DETRITUS PRESS

God only knew why she was out in this shit; the darkest knot of the biggest baddest blizzard to hit Huntington in twenty years, and there she was shakin' her ass off in four an a half alley. She'd be livin' in it sure enough if that twenty bucks didn't blow in soon. He said he'd be here.

In her scarf, she could smell the kerosene from the heater in Jim's apartment. The heat and the carbon monoxide in the small room were beaten just below toxic levels by the draft that blew the snow under the window sash. The cloud of smoke that hung in the room seemed to billow from the huge dragon painted on the wall. The word "crank" was crudely spray painted over the image in black. She had been nearly unconscious lying there beside the stove when Jim had taken her up softly in his arms and thrown her into the storm to get him a case of Old Milwakee and a pack of Marlboro Lights. She had half a carton of Winstons in the freezer but he said they made his throat hurt. The poor thing.

Against the backdrop of falling snow the street lamps formed vaulted caverns. There was a ban on all travel, kind of silly she thought, if you were fool enough to go out you deserved what ever you got. The road crews weren't even trying to fight it and the streets were desolate. She ducked across the alley to the shelter between the buildings. Despite the howling of the wind it was oddly quiet there as she made her way through the darkness to the front of the shop. A small bell clattered against the glass of the door as she stumbled across the threshold. Ward didn't look up at the sound. He was too busy flipping the doughnuts in a bottomless vat of oil behind the counter. There were twelve uniform rows floating there and as he made his way across the last row he methodically went back to the upper corner of the square and removed the first dozen from the vat. He expertly took the metal rod he was using to tip the doughnuts over and ran it clean through the holes of the first row and laid them all on the rack at the same time. If He imagined himself anything other than doughnut flipper it was a swordsman as he removed his dull rapier from the fresh line of pastries and mechanically moved on to the next row. She pushed hard against the pnuematic resistance that allowed the door to close softly. Damn it was cold out there.

She dug out a tight pocket full of quarters and let them fall on the counter top next to the pay phone, slapping down the coins as they danced along their edges on the hard surface. She held the reciever under her chin and dropped the money into the slot. Her fingers acted as if they wanted to stick to the cold metal and she remembered when she was five and her hand stuck to the side of the ice cream freezer in the general store back home. There were goose bumps on her thighs and as she tucked the pocket back into itself the tight denim pulled the fine silvery strands of hair from her leg. She winced at the sharp pain and then shrugged it off. Better start with the boys in town.

Three wrong numbers. Two answering machines.

"Hello."
"Hey Matt, you ready to go?" she purred into the mouthpiece.
He recognized the voice, "Don't need no whore tonight hon. Wife thinks this damn storm's romantic."
"Well, fuck you too then." she giggled. She wasn't going to give up that easily.
"I got her tied to the bedpost now. Gotta go."
With all her skill she tried to convey a telephonic pout, "What about me?" The little girl voice usually worked with Matt.
"Tell you what. I'll give you cab fare to come down here and eat her pussy."

Ward heard the harsh laughter erupt from the phone across the room. It sounded as hard as the black plastic it came from. He stole a glance at her back as she slammed the receiver in its cradle.

"You workin' tonight?" he asked as he stabbed the last line of holes.
"Yeah."

She slid a quarter down the counter and followed it to the register, "Glazed."
For a second he wasn't sure whether she was talking about her eyes or a doughnut. He took a piece of wax paper in hand and grabbed a doughnut.
"No, one of those fresh ones."
He put it back down and shuffled quietly to the other end of the rack.
"Here you go."

He reached under the counter and flipped a switch. HOT A twisted glass tube in the window flickered noisily to light. The pink glow was framed in the center of a green neon doughnut.

"That looks like a lot for a night like this."
"A little snow ain't no match for the munchies.” He pointed toward the college, ”They'll be rollin' in before too long.”

A little snow. She sighed softly as she left her comfortable perch on the stool and wandered back to her station by the phone. Fifty cents. Although she didn't really like the thought of it she figured she'd have to call Tom.


