“Put it where I had it. It’s something you keep to yourself and pull out when you need it.”
She hugged Alice, then kissed her on the cheek.
“I love you.”
The other woman looked at her, tears welling in her eyes. “Get your girl, Sarah. Bring her back.”
Sarah nodded, and dashed out the door to catch up with the men.
The day darkened. Inside the wood, the mud sucked at their feet, and branches scratched at their clothes, faces, eyes. Ingram moved in front of them, huge and predatory.
The brown waters of the Arkansas River swirled and whipped past them when they reached the shore. One of Reuben’s boys sat at the rear of the boat, bailing the accumulated rain out of the back. The motor buzzed, idling in the current and sending a small stream of smoke curling away.
Ingram stopped at the rise looking down on the shore. He motioned for the field hand to come up. After the boat sat empty, Ingram led them down the steep bank, treacherous with mud.
Sarah smelled the scent of burning gasoline from the flat-bottom’s motor. A seagull shrieked above them, plying the river’s dark waters. Standing there on the rise above the men and the rushing current, she felt very small and frightened. Everything she’d learned in the past days came crashing in on her in a very personal, very small cataclysm. She began to shake with the cold and the pure futility of what they were about to attempt. On the river in the rain to hunt down a god.
Ingram stepped into the boat. It sank three inches with his weight. He turned, held out a hand for Andrez, who took it and hopped almost gracefully on the middle seat, setting the duffel bag containing the gear on the middle seat. Ingram turned and looked up the bank at Sarah. Water streamed down his head and onto his chest and back.
Sarah slipped down the bank and found a seat in the boat.
“Y’all get forward,” Ingram yelled over the buzzing of the motor. “I weigh too damned much. Get on the front seat so the boat won’t tilt.”
Sarah realized that the prow of the little flat-bottom rose two or three feet from the river’s surface. She swung a leg over the middle seat.
“Keep your bodies low! Flat-bottom’s will tump real easy.”
“Tump?” Andrez’s voice cut through the buzz.
“Tip over. Into the fucking drink, professor! Get your ass up front.”
They moved forward, dropping the prow a foot. Ingram moved from his crouch to the seat by the motor. He adjusted the outboard, twisted the throttle, and revved the engine. Behind him, the motor sent white plumes downriver, lingering in wisps on the surface. He looked at the tank in front of him. He reached forward and rocked it, causing gas to slosh inside. 20 GAL was stenciled in white paint on the side.
Ingram looked up.
“One of you is gonna have to untie us and shove off. Push us away from the shore! Not downstream!”
Andrez started to move but Sarah reached it before him. The boat tilted crazily, yawing back and forth.
“Goddamnit! Slow in these boats. Go slow! Keep your body down! Keep it low!”
Despite his words, Sarah noticed, he looked happy.
She untied the slimy rope from the deadwood.
The boat fell away from the Rheinhart property into the muddy river. Strange eddies and currents rippled beneath them, and for a moment, Sarah felt unbalanced and confused at the ever-shifting balance of the little boat. She sat down heavily. Ingram, twisting in his seat, flipped the outboard into gear and cranked the throttle. The boat lurched and veered into the middle of the river.
“Watch for logs! If one’s under the surface and we hit it—”
The boat made its way back upstream, to the west. The wind rippled their hair, and the rain drops stung their skin, coming in sharp bites.
Ingram veered the boat back to the shore. They turned in front and looked at him quizzically. At a clear run of muddy beach, he cranked the throttle and rushed the flat-bottom up on the shore and cut the engine.
“What? Why are we stopping?”
“Wait a sec. We haven’t thought this through.” He wiped the water from his face, and Sarah realized how cold he must be. The rain pattered off of her poncho.
“Which way do we go? Upstream or down? The Hellion could be anywhere. And what do we do if they start singing? Go mad? Start ripping each other to shreds?”
Andrez said, “We could stuff our ears like Odysseus’ men.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but stuff them with what?”
They looked at one another blankly.
Sarah said, “Mud? Clay from the shore?”
