Ricky Turner's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Ricky sat against the door for a long time. The badgers stayed in the grass, eyes glowing green, watching the shack. He counted them through the broken window. Two. They did not sleep. He knew he could not sit here forever. No food. No water. He needed past that door, and the only weapon he had was a bent guitar and a rotten plank. Guater whined and scratched at the floorboards near the fireplace. Ricky ignored him. Then the dog barked and dug harder. A board popped loose. Ricky crawled over and looked. Under the floor sat a shallow crawlspace, packed with dirt and old jars. "Good boy," Ricky whispered. But it was no tunnel. Just a gap. He almost gave up. Then a voice came from below. "You'll wake the whole forest, stomping like that." Ricky jumped back. An old woman climbed up through the gap. She had wild gray hair and huge sunken blue eyes that fixed on him. Her face was blotched and hard to look at. She wiped dirt on a flowered dress and stared like she'd been expecting him. "Who are you?" Ricky said. "Katy Harrow. I live under the boards. Safer down there." She jerked her chin at the window. "You brought the badgers to my door." "I'm sorry. I just need to get away from them." Katy snorted. "Away. Everybody wants away." But she reached into her jacket and pulled out a small cloth pouch. "Rot-badgers hunt by smell, not eyes. Those glowing eyes are near blind." She shook the pouch. Gray powder puffed out. "Ash and bitter root. Rub it on. They lose your scent. Then walk out slow. Don't run." Ricky stared at her ugly, earnest face. Everything in this world wanted to hurt him. She was the first thing that didn't. "Why help me?" he asked. "Because nobody helped me," she said. "Now hurry, before they get hungry enough to dig." Ricky rubbed the powder over his arms, his neck, his beard. He coated Guater too. The dog sneezed. Ricky pulled the guitar from the door handle and gripped the plank. "Ready, boy," he said. His hands shook. "Slow. We go slow." He eased the door open. The badgers lifted their heads. Their green eyes swept the doorway. Ricky stepped out into the dead grass. He did not run. Guater pressed against his leg. One badger stood, snout twitching. It sniffed the air and found nothing. It looked right through him. Ricky walked past them, one step at a time, into the trees. The badgers stayed by the shack, guarding a door with no one behind it. He made the treeline and finally breathed. He was free of the shack. But he stood in an endless dead forest now, powder wearing off, with no idea which way was home. Behind him, Katy called out one last thing before the boards swallowed her. "Follow the crooked tower. If you dare."