sufficient

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Shamele Gif

Subject: Sufficient (Gay Adult-youth) Sufficient MCVT2017 22 Jan 2022 “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Worry about the future? Survive today. Coming decades bring strange situations, unexpected liaisons in a place once known as Arizona. Fast paced tale of survival and sufficiency. For your reading pleasure at Nifty, please sustain it’s presence fty/ 100% Fiction, adult content, violence, drugs, incest, twink, slavery, romance, survival, courage. Sufficient Tan glow under green sky; sun festered through the soft, yellow-beige distinctly outlining distant mesas. Slate gray clouds encroached from the west. Night wasn’t ready to leave. Yesterday the sun set under an olive green tint. Sky was moody with strange colors; moody as me. Stroppy as me. Maintaining my own life took all my days. Monotonous existence. Old adages like “Halo `round the moon brings storms” were no help. The odd celestial stains signaled more than changing weather. Colors revealed mammoth events afar; never certain what caused the sky’s peculiar hues. I had my suspicions. My bones felt the barometric pressure drop. Rain would delay Ozzie. Two full moons since he last came. Ozzie stopped here with scrap; exchange for a bit of civilization, companionship. Intimacy. Safe here, he could relax for a few days. Where was he? Petroglyphs Dad and I went to Quail Point Park almost every weekend. Between Gila Bend and Phoenix, Quail Point was my favorite place to camp through my childhood. Always reserved cabin 8. Miles of open desert surrounded us and we were close to the petroglyphs. Mysterious symbols told an ancient tale. Dad and I read about the lines and figures. Couldn’t understand their meaning but whatever they defined was dramatic, tumultuous. *** Nature couldn’t take more abuse; all hell broke lose when I was sixteen. We half-ignored the warnings of impending catastrophes, the scale was so great we felt helpless. Like dominoes falling, disasters increased, continued. Dad took me to 8 with all our gear. Said he’d follow. “Stay here. No matter what happens, do not come back to Phoenix.” Prairie fires, forest fires; no fires on the desert at Quail Point. Urban fire caught me by surprise. Glow above the horizon to the northeast. Phoenix burned for several weeks, roiling clouds of black smoke, ashes blew. Air stunk, smells changed through the weeks. Dad never came; were some of those ashes my him? *** Ozzie came my second year at Quail Point. Armed and wary, looking to hide out. I only had a buck knife, hatchet and machete. Yelled at him from a thick stand of ravenna. “No outlaws here. No threats, put your gun away.” “Show your ugly face, ya stinkin’ snake.” Short, square-faced man spat at me, eye scanning the scrub, pistol in hand. Almost a wide as he was tall, muscled, stocky–imposing in only a pocketed vest, jeans and boots. Wisps of orangish-blonde and white hair flew around his head, matted slabs hung down his back. Heavy, pale mutton chops aside of his face hid his ears, thick bushy eyebrows. He looked mean, wild. Then I caught a whiff of him. Phew. Took a while, but I bribed him to put his gun away. “I got food. Bet you’re hungry.” Later, “Must be tired from the heat. Got cool, sweet water–all you want.” Kept at him until he lowered his gun. “C’mon, I haven’t had anyone to talk to for over a year. Tell me what it’s like out there. Anything left in Phoenix?” Offer of someone to listen worked. Old men need attention. *** Ozzie was a finder. Found scrapped junk people needed, bartered for what he needed. Had and electric van with solar panels inside. He’d park and recharge, that’s why he was in Quail Point. Thought no one lived here. Could have stolen his ingenious transportation but anyone who saw it wanted it as well. Rechargeable transportation was scarce. Kept himself armed to avoid a hijacking. *** The year before he came it rained buckets. Kudzu vines took over the desert blanketing the landscape in green. Oaks and pines, dandelion, blackberries, grasses encroached quickly. Animals too, though mostly smaller mammals. Deer came for easy eats; raptors returned. Bugs appeared, mosquitoes too. Darn it. Chopped greens while rabbit jerky stewed. Tossed in nopales, a few wild onions. Smelled good after I thickened it with mesquite bean flour and tiny peppery seeds. Ozzie sat near the fire. Told me of the almost complete destruction, rapidly spreading diseases to the northeast: “Maybe a coupla thousand left in Phoenix proper, half stay hidden. No more women. No children. Don’t know where they are… only men. Queer’s the necessary norm.” He chuckled. That eliminated my stress about coming out. It’s A Deal Next morning Ozzie was up early. Through almost-closed eyes, I watched him come inside. Began inspecting my cabin; I didn’t move. He didn’t touch anything but surprised me when he leaned near my bunk, “Some animal scratch these logs?” Ran his finger along the small nicks on the logs over my bed. My scrapes, dots and charcoal swipes went all the way around the cabin. “Days, weeks… today’s Tuesday,” I got up and went to the end of the marks, “March fifteenth.” “Who cares?” He handed me a can. Coffee? “You’re giving this to me?” “Hate the stuff.” He turned, “Thanks for dinner.” Cup of coffee in hand, I cleared the table and brought out my wind-up radio. “Only get a two stations when conditions are right.” He wired my antenna to his van. Intently listened to the fuzzy voice from a station out of Tucson. Announcements about new sink holes and road fractures. Read the list of the dead found the night before. “Spotted sickness and gunshots….” “You need more equipment. I’ll see what I can find.” Ozzie offered. “Can’t pay.” “Money’s no good. Barter for a bath?” So began our relationship. In exchange for access to clean water, news and shelter from thugs, he would bring books, equipment for the radio. *** That afternoon I took him to the pool. Pushed the vines aside and showed him my bath. With only a shovel, I’d expanded a rivulet to a deep depression lined with smooth stone and sand. Made a drain to the side. Diverted water to meet the stream again further down the slope; tadpoles hatched in my bath. Large flat rock near the water, that’s where I washed my rags and blankets. Dried them over the bushes. Scrubbed myself and rubbed my skin with herbs growing nearby. Hated stinking. Oz stripped and joined me grinning. Lay on his back and floated in the cool water. I began slinging his filthy jeans against the rock. Glancing sideways I noticed his groin hair was pale, thick. Damn fine dick, too. Tempting. My rod stiffened; Ozzie saw it. “I’m choicey about who gets any of me.” He shot me an evil look. “Yeah, why’s that?” “Nunya damn business.” Shot me a hard look, “Don’t even try.” Took the afternoon to check his van, naked in the sun. Not many moving parts on an electric vehicle. He had replacement parts, tools. Some of his ratchets, wrenches had dark stains, tufts of fur stuck to them. Slapped my back several times, thanked me again and said he’d bring what he could find for the radio. “Cable and poles, if I find some. Need a bigger antennae.” *** Through the next year Ozzie showed up every full moon, said he didn’t want to be in town for the sacraments. Periodically the largest guy left standing in Phoenix appointed himself a prophet or god. Claimed the rabble left as his, taxed them for anything they had of value. Rounded up and forced his people to participate in fights to the death, orgies, whatever entertained him. To entice the men to participate, demigods said their drugs would cure them. Diseases reduced the population every few months. Men were emaciated, angry, scabby and horny. Hope, bowls of boiled unidentifiables and drugs were offered every twenty-eight days. “It’s the only diversion left.” Ozzie shook his head then giggled. Began