Fiends (18 page)

"Fuckin' fantastic," Puff said, exhaling. Marijuana smoke was shockingly pungent in the thin, odorless air of the cavern. "But this isn't all of it." She looked over one shoulder. "He's back there, somewhere. Way back. Every now and then I hear a blast from my radio. Scout's honor. Duane heard it too, didn't you, babe?"

"H-how could there be any kind of reception d-down here?" Marjory said, keeping her voice low. She disliked the ghostly quality of their echoes.

"Good question. Mostly it's static. Definitely heard some voices, though. Just like when I was up there in the woods. Here's what I think. There's probably a bunch of them, like gypsies, living in another part of this cave."

"I'm not so sure," Duane said.

"Makes sense to me. They rob stuff, and hide all the loot in here."

"And go in and out through that waterfall each time?" Duane muffled a sneeze with his one hand. "Not worth the trouble." He sneezed again.

"Bless you," Puff said, and for some reason made the sign of the cross in the air with the glowing tip of her joint. "Well, like you said, there's probably another entrance. Which I hope we find real soon, because I don't intend to get soaking wet again."

"Maybe g-getting wet's not the worst thing that could h-happen to us," Marjory said.

"Marjory, you'd better take that shirt off before you get pneumonia."

"Can't. I'm m-modest."

"Leave your bra on then. Here, have a toke; then we need to come up with a plan."

Marjory unbuttoned her shirt, turned her back on them, wrung the shirt out and put it back on again.

"We haven't heard anything for a while," Duane said. "I know a little about caves, and this one could go on for a couple of miles. I think you ought to kiss your radio good-bye, Puff."

"Thanks a lot!"

"Look, we're probably near the surface and that's why there's some light, but the sun will set in another three hours, and then it'll get pitch-black in here. Do you know how easy it is to get lost in a series of caves?"

"Yeh, I guess," Puff said dispiritedly.

"That's settled, let's go," Marjory said.

"Not yet," Duane said.

"You just said—"

"This is a very interesting cave. It might even be valuable. Like the one up in Kentucky where they kept this guy's body in a coffin with a glass top. Floyd Collins, I think his name was."

"What happened to F-Floyd?" Marjory asked.

"Buried alive in the cave he discovered. Anyway, I want to take a look around here while we have time. As long as we can hear the waterfall we won't get lost."

Puff and Marjory just looked at him. Duane shrugged.

"Okay, I'll go by myself. Meet you all outside. Marjory, could I borrow the flashlight?"

"Duane, what if this place
is
full of gypsies, or—worse."

Duane grinned. "What's worse?"

"I don't know. Come on, let's just go."

"Ten minutes. I'll look around for ten minutes, then I promise I'll be back. Of if I find a better way out, I'll call you."

Puff got up. "That makes sense. I'm not getting wet again. I'll go with you."

Duane looked at Marjory.

"Okay. I don't want to get wet, either. I hope you know what you're doing, Duane."

6

He could find no music.

The radio played, but only voices he wished not to hear.

Why had he taken the radio in the first place, in broad daylight with people around? The girl screaming, calling him names . . . because the desire to take it, the third radio he'd stolen in a week, was like a hunger that surpassed the need for food.

Because music quieted the voices. But now he could find no music.

Arne?

No.
I won't listen!

They're coming, this time. They'll find us here. And then they'll take you away, and what will I do?

Not only his mother's voice. The others, moaning, pleading. But she silenced them. Only his mother had the right to speak to him.

You have to go now. Don't let them find you here. Don't let them find me. Come, now. Come to mother. You know I'm the only one who cares about you. I'm not angry because of what he made you do. You know I'm not angry. Come a little closer, Arne.

Can't!

Darling. Why?

On . . . on his grave. Made me swear. . .!

So awful of Enoch. So cruel! That this should happen to us, to you and I, Arne. But there's still a little time. I can make it right again. In your heart you know this is true. But they're coming. (Stop! You're confusing him. Not another word from anyone!) Men, Arne. Murderous men, they will hang you when they see this place! How can you explain? They'll drag you by your heels and hang you by the neck unless you—Quickly. Save yourself. Save me, too. Just reach out, take me in your arms. My boy. Oh, my lovely son . . .

"Mamaaaa!"

7

The blond young man in the tie-dyed T-shirt said, "We're looking for a friend of ours. Maybe you guys saw her? She's about five feet six. Good tan, like us. We're from Florida. And, uh, she's probably got her radio with her, it's a Grundig. One of those big jobs. What's she wearing, Smidge, do you remember?"

"Shorts, I guess. Unless she changed into something else while we were zonked. Yeah, and the necklace probably. I've never seen her without it, have you, Deke?"

