The Pines (34 page)

Pam lunged for it and missed, going down on one knee, clutching earth. The chicken flapped in panic as it weaved toward the gently swaying woods.

Inside, the shack reeked, and ancient, soiled newspapers covered the floor. “Best ins’lation inna world,” claimed Manny. The half-dozen children stared at them like silent savages.

The pregnant woman never spoke either, just glared at Manny, and the sight of her stunned Athena. She looked as though she’d never been out in the sun, the knotted lips and grub-colored flesh nearly translucent and shadowed with blue. Her face sported the characteristic Munro’s Furnace birthmark, the tissue swollen with blood. In the bad light, her eyes appeared a deep pink.

Even the flies had stopped moving in the heat.

“What do you think?” Doris whispered, nodding toward the children. “Hookworm?”

“Dis Molly over here,” said Manny, waving at something in the farthest corner, near a potbellied stove. As he staggered toward a wooden crate, the woman suddenly tried to head him off. Casually, he struck her across the face with his fist, and she clawed at him. Without giving her another look, he got a jar from under the crate and drank from it. Athena couldn’t look away, convinced the woman would hurl herself on his back like a wildcat.

“’Smy booze.”

He ignored her.

Doris cursed under her breath, and Athena moved toward her, then recoiled slightly from the stench. Doris waved her away, trying to keep her from the dark corner. “See if you can prop that door open with something. Get some air in here. And some light. That lamp’s empty.”

The other children still gaped, and the tallest boy bolted out the door as she approached.

She returned to Doris and gasped. The child on the soiled cot had a head bloated to twice normal size. “What…? Oh God. What sort of spider bite…?”

The face turned toward the voice, almost, and she realized the child’s deformity: there were no eyes, nor any place for eyes. Sounds came from writhing lips, sounds that formed no words. Quietly, Athena began to tremble, feeling ashamed in front of Doris.

She hacked the head off the still-twitching bird, and crimson spurted down the feathers.

Brown leaves leaped from the pile she’d made and skittered across the yard. With red hands, Pam smeared blood on her forehead and drew marks on the ground.

She chanted in a whining monotone, and the wind blew her words away. She had a hard time lighting the kitchen matches because the striker got sticky, but at last one sputtered into silent flame. Leaves shriveled. Her hair got in her eyes as smoke swirled up. Faster and faster, she swayed, barefoot, loosening her clothing.

“…witch…the man and blood on his hand…love, it said…hear me…”

Bitter smoke rode the wind back to the house, and Dooley sniffed excitedly at the screen, then growled a little. Lying beside the dog, Matty sprawled in the doorway.

The boy’s body shook with a seizure. “…n…nn…nnnn…” He raised one hand and clawed at the screen. “St-Stop!” He stared with eyes that no longer saw the woman who faced the pines with open arms.

“Your name’s Molly? That’s a pretty name, that is. My name is Doris. I just want to look at your arm now. That a girl.” She turned to Athena. “Watch this cat, honey.”

From under the cot came a rabid yowling, and Doris held herself warily, ready to leap away. On the floor by the bed, a pile of unlicked kittens squirmed blindly on an old shirt. Athena’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. A couple of the kittens looked stiff, but one of them lifted a trembling head to hiss, exposing tiny, sharp milk teeth. From across the room, the Leek woman stared with passive malignity.

Manny approached, gesturing with the whiskey jar. “Cat don’t wanna nurse ’em. Born wi’ teeth.”

“You’re blocking the light.” Shaking her head, Doris got up from the cot. “Excuse me, honey.” She brushed past Athena and approached the child’s mother as Manny sprawled into the only intact chair and instantly appeared to become insensible, though his eyes remained open. “Any vomiting? Shortness of breath?”

Her expression full of spite and almost animal shyness, the woman didn’t respond.

“I’ll try one more time,” Doris muttered. “Has the child ever been to a doctor?”

Visibly calculating, the woman watched Doris for a long moment. “Saw doctor wonst. Said we hadda keep ’er. Kin you get ’er inna place?”

Athena stood over the cot, one hand outstretched as though to stroke the drowsing girl.

“That’s it. I give up. There’s nothing we can do here, honey.”

“But…”

“Come on now.” She took her arm. “Come away.” Moments later, they stood outside in the clean air. “I’d be willing to bet those two didn’t have to get married to share the same last name.” Doris still carried the unopened first-aid kit. “Christ, what a hellhole.”