laughing so hard he had to go outside. Monthly, Phoenix devolved into a frantic melee. New guy on the throne grew strong herb, mixed it with psilocybin and enjoyed his adoring throng find ways to kill themselves, each other and their apparitions. He had a sadistic penchant for watching their mad fears enacted. Recruited a band of thugs to rouse their panic repeatedly. Maybe that was doing the survivors a favor. From Ozzie’s description, Phoenix’ residents didn’t have much more to lose. Most had lost their minds already. *** Buckeye was where Ozzie resided before hell broke loose. Tony suburb outside Phoenix; said it was a ghost town now. Oz scrapped a lot of junk from the ritzy homes and upscale shops. Buckeye wasn’t disturbed by the ruffians from Phoenix, too far to loot properly. Currently, Ozzie kept himself at his Montezuma Peak hideout. Set up a tent near the base of the mesa. Boy-boy Between full moons, I cleared the table, brought all the electronics, got the old water-stained book out. For hours, I searched for a radio station. Needed to hear a human voice even if it announced dismal news. Life was hard here. Ozzie and I planned to leave together, find a place without the desperation, without the strange illnesses, craziness and crime. We discussed an old farm or rural church with a graveyard. Farm, hunt to keep ourselves. Fantasized about him when he was gone. Yes I did, shot loads thinking of him. Took me a whole year to raise the courage to kiss him. Reticently, we began a different relationship. His hard-edged ways softened. Came to find he suspected me of perversity with wildlife, the reason for his sexual reticence. Knowing him better, I got a feeling that came to mind from his own predilections. Knew he liked me, enjoyed our time. Loved, needed him and I knew he’d never love me. I was a convenience with clean water. Another full moon came. Chewed on jerky, made tea and stood at the doorway, watching the stars. Jacked off, remembering his potent scent. *** Pitch black when I heard something hard hit the roof, the outside wall of the cabin; window panes rattled. Guts tensed into a knot, I got up, sneaked a look from beside the sill. Glint of light, rustling in the weeds. “Samson–” Ozzie’s voice. Felt for the flint, lit a ball of kindling, tossed it in the fireplace, stacked logs. Back at the door, I saw a small light down by the wash. Phones no longer worked, the light did. “Samson, get down here.” Tripped several times running to him. He was bent over with a bulky load. Big olive-green bag strapped to his back. “Can’t hold him much longer.” Grabbed the load. Clunky, felt like a limp body. Not so heavy; eighty, ninety pounds. A deer, a dog? He guided me back to the cabin, trudging through the vines and weeds. “Best find I’ve ever come across.” Said as he stepped over the threshold. *** Ozzie stripped quickly, fell onto my cot exhausted. “He was breathing when I put him in the bag.” Voice trailed off while I took the bag to the hearth. Carefully, I opened it to find a boy. A small boy around eight or nine years old with a leather thong around his hips, narrow loincloth threaded between his legs, a rope around his neck. Dark, tightly waved hair, tied back; tanned skin stretched over his bones. He shivered. Lay him near the fire, brought water. Touched the cup to his lips. No response but he was breathing. Found a knot on the back of his head, wiped the dried blood off his neck. Wiped his face, heard a small grunt. “You’re gonna be okay.” His eyes barely opened. Sloe-eyed boy. Beautiful; slight epicanthic fold, smooth skin and full lips. Looked indigenous, maybe Latino. His face reminded me of my middle school photos. Put his bag in front of the fire and lay down. Aligned the boy on top of me, face at my neck. Had to know if he stirred. Ozzie got up before dawn, saw the boy and me, “Don’t get any ideas. He’s mine.” *** Noticed Ozzie’s face was swollen, fat lip, bruises. “What happened?” “Got ambushed at my tent. Took out through the mesas–five days and nights on foot. Got to the highway and caught a ride. These guys, two of `em, gave us bottles of water, then the passenger grabbed a rope. Gonna tie us while we drank. Probably wanted to sell us in Tucson or Nogales.” He looked at the boy, “I got loose, found the door handle, pulled it open and shoved the brat out. Grabbed a length of pipe rolling around in the back and went after the driver and his friend. They’re dead. Have to go back and burn everything tomorrow.” “Who’s the kid?” “Don’t know. He watched my camp for several days, followed me through the mesas. Musta been scared by the thugs that came for me. Circled back and caught him. Collared him so he wouldn’t run. He doesn’t like me for some reason.” Ozzie lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Been nothing but trouble.” He hunched his hips a few times. “What are you going to do with him?” “Sell him for a van, or horses. We gotta get outta here, it’s getting worse.” “I’ll get the radio.” Placed the boy on the bag near the fire. Didn’t like the idea of trading the kid. Living a better life while the kid suffered would wear on me. He’d be a sex slave; probably die early from it. “Don’t barter the boy. He might help us.” Oz snorted, turned away. *** “Samson. That’s my name.” I pointed to my chest. “Boy… Boy….” The kid mouthed his name was Boy-boy. Put him on my bed that first day. No food, he only sipped water. Ozzie came in while I sat with the boy, inspecting his bones for a break, checking the bump on his head. The kid was watchful, especially toward Ozzie. Didn’t want to be left alone. Snapped his fingers, tried to raise himself. Something odd about Boy-boy. Weak, thin, yet there was a spark in his eyes occasionally as though he’d recognized something about me or the cabin. Hadn’t seen him smile yet, but he showed some trust in me as I continued to bring water, spoon-fed him the next few days. Swallowing was hard for him. That night Ozzie jerry-rigged a hammock by the window, pointed to Boy-boy, then the hammock. Boy-boy crawled into it. Oz got in next to me. Loud, noisy sex all night. Great sex; fast, hard sex. Fucked myself raw. Boy-boy watched. His eyes stayed on us, occasionally flashing in the moonlight. *** Three days passed. I pulled on Boy-boy’s arm. He needed to get up. Seemed a little dizzy at first, but began crab-walking along the walls. Inside first, then outside. Got his bony legs back under him. Ate more. Took him with me to harvest what we could find, check the traps as soon as he showed more interest. Not sure why he was so shaky, dizzy. The bump on his head wasn’t big. Boy-boy came to the table and watched Ozzie and me tune the radio, listening for information outside Arizona. Oz talked of going east soon, “Trouble seems to follow me.” Though the southern US had a bad reputation about how they treated homos before, that was probably gone now. Boy-boy listened. Kept his squinted eyes on Ozzie. *** We all stunk; pulled Boy-boy along to my bath. Untied his loincloth, undressed myself. Eased him into the cool water while he looked in my eyes fearfully. “It’s okay. Stand up. Wash yourself.” Gently splashed water on him. Dunked my head and pushed my hair back. “Wash yourself. Clean up.” Pulled the short string that kept his hair back, and picked the leaves and twigs out while he stood still. “Wash your dick, your butt.” I splashed more water on his shoulders. He was up to his chest, unafraid yet unmoving. Kept at him until he rubbed water on his face unenthusiastically. Ozzie shoved they boy’s head under the water, held it there, “Gotta learn to obey.” He held the boy’s head under till the kid struggled. Oz’ other hand went to the boy’s groin, roughly grabbing the small package. Pushed Ozzie aside, “Leave him alone.” Wasn’t sure what happened between Boy-boy and Ozzie, couldn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. Hit the Road