"Oh, yeh, yeh, her shark's tooth necklace. You'd know her right away if you saw her. Name's Brittany, but she likes to be called Puff."

Boyce looked at Rita Sue, who shook her head.

"No, sorry," Boyce said. "Actually we're looking for somebody ourselves."

"Oh. What happened to your foot?"

"Dropped a crankcase on it."

Deke looked around blearily. His eyes were bloodshot. He wore Levi's with his tie-dyed shirt, and needed a bath. He hadn't shaved for a while. He was half bald; the rest of his hair was gathered into a ponytail that sagged over one shoulder. The girl, Smidge, had a raggedy mane and the starkly hungry eyes of a pretty werewolf. Despite their tans they had the shy, baffled demeanor of subterraneans who hadn't ventured out into the light recently. They fidgeted and looked lost.

"Don't know where we can get something to eat around here, do you?" Deke asked Boyce and Rita Sue. "When's the last time we ate, Smidge?"

"Tallahassee, I think. But Puff has all the money. She's got the gasoline card, too. She better not have taken off with somebody, I'll ream her liver."

Rita Sue said, "There's a general store up the road where they sell ice cream and stuff."

"Thanks, but we're fucked until Puff shows up. Might as well go on back to the woody and wait on her there, Deke."

"Hey, right," Deke said brightly, as if it had been his idea. He was a little unsteady on his bare, dusty feet. "Listen, how long you guys going to wait around for your friend?"

"Not much longer," Rita Sue said, spacing her words meaningfully.

"Well, okay, we'll, uh . . . if you see Puff, you know. Wouldn't happen to have a can of beer in your car, would you, partner?"

"Fresh out," Boyce said.

"Those are the breaks. If you're in the mood for blotter, I've got some. The best. Just look us up. We're parked, uh, where'd we leave the wheels, Smidge?"

"Up that hill there behind the millpond."

"Some what?" Rita Sue asked, frowning.

"Blotter, dear," Smidge said, looking keenly at her and then showing her overbite in a smile that caused Rita Sue to fold her arms defensively across her breasts. "Acid. Guaranteed good trip. Want some?"

"No, thanks."

"I love what you've done with your hair. Or is it natural?"

"Yes."

"Well, come on anytime you're in the mood for a swinging party. I'd like to get to know you, what did you say your name was?"

"Rita Sue."

"That's darling. So, we'll probably be here another day or two. Who knows? Bring your buddy when she comes around, if she's as good-looking as you are, Rita Sue."

"Smidge, I'm not feeling so hot. Let's move on, huh? Nice meeting you guys."

When the two were out of hearing Boyce said to Rita Sue, "She sure was looking at you funny."

Rita Sue said, "There wasn't anything funny about it. Boyce, you can be so dumb."

"How?" Boyce said, injured.

"Never mind. Now my back's starting to burn up because you didn't rub enough sunblock all over. I want to go home. If Marjory Waller isn't standing right here in ten minutes from now that's
exactly
where we're going, and she and Duane can hitchhike."

"Want me to spray your back?"

"I can't take my shirt off here, there's a million people."

"We'll drive up the road apiece and see if we can find Duane and Marjory. Then where there aren't any people I'll pull off and spray your back for you with Solarcaine."

"Okay. It hurts like the dickens. The backs of my thighs, too."

"I can take care of it."

Rita Sue looked at Boyce for several moments, then lowered her lashes.

"Let's get us some ice cream first. Then we'll find a place."

"What if Marjory shows up here?"

"She can wait. She's kept us waiting long enough."

8

"Mamaaaaaaaa!"

"Ye Gods, what was that?" Marjory said, unsure whether the calamitous whinny was human or animal in origin. They were all bunched up in a passage of the caverns as confining as a broom closet. Duane's breath was on her cheek, and Puffs ragged fingernails were digging into her forearm. She had the flashlight in her other hand, the beam wigwagging, inflamed ripples snuffing against bare, blank walls as far as they could see. "Puff, let go!"

"Sorry. It was
him,
wasn't it? Must've been him."

"I don't know," Duane said. "It could have been the radio. But you hear some strange sounds in caves. Sometimes you'll hear voices that are a mile away on the surface. If you let yourself imagine a lot of stuff—"

"Duane, would you scrooch back a little so I can get by you?"

"Where are you going, Marjory?"

"Out of here. Back the way we came. I've had enough. It's like being toothpaste in a tube."

"Marjory," Puff said, still hanging on to her arm, "don't be a poop. Actually I think this is kind of fun."

"Here, take the flashlight," Marjory said, and she worked her way betweens Duane and the wall an inch at a time. She didn't feel anything like toothpaste; she felt overblown in these close spaces, hippo-dumpy. Their downward progress had been slow to this point; they couldn't have come far, she was sure of that.

