Big Maria

by Johnny Shaw

  Wood listened, a smile at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t seem to care about Harry’s explanation. He appeared satisfied enough that he was accepted by them and that they were looking for gold and going toward the explosions, not away from them. That was the point that he found the most intriguing. Something he wanted to be a part of.

  Now that he had new friends, Wood was anxious to tell his story. It was like he had been waiting in the desert for someone to come along and listen. Maybe a spirit guide or a vision of a mystical Indian was closer to what he was expecting, but he settled for three yahoos in a minefield.

  “It probably looked like I’d lost my shit. All that shooting and driving and hollering. And I know there’s going to be hell to pay if I decide to go back. Don’t yet know if anybody knows I’m gone. They will though, when my division gets back.

  “I’m supposed to be war gaming with the rest of them. Before we left, I called my wife. Did I tell you I’m shipping out in two weeks? There’s that there, which is what I joined up for, but also damn scary. These games, they’re like a dress rehearsal for the real thing. Crazy that wars actually happen in the world, you know. Real ones. Not just in the movies or PlayStation. So I call home, see if I can get Sherry to come out, say good-bye. Sherry, that’s my wife, she tells me she’s banging my brother and she’s faxing the divorce papers and do I know the Army’s fax number. Barely says hello, like she’s in a big hurry. Oh, did I mention, she’s pregnant with his kid. She says my brother told her to tell me that he’s sorry and feels real bad, but it’s love and what’re you going to do when it’s love?

  “After that, I’m half expecting her to hit me with a list of shittier shit. Waiting for the other, other shoe to drop.” His voice became falsetto. “Wood, yeah, your mama and your dog, they been having an affair, but it went south, and they made a suicide pact and killed themselves. And that rib shack you like, Bones and Marrow, it closed.”

  He squinted up at the sky. “I figured I had a couple choices. And all them choices involved this here pistol. I could eat it. Pull the trigger and that’s that. But I weren’t raised to take my life. I could head back to Beckley, shoot the whore and my ex-brother. But by the time I got there, I wouldn’t be killing mad no more, and then I’d just be an asshole. My mama’d never forgive me either. And punching him in the face or taking a bat to her Ford Fiesta wasn’t going to take away them bad feelings.

  “So I skipped out on my company, grabbed too much booze and a shit-ton of ammo, and shot my pistol until there was no more shooting to be done.”

  “Make you feel any better?” Ricky asked, genuinely interested.

  “Yeah. It was like a little mad, a little hurt went away every time I squoze off a shot. Like I was killing all that shit.

  “Fuck her, you know. They deserve each other. My brother’s dumb as a box of hammers and she ain’t no rocket surgeon. Used to be something to look at. But after we got married, she put on eighty pounds. In my brain, she was the fuckable girl behind the counter at the DQ. The one with an ass like a plum making Blizzards and shit. Should’ve known when I met her mama. The big, fat acorn didn’t fall too far from the big, fat tree. And just so you don’t get the wrong picture, she didn’t put on those pounds in five years or after a kid or nothing. No way. Took her like six months. Ate like she was getting paid. She’d go through like three bags of Funyuns in a day of couching it. She was on her way to being like the lady a county over that fused to her sofa. It was fucked up, but I was still loyal.”

  Harry said, “Sounds like you’re better off.”

  “You’d think. But with her at home, it made it easier to ship out to fight. I didn’t want to go back home. I don’t know if I knew it, but I was more readier to go to war than back to her. Now that I got choices, I’m scared to shit. Like I got this fresh start, new horizons, you know, and now some fucking Ay-rab is going to blow my guts out my asshole.”

  “Once we get the gold, you can go wherever you want. Mexican border’s right there. We all deserve a fresh start,” Ricky said.

  “I should get a gun. Sounds like good therapy,” Harry said.

  “You boys want to shoot a little? After I get us out of this minefield, I’ll let you pop off a few rounds.”

  “If you don’t know where the mines are, how are you going to get us to the other end?” Frank asked.