Athena cast one last glance back into the dim, dirty cave of a shack. “You’ve seen worse though, haven’t you?” They pushed through waist-high weeds toward the car.

“Yeah, but never with you. Don’t feel bad, honey. There’s nothing anybody could do about what’s wrong with that kid.”

A breeze sprang up; yet the air grew corrupt.

“Look. Over there.” Athena ran a few steps, then pointed. “What are those red things? See them?” She raced ahead.

“Honey, where you going?” Dismayed, Doris hurried after her. “Wait up. You got to be careful running around out here.” She pushed through reeds, rounding a small knoll. “’Thena?”

Deep in the undergrowth, Athena stood before a massive lump.

“’Thena, what…?” Dimly, Doris realized they were surrounded by the lumps, rust-red and corroded, sinking in the earth and vines and burned grasses.

“They’re tombstones.” Athena’s hair caught and held the sun. “Iron tombstones.” Her fingers traced carvings in the crude block: an angel with a death’-shead. “Look, you can just make out the dates. ‘Born 1809 died 1824.’ But there’s no name left on this one,” she murmured. “No name at all. Doris? Why does that make me feel like a ghost, Doris?”

She heard a damp thud and violent movement. Behind her, Doris moaned with sudden fear and agony.

It had her by the feet.

Brambles tore at her legs, and a red furrow oozed from abdomen to ribboned throat. A smear of blood covered her slack face, and the wetness clotted on her trailing hair. It dragged her deeper into the brush.

Both women grunted. “We make a fine sight.” She leaned heavily on Athena’s arm. “Both of us…”

“Yes,” Athena finished for her. “Talk about the blind leading the blind.” Helping her up the back steps, she held the screen door open while Doris hopped painfully over the threshold.

“Oh good Christ!” Horrified, Doris grabbed onto the doorframe. “I almost tripped over him.”

Staring blankly, the boy lay on the floor planks.

Athena crouched beside him and shouted, “Pamela!”

“What’s the matter with him? ’Thena?”

“Matthew, can you hear me? Can’t you get up? Pamela! Where are you? No,” she said as Doris moved to help, “no, I’ve got him. Can you make it to a chair?”

The boy blinked, and his throat made gulping motions. The dog limped in from the next room.

“I’m okay. You take care of him. He’s all right, isn’t he?” She had a sudden insight and asked, “This has happened before? How often does he get like this?” When Athena didn’t answer, Doris hobbled across the kitchen and eased herself into a chair. “Christ. Damn stupid thing to do. Running around in the damned woods when we knew there’d been God knows how many troopers out there setting traps just the other day.” She grunted with pain as she raised her right foot to examine Athena’s field bandaging. “Well, if you’ve got to injure yourself, I suppose it’s just as well to do it with a first-aid kit in your hand. Talk about being prepared.” She gritted her teeth against a spasm of pain. “Is he okay?”

Athena started toward the porch to call Pam again, then turned back. She gathered up the boy in her arms and heaved just as the phone began to ring. Breathing hard, she stood there, staring at the wall phone.

“Hell.” Doris stretched, reaching for the phone. “Hell.” She got out of the chair and dragged herself to it. “Hello? Steve, is that you? About time.”

Athena carried the boy out of the kitchen. As she staggered up the stairs, she listened to her friend’s voice fade behind her.

“You better get your ass over here, boy. On the double.”

She stumbled. The boy was dead weight, his face innocent, helpless. She tried to remember the last time she’d held him in her arms and couldn’t. She could, however, remember the first time. Vividly.
Don’t go too maternal all at once, girl. There’ll be a reaction.
She heaved up against the banister to ease the pressure on her arms.
Besides, who are you kidding? You didn’t just carry him out
of that kitchen to help him.
She thought about setting him down for a moment.
You just didn’t want Doris to see.

At last, reaching the top, she hugged him closer.

Doris hung up the phone and limped back to her seat. “We both look pretty banged up, kiddo.” Bending from the chair, she scratched Dooley between the ears. The dog promptly curled up under the table.

Athena returned. “Let’s see the foot.”

“How’s the boy?”

“I put him on my bed. He’s as…as well as can be expected.” She dragged out her own kit, getting scissors and bandages. “I don’t know what to do here. I mean, I should take you to the hospital, but I can’t leave Matthew alone and Pamela doesn’t seem to be around.”

