The only help I got for it.
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Louis was doing good the other day, almost
human-like still. So we walk out to Dr. Chin's to
see what work he's got.
Says he'll give us forty if we take some bags of
oats over to Aiyaz's mill. So we hitch up his
horse and wagon. Folks'd always laugh at Chin for
running horse and wagons like its old times. But
now them folks can't afford the e'trics, and
there's hardly a gas truck anywhere to be got by
now. I guess Chin gets last laugh on that.
So Louis and I are going along with the wagon and
Shirley, that's Chin's mare, the older one. And
the road is bad. Gumbo and deep puddles all
through, wherever it's not washed out. Rain
finally came last week. So we're going along
about an hour, and we get into one puddle so deep,
the mud's up to Shirley's hocks and she won't
move. Louis and me undo the harness and get
alongside to encourage her.
Then I get that feeling up the back my neck, and
my arms tense up. It's that smell what does it,
like acid and sulpher, small at first like you'd
hardly notice. But it's trouble every time. I
point the ditch to Louis and say we got to get
out, now. But you know it's already too late.
About a dozen of them arms shoot out the puddle
about Shirley, black and skinny like oily cords.
Grab her about the chest and loins and each leg,
snapping around like bullwhips. A bunch of others
grab Louis, and he's under and gone before I can
lift a boot.
And Shirley's screaming, teeth all bared and eyes
rolled back to the white, thrashing around on
three broken legs flailing every which way.
Chin's 20-gauge O/U's in back of the wagon so I do
what's got to be done, and scramble onto the field
beside the road.
And then after a minute there's a bubble out of
the mud, and I'll never forget what comes up.
It's Louis. Clawing his way up and out of the
puddle to the edge of the road, using the one arm
still on him, wailing and gasping. And the whole
half of him below his hips is gone, just white
bone shards jutting out where legs where. As the
mud runs off, I see the slime-burns: not a stitch
of clothes on him, and not a patch of skin either.
He was ingested, lord only knows how he got out
again. Turns his flayed head to me, moans in
horror, his mouth wide open, and I notice mine is
too.
Louis puts his arm up to plead for help. I give
him the only help I got for it. My shot takes him
in the nose, blows the rest all to pulp.
It's all over. I set there a long time, resting
my nerves. Them tentacles slowly pull down what's
left of Louis and the horse, for feeding I guess.
After an hour, the acid smell's too much. I throw
Chin's shotgun over my shoulder and start walking
for home.
And the morning's getting on, but the chickadees
are still out singing. I can hear them calling in
the poplar rows still standing guard between these
long-abandoned fields. Calling and calling, like
they always had and always would, as if to say
that everything's fine, can't you see? What a
glorious morning!
I see there's english ivy climbing the poplar
trunks. Not native to this area, an invasive
species they used to say. They said it's a
problem. But I ain't heard about that in a while.