  “It’s fifty, maybe sixty yards to the perimeter. The things ain’t invisible. Long as we’re in no hurry, I can get us there safe. I think.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Sweat stung Ricky’s eyes. He blinked and shook his head. He wanted to wipe it away but didn’t dare release his grip. His good hand gripped the burro’s reins tightly, his dead arm weakly holding the burro’s mane. The animal seemed to have ceded control, but you could never tell when a burro was going to get independent. Ricky kept his body close, feeling the animal’s heat through his clothes.

  Frank walked behind, guiding the burro with Harry on it. Ricky could hear their breathing, but he wasn’t about to look back. He concentrated all his attention on the man that was guiding them through the minefield. On Wood. On his feet.

  Every step they took was a gamble. Before that morning, Ricky had thought the bus crash was going to be as close to death as he was going to get. At least until he died. But that brush with death lived in his past. It was only something he looked back at now. Standing in the minefield, he could see death in his present and future. In seconds, it could be over. The reaper’s breath was warm on the back of his neck.

  Wood turned, giving the small caravan a smile. “We don’t get it right the first time, we’ll just try again.”

  Only Harry laughed, all nerves. “Great. A comedian.”

  Wood said, “Follow my steps best you can. It’s all about the mules. I’ll go slow. Try to give the area a sweep to make sure it’s wide enough for them. Try not to shit your pants. You boys got nothing to worry on, I been trained by the United States motherfucking Army.”

  Wood gave them a loose salute, took two steps, and exploded.

  Ricky had no idea where he was. There was sky above him and what felt like rocks underneath him. The world felt quiet, although he couldn’t know that with all the ringing in his ears. He turned his head to see what dead looked like. Just more rocks. Maybe he wasn’t dead. It didn’t look like heaven or hell or anyplace in between that he’d ever imagined or heard described.

  His head pounded and his body ached, making it impossible to think. He couldn’t remember what had happened. The moment before that moment. That is, until he looked down at his body and saw the blood and bits that soaked his torn shirt. His skin underneath was black and dirty, strips of skin like loose fabric. He felt his face, and then stared at the dark blood on his hand.

  He was cut and bruised and burned over the whole front of his body. Most of the blood must not have been his, but rather some of what remained of Specialist Third Class Clement Harwood, Wood to his friends.

  Ricky stood up and wiped the blood out of his eyes. Nothing felt broken. He looked over the ridge at the minefield below, the east edge at least forty yards away. The open field was empty, save for a small crater and half a dead man. All that remained of Wood was his head and torso. His legs, all the way to the hip, were gone.

  How had Ricky gotten out of the minefield? The last thing he remembered was Wood saluting. The blast must have knocked him unconscious. Had the explosion thrown him all the way onto the hill? That seemed impossible, outside of a cartoon. It was the wrong direction, to boot.

  Where were Frank and Harry? Maybe they brought him there. But then, where were they? Where were the burros? There was only one crater in the minefield and only one corpse.

  “Hello,” Ricky shouted. “Harry! Frank! You out there?”

  His voice echoed down below. The volume burned his throat. But when you hurt all over, it’s easy to ignore one of many pains. He shouted their names until he couldn’t.

  The yelling made him light-headed. He sat down on
a rock and put his head between his legs, steadying his breathing. With his eyes closed and the silence of nature, he suppressed his rising panic.

  The peace was shattered by artillery fire on the side of the mountain. Compared to the sporadic mortar fire on the previous nights, there were no breaks between the explosions. No gap longer than five seconds. Just a steady barrage that sounded like the end of the world.

  Ricky sat up and watched the dusty clouds rise on the side of the mountain, close enough to shake him.

  He tried to pray, but the sheer enormity of the sound made it impossible to concentrate.

  “Stop it! Just for one second, stop it!” Ricky screamed.

  The artillery stopped.

  “I’ll be damned,” Ricky said.

  Something moved out of the corner of his eye. He turned in time to see the burro run into a narrow pass between some craggy rocks fifty yards to the east.