“It’s okay. Steve is on his way.”

“Not such a bad job of wrapping, if I do say so myself.” Her voice strained toward cheerfulness. “I only want to check this dressing.” She began to snip away at the bloody gauze. “Get it cleaned up better.”

Doris grunted and watched her face. Athena’s lips moved as she worked. “Who you talking to, honey?”

“Huh? Oh. I was just wondering how long he was lying on the floor like that.” Rebandaging the foot, she looked up. “Did you see me back there? Doesn’t it make you laugh? How concerned I was that the little girl wasn’t being taken care of properly. Wasn’t I funny?” She had to put down the bandages. “I’m no better than my own…”

“Yeah, honey. We all grow up like our mothers. Don’t let it get to you.”

She looked away to stare out the back door. “And now it’s my fault that you’re hurt.” The edge of a red sun just touched the pines.

“Don’t be silly.”

“It is. All my fault. If I hadn’t gone running off like that…if I’d only let Lonny and Pam have the house…”

“Honey…”

“You still can’t wiggle the toes, can you? I don’t think it’s broken, but maybe the tendon…Doris? Why don’t you come stay here for a while? Now that the rig’s gone…I mean, just till you’re better.” She rubbed Doris’s leg. “I could use somebody around here. Pam’s not much company for me, and she’s not very responsible. It would be perfect.”

Something happened behind Doris’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I, uh, I don’t know, honey, I’ll have to think about…uh…”

“You’re afraid of being trapped out here, aren’t you? And crippled. You’re afraid of being like me now.”

“Don’t talk crazy. I just, uh, just don’t want to be a bother, that’s all.” She groaned. “Where’s that goddamn Steve? My foot’s killing me.” Hoisting herself up, she hobbled across the kitchen to collapse in another chair. “What’s taking him so long? I’m probably going to get tetanus as it is. I think I can feel my jaw tightening already.”

“Shut up, Doris.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

They drove away in Steve’s car, leaving Doris’s station wagon behind.

For a long while after she could no longer hear the car, Athena remained standing by the back door. Finally, she closed it and drew the bolt against the night. There was still no sign of Pam, and the last time she’d checked on Matthew, he’d been in a deep sleep. She moved about the kitchen, mechanically going through the motions of straightening up. Dumping cups in the sink, she spotted a sheet of paper stuck behind the dishes and, pulling it out, shook grains of sugar off it.

It was one of Steve’s Xeroxed sheets, an old newspaper article, very old, from before any of them were born, an editorial ridiculing the superstitious pineys. A drawing at the top depicted a faintly kangaroo-like creature, something like an upright jackass with wings. The caption described it as Jabberwocky, and her eyes wandered down the page. In a facetious tone, the article claimed that P. T. Barnum had offered $100,000 for the capture of the Jersey Devil “for exhibition purposes.”

A joke.
The paper still in her hand, she wandered into the living room.
It’s all just a joke.
She pulled aside a curtain and peered between two of the planks she’d nailed up. Warped and pitted window glass distorted the moon’s sheen.

Finally acknowledging her exhaustion, she collapsed into the armchair.
Where could Pam be?
The thought caused a crawling apprehension at the back of her neck.
She wouldn’t have gone back to the trailer. Not alone.
She rubbed her eyes.
Maybe I should ask the Ouija board.
She yawned, sank deeper into the chair.
I should make more coffee.
The room waved and receded.
What a cliché. On the edge of sleep. And I could, could just tumble off.
Her thoughts whirled to Matthew, to Chabwok.
It’s all some horrible farce. Doris hurt. My fault. Everyone dies…everyone around me…Granny Lee…Wallace…Lonny…Barry…Where’s Pam?
She sat for a long time, her thoughts increasingly groggy and tortured.
Around me. Circling…circling…closing in on me.
The paper fell from her hand.
Beware the Jabberwok, my son.
She heard the words as clearly as if they’d been spoken aloud.

And she jerked awake.

Pulling herself out of the armchair, she limped heavily into the kitchen and switched on the light. She stood before the massive basement door and turned the old iron key with a harsh scraping noise. The door creaked open.

She looked up at the clutter of objects on the shelf: ancient paint cans, aerosol sprays with unreadable labels, motor oil. Pocketing the key, she pulled down the dusty kerosene lamp and heard the gurgle of fuel. While she took matches from the stove, a spider sank from the lamp and hurried across the table.