Alabama Moon (19 page)

“Constable Davy Sanders has traveled here from Livingston to make four expeditions into the forest trying to bring the boys to justice. On the last mission, Alabama Moon attempted to shoot him and left him for dead. Constable Sanders denies that they can remain in the wild much longer. He claims that the boys will have to come out sooner or later, and when they do, he'll be waiting . . . And until then, so will we.

“This is Nancy Centers, TV News 10.”

I didn't care when I heard the part about attempted murder. It didn't seem like it mattered what people thought of me anymore. They were going to be after me no matter what. They just wanted me locked up somewhere.

After the television crew left, I spent another hour watching carpenter ants climb around near my face. The sound of the creek grew fainter as the water drained out of the forest. Robins fluttered in, settled, pecked at the leaves, and left again. Squirrels darted about the forest floor and chased each other up the trees, making bark and leaves rain down.

When the truck came, I hadn't heard any cars for almost an hour. It pulled up next to the bridge and stopped. A creaky door opened, and I could just make out someone—a boy—walking around to the rear. He climbed up into the bed and yelled, “Moon!”

I felt my nerves jump. I lifted my head to get a better look. When the boy yelled my name again, I recognized the voice and was flooded with excitement. I stood up in the cedar tree and waved my arms. “Hal, I'm over here!”

Hal brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “What you doin' up there?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Sleepin'. Waitin'.”

“Well, come on down. My daddy's with me.”

I tossed the blankets to the ground and leaped on top of them. I got so excited that I tripped twice getting out to the truck. Hal looked happier than I ever remembered seeing him. He jumped down from the back of the truck. “Heard they got Kit. Heard they found him sick. I told you he needs that medicine.”

I nodded while I caught my breath.

“I heard it on the radio last night,” Hal continued. “They got him at the hospital in Tuscaloosa.”

“He all right?”

Hal nodded. “The news said he was pretty sick, but they got him hooked up to some stuff.”

“How'd you find me?”

“Hell, they gonna have you all over the TV again. When they said they found Kit on the road, I figured you might still be nearby. I can't believe you dragged him all the way by yourself. I had a hard enough time makin' it out alone.”

“You comin' to live with me again?”

“No, I was comin' to see did you wanna stay with us for a while. I was gonna walk back for you if I had to. They're prob'ly after you hard, considerin' all the stuff Sanders been sayin'. And now they got this old trail to go on. Come meet my daddy.”

I nodded at Mr. Mitchell through the passenger-side window. He was big like Hal, but with red hair and a red beard. His nose was so pink and swollen it looked like you could wring water from it. He looked me over and shook his head. “I ain't never seen such a critter.” I could tell he liked me, and I smiled at Hal.

“You should have seen him when his hair was long,” Hal told his pap.

“Moon, you livin' in a hole out there?” Mr. Mitchell asked.

“Close to it. I've been livin' in a tree since yesterday.”

“How'd you like to come stay in the clay pit for a little while? We been needin' some company.”

“You know Sanders is stalkin' me like a wildcat. He finds me there, he's likely to try and whip up on all of us.”

“Hell, I know how to take care of lawmen like Davy Sanders. He don't amount to more'n a little ol' sand snake to me.”

“Daddy played Little League baseball with him,” Hal said. “Says he's mean, but dumb as a skillet.”

Mr. Mitchell leaned out of the window and spat a long line of tobacco juice. He turned to look at me. “He thinks just 'cause his daddy's the judge down in Sumter County that he can run around and do whatever he wants. Not even his jurisdiction.”

“He might think it,” I said.

“Yeah, well, he was on TV a few weeks ago. Said you ate his dogs and shot at him.”

“I didn't do that!”

“I know. I been drawin' down my savin's tryin' to feed a couple of bloodhounds and a little sausage dog.”

I turned to Hal. “You still got 'em?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you didn't know about the sausage dog, though. I found her while I was walkin' out. She was lost as hell, chasin' squirrels. I think Sanders came after you with his momma's dog after those bloodhounds ran out on him.”

“Did he tell the TV about me draggin' him into a creek and takin' his pistol from him?”

