David Ohle - The Pisstown Chaos

"It's for the best. You don't want to be in Pisstown if another Chaos breaks out."

"I certainly don't. And please get word to Peters. Tell him I'm going to Square Island and that if any of my grandchildren come home, they should join me there as soon as they are able."

"All right. Will do."

Having time to kill before the train came, Mildred ventured into Hooker Park and looked for a shade tree to nap under. There were stinker families picnicking under most of them, but a cluster of palmettos provided just enough shade for her to lie in and sleep for a few hours.

When she awoke, feeling rested, she looked up to see a young stinker female looking down at her with a curiosity. "How old are you? A hundred?"

"Oh, dear me, yes, a hundred and one at least."

The stinker said, "I've been shifted all over. I'm a thirdstage now. I smell a little. My skin's drying out. I've been traveling with a couple of kindly Americans, the Camulettes. They're in the fourth stage. Come cat with us. We're right over there."

The Americans beckoned Mildred to join them at their table, where a charred imp head sat on a platter. "Come cat with us, there's plenty enough," Mrs. Camulette shouted.

When Mildred came to their table, Mr. Camulette said, "We know you. You're Mildred Balls."

"That's me," Mildred said.

"My name's Charity," the girl said.

Mr. Camulette broke into the imp's head with a hammer and chisel after scraping away some of the char. "Mrs. Balls, do you want some brains?"

"Yes, I'm starved."

"How about a Jake? We've got a whole pitcher mixed up."

"That would be nice. I'm parched, too."

Mrs. Camulette spooned a plate of brains for Mildred and poured her a glass of Jake. "We used to come here before we got infested. It's been wonderful having Charity with us. But we've decided to cash in soon, to have ourselves put down, so we'll have to part ways with her."

"I'll be an orphan again," Charity said.

Mildred was moved to sympathy. "I'll look after you. I've lost track of my own grandchildren. All the shifting, you know."

"I hate myself," Charity said, trying to shed a tear.

"She won't go near a mirror," Mrs. Camulette said.

"There are years left in her," Mildred said. "I could use some help when I get to Square Island. I'll be going there on the 12:10 tonight."

Charity's face brightened. "I'd like that very much."

Sampling a spoonful of brains, Mr. Camulette said, "It's a fortunate thing, running into someone as kind as you, and a person of means, too."

When the Square Island ferry departed that night, there was heavy chop across the Bum Bay Straits. The craft's oak ribs creaked and screamed its entire length as it turtled along at three knots, waiting for the night wind to catch its sails. Mildred and Charity clung to one another for balance at the railing and watched a fogbank slowly swallow Pisstown's yellow glow. "Without wind, or current," Mildred said, "we're like ants on a twig."

"My legs hurt," Charity said. "Look at them." She lifted her skirt to her knees.

Mildred cleaned her spectacles, then looked at Charity's leg with alarm. One of the leg muscles had popped through the skin. "Oh, dear, let's get a bandage on that." She found a clean bandana in her bag and tied the muscle back. "There, now. That will hold it in till we get to the cottage and sew you up."

"It doesn't hurt. It doesn't bleed. Why am I like this, Mildred?"

"Exactly why you're like this is impossible to explain. The one thing I know is, if you keep losing your parts, you'll blow away in the next strong wind. So, let's try to keep you together as much as we can."

"May I ask you a question?"

Any time."

"How will the Camulettes put themselves down? They were so good to me."

"They'll go to a Templex and take a strong dose of willy, then have their hearts injected with formalin, stopping them almost immediately. After that the bodies are flash-dried, ground up and sold as fertilizer. It's one of the Reverend's ideas. Dust thou art to dust returneth, eventually, why not now? All that nonsense."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, dear. Only the Reverend understands."

At the Square Island Terminal, Mildred hired a Q-ped taxi. "To the Balls estate, please. And hurry. The girl has a tear in her leg."

"Yes, Miss, Miss Mildred. Long time, no see."

"I've been at Permanganate Island."

"We don't get much news out here. But I've got some for you. One of the Reverend's companies is mining teeth in your back pasture. Must have been a pretty big burial pit there once upon a time. There's talk of building a plant to process bone into meal there, too. Not to mention the potential for gas."

"That pasture is private property. This is a violation of the law."

"Not any more, Miss. The Reverend bought the Island. But don't worry. You're grandfathered in. You can continue to live on your property. You just can't do any mining. He owns everything under the topsoil, right to the core of the planet."

"Well, Charity," Mildred said, "At least we'll have a roof over our heads."

The clatter of the smoke-spewing, single-stroke, gel-burning engines used in teeth mining could be heard from the back meadow when Mildred and Charity entered the estate grounds, where a pall of exhaust smoke filled the air. "There was a time you could smell the sea from here," Mildred said.

It was difficult to see the main house at all, though a dim light shone in the window of the guest cottage and the moon cast enough light across the orchard to see that the persimmon trees were either dead or dying.

Mildred gasped. "Back then we always got ten or twelve bushels a year from those trees."

Charity said, "I'm like a tree. I hardly feel anything."

Hanging above the cottage entrance was a hand-scrawled sign that read, "Company Store & Diner."

Mildred feared the worst. "Someone's set up shop here, on my very private property. This is not something I'll stand for."

Inside the store, the candle light was dim, the air smoky. A layer of grime, crushed plaster, and tooth powder covered the once-varnished wooden floor. Shelves made of wooden crates had been nailed to the plaster walls. Mostly empty, they were stocked with a few jars of unguent, some bottles of Jake, and a box of starch bars.

"That used to be the dining room," Mildred said. "Every week of the summer there were Balls family dinners served. The big table is gone." Four overturned metal drums were serving as tables now. "This is a sad sight, Charity. Don't mind if I cry."

One corner of the room was partitioned by two quilts hanging from a rope and the scratching of a pen on paper could be heard. Mildred parted the quilts and looked in. A homely young woman sat writing at a desk. Without looking up, she said, "I'll be with you in a minute, as soon as I finish this letter."

"Excuse me, young lady, but-"

"I'm Katie. Katie Binder."

"Nice to meet you, Katie, but-"

"Wait, wait… I'm almost done." She had reached the concluding lines, which she spoke aloud. "I'm going to have to end this, Papa. Some customers have come in. Your loving daughter, Katie.'" The quilts parted and Katie came out. "All right, then. You folks hungry? Tonight we got eel. Pretty good catch this morning. They're fresh."

"Give me a Jake," Mildred said, sitting on a stool beside one of the drums, untying the bandana and carefully peeling it away from Charity's leg. "I don't see any necrosis. That's an encouraging sign. We'll put some unguent on it… I'd like a jar of that unguent, please."

"Coming right up. You two been shifted here?"

"No, no," Mildred said.

"I sure was," Katie said. "Used to be I had a sweet little business curing Jake and willy addicts out in Pisstown. Quite a money maker, too. And I get shifted here to wait tables, breakfast, lunch and dinner, for a stinking crew of teeth miners. Anyway, they already had supper and went back to work. We got a couple of eels left. That's all. I'll warm them up if you want."