Their faces were almost together; they exchanged breath like oxygen-starved divers. She wanted to rest on Duane, like a featherbed. Dream a little dream, awaken to trees and rain. But she would have to earn her way out of this unenchanting place. Suddenly Marjory had the hiccups, and Duane started laughing. Marjory popped free of him, feeling vaguely humiliated but giddy herself.

Duane said, "You and Puff could wait here. I just want to take a quick look a little farther down the bend. I hear water dripping; that might mean a big cavern."

"Uh-uh, I'm going with you," Puff said.

"Marjory?"

"No,
I've—hup!—h-had
it."

"Five minutes, Marjory. Sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes.
It's just—
hup!—
up there." She took deep breaths. Duane's hand found her shoulder, squeezing. "I'm okay," she insisted. "No, actually,
mick!
make that a little panicky. But I promise I won't 1-lose it."

Puff said tolerantly, "I lost it when I was eleven and a half years old."

"I'll ,bet that stung, but it's not what we're t-talking
ahup!
about."

"Thanks for the flashlight. Holler if you need help."

"Helllllp," Marjory said, squealing like a mouse, and they both got a laugh out of that. The laughter was distorted in a way that sounded ominous to Marjory, who found no bliss in inky darkness. She feasted on the beam of the flashlight as Duane turned himself and Puff the other way. Then she started up the passage, fingernails scraping rock and veins of crystal, vision smothering in her eye, the suppressed hiccups burning in her throat, erupting spasmodically despite her best efforts at control. Weary of walls, of darkness, unable to see anything of herself, fingernails dragging but failing to strike a spark. After a few seconds she thought she detected the mild glow of the chamber they had recently left. This cheered her considerably. She heard Puff and Duane conversing, she heard all the nuances of their passage deeper into the cavern. When she looked back she saw only the momentary glow of the flashlight beam reflected from a cloudy aggregate of quartz. Faint as fireflies. Puff was still rattling on about retrieving her radio. Puff, Marjory thought, was demented, but she was most concerned about Duane. At least his interest in exploring further was understandable. He'd been in caves before, and had no fear of them. Maybe Puff wouldn't be able to talk him into something foolish or dangerous.

Marjory kept going, slowly, looking down at her feet as if she could see them. Looking up again, at nothing. It was one of those rare times when she felt used up, devoid of energy. Almost sleepy. Duane and Puff had stopped talking. Marjory heard instead the flowing of the waterfall beside the mill. She knew she was going the right way . . . but there was only one way she
could
go. Wasn't there? The hiccups continued. Marjory stopped a couple of times and rubbed her eyes, which felt dry and smarted. After rubbing she saw flashes, trifling visions, like outtakes from forgotten dreams. But any light, even false light provided by the optic nerves, mysterious impulses of the brain, was welcome.

Marjory fetched up a massive shudder, then trembled almost continuously as the muscles of the body twitched furiously to keep her warm. Her mind was wandering. It seemed to her she was heading down again, not up; but that couldn't be possible. How much longer? The waterfall was louder, she had to be dead on course. She didn't recall hearing it so loud before. But all sounds were magnified down here, and maybe a mild but persistent anxiety had sharpened her senses. Marjory shivered and yawned. Then her head jerked up with a start and she bumped, hard, against a wall of the passage. Dozing on her feet? She yearned for the spit and fury of the sun. Marjory was not an underground person—if ever there'd been a doubt. When she died she was not going to be buried. Put that in her last will and testament. Great-aunt Lillie Day Wingo had insisted on a funeral pyre in
her
will. But she'd been one of the more conspicuous loonies in the family. Aunt Lillie Day. Hard-boiled as a hanging judge. Buried three husbands. And two of them were just napping. Ha-ha, where had she heard that joke, on
Laugh-in?

Much lighter up ahead. The waterfall pouring in her ears. Almost like daybreak, with little flecks of nearly transparent birds wheeling in a slate-gray sky. Enormous.
Thunder.
It was, God, had to be, the hoped-for waterfall; but it had never sounded like that. She felt a draft in her face, a freshet of depths and secret places with no end to their astounding darkness.

Oh no. Please. I'm not. I can't be! I can't be lost!

That was when she saw it, not too far away, drifting so high she had to raise her eyes, the thing illuminated by many moths clinging like shroud cloth but with an excited flutter of all-over wings. Svelte, gleaming, but with a gruesome head, nearly featureless, knobby as a ball of tar. The eyes electric red, as startling as an exhibit in a carnival's chamber of horrors.

The vision cured Marjory's hiccups on the spot. But she peed down both legs.