An Obelus Wheeze

AN OBELUS WHEEZE

J.C. Loen

Copyright © 2015 J.C. Loen

Published April 2015

All rights reserved.

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Cover art by J.C. Loen

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Tipping my hat at…

PART 1

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

PART 2

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

PART 3

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Note to The Reader

For

Kattrine

Tipping my hat at…

Isabell Lorentzen, for putting up with first drafts and long talks about ole coots and crazy cats.

Carin Petterson, for keeping my tale from derailing, falling off cliffs, becoming dislocated, or suffering other terrible disasters.

Thomas Hongseth Sverdrup, my style expert, for making sure I keep it less cute and more acute.

Ingvild Eiring, for giving Lee a face with attitude and beauty, and rendering the most inspiring feedback.

Daniel Martín del Campo Montes de Oca, for adding some spice to my story with the language they use down there.

PART 1

Chapter One

The chill of the night clung to my back like a wet blanket. The campfire in front of me gave off its heat in slaps and punches. I rolled a cigarette and lit it up. I'm starting to think that coming here with you is the worst idea I've ever had, I said.

Snake Girl kept her eyes fixed on the fire. She prodded it with a stick. Glowing flakes and ash whirled about.

Hey! Savage! I'm goddamn talking to you.

Yes. I am aware. You are quite inebriated.

"I don't know of a goddamned thing I'd rather be. I've tried you sober; it made no difference. I don't like you one bit either way. Inebriated. Why cain't you just talk goddamn plain-like?"

"I trust that you must have consumed most of that liquor of yours by now. You have been drunk since Dodge. She clapped her hands together and spread them out like a minister greeting his congregation. It will truly be a blessing to experience you sober again. You talk less."

I held the bottle up to the light; two thirds were gone, most of it dealt with since sundown. I shook the bottle and watched the contents splash about in a golden ruckus. That's goddamn it. I'm being forced into goddamned soberness. I raised the bottle in a salute. You never met Stub. Never will neither. You ought to praise yourself lucky. I put the bottle to my lips. The taste of the whiskey was as mean as it had been cheap to come by.

Goddamn Stub. I belched. This one time I caught him—he thought he was alone, mind you—on his knees, with his breeches around his ankles, working his prick with one hand and holding a cup at the ready for the load with the other.

Snake Girl peered out at the black nothing surrounding us. She had a look on her face as if she had smelled something foul.

Are you goddamn listening to me?

I wish I could avoid it.

"Hell. I buried that defiled cup the next morning. He'd put it right back where he'd found it, can you believe it? In the goddamned cupboard. It was missing a handle, that's how come I knew which one it was. Shit fire. Goddamned dirty son of a bitch. That man was nothing but filth incarnate. You think I'm drunk. Hah. I ain't. Stub knew how to get drunk. I've witnessed him failing at pissing. That's how drunk he'd get. This one time, oh lord—you're gonna love this one—he hauled his prick over the lining of his breeches and just let it squirt. He just stood there, hands in the air, I put my hands in the air, spilling down on hi'self like an idiot, missing the spittoon entirely."

I think I preferred it when you did not speak to me.

I put the bottle to my lips again, scowling at the savage, but there was more than liquor pouring down my throat. I had forgotten that I was smoking a cigarette and had managed to thread the bottle onto it without noticing until it was halfway down my throat. I coughed and retched.

Snake Girl lifted her arm and held it up as if she was a timepiece pointing at three o'clock. Do you see that?

I thumbed my hat back. The light of a bonfire flickered in the distance Yeah. I see it.

She let her arm down. We are being followed. Her voice was very even and a slight louder than her regular tone.

I scoffed and spat into the flames, stirring up a slight cough from the decreasing fire. Naw, we ain't being follered. Probably just an outfit of outlaws. Who else would be fool 'nough to traipse out here? I got out my makings and took to rolling another cigarette. The tobacco was dry and the paper was wet, and I'd be damned if I knew how the hell that had come about. I licked the paper and caught some tobacco on my tongue. I licked it off on the back of my hand, like a cat washing itself. Meow, I giggled.

What do we have to eat? Snake Girl asked.

I dug a couple of hardtacks out of my saddlebag.

She sniffed at them. Am I supposed to eat this? She tried a bite. The piece of food came out of her mouth fully intact. "How old are these biscuits?"

If I remember correctly, the mark on the box this particular batch came out of read: B.C., 621. I got out my canteen and cup and poured water onto a hardtack. You ought to let 'em soak a while, if you care at all about your teeth.

