Blaze of Glory

the blood from his blade. “Wasn’t a Goddamn thing else to do.”

Sissy began to shake. She opened her mouth several times to speak, but nothing happened. Whatever she had to say, her brain was on the other side of it.

“Easy girl. Tell me what went wrong.” Buckley slid beside her. He removed the empty bucket from her trembling grip, placed it on the ground and grasped her hands which disappeared in his own immense right hand like twin white doves in an eclipse. Her skin was alabaster pale.

“I’ll tell you what the fuck happened,” Samuel said. “Boy sat down so we could stop the bleeding that you caused when you broke his nose, then he started shaking and twitching like he needed a fix three days ago.”

Buckley stared at the body. The only place to sit was either on the edge of the old fashioned tub or the toilet.

“Then he sticks his tongue out at us, only it ain’t his tongue but this muthafuckin’ green-skinned maggie what decided to pop its head out at us and wave. Jesus is a one-armed dictator, but I had to go Nazi on his ass, you know? You understand? I had to.'

'I understand.'

Sissy moaned beside him. Buckley leaned the shotgun against the wall and placed his other arm around her.

At the mention of the green-skin, Buckley finally understood. Bennie had been killed by a swimmer-those nasty things that crept through the pipes only to inject themselves up an unsuspecting ass. He’d seen them at work once, and it hadn’t been pretty.

“Was he sitting on the-”

“Yeah,” Samuel replied, “But it wasn’t like he was using it or nothing. He was just sitting.”

“And there was no salt in the water.”

“Guess not.”

“Damn,” sighed Buckley.

The bucket of salt in the bathroom had only one purpose. When someone used the toilet, they were to add salt to the water so the next person wouldn’t have an uninvited guest. The plan was golden. The only problem was that someone had forgotten to add the salt and this wasn’t one of those things an I’m sorry could fix. It wasn’t as if a guy left the toilet seat up so a young lady got her ass wet on the rim. This was about death, and someone made the gangbanger be that way by forgetting.

“But Sissy sure jumped in with the salt. I held the bastard down as he was jerking like he O- Deed. I tried to cut the damn thing out of him, but never did find it. Hid in his chest somewhere. Might still be there for all I know.”

Buckley glanced at the girl, ready to deliver a what the fuck were you thinking, but stopped as he saw that the fear in her eyes had been married to a deep and lonely shame. If he had to guess who’d forgotten the salt, he’d place his money on Sissy. By the way she stared at Bennie’s dead body, he’d also place his money on the fact she’d never do it again. What was condemnation in a city of the dead, anyway? They all knew they were gonna die. All that remained to make life interesting was the knowledge of when and where.

Buckley squeezed her shoulder tightly as he shook her. “You done good, Sissy. Hear me girl? I said you done good. Things happen and there's little we can ever do about it. Now, go on out and fill up the bucket again, I need to figure out exactly how we’re gonna get rid of this body with ten thousand hungry maggies hanging around outside like Mormons at an all night exorcism.”

She stared for a few more seconds, then pried herself free from Buckley’s steely grip. She grabbed the bucket and stalked away, a new hardness to the set of her jaw.

CHAPTER 12

What if they never came back?

That thought had been repeating in her mind like an incantation of evil. She begged for it to stop. She'd even screamed aloud, but somehow her internal voice boomed over everything, drowning out reason and hope.

What if they never came back?

What if they never came back?

Step on a crack. Break your mother's back.

On and on like a jump rope song for the damned.

She hurled herself to the ground before the door, seeking a space beneath the door. 'Mommy? Daddy?' She sobbed. 'I'm ready now, Mommy. Come and get me. Please, Mommy. Don't leave me alone.'

She listened for an answer but heard only her heart as it played the backbeat to the words she didn't want to hear.

What if they never came back?

What if they never came back?

Step on a crack. Break your mother's back.

Step on a crack. Break your daddy's back.

Run little girl. They ain't never coming back.

CHAPTER 13

Within minutes of Sissy returning with a full bucket from the kitchen, they’d packed Bennie’s every orifice with salt as if it were stuffing and he was the world's first gangbanger-shaped Thanksgiving Turkey. No sooner had they finished, then they wrapped him up in the black shower curtain. With the help of a roll of duct tape, Samuel sealed the package in three broad stripes of silver.

“That should hold him for a bit.” Buckley croaked, holding back the pain. Still, his voice betrayed him drawing the stares of both Sissy and Samuel. Three times during the operation, maggies had bored through his skin. Once on the thigh, once in his left armpit and once under his left breast. Each time, he’d bit his lip, the pain mounting. And each time, he’d successfully managed to corral the damn things before the others noticed, all the while holding them as they tried to eat through his hand. Only by shaking them like caught flies was he able to stun them and keep them from bleeding him to death.

Still, he’d kept up the front and the others were none the wiser. He told Samuel to keep an eye on the body. Very aware of the danger the maggies in his hand posed to the rest of the people, Buckley hurried back into the kitchen looking for Little Rashad. For all he knew, the kid had done what a thousand scientists had been unable to do and figured out a way to save the world. Even now Little Rashad plugged scales with his trumpet in the kitchen. Maybe. Just maybe.

As Buckley passed through the living room, he glanced at Grandma Riggs. The long finger of her left hand shot out and pinned him from where she sat as she spoke in her sing-song crack rhyme,

“Icka bicka soda cracker, icka bicka boo, icka bicka soda cracker, out goes YOU.”

“What?”

“Icka bicka soda cracker, out goes you!”

He glared at her for several long moments as she cackled more of the icka bicka nonsense. But was it? Her Patty Cake rhyme had saved them. She'd foretold the death of Lashawna and Sally. He remembered other rhymes, some meaningless and some that, in retrospect, could mean something. Did she have a gift? Or was it just coincidence? Or crack? Whatever was going on, she'd pegged him. But how? She was just a blind woman with a drug habit. What made her so special? But as he thought about it, he glimpsed a possible answer. If a person lost one of their senses, it was known that the others would improve to compensate for the loss. She'd smelled his infection just like she'd smelled the sex on MacHenry and Gert. Damn.

'Icka bicka soda cracker, out goes you.'

Was it true? Could he possibly be next?