Authors: Benedict Martin
And so I left, making my way to Bill’s wagon, where I was met by Nathan and his friends. They were carrying machetes, and the three walked up to me, grinning fiendishly.
“Best call off your goons,” I said. “Cause I’ll shoot them. I’m not bluffing.”
Bill smiled from atop his perch on the wagon, cigarillo clamped between his yellowed teeth. “Go ahead. Shoot ’em. I don’t care.”
“See?” I said. “This joker doesn’t care about you. So if you’d kindly move —”
“What do you want?” demanded Nathan, resting his machete on his shoulder.
He looked insane. Fortunately, the chikka was doing a good job of making me appear calm, and I stepped forward, pressing the barrel of my gun against his chest.
“It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” It wasn’t much, just a twitch of his arm, but I knew what he intended to do, so I pulled the trigger.
BLAM!
Bits of Nathan went everywhere. Everything from his head to his stomach was gone, leaving his legs to just kind of buckle before falling to the ground.
“I told you I wasn’t bluffing.”
The other two backed away, staring wide-eyed at their friend’s remains.
And that’s when the laughing started. “Oh, yer good,” said Bill, removing the cigarillo from his mouth.
“You like that?” I asked, approaching the wagon
“Nothin’ better than a man following through on a threat. That’s how things get done.” The old man placed the cigarillo back in his mouth, watching me while a cloud of black smoke exited the side of his mouth. “So what do you want, Eno? You come to give me my bottle of chikka?”
“Actually, I got something even better.”
Bill’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought I’d share with you the secret ingredient that makes chikka
chikka
.”
“Secret ingredient?”
“It’s quite something. We just have to go up to my farm —”
“Forget it. I ain’t going to yer farm,” said Bill, crossing his arms.
“Don’t you want to know the secret?”
“Bah! Who cares about secrets when you can just give us one of yer bottles?”
“But that’s just it,” I said, forcing a smile. “After showing you the secret, I was going to present you with a batch of my finest brew.”
Now that seemed to catch the old man’s attention, and he leaned forward, breathing smoke in my face. “It’s better than the stuff I already got?”
“There’s no comparison. This chikka is black. Like ink. And it’ll mess you up. But in a good way.”
“I like the sound of that …”
“You’d be the first person other than me to try it. Even
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doesn’t know about it.”
If bullfrogs could chuckle, that would be the sound that came out of Bill’s throat, and he removed his cigarillo, regarding me with a devilish smile. “Then go get it, boy.”
“Don’t you want to know the secret?” I asked, fighting to remain calm.
“You’re wasting your time, son.”
I spun round to see my dad standing with his arms folded, Jackie beside him. Rosie was there, too, her beastly presence keeping the remaining machete-wielding thugs at bay.
“Can’t you see?” continued my dad. “Bill’s scared. That’s why he doesn’t want to come with you.”
The old man frowned, blowing air dismissively through his lips. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I see you looking at his gun. You’re afraid he’s gonna kill you.”
“Is that what it is?” I asked, turning around. “You think I’m going to try something?”
“I ain’t scared of nothin’. Specially not some skinny Brew-Master.”
“I don’t know. He looks pretty scared to me,” said Jackie. “Of course, I would be, too. David did make his way to the
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building and back.”
“Is that really what it is? You’re scared of me? Wow. That’s kind of funny.”
Bill glared at me, the pillar of fire roaring in the background. “I told you: I ain’t scared of nothin’. But you know what? It’s gettin’ kind of boring sitting here all day. Maybe I will check out this special ingredient of yers. Speaking of scared, you ready to sit next to me, boy?”
Actually I wasn’t. But I’d gone through too much to give up now, and I jumped up onto the wagon bench, allowing the chikka in my system to at least give me the appearance of feeling calm.
With an ear-splitting whistle, Bill yanked the reins, starting the armored wagon to the farm.
“See you soon!” I called, waving to my dad. “Keep dinner warm for me. And don’t forget to tell Mummy I love her!”
So this was it. Gun on my lap, I kept my gaze locked in front of me while the horses trotted down the road. Meanwhile, I could hear Bill’s friend moving inside his cage.
“Don’t think I don’t know what yer up to,” said Bill, breathing smoke in my face.
My heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
“Yer hopin’ that by givin’ me this little tour I’ll spare you and yer family. But don’t you worry. You keep supplying me with chikka, I’ll make sure they stay safe.”
