Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors (26 page)

Morty
cackled, shook his head and moved to his next victim.
 
He began kicking a middle-aged woman in the mouth.
 
The people sitting next to her watched like it was only a made-for-TV movie instead of their friend being kicked to death in bright Technicolor reality.
 
Whenever
Morty’s
blood-smeared boot connected with the poor woman’s face, a squishy thud echoed in the now silent cave.

“Or if you’re afraid of fire, Dan,” continued
Morty
, “You can try the
Watch Them Get Kicked In The Face Ride
.”

His laugh was shrill and rising to an impossibly high pitch.

 
I had to stop him.
 
My hands were beginning to ache as the adrenaline left my blood and the pain from my burns set in.
 
I glanced down and saw that the skin had begun to peel back in places and felt woozy.
 
I needed medical attention badly.

Morty
stepped over to the next person and screamed, “Hey Old Man, you can’t stop me, can you?
 
It’s God’s will isn’t it?”

The man returned
Morty’s
stare with a look of calm compassion, ignoring the strings of
Morty’s
spittle that dripped from his nose.
 
Morty
lunged twice, trying to get a reaction.
 
He grunted and barked and laughed, but his target remained impassive.

It was at that moment that I knew
Morty
had to be stopped.
 
These people didn’t deserve him.
 
No one deserved him.
 
My mother’s words returned to me from the many years and miles where I stood on the deck of our house overlooking the beautiful blue and green waters of
Chicamauga
Reservoir:
One day, that boy is
gonna
snap.
 
When that day comes, you make sure you’re a thousand miles away,
ya
hear?
’

Morty
howled in anger at the old man’s resolute immobility.
 
“You feel sorry for me, Old Man?
 
How come you feel sorry for me?
 
I’ve been chosen by God.
 
Don’t feel sorry for me, feel sorry for yourself.”
 
Morty
reached around and snapped the old man’s brittle neck in one swift movement.

“Hey, Dan,”
Morty
said, making sure I was watching, “you missed the ride.
 
Pay attention, boy.
 
Queue up and have another one.”
 
Morty
craned his head to the ceiling and howled, “Tickets please.
 
Keep your arms inside the vehicle at all times.”

I couldn’t take it any longer.
 
He had to be stopped.
 
I launched myself across the small space separating us.
 
He must have seen the intentions in my eyes and drew his gun.
 
I sped up as the gun came level with my body.
 
Morty
raised it a few inches higher and crashed it down on my head.
 
I felt an intense brief pain before I sank into darkness.

When I cracked my eyelids and let a little light in, I discovered I wasn’t dead.
 
It hurt too fucking much to be dead.
 
My skull pounded.
 
My hands felt like they were still burning.
 
I opened my eyes a little wider and saw the fire in front of me.
 
Through the swirling smoke I could just make out glittering stars.

“How
ya
doing, sleepy head?” asked a voice from behind me. “I didn’t think you were going to wake up.
 
Thought I might have hit you a little too hard.
 
Sorry about that.”

I rolled over, grunting at the pain.
 
Morty
reclined on a log, drinking from an earthenware jug.

“When I was looking for bandages, I found the Brother’s stash.
 
Must keep it for communion.
 
And you know what?
 
These folks made some pretty good stuff.”
 
He breathed heavily and smiled at me as he took a long deep draught.
 
Green liquid seeped from the imperfect seal of his mouth and slid down his chin.

“Looks like they make it from this green stuff on the walls.
 
Never heard of Moss Brandy before, but it sure hits the spot.”

I peeked at my hands and saw that they’d been bandaged.
 
Morty
reached over and grabbed an overturned cup.
 
He shook the dirt out and, holding the jug in the crook of an arm, poured it half full.
 
He knelt down beside me and gently cradled my head in his left arm.

“Here, try some of this.
 
It’ll make you feel better.”
 
He put the cup to my lips and poured liquid fire down my throat.

The cobwebs disappeared in a storm of electric agony.
 
I remembered the mayhem.
 
I remembered the madness.
 
I remembered the murders.

Or had I?

I shook off his hand and peered around, afraid of what I might see.
 
And there they were— bodies piled against the back wall of the cave like so much cordwood.
 
I struggled to my feet, but before I could make it, dizziness grabbed me and threw me back to the ground where I embraced the darkness.

I felt someone gently stroking my hands.
 
I opened my eyes and squinted at the brightness.
 
I was surprised to find the aching in my hands had all but disappeared.
 
The old woman, who had given me the apple, applied some kind of greasy substance to my burns.
 
It felt cool and soothing.
 
When she saw that I was awake, she smiled gently.

“There, there, young man.
 
Just hold still and let old Grandma take care of these nasty burns.”
 
