King of the Horseflies Page 2

  “Bama, is that you?" the sheriff says with his gun drawn.

  At a distance, it looks like his body type, but he is not sure enough to not protect himself. When he falls over, that’s when they start doubting it’s him.

  “Ain’t no way that’s Bama,” Jerry says.

  They run up to the body to investigate. The sheriff turns him over with one hand while the other is on his rifle to see his face.

  “Arghh!” Bama screams in agony.

  “Bama, you all right? What happened to you?” the sheriff asks.

  “My arms…can’t…feel them,” he responds in a weak, raspy voice.

  “Who did this to you?”"

  “Never seen him ’fore. Headin’ to Willa Creek.”

  “All right, easy Bam. Two of y’all get him up and over to Doc’s place and make sure he’s all right. Then I want y’all back up over at Willow Creek. I don’t care if we have to chase him to Mexico; we're gonna get him.”

  Carver makes it over the hill he’s been ascending for hours and starts to make his way down the other side. With the sun coming up, he hears a sound like heavy rain coming in the distance so he looks up at the sky. Nothing but the steady stream that has consistently pounded the top of his head for the past nine hours now. The more he walks, the louder the sound gets. “If it ain’t rain, it must be a river,” he thinks as he continues down the side of the hill and sees water rushing between the trees. He gets to the side of the river and looks around to make sure no one sees him. He sets down his backpack and pulls out his water bottle that’s half full and refills it in the river.

  BAM! A gunshot sprays the water into his face just as he kneels to get up. He grabs his bag and takes off running. More shots ring off as he hears someone yell, “He’s over here!” Bullets hit the ground, trees, the river, and his backpack. He doesn’t want to get wet, but his only option now to save himself is to get in this river. Carver dives in headfirst trying to hold on to his pack, but he loses it. The river seems to be speeding up and sucking him farther in so he can’t get out on the other end.

  He’s not a strong swimmer by any standard as he struggles to come up for air. He takes a deep breath as he goes under again. With his eyes open, he tries to paddle up but notices the water in front of him is getting brighter with daylight as if he’s coming out the other end of a train tunnel. He thinks he knows what it is, so his eyes get wide with worry. Whoosh! He takes air falling from a forty-foot water fall. He doesn’t scream on the way down; he just covers his crotch with one hand and pinches his nose with the other. Carver plunges into the cold, icy river water below.

  The hunting crew runs alongside the river. The sheriff shows up last. “Where is he?” the Sheriff asks.

  “Clarence had a shot at him and missed,” says Ricky.

  “I didn’t miss. He moved last second,” Clarence defends himself.

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Where the hell is he?” Sheriff Willy asks.

  “He was running by the river and just sort of disappeared.”

  “The hell he disappeared,” says the sheriff. “He probably dove in the creek, which means he probably went over the falls.”

  Jerry says, “Which probably means he’s dead.”

  “Well, let’s not assume, ’cause you know what happens when you assume, right? You make an ass out of you and Clarence for missing that shot. Now let’s get down there and find a body. If there ain’t no body, that means he’s still alive. Let’s go!”

  They all gather themselves and head down river.

  Carver suddenly explodes out of the water, huffing for precious air. He slicks his long black hair towards his back and begins to walk out of the water onto the rocky shoreline. He looks behind him to see if he’s been spotted while sitting out in the open, but no one watches. He searches for his bag along the rocky river and sees it jammed in between three large, grey stones in the water. He rushes over as fast as he can, looking over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t get shot in the process. Just five feet from the bag, he hears a gun shot that strikes the ground merely inches away from him. Carver reacts by jumping to his right side away from the shot. He glances behind and sees three or so men at the edge of the waterfall. He attempts to reach for the bag again, but another shot lands almost exactly where the first did, near his left foot. “Damn it!” he screams. Carver runs into the woods out of the gunmen’s field of view.

  Sheriff Willy slowly trots up behind the three that were shooting at Carver.

  “Did ya get ’im?" he asks as he peeks over the edge of the falls.

