Blaze of Glory

CHAPTER 13

Within minutes of Sissy returning with a full bucket from the kitchen, they’d packed Bennie’s every orifice with salt as if it were stuffing and he was the world's first gangbanger-shaped Thanksgiving Turkey. No sooner had they finished, then they wrapped him up in the black shower curtain. With the help of a roll of duct tape, Samuel sealed the package in three broad stripes of silver.

“That should hold him for a bit.” Buckley croaked, holding back the pain. Still, his voice betrayed him drawing the stares of both Sissy and Samuel. Three times during the operation, maggies had bored through his skin. Once on the thigh, once in his left armpit and once under his left breast. Each time, he’d bit his lip, the pain mounting. And each time, he’d successfully managed to corral the damn things before the others noticed, all the while holding them as they tried to eat through his hand. Only by shaking them like caught flies was he able to stun them and keep them from bleeding him to death.

Still, he’d kept up the front and the others were none the wiser. He told Samuel to keep an eye on the body. Very aware of the danger the maggies in his hand posed to the rest of the people, Buckley hurried back into the kitchen looking for Little Rashad. For all he knew, the kid had done what a thousand scientists had been unable to do and figured out a way to save the world. Even now Little Rashad plugged scales with his trumpet in the kitchen. Maybe. Just maybe.

As Buckley passed through the living room, he glanced at Grandma Riggs. The long finger of her left hand shot out and pinned him from where she sat as she spoke in her sing-song crack rhyme,

“Icka bicka soda cracker, icka bicka boo, icka bicka soda cracker, out goes YOU.”

“What?”

“Icka bicka soda cracker, out goes you!”

He glared at her for several long moments as she cackled more of the icka bicka nonsense. But was it? Her Patty Cake rhyme had saved them. She'd foretold the death of Lashawna and Sally. He remembered other rhymes, some meaningless and some that, in retrospect, could mean something. Did she have a gift? Or was it just coincidence? Or crack? Whatever was going on, she'd pegged him. But how? She was just a blind woman with a drug habit. What made her so special? But as he thought about it, he glimpsed a possible answer. If a person lost one of their senses, it was known that the others would improve to compensate for the loss. She'd smelled his infection just like she'd smelled the sex on MacHenry and Gert. Damn.

"Icka bicka soda cracker, out goes you."

Was it true? Could he possibly be next?

As if to answer him, he felt another piercing point of pain upon his right knee cap. Buckley shook his leg violently until the Maggie fell to the floor. There he stomped on it, squishing it to the floor with his heavy-soled boots.

Yeah. He was next, all right. Fucked he was. Fucked real good.

"Excuse me."

Buckley turned to find Samuel and Sissy lugging the wrapped body from the bathroom.

"We couldn't wait," Sissy murmured.

They dropped the long parcel by the front door.

"That should hold him a bit."

Buckley couldn't help but admire how far Samuel had come. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let’s hope so, son."

But Samuel shrugged away.

"What's wrong, Samuel?"

"Fuck that. It’s only a matter of time before we all die."

"I don’t know about that. I mean-"

"What? Like we’ll survive? Like we're gonna get out of this like there's some sitcom solution?"

"We could. Why the fuck not?"

Grandma Riggs crowed from the living room. "No. No. No. No. No. No." The word sounding like doom.

Everyone turned and watched as Grandma Riggs raised her boney arm to point a skeletal finger at Buckley. After a moment of panic, he turned to Samuel and Sissy, a grin squeezing through his shame as he tried to redirect their attention. "So what’s for lunch? Are you hungry, Samuel?"

But Grandma Riggs wouldn't be ignored. “Icka bicka soda cracker, icka bicka boo, icka bicka soda cracker, out goes YOU.”

Feeling like a child, he ignored her as best he could and sought to propel Samuel into the kitchen.

"Icka bicka soda cracker, out goes you."

Jerking his elbow away, Samuel frowned, glancing back and forth from Grandma Riggs to Buckley. "What’s she talking about now?"

"I dunno."

"You know exactly what I’m talking about, Mister King of Garbage Lies. You know exactly what I mean Mister Maggie Man."

"What?"

As if in slow motion, Buckley watched as Sissy leapt away from him, stumbling, then sprawling to the floor in the hallway. Samuel lunged for the shotgun leaning against the door jam, latching onto it microseconds before Buckley. Samuel brought the gun level as time resumed.

"She’s talking about you, isn’t she?" Samuel growled.

"Me?"

"Yes you. You’re Icka Bicka Soda Crackered, aren’t you?"

"I am not Icka Bicka Soda Crackered."

"You were telling us we weren’t fucked and here you are Icka Bicka Soda Crackered. How the fuck could you?"

"What the hell are you two talking about?" growled MacHenry stomping out of the bedroom.

"They got him. The maggies got Adamski."

“Icka bicka soda cracker, icka bicka boo, icka bicka soda cracker, out goes YOU.”

Buckley stomped in frustration. It wasn't fair. After all he’d done it was going to end this way. There had to be a way. There had to be a chance. He thought of a dozen things to say, but all he could do was scream at the top of his lings, "I am not Icka Bicka Soda Crackered."

The apartment fell silent as everyone stared at Buckley. Even the trumpet playing had stopped.

In a quiet voice, just loud enough for the others to hear, Buckley repeated the words he only wished were true. "I am not Icka Bicka Soda Crackered."

Little Rashad ran into the room carrying the glass jar. Smoke rose from the open top. A gray sludge coated the bottom. Unlike the others in the room, his smile was broad and wide.

"I got it, Mr. Adamski. I killed your Maggie. I figured it all out for you."

God was fucking with him. That’s what it was. This was one great game of let’s fuck with Buckley. He rolled his eyes and hung his head.

"Aren't you happy, Mr. Adamski? I found the secret. Aren't you happy?"

"Sure kid." He closed his eyes as Samuel cocked the shotgun. "I'm fucking thrilled."