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"Chicken is as chicken does," Ron whispered. "And I ain't the chicken. Like to play rough, do you? Yeah. Me, too. Come on, you little bastard," he shouted, "let's see what you're made of."
With that he snapped his lights off and ran dark.
"Wonder how the boy'll like that?" He smiled, then blinked in surprise as Benny's light died. "I'll be dipped. The kid got guts." Battered and aging, a fiery red
Uohali loomed in Ron's windshield. Ron cursed and prepared for a crash.
The red blip sparked and died.
Cindy uttered a shriek of pure terror that echoed throughout the vast, dimly lit cavern. Heads snapped up, people stared in disbelief at the empty screen. Not a few wept in frustration.
A man covered his face with his hands. "He's dead."
Eyes wild with fear and grief, Cindy shot a look of hate at him.
"Find him, damn you all. Get him back for me. If nothing else, bring his corpse for the cryrogenetists."
A broad, battle scarred hand reached through solid glass and shoved the steering wheel to the right. Ron's cruiser blasted out over the waters of Dismal Swamp.
The cruiser slashed a broad wave through murky waters. Steam hissed, waters boiled from a living, flickering fire of an overheated engine. The ceramic block cracked with a bell-like 'pang' that shot through the waters and disturbed dark, hungry things foraging in the mud.
She slowed, tipped to the left, and settled a few inches.
Benny hit the rear brakes and nearly dumped the Uohali Sun on the pavement. He pounded a fist in the air, screaming, "Chicken shit cop. Yo, baby, Yo!" The rear tire smoked the pavement. Benny ripped her back around to where the cop had taken up swamp diving.
The cruiser hacked deep gouges in the muddy berm. Of the car, nothing could be seen but for the glitter of a little oil on already greasy waters.
"Ass-hole." Benny crowed a laugh and middle finger extended his right fist shot up in a mocking salute. "Who's the punk now, you old fart?"
The car edged closer to the muck. Things gathered in anticipation of a coming feast. The taste of blood made them eager, voracious.
Water poured in through the vents and around the door. Brown tinted, autumn chilled water touched Ron's face. He groaned, tried to raise his head. A blistering pain wrenched at his spine and skull. Hot blood ran from a head wound, mixed with the water. A thing slithered across his face, thin and clammy and slimy.
The car sighed, shifted, and settled into the bottomless muck. Another few hours and it would be buried in the mud and still be sinking, even as the hungry children of the stagnant waters covered it now.
Ron's breath was blistering the water that rose to drown him. It reached his nose, and his lungs stopped. The animal feeding in him noted this, and wrapped a little tighter to mark its own area before more of its kind found their way in.
Ron could hear, almost dream-like in quality, the laughter of a young Uohali Sun rider and a fine old motorcycle as they roared off down the highway.
In and out of reality, Ron's mind drifted, his spirit sought to escape the prison of flesh in which it was trapped. Things long forgotten drifted in his soul. A pen he stole in grade school. A fight he was in, in some bar down Tijuana. The time he cursed his father . . . only days before the old man passed away.
The heel of a black engineers boot smashed through the window and the door was pulled open. Hands tugged, then clawed through his pockets, taking the feather weight of that switch blade, and the straps were cut.
Benny dragged the man out and they drifted slowly up, followed by a cloud of silvered bubbles that was the last of Ron's breath. Ten feet above the cruiser Benny's head broke the surface of the dark waters. From the man there was no sign he lived.
"You made me come back," he shouted at a pale night-sun. "What the hell am I supposed to do with the fat man? Eat his liver, Lady?" The moon smiled and gave Benny no sign of the Mother's wishes.
No pulse under that clammy bloodless skin, no nada. Might be for the best to just let it sink away. At least, he wouldn't be ask a bunch of unanswerable questions by a pack of holier-than-thou talking uniforms.
Ha:wa? Like, yo.
Benny released the body and struck out for shore. He paused.
Wouldn't be right, man. Dude was wearing a ring and all. What if they never found him? His old lady -
"Screw this." Under his breath he muttered a few choice words and groaned out loud. The picture of a woman in trouble. Maybe she needed the dammed insurance gelt to save the farm or something stupid like that.
"Shit. I can't even do this right."
He dived and found the body floating nearby with a graceful serenity. With less respect than he would normally of had, Benny hauled the corpse to shore, guided now only by the dimming yellow glow of a headlamp in gathering night mists.
With a groan for his back, he wrapped his arms around the broad chest and heaved.
"Frickin asshole." he puffed. "I thought cops weren't allowed to get fat."
With a final heave and a strangled grunt, Benny toppled onto the muddy bank. Ron splayed on top of him. A muttered chortle whispered in Benny's mind. He bared sharp teeth at the image of dear ol' Grampa. Dammed joke-loving Cherokees.
Benny's massive guardian choked on laughter.
"Two Swords?"
The laughter stopped in a terrified wheeze and Two Swords wheeled
"Yeah, Ma?"
"What is that in your hand?" The diminutive Eagle-Woman made an gesture at his hands.
Two Swords whipped his hand behind his back. "Uh . . . nothing, Ma." He forced a grin.
Gentle and long-suffering, Eagle-Woman sighed. Holding out her hand, she said, "Let me see it, buddy."
His right hand thrust out.
"I mean your other hand."
Thrusting his right hand behind him, Two Swords held out his left. It, too, was empty. He cast furtive glances around him, but the other guardians, even Ron's, were all heading for cover, the rats.
"Both hands, Two Swords." There was a faint hint of warning in the soft voice. It caused beads of chilled sweat to pop out on Two Swords forehead.
Sheepish now, he showed it to her.
"Does it belong to you?" the silky voice ask.
Shuffling his feet, Two Swords' head rattled a desperate 'no.' The Eagle-Mother's voice cracked scorpion-whips and chains.
"Then put it back."
With the return of the antenna the radio sparked faintly and died.
Benny glared at Her, refusing to bend to Her love.
With a sigh for her errant Wolf's Cub, the Woman touched Ron's face. In a rush of bloody mucus an eel slithered out of Ron's nasal passage. It gave the Woman a sullen hiss and squirmed back into the black waters.
Ron groaned. He moved one hand to his forehead.
"Man, but I'd love to find that truck."
Wanting to leave, desperate to escape, Benny fidgeted in the doorway of the waiting room. He was unable to do more than ignore the hard, questioning looks of the uniformed police crowding him. Benny cursed the fat man for living. Eyes cool, he leaned back against the door frame, the bare right foot going up, tucked under his buttock. He cocked his head and let a small smile play on his lips. Cops hated not feeling in control.
Uniforms. Walking, talking suits that knew you were guilty even if you weren't. If you were one of the 'K-Mart crowd." And poor. Most of them were 'bloods, too, from the looks of all those high cheek bones and full lips. But he was the wrong color. Bastards. A little too dark, a little too brazen. A little too dammed proud to knuckle under.
A thin line of sweat trickled down the back of the muddied tee shirt. Benny edged out of the crowd only to be stopped by a bellow through the open door and a spate of hoarse coughing.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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