The Matriarch (36 page)

“You’re not lookin’ so good yourself, Cassidy,” he says. “Start workin’ your way up this side here and grab anything. There’s a cloth rope we made about half way up. I’ll push you—”

“We’re not through here yet, Frank. We have to—”

“Sweet baby Jesus!” Frank says. He’s just seen Lester’s body, partially hidden by grass and rock. “Is that Lester?”

“Yeah. Never had a chance, poor bastard.”

Louie starts trotting over to the body, and I’m alarmed. I’m not sure just where those killer vines are. “Get back here, Louie!” I’m surprised to see that wonder-pup instantly obey me.

Leaning on Frank, I look past Lester’s body through the beams of sunlight that illuminate the heart of The Tree. She’s a bright green nightmare, a hideous giant just a few yards away. She seems quiet now, at least somewhat subdued. Even her army of vines is still. But I know she’s conning me, leading me to think she’s defeated. I can feel her evil. And her patience. She’s regrouping. This monster is far from beaten.

I know you’re pissed Mama Tree. So … what’s your plan now?

“Poor fellow,” Frank says, looking at Lester. “I’m so sorry.” He’s breathing hard, fighting back tears. “We’ll have to rig something, Cassidy, to get him back up the hole—outta here.”

“Yeah. But we’ve got a bigger problem right now. Take a look around, Frank.”

The tentacles Frank has sprayed are lying shriveled and burned on the cavern floor. Several healthy ones have drawn back, I see, away from the lethal spray. They’re just a few feet away, however, and they’re twitching as if anxious to get back to work.

“Look at all these dead … things, Cassidy. I think we’ve stopped her.”

“No, Frank, we haven’t. She can grow new vines in a flash. That’s her beating heart we’re looking at; she’s very much alive. She’s after the world, Frank, and we have to stop her. We have to kill her. Right now.”

I’m talking as if we
can
kill her. We only have one sprayer, because I can’t find mine, and one can of refill. That may not be enough.

And then I see it! Oh my God; there’s my sprayer! It’s lying almost covered in dust, just a few feet from where I landed.

“There’s my sprayer, Frank,” I say pointing.

“I don’t know about this, Cassidy. I think we should just get—”

“Look at her, Frank. Look at her heart, beating away. She’s healthy as a horse, and like I said—she’s after the world.”

Frank takes a breath, and I brace myself for argument, but the old man just closes his mouth and stares at the monster’s beating heart.

“I … guess you’re right, Cassidy,” he says after a moment.

I nod, smiling and slap him on the back. “I’ll get my sprayer,” I say and limp the few feet over to it. At this moment I seem to be almost numb to the pain in my leg—what a blessing that is!

My sprayer is heavy which means it’s full or very close to full. I check the nozzle which is still open. Louie comes to my side growling, with the ruff on his neck and back standing at attention. I have no idea what good the dog may be in this bizarre situation, but I’m comforted by Louie’s presence. I look back at Frank who’s right behind me, sprayer clutched to his bare chest with one hand and arm and the other on the pump—he’s at the ready. I’m at the ready myself, dragging Lester’s refill can along behind me. The three of us are geared up and primed for battle.

We start off. I’m limping but leading the way toward her heart. She responds by sending her green arms to meet us. When I’m about ten feet away from her advancing tentacles and her heart, I figure that’s close enough and begin pumping my sprayer,

“Now, Frank!” I yell. “Let her have it!” The two of us open fire.

Her limbs thrash wildly as the spray hits them, like snakes gone mad. They sputter and hiss in their death throes. But more come quickly to take their place. She seems to have a limitless quantity of those things inside her. My belly cramps in visceral fear as the truth hits me.

We don’t have enough spray—even with the refill! She can probably outlast us. and that means she’ll win.

I want to drop the sprayer, grab Frank and Louie, and run like hell. Make that limp like hell.

This green bitch is going to defeat us!

Looking at her, I think of a huge octopus that can somehow grow an endless supply of arms. How does one kill an octopus? I have to get closer, closer to the bulk of her heart. That’s where she’s giving birth to these unholy things. Her tentacles are at my feet now, and two slither up onto my boot.

“Frank,” I yell over my shoulder, “I’m gonna jump over these guys. We gotta get closer to her heart.” I see Frank’s eyes widen; they’re huge with fright. “Cover me!” I shout and leap into the seething green army.

Slippery! No purchase for my boots anywhere. I lurch forward, knowing if I fall I’m a goner. I shoot some spray at my feet and slog on. It’s like being mired in living ropes of quicksand. At my side, Louie snaps and snarls as he tears into the tentacles. He whips them about as he shakes his head from side to side in a froth of canine rage. I hear sizzling behind me and know that Frank is spraying like mad.