“I think,” Andrez said, slowly, “that we know enough to prevent the worst. Never before, in the history of man, have three people gone against gods as informed as we are. They are powerful, yes. But they are not all powerful. And we are not helpless.”
“And we don’t have time for anything else but…”
“Faith.”
For a moment, Sarah was confused, staring at the unbelieving priest. “Faith?” she asked.
“In ourselves. In me. In Bull. In you. We will do what it takes, yes?”
“Yes.” It was all she could manage. It was true.
“So that leaves the direction,” Ingram said. He put his hands on his knees and looked at the two in the front of the little boat.
“Bull, do you think,” she said hesitantly, “you might want to say his name?”
Andrez looked at her.
“What do you mean, Sarah?”
“Bull had a dream last night. About Mithras.”
Ingram shook his head. “Hell, no. I’m not gonna let him take me.”
Andrez looked between the two.
“What exactly are we talking about here?”
“Bull had a dream of Mithras. He wants to possess Bull. What did he say to you?” She looked at the big man.
“He wants to inhabit me. The motherfucker.”
Andrez’s eyes went wide. “He asked to ‘inhabit’ you?”
Ingram nodded, scowling.
The priest laughed and said, “Gods don’t ask, Bull. Most gods just take what they want.”
“A big fuck-all it makes to me. I’m not gonna let him in.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Sarah glanced at Andrez, then looked back to Ingram.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, yeah, he wants to inhabit me and I don’t intend on letting him, but that don’t mean he won’t help us.”
“It can’t hurt to ask,” Andrez said.
Before she knew what she was doing, Sarah stood, turned upstream, into the wind, and opened her arms. “Mithras!” Her voice came louder and shriller than she intended. She cleared her throat. “Mithras! My girl is gone and we need help. Please, give us some signs which way to go. We’re just… mortals, and you’re a god and we need help. It’s your job to help! And if you can’t… or won’t… then what are you good for? Die. Or go away.”
She turned, sat back down heavily on the seat, and buried her face in her hands.
Andrez murmured, “Not quite as I might have phrased it, but—”
Upstream, a huge flight of crows erupted from the trees lining the bank, took air, and like a black cloud, flew downriver, passing over the shored boat and cawing madly.
“Well, folks,” Ingram said, “that pretty much cinches it, don’t it?” He turned, crouched, then twisted around and yanked the cord on the outboard. It buzzed back to life.
“Push off!”
Sarah—needing to act and not think—hopped out of the boat, put her hands on the cold metal prow, and shoved as hard as she could. The boat hissed, sliding along the grit of the shore, and she took two steps in the water before she pulled herself back into the boat.
Ingram cranked the throttle. Again, she sat heavily, and Andrez put his arm around her.
Ingram steered at the back of the boat, eyes restlessly searching the waters bef
ore them. He steered the boat in a big loop, heading southeast with the flow of the river. The flat-bottom, pushed by the current and the outboard, whipped past the shore and flew downriver, following the crows. Sarah and Andrez huddled closer, keeping their backs to the rain and wind and looking backward, upstream, watching their wake and Ingram.
Once, the boat lurched horribly and the outboard jumped in Ingram’s grip, pitching drastically upward and to the right. Sarah’s hands darted out and caught the sides of the boat.
“Log!” Ingram bellowed. “Under the surface!”
He righted the boat and pointed it back downriver. The rain increased and the wind pushed at their backs, even with their forward speed.
The buzzing of the engine lulled Sarah, dampening her senses, blotting out all other sounds. The boat rocked and yawed on the water in a hypnotic rhythm and she found herself becoming dazed, lost in a thousand yard stare at the far shore, just a black ink stroke on the horizon slanted with rain. Andrez pressed closer, and she could feel his shivering through the ponchos.
Finally, Ingram’s swaddled fist lanced out, pointing, and he yelled, “There! The Hellion!”
They turned to look and spied a long, low-slung rectangular barge without the massive flats of cargo. One tall stack pushed smoke into the sky and bristled with antennae. Tires ringed the gunwales, and the boat itself had doors and windows lining the deck.
Ingram yelled, “They broadcast the signal from the boat!”
