Green Eyes on the Prize
byline: Anubis C. Soundwave
4. Oglethorpe Springs' affliction has broken the will of its people.
Sam shivers, gasping as she feels a wet, ice-cold object touch her back, between the shoulder blades.
"Sweet tea with lemon's ready, Manson," grins Dash, handing Sam the glass.
Sam savors the refreshing beverage. "Green tea's still better for you," she says. "More antioxidants."
"I guess," says Dash, gulping down half of his glass in one swig.
"You're saying so little," says Sam. "If I had known the key to keeping you silent was to work you to death on your fascist cousin's farm," she adds with a smirk, "I would have found a way to have you move here back in sixth grade."
"If I speak around here too long," says Dash, "I start retaining a Southern good ol' boy accent...aagh! It's already started!" he fumes. "Thanks, Manson."
Sam giggles.
Dash alternates between a smile and a pout as he studies Sam.
Sam's laughter subsides as she looks at Dash. "Why are you staring at me?" she wonders.
"You...look like a normal girl," says Dash.
"Compared to 'He Who Will Not Flush the Damned Toilet', I am normal," says Sam.
"Come on, Manson," says Dash. "Shane relented when you asked about 'if it's red'."
"Now that's true moon power," says Sam, making a Sailor Moon pose with her hands.
"I would not have thought you were a fan of Sailor Moon," says Dash.
"I grew up on the laughable dub like every other American girl," says Sam, "and it still has a home in the cockles of my cold, cynical heart."
"Your 'dark, morbid outlook' motif loses its effect," says Dash, "when you don't have on the black clothes, green scrunchi, and black-purple lipstick." Dash gently places a finger on Sam's lips.
Sam rolls her eyes. "Even I'd be willing to admit that you're the most fuckable boy I've ever seen," she says, "until you open your mouth and say something idiotic."
"Even if I were mute, I'd still cram Fenton into a locker," snorts Dash, blushing.
"I know, but I wouldn't be ashamed to have any attraction to you," says Sam.
Dash turns away from Sam, his heart pounding. "Now there's a terrifying thought," he says, attempting to mask his nervousness with swagger.
"No one's more terrified than me," says Sam, her cheeks also flush. "I don't know why I'm attracted to jerkasses. I think it's related to my first kiss."
"When did that happen?" asks Dash.
Sam sighs. "I was twelve. My older cousin unilaterally decided I needed to learn," she says. "Zack Mendelsohn is such a sexist asshole."
"Zack Mendelsohn!?" balks Dash. "That creepy goth linebacker from Elmerton High? He's your cousin!?"
"Yeah," says Sam.
"So you got your goth germs from him," says Dash.
"I was already a goth at that point," counters Sam. "Zack was just another one."
"Bet he shops at Hot Topic," says Dash.
"Only because his cheerleader 'masturbatory aids' drag him along to the mall for sunlight," sneers Sam. "His words, not mine. Zack can be a creep."
"Why? Because he's your cousin," wonders Dash, "or because he's this unholy distorted fusion of goth and jock?"
"The goth and jock thing," says Sam. "Zack is everything I don't like about my subculture, combined with...being a sweaty jock. He's not even a real brunet!"
"It's not that hard to look like a goth," scoffs Dash. "Wear a ton of black, say creepy and off-kilter shit, avoid the sun, and smear eyeliner all over your face."
"Or in your case," snorts Sam, "put your black football war paint under your eyes, mess up your hair, and take off your letterman jacket."
"It worked, didn't it?" grins Dash.
"Until Zack outed you at the Lurk and Skulk," says Sam. "Should have worn black sneakers."
Dash pulls Sam close to him.
"What are you doing?" wonders Sam, confused.
"Amity Park seems like it's a world away," says Dash, a faraway look in his eyes as he stares out into the horizon.
"That's because Amity Park is inhabited by people who live in the real world," spits Sam, glaring down into her glass of tea.
"You mean the world where shit changes, nothing stays the same, and everything about everybody's in flux?" asks Dash.
"I suppose you don't think I live in that world any more than Shane does," pouts Sam.
