Dirt Nap (A Marnie Baranuik “Between the Files” Story) (6 page)

“Marnie, catch!” Batten shouted, and I turned just in time to see him nod before launching the pebblecoat back at me.

I caught the baby and spun it into my gut, ducked, and scurried like a mouse, dashing towards the quarry road and my pile of assorted goodies. Batten swung his pipe and hit the stonecoat’s kneecap, setting off a shower of sparks. The boggle lost interest in him quickly this time, though, tracking the meeping offspring to me. I faltered, trying to pause and shuffle through my things for my phone, teetered, and almost fell with the pebblecoat crammed against my breast in a one-armed hold. The phone’s plastic casing was slippery in my sweaty hand; I crammed it into my bra, the only safe place I could think of, and scampered up the quarry road. The stonecoat bellowed angrily and pitched forward in my direction.

I searched the sky for the damn helicopter as I pelted up the road; I could hear it, now, but couldn't see it. Craning around to scan the sky made running without careening off the ramp and into the pit a hazardous activity. Kidnapping a baby monster is not usually on my To Do list, but it’s an excellent addition to any cardiovascular exercise plan if the parent is house-sized and chasing you. The ramp rumbled underfoot like it might disintegrate under the stonecoat’s thudding pursuit.
Mighty Rhea, Titan Earth Goddess, lend me Your strength
should I fall
. Surprisingly, I wasn’t remotely winded. Adrenalin surged through my veins and pushed me harder. By the time I noticed that it was a rough climb, I was more than halfway up. I made a mental note to thank Sheriff Hood for putting me through his sadistic exercise regimen every day. After scowling at him for waking me up at the ass-crack of early. Assuming I survived that long.

The helicopter buzzed overhead into view and banked north, and it felt like a sign from the merciful Mother above. The pebblecoat was rooting against my t-shirt for a nipple, and I tried to tuck it away from my bra-shielded boob as I ran, panting and cursing the heat, glad the lumbering thing behind me was slower, heavier, and less agile. I spared a glance up as the chopper passed, and saw Hood hanging an arm out, making exaggerated gestures in the general direction the chopper was heading. It was a flash of a signal, here and gone in a blink, but I chased it over the uneven ground, trusting he knew where we should go.

In my right bra cup, my phone began to vibrate: two quick buzzes, my text setting. It was not unpleasant, but I didn’t have a free hand, nor time to slow down and read a message. I assumed it was Hood, trying to give me more precise directions, and kept running in the direction I saw the chopper dip. Maybe he'd text Batten next, who could holler things at me.

My path led me to a pitiful-but-wide clump of browning lodgepole pine and quaking aspen, hanging on for dear life in the hot sun and poor soil. I slowed, considering which way to fork. I scrambled to my left to find a way around, met with a sudden drop, and jumped without looking. The first drop wasn’t too bad, though it was narrow enough that I was afraid to stop there for long. A
fuckfuckfuck
escaped me. I scrambled in place, a kind of dancing pause just long enough to get my footing, before pitching forward again. The second descent made my molars clack together and my arms loosened on the pebblecoat. I squeezed with both hands to get a safe hold on it again and pressed backward, flattening myself against the rock face, panting, my heart hammering. The helicopter circled, and I could see Hood’s arm but couldn’t see what he was indicating; the terrain was taking some alarming jogs downward, and the next spot for me to jump to was a good ten feet down.
Monster Wrangler parkour, anyone?
my internal critic piped up.
I bet Devarsi Patel wouldn’t be hesitating. I bet he’d do some fancy flip and land on his feet. Why aren’t you doing a fancy flip, Great White Shark? Batten
should
hire him.

I hesitated, my instinct to preserve my own ass trapping me between the drop-off ahead and the stonecoat behind. The boggle had slowed to sniff at the edge of the first ledge, which was too narrow to support the sheer width of his feet, never mind his weight, but he could probably go right past it, directly to the one I was on, if he descended backwards, lowering himself down the embankment on his stomach. I wasn’t sure if that mode of descent would occur to him, but if it did, our combined weight would almost certainly crumble the rocks, which shifted under my Keds uncertainly as it was.

The helicopter slowed its approach and circled around again, and my phone resumed buzzing inside my bra. I glanced over my shoulder to check the boggle’s intent before attempting to reach it.