Mr. Mitchell laughed. “Naw, he didn't say nothin' about that. Why don't you climb in and tell us all about it.”

“I might get sick if you don't keep the windows down.”

“Son, these windows ain't down, they're gone.”

Mr. Mitchell's truck was beat up all over. It had dents from
the tailgate to the headlights. So many parts had been replaced on it that it was six different colors. It was piled full of cans and empty five-gallon oil buckets and magazines and sacks of garbage. The cab was crammed with just a little bit less of what was in the back.

Hal leaned into the truck and scooped up an armload of cans and magazines and empty chewing tobacco pouches. He backed out with his load and went to drop it in the truck bed. When he came back, he climbed in and slid to the middle, kicking more trash around with his feet.

“Slide on in here, Moon,” Mr. Mitchell said.

I got in and pulled the door shut.

As we drove towards the Mitchells' place, some of the new trash that Hal put in the truck bed fluttered out onto the highway. At one point, I heard a clatter and turned to see a five-gallon bucket bouncing down the road behind us.

“You're losin' buckets back there, Hal.”

“Let 'em go,” Mr. Mitchell said.

I heard a paint can clatter off the truck. “You're losin' all kinds of stuff.”

Mr. Mitchell shrugged and spit out the window. “Yeah, well, this old boy don't get out on the road much.”

Mr. Mitchell began to tell me about Sanders coming on television and talking about how dangerous I was. He said that everybody that lived around the Talladega National Forest was on the lookout for me.

“I oughta whip him good,” I said.

“You might get your chance if he finds you.”

Mr. Mitchell pulled a bottle of whiskey from under the truck seat and took a swallow. He screwed the cap back on
and shoved it under. “Hal says you gonna head to Alaska pretty soon.”

“Not until I hear from Kit. I'm not gonna go up there by myself.”

“What if he's too sick?” Hal asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don't know.”

Mr. Mitchell spit again, coughed, and wiped his mouth. “I'll tell you, Davy Sanders might be a fool, but he's a dangerous fool. I suggest you stay holed up with us until you get you a plan made.”

“We can stay holed up and shoot bottles,” I said.

Mr. Mitchell smiled. “Damn straight we can shoot bottles.” He pulled out the whiskey and took another drink. He let down the bottle and looked at it. “I 'bout got this'n ready to set up soon as we get back.”

“I wish I had Sanders's gun. Y'all should have seen that thing I took off him. It'd blow out your eardrums.”

“Where is it now?” Hal asked.

“Back in the forest gettin' rusty.”

Mr. Mitchell smiled and shook his head. “Moon, I'll do what I can, but you better hope he don't get his hands on you. That's all I got to say.”

 

I told Hal and his daddy what Kit and I had been doing. Mr. Mitchell drove along and smiled at my stories and drank from his whiskey bottle. After a while he pulled off the
road and got out of the truck and walked around the passenger side. Hal slid over and got behind the wheel.

“Hal gonna drive us?” I asked.

“Boy can drive a bus, he can sure 'nough drive my truck for me,” Mr. Mitchell said as he climbed back in.

We crossed the Black Warrior River, and I stared down at the muddy water below. It reminded me of the cedar bluff overlooking the Noxubee River where Momma and Pap were buried.

“You make it out before it got cold on you, Hal?”

“Barely. I followed the creek like you said and come out on the road about dark. Some old fellow came along and let me ride with him. He was pretty jumpy about all those dogs crammed in his car and he was eyein' me like he knew I was up to somethin'. I finally got him to drop me off at a place I recognized and I walked the rest of the way. I don't think he figured out anything about who I was 'cause ain't nobody been to Daddy's lookin' for me.”

We parked near a clear-water creek just outside a town called Clinton. Mr. Mitchell dug around in his toolbox until he found a can of Spam. Hal pulled a loaf of bread from behind the seat and we made lunch on the tailgate. It had been a long time since I'd had any meat with fat in it, and I was sorry there wasn't a whole can just for me.

