West Nile via Marietta

It was summer in Marietta, it hadn’t rained in two weeks.

               Her eyes opened with the noise – the agonizing buzz of mosquitos. Primrose waved them away and flopped over on her bed in irritation, groaning quietly to herself. In four nights she hadn’t slept at all; back home, even in August the nights cooled down enough to sleep easily.

 Again the buzzing came, and again she waved it away, then with a sigh of frustration she sat up, flinging the thin sheet off her naked body; her sister Charmaine lay still in the other bed, and she carefully crept by and across the hall.  

               She had to feel around in the dark for the short piece of string which was tied to the end of the chain on the light switch. The bathroom filled with yellow light and she squinted firmly against it; in the old spotty mirror, the welts of four nights of mosquito bites glowed an angry, troubling red. They pocked her neck and chest and had turned raw from her constant itching.

               A cold wet cloth brought some relief as she dabbed it across her neck and chest, though it also made her forehead throb dully – ever since lunch she had noticed the aching in her head. She sighed at her reflection and gently rubbed at her welts, laid the cloth in the sink, and tugged the string, plunging the bathroom back into darkness.

               From the other bed, Charmaine leaned up when Primrose crept back into the bedroom.

               “I thought you were asleep,” Primrose whispered loudly. “You ‘bout scared me outta my skin.”

               Charmaine shook her head but realized her sister would never notice it in the dark. “I can’t sleep,” she followed up with.

               “The mosquitos?” asked Primrose as she fell back onto her bed.

               “And it’s too hot,” Charmaine whispered with a sigh. “Why in the world did we agree to come here?” she asked, slapping a palm to her shoulder to flatten a mosquito.

               Primrose knew it was a rhetorical question and didn’t respond, scratching at a bite on her chest which was turning raw to the touch. “It wasn’t this bad last night.”

               The moon was nearly full; a square of white light stretched across the floor. From down the hall, the steady drone of Uncle Shiloh’s snoring, the humid oppressiveness of the air and the eternal whine of mosquitos made any sleep impossible.

               “Should we wake Aunt Margaret?” Charmaine asked in a whisper.

               Primrose scratched at the raw welt on her chest until it hurt too much to touch, and then she began to itch one of the welts on the neck. It would do no good to wake Margaret – there was nothing she could do about any of it, except offer up another wet cloth and cup of tea. From her bed she gazed through the window at the branches of the Loblolly pines slowly swaying to and frow and recalled the river a short walk down the road.

               “Let’s go for a walk,” she said after a moment of silence. Charmaine sat motionless on her bed and watched her sister as she dressed herself and slipped her shoes on.

               “Come on,” Primrose whispered, more forcefully this time.  

               The floorboards of the hallway groaned gently with their footsteps and the detestable sound of their uncle’s snoring caused a shared look of repulsion between the two of them as they passed the bedroom.

               “How can they sleep in this?” Charmaine wondered aloud.

               The living room was stuffy and had a musty reek which clung to everything in the room and to one’s clothing if they sat on the furniture. The chirping of dozens of crickets merged with the sound of their uncle’s snores to create one low, undulating noise which filled every corner of the living room which seemed to Charmaine to be much smaller in the dark than it was during the day.

               The screen which sat across the doorway at a cockeyed angle whined loudly when Primrose pushed against it, and the chorus of crickets quickly fell away though Uncle Shiloh’s snoring continued undisturbed. Then she had a thought so sudden it made Primrose stop in her tracks; Charmaine bumped into her from behind and they both stumbled onto the porch.

               “Prim!” Charmaine hissed.

               “Hang on a minute,” Primrose replied, and she disappeared back into the house. When she had returned, Charmaine’s eyes were immediately drawn to the shape of the pistol Primrose was holding awkwardly in her hand.

               “Prim!” hissed Charmaine again, “what’re you doing?! Why do you have that?” It was an honest question – the nearest neighbor was over a mile away and it was possible to go the whole day without seeing another person.

               Primrose held the pistol by her side and kept it pointed down at the porch. She waved her free hand across her face to flush away a mosquito but the other hand stayed rigidly affixed as though she were afraid of moving it, even an inch.

               “Remember what uncle Shiloh said? Mountain lions.”

               Charmaine meant to protest but her sister had already stepped off the porch and was bathed in pale light from the moon overhead, walking with deliberate paces toward the road. She stood firmly on the porch, the realization of cougars and the pistol making her frightened to set foot into the night. Once Primrose disappeared into the shadow of a Sweetgum tree, though, Charmaine quickly hurried after her sister.