Across the street, the dim light reflected in the tinted window of the white Bronco that lay hidden in a small drift. The dark eyes in the truck registered the minute change in the store's facade. Hot, he chuckled to himself. Just like the old drunk said. It didn't refer to the donuts at all but was instead an old code worked out by the locals that told the girl inside was a prostitute. He took a pull from the pint of Old Turkey he had been nursing through the night as he waited. He began to sing softly:

"There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder workin' pow'r in the blood of the lamb..."

He took another hungry slug of the whiskey and bowed his head in prayer keeping one eye, sweet jesus, on that fine piece of ass. Thank you Lord for another opportunity to do God's work.

In Towers West John weaves his way down the crowded hall. He is the tallest participant in a snowbound version of the late night bar scene. With everyone trapped inside and classes canceled tomorrow it is the perfect opportunity for a round the world party. Each dorm room is a concession serving the preferred libation of the country it represents. If the coroner knew about this shindig he would probably be preparing several certificates in advance. Cause of death: Multiple drug intoxication. He side steps the tense crowd gathered outside the locked door of little Colombia and ducks under the red green and white streamers hanging over the border to Mexico.

The party is spread out over several floors of the building, one for each continent, with one level reserved for incontinents. That would be Austrailia. The whole affair is the brainchild of a failing geography student by name of Farmer Ted. He couldn't find his ass with a map and a compass. The name refers to the jungles of mold growing in his room. He is sitting at a diecast metal desk next to a plastic garbage can full of liquid with floating chunks of fruit. John reads the toilet paper sash draped over his shoulder. El Presidente!

"Like the throne?" Ted is lounging in a deeply cushioned chair lifted from the student center.

John ignores the question, "What happenned to the hanging Gardens?"

"This room has been sanitized for your protection." Ted smiles, "I couldn't get the senoritas in here the way it was." He cocks his leg up proudly on the foot of the bed.

"Looks like your doing all right with the new strategy" John nods toward the young girl lying sprawled on top of the sheets. She has a leather mask on her head just like the wrestling heros south of the border. Ted is one messed up motherfucker. She is still fully clothed but her panties are pulled down and dangling over the edge of the bed from her ankle. "I'd say its time to take her down under." He uses the standard party line for disposing of those who are about to spew.

Ted laughs at the unintended pun, "I'm thinkin' bout lockin' down the border and startin' my own penile colony right here."

"Uh huh." John winces at the crude joke. "How 'bout givin' me a shot. I gotta run down to Spencer's in a little bit."

"Sit down! Have a purple Jesus!" He starts to dip a large plastic cup down into the mixture of pure grain and grape Kool Aid.

"Naw, just the Tequila. It's cold out."

Ted clumsily inches the chair around - it is too big for the space - pulls a stolen shot glass from the desk drawer and drains the bottle he's been working on this evening. "Well at least have a grape," he says fishing in the punch. He shakes the concoction off his purple-stained hand, "They soak up the alchohol."

John empties the glass. "Looks like you've soaked up quite a bit too." he holds up his hand and the grape bounces off to the floor. John doesn't want to get drunk with this asshole, "No thanks."

"Suit yourself" he pops a piece of grapefruit in his mouth.

"But I think I will take this cherry off your hands." His knee crushes deep into the wornout bed springs next to the girl's body as he begins to loosen the laces at the back of the mask careful not to pull the hair that has been tied into the knot.

Ted staggers to his feet. John can now see the tail of the coonskin hat Tedd has stuffed in his pants hanging from his unzipped crotch. "What the hell do you think you're doin'? I just gave you my last shot. I ain't gonna share her with you too."

Ted sinks back into the chair as John rises to his full height and shifts the weight of the girl hanging over his shoulder like a bale of northern lights. "Time to slap the pinata around Farmer Ted. I'm savin you a lot of trouble." John turns and the girl's ass tears down the streamers, "Mexico should be upstairs in North America dumb shit." he says as he walks out the door.