Mr. Mitchell's place outside of Union was just how I pictured it would be from Hal's description. His trailer was old and yellowed and had tires on top to keep the wind from blowing the roof off. The bloodhounds came running around the corner and jumped up and scraped at the truck.

“I don't guess you'll be needin' a place to put your things, will you, Moon?”

“Nossir. I don't have any things.”

They showed me a mattress I could sleep on in Hal's room and said it was the best they had to give me. The little wiener dog was already lying on it, and she looked at me like she wasn't giving up her spot.

“She gonna get mad at me?”

“Naw,” Hal said. “Just scoot her over. She'll get under the covers with you at night. She likes gettin' under things and crawlin' in holes. Daddy had to dig her out of an armadillo hole last week. She was down there for two days.”

“She get it?”

“Hell yeah, she got it,” Mr. Mitchell said. “Them dogs is crazy. She got dead squirrels layin' all over the yard like dish rags.”

“What's her name?”

“Says Daisy on the tag.”

I lay down on the mattress beside Daisy. “Next to lyin' on leaves and red bugs, this feels pretty good.”

Mr. Mitchell nodded at me and walked towards the room at the end of the hall. “I'll see you boys later,” he said.

Hal told me his daddy usually took a long nap in the afternoon and we'd see him for supper and bottle-shooting later. He showed me where the bathroom was and gave me everything I needed for a shower. “How many bugs you think you got in your hair?”

“Prob'ly a bunch,” I said.

“Daddy ain't gonna like bugs gettin' in the mattress. He already got onto the wiener dog about fleas.”

“Well then, I reckon we oughta shave it all off after I take a shower. Spring's about here anyway.”

I used some soap they had for cleaning grease off your hands and scrubbed the dirt off me. My fingernails and toenails had pine sap under them and we used gasoline to soften it and then scraped it out with a pocketknife. After that, Hal gave me some of his old clothes to wear in place of my Pinson uniform. I pulled on the blue jeans and a T-shirt that said “Moe Bandy” on it and looked at Hal.

“Fit pretty good,” I told him.

“Yeah. Last time I used 'em I was about your size.”

Mr. Mitchell had mashed some wooden crates into the mud and covered them with plywood for a front porch. Hal set some chairs up for us and ran an extension cord out of the trailer to plug his daddy's electric razor into. As he shaved my head, I looked out over the clay pit and let the hair fall over my shoulders and into my lap. “I can see why he likes this place,” I said. “You can shoot guns all day long out here. Not too many places you can shoot guns all day long.”

“Daddy'll be awake in a while and we can set up some bottles.”

I nodded. “Sounds good. You know, Sanders still has my rifle.”

“Not much way to get it now.”

“Your daddy let you take his truck by yourself?”

Hal stopped shaving me. “Yeah, but I ain't takin' you to get your gun from Sanders.”

“How about you takin' me to get Pap's gun?”

“At your old home?”

“Yeah.”

“Hell with that. We're gonna let the law cool off a little bit. Daddy said even if you didn't wanna come back with us, we should come warn you to stay hidden for a while.”

“Okay,” I said. “We can wait a while. But I'm glad you came and got me. I don't wanna be out there by myself anymore. Once Kit gets better, we'll figure somethin' out. You know how I can talk to him?”

“He's prob'ly too sick to talk to.”

“When he gets better, though.”

“The radio said what hospital he's at. We can go up to the Laundromat and use the pay phone to call in a few days.”

“I thought he was gonna die out there. I've never felt so bad about anything in my whole life. I should have told him to bring some medicine.”

“You didn't know.”

“Pap was wrong about a lot of things. You can't make every kind of medicine in the forest. I can't make everything Kit needs.”

 

After my haircut, Hal got some black garbage bags and started taping them over the side truck windows with duct tape.

“What's all that for?”

“You just hold on, skinhead.”

When he was finished, we got in the truck and went riding
down into the clay pit with the bloodhounds chasing behind. Once we were at the bottom, Hal mashed the gas pedal as far as it would go. The back tires threw mud fifty feet behind us and we fishtailed until I had to clutch the seat to keep from sliding across the cab. Finally, he straightened the truck and we sped towards the opposite side.