November 19 - 4:55 pm

Long Past Time

George the Flea’s face cracks wide with a nasty leer as he lifts the gleaming handgun. Big Ed stumbles backward, scrabbling at his belt. I raise one knee, slip, and catch myself on my hands. I don’t know what I think I’m going to do, but it doesn’t matter anyway. The gunshot drowns out Luellen’s rising scream, tears at my ear drums like shrapnel. A warm, metallic spray of arterial blood douses my face and neck as I scramble to find purchase on the sodden ground.

I don’t hear the second shot, just catch a spark off the stone pedestal. For an instant I think he’s missed, but then something kicks me in the gut. I hang in space the length of a heartbeat before my strength rushes out through my hands and feet and I collapse.

For a moment, I’m wrapped in a sensation like a hot, rushing wind. Voices scatter through my mind, whispering: you’re fine—it’s nothing ... nothing. I hear Luellen scream through the white noise, pitched like it’s coming from the end of a tube. There’s more behind it, a wail, high-pitched and strangely familiar. I blink through tears, unaware of any pain. Or maybe the wail is the pain, fire shrieking up every nerve and coalescing in my brain as sound. She’s sobbing now, “No no no ...,” and I know the whispers mean nothing. I’m a long way from fine. A piercing note like an eruption of flame bursts from my belly. Bullet or fragment of Harvey Scott’s stone base, doesn’t matter. I’m gut-shot.

I roll my head side to side. The old man leans into his crutch, sneering. Flashlight swings from his hand and throws light into the trees, briefly illuminating a haggard face. I recognize her from the stench. Myra. She pushes Danny before her, and her fingers are digging in to his thin shoulder. I can tell it hurts. His face is damp and his lips twisted with fear or pain. But he’s quiet, as always. Quiet Danny. I know him well enough to know how scared he is. He doesn’t notice Luellen on the bench in the darkness, but when he sees me, he twists out of Myra’s grip and runs toward me. George thrusts out a big meaty paw and snags him mid-stride. As Danny struggles, he points the gun at me, ready to finish me off.

But Grandpa throws up his free hand, hobbles toward the biker. “For chrissakes, don’t be shooting that damn thing around the kid.”

“You said—”

“Just stand there. We got this. That fucker ain’t going nowhere.”

I can hear Myra’s voice, strident through Luellen’s sobs, but I can’t make out the words. She glares at me, her eyes big black marbles, cracked lips twisted with feral glee. Somehow she’s scored a hit or three of crank since she fled the Caddy. Maybe had it with her all along. Her nostrils are flaking caverns and the cords in her neck stretch tight as she grabs Danny by both shoulders and presses him against her legs. Her hands look like talons in the thin light.

To me, she’s a horror. Luellen shrivels at the sight of her. But Grandpa is pleased. “Damn, girl, right on fucking time.” He cackles and turns his attention to Luellen. “So, Lizzie, time you and me got down to business, don’tcha think?”

But Myra interrupts him. “Hiram. Something you need to know. We ain’t alone ...”

I don’t want to hear any more. I’ve failed. Eager’s faith in me was misplaced. I shoulda stayed down in the flats. Now where am I? Sinking into the soft earth. No one pays me or Big Ed any heed. We might as well be tree limbs brought down by a storm. I can see him beside me, eyes open and staring, and I wonder if he’s looking back at me thinking the same thoughts. I’ve no doubt he’s dead, which can only mean I am too. The prospect leaves me indifferent, even if the fire in my belly gives me a pretty good idea of my next stop. But then I feel a rush of misgiving, as though I’ve left something important undone. Stove on, iron plugged in. Can’t be the coffee maker—I sent Mr. Coffee to Goodwill when Ruby Jane gave me my French press. A birthday present months before my birthday. “Long past time you learned to make a proper cup of coffee, Skin.” I still don’t have the method down to her satisfaction. As my blood mixes with rain and mud, I fear I never will.