Daddy stonecoat was hunkered down in a low squat, dangling a massive, orangutan-like arm over the edge at me. I crouched, cuddling the pebblecoat tighter. The damn baby had stopped rooting and was looking sleepy. Apparently, my running was as effective as a rock-a-bye. I took a second to fish out my phone, stretched my arm out to do the signal bar dance, and checked my texts.

From Hood: coordinates.
Numbers. So not helpful
. I scowled up at the helicopter as it circled. He was waving and gesturing again. Also, not helpful. The valley he was pointing into didn’t look, from my vantage point, to have been carved into by road or ATV or, as far as I could tell, human bodies, either. It was clogged with rocky outcroppings in a sea of messy forest. Unlike the plateau above, the hollow was choked with flora, and the fauna was growling behind me. I could see plenty of dips and caves and dark places in the rock, shadowy places behind scrub and under tree, but how could I get there without breaking my neck or snapping an ankle? And where the hell was Batten? I figured he was right behind us, and wondered how that helped me, if at all.

The stonecoat snuffled and made a quick and sudden swipe down at me. I ducked further, cowering down on my bare knees on the rock. His scrabbling fingers met stone, and grit showered my head. I dialed Hood, but his phone pushed to voice mail and I realized why; the chopper would be too loud for him to talk, much less hear it ring.

Above me, the stonecoat started seeking a way down that didn’t involve injury. He backed away, and I felt he was either gearing up to jump, or he’d spotted a path I hadn’t.  As if answering my unspoken question, I heard him crashing through the pines and aspens above.

With a frantic thumb, I texted Hood:
Don’t see the way.

He texted back:
Ledge to your right, six foot gap or so. Hooks back around and opens up to where we're dropping the beef. Looks like there's a path just beyond.

I had to get there before the boggle found the easier way down. With the pebblecoat tucked against my left breast with one arm, I used my free hand to swipe the hair out of my eyes, looking for whatever shelf or ledge Hood was talking about.

Either his perception of distance was way off from up in the chopper, or fear was dicking with my ability to judge the gap, because the shelf to my right
did not
seem six feet away. I’d never make it that far, even without the baby monster in my arms. I didn’t have much room for a running start, and wasn’t able to use my arms for stability or to grab for anything if I missed.

Are you fucking kidding me? I am going to haunt your skinny, ginger ass if I miss that jump and die.
I took a moment to wonder why my phone didn't have a “go fuck yourself” emoji, and sent the text, along with a terrified scowl, to Hood in the chopper.

You got this, Mars.

“Oh yeah, this is how I bite the big one,” I told the tired pebblecoat, who blinked up at me uncomprehendingly. “Leaping around in my underpants with boggle drool on my chest and lube on my face. What will the headlines read?” Then it occurred to me, “Oh, Harry will be
so
pissed off.” I rolled my eyes, not even able imagine all the fussy, obscure denouncements and invectives he’d stuff my eulogy with.  He’d probably burn his black mourning suit, hatband, and cravat from Jay’s of Regent Street, and instead wear regal purple to highlight his disgust. I wondered if he’d add any modern English curses so that my family could commiserate with him properly.

You got this, Mars.
“Suuuuuure, I do.”

Just past the shelf, there was another clump of trees and a big boulder. Above the boulder, the stonecoat’s brawny shape appeared. He mounted the boulder and gave a series of territorial barks, throwing his arms wide to exaggerate his size, as if he could impress upon me and the dudes in the helicopter that he just wanted a super-squishy hug, or maybe a starring role in an ugly-assed remake of
King Kong
. There was a bit of a path behind the monster, probably a hunting trail into the messy scrub, probably
his
hunting trail. Great. He had the advantage of familiarity with the terrain, here, and I was bumbling around like a mouse through a maze.

“Perfect.  So now I’m jumping to a shifty-looking shelf above a bone-breaking drop towards an angry boggle with his baby in my arms.” I ignored the stonecoat’s yowling, because for the moment he couldn’t get to me easily, and I was willing to bet, with his clumsy size and burdensome mass, he wasn’t too eager to tumble, either. I took a few moments to run down a list of people who probably wished this flavor of untimely demise on me. It was annoyingly long, so I gave up halfway through college, with my second-year lab partner's ire over my suckage during our freshwater Kelpie studies. Everybody since then would just have to get their schadenfreude for themselves.