The buzzing of the motor lulled, and Ingram turned the boat around, pointing it into the current to stop their forward movement.
“This is about to get messy.” He looked down at his wrapped fist.
Keeping his good hand on the throttle, he ripped the bandages from his maimed hand with his teeth and threw the splint into the river. He held up his hand and flexed it, twice. His skin was yellow and purple, bruises streaking the discolored flesh.
Ingram looked back at them.
“OK, folks. Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna aim our little boat somewhere we can tie on. There’s tires ringing the barge, so we should be able to tie on almost anywhere, but it’d be nice if I could find a spot that will make boarding easier. I’ve been on lots of boats, mostly military, but it’s been a while. Sarah, I want you to tie us on as fast and securely as you can, then I’m going to grab the duffle, throw it on the deck, and come right over you two. So once we’re tied, make yourselves as small as you can. Once I’m on deck, I could be a bit busy before I can help you up. Got it?”
They nodded. Sarah began shivering uncontrollably. She couldn’t tell if it was from the wind, or water, or the fear that overcame her.
“All right, Sarah, grab the rope and get ready.”
She got on her knees in the front seat and faced forward. With white-knuckled hands, she gripped the boat’s tie and grasped the rim of the flat-bottom.
Ingram wrenched the throttle again, revving the motor, and turned the boat to the side, pushing them in a sharp arc, dashing back downstream toward the waiting black hulk of the Hellion. As they approached, the low throb of the barge engines shook the small flat-bottom from the water up. The Hellion loomed closer, grimed with oil and mud and the white streaks of seagull excrement. The flat-bottom rocked in the wake of the barge.
Ingram steered them down the length of the barge, searching for a place to moor their smaller boat. The Hellion throbbed with the sound of the diesel engines deep within. Finally Ingram cut the motor, falling back toward a tire resting a few feet in front of the barge’s wake.
He angled the flat-bottom inward. The Hellion filled Sarah’s view. Her heart leapt in her chest, throbbing in time with the diesels. Her hands shook, and the stench of diesel fumes overwhelmed her.
“Grab on, goddamnit! Grab the tire!”
She grappled with the makeshift mooring. From upriver as they approached, the tires ringing the barge seemed small, like car tires. But up close, they were enormous.
Andrez lent a hand, holding on with all his might as she leaned far out over the prow of the flat-bottom and worked the rope around a tire. The movement of the boats made the exercise harder, and as they rocked in the water, the tire slammed against the hull of the Hellion, catching Sarah’s hand there. She exclaimed wordlessly with the pain, giving a startled yawp.
Franny. Sarah ground her jaw and forced the rope around the tire.
Andrez snatched up the ends and quickly tied a knot. Ingram cut the motor, and suddenly the Hellion dragged the flat-bottom. The little boat pitched crazily, banging against the grimy side of the larger boat.
“Out of the way. I’m coming through.”
Ingram dashed to the front of the boat, sword and pistol tucked into his belt. He threw the duffle bag onto the barge, climbed up the tire, and hauled himself over the wooden gunwale, flopping on the deck, hidden from where Sarah and Andrez rocked on the river.
Sarah saw his movement through a small porthole in the gunwale. For a long breathless silence, Sarah and Andrez stared at the lip of the barge, worried that a dead face would peek over the rail and stare down at them with lidless, white eyes.
Ingram’s face appeared over the rail. He leaned forward, reached down, and extended his good hand. Sarah grasped it, and he yanked her forcefully out of the boat, up past the tire. She grabbed the gunwale and pulled herself the rest of the way.
“Deserted, looks like. A damned ghost ship.”
She regained her feet on a narrow gangway leading to the stern of the barge.
Ingram lifted Andrez out of the boat and onto the deck.
“We need to be quick. Gotta search the whole boat, and there could be—”
“Dead.”
“Yeah. The corpses. Take the pistol,” Ingram said. “This sword is better for me. I’m a crappy shot with my left anyway.” He pulled the gun from his waistband and handed it to Andrez. “Like I told Sarah, shoot ’em in the head. Put it in their face if you have to.”
