom of yours ran off with that other fella. Anyhow, they’s talking about you in the bar last night. ‘Bout what you done to Red Tom Weaver’s boy. Hey! You wanna know another secret?”

  “No, I want to know what—”

  “Well, most folks say he’s either black, or burned, but he ain’t neither one. I know what he is, but I cain’t tell you,” Boone shook his head. “I cain’t tell you! No, no, no. That’s tattle-telling and I promised ’em I wouldn’t tell nobody secrets no more. I’m done telling secrets!”

  He’s crazy. Kellen rolled back over.

  “Hey! Don’t you wanna hear what they said?”

  “I thought you were done telling secrets…”

  “Well, this ain’t no secret. Everybody likes Cristina Weaver around here, even me! She gives me the scraps after hours some nights when she’s done waiting tables. And after what happened to Red Tom a couple years back, why, they don’t want to see anything happen to her only boy. They’re going to put you away for the long haul, son. Being sent up to the big house for attempted murder.”

  Kellen sat up. “Murder?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Boone clapped his hands against the bars. “You heard me right! Them so-called friends of yours turned you in when they got questioned. Even went on the record saying you tried to drown the Weaver boy. Said you planned the whole kit-n-kaboodle right from the get-go! Marty said that queer you hang around with is who turned you in. Told the sheriff you wanted to take Weaver…what’d he call it? Seven-eleven something?”

  Twelving. Kellen wished he had never heard of it. He leaned over to the toilet, fighting the rising puke from his gut. “It was just a prank…” he whispered.

  “Don’t matter much now. You’re over eighteen too, ain’tcha,” Boone said. He nodded, despite the absence of Kellen’s response. “Yep. That means you get tried like an adult, boy!”

  How can they say attempted murder for a prank?

  “Yeeeep,” Boone drawled. “Going away to the big house…’less your daddy steps in.”

  “He won’t,” Kellen said with certainty.

  “Hard man, huh? Hmm. My daddy was one too. Shoot, look how I turned out! Guess your momma ain’t coming neither, huh? Tucked tail and ran with that other fella, huh?” Boone slapped his knee. “Golly, ain’t that just like a woman? Prolly took half your daddy’s money too, huh?”

  Kellen put his forehead to the toilet’s cool rim. Attempted murder.

  “Prolly did—yep—she prolly did. Hey!” Boone stretched a skinny arm through the bars. “I told my secrets, now gimme that pilla’! I promised I’d shut up. I said I will, and I will. Honest Injun, I will!”

  Kellen glanced over his shoulder.

  Boone had pledged his left hand up. He put two fingers over his mouth, mimicked turning a key, and then pretended to throw something down the pathway between the cells.

  “See! I done sealed my lips and threw away the key.”

  Kellen left the toilet to push his ragged pillow through the bars. He tossed it over. “There. Now shut up!”

  Boone snatched it up from the floor. Hooting, he buried his nose in it, then rubbed it against his cheeks. “Oh, it’s soft. Smells good too, don’t it?”

  “It reeks.”

  “Boy, you don’t know stink. This here smells like purty pink flowers.”

  “Whatever. I gave you my pillow. Now shut up.”

  Boone placed his new pillow on top of the other. “I will, I will. I said I will, and I will. You might not want me to for long though. It gets awful quiet in here…oooh. That’s when you start thinking!”

  Kellen climbed back into his cot. Attempted murder? I didn’t mean to almost kill him. He covered his face with his forearm.

  “Yeeep,” Boone crowed. “Thinking about what you done…how long you’ll be here for…how much you’d take it all back if you could, but you cain’t. You think too long, and you go crazy. That’s what happened to me.”

  Kellen thought back to what he saw in the pool. Is that what’s happening? Am I going crazy?

  CHIDI

  “Why is our bus shaking?” Racer asked.

  More like teeter-tottering. Chidi sprinted for the bus with Racer close behind. She bounded through the open door, and up the steps.

  The mahogany walls sported gashed lines. The leather couches and chairs exploded their fluffy insides from deep slices.

  “Aaaaaah!”

  Chidi whirled at the cry from an overturned couch. Behind it, Paulo wrestled with an eleven-foot long Leopard Seal. Four deep and bloodied scratch marks traced his ribs down to his left thigh, mirroring the slashes throughout the bus. Paulo attempted to wrap his trunk-like legs around the seal’s lower body.

  The seal bucked free of him.

  Paulo tried again and succeeded. He alligator-rolled the seal. The move flipped the couch like a flimsy cardboard box. The seal twisted its snake-like neck, snapping its jaws an inch from Paulo’s face.

  Chidi heard a gunshot from the rear
of the bus. She shrunk at the sound, and saw Lenny and Zymon involved in their own battle. Zymon had the better grip on the gun. He turned the barrel toward Lenny. “Lenny, let go!” Chidi cried.

  Lenny did. The move sent Zymon crashing forward into the wall. He lost the gun. Lenny scrambled to pick it up.

  “No!” Racer said. He shoved past Chidi and ran at the seal.

  The seal whirled to face its new opponent, hissed a warning.

  Chidi used the distraction. She jumped onto the couch and swung over the bar’s remains. She saw Zymon kick Lenny’s face. His eyes searched for the gun.

  Chidi hurtled the remains of a broken chair. Her foot caught its edge. She fell into broken glass and rolled in it. Blood streaked down her newly shredded cheek. The others did not notice; each of them still locked in their own battles. Chidi groaned as she rolled over. Blood trickled in her right eye. She faintly saw Lenny’s coral dagger nearby.

  Zymon had reached the gun. He picked it up.

  Chidi blinked the blood away. She grabbed the dagger, climbed to her feet.

  Zymon raised his aim.

  Chidi leaped forward, grabbed a handful of hair, kicked him to his knees. She jerked Zymon’s head back, and whipped the blade to his bare throat. “Drop it.”

  “Where did you come from, girl?” He sputtered.

  Chidi pressed the dagger deeper. “Drop. It.”

  The gun clattered to the floor. Chidi kicked it to Lenny.

  “Cheeds,” said Lenny. “His Lepa’.”

  Chidi glanced over her shoulder.

  The Leopard Seal had its yellowed fangs poised around Paulo’s neck. Racer hung back near its tail, not daring to risk Paulo’s safety.

  A stalemate.

  “Call your Leper off,” she said to Zymon.

  “Wotjek,” Zymon said. Then he spoke a language Chidi did not recognize.

  The Leopard Seal grunted. It did not let go.

  “Cheeds, what’d he say?” Lenny asked.

  “I-I don’t know…I don’t understand.”

  Zymon chuckled. “You don’t speak Polski girl?” He spit blood. “I told Wotjek to kill you all if you harm me further.”

  Chidi tilted Zymon’s head back further, looked him in the eye. “You first.”