Dash snorts, exasperated. "Shane's been trying to squeeze blood out of this fucking turnip of a farm for so long that he's lost it," he says.
"If it would just rain here," says Sam.
"Fuck the rain. Shane just needs to go to his ex-wife in Folly Beach, South Carolina and get laid," says Dash.
"Considering the bullshit Shane put us through, it's tempting to think that," says Sam, "but that would mean crushing his dreams of running a proper family farm where animals who are going to be slaughtered and eaten are treated humanely, with the dignity and respect they deserve," she continues, "and vegetables aren't drowned in a fuckton of pesticides more poisonous to us than the bugs they're supposed to kill. That's to say nothing of growth hormones."
"You're reciting his litany again," says Dash wryly.
Sam returns Dash's smirk. "In my case," she says, sipping her tea, "he was already preaching to the converted. Besides," continues Sam, "it's hard to argue with a man who has a master's in agriculture."
Shane walks up behind the two teenagers.
"He minored in economics," adds Dash. "'There's a market for what I'm trying to do here' is usually what he ends up preaching to my dad, the CPA who keeps trying to tell Shane to sell the farm."
"And in my expert capacity in economics," says Shane, scowling down at Dash, "who in their right mind is going to buy my farm even if I wanted to sell it?"
Dash fiddles with his half-full glass of tea. "Historical societies...?" he says after a moment.
Shane grins. "At least you have a damned answer," he says.
Dash fumes. "The farm's been operational since 1758 with only a two-year break," he blurts out.
"From 1865 to 1867," says Shane, "which was how long it took our forefathers to rebuild the farm from the ground up after Sherman burnt it down during the War." He tenses a fist. "Our farm wasn't ever the same after that fire," he continues, looking out toward Barrineau Plantation. "Our town was never the same."
"Our country was never the same after the Civil War," says Sam curtly, "and it's for the best."
"I ain't arguing that," says Shane. "I wasn't talking about Sherman's March. That was the will of God."
Sam and Dash stare at Shane.
"I'm talking about that unholy fire of hell that Barrineau made of his own plantation," says Shane with conviction, "that damned the whole of Oglethorpe Springs."
"Are you serious!?" balks Sam. "Do you really believe that?"
"Yes," says Shane. "Everything about that plantation is unnatural, right down to the peach trees that have ripe fruit ready all the time. Barrineau, in his final hour, decided to give a big 'fuck you' sign to the Union Army...and sent such a stink burning fart into God's nostrils that God said 'no rain to Oglethorpe Springs'!"
"Even for Baxter logic, that is insane," whispers Sam.
"'Baxter logic'!?" scoff Dash and Shane in unison.
Sam nods, mussing Dash's hair.
"The kudzu problem we have here in the South? On a sunny day," says Shane, "you can still make out our town boundaries: the kudzu stops where Oglethorpe Springs starts, and resumes its consumption of the eastern seaboard where my fair town ends. And you've both seen for yourselves what happens when a hurricane's supposed to hit here," he snorts.
Dash shakes his head.
"If I pull up stakes and leave," says Shane, "this town-my hometown-will die. I've got to do whatever it takes to make my farm work."
A cow moos.
"Sounds like Steak's ready for milking," says Dash.
"My old gal deserves some real grass before she moves on," says Shane quietly.
"I guess we'd better get ready to milk," grins Sam.
"Yeah," smiles Shane, "because you two were getting too cozy out here on the porch anyway."
Dash and Sam glance at each other a moment, then roll their eyes.
"You two were thinking about it," counters Shane. "I remember sharing many illicit moments with girls out here."
"Let's just milk Steak, okay, Shane?" scoffs Dash. He, Sam, and Shane enter the house.
"...and that's the story of how Aldridge lost his nuts," says Virgil.
Danny, Tucker, and Valerie all carefully shield their privates as they wince.
Virgil stares at Valerie. "Something you ain't tellin' us, Valerie?"
Valerie scowls at Virgil. "You're a Foley, all right. There's no doubt in my mind," she says.
"It would explain a few things," Tucker quips.