Andrez nodded.
“All right, I’ve never been on a boat like this before, so we’re gonna move as fast as we can.” Ingram shook his head and half-muttered, “I didn’t think this bastard would be so damned big.”
He slung the duffle over his shoulder.
“We move from stern to fore. Quickly. Last place we check will be the pilot’s roost, there.” He jabbed a finger at the cluster of antennae behind a stack. “There’ll be someone in there, steering, but that might not be where they have Franny. But if we hit the roost first, they might have time to sound an alarm. Let’s go.”
***
Ingram held the sword loosely in his hand and walked on light feet. He balanced his weight, placed one foot in front of the other. She tried to imitate his movement, but her heart hammered in her chest and she could only think of Franny. She wanted to scream and rush from door to door, flinging them open. Her Franny was here somewhere. This foul boat. Twenty feet to the stern, they came to a door leading into the interior of the boat. Ingram tried the handle, shoving the door open.
Inside, there was only darkness. And the stench of the dead mixed with rotten fish.
Ingram shrugged the duffle from his shoulder and handed it backward, still keeping his eyes ahead. Then he looked back at Andrez and Sarah and mimed holding a flashlight.
He stepped inside. Sarah held her breath. Blood throbbed at her temples. Her legs felt weak, rubbery. She ripped at the duffle, hands shaking, while Andrez watched her. She handed him a flashlight, and he flipped it on. She turned on her own, and they moved through the door and into the interior of the Hellion, shining faint lights in the dark.
“Here. Wait a sec.”
The room flooded with light. Three bulbs in mesh cages mounted on the bulkhead burned brightly, showing ranks of tables. A small galley. Foodstuffs were spilt on the floor, flour and spices making grainy sprays near the oven.
“Here. Blood.”
It was black and crusty and covered the far half of the room. The walls were smeared in it. Painted w
ith it. Looking at the bulkhead, Sarah could almost read the bloody story the smears told, like some strange violent language distilled down to an essence of bloodstrokes and hand prints. Like an illustration in the Quanoon.
Ingram turned around in a circle, cursing. He looked from the stern door to the one at the fore. “This is gonna be engineering, most likely.” He pointed at the stern door. “We check that first, then we’ll know no one’s behind us. Right?”
Sarah nodded because she didn’t trust herself to speak. Andrez spoke for her. “We must hurry, Bull. Now.”
Bull went to the door, forced open the latch, and swung it open. He stepped through. They followed.
A small open aired space. Still no one appeared. Just the thrum of engines and the smell of fish and muddy water and diesel fumes. Before them stood a door marked in black stencil, ENGINE ROOM. Ingram yanked open the latch.
As Sarah followed Andrez through, she was assaulted by sound. The dynamo that turned the massive screws that drove the Hellion was louder than the sound of creation. The bulwarks shook with the noise, and the vibrations shook Sarah through the floor. The room smelled of oil, and wet rodents, and something else.
Ingram found a switch and flipped it. More bright bulbs burning in mesh cages.
A single figure stood at the end of the room, facing the engine, the wall of gauges and valves. He was slight, and dressed as a child.
He turned, as though sensing their presence.
A tow-headed boy. Wearing jeans and a dirty shirt. His face, though gray, wore an expression of surprise, mouth caught in an O, his eyebrows high.
For an instant, Sarah was back in the orchard, among fallow fields and the whole world smelled of burning tires and rang with the caws of crows and the Alexander boy had gripped her too tight and pushed his erection hard against her and she’d shoved him away. She hadn’t been mad, she hadn’t been terrified as she was now. But she’d wanted him to stop. He did and that look of surprise crossed his face, just like this boy’s here, when he saw Alice watching him with murderous eyes, holding the cudgel. He’d ran away, crying, and Sarah had felt so bad for him. She’d never seen him again. This boy, this boy before her, looked the same, surprised, and so similar he could be the same child. The Alexanders lived on the far side of Altheimer, by the river, she knew. And suddenly, she was sure of it, that this boy was an Alexander. Maybe even the son of her Alexander boy. Franny.
Southern Gods Page 24