The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller (11 page)

Sparrow quietly laid the trail bike on its side, blockading the open door of the shed. If the cat bolted out, the obstacle would delay its escape and increase his odds of catching it—or at least crippling it—before it could get past him.

Reaching into the bike’s canvas toolkit he pulled out a big heavy wrench, in case he needed to clobber it.

Marky crept quietly towards the shed, stepped over the trail bike and into the dark doorway. His keychain flashlight was in his hand. He didn’t turn it on yet, but kept his finger on the button, ready to light its brilliant LEDs once he was in position to attempt a strike with the net.

He reached carefully up through the darkness, getting a chill as a cobweb brushed his hand. But the aluminum handle of the fishing net was right where he remembered it should be. The nylon netting had a few torn holes but would be more than adequate to catch a damned cat. He just hoped he could get a clean angle at it in the cluttered shed.

“Hurry up, man. It’s freezing out here,” Sparrow whispered hoarsely.

Marky grimaced without responding and as quietly as possible slid the net down from its perch. Slowly he moved forward into a likely position to strike, then stood silently, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

Silhouettes started forming in the darkness. Stark black shapes in the charcoal gloom. His dad’s old table saw with its dried out power cord. A pair of snow tires awaiting winter duty. A splintery wooden ladder leaning on the corrugated wall. A milk crate crammed with plastic funnels and an obsolete floor jack.

Where the fuck is the little prick hiding?

Marky heard a rustle and discerned a bit of movement in the dark. Just enough to get his attention.

Silently he gauged its location and repositioned the fishing net, his finger poised on the flashlight.

Come on you little prick. Come to papa.

Another quick movement triggered an instant response. He swung the net hard, convinced he was right on top of the unwary feline.

The rim of the net bounced off the bare concrete floor. “Shit!”

Marky switched on his flashlight and the ghostly glow of LEDs flooded the room. The net was empty. No sign of the cat anywhere. And now his cover was blown. He quickly turned off the flashlight. Slipping back into stealth mode.

“Did you get it?” called Sparrow.

“Not yet. Shut up.”

A scratching noise sounded in the shadows beyond the table saw. It dawned on Marky that the net had a convertible pole. Pushing a tiny latch on the handle he removed the extension, leaving him with a shorter handled net, much easier to maneuver.

Now I’ll get you.

The noise sounded again. Shuffling in the shadows.

The little fucker’s trapped and he knows it.

“Come out come out, wherever you are.”

Marky stepped around the table saw and turned on his flashlight again. Felicia stood flattened against the rear wall of the shed, her back arched in a defensive pose. She looked up at him with frightened eyes, her tail flitting nervously. Her pupils contracted to slits as the LEDs blinded her.

“Don’t be scared, little kitty,” Marky cooed soothingly. “We just want to torture and kill you. It’ll only hurt for an hour or so.”

Felicia didn’t move. Marky leaned slowly forward, taking care not to spook her. A grin spread over his face as he lowered the fishing net toward her.

“That’s a nice kitty.”
Just a few more inches…

Now!

But just as he was about to act, something shot out of the shadows and stung his hand. Instead of whipping the net down, Marky dropped it in surprise. He also dropped his keychain and the flashlight went out.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, not sure what just went down.

Fumbling in the dark for his flashlight he switched it on and shined it on his hand. Tiny droplets of blood oozed from two fresh fang marks.

“What the fuck?”

Suddenly feeling light-headed and a little nauseous he turned the flashlight around and aimed it into the shadows, searching for whatever had bitten him.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. The tail end of a snake was slithering out through a hole in the shed wall. He couldn’t tell how big it was. Just the last foot of its tail was visible when he spotted it, and it was gone a moment later. From the quick glimpse he’d seen, it had a narrow brownish body with what appeared to be crooked stripes. 

Staggering out of the shed, he tripped over the back wheel of the trail bike and landed in a heap on the lawn.

“Jesus Christ, dude!” Sparrow blasphemed, “What the fuck?”

Marky vomited the remains of his lunch and kept retching over and over, his stomach suddenly racked with painful spasms. Despite the chilly night air, his face was covered with pearly beads of sweat.

“Snake,” he finally blurted, and held up his hand, which was already starting to swell and turn purple. “It bit my hand.”

“Shit.” Sparrow gazed wide-eyed at Marky’s bloated hand. In the pale moonlight it looked a little unreal. For a moment he considered that Marky was somehow screwing with him.

“Don’t just stand there like a dumb ass,” Marky snapped. “Get my mom and dad. Hurry!”

Sparrow ran to the house and started pounding on the door.

Marky rolled onto his stomach clutching his injured hand, which felt like it had been dipped in napalm and set on fire with a blowtorch.

“Oh God, this can’t be good. This can’t be fucking good.”

He didn’t see the cat as it slipped calmly from the shed. Didn’t even feel it as it mockingly rubbed against his leg before running off into the night.

***
 

By the time the EMTs rolled Marky’s gurney into the county hospital he was delirious. He was also a physical mess. Bleeding from his gums. Bleeding internally. His pants soaked with bloody diarrhea.

“Lord God Almighty, what the heck happened to him?” asked the nurse who met them in the hallway.

“Snake bite. We’re not sure what kind of snake. His description didn’t match any I’m aware of in these parts.”

The nurse checked Marky’s hand, now swollen to twice its normal size and purple as an overripe plum. It stank with the pungent odor of rotted flesh. “Oh my heavens, that looks bad. How long ago was he bitten?”

“About an hour.”

The nurse shook her head in consternation. “Doesn’t look like any snake bite I’ve ever seen,” she said. “You sure it was just one hour ago?”

