When Mountain Mama exploded, her mouth opened like a fiery volcano spewing hot sharp rocks. Those rocks rained down on everyone, especially them on account of Mountain Mama never lettin’ ’em get far. This time, the fiery rocks rained down on No Account Carl and the Stranger especially.
“Get him!” Mountain Mama yelled. The Stranger was already runnin’, knowin’ whatever came next couldn’t be good. Never was. Not when Mountain Mama exploded. “Carl—do something, you lard ass. Don’t jess stand there drooling like your son. And Clay, get outta that damn fountain!”
Lake No Pee was at the far end of town, a place with the tallest buildings you ever seed and a bunch of tired, dried-up ol’ trees drooping like ancient townsfolk, what with the heat and all, and never givin’ enough shade or holdin’ on to their leaves. It was fiery hot that day, like every day, and they’s splashing when the Stranger showed. He was nice, asking what went on in that there little town what he’d never seed before. When they poured water on his head, the Stranger smiled and poured water back, like he know’d Iris’s game. Iris wore dresses with flowers so they could remember her name. The Stranger wore clothes what people do in space, like he was visiting straight outta the sky.
No Account Carl started yellin’, trying to round up a posse, but he was too late per usual. A posse had already rounded itself up. The Lucky Strikes gang didn’t need tellin’ twice: Chase that Stranger! And the Stranger’s bug eyes and crazy legs told you everything else: He didn’t want catchin’. Didn’t want Mountain Mama exploding all over him. No one did.
Mountain Mama didn’t chase on account of her size. She stayed in that there wheelchair ’cept only to shift to a couch or a chair or to walk in or out of some nearby place, like the crapper. That’s where she shat, peed, and washed herself. They know’d cause Mountain Mama always keeps ’em close. And listen to this, which you might not hardly believe, Mountain Mama is even bigger nekkid. Like a mountain got loose, tore off its clothes, and started wriggling and talking on its own. No Account Carl didn’t run neither on account of his lard ass, an untreatable condition of lazy old men, and cause he never did nothing good for no body. That’s what Mountain Mama says.
“Get ’em!” yelled Crater Face.
“Tackle ’em!” yelled Wrong-Way McGee.
Jupiter jess barked. Barkbarkbarkbarkbarkbark! So loud it hurt everyone’s ears and they had to shout at that dumb dog to stop. Jupiter caught up with the Stranger first but jess kept barking cause you know he only has paws and Mountain Mama had taught that useless excuse of a mangy mutt the hard way not to bite less he desired grounding into hamburgers and serving on buns. Which he don’t.
“Dang that feller is fast!” said Two-Bit Baby. She usually watched the town’s goings-on from her stroller but occasionally got out and crawled round a bit. “Feet like that, he’d fit in the Lucky Strikes gang jess fine. They only got five now that Hairy Face is feet up unnerground.”
“You think that there Stranger might be Jack Rabbit Slim?” they asked.
“Could be.” Two-Bit Baby chomped her cigar and considered the possibility.
“I know he jess say to all the townsfolk he from Mars and is jess lost, only wound up here on accident and weren’t carryin’ the space pox what Mountain Mama and the townsfolk accuse him of, but what if that were a disguise, that suit, that there story. He don’t show no sores. What if he been searchin’ out the gang for years, on the sly like, and didn’t want people knowin’ his true self?”
“Might be on to somethin’.” Two-Bit Baby squinted as she said it.
“Lucky Strikes could use a quick-change artist like that,” they said.
“Heck yeah!” Two-Bit Baby slapped the arms of her stroller in excitement at the thought.
Only, were it true, Jack Rabbit Slim weren’t running so fast by then. Slowing down, breathing heavy. The Lucky Strikes gang were catching up, one by one. First Wrong-Way and Crater Face, then Silly String, Diaper Pants, and Bad Haircut. They didn’t knock him down, tho’. Didn’t tackle him or hold him even tho’ he were jess barely walkin’. Then Jack Rabbit Slim stopped entirely and near keeled over, hands on knees, panting like Jupiter when he ain’t even doing nothin’, jess sitting in the shade. Silly String put a hand on Jack Rabbit’s back, no doubt wondering what everyone was—might Jack Rabbit be about to go feet up like Hairy Face? Sure looked like it. No one never could run long in this infernal heat. Not even Jack Rabbit Slim, ‘parently.
All God’s children got limits, that’s what Preacher John says. Least that’s what he sed to Mountain Mama when she asked why they’s how they is, drooling near most the time and not much else.
“Stop-op in the name-ame of the Greater-ater Houston-ouston Police-olice Department-artment!”