I could feel him grinning at me, and it took everything I had to keep from recoiling in fear.
Less than ten minutes later we were at the farm.
“We’re going to have stop here,” I said, as the wagon pulled into the drive.
“So where’s this secret?” asked Bill, as I jumped to the ground.
“Oh, we’re not there, yet. What I want to show you is way off in the back, back fields.”
“Well, get back on the wagon, then. Cause I ain’t walkin’.”
I shook my head. “It’s too heavy. We couldn’t go two feet without it sinking. We’re going by tractor.”
I could see the old demon didn’t trust me, and he puffed on his cigarillo a while before climbing down to join me in the barn.
“Ever been on a tractor before?” I asked, climbing into my seat.
The old man looked at me, sullen, annoyed.
“Here, why don’t you let me help you?”
But Bill ignored my outstretched hand, preferring to make the climb on his own, standing on the little platform directly behind me.
“Uh, you might want to sit. It gets kind of bumpy.”
“Just start the damn tractor.”
I had to give Bill credit: the old man could balance. He stood the entire way, casually smoking his cigarillo as the tractor rumbled across the soil to the back, back fields. It was distracting, and I found myself constantly checking behind me to see if was still there. But no, he made it, and as I brought the tractor to a stop next to a patch of beets, Bill climbed down from the tractor to look me menacingly in the eye.
“So where’s this ‘secret ingredient’?”
“You’re looking at it,” I said, nodding toward the beets.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“These are sugar beets. They’re what make chikka
chikka
.”
I knew it was the
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programming, or brainwashing, or whatever those bastards did to me, but that beet patch was beautiful. The way the leaves swayed in the wind; it was enough to give me goosebumps. Yet from Bill’s expression you would have thought I’d showed him a lump of dog shit.
“Eno, you better pray that special batch of chikka you promised is as good as you said.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” I said, grabbing my gun from the tractor seat. “But first, I’ve got a little question for you.”
“And what’s that?”
“Do you know someone named Flea?”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I do, the little bitch. Why?”
“She wanted me to give you a message.”
And with those words, I shot Bill in the face.
I’d hoped that would be enough to kill him right there. But as Mr. Winter said, Bill was an interloper, and a powerful one at that, so when he grabbed his face only to reveal nothing had happened, my knees went weak.
“Oh, now you done it,” growled Bill, flashing an evil grin.
A distant howl filled the air, and I staggered back as Bill lit himself another cigarillo. “My friend’s gonna enjoy dealin’ with you. And when he’s done, he’s gonna deal with the rest of yer family, too.”
Bill’s friend was getting closer. The sound it made, screeching and braying. It was horrible, and I glanced at a nearby corn patch, wondering if I should run inside.
“Go ahead! Hide! He’ll still find you!”
I was paralyzed with fear, and all I could do was watch as Bill’s demon galloped into view.
What have I done?
I thought, collapsing on my rear.
It was almost on me, and in a final act of desperation I shielded my face with my arms when a most beautiful thing happened.
Whale song.
It was like time stood still, and all three of us stopped to look in wonder as a whale leapt into the air only to disappear back into the soil a few acres away. And then another whale appeared, and then another, each one closer than the last, until the archangel appeared. He was huge, bigger than I remembered, and as he flew into the sky I had enough time to turn and see the expressions of terror on the demons’ faces. There was no escape. All they could do was stand with their mouths agape as the wrath of the leviathan rained down upon them.
And while they screamed, I thought about how wonderful it was that I was leaving Purgatory behind. No more chikka. No more aliens. No more
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. No more pain. But most of all, I thought about my brother, Sam. It had been such a long time since I last saw him, I couldn’t help but wonder, would he recognize me?
Benedict Martin lives in Ottawa with his beautiful wife and two children. He used to live in Vancouver, but a cheeky genie moved him to Ontario when Benedict asked for some ore in exchange for two wood. Benedict was right peeved. And to top it all off, the genie is no longer answering his phone. So now Benedict has to somehow earn enough money to make the trip back west. (A word of advice, if a genie invites you to play Settlers of Catan, decline)
If you would like to learn more about Benedict and his exile to his nation’s capital, you can visit his website:
http://www.benedictmartin.net
If twitter is more you style, you can follow him @benemartben And finally, if you enjoy liking authors’ Facebook pages, you can like Benedict’s page here:
https://www.facebook.com/BenedictMartinAuthor