The EMT nodded. “That’s what his friend said. We took these samples in the ambulance.” He handed her some vials of blood. “Get them to the lab and have them analyzed immediately.”

“The lab’s closed for the night, it’s Eleanor’s birthday.”

“Great.”

“Don’t matter none anyway. We can’t deal with him properly here, that’s obvious. We need to call in a chopper and have him evacced to the city.”

“You’re right. He’s dead if we don’t. Make some calls and see who can get here the quickest. Meanwhile we’ll pack him in ice. See if he we can’t slow his metabolism to give him a fighting chance.”

115

“Nice weather for a funeral,” Ruta whispered to Felicia as they shared an umbrella at the back of the crowd. A hundred students had shown up for the funeral, choosing to brave the cold autumn rain and pay their respects to a boy they all hated in exchange for a day off from school.

Rumors about Marky’s death had spread like every other juicy tidbit through the small nosy town. That he was involved in some strange Satanic rite when he was bitten. Or conversely that he’d joined a church of snake handling holy rollers, trying to repent. That he was trying to milk some snake venom to poison his parents or the school principal or the food in the school cafeteria. That he was simply trying to catch a snake for another ill-conceived Jackass stunt.

The weirdest one involved someone who claimed to have seen a housecat running along the road with a live snake wrapped loosely around its furry gray body, not long after he was bitten. That was the one that disturbed Sparrow the most.

Marky died on the gurney just minutes after the med-evac chopper touched down on the helipad of the nearest city hospital. Now, days later, his death was still something of a mystery.

The venom that killed him had still not been identified. The local herpetologists were stumped. Samples of his blood were flown to labs across the country for expert analysis, but the only snakes known to be capable of delivering such fast-acting lethal venom lived in Asia or Australia or Africa.

It was unthinkable that such a specimen could be loose in any community in the USA, except perhaps in Florida, where green and black mambas and other deadly snakes had escaped into the wild after several exotic petshops were cracked open by Hurricane Andrew.

It was even more improbable that one would be on the prowl in chilly autumn weather.

Urgent news bulletins were issued. Word spread quickly throughout the county to be on the alert and keep a healthy distance from any snakes at all, no matter how common or harmless they might appear.

But that news flash came too late for Marky. His wake was a closed casket ceremony. There wasn’t enough morticians’ wax in the county to fix what he’d become.

115

Mandee slid her pantyhose up her naturally hairless leg. Like her private parts, her fingers reeked of nicotine. It was the one thing Mayor Sanders Pemberton disliked about his chain-smoking mistress, even more than her domineering attitude. He wanted to ask her politely to scrub her fingers before she wiped her pubes when she peed, but knew she’d explode with indignation as she did whenever he dared impugn her habits or her sense of self-perfection.

“Have you talked to your mother yet about reallocating the school funds to my project?” Mandee asked, her voice like a probing needle.

“Not yet. I haven’t found the proper opening yet,” replied Sanders, trying to sound nonchalant.

“What do you mean, proper opening? Who needs an opening to speak to their own mother? You’re the goddamned mayor, frcrissakes. Act like you have some authority. Grow a pair.”

Sanders watched Mandee wriggle the pantyhose over her butt. She certainly was a fine looking woman. She wasn’t thin, but was wholesome and fit with solid bone structure and a tight round ass. He’d heard dozens of half-joking fantasies uttered about her at parties and in the local pubs. But none of the lowlifes voicing them had a bat’s chance in hell of ever getting close to her. Above all else, Mandee was a snob.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “You know that.”

“How complicated can it be? She owns a sizable parcel of wasteland that will sky-rocket in value once that road goes through.”

The Pemberton family holdings were the last remaining roadblock to Mandee’s planned development. It was the only tract her cousin had so far had no success acquiring, because there was no chance for an outsider to broach the subject without arousing the old gal’s suspicions. Mandee needed Sanders to do the deed.

“Mother doesn’t see it as wasteland. My father loved to hunt in those woods, and asked her to preserve them on his deathbed. She promised him she would.”

“Promises shmomises,” Mandee snarled. For someone with ice in her veins, she was quick to lose her cool.

“What goddamned good are those woods to anyone?” she continued, “They’re nothing but a habitat for skunks and raccoons and god knows what other filthy animals. Is your mother aware that a boy was killed by a poisonous snake that crawled out of those woods?”

“We don’t know for sure where that snake came from.”

“Oh for crying out loud, Sanders. Just do the civilized thing and help develop those godforsaken woods before you get your ass sued for letting a dangerous area fester. Don’t ask your mother, tell her!”

“Must you be so melodramatic? I’ll talk to her about it. I will.”

“Well, you better do it soon. Unless you want your precious town tied up in expensive litigation. I’m too far into this project to back down now. It’s good for the goddamned town and I’ve been counting on your support. Convince the old lady it’s the right thing to do. The only thing that makes any sense for the town.”

Sanders nodded complacently, but couldn’t bring himself to vocalize agreement to something he didn’t believe in.

Unfortunately he was stuck in a very hard place. He’d let himself be sucked into an affair with Mandee, who despite all her greedy faults was a hell of a fine lay.

His own wife Terry was a dud in the sack. A fine mother, a good companion, but a total stiff between the sheets.

Mandee had sensed his carnal frustration and seduced him and now she owned every curly hair on his testicles.

Even more than he feared his mother’s judgment, he was terrified that Mandee would let slip news of their affair. To do so would end his political reign in Greenville, destroy his happy marriage, and mark him forever as a black sheep in the Pemberton family history.