Freaks: Alive, on the Inside!

I didn’t answer but prepared to take to the road.

“We can’t leave Ceecee here,” I said to Mr. Ginger as we finally guided the horses and wagon outside. “We can’t do such a disservice to our host, and we don’t want the sheriff after us. We have to take the body with us.”

“I’m not having a dead man sit next to me, especially that one,” said Miss Lightfoot in alarm.

“Hang him under the wagon,” said Mr. Bopp. “There’s hooks down there for carrying goods.”

“Now they can carry bads,” said Apollo, looking pleased with himself.

The flesh of my back rippled with revulsion as I dragged Ceecee’s corpse under the wagon. The touch of his skin was like the cold belly of a snake, and when his hair flopped across my hand, I thought of spiders and snatched my fingers away. Apollo crawled under after me. The body flopped impossibly as we tried to tie it up with rope so it wouldn’t drag. I didn’t like wrestling with a dead man.

Finally we had the body secured, and we crawled back out.

“What will we do with him?” asked Willie, his brow furrowed.

“We’ll bury him later,” I said. “Somewhere else.”

“Soon, I hope,” said Apollo as he brushed himself down, “else we’ll start a fly circus.”

Tauseret sat beside me on the driver’s bench. I thanked the Lord for the moon and clicked the horses into motion.

We took the road toward Des Moines. With luck we would find a route that bypassed Osceola and Dr. Mink.

“Abel! Abel!” Miss Lightfoot knocked on the window slats behind me. “Minnie said a big man is coming. Do you think it signifies?”

“Is she upset?” I asked, exchanging glances with Tauseret.

“No. She seems quite cheerful,” said Miss Lightfoot.

“Then, do not fear,” answered Tauseret.

We rumbled across a wooden bridge over a small stream. We weren’t too far down the road when another rumble sounded. I clicked the horses up a pace, and my sweaty hands clutched the reins tighter. “Can you see out the back?” I demanded over my shoulder. “I think someone’s following.”

Muffled bumps and complaints greeted my ears.

“It looks like a huge suet pudding driving a cart,” called Bertha.

“Heavens! That’s Earle,” said Mr. Ginger. “And he’s driving like the devil.”

“Let’s hope the devil isn’t with him,” I answered, for if Earle followed, was Mink not far behind?

I slapped the horses’ rumps with the reins but to no avail; the horses were challenged past endurance, and as we slowed, the torrent of cries from inside told me that Earle gained.

Tauseret leaned out preposterously far, with a hand through the boards of the seat to steady her. “He’s almost on us,” she cried.

“Sit down,” I ordered, grabbing at her futilely and almost losing the horses.

“He’s pointing and gesturing our way something fierce,” Moses said through the tiny window behind my head.

“He’s waving and yelling for us to stop,” yelled Bertha.

“Ouch!” protested Moses. “Gosh darn it, Apollo! That’s my ribs.”

“He says Mink’s ahead,” came Apollo’s frantic warning loudly in my ear.

“Stop, Abel! Stop!” cried Miss Lightfoot.

Mink ahead of us? I couldn’t take the chance. “Whoa!” I brought us to a halt on the grassy verge.