Jess then two Robot Police announced themselves, and all the townsfolk turned to see them wheel round the corner of one of the town’s tallest buildings, reaching near up to where Jack Rabbit Slim must-uv come from. Right away they aimed straight for Jack Rabbit and the Lucky Strikes gang, like they’d know’d the score from far off without even Mountain Mama tellin’ em. Mind you, they ain’t people. Jess boxes made-a metal with painted-on uniforms that don’t fool no body and wheels instead of feet, so they never get tired no matter how far they got to go to get folks. Everyone’s learned the hard way there’s no escapin’ them grabbin’ arms, which reach farther than a body’s got a right to and zap folks into oblivion, making ‘em jump and twitch like their insides have miracled into a bag of scorpions. If the Robot Police decide a person needs zapping, nothin’ for it. Person gets zapped. End o’ story. Don’t matter one bit what a body knows or doesn’t know about what they done or ain’t done that needs zappin’.
They know’d cause they been zapped, that’s how. More than once. Each time, Mountain Mama starts bawlin’, which in some kinda way hurts worse than the Robot Police. She gathers them in her jiggly arms and says they ain’t done nuthin’, can’t do nothin’ not ever that requires zappin’. Each time, Mountain Mama promises to pound those Robot Police into oblivion. Anyone can, she can, but she ain’t done it yet.
“All-all suspects-uspects on the ground-ound!”
The Lucky Strikes gang were bug-eyed themselves. Only they weren’t running from the Robot Police per usual. They’s talkin’ with Jack Rabbit, most like sharing outlaw secrets, the sorta things only outlaws know, and fiddlin’ with the ground. They saw what with: one of them metal circles sprinkled around town. They’s heavy as tarnation and practic’ly need the whole gang to lift. They look sorta like what keeps beer from comin’ outta bottles but weren’t no beer inside. Only tunnels, so the gang says, long windy ones, and they run hidden-like unnerground, past where Hairy Face and all them others is layin’ and even practic’ly the whole town, which they know’d cause now and again the gang’d collect themselves close by when they’s whisperin’ midnight plans. They can hear even if’n they can’t talk so good. The tunnels don’t sound like no nice place, tho’. Hear tell, they’s dark and full of muck and biting critters and hidden folk. But at their ends are far-off places, other towns, mebbe ones like this Mars Jack Rabbit say he come from.
They’s always wish the gang’d take ’em on a midnight venture to see them places. But Mountain Mama never lets them outta grabbin’ distance, and she never goes no-dang-where ’cept round and round, home to Lake No Pee and back agin.
“Look!” Two-Bit Baby shouted. “They’s shovin’ in Jack Rabbit. They’s trying to save him!”
“Course they is,” they said. “That’s the outlaw code.”
“I know’d it,” Two-Bit Baby snarled, chomping her cigar. “You think I don’t?”
“He deserves savin’ too,” they said, happy to see it. Jack Rabbit was downright friendly, more than most folk they know’d, talking and splashin’ with them jess as nice as Iris, a person you couldn’t catch saying one bad word to no body. Jess try.
’Cept it weren’t only Jack Rabbit Slim makin’ a getaway. The whole Lucky Strikes gang were too, and in front of the whole town. Pilin’ on and hurryin’ each other into that hole.
“They ain’t gonna all make it!” Two-Bit Baby shouted.
“Them Robot Police’re comin’ on too fast,” they shouted back.
“Whatchu gonna do?” Two-Bit Baby grabbed the arms of her stroller, aiming her bug eyes at them.
Only one thing to do.
Earn a place in the gang or die trying.
They know’d they only but one person. Got one body jess like all people, even if that body don’t work like others. When folks ask Mountain Mama what’s wrong with them, her son, she jess point to her head and say, He’s touched is all. Ain’t built like other folks. She don’t say touched by what or built how. Then she dig a finger into her chess. But don’t matter none ‘cause he the same in here.
They don’t know what’s inside where what’s diff’rint or the same. All they know’d is when they try to say what’s inside, it never come out no right way, and Mountain Mama jess smile and pittapat all over. Townsfolk jess look down and all kinda other places. ’Cept Iris. She knows they unnerstand. Some things anyway. Bits and pieces at the least.
Jess talkin’ is hard, so what’s inside stays there, all locked up.
And even if-en they can’t run like Jack Rabbit Slim, they might reach them Robot Police ’fore they’s long arms started grabbin’ and zappin’ those youngin’s. If’n they need a body to zap, mebbe zappin’ this crook’d one’d slow ‘em down jess enuf fer the whole gang to reach them tunnels, mebbe disappear forever like some of them pledged. Escape their predicament of being trapped in this here dyin’ place, some call it.
What with their wheels, no way fer those mechanical devils to follow.
I ran at those police, barking like Jupiter at the front door, Mountain Mama says, thinking on them shows what Mountain Mama puts on after No Account Carl gets off his lard ass and clears them damn dinner plates, how this is what outlaws do when they’s surrounded, all holed up and no hope of escapin’ the law this time. Smile at them partners and come out guns blazin’.
Jess let the chips fall where they may.
***END***