Took several weeks for the boy to get himself together, still didn’t speak. ardahan escort Only gave me a few gestures. When he went outside, I could hear him whistling to the birds. Went further every day. Sometimes he came back wet; bathed alone. During this time Ozzie devised a plan. He scrapped the van they came in, cleaned out the pockets of the dead. Burned the bodies. “You know, if we could get another vehicle, we could leave. “Boy-boy’s gonna make that happen.” He described this: Boy-boy would stand on the side of the highway naked, lure a driver to pull over. Ozzie and I would overtake the driver and passengers. Carjack. “Only one or two cars a month. May not get a van.” Tilting my head, “What if they don’t stop?” “Cut kudzu vines, wrap them around pieces of barbed wire, lay them on the road ahead. Camouflaged spike strip.” “What if they grab Boy-boy and hold him hostage till we let them pass?” “I’ll make sure that won’t work.” He patted the bulge in his vest pocket. “If they leave with him, I’ll give them less than a quarter mile running on flats.” Stepped closer to me, “The older I get the less time I have to fuck around. Get the goods and go, th’ hell with anyone in my way.” “What are we going to do with the driver, anyone with him?” “Tie `em to a fence post, let them figure out their futures.” He winked, “If they’re fresh, I’ll sell `em with Boy-boy. Two-fer, three-fer deal if we’re lucky.” Standing tall, unafraid, the Boy-boy came, stood right in front of Ozzie. The kid shook his head and raised his skinny fist and glowered. Spit in Ozzie’s face and ran away. “Ungrateful cur!” Enraged, Oz ran after him, yelling, cursing. “You’re gonna pay for that.” Boy-boy was nimble, quickly climbing through the boulders, through the scrappy trees. Skinny brown legs were agile on the rough terrain. Like a lizard, he jumped from one boulder to another on the side of the mesa. Outcropping lay ahead, shallow ledge. Several pines held on for life there. I watched Boy-boy climb the largest tree, got about four feet above the ground. Moved through the tree limbs then hid, pulling back a thick lower limb to hide himself. Ozzie was on the last steep stretch, feet sent pebbles from the wash flying behind him. Cursed the kid as he came to the ledge. Head down, to avoid the flying sand and pebbles, I followed. “Get out here Boy.” Then everything became quiet. As I came to the outcropping, I saw Ozzie reach to his vest as he neared the trees. “No, Ozzie!” Pistol glimmered in the sun. Whoosh! Boy-boy let his bent limb fly over the narrow ledge hitting Ozzie square on the side of his head. Thwump. Ozzie stumbled, dropped his gun. Off balance, he teetered on the edge; fell. Body hit the rocks below. Lay spread eagle, blood running from his ear. Hurried back down, “Ozzie!” Slid part of the way down, stood over his body. Knelt, fingers on his jugular. No pulse. A shadow appeared beside mine over Ozzie’s body. Boy-boy. He held the gun gingerly by the handle, gave it to me. Covered Ozzie’s body with rocks, leaves, left it to the bugs and the sun. Too disturbed to do anything else. *** My wariness about Boy-boy changed when he began communicating. Didn’t speak but took a charred bit of kindling and wrote on the floor. Four letters; B-O-Y-D. He pointed at his skinny chest. “Your name’s Boyd?” He nodded, then wagged his index finger in my face. Shook his head and I could read his lips saying Boy-boy was not a name he liked. “I like Boyd, strong name.” Still curious, “Why don’t you use your voice?” He went to my radio, picked up a wire and showed me. Someone had put a wire around his neck and twisted it. “Ozzie?” His face froze, tears streaked his cheeks. Wrapped my arms around him “You don’t need a voice for me.” *** Went to Ozzie’s stash from the van. Found a big bag of fish net, thin plastic. Stream wasn’t big enough for large fish. Boyd wanted it. Found the wallet of one man. Several photos inside, a family. Boyd’s took it, inspecting the old images. “Do you know them?” He shook his head, tapped his chest with is fist. Told me the incident in the van terrified him, I guessed. Maybe the faces of the photos reminded him of someone. *** Our lives twined through the days, I had someone to talk to as we made a routine to keep ourselves fed. Devised a crude sign system as we foraged and checked traps. Boyd was a quick study cleaning and gutting the rabbits and squirrels we caught. Respected him as he took a share of the work silently. Bright boy, but peculiar. Didn’t like being touched, though he slept with me on cool nights. His expressions warned me about any ideas I might have. Through the next year we began sensing each other’s thoughts. A small hum began in my head, almost like Boyd and I were on the same frequency; private radio waves between us. *** The petroglyphs were on a rise. We went often, he touched the scratches, then he spit on his finger and rubbed the scrapings. Showed me there were more lines and drawings, faint but more indecipherable information than visible at first glance. Soon, I lost my partner. Boyd visited the petroglyphs daily. While he was gone, images of native men on pinto ponies riding the prairies came to my head. Drums pounded softly behind my thoughts, scenes of cleaning deer, roasting meat and hungry faces came. Those were Boyd’s imaginings. Rains came. Almost monthly by my wall calendar. Rain made mud but brought out sprouts from dormant seeds. Grasses covered the last stretches of barren sand, peeked out from between rocks. Shale and sandstone crevices burgeoned with green life. Rains and coyotes removed the last of Ozzie. Can’t say it upset me. Life probably wouldn’t have been better with him; mercenary man. Built a small fire where he died, smudged the ashes in the shape of an O; I’d loved him for a while. *** Two years passed quickly, Boyd grew taller, more handsome and still a boy. Still silent. Migrating birds brought wild grapes to compete with the kudzu. Picked and ate as I felt a small tremble under my feet. Another shake, stronger; my butt hit the ground hard. Ignored it, nothing else I could do. Remembered Boyd — ran toward the petroglyphs. Loud whistles; two fast bursts meant come. Met me on the trail, frightened. Ground shook all afternoon, momentary trembles. Tremors became stronger. Shook the walls of the cabin; dust rained down on us. Ran outside and threw together a lean-to, waited it out. Night was eerie, not a breeze or an animal stirred. V’cabularious Heavy purplish-gray clouds boded storms. Got the radio out, tried to find a station when I heard soft barks in the distance. Coyote? Got up, scanned the horizon. Nothing. Heard barking again. Woke Boyd, “Coyotes calling, get up.” Left for the pond. Heard a bellow — sounded like a steer. It stopped. Was I hallucinating? Went back to the cabin. Boyd had left for the petroglyphs, I took a sling and my hatchet, machete. Gathered wood remembering how steak tasted. Down in a gully looking for grapes when I heard Boyd’s whistles. His thin silhouette stood on a boulder, pointing to the south. Soon he was beside me, mimed washing himself. *** “The pond?” We followed the rustling sounds near my pool to find a curious sight: From the scrub, we watched a narrow man in a wide brimmed hat accompanied by an ugly, fat cow and a skewbald mutt drinking at the stream. I saw a year of food in that bovine. Dog was wide at the gut. The man was skinny. Odd threesome. The cow pulled a small cart piled high with bags. Wheels squeaked, bags tottered, held by rough, irregular ropes. “Peeker-sneakers. Come out. I know you’re swatching me.” The man opened his arms wide toward us. “Stay here. I’ll see if he’s armed.” sent to Boyd. Circled around, didn’t see any guns, knife. “Whadda want?” “Looking for the Com-Promised Land.” He laughed. Didn’t notice the colorful dog had left. The mongrel was sniffing the weeds where I left