  “Naw, he ran off in the woods ’fore we could get a clear shot at ’im,” they replied.

  “So all three of you missed? What the hell are y’all shooting at? The damn gnats flying round his head?”

  Deputy Ricky replies, “He was reaching for something in the water, looks like a sack or something. He looked pretty intent on getting it, but he couldn’t reach it in time.”

  “Good, I want eyes on that bag until we get down there. If he comes out to get it, shoot him! Ricky, did you search that bag when we brought him into the station?”

  “N-no, no,” Ricky stutters. “I thought you searched it ’fore you got there.”

  “Dag nab it, Ricky, how many times I told you that procedure is to always double check whoever we book? He’s hiding something in that bag, and we’re gonna see what it is.”

  The whole crew treks around to a safer route to the bottom of the waterfall minus Wallace Williams. Wallace, or W2, which his friends pronounce Dub-ya 2, stays back and keeps his barrel on sight of the backpack floating in the water. He is probably the best shot out of the bunch, though they won’t admit it. As for his credentials, he would tell you that he could shoot a flea off the tip of a dog’s nose from 100 yards away. W2’s the only serviceman of the bunch, being in the army 15 years ago; he still demands respect, and most of the time, he gets it. This is mainly the reason he is trusted with not letting a fugitive merely perambulate away with whatever it seems he needs so desperately in that bag.

  W2 sits down at the edge of the falls, guarding the bag until the crew can get a hold of it.

  Carver peers through the trees, looking up at W2 guarding the sack as if the bag itself would grow legs and walk away. He needs his pack as if his life depended on it. One of the reasons he wants it back is because one of its contents was one of the only things he woke up with the day he found himself in the desert. The other was a small tattoo inscribed just below his waist line on his left hip. Carver.

  “Carver!” the sheriff begins to scream. “I know you’re out there. We made the mistake of not searching your bag before.” Sheriff Willy holds the bag into the air while looking around the forest. “We won’t make the same mistake twice!” He turns around and tosses the bag to his deputy. “Search through that, will you, Ricky?”

  “You think he’s watching, sir?” the deputy asks.

  “If what I’m thinking serves me right, he’s looking at us right now,” answers the sheriff.

  Carver makes his way through some dense trees and thickets trying to get a better angle on what the hunters are doing. He breaks through and watches.

  The deputy begins to remove miscellaneous objects that one would take along if on the road. It entailed a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush wrapped in a paper towel, a hairbrush, an aluminum cup, a lighter, a solid black v-neck t-shirt, a pair of brown cargo shorts, and a razor. All of the contents were flung and dumped on the wet and muddy ground.

  “That’s everything, sir,” Ricky shouts. The sheriff, still looking around in the woods, reaches for the bag.

  “Let me see that thing.” He stretches the bag open and angles it so more sunlight can illuminate the interior. As he examines it, he notices that a whip stitch that is normally used to quickly repair broken seams was used on the inside.

  “What do we got here? I need a knife!” the sheriff shouts. The mechanic runs over and hands him a pocket knife.

  “H
ere you go, Sher!” He hits a button on the side of the knife, and the blade snaps open. He reaches inside and splits the stitches like he is gutting a hog. He tosses the knife back to the mechanic. Jerry flinches as he catches the knife.

  “What the heck? You almost stabbed me,” the mechanic shouts.

  Sheriff Willy opens the seam and reaches inside. “I got something,” he says. He wiggles the item back and forth and struggles to pull it out. The Sheriff reaches in with both hands and rips open more stitches to get whatever is stuck inside out of there.

  “What the heck is this?” He pulls out a shiny, black, semi-metallic stone that is smooth on one side and jagged on the other. One of the hunters spouts, “Is that a lump of coal?”

  “Looks like it,” says the mechanic.

  “Could be Kryptonite,” says Ricky.

  “That ain’t no damn Kryptonite, you idiot, and we damn sure ain’t chasin’ Lex Luthor,” says the sheriff.