A second helicopter cut the air above me and I said to the pebblecoat, “My luck, that’ll be the media. If I don't stick the landing, I bet I make Tosh.0's
Greatest Snuff Fails Holiday Special
.”

But it wasn’t a news chopper, it was a bigger, plain white one, with two men in front and one in the back, the cargo bay open. I shaded my eyes and squinted up at it. There seemed to be a couple of uneven bundles in the back, and the third man was working at some ropes.
I will never take food delivery for granted again, and swear to the Goddess, if I get out of this alive, I am going to tip the next pizza guy I see way above and beyond “usual and customary
.”

I faintly heard Batten shouting above and behind me. The stonecoat heard him, too, and echoed the angry shouting with some of his own.

I couldn’t see Batten, but took a deep breath and yelled, “Come catch this baby. I need both my arms.”

Something was distracting the stonecoat from behind the boulder, and I was guessing it was Batten and his pipe. When the boggle was riled up enough to leave his Kong-like perch, Batten dropped his pipe with an audible clank and ran down the path, shouting, “Chuck it! Marnie, chuck it!”

I cupped the pebblecoat in both hands, steadied it, and pitched it upward with a granny-shooting-free-throws, double-underhand toss. Batten had to backtrack to compensate for my adrenaline-fueled oomph, but he plucked it out of the air and made his way into the forest. I'm not sure it even woke up, but I didn't hear it meeping for its parent as Batten made off with it, hollering at the stonecoat to keep its attention.

I backed up to give myself space to take a running jump as the boggle lumbered after Batten, roaring what I figured must be stonecoat-ese for, “Fuck you, gimme back my kid.” I had maybe four feet worth of runway, which felt like nowhere near enough, and for a second, I considered giving up and just parking my ass on this shelf and letting Batten deal with the situation. The stonecoat paused to tear a tree out by the roots, showering the path with dirt and leaves. He swung it like a club, and my mouth went dry. The image of Kill-Notch pounded by tree bark into human slurry set my feet in motion. Without any further calculation, I put my Keds to the test and bolted for the other shelf, launching into the air and landing hard enough on the next ledge to pitch me forward. I forgot to roll shoulder-to-hip; my dive turned into a belly-grinding, thigh-skinning skid-flop, complete with girlish shriek.

 The shriek turned the boggle’s head. I was making the final teetering transfer from shelf to boulder when it came back at me, yellow-eyed and frothing from the mouth.

“No, no!” I scolded, my panic jolting me into angry mother mode. I wagged my finger at him in warning. “Chase the other guy, I’m done. I don't even have your pebble. Go that way!”

At least he didn't smite me with his tree club, but, with surprising quickness, took hold of me by the ponytail instead, and hauled me off the boulder and off my feet. I kicked out at him, Keds connecting with nothing, madly thrashing the air. If you've never been picked up by the hair, it's about as painful as you'd expect. The helicopters circled safely above, and I wished I was in one of them instead. The pebblecoat resumed wailing; either it was less impressed with the cuddles offered by Batten’s hard chest compared to my own soft one, or Batten was doing something to get it to cry out as a distraction.

Whatever it was, the stonecoat decided to find out. He lumbered down the path, with me swinging from one hand like a foul-mouthed Raggedy Ann doll. I squeaked at the pull on my scalp and latched up onto his wrist, gripping hard, trying to get some kind of purchase to keep from being dropped, and take some of the excruciating pressure off my much-abused scalp. The boggle used the tree-club in his other hand to clear the path better, cracking branches and leaving broken trees in his wake.

Just ahead of us, several meaty, splintering crashes preceded Batten shouting. My imagination saw beef carcasses landing on his head, but that couldn’t be; dropped from the helicopter’s height, they’d have killed him.  The boggle stopped abruptly and lowered the hand that was holding my ponytail enough for my feet to touch ground. Batten and the pebblecoat waited at the mouth of a roomy-looking den. There were, indeed, several beef carcasses partially embedded in the nearby earth. One hadn’t broken through the tree limbs and hung in the branches by some intact ribs, drooling blood. Batten looked winded but unharmed. His jeans were dusty and his t-shirt was splashed with a generous fan of curdled pebblecoat spit-up. That almost made up for my aching scalp, skinned knees, and thudding head.