Her voice was soft and sweet, belying her age.

When she finished, I glanced towards the back wall where the bodies had been piled.
 
Every one of them was gone.
 
I tried to picture the old woman moving them, but couldn’t.
 

Perhaps it had all been a dream.
 

Perhaps it had never happened.

Out past the entrance to the cave, people were going about their business—acting as if nothing had happened.
 
A few of them I recognized.
 
I’d seen them murdered.

“Good Morning, Daniel.
 
Want some coffee?”

I spun around violently and stared.
 
I scooted back on my hands and heels until my back touched the rough wall of the cave.
 
I pushed myself up to a standing position and stared at Brother John holding a steaming metal cup out to me.

“Come on, take a drink before it gets cold,” he said.

It must have been a nightmare.
 

No one comes back from the dead.
 

I calmed myself and argued with my feet until they agreed to move me over to the Brother.
 
I reached out with a tentative hand and grabbed the handle of the cup.
 
I could see a neat little scab in the center of his forehead.
 
Funny I didn’t notice it before.
 
It couldn’t possibly be from the gunshot wound.

I chuckled to myself a little more crazily than I wished and sat down beside the Brother.

The coffee tasted excellent.
 
I already felt better.
 
The bandages on my hands had been expertly done.
 

The bandages!

If what I thought happened last night didn’t happen, then why are my hands burned?
 
I glanced over at Brother John and there was a twinkle in his eye.

“It seems that God saw fit to let us live another day.
 
Perhaps our work is not yet done, no?”

I threw down the coffee cup and jumped to my feet.
 
I searched for something to defend myself with.
 
Anything to keep me from the vengeance these people were only right in unleashing.

“Have no fear, friend Daniel, we have no ill will against you... or even your friend there.”
 
The Brother gestured over by the cold dead fire where
Morty
lay, curled around the jug, sleeping soundly.
 
I could see the rise and fall of his stomach.

“Why— I mean how are you— not dead?”

“As I said, Friend Daniel. God must have a greater purpose for us.
 
It’s just as you think.
 
We were truly dead.
 
But come morning, we awoke as if from a sound sleep.”
 
The Brother rubbed the center of his forehead.
 
“A little worse for wear, mind you, but alive none the less.
 
It is truly a miracle.”

I reached out a trembling hand and felt his forehead.
 
It was true.
 
The wound had almost entirely healed.
 
I didn’t know what to make of it.
 
I wasn’t a very religious person.
 
I’d been to church a few times, but only to meet girls.
 
This manifestation of power, though, was a little too much.
 

“You must be hungry.
 
You slept right through breakfast, but give me a second and I’ll get some fruit.”
 

He walked to the back of the cave and reached inside a large light blue drum.
 
He brought back two large ruby red apples.
 
After brushing off a couple pieces of the insidious green moss, I mumbled my thanks and started to devour them.
 
I had finished one and started on the other when I saw the end of the gun protruding from
Morty’s
pants.
 

I took it.

Morty
woke about dusk.
 

I’d considered leaving him, but quickly rejected the idea.
 
One thing was for sure, I needed to get him as far away from these people as I could.
 
To
Morty’s
credit, he was appropriately shocked when he noticed Brother John and the rest of the village walking and talking as if last night’s Amusement Park had never happened.
 
One by one, each walked over and spoke with him.
 
I wasn’t close enough to hear, but it appeared they were consoling him.
 
Trying to make him feel better or some similarly insane thing.
 
They left him trembling all over.

It took some convincing, but
Morty
finally came around to the realization that they were still alive.
 
But like a kid denied dessert, he sat there silent and sullen for over an hour, staring out from beneath a roiling cloud of anger.
 
All the way through dinner, he refused to speak.
 
A young man approached me.
 
I recognized him as the one who’d been burned.
 
He thanked me for trying to help him.
 
And in these people’s inimical manner, proceeded to scold me for interfering with God’s will.
 
I was mad enough to hit him, but his injuries were so extensive that they hadn’t quite healed yet.
 
Whatever mystical force controlled these people was healing the poor kid slowly.

Morty
finally spoke as the last of the people went off to bed.
 
There was a strangeness in his voice that I had never heard before.

“Better get a good sleep, Dan.
 
We’re leaving tomorrow.”
 

I couldn’t tell what was running through his mind, but I was glad we were leaving.
 
This whole scene was too spooky.
 
My friend had become an uncontrollable mass murderer.
 
But then again, he wasn’t.
 
All of his victims were alive.
 
I had no doubt that it happened, but couldn’t explain the resurrections.
 
All I knew was that God had somehow given us a second chance.
 
I promised myself that as soon as we arrived in Raleigh, I was going my separate way.