Boyd. “Gentile-ly, `Hopey. An’ look, I’m open-handled, m’man.” He said, sizing me up for weapons. “Fag lunch in that sling?” Let it fall by my feet. “No.” Did he mean bag lunch? “Saw your tad up on the rocks eye-frying us. His lips make a mighty whiffle.” He smiled. “Brink, `Hopey.” He commanded the dog. “Hopey — like the Hopi people? Did you see any of the tribe?” “Nah, my pupper’s name, Calli’hopey. Like wheezers in the old circuses. `Member?” He winked, snapped his fingers. The dog was pulling on the front lap of Boyd’s loincloth, dragging him forward. Boyd walked stooped over trying to pull his cloth back. He looked up at me and gestured holding a baby in his arms. Pregnant? That weird cow, too. “Your livestock about to give birth?” “Any rhyme now; `s been slow goin’.” He laughed “Shoulda seen Cowison. Lifted her tail for any hard flick. Buffalo, mangy steers, all came for a piece of cowreeny. Whole heard of horny, hoofed suitors kept futtin’ my four-legged sloot. Emberellished me, but she was proud of herselfishy-ness.” Took me a second to process…. “She’s part bison, I figure, part milky cow. Only thing I know for sure is she’s knockered up. Good thing West Texas is grassland now. New Mexico, too.” “Where are you from?” “Chatter-noogie. Been there?” Chuckled, “Chattanooga? No.” “It’s sandy now, all desert to the grulf. Blackish water.” “You mean brackish water?” “Nah. Off-shorn rigs busted up, and with the fracking and all, everything got greasered when the oceans rose. Land, plants, all clovered with thick globs of crude-illion. Mean, nasty refried-beings live there.” “Crude oil.” I mumbled. Guy seemed intelligent, but his strange vocabulary thwarted my getting a good read on his intent. “Why’re you here?” “On my way to the great Imperialistical Valley. Planting corn all the way in case I have to reface my steps. I’ll have virctuals.” He reached under the tarp covering the cart, pulled out an ear of corn. Wasn’t yellow or white, but multi-colored. Thick, long cobs with large kernels. “Gonna plant some here?” “Yep, and got some risey-gnomes for the stream. Kittytails–good eating. Fibers make rope along with hemp-perty strinks.” He slipped his finger under the ropes on his cart. Cattails; rhizomes. Wished I’d paid more attention in school. He had hemp seeds? “You’re interlopers here. Don’t bother us and don’t linger. You can stay for a few days, plant your seeds, then be gone.” “Begat and begone. I know that pass-uage well.” *** Over dinner and late into the night half-crazy Homburg explained he’d poled across the Mississippi. Strapped together a raft with a sail. Explosions from Yellowstone, deep underground, changed the course of the rivers. The mighty Mississip overflowed its banks, floodplain covered most of the southern US. High points became islands, “Heard tell the whole o’ Floor-eeda is now Easy-keyzy Wes’.” Leaning back, he rubbed his eyes, “When I finally got to the shore in San Anton, saw miles of skel-ip-tons on the road. One with his kittio still in his arms. Musta bean’a quick-a-lamity, water rose and fell faster than a one-minty mile. Stunk worse than their re-oilfineries did.” “The Big Heave.” That’s what Homburg called it. Like the Gulf of Mexico convulsed and vomited in response to the other geographic disruptions across the continent. The heaving continued globally, nuclear plants exploded. Crust of the earth cracked. San Andreas finally split; the last newscast I could recall said there wasn’t much left to the west of the Rockies. “Did you feel the tremblinks `bout a week ago?” I nodded. “Wonder what else exo-ploded….” Hyper-cock-afilia Heavy rain that night brought Homburg in the cabin after we nailed the tarp to the side of the cabin; Shelter for the Cowison. `Hopey lay at the hearth, drying her coat. Boyd pulled the burrs from her fur, rubbed her muzzle. Magical to pet her belly, feel the puppies moving; eyes wide, he grinned. We told tales of our pasts. Mine was limited compared to Homburg’s. He spoke of strange kinds of destruction, the earth swallowing so much, landfills exploding, flash floods and fires. Levees and dams cracked, gave way. “Gran’ Coulee’s in crumbs, Hoover ain’t hovering n’more.” Told us of a few loony survivors he’d met. One, sounded familiar: “Devil’s dinkle-berry, he was….” He described meeting a man at the Texas-New Mexico border. The man was hauling dope and hooch. “High moon-shinery. We got freelaxed. Screwed me like a lunatickler with his pistoletta aimed at my ear. Soon as he splurged, he bonkered me on the head. Tried to tie me, said I’d love Old Mexi-coco.” Sounded like Ozzie. Boyd and I mentally agreed to stay silent about Ozzie. Avoiding further discussion on that matter, I told him what I’d heard about Phoenix. “Probably nothing but dust now.” Told them how I loved the city when I was kid, biking down by Salt River, rock climbing, friends…. Blinked back my tears. I missed my dad. Boyd cried with me. Long silence as Homburg watched us. “Emo-miasmo! Your father didn’t die. Everythink he taught you is still loving you, keeps you alife now.” Homburg startled us. Stood, came to me, put his arm around Boyd and me, “Go back. Find something from him; humans need to touch the reallyness of their remem-berries.” “Go back to Phoenix?” I thought, remembering our house, the neighborhood, the trees, smell of dinners cooking as I skateboarded in the evenings. Boyd heard my thoughts, glanced at me. “I won’t leave you.” He let me kiss his forehead. *** Goofball Homburg and his animals became a warm reprieve from our harsh lives. Homburg scythed grasses for Cowison, helped me around the place. Work went faster, we had time for entertainment after dinner. He sang old melodies, folk tunes and children’s songs. Taught Boyd a jig. “What did you do before The Big Heave? Were you an entertainer?” I asked. He laughed hard, “I was a professor of English at a big universalissimo. Play the idiot to protext myself. Most ignore me, thinking I’ll go full-blast at any moment.” He winked, “Sabby, hungry-cito?” Smiled and nodded. This was no dolt bunking with us. *** “Hyper-cocka-filia” he called it. Meant horny, needing sex with another person, the warmth of another’s skin. I was hyper-cocka-filic big time. Day and night. Bathing, Homburg told me to stop giving him the come-wither looks. “Stop it or get withered.” “Yeah?” Being in a capricious mood, “Wither me please.” We raced to the cabin. Taller than me and skinny, with a slender cock, he had a foreskin that coyly covered a huge knob. Long, dark balls. Homburg was a slow, easy man in the sack. Took his time, lots of kisses. He rubbed his face along my chest, my neck; hands at my butt, massaging, teasing. Kept softly crooning a slow, sad tune about champagne and a thousand Julys. Vibrations in his chest, his voice caused me to fold underneath him, calves on his shoulders, looked into his eyes as he smiled and sang. Eased himself in, kissed me and the tempo of his breathing increased. Said I needed some Chuckle-berry: “Not hungry.” Splooge, I needed to splooge lots. “…As I was motorvatin’ over the hill, I saw Maybellene in a Coupe DeVille. Nothin’ outrunin’ my V8 Ford….” Staccato thrusts, hard, deep. Deeper. Grunts replaced ancient rock and roll lyrics. His sweat and my juice filled my navel, dripped down my sides. Out of body, I became an unmoving blob–high on him as the harshness of life vanished with every hurried stroke. “More. Harder.” Palms on the logs over my head, he tilted his head back and rammed. Then began a nasal moaning–it rose, louder, higher until it grew to a throaty howl. Yipping and thrusting frantically. He kept going, squishing out his cum, it ran down to my tailbone, cooling quickly while I shot a load over his chest, spotting the path of dark hair running down to his groin. He fell, still. Silent but for his rapid breaths. “Had a f’mahley artvin escort at one time. It was never that good.” As we cooled off, he told me he had children. Felt his tears on my neck. Not sure how to calm him until, “Klesmer-miasmur, Homburg. They’re still inside you, loving you.” He was quiet for a moment then burst into laughter, “They are. Yes, every past-one of them.” Didn’t want him depressed. I wanted more of the satisfaction he’d just given me. Wasn’t long before Boyd came and shooed Homburg to the hammock. Silent discussion on sex and love. “That sounded mean.” “No one got hurt. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Can’t say I did a good job with my explanation. Said love fed your spirit and sex was for your body. When they came together, life was great. “It only sounds mean.” He didn’t believe me. *** Three of us discussed the pros and cons of going to Phoenix. There were things we needed to keep ourselves and the animals fed. Boyd wanted a quail coop, he needed screening, hardware. Using the fish net, he cast it over grass seeds he’d scattered when the little birds came to eat. Sometimes he got lucky but not often. Long discussion continued late into the night. Decided this: Homburg would go back into Phoenix, leave his livestock with us. He knew as much as we did about birthing. “Let `em do it themselfs. Instinct as mid-fife.” I wrote down the address to my home, “If there’s any street signs left. It’s a white stucco with a red tile roof….” Needed something from my dad, anything to feel the reallyness of him. Memories began feeling like faint imaginings. Faded, they became distant, leaving a trail of despair through me. Underneath Boyd wrote “Saw-whet.” Wouldn’t explain it. *** Gave him Ozzie’s pistol, jug of water and jerky. Homburg began walking “as the bro flies,” he said. Three days walk to reach the outskirts of Phoenix. We missed the strange man. Oddly, Cowison’s bellowing for food, the dog watching me cook changed our perspectives. They needed us. Welcome reasons to wake and hustle though our tasks, especially when I carved a corncob pipe and hemp-inated myself first. *** Cut grass and drug it back to Cowison’s lean-to shed. Within the week, she gave us a heiferison. Amazing how that happened. Big-headed calf, Boyd named her Moo-nessa. Boyd wanted a pup. Excited, he hovered around the `Hopey, wanting to see the puppies born. `Hopey. What a lot of work. She ate everything. Went out with Boyd daily checking the traps. Gave her lots of squirrel and rodent meat, she wanted more; looked like she would explode soon. Bed of straw near the hearth, she birthed silently while we slept. Four mottled, gray mutts. Boyd named them One, Two, Three and Ten. Ten was the runt, he thought a larger number would make the small pup grow bigger. Every day we checked the corn, bean and squash mounds. They were coming up strong, green, standing proudly. Hemp was thick and strong. Kept it near the cabin, trimmed it often. Boyd took the machete to gather yucca leaves for fibers. I stripped them while he showed me how Homburg taught him to twist it together into rope. Several coiled lengths soon hung on the wall. Busy feeding and caring for livestock, forgot about Homburg until early one morning I heard a gunshot. Jumped up. Another ka-pow in the distance. That had to be Homburg but I was leery. It could be trouble as well. *** Wasn’t only Homburg pulling a cart. Behind was a smaller cart, a girl pulled it, tall as me, slender, wearing a wide, flowered hat and a long dress. Of course, Boyd and I had to inspect this curiosity. He ran toward them. We’d not seen a woman or girl since the Heaves. She had curly red hair cut short flying around her head. Voice was soft and high. Not so pretty, but different; pleasant to the eye. “Meet my Virgie-girl. The women didn’t want her `round–she’s no good to them.” Homburg smiled. We thought the women and girls had all died. “No good to them?” “Hard work ruins Virgie’s skin.” He lifted and kissed the girl’s smooth, pale hand. “You mean there’s women in Phoenix?” “They burrowed under Saddleback, got a big complex, cool and dark. Dug wells in there. Got a whole system for repopcorn-ating the planet. Yep, did it by raping the last of the men. The guys who survived the madderning times, the best of the lot.” He shook his head and grinned. He grinned, “We’re taking the ranger’s station for our honeymoon cottage, neighbor.” Private, yes, but the old ranger station listed to the side, vines and plants overran the structure. *** Excited at meeting someone new, Boyd grabbed the girl’s hand. He wanted her to see the puppies. That left Homburg and me to pull the carts back. As we walked he described a different Phoenix, “Huge stink hole. Everything charred, black around it.” He shook his head. “Found a saloon, several old guys playing cards. I think they were at an old country chub.” “Did you see my dad there? Samson Sayers?” “Don’t tink so.” He explained, “Gotta v-stand, these guys were eu-knuckled. Still ruptset about it.” Eunuchs? “Are you… Did you get cut?” “Made a deal. In exchange for my huevo-litos I’d take their peachy-buttina off their hands.” “What? How…” “Later, later.” He sniffed my hair, “Been hemp-inating?” He gave me a wink, “Got some reallyness for you and Boyd.” Long haul back to my cabin with those carts, but he’d brought tools and bolts, screws, lots of things. He gifted me with a red plastic lunchbox, with a cartoon design. Popular icons of my time as a kid. Inside were a child’s report cards with L. Marcelo’s grades. Marcelo was not a bright student. Pair of pink boxers, small. Maricopa county jail issue? This wasn’t my reallyness, only brought a few memories of the smell of apples and soggy pizza in a noisy lunchroom. *** Roasted corn and squirrel outside as Homburg told the details of his trip: Ambushed as he coursed the big sinkhole and charred ruins of downtown Phoenix. Captured, tied and taken behind, then underneath Saddleback. Described deep caves, secured by women with military arms. Told of the pools, stores of food, caches of tools and hundreds of women and children. Pleasant Lake nearby; sweet water for growing food, he said. “They got all kinds of food, herps.” Spoke of camouflaged watch towers, women kept an eye on Phoenix. They’d seen the population decrease. Sent scouts out in the night bring back supplies, washed them thoroughly, disinfected. They waited for the prophets to burn themselves and the population out. When the hiders emerged; women got a fix on them, raped then castrated them. “Needed a healthy, diverse gene poon, no repeaters.” “Whew, that musta been nasty. Those were the men in the saloon?” “Yep, very quiet men they were. Knew everyone who came through, warned `em.” “They raped you too?” “Turned me into a splooge-o-matic.” Half smile, glancing at the ceiling. “I begged for my life. Made a deal with them, I’d take Virgie-girl, take care of her. Had to swear to never return to Phoenix.” “Hmm.” Mysterious explanation; Virgie was no good to them? “Plenty of work surviving. Virgie, she’s too young to work?” “I’d say my gal’s plenty o’ twenty. Born during one of the Heaves; stunted but stunning wouldn’t you agree?” He called the girl to him and patted his lap. “Virgie didn’t take well to heavy labor with her side-wise inclinations. Can I show them your jimmy-gems?” Whispered to Virgie. She nodded. Lifted her long skirt. A small penis, scrotum lay in a scanty patch of pale pubes. “Darlink, ain’t she?” Boyd was watching, he sat on my lap and pushed his loincloth to the side. Boyd was a sizable young man. At around thirteen; his junk was the same size as Virgie-girl’s and he wasn’t finished growing. “Darling.” Chagrin, my last designs on Homburg were dashed. “She wanted to come with you, live out here?” “Yupperiño. Wanted a man of her own. Not possible at Saddleback, no pretty-pets allowed.” *** Dark thoughts came that night. Waves of loneliness washed through. “Just a boy to keep me company… if Boyd finds a wanderer, he’ll leave.” Boyd