  “Looks like it could be valuable the way he got it all tucked up all under there. I say we take it back to town and see what Mr. Travis thinks it’s worth,” he whispers to his crew. “Carver, we found your good luck charm in your bag! I say we call it even. Let’s just say you bailed yourself out and we received payment in full.”

  The mechanic replies, “Hell no, I want to get that son of—.”

  “Calm down, you’ll get your chance, trust me. If this thing is worth this much to him, as I think it is, he’ll come to us,” says the sheriff.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Tell you what, Carver. Why don’t you sleep on it? Have a good night! Let’s head back," he says to the others.

  Carver observes the men as they trek back across the creek. One, two, three, four, five, six he counts in his head. He has a look in his eyes that mortal men have developed prior to entering the battle field.

  Chapter 4

  Hocus Pocus

  Thick fog engulfs the heavily wooded canopy of two to three hundred foot conifer, oak, and redwood trees. The forest’s stature lays beautiful, yet it stands menacing above its inhabitants. This part of the country can remind anyone just how small they really are just by looking straight up. The tallest organisms on earth are located right here. They were here long before any of our grandparents, grandparents’ ancestors were conceived, and they will be here long after we’re gone. In the mindset of Carver, the latter will arrive for the men who took his only possession much sooner than they expect.

  Carver walks back to his bag and gathers the contents that Deputy Ricky so rudely spread across the ground. After collecting his belongings, he decides he is going to need a weapon after losing Bama’s gun somewhere near the river. Carver, within his abilities, doesn’t need a weapon…he needs ammo. To do so requires a good nose to locate decaying or dead flesh and bone. It is a bit more difficult to track down after a heavy rain fall as was the case the previous night, but it is still possible. Carver searches for as many bones as possible while following the hunting team.

  He picks up the scent of an animal corpse. The smell that would make ordinary men gag gets him excited. Slumped over by the base of a tree is the body of a rabbit that must have been dead for at least five days. Maggots and flies swarm the body as he elevates the animal with his ability. He angles his fingers at the body as if he is picking the bones out of a fish. The thigh bones are removed almost instantaneously along with the head and the ribs. All of the flesh that was left behind plops on the floor for the maggots to finish off. Carver makes the bones spin parallel to him while he walks to dry off the blood. Once dried, he breaks the thighs and ribs off into sharp shards and elevates them into his backpack without ever physically touching them.

  The next step is to find the hunting team, eliminate them, and get his stone back into his possession. The first time he knew he had this ability wasn’t as cool as one would think. During the time he spent in the inner city, he was able to have a steady meal every day from restaurants and stores that threw away expired or unused food. After a KFC employee dropped the unused food into the dumpster, Carver followed shortly. He lifted the dumpster’s cover and leaped up on the container’s edge to look inside. The container was only a quarter full, which required Carver to lean over and reach for the partially open trash bag. Seeing the contents within only inches, he focused all of his energy on reaching the food. Just as he did so, a still warm piece of the colonel’s original recipe flew right into his open hand. Shocked, he flew backward out of the trash bin and onto the ground. He looked at the chicken breast in his hand and tossed it on the ground. He tried it again and was able to duplicate his action.

  He was confused as to how he was able to do something he only saw Jean Grey do in the comic books. He practiced at any chance he could to see what the limits of his newfound power were. He came to the conclusion that it only works on anything that once had breath and not inanimate objects. This has all started since he’s been in possession of the stone, the same stone that has been giving him the urge to head towards the north.

  That same urge is leading him to the exact location of the stone the hunters now possess. The same urge will drive him to do whatever is necessary to get it back. This feeling has driven him to the edge of darkness.

  As he walks on, he can sense everything around him. Like the owl that sits on the branch fifty yards to his right watching his every step. The rabbit that hides behind a small bush just five steps away. He can hear every insect, from gnat to cicada, within a hundred yards.

  He begins to tune his focus and senses on the task at hand, which is to find the tracks of the hunters scuttling back to town.

  The sheriff turns to the hunting crew like a QB in talking to his team in the huddle.