               “Prim, you don’t even know how to use that thing,” she huffed, catching up at the end of the driveway. The chorus of crickets was punctuated by the hoot of a distant owl and the odd sounds of bullfrogs, though nothing seemed so ominous or sinister that they would need to resort to a gun. Charmaine was feeling panicky – she knew her sister had never even held a gun.

               “Just…” started Primrose, “stop worryin’ ‘bout it. Now, river’s this way, just a mile or so I think is what Aunt Margaret said. We can put our feet in, cool off a bit. Better’n layin’ in bed to be eaten alive by those damn mosquitos, anyway.” She was aware that her headache was getting worse but she made no mention of it to her sister who was still looking apprehensively at the pistol.

               Along the road the two walked and the moon would disappear behind groves of scaly-bark trees and pines, casting deep shadows that stretched eerily into the night. To Charmaine, the strangest noise came from the bullfrogs hidden away in the tall grasses; their groans almost sounded artificial.

               Away from the stagnant and stuffy air of the house and the biting insects, the night felt almost pleasant to Primrose whose right arm still hung motionless at her side, and the snubby nose of the pistol pointed to the red dirt under her feet. The weight of it was foreign to her; it was like carrying a large rock. The thought had never even occurred to her that she had no idea how to check to see whether it was loaded. Odds were that Uncle Shiloh wouldn’t keep a pistol unloaded, though.

               “Where’re we goin’?” asked Charmaine anxiously.

               Primrose walked along in a silence that lasted too long to the other girl because she asked again.  

               “Prim? Where’re you goin’?”

               Primrose felt agitated but not by her sister’s questions. “I don’t know,” she answered curtly. “Does it matter? At least we ain’t in that gal’darn house.” She paused, then: “gettin’ bit by bugs and sweatin’ to death.” Without thinking she laid a hot, sticky palm on one of her bites and she winced.

               When she turned to Charmaine, she was startled when her sister’s face fell ominously.

               “Holy cow,” Charmaine blurted, “what happened to your neck? It’s bleedin’ everywhere!”

               “What?”

               Charmaine leaned closer and saw streaks of blood which had stained Primrose’s tank top. “Does it hurt?”

               “Stop frettin’, it’s fine. Just bug bites.”

               A mile away, beneath a cluster of Loblolly pines which stood along the ridge of a shallow ravine, a mountain lion slinked warily through the underbrush, drawn down the ravine by the inviting sound of the river slowly winding along the valley floor. It was sick, lethargic, panting slowly in the humid night air as it moved; its ribcage inflated and deflated with ragged inconsistency. Mange had overtaken it and the normally sleek and tight fur of its coat was matted and coarse.

               “The river’s just ahead,” Primrose announced with a glance over her shoulder. “We can put our feet in some, might feel nice.”

               Charmaine shrugged sullenly. “Fine, if that’s what you feel like.”

               The two girls were a stone’s throw away from the old stone bridge which spanned the river. To Primrose, it couldn’t have seemed further away – she was breathing hard like she had been running a marathon all this time, and more than dipping her toes into the water or even going for a swim, the only thing that appealed to her was sitting down and resting. At seventeen, she should have been able to make this walk without even breaking a sweat, however that wasn’t something which even dawned on her.

               Primrose turned suddenly to Charmaine with eyes wide. “Do you hear somethin?” she asked with concern; she stood frozen, listening intently with a grave look.

               Charmaine was puzzled, her eyes wandering off into the dark. The only noises she heard where the same ones that had filled the night air since they had left the house.  

               She answered: “No. I just hear night sounds.” Primrose looked at her queerly; it was obvious to her that there was something out there.

               “Prim…” started Charmaine. She was instantly cut off.

               “Never mind, just keep up, ya hear?…don’t fall behind.”

               There was an obvious demeanor to Primrose which her sister had failed to see until that moment. The moonlight revealed a sheen of sweat which coated Primrose like an oil; her hair clung to her face and neck. She stumbled once in the dark, catching herself only after some effort which sent Charmaine leaping to grab hold of her. It was after she had caught the arm of Primrose that she realized something was wrong.

               “I’m fine, it’s fine…what are you doin?” spat Primrose as she struggled to catch her breath. Charmaine stared at her in a panic.

               “What’s wrong with you?!” she hollered as she tugged at Primrose’s elbow. Her sister was wheezing fiercely, and her eyes were glassy and bloodshot; they seemed to drift all over the place like searchlights.

