Shaw Street revealed itself little changed when viewed in morning sunlight. Abandoned houses, empty lots. Trash blown up against the front of buildings.
“Nice neighbourhood,” Mac joked, “this where she lives?”
Rufus nodded, looking towards the bend in the road, the house where he’d chased Budweiser Boy.
“Urgh,” he stopped. About twenty yards on, a squirrel lay flattened in the road, its blood, bile and guts spread out in a fan towards them.
“Uh-huh,” Mac said.
Rufus watched as the older man walked up to the squirrel, standing over it, staring blank-faced. He looked up the road towards the bend, back at the squirrel.
“Sure,” he muttered agreement to himself, “sure.”
“What?” Rufus asked.
“Oh nothing,” Mac shook his head.
Rufus walked up to him, being careful to step around the spatter of gore on the pavement.
“Seriously,” he said, “what are you thinking?”
Mac looked up at him, and Rufus wasn’t sure he liked what he saw on the older man’s face.
“Seen this before,” Mac said, “blast wave or something.”
“Blast wave?”
“Sure, look…”
Mac pointed off to their left; the doorway of the abandoned house to their side.
“What? I don’t…”
“Look.”
“What?”
“Just look,” Mac insisted.
And now Rufus saw a rat’s carcass, flattened like the squirrel, its insides spread back up Shaw, away from the house on the bend.
“Another one?” Rufus asked.
“Sure,” Mac said, “and there’s another.”
Off to the other side, in the middle of a vacant lot, a scrawny stray tabby cat exploded to pieces backwards.
Now Rufus saw them.
Bugs, from mosquitos through cockroaches, spattered across the landscape, smeared along the ground, across walls.
“What did this?”
Mac looked at him.
“You did,” he intoned, “you had to go and chase one.”
“I didn’t…”
“Yes,” Mac continued, “you did. You let them know you see them. You let them know that their faces don’t work for you.”
Rufus didn’t know what to say. All he’d done was get Danni home safely when they were being followed
was that all?
by Budweiser Boy. He’d left her at her place. That’s all he’d done.
was it?
“I just dropped her home,” Rufus insisted, “that’s all. We were being followed and I just wanted to get her home safe. I didn’t do this!”
Mac stared at him for a long time. Eventually, he sighed heavily and continued on down Shaw.
“What? What was that?” Rufus shouted, as he rushed to catch up.
Mac reached the house on the corner and, without turning, pointed down the alleyway.
“That’s where it happened, right?” he asked over his shoulder.
“That’s where I…” Rufus stopped dead, trying hard to remember, “I mean, I think something happened back there. Yesterday, I thought I saw something.”
“It’s where I found you,” Mac said, “flat on your back, covered in blood.”
“You found me here? I thought you said I was wandering.”
“Yeah, well I guess I lied.”
“You lied?”
“Sure, didn’t know how much you’d seen, how much you’d remember.”
Mac turned to face Rufus and his face was set grim and ashen.
“You’re lucky you ain’t like them,” he hooked a thumb towards the mangled animals, “tell’s the truth, I’m not sure how it is you ain’t like them.”
They were silent for a moment.
“Let’s go check on your lady friend,” Mac growled.
* * *
Danni’s house was quiet as they approached; windows dark, no sign of activity in front or back yards. Rufus thought of candles, of Danni twirling in the evening dark.
“She was dancing,” he said to himself.
“Last night? Here?” Mac asked.
“Not last night,” Rufus shook his head, “couple of nights’ ago. She had candles all over the place and… We danced.”
Mac nodded. “Riiiight… You danced.”
It took Rufus a moment to catch the double entendre.
“Huh?” he exclaimed. “Yes. We danced!”
“Sure,” Mac chuckled, “okay. You danced. Okay.”
The old man walked up to the front door and, when the doorbell failed to ring, he hammered hard on the door frame.
“She won’t hear you. She’s upstairs,” Rufus said.
“So, she can come down,” Mac huffed.
“No, she’s in the apartment upstairs,” Rufus pushed past Mac, heading down the side of the house, “the door’s round back.”
As they emerged into the back yard, Rufus took a moment to look around. The candles were still there, extinguished now. For a moment, he was back in their glow; dancing, flowing, experiencing music.
“She’s something special, Mac,” he breathed out.
“This yours?” Mac asked.
Rufus turned.
“It is isn’t it?” Mac continued.
He was holding Rufus’ guitar, still in its case.
The world swam around Rufus for a moment, this made no sense, none whatsoever.
“Yes,” he said, “yes it is.”
Mac looked up at the silent building.
“She’s gone isn’t she,” Rufus said.
Mac looked back at him. Nodded.
“They’ve taken her.”
RUFUS – A NOVEL is a novel-in-progress by Vincent Tuckwood, a Brit author living and working in Waterford, Connecticut, USA. Read more by Vincent Tuckwood.