"Tucker, we dated!" spits Valerie.
"True," says Tucker, "but I never had a chance to examine your equipment."
Danny bites the knuckle of his index finger, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Are you able to verify?" Virgil asks Danny.
Danny sighs, blushing. "I do know," he says carefully, "that she was the mother of my child. She wasn't the best mother," he continues with a grin, "but I do know our little flour sack didn't become a cookie."
"'Flour sack...'?" wonders Virgil.
"My flour sack, Tucker Junior," sniffs Tucker, "was forced to have a sex change by his mother."
"It was a freshman Health Sciences project," says Valerie ruefully.
"Oh!" chortles Virgil. "It's like the eggs we had in my class. Don't feel bad, Tucker," he continues. "I was running a daycare, and my mama turned my little clients into omelettes."
"I bet that you had to give all of that money back," sighs Tucker.
"Hell, no," snorts Virgil. "My customers had to pay a non-refundable cash deposit."
"Shit!" spits Tucker. "I should have thought of that."
"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," says Valerie, laughing.
"Who's got the next Barrineau Plantation horror story?" asks Virgil.
"I do. Did you all know," says Valerie, "that Uncle Tom's Cabin almost didn't get published?" Valerie begins the tale.
"The test results are in?" asks Damon, speaking into his cell phone as he types at his laptop. "Please, send them over." Damon ends the call.
"Test results?" wonders Bethea.
Damon nods. "My people from Axion didn't die in vain. They forwarded soil and water samples from all over Barrineau Plantation to the main laboratory in Amity Park," he says, "and, as a control, also tested the soil and well water from Baxter Farm."
"And?" says Bethea.
"Barrineau Plantation is, for lack of better terms, cursed," says Damon. "And, much like cancer, the curse has basically metastasized throughout the town. That's why Oglethorpe Springs is drying up."
"Ol' Jackie is a malignant cancer tumor ghost," breathes Bethea. "I guess we need a surgeon to cut his ass out."
Damon sighs. "The time to cut him out passed a long time ago," he says.
"Mm-hm," adds Mary Jane Foley, working on embroidery. "You is gonna need some fresh bone marrow to deal with somethin' set in our town's blood."
Damon stares at Mary Jane.
"I cook and clean for an oncologist for thirty-five years," says Mary Jane. "You pick up shit. I ain't ignorant, now, Damon."
"Yes, ma'am," Damon smiles boyishly.
"Just remember now," continues Mary Jane soberly, "what had to be done to renew mankind in God's eye. 'For without the shedding of blood, there is no remission'."
"In context," says Damon, "the writer of Hebrews was clearly referencing Jesus' crucifixion to atone for the sins of mankind: past, present, and future. No other human sacrifice is warranted."
"You is right, Damon," says Mary Jane. "That's why we got to be real careful how the Scripture is used. In order to save Jackie Fenton and his family from Jackie Barrineau, our town got to do the redemption right. Can't be crooked in no way."
"What you gettin' at, Mrs. Mary Jane?" asks Bethea.
"The fact that we know crackers never think shit through," scowls Mary Jane. "That boy Shane Baxter been worryin' me."
"Shane? All that he's thinking about is saving his farm," says Bethea.
"And he forgettin' about reconcilin' with his wife, and leavin' his daughters up there in Folly Beach without a father," says Mary Jane. "Now, a Baxter man's head is hard on a good day, and when his mind is fixed on somethin'," she continues, "he don't let go."
"In this case," says Bethea, "you think Shane losin' his mind."
"Think!?" snorts Mary Jane. "Shane mind almost gone. He done had his li'l cousin and that li'l Sokol gal wringing out their clothes in ice coolers, won't let nobody flush the pot unless they done take a shit-and even then, he's thinking about having people take they shit out the pot and put it in compost!"
"'Sokol girl'?" asks Damon.
"Sam Manson," says Bethea. "Tucker's friend. He and Danny don't know she's here in town. Her mama kin moved from here to Amity Park and founded that town with A. T. and Bessie."
"That's right," says Damon. "Moshe Sokol and his son, Hosea 'Hoss' Sokol: they're Pamela's ancestors."