Three green snakes slide up my leg toward my belt. In a frenzy, I turn the sprayer on my groin and then down my legs. The tentacles hiss and burn as they fall off. I push on, fearful now of my own hysteria. I’m afraid I’ll lose my mental grip and bolt mindlessly.

And now she’s less than five feet away!

Time stops. As if surprised by my nearness, she pauses and we pause as well. I stop my clumsy advance, and she the relentless march of her army. We study each other. I replenish both sprayers with Lester’s refill can. There’s a perpetual hissing sound coming from her, like a huge snake about to strike. She stinks. Her pores suck air in and then blow it out in a hot, fetid gush. She smells like a dank, rotting plant that’s never seen the sun, along with a decomposing animal reek.

I’m close enough now to see that her core, her heart, is covered with pale green vines, tightly woven together. They’re protecting her heart. If I can get this spray past that tight weave …

I adjust the nozzle to “stream” and stagger closer. I pump the sprayer up and turn it on, thrusting the nozzle so close it’s almost touching her. The stream hits her heart and runs down its surface. She writhes and wheezes in pain. I lurch closer. I ram the nozzle through the weave and gun the lethal liquid directly into her heart.

Have these miserable creatures destroyed me? Never! That simply cannot be.

I hear the death throes of my tentacles, my loyal protectors. Their hissing is constant now, telling me they are in terrible pain. Their pain slowly becomes mine now, as I don’t have the strength to fight through the effects of the deadly elixir that is being sprayed on us. It’s a liquid, scalding fire that burns my living green flesh into white ash. The pain is unbearable … but of course I must bear it—I have no choice.

I am The Matriarch.

In her cell, Lindee Banyon claws at her head, drawing blood. Her face is distorted in anguish.

Deputy Stanley Mack picks up his inter-office phone. “Backup!” he yells. “She’s tryin’ to kill herself!”

I see the rope-like flesh of The Tree’s heart wriggle and squirm. And, fall off her. With the torrent of spray, her protective weave comes undone, exposing a soft, yellow-green muscle that gives off a rotten, sugary stench. I begin to cough, and I hear Frank gagging behind me.

Frank and Louie come up even with me, and we stand side by side, spraying and streaming and barking until her arms are killed and The Tree shrivels in on herself. She becomes self-consuming, a pathetic shrinking mound of smoking tissue.

We empty our sprayers.

We sit quietly on the porch. I’m sprawled in a chair, my throbbing leg resting on a cushioned chair while I nurse an Irish and ice and smoke a cigarette. Frank sits with me at the table, a glass of the Dickel in his hand. We stare at the half loaf of sliced rye and wedge of cheddar Charlotte has set out for us. Louie sleeps soundly under my chair.

Pink blisters are blooming on our arms and faces—clusters of them—kisses from the Mama Tree. Exhausted and filthy, I’m a hollow man, drained of energy and everything else … except worry.

Is she really dead? Did we really kill her?

I picture the small pile of wet, gray-green ash that’s left of her—sprayed right to Hell by our synthetic testosterone.

Is she really dead?

We emptied our sprayers into her heart and then called to the women to help us up the sides of the hole with the cloth rope they had made. I’ll never forget the sight of the strapping Dott Pringle in her harness-like bra. She was an avenging goddess. And Charlotte standing there bare breasted was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. She helped haul us up, and I couldn’t keep the lecherous grin off my face. I gave her my shirt, and she blushed.

We partially reloaded our sprayers from the remaining refill can, and the women helped us descend once again. We sprayed the now motionless monster until her mass dwindled to a tiny residue of pale-green mush.

In my head, I know she’s dead. I can only hope that when I get some rest, I’ll know it in my gut as well.

A sheriff’s patrol car pulls up, stirring the dust in the drive. Frank had called Manny’s office and learned he was dead. He had apparently been stabbed several times by his wife; she was found near his body in a state of mindless hysterics. Frank also learned that Al Schmidt was found dead at his home, apparently bludgeoned to death. A bloody shovel was nearby on the floor. His wife wasn’t there. While I’m no fan of Al’s, I’m sorry he met such a violent end. Was it more crazed women doing him in?

Deputy Jim Collins is now the acting sheriff of Diablo County. He and two deputies climb the stairs to the porch.

I lower my leg and put the heels of my hands on the table. I begin to push myself up to a standing position.

“Sit down, Cassidy,” Frank orders, and I gratefully do as I’m told. “Sheriff, this here’s my nephew. He’s got a bad leg.”

Louie rouses himself briefly, checks the new sheriff out, and settles back down to sleep.

“We’re pleased to see you, Depu … Sheriff Collins,” I say and shake his hand.