Weston Ochse: Blaze of Glory

"Oh yeah."

"We need to get going," Gert said nervously.

Sissy patted Nikki and Little Rashad on their backs. "Come on kids. Get your stuff together."

MacHenry and Sissy finished laying the duct tape and tying the ropes that affixed Grandma Riggs to her chair.

When Buckley tried to stand, he groaned.

"You know? Either she’s heavier or I’m weaker."

"Stop talking like I’m not here," Grandma Riggs said.

They got into formation. MacHenry and Gert took point. Little Rashad held Nikki’s hand, and the pair walked in front of Buckley, still struggling with Grandma Riggs on his back. Sissy brought up the rear, occasionally turning and scanning the street along the length of her rifle. After fifteen feet or so Grandma Riggs kicked Buckley in the back with a heel. "And I ain’t heavier."

Buckley chuckled. "I know Grandma. I know."

Night fell hard on the heels of a caddie going up in flame. Since then, they'd been alternately running and walking, the ocean seeming never to get closer. In the distance, under a cloudless Milky Way sky, they could see several immense caddies grazing on a row of condos.

Other than panting and the occasional curse, Grandma Riggs voice was the only thing they heard.

The old gander's weeping,

the old gander's weeping.

The old gander's weeping,

because his wife is dead.

She died in the mill pond,

she died in the mill pond.

She died in the mill pond,

from standing on her head.

Gert was limping badly. Every time MacHenry tried to help her, she shrugged him off. They fell back to the rear as they argued, trading places with Sissy who took up position in front of the group.

After a few minutes, MacHenry jogged up to Buckley. He grabbed one of Grandma Riggs’ chair legs and lifted it to help Buckley with the load.

"How long do you think?"

"Dunno," Buckley said.

"Mind if we stop for a bit?"

"Don't think so. We need to keep going."

Go tell Aunt Rhody,

go tell Aunt Rhody.

Go tell Aunt Rhody,

the old gray goose is dead.

MacHenry glanced up at Grandma Riggs in irritation, and was confronted by her blind stare. He stopped and let Buckley continue on, the old woman staring and singing. MacHenry couldn't help but believe the song was about him.

Nikki and Little Rashad trudged past him.

"We’re not going to make it," Nikki said.

"Yes we are. Sally told me that even when it seems as if there’s no hope, it’s really there, only invisible."

Nikki shook her head. "There ain’t no such thing as invisible."

"That’s what I told her. And do you know what she said?"

"No. What?"

"She said that a month ago there was no such thing as Maggies." Little Rashad nodded wisely. He adjusted his grip on his trumpet.

Nikki wrinkled her forehead. "What does that prove?"

"Proves things can be invisible."

Half a mile later, they turned onto Highway 74 to Wrightsville Beach. This was the main drag and would take them past Lees Cut to Harbor Island and then to Wrightsville Beach where their optimism rested in the exquisite form of the Atlantic Ocean. But where their trek had been fairly easy going in the city, 74 was packed with wrecked and abandoned cars.

They finally halted near a billboard where a pickup truck had crashed through a smiling skull holding out a cigarette on skeletal arms. The billboard read- CIGARETTES: THE NUMBER ONE KILLER IN AMERICA.

Just as Buckley laughed, Gert stumbled and fell. She grimaced as she tried to stand. MacHenry moved to help her. She grinned miserably as she labored to her feet, then fell again.

"I can’t go any farther," she sobbed. "Something’s wrong. My feet feel funny."

"Oh, Babe," MacHenry said. "You’ve gotta get up. We’re almost there. Hell, you can smell the ocean."

Gert closed her eyes. "I just want to sleep. I want to rest."

"It's almost over, baby." MacHenry whispered, smoothing her hair. "It's almost over.

Little Rashad and Nikki stood closest to the pair.

"He's right," Little Rashad said. "I can smell it, too."

"Reminds me of summer," Nikki said.

Buckley found a curb and squatted. The chair Grandma Riggs was taped to rode so high on his back he was forced to lean a little before the legs met the pavement. When they did he slumped, grateful for the slack and removal of the weight.

"We’ll rest a minute here. Kid, get Grandma some water and then help her with the lighter. I think she needs some more crack. Eyes gotta be hurting her by now."

"Don’t be trying to get me loaded, Mr. Adamski. No matter what you do, I can promise that I do not fornicate on a first date."

Nikki stared in shock.

Sissy, Buckley and MacHenry grinned. Gert shook her head. Little Rashad was so embarrassed a blush crept up his neck.

"So don’t be getting your hopes up," she added.

"I bet you were something in your day, Grandma." To Little Rashad he whispered, "Scratch the crack, Kid. I think she’s had enough. Just give her some water."

"And don’t you be worrying about my eyes. I can see better than I ever. You should attend to Mr. MacHenry. He's about to be thunder whipped."

Buckley frowned as he tried to decipher that last bit.

MacHenry massaged Gert’s shoulders where she lay. He spoke to her both softly and urgently. She shook her head in response, her shoulder's shaking as she sobbed.

Little Rashad arrived with a bota bag of water, which Buckley passed to Grandma Riggs. "How are your lips, kid? I think we’re gonna be needing them pretty soon."

"Okay, I guess."

"Better massage them or pucker them or do whatever you do. When it's time to blow, we're going to need you ready."

Suddenly the sound of laughter interrupted. Buckley and the boy turned to the sounds of Sissy and Nikki giggling by the side of the road, their heads together like school girls.

"She seems nice."

"She doesn’t know much," Little Rashad said.

"Guess you need to show her the ropes."

"I guess I can do that." He turned to look at Buckley. "But…"

"Naw. We ain’t playing with buts . All of us are concentrating on you kids making it. You’re the future."

"Just me and her? Ain’t much of a future," Little Rashad frowned.

"Hey! Your future’s as good-"

Buckley had intended on saying something more, but choked as a Maggie popped through the skin of his esophagus and into his throat. He coughed it into his hand and threw it angrily to the ground where it curled and slithered in the night air. Buckley stomped it dead, smearing it along the ground. Not satisfied, he spat on it for good measure.

Grandma Riggs offered her crack pipe. "Want some of this, boy? It takes away the pain."

Buckley shook his head. "So does a.357 Magnum."

MacHenry rolled a wheel he'd found beside a nearby wreck over to where Gert had fallen. With his help, she managed to sit on the edge of the rubber.

"Jesus, but my feet hurt," she whimpered. "Help me with my boots, baby."

Gert began to unloosen the knots on the work boots, as MacHenry knelt in front of her. He watched as each lace came free, apprehension carving his frown.

From the other side of the street Buckley whispered, "Get ready, Grandma. We’re leaving here in a few minutes."

Another Maggie popped free from Buckley’s scalp. He snatched the nasty thing and flicked it into the open window of a VW Bug. They were coming one right after the other now. It was only a matter of time before he went crazy. He had to watch himself. He'd come along to help everyone. Becoming a liability would ruin it all.

Sissy approached. Glancing at the maggie residue on the sidewalk beside him, she shook her head. "How long?" she asked.