needing me for a few more years salved part of that hurt but not all of it. Got up and lit my corncob pipe, absconded my brain. *** Virgie-girl could cook, had a lot of strange domestic skills. We shared our food; scrappy diet tasted better eating with neighbors. Planted a bigger garden, they’d bought more seeds. I’d forgotten the sharp-sweet taste of tomatoes, crunch of zucchini. Generous they were, for use of my bath. My personal hemp patch: High grade Mimosa, Homburg said. It became the center of my life. Weeks of sunny days stopped, but not by rain. Tremors still came, skies rained ashes. These were different. When these ashes got wet, they solidified as they dried, like cement. Volcanic ash from the south. Had to rinse the garden several times; fine silvery dust coated the leaves and blossoms. Took several hours to clean my hempola. Saw-whet Around six full moons after Homburg brought Virgie-girl, I thought I saw a distant fire at dawn. Toward the north east. Ran to get Homburg, “Someone’s coming from Phoenix.” He smiled, “Reallyness arrives.” “Whadda ya mean? I saw a fire at dawn. Someone’s out there. He could be armed.” “Maybe, but he’s no threat.” He left to feed Cowison and her calf. “Who’s coming?” I called after him. He didn’t explain himself, chuckled as he walked away. *** Sneaked near where I saw the fire. Circled to the east. Found a man, fully clothed in camo, boots. Pulled a skid with a white box, like a small refrigerator. On the edge of the box, a several mourning doves rode, glancing to the sides rapidly. Must have sensed me, “Who’s there? Come out.” Unperturbed, his voice was slow. Wide shouldered man, taller than Homburg stood still, listening. Aviator sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat; couldn’t get a fix on where he was looking. Didn’t appear to have a gun, but he wore a vest with filled pockets. Circled around behind him as he secured his load on his cart, spread out the ashes from his fire; packed his gear. Then I saw it. He had a sling shot, the rubber straps dangled from his hip pocket. Since it wasn’t in his hand, “Whadda want here?” Without looking up, “My son.” Residual hemp juice coursed with adrenaline. Memories flooded through my head, all the affection, my dad’s tenderness. How much loved me, all his patience and kindness. Eyes burned, voice wavered, “Dad?” “Come here son. How I’ve missed you.” He stood with his arms opened. Stepping out of the scrub, “Dad?” Closer. “You’re not Boyd.” He took off his sunglasses, stared at me. *** Said his name was Saw-whet; “Silent flies the owl.” Through the sudden emptiness in my craw, I explained that Boyd was with me. “He’s okay except he doesn’t speak.” Nearing the cabin, I gave two sharp whistles. Boyd came running. Stopped when he saw us. “You’ve grown….” Hugging and crying, they clung tightly together. Had to walk away, envy smoldering. Shooing the doves away, I unloaded the beehive and ran to my pond, ducked under the water to dodge the angry insects. *** Shortly, I heard two whistles. Suspected Boyd wanted me to speak for him. I did. Amazing, Boyd’s recall. Hard hearing my own voice relating the part about the wire around his neck. He almost died yet struggled long enough to free himself. Only Ozzie’s wheelin’-dealin’ greed had saved him, yet put him in position for another kind of brutality. Boyd was brief, didn’t go into much detail, didn’t explain about killing Ozzie. Speaking those memories put me in a funk remembering Ozzie. They asked me to sleep in the hammock. Took my pipe and went to Cowison’s old lean-to, bedded on the straw. *** Still angry, downcast, I took my pipe and blanket to the petroglyphs. Rocks were still warm. Looking up at the stars, dreams came. Disturbing dreams where I was painfully thirsty, the air was thick with super-heated stench. Men in soft leather; tired and thin. Faces changed in front of me, each one a different shape, different age and all gaunt, some had blotchy skin. Others’ faces were streaked with tears catching the dust and ash in gray streaks. Dogs snarled and fought, vultures circled, landed nearby. Their feet, there strides were odd, both animals and humans. Had illness or something else destroyed their feet or skin partially immobilizing them? Couldn’t leave the havoc…. Drought and illness decimated the Anasazi. Their scratched records permeated my brain. I saw in detail how it happened. Lay my head on a spiral design, fitfully slept. Dream-horrors kept slamming ancient history into my brain. Woke in the cold before dawn wondering if this place was cursed, or I attracted the shadow of evil. To the west I saw a grayish-teal glow. I realized then my Big Heave wasn’t the first. I’d survived only one of the many Heaves in this place. Eyes before mine had seen the same strange colors above, suffered my same misery. So many abandoned, like me. *** Two whistles in the distance. Soon, Ten was sniffing my hand. Boyd followed. Nauseated, hadn’t eaten, achy pit in my stomach was wrapped in unsettling grip My body to shook. Stood, faced away from the sun; too bright. Boyd’s head was at my chest, he hugged me. Over his shoulder, Saw-whet holding out a canteen, “Come home. Eat. Got some ideas to discuss.” Grabbed a handful of sage nearby; needed tea. *** Everyone around the table at my cabin. I sat in the shadows, listening them assess what was left of the cabins, taking what was left to make one big house, half underground; fully hidden by vines. Placement of Cowison’s stall, Boyd’s quail coop, terracing the garden. Wasn’t interested. Sipped tea when Boyd sent me a word: “Pin-guid.” “What?” No mood for jokes or any of Homburg’s bull. I ignored him. He pulled me outside, “Pin-guid?” “Whadda mean?” “Petroglyphs give me pin-guid. Like a pin stuck in my heart. They made me sad for everyone, mostly sad for myself.” Staring into my eyes, “Don’t go there. It’s a bad place.” Copper Went back inside, the guys were discussing Gila Bend. Small town to the southwest, only a day’s walk to the river, follow it into town to stay off the highway. “Not worth it.” I said. “Never has been much there.” “Solar panels. Acres of `em.” Saw-whet said, “Hardware, maybe a bigger radio. Colony of old miners and survivalists lived there once. Wonder if any of their stash is still good.” Since Boyd and Virgie-girl kept the bees and garden while Homburg ground the grain and took care of milk acquisition, Saw-whet and I took off with Virgie’s cart and the skid. Wrapped a handful of hemp with my pipe, stuffed it in my pocket. *** Took a day to get to the Gila River. Fewer trees as we descended into a large, dry basin surrounded by smooth, short hills. Sandy, barren, the winds whipped up the grit. Didn’t look forward to Gila Bend, I’d never liked the place. Cool, clean water at the river; strung the net it. Saw-whet was a quiet man, focused on the task at hand, pulling the net in, cleaning fish while I built up a fire. Ate big that night, my gut was straining. Noticed he readied to sleep, kept his vest on, pockets always filled. “Bags of gold in your pockets?” I lit my pipe. Pulled out his slingshot, then took a small plastic case from one pocket. “Similar to a pana. I shoot darts, only have ten left.” In his palm were small arrow-like objects, sharp as razors. “Can you down a deer?” “I’d say they’re accurate at forty, fifty feet or less. That’s why I’m named after an owl, have to get close enough for an accurate shot. That means closing in without being heard.” He picked up one of the darts, “Had to go for the jugular sniping in Tuscon. I was looking for Boyd. Wound up removing the last of the cannibals.” “Tucson?” Images came to mind, cannibalism. Complete desperation. “Thanks for taking my boy in. He loves you.” He tucked ataköy escort the dart and slingshot away. “Thought he’d died–had to search till I found….” Voice wavered, breaths hurried. He looked away, wiping his eyes. “You know where