  Ricky didn’t hesitate. He ran in pursuit, shaking his dizziness with only partial success. He stumbled forward, using his hands as much as his feet. He reached the rocks where he had seen the burro, the ground too rocky for tracks, but there was only one direction the animal could have gone.

  Ricky raced up the narrow trail. It was essential that he caught the burro. At that moment, it was everything. If he could find the burro, he would be connected again. Ricky picked up his pace, his feet racing forward and his good arm pulling at rocks. He slipped, his scrapes opening up, but he quickly got to his feet.

  Rounding a bend, he ran straight into the burro’s back end. His feet slipped out from under him and he landed on the rocks hard.

  But he had found the burro.

  Sitting on the ground and staring up at the animal, he couldn’t help but laugh. The ass’s ass knocked him on his ass.

  His laughter didn’t last long.

  FORTY

  Ricky chalked up the burro’s quick halt to the species’ natural unpredictability. At least, until he looked through the burro’s wickets and saw the real reason.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ricky said under his breath.

  A cougar stood in the middle of the trail, motionless save for its eyes and its flicking tail. The big cat’s eyes moved from Ricky to the donkey.

  Ricky rose to his feet slowly, gently stroking the burro’s haunch.

  “Easy. It’s as scared of us as we are of it.” But as he said it, he knew that was malarkey. There was nothing about the cougar that looked scared. Desperate, maybe. Hungry, definitely. The animal’s ribs were clearly visible. The starving animal was deciding what was the appetizer and what was the main course.

  The cougar growled. A low rumble that Ricky felt in his chest. A line of white saliva ran from the animal’s mouth to the ground.

  Everything was still. Ricky knew that the moment anything moved all hell would break loose. He stood as still as he could for as long as he could. But the burro wasn’t down with that game plan.

  The burro reared up and kicked wildly with its front legs, even though the cougar was ten yards away. The cougar responded by rushing at the burro and pouncing onto its neck.

  Ricky screamed in a pitch he didn’t know was in his register. In retreat he only got as far as falling backward on his ass again. The donkey jumped and thrashed, limited by the narrowness of the trail. It kicked with front and back legs, frightened and crazed. The cougar dug its teeth and claws into the neck of the burro, bracing itself for the wild ride.

  As Ricky rose, he got tagged by a back hoof in the midsection. The blow folded him in half, his wind gone and his ribs cracked.

  The burro broke the mountain lion’s death grip and threw the cat through the air. Gracelessly it bounced off a rock wall, and unlike Ricky had been told as a youth, it didn’t land on its feet. It landed awkwardly on its side and rolled to a skidding halt. That wasn’t going to stop the hungry animal though. Hurt and pissed off, the cougar rolled and rose to its feet.

  The burro, unable to turn around, backed away from the cougar, walking right over Ricky. One hoof dug into his leg, another completely crushed his dead arm. He was already in so much pain from the kick in the gut that the additions barely registered.

  Ricky quickly realized there was nothing between him and the cougar. The cougar seemed aware of it, too. Why tangle with the crazy thing with hooves, when there was a soft, bloody snack right in front of him?

  God’s design had definitely failed Ricky at this point. What Ricky would have given for some claws, fangs, talons, or, at the very least, anal scent glands. Advanced reasoning and opposable thumbs did little good in a head-to-head scrap with a cougar.

  The cougar stalked slowly forward. Each step landing softly and quietly. Ricky had never felt defeat as strongly as he did at that moment. All Ricky could think to do was close his eyes. He was done. He accepted it. He just didn’t want to see it happen. He would rather spend his last moments thinking about his daughter.

  “I’m ready,” Ricky said.

  A loud growl and strange, fleshy chunking sounds followed. Like the sound of a paper cutter trying to slice a brisket. The cry of the cougar reached a deafening pitch.

  Ricky opened his eyes in time to see the cougar fall, bloody gashes in its side. The animal struggled to its feet but fell immediately back down. As scared as he had been, Ricky felt bad for the cougar as it took its final breaths. Blood and guts soaked the ground.