Is this the only provision we have left? It is no more than three weeks since we left Dodge with bulging saddlebags. I daresay filling the bags up with bottles of liquor was a poor decision on your part. We could have had pemmican or jerky, even something fresh, but no, she puckered her nose at the food, you wanted hardtack and whiskey.

You forget about the carrots.

That you gave to your horse?

I nibbled my hardtack, ignoring her whining, and poured some more water onto it. This ain't bad, you know. Hell, this chow is even good when it goes bad. This one time me and Stub…

Snake Girl held up a hand. Please, no more sordid tales about that man you call Stub.

This one's different. Anyway, we came across a store of provisions—don't ask how—canned goods, hardtack, and coffee, even tobacco. Most of the stuff was all right, but the hardtack had acquired a particular ingredient that I don't believe was meant to be there in the first place. We mashed up some for breakfast in our coffee and guess what floated to the surface.

Snake Girl shook her head. I do not have the faintest idea, nor am I sure that I care to hear it.

Goddamned weevil larva.

Well, it certainly sounds more appetizing than this awful brick.

A shadow crept from the dark into the flickering spotlight of the fire. I jumped to my feet. Snake Girl sat as before

The thing moved again. Scuttle, scuttle. Brief stop. Move again. It came to a halt close enough to the fire to absorb the heat. It looked like a pair of charred hands sewn together at the wrists.

I took to counting the fingers. When I had gotten to seven, Snake Girl said, It is merely a spider.

I drew Merwin and counted again, using the gun as a precautionary device for doing so. Eight. That's just about twice as many legs than I'll ever find agreeable.

It will not harm you. Please, put the pistol away.

I will do no such thing.

The spider moved.

I pulled the trigger.

Snake girl screamed.

The spider bounced into the air and landed by my feet. Its legs kept treading the air for a while, before it curled up and went still.

Hah! Did you see that? I goddamn got the damn beast! I holstered the gun. Ain't no critter gets away from me alive, no matter the leg-count.

"And ostensibly no matter how drunk."

Just you wait 'till we find goddamn Dan. I'll dazzle you with some intricate kind of shooting. If it weren't for that conniving son of a bitch, I'd still have a gang. I'd still be in Chert.

Yes. I am certain I will be terrifically dazzled. Your haughty disregard for life is quite impressive.

I kicked the spider into the campfire. The flames seemed to stay clear of the spider and move around it. You see that? Even the fire won't have it. I hope those things don't move in packs.

Snake Girl gestured toward the light in the distance she had pointed out earlier. "I believe they do."

Chapter Two

The horizon came alive before noon. The firmament merged with the earth in a river of heat. Long, hard shadows of tall cacti painted an image of jail bars on the dry soil.

I tied a bandanna around my head, covering my nose; it helped some from the heat and dust. I pulled my hat down and squinted out from underneath the brim. My feet swam in my boots and my head boiled under my hat.

The fruit of the Saguaro was ripe. It balanced atop the limbs of the tall cacti like a bed of warts exploded into vulgar shapes. Birds ate it with greed, hiding their heads between the crimson lips.

We whacked the fruit with long sticks from dead saguaros to get it down from the monolithic growths. Birds fluttered from the cacti, small brown balls of feathers, complaining as they went along. Juice and seeds dribbled down our arms, when we bit into the supple meat of the overly ripe fruit, like ants drowning in a river of blood.

A saguaro boot lay by the foot of a dead cactus, slumped on its side like a wooden clog. I picked it up and shook out its contents—dirt and feathers, turquoise eggshells, white bones and skulls with tiny beaks. I squatted and went through the obscure treasure. A piece of an eggshell fit my thumb perfectly. I prodded the fragments of the dead hatchlings and tried to piece them together, but couldn't figure out what to put where. I started puzzling my own realization of a bird, a three-headed beast with four legs and six wings.

What are you doing? Snake Girl asked.

Making a bird.

She stood hovering over my shoulder, her shadow merging into my own. I squinted up at her. The sun was directly behind her head, making the contour of her black hair shine white.

Something you wanted? I asked.

I would like my bow and arrows back.

Naw.

I could hunt without having to fire a gun.

Naw.

I do not understand why you have not disposed of my belongings if I am never to have them again.

What I don't understand is how come you ain't tried taken 'em yet.

You have promised to shoot me if I do.

*

Two riders and a pack mule waded out