New Orleans cont’d

Allow me to clarify something. School here doesn’t finish until the end of June. Graduation this year is on the 28th and the prom is on the 24th. The other end of that is that school doesn’t generally start until after Labour Day in September, although last year it was the Thursday or Friday before. Canada and the US used to have similar school years. I don’t know when the US changed. I just got a call from the seamstress: the dress is ready. I can’t wait to get pics of #2 Daughter and her handsome date in his tux. They’re going to look gorgeous together.

Now on with the story, and this time, I’m not fighting with the font or the formatting at all right now. Well, I might have to, since it wants to save each paragraph as one continuous line. And then it wants to eliminate paragraphs altogether.

***

 “This is where me and Ken seen deer last week,” he said as he drew to a stop. “They were just down there a bit.” He pointed to a former park, now a veritable forest. He reached into the back for his rifle. “Let’s go.”

A bird screeched at them when they got out and squirrels chattered and leaped from tree to tree as if to warn the deer. Mike looked up into the branches. “My mama used to cook squirrel real good,” he said. “It’s been a long time. Shoulda brought a squirrel gun.”

Johnny snorted brief laughter. “Next time,” he said. “Good eatin’ on a squirrel. Better eatin’ on a deer, though.”

“Well, if them little bastards throw anything at me, I’m borrowing your rifle and popping me a couple.” He cast a baleful look towards the squirrels.

They trudged on. “Ken used to live right near here,” said Johnny. “His daddy didn’t get out in time when the water came. Ken was out of town when Katrina hit and by the time he got back, his daddy was drownded. Current floated him right out of the house and into a tree in the park. Pretty gross, you ask me.” He looked around and stopped. “That’s Ken’s truck over there, right in front of his house. Ain’t nothin’ left there. What’s he doin’?”

They changed direction and made their way to Ken’s truck. Johnny looked into the bed of the truck. “He left his rifle here,” he said.

“Well, if he was only going in the house, maybe he didn’t think he needed it,” said Mike.

“You been around at all?” asked Johnny. “You don’t come down here without something to protect your ass and you sure as shit don’t leave your rifle where anyone could pick it up.”

“Who’s going to come along way the fuck out here?” Mike protested.

“We did,” Johnny pointed out. “Pick that up. No point in us being stupid, too.”

Mike reached in and took the rifle. He snagged a box of shells as well and shoved them in his pocket. They went from the truck to the house. Johnny put his shoulder to the front door to heave it open. Water had caused the wood to swell and warp. It groaned, reminding Johnny of the tortures of the damned.

“He had to hear that,” said Mike with a grimace.

“Hey, Ken!” Johnny yelled. They crept into the house.

A heavy odour of mold hung on the air. The walls, floor and ceiling crawled with black and green growth. Fungi grew in pale profusion in the corners. What furniture remained had been heaved against the walls in untidy piles. The upholstery hung in tatters. The overall effect was surreal and nightmarish.

Mike made a face. “You think it’s safe to breathe this shit in?”

“Fuck no,” said Johnny. He pulled his T-shirt up over his nose and mouth. This served to muffle his voice somewhat as it provided scant protection. “Let’s find Ken and get the fuck out of here. This is bullshit.”

A quick search of the small house revealed no sign of the missing Ken. They went through the kitchen and out the back door to the overgrown yard. “What’s that over there?” Mike pointed to a shed which had been twisted by Katrina’s forces.

Johnny shaded his eyes with one hand and squinted. “Let’s go find out and then get outta here. I don’t like this at all.” They were almost on top of the object when Johnny’s stomach did a forward roll. He fought to keep the beer he’d drunk at Jade’s bar from spewing itself all over the yard.

“Is that Ken? What did that to him?” Mike held a hand over his mouth.

Johnny swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”

Mike’s eyes darted here and there. “Yeah. Well, I want to know, especially if it’s still around.”

Johnny flinched and also began darting glances around the yard. “Shit.” He edged closer to Mike, as if seeking protection in numbers. “Let’s get out of here.”

They backed away from the grisly remains of Ken Hanson. Johnny really wanted to turn and bolt out of there, and had he been alone he would have done just that. Instead they edged around until they were back to back and sidled down the yard to the driveway, p

ast the house and to the front yard. There, they stopped suddenly.

“You hear that?” asked Mike.

Johnny strained his ears. Leaves rustled in a light breeze, but beyond that he heard nothing, and he said as much.

“So where’d the fuckin squirrels go?” Mike’s eyes were wide and his head swiveled back and forth.

“I don’t care. Just keep moving or I swear to God I’ll leave you here.” Johnny’s only concern was to get back to his jeep and get the hell out of the area. He’d go find a cop and tell him what they’d found and the address as long as he didn’t have to come back and identify the body. Deer hunting was forgotten.

It soon proved impossible to retrace their path while walking back-to-back. “I’ll go first,” said Johnny. “I got the car keys.” The sooner they got their vehicle started, the sooner they’d be out of there. The creepiness grew with the continuing silence. Mike was right. The squirrels no longer cursed them, nor were any birds singing.

***

I may be back to try to unfuck the font and such. But right now, I have some strawberry jam from an experiment a little while ago and it should be cool enough to eat.