The crowd parts in front him now that has a potential puker thrown over his shoulder. They all know anyone that relaxed could ralph at any second.

Downstairs he kicks open the door to the bathroom and dumps the girl in one of the shower stalls. He doesn't turn on the water. It might wake her and he can't even look at her face much less try to talk to her. Besides, the water spiraling clockwise down the drain would spoil the illusion of a genuine Aussie communal shower. Instead, he thinks of the look on a hungover Ted's face when she comes back in the morning with the cops to retrieve her underwear.

Leaning down the stairs, he takes them quickly. At the bottom of the six flights his momentum carries him through the fire door into the lobby.

"Hey! You've got to sign out" an RA shouts at his back as he moves toward the door.

"Didn't sign in!"

He pulls the hood of his parka down over his face and storms out into the blizzard. Looks like the Tequila is doin' its job.

He said he'd be here. Tom always came runnin' when she told him she was workin'. In fact, he was the only one horny enough to run out and fuck her in the middle of a blizzard and now he was fuckin' late. She figured to tough it out as long as she could, and if he didn't show, she would camp in her booth at Ward's. It was easy to sleep there with the rythm of the juke box thumping on her back. Just like home. Jim wouldn't come out and look for her in this storm. Sure he beat hell out of her all the time but he was still a pussy and couldn't stand the cold. She held her back to the wind and cupped the lighter up to her cigarette. She felt the heat instantly and thought for a moment the fumes in her scarf had caught fire, but no, the wind had picked up and the flame was out - no, it was dead calm and the fire still burned - maybe she hadn't shook the kerosene buzz. Maybe it was the acid kickin' in.

It had been almost an hour an a half since she had dosed and when she fell asleep on the floor at Jim's she just figured he had gotten ripped again. But then things had started to go a little funny in Ward's after she had called Tom. She felt like she could see the batch of dough Ward had mixed up rising on the cutting board and when she looked at the rolls of fat hanging off Ward himself they seemed to move and pulsate like the dough. And she felt like someone was watching her. All classic signs. If she was coming on then it was best not to think about it, so she went over to the video game and dropped her last quarter. Aaah, Galaga. Anyway, as long as she still had that one quarter, she didn't think she would be able to get out there and fuck Tom. She wouldn't be desperate enough.


She played the best game of her life. Blue and gold insects of light curled down on her from the vacuum of space and she followed the patterns instictively with her hands slapping the fire button over and over and over. She could not be killed. The sounds from the game blended with the images on the screen as she weaved between deadly bursts of pixles raining down on her ship. The more she concetrated on the game the less she had to think about what she was doing and her thoughts began to drift back to when she had first met Tom.

"I love you," he had said as he dry humped her in the hot tub. He had laid down the two hundred bucks required to take her upstairs at Dixie's. She might see fifty of that and she knew he couldn't really love her, but it was nice to think so as he tossed her around in the bubbling water. They had talked for a long time by strip club standards before he had caved and shelled out the cash. She told him she was a student and while sun bathing on the roof of her apartment earlier that day was reading Waiting for Godot. She was playing the babydoll dominatrix angle and the line made her seem superior to most of the dumb asses she ran into in that place. "I don't want to spoil it for you," he whispered later in the tub, "but he never comes."

She had the high score and was definitely tripping. Time had taken a backseat for a while and now she was in the trough of one of the waves that wash over you on acid. Tom was on his way so she had to go out to the corner to meet him. She was ready now and started to remove herself from the game with a series of deafening explosions. She lingered at the machine to admire her initials "ACK" proudly carved in light at the top of the winners' board. The odd feeling of someone watching her was less vauge now. She felt the eye of God trained upon her.


Back in the storm it was as if the stars had fallen from the sky and were swirling in the atmosphere.