               “I think…I think…” Primrose stammered as she dropped awkwardly to her knees on the red dirt road.

               Their voices had carried far enough in the darkness that the mountain lion knew there was something nearby. It slowed to a standstill in a gully upwind and crouched meekly; its panting was heavier, and saliva hung from its jowls in thick strands which vibrated in its exhalation. It hadn’t eaten in two days – its disease had kept it from hunting with any amount of efficiency, and the heat and dry spell had driven all the smaller animals down to the river and away from its den. Though its ears drooped, it was still aware of the odd sounds on the wind.

               Charmaine couldn’t make out the words her sister was mumbling and reached for her chin to steady her bobbing head.

               “Prim, I don’t know what you’re sayin’!” she yelled - she was horrified at the heat radiating off her sister’s face. She placed a palm against her forehead and gasped – Prim was burning up, and she began sinking lower, from her knees she slowly leaned forward until Charmaine’s grip was the only thing keeping her off the ground, but Charmaine lacked the strength to hold her for long and she crumpled onto the road as the other girl’s grip of her arm failed.

               To the twelve-year-old, nothing came to mind other than to shriek. Prim laid on her side, the dried blood on her neck looked black in the faded moonlight. She laid still except for small clouds of dust which rolled away from her mouth as she exhaled into the dirt.

               Charmaine, tears rolling down her cheeks, crouched beside her sister and shook her vigorously. The skin of her bare shoulder felt like a sponge of hot water and Charmaine understood that something had happened but didn’t know what to do.

               “Prim…Prim, I gotta go get help,” she yelled, though Prim didn’t move. “I’ll get Uncle Shiloh, I’ll be right back, I swear.” She rose to her feet and took a couple of steps backward; Primrose just laid silently on the side of the road. Charmaine began to sob louder and she turned and ran from her sister.

               From the edge of the gully, the mountain lion watched with a fumbling curiosity as the two creatures moved about the road. The one laying still on the ground was less interesting to it than the other which was moving about in small, skittish motions. When it began running away, the mountain lion perked instinctively, but the pain which coursed through its tensed muscles quickly erased its desire to chase. It returned to panting slowly, watching the other creature on the ground as it clumsily rose to its feet once more and began slowly winding down the side of the gully.

               She came-to in an instant with a dull ringing in her ears that made Primrose agitated. Nothing looked familiar from her vantage point; she felt if she could only split her skull apart, it would help ease the pressure and pain she felt across her forehead. Her movements happened entirely out of her control at first, but she found once she rolled onto her back that she was able to hold still. Above there was a canvas of a billion points of light in the sky: stars which were unrecognizable to Primrose.

               “Where…?” she began. “Hey…is someone there?”

               She heard nothing other than a ringing in her ears. It would ebb and flow, but it never totally went away. Once she managed to get herself upright, a ferocious nausea overwhelmed her and made her hands go numb. She began to wretch, crying loudly from the pain which shot down her neck.

               Down by the road, the big cat wobbled nervously as its legs bumped into one another. The creature was now only a dozen yards from Primrose, who was loud but stationary, something which would be easy enough for the cat to overwhelm as long as it could maintain control. But as it tried to run, it collapsed with a growl, stumbling awkwardly. Now it was on the road, hunched over and only a handful of paces from its prey, but it was unable to collect its focus to make the final lunge.

               Then the noise erupted.

               The first pistol shot was far wide, but the noise scared the big cat so much that it stumbled away into the darkness. The second shot burrowed into the road yards from where the cat had stood.

               Primrose struggled to keep the pistol level. She sensed that there was a threat nearby, but she couldn’t recognize what it was. Unable to stand, she kept the pistol in front of her, waiting for any sign of movement.

               Then another motion caught her eye and she pulled the trigger.

               There was a strange sound - a grunt, loud, but not like an animal.

               “Prim!” boomed Uncle Shiloh’s voice. “Stop shootin’!”

               Panic flooded Primrose; the pistol fell from her hands onto the ground, and she cried out in terror, a scream which rolled stoically through the night.

               Charmaine stared blankly at the black limbs of the Sweetgum trees overhead. The pain had only lasted a moment, and now she couldn’t feel anything. The oppressive heat had turned cold and encompassing – it was like sweet relief. The pool of blood beneath her had lured dozens of mosquitos, but she didn’t mind them now. She couldn’t feel them, anyway.