  "Okay, so here’s the plan. I want y’all to make sure he doesn’t get right up on us before we get back to town and surprise us. So I want y’all to stay back a li’l and slow him down till I get back to my house,” says the sheriff.

  “Are you sure he’s going to even be following us?” asks the mechanic.

  “Yeah, the way he stuck his neck out for that bag assured me he won’t be far behind. And if he ain’t, well at least we got a consolation prize with that stone. Ricky, when you get back, let me know, will you?”

  “Sure thing, sir,” Ricky replies. The sheriff continues the walk into town by himself as the rest of the crew slow their pace to a snail’s crawl.

  “What’s the plan, Dan?” Jerry says to the deputy as he adjusts his bandaged hand.

  Deputy Ricky looks up at the men, not sure of what to do or say. The men stare back at him for guidance even though they know he doesn’t have a lick of leadership in is bones.

  “Um, I guess the smart thing to do—”

  “Let’s all just spread out real good so he don’t get by us while we walk back to town,” W2 interrupts.

  “And I’ll tell you what? If I see that boy, I’m shootin’ to kill! He’s dangerous!” Jerry adds in a heavy Southern accent.

  “Me too. If he comes back this way, he’s good as dead,” another hunter adds in a worrisome voice.

  “All right, y’all, lets spread out before he sees us,” says W2. They all begin to spread out to the point that they can’t see each other through the trees and brush.

  The sun finally begins to go down under the stratus cloud-filled sky since walking throughout the day. Fog as thick as cotton begins to thicken to where it brings the appearance that it could be cut and removed from the space it occupies. One of the hunters tries to fan the fog out of the way to see where he’s going, but then he stops in his tracks. He turns around because he thought he heard someone step behind him. He squints and tries to look through the fog. A dark silhouette begins to form as if it were floating out of the fog. “Ricky?” he begins to whisper as it comes closer.

  The figure’s eyes begin to glow noticeably through the fog. It begins to move its arms upwards. The hunter’s eyes widen, and he takes a deep breath and tries to raise his shotgun to shoot, but before
he can make a sound, numerous bone arrows stab through his mouth, protruding from the back of his head. The body flies backward like being blasted by a sawed off shotgun. Before the body can land on the ground and alert anyone, Carver makes the body hover above the ground and raises it into the air.

  Ricky also trying to see his way through the fog stops when he hears the sound of branches snapping. He looks behind but doesn’t see anything through the fog. The sound progressively gets louder and closer like something is running towards him. Ricky begins to shoot in the general direction of the noise with his rifle. With every shot he takes, Ricky screams in fear.

  “Ahh!” BAM! “Ahh!” BAM!

  He senses something from above, so he looks up and sees a dark mass emerge from the fog. Ricky takes a shot at the mass, not knowing what it is. The mass nearly drops on top of him as he jumps out of the way onto the ground. “Ahhh!” Bam! He screams and shoots again. Ricky gets up and shines his flashlight at the mass and sees the hunter with the bones sticking out of his mouth, eyes rolled to the back of his head, involuntarily twitching on the ground. “What in the world is going on?” Ricky thinks to himself.

  “Ricky! Ricky!?” W2 yells in his distinct, raspy voice.

  “Over here Wallace!”

  W2 runs up to him. “Did you see him? What were you shooting at?” Ricky just keeps looking down at the body blocking the view of William Wallace. W2 forcibly looks around Ricky to see what he is staring at.

  “What the hell?”

  Ricky throws up. “What the hell happened to him?” W2 gets closer to observe the body better.“Is he still alive?”

  “I-I don’t think so. He fell out of the sky,” Ricky responds. “Fell out of the sky? What do you mean fell out of the sky!?”

  “I heard something coming at me, so I started shootin’; then he fell out of the sky.”

  The body’s head begins to move, which makes both of them jump back simultaneously. They look at the body and see each one of the bone arrows being sucked out of the body and back into the fog. Both of the men turn and run with reckless abandon next to each other, tripping over stones and sliding across the mud and moss patches on the ground. After they both finally come to a stop, Ricky turns and yells, “Jerry!”