Ever since seeing Star Wars: A New Hope when he was eight years old, for Tom, driving in a snow storm had become a replay of a jump to hyperspace in the millenium falcon. He first noticed the phenomenon while riding with his granny to get a new pair shoes shortly after seeing the film. He had found, nearly twenty years and three worn out VHS copies later, that racing off at light speed to fight the evil empire was still more preferable than anything he had experienced in his life. Luke Skywalker didn't have to buy new shoes or pay for sex.

He reached into the darkness of the cab and twisted the tuning knob of the radio until the stactic transformed to Buck Owens' band jammin' on Tiger by the Tail. You just can't appreciate Buck and the Bakersfield sound until you hear it played on an AM station. The DJ faded out the song and launched into the weather report. Appearently it was snowing and was going to snow some more.

"I've got Harlan Ellis on the phone here this morning. What are you doing up this early Harlan?"

"Been diggin a path out the barn so I can check in on that sow."

"Why don't you tell everybody what you were tellin me a little bit ago durin' the last song."

"Well, what I thought I'd do is auction off the load of pigs she's about to drop. This here's the sow that took best of show last fall down at the County Fair, y'all know the one, so I reckon these are gonna be some fine pigs. I figured you might be able to help me out."

"Let's see what we can do for you Harlan. I'll take bids at 845-WVOW during the next couple of hours, but now let's listen to Johnny Horton with a song that kinda fits the weather here this mornin'."

"Way up north, North to Alaska, Way up north..." It was a song Tom knew well from the best of Johnny Horton 8-track his dad used to listen to when he still had enough in him to listen to music. He turned up the volume and sang along.

He had just finished checking the pipes under the trailor when she called said she had "somethin' special" for him. He knew what it was. Inside the cab of the truck it was just starting to warm up after the twenty miles into town. It'd be just right for her to warm up gradually on the way back to his place. Maybe it wouldn't matter that he had spent his last ten bucks on gas to get to town. He might even have enough to make it back up the hollar. Of course she'd be pissed that he didn't have any money, but then she wouldn't need the money if she would just come home with him.




God only knew how long she had been standing there on the corner waiting for him. Time had been buried under the drifts as she twirled with mouth open to the sky trying to catch the snowflakes. The cold was a distant memory, forgotten like something important she was supposed to pick up for her mother at the store. Each crystaline structure that fell from the darkness contained another sweet secret truth only she could understand. She held them briefly on the tip of her tongue until they melted away. The sound of tires spinning into the far end of the alley brought her back. When she was certain he could see her she stamped her feet in mock impatience.

It was a new truck, certainly not Tom's, that pulled up beside her. She saw herself reflected in the dark window and wiped away the melting snow that ran down her cheek like a tear. The shadow of the driver inside reached across the cab and pushed open the passenger door.

"What are doing out in this storm my child?" The words were carried to her on a whiskey breath. He removed the bible in the seat so she could climb in.

"Waiting for you."




CHAPTER 2:



Hunched over the steering wheel, Tom followed his pecker due north driving through the blanket of snow ahead that looked most likely to have road underneathe. The snow swirled in front of the truck and sucked away any light his headlights produced.

The storm was beginning to take on a new dimension. Lightning now provided glimpses of a landscape completely unfamiliar although he had made the run many times before. There were no recognizible landmarks with everything obscured by snow, which seemed to be getting impossibly heavy, but Tom felt he was close to town because the new country sound of WTCR had begun to bleed over WVOW's broadcast. He turned off the top forty countdown and continued to hum the old songs to himself, but after a while the weather became so oppressive he quit humming and drove on in silence. The engine worked harder as he plowed through the drifts, and over each hill he climbed he expected to see the city layed out before him.