  The last thing that Ricky remembered before passing out for the second time in one day was the image of Harry covered in blood from head to leg cast. Harry, standing over the dead animal, holding a samurai sword, and yelling, “Fuck you, cat! Fuck you, cat!”

  Ricky jerked awake, but Harry quickly pinned his shoulder to the ground. He was so weak, he didn’t bother to resist. “Don’t move. I patched you up. Don’t want you to mess up all my work.”

  “Where are we?” Ricky relaxed, the pain reducing his desire to stand.

  “A cave. Somewhere in the middle of downtown nowhere. Frank’s here. He’s sleeping. Both burros are tied up. Here for the night. Taking a personal day after all the excitement.”

  Ricky let his eyes adjust to the darkness. They were in a low cave. The ceiling was about four feet above them and covered with daddy longlegs spiders. There were so many, it made the rocks look like a breathing sweater. Looking toward the dim twilight at the mouth of the cave, he could see the burros. One stood, licking the bite and claw wounds of the other burro that rested on the ground. It wasn’t clear if the animal was trying to help or if it liked the taste of blood. Frank snored somewhere, but Ricky couldn’t find him.

  Harry went back to work on Ricky’s wounds. “Frank snores like a hungover pig, but it’s good he’s sleeping. That minefield took some years off all of us. I thought he was going to have another heart attack, a stroke, something. Surprised I didn’t have one. He only got his color back an hour ago.”

  “What happened? Back with Wood? Can’t see it.”

  “This is going to hurt,” Harry said, pouring vodka onto Ricky’s torn chest. After Ricky got all his screaming out, Harry took a gulp of the vodka and helped him fill in the blanks.

  “After Wood stepped on a landmine—wasn’t his week—boom, everything happened at once. The air was all dust and black smoke and like a bloody red mist. We should’ve let the burros go in front of us. Not that I would’ve wanted them blown up, but better than what happened, yeah?”

  “How did I, we, get out of the minefield?”

  “Fate, maybe. Mostly luck. The mine explodes. Your donkey bolts, dragging you like a rag doll. You were probably unconscious, out from the blast, but still holding on to the reins and mane. Good grip you got, even your little arm.

  “You should kiss that burro on the mouth. It made a beeline for the hills. Easy as you please, ran right out of the minefield.”

  “And you two?” Ricky asked.

  “Our donkey took us on Mr. Toad’s. Where yours went straight for the hills, ours jumped all around. Heeing and hawing and kic
king. In a minefield. I grabbed its mane and held on, cussing and crapping myself. Frank wasn’t as lucky. He had the reins wrapped tightly around his hands and it kind of dragged him here and there. He never got under its hooves, but still, it was a lot of thrashing around for an old man.

  “Bad luck to be in a minefield. Good luck to get out. How everything’s been since we started. Step back, step forward. We’re here. We’re closer. We’re alive. Frank cussed me out, says it was because of Constance’s head, because I brung it. Bad luck charm. Or maybe the head was the thing brought the good luck part of the deal, you know? Our talisman.

  “When the donkey finally stopped its spaz, Frank and me were in the hills. Frank was scraped and bruised, could hardly breathe. He really didn’t look good. I set him down, gave him some water, and went looking for you. Grabbed the sword to use as a walking stick and scrambled through the rocks best I could. When I found you, that lion was bearing down. I had a good angle.”

  “Thanks for that,” Ricky said.

  “I went ninja on his ass. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Jumped off those rocks and started slicing and dicing. Thought about taking a bite out of its heart, ’cause it seemed like what you’re supposed to do, but the thought passed.”

  “You risked your life for me, Harry.”

  “I wouldn’t’ve if I’d’ve thought about it. Get some sleep. Let’s hope tomorrow is less eventful.”

  Frank woke in the middle of the night. From dead sleep to wide awake. He squinted at the deep darkness of the cave and tried to make out shapes. Without anything to look at, he was left with his thoughts.

  There was nothing quite like watching a man explode and surviving a minefield to stoke the coals of one’s introspection. And Frank had to admit that being alive felt better than it had in a long damn time.