those old survivalists, the miners lived?” Distracted him from his thoughts. “One held the rights to the “Top of the Bottom” mine. Dug copper. Several others lived in the same area.” He took my hand, palm up. Pointing to my wrist he drew a line to the center of my palm, “One had a house where the road ends in the basin. Two lived up on the ridge.” He touched to the fleshy part of my thumb, “Mangy old brothers.” His index finger touched at the base of my ring finger. “We’ll enter here, get a bead on any activity.” Burned a bowl and fell asleep near the fire, still feeling his touches on my hand. L. Marcelo Slow going pulling the empty skid and the cart. Avoided the highway, there wasn’t enough brush alongside to cover us. Gila Bend was abandoned, destroyed. Leveled but for the solar collectors outside of town. Walked toward the hills nearby where the miners lived. Around noon, we stopped for water, “Stash our carts in that stand of grass, we’ll circle the basin.” Rock climbed, sneaked up a rise to a lookout. “Thought you said someone lived down there. I don’t see anything.” “There was a small adobe, said someone’s great grandfather built it.” He squinted his eyes, “Delivered a jaw crusher and separator there years ago. I suspect they were mining gold, not copper.” *** Hard packed roads ran through the valley at irregular angles. Scanning the horizon, seeing no one, headed toward where the house once stood. Closer we got, the more we could see someone had been there recently. Foot prints, old machine parts that weren’t covered in dust, wood splinters; freshly broken scattered around the rectangle of an old foundation. Saw-whet came close. “Slow down. Way down, watch me.” Slowly, he hunched down and began placing his feet carefully, “Don’t look down, but put your toe down first, then roll the side of your foot behind it and to the inside.” Copied his movements, listening for any bird calls, or scuffling nearby. Sneaked fifty feet ahead, crossing slate, rubble. Saw-whet stopped a few times, pointed at places in the sand and rock rubble where something had been drug. Clear, recently-made path through the sand. He followed that trail. Continued silently, then stopped; motioned to me. He put his index finger over his lips, then pointed to a worn, wooden door on the ground. Only about two by three feet, it was flush with the gravel and sand. The trail of something being drug stopped at that door. Entrance to an underground space, an old mine shaft. Quietly, he stood close. “We’ll wait him out. Probably has explosives, a gun. Can’t be many down there, most of these guys live alone.” Retraced our steps into the distance, about three hundred yards away, crouched behind a cluster of tumbleweeds and cactus. “They’ll have to come out, eventually.” Rest of the day, all night, the next morning nothing stirred. *** Neon-orange sunrise under purple clouds. Gray wisps over the area of the shaft. Fire? Thread of smoke came from a small vent near the ground, only as high as the width of my hand. Miniature smoke stack, homemade with deep notches cut into galvanized metal tube, lid wired on through punched holes, hidden in a stack of rocks, around five feet from the door. “Let’s go.” Saw-whet grabbed my arm. “You draw `em out. Ask for water, say you’re looking for Marcelo.” “Marcelo?” “One of the guys from the ridge.” He pulled out his darts and slingshot, glanced at me with a steely look. I stopped. “We don’t need their shit. Plenty of scrap in town.” Pistol was back at my cabin. “One of these guys hurt my son, Boyd said he was out this way in a van. They took his voice, scared him, hurt him, won’t let me touch him. He’s not the same now, never will be.” Had to think quick. Boyd was happy, lived a good life. On the other hand, I didn’t want any friends of the wounded chasing us either. “That score’s been settled. Boyd killed the man who hurt him.” Explained about Ozzie falling off the ledge to his death. “He was going to shoot Boyd for spitting in his face. Ozzie was going to sell him.” Put my hand on his shoulder, tried to make it easier. “Brave boy, he stood up for himself.” That didn’t calm Saw-whet, he looked at me with winced eyes, like I was lying. “Not sure if he meant to kill him, looked like an accident. Boyd’s been a big help to me since that, uh, that happened.” Didn’t mention the men in the van, but I didn’t know much about them. Wasn’t sure about the thugs that ambushed Ozzie’s campsite either. Ozzie lied to benefit himself. “Ask him about Ozzie for yourself.” Saw-whet sat on the ground. Thought hard while I watched the wispy smoke. Wasn’t too long before the door opened, a ragged, long-haired man came out. The man emptied his pot. Walked away from his hole, looked around, jerked off. Stretched, scratched his balls and went back underground. Slammed the door over him. Reached for my weed, tossed a pinch in my mouth. Had to stay calm. Saw-whet still had blood in his eye. *** Saw-whet went to the place where the man emptied his pot, “Not much scat, only one or two.” We stood still for a moment, listening. As we turned to go back we stopped. Noises from under the door, several bumps, voices. Couldn’t make out what they were saying, sounded angry. Bumps and grunts then silence. “Tell `em you’re looking for Marcelo. Stamp on the door, scare `em out. Pull on the door, if it opens, get behind it. I got your back.” Wasn’t ready to start trouble, still didn’t know if they were armed. Suddenly, “Te pasas, maldito hijo de puta!” Muffled screams; I only knew one man who used those phrases. Dad. Skin slapped skin, mumbled curses. Bodies slammed against wood, feet slipped on wood. Jumped toward the door, fingertips under the edge. Only gave three inches, couldn’t lift it further. It slammed shut, felt weighted down. Saw-whet stood where he could get a close shot from behind the entrance, readied with dart and slingshot. Two more darts in his pocket. “Ask about Marcelo.” Whispered. “Marcelo. Zat you?” I screamed, hyped on adrenaline. Crouched to the side. The fight below continued, things being knocked over, falling. “Dad, are you down there?” More sounds of struggle ensued from below. Saw-whet’s jaw dropped. Pointed to the opening, “Sure it’s your dad?” He mouthed. “Think so.” I was still a little high, scared and shaking. “Dad.” I began digging at the entrance, found a rock and chipped away at the packed caliche, rotting wood Saw-whet disappeared while I kept digging. Felt unreal, this whole trip felt like a crazy dream. “Lift the door.” Saw-whet grunted, kneeling beside me. Slipped a rusted piece of rebar into the darkness. “Stand back.” He stepped back and came down hard, both feet on the metal rod. Creak, then a pop, a hinge broke off. Saw-whet pried the door open wider, pushing me aside with his arm. Motioned me to hold the door in front of me. “Ain’t wasting a bullet on you rats. Get out here or get blown away.” He stepped aside, slingshot in hand, dart loaded. *** Rustling came from below. “We want Marcelo.” Saw-whet called out, “He owes me.” Answered with a gunshot, we scrambled for cover. Behind the scrub, “Burn `em out.” Gathered dry tumbleweeds, stuck them together and filled the branches with straw, anything that would burn. Compacted it and circled around the broken door. I hit the flint and sparked the bundle smoldering. “That’s good.” Saw-whet took it. “We want Marcelo.” “Marcelo’s not here. Go away. Got nothing you want.” “I know he’s in there, send him out.” “Go away. Just me here.” Saw-whet slung the broken door back with his foot and I shoved the smoking bundle down the hole and ran for cover. Heard cussing. Soon smoke poured out the opening. Coughing, yelling, then we heard footsteps, another scuffle on the stairs. Smoke was thick by this time. Three more gunshots below ground. Saw-whet’s slingshot was loaded, pulled back, aimed at the hole. *** Quiet moment down in the shaft until “Comin’ out, unarmed. Don’t shoot.” Footsteps, coughing someone’s raised hands emerged first. Then his head came through the smoke. Old red cap tilted back on his head; long beard, long black hair, and skin so white it almost burned my eyes to look at him. Could it be him? “Dad?” He wiped his blue eyes, stared at me. “Doubt it.” He smiled. “Thanks for giving me the chance to kill that bastard.” Didn’t register at first, he wasn’t Dad. I looked down the hole. “No. Don’t go down there. Let it burn.” He turned and kicked the door back over the hole. “Por fin, el diablo esta muerto.” Several hundred yards away the ground shook. Marcelo’s explosives blew; the ground collapsed in an irregular shape around the door. *** The man’s name was Ignacio, said he was trapped, bound and brought here. Sold as a slave to Marcelo. Been digging in the shaft, used in every way. Heavy eyelids with thick lashes, square jaw, super-masculine look about him. Like us, he was skinny, smelly, told an horrific tale of his past with Marcelo. Said the sparks started flying between him and Marcelo when he began beating him. Argued all the time until Marcelo gagged him. “I was just waiting for a distraction to pull my hand out of the shackles, I’ve lost that much weight. Grabbed his gun and shot him with it.” “How long were you down there?” “Coupla years, I guess. Lost track.” He rubbed the scars on his wrists. Pale skin, he was going to sunburn; gave him my shirt as we headed back to the river. Ignacio built a fire, we caught fish, roasted them. Rains came. Under dark teal-gray clouds, we left for the cabin. Hungry, cold and wet, we moved quickly to keep ourselves warm. Through the night, we trudged. Stopped when we were within earshot; two sharp whistles. Boyd came part way, ran back for Homburg and Virgie-girl. *** Pipe and stash, I went to the pond while they talked. Stayed there, smelling food cooking, hearing voices in the distance. My guts turned. `Hopey’s pups came to sniff me, urging me to the cabin with them. I yelled at them to go away. Went to the petroglyphs, burned a bowl. The symbols began moving in their pale gray lives, my head was filled with their moans, their cries. Thorough the fog of the past, a face emerged. “Dad?” Heartbeat sped, eyes burned and filled. “Take me with you. Please.” Misty eyes intently on mine, he only shook his head and disappeared into the past. Strange smell of burning sage wafted. Looked down to see my pipe had fallen, singeing the plants growing from under the rock I lay on. “Come back, I love you.” Waited for Dad’s face through another bowl. Gone. Croaky Chilled and hungry, I went back to the cabin, found the bowl of food Virgie-girl left for me. Boyd and Saw-whet took my cot. Not hungry. Icy stabs crawled through my guts. Slept in the lean-to. *** Pipe and weed, I left for the pond when I woke. Walked on air, it felt. Body was light; my thoughts were a den of snakes. Found Ignatio and Boyd sunning on the flat rock, jeans and shirts drying on the bushes. Idyllic scene, Boyd was writing on Ignatio’s palm, they chuckled and watched as I entered the water. “Dug this yourself, they told me. Got a prime set-up here. Everything a man could want.” Didn’t answer. “Little bit of paradise.” He looked around. “Better with my dad….” Shattered, felt I was in pieces without him. “Feels like I’m falling apart without him.” “Your dad, he was your lover?” I turned away. “You know, when things feel like they’re falling apart, they could be falling into a better place. All depends on your perspective.” *** He came into the pool, neared. “Close your eyes, imagine him.” Pulled me against him and kissed me, then turned around, reached between his legs and put my rod at his hole. “Give me what you’d give him.” Grabbing the rounded edge of the large, flat rock, he leaned forward, pressed his cheek against it. Pushed his rear toward me. Couldn’t stop myself. Mimosa-laced images of my father’s face came. He was smiling, encouraging me. “Like our first time….” Boyd heard that, “No.” He joined us in the cool water. Watched me rub my hard dick up and down Ignatio’s cleft, lean to kiss his back. One hand on Ignatio’s hip, the other aimed. Boyd watched; I smiled, let him see what I was doing. Got myself into the right place, grabbed Ignatio’s hips with both hands and pushed. Popped inside and stopped. Took a deep breath, the grip around my shaft made my head pound. Leaned my head back and sighed. “You’re going to hurt him.” Boyd tilted his head in warning. “There’s a place inside him, feels good when I rub it.” “Liar.” “I don’t lie. Go ask your dad.” He left and I began slowly, savoring every moment of a tight grip and his hot hole. Slowly, in, slowly out, the cool water readying my dick for another stroke of heat. Heartbeats. I felt Ignatio’s heartbeat. Pushed my knob through the slippery folds inside him. Pulling out; small suction reminding me, my duty to fill him, hold him. Kiss him. Suck him. Sloshing water, I began a fevered pace. Couldn’t get enough. Slipped his hands off the rock, he began frantically pulling his rod. Excited me. Gripped his waist to keep his rear close and humped as hard and deep as I could, head spun. Clear skies overhead, I imagined Dad, how he’d held me. How slow and gentle he was. Didn’t have my Dad’s patience, I went full-on into Ignatio when he pushed back against me. Reached around him, gripped his hard shaft on the head, other hand on his torso, keeping him against me. Gripped his knob, only a slight downward rub, gripped and slightly relaxed. Leaned forward and bit his shoulder. No scream, he gave me a hiss and I felt the warmth of his cum pulsing out. Warm currents in the cool water over my hand. Grabbed his balls, hard pulling him back against my groin while I emptied myself inside him. As deep and hard as I could. Dizzy, emptied, I was immobilized momentarily. When he turned, I almost expected to see my father’s face. Wet hands held my face while he kissed me. Long kisses, tongue. Hot breath on my lips. His legs wound around my waist. Reached behind him and stuck my finger in his butt still slimy with cum. Dad always did that…. Beard holding droplets of water was at my neck as he continued holding, kissing me. *** Lay on the rock drying off. I went for my herbs to rub on my skin but stopped, “Smells like fire and–” Couldn’t identify it, but it smelled different. “Boyd’s dogs found feral pigs in the garden. Saw-whet went after `em. Downed a big one last night. They’re roasting it in coals.” *** After a few bowls, I slept on my own bed. Deep sleep, unaware of everything around me. Woke to Boyd with a cup of water, Ignatio with a bowl of food. Got up and joined them outside, around the fire. I like pork, but the roasted pumpkin with honey and cream was the best. Laughter, songs, reminiscing, making plans for the future, my life was falling into place. Beside me was Boyd, smiling and telling me about slaughtering the pig, cooking it up with Virgie-girl. “A little bit of paradise.” Ignatio had it right and I’d done it mostly by myself. Boyd was grinning. “Was I lying to you about that place in a man’s rear?” Grinned wider, “Daddy showed me….” Saw-whet was smiling, “Thanks.” *** Boyd, Ignatio and I gathered the bones and gristle to haul away from the cabin. Turned to him, “How long you gonna stay?” He got close, “I’d stay here for you, but I got a score to settle.” “Score?” “Guy that grabbed me, sold me to Marcelo. I find him, he’s dead.” “Who?” “Don’t know his name. Know him by sight. Had long stringy, orangish hair, matted and big sideburns. Short, stocky guy.” Before I could say anything, I heard odd sounds. Everyone went silent. I looked up to see Boyd laughing. Croaky laugh and the first sound he’d made since he came. The last piece fell into place with the Boyd’s full cheeks, twinkling eyes and his arms around my neck. End.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32