Earlier, while he worked under the trailer, the storm had been distant, just a series of weather reports on TV cutting into regular programming - kind of like the Gulf War - but now the odd winter lightning flashes showed how close it was. The clouds stacked on top of him were sufficating, and the thunder, even though close and powerful enough to rattle the organs in his body, was muffled, as if the clouds were a huge pillow being pressed over his face. Thank God, he thought, that the trailer was winterized, the he was ready for this kind of shit, that He and April would be safe there. He let himself think about these things and their love. Somewhat comforted, he turned back to the radio. He heard nothing but dead air and realized the station had lost power, and then, he realized how unprepared he truely was.

This was when Tom became totally disoriented and left the main road, according to his own written account of the night. It was scrawled on the wall inside his bedroom closet and was found years later, when the bank foreclosed and hauled away the trailer. He said he found himself climbing a steep incline lined on either side by a dense stand of oak and maples that he could not remember being on the route. Instead of stopping there he kept climbing because he saw a light at the top of the hill. Except for lightning flashes he had been traveling nearly blind so it was more out of desperation than curiosity that he was drawn to it.

It was an abrupt transition from storm to calm that caused him to slam on the brakes and go into a nearly uncontrolable slide on the slick surface. He fought wildly with wheel to regain control and as he flailed around in the cab broke off the lever to the turn signal on the steering column. His left foot struck the edge of the clutch pedal and slipped off ineffectively to the floor and the truck shuddered to a stop at a severe angle to the narrow track of road. With the absence of snow hitting the windshield the wipers began to screech as they cut across the glass. Tom stared blankly into the forest on the left side of the road which was now in front of him. A steady low rumble of thunder replaced the droning of the engine and his attention turned from the complex shadows cast by the trees in his headlights to the crest of the hill where he had first seen the light.

The road through his passenger window was an undisturbed blanket of snow intermittently painted amber by the blinking of his turn signal. In the middle of the road about thirty yards ahead of him stood a large white tail deer. The image might have been serene if not for the strobing yellow stare reflected from the deer's retina or the fact he had entered this strange bubble of calm from the worst blizzard in recent memory. Above the deer a ball of light was growing in intensity in the low hung swirl of clouds. For an interminable moment nothing moved but the clouds which turned counter clockwise like the engine of a hurricane. Then as the light grew individual flakes of snow began to rise from the ground. The hypnotizing effect of gently falling snow is exponentially increased with the reversal of gravity; Tom was transfixed by the deer's piercing yellow eyes.

A sustained shaft of lighting suddenly burst from the sky and stabbed between the broad shoulders of the deer. The animal's limp body, like a gazel clamped in the jaws of a large cat, sprang into the air and was taken to the treetops where it began to revolve slowly impaled by the bolt of light. Electricity danced through the rack of antlers, arced across where the points curved in toward each other and formed above the deer's downcast head a globe of plasma. The glare of this strange phenomena drowned out the flashing of his errant turn signal and all around him was bathed in a bluish-white light. Maybe it was because he was on his way to her or perhaps because of what was happening to her at that very minute, that Tom imagined, no, saw April spinning there for a moment like the first time he had seen her, working high on the pole mounted center-stage at Dixie's.

April vanished when what Tom described as a black beam of light errupted from the plasma toward the exposed flank of his truck. The seatbelt he was wearing tighten across his chest and stopped him as he flung open his door and foolishly tried to run. He slammed the door and fumbled for the keys hanging in the ignition. As always seems to happen in these situations the truck refused to start. He cranked the engine again and again and fighting his horror, stole a glance at the unbelievable scene. The beam had fallen mid way between him and the shaft of light driven into the ground. The deer had stopped turning. The silhoette of huge man had appeared with legs set wide apart and long arms stretched high above its head facing the body of the deer that a moment before had been the dancing form of April. The engine fired waking the creature from its worship of the animal that had given it birth. Slowly the man thing's head turned revealing a single red cyclopian eye. The consuming darkness of the storm closed in on them.

Tom slammed the truck in reverse and cut the wheels sharply to the right. He stomped the gas and rammed a tree behind with his tailgate then grinded into first gear and tore out of there to the safety of his trailer, never looking back. From that point on he would ever be caught in the storm. He would never see April again.