"That girl is too sweet," says Bethea. "No matter how crazy Shane might be," she continues, "he's the father of two girls: he would never raise his hand up against someone's little girl."
"Then that leave poor boy Dash," says Mary Jane. "If he don't pop his li'l cherry soon," she cackles, "then he goin' up on Shane altar like Isaac for Abraham. We can't afford to think Shane gonna find a ram in the bush, neither." Mary Jane shakes her head.
"Animal blood won't work anyway," says Damon. "If Shane's contemplating a blood ritual to purify Oglethorpe Springs and save Baxter Farm," he continues, "then he knows he'll need human blood...so we have to stop Shane before he starts an internal family feud." Damon shuts his laptop and packs it away, slinging the laptop bag onto his shoulder.
"I gots to see this," Mary Jane chuckles. "Virgil!" she crows. "You and Tucker come down here with them other chilin'. We goin' to Baxter Farm."
"Yes, Grandmama!" shouts Virgil through his open bedroom door. "Wonder if Shane tried to make grits again."
"That would be horrible, dude," says Tucker. "If he's making his greens, though, then I can't wait."
"Shane butchers and smokes his own hogs," says Virgil, "and the collards are out of his own garden. You know where all of it came from."
"Let's go, then," says Valerie. She and Tucker leave with Virgil.
Danny starts to follow, but Bessie appears with another ghost, a black teenage male in nineteenth-century attire.
Danny studies the ghost. "Alvin Tucker Foley, I presume," he smiles. "Not the guy that just left, but you."
The ghost nods. "You can call me A. T.," he says.
"We got to go, white boy," says Bessie.
Danny scowls. "I have a name," he says.
"I know," says Bessie. "The problem is that-for obvious reasons-I hate it. Just humor me."
"'White boy' is an improvement over 'ghost'," quips Danny as he transforms, "which I'm only half of, by the way. And I didn't try to kill Valerie, either. This ghost named Technus has a way of shafting me when it comes to human relations."
"Would it make a problem with Dashiell Miles?" A. T. asks.
Danny stares at A. T. as he attempts to place the name.
"That fool Baxter boy in the red jacket who's always trying to beat you up," says Bessie.
"We just call him Dash," snorts Danny.
"Did he lose his flower yet?" asks A. T. quietly.
"I don't think he ever had a flower..." says Danny.
"Did he tup him a girl yet!?" spits Bessie.
"If you two are asking me if Dash lost his virginity," balks Danny, "then my answer is 'I don't know or care'!"
"There's no indication that Samantha has fully succumbed to Dashiell Miles' charms," muses A. T., "limited though they may be."
"Sam and Dash bumping uglies is a sign of the apocalypse," says Danny ruefully, "and as I have yet to see pigs fly, the moon bleeding, or Sam eating a sausage dog, I would presume that Dash is still a virgin."
Bessie and A. T. nod.
"What? Is Dash going to be a virgin sacrifice to water his cousin's farm?" Danny scoffs.
"You know the Baxter mindset well, Jack-*" starts A. T.
"'Danny', please," says Danny. "Only my asshole schoolteacher Mr. Lancer and my greater asshole archenemy Vlad Plasmius call me 'Daniel', and no one uses 'Jackson' as a given name anymore. Even my dad just calls himself 'Jack'."
"Look," says Bessie, "is we gonna sit here talkin' about what 'white boy' should be called, or are we going to save that goofy Baxter boy from his cousin?"
"You guys are serious!?" balks Danny.
"Very much so," A. T. says. "Oglethorpe Springs' affliction has broken the will of its people."
"And no clan of white folk suffered more than the Baxters of Oglethorpe Springs," says Bessie.
"Then we have to move," says Danny. He and the two ghosts leave Virgil's room.
As the trio close in on Baxter Farm, Danny is shot; he plummets to the ground.
"What happened!?" shrieks Bessie. "Who shot him?"
"Thick, stubborn fellow who can only hold two thoughts in his head at once," says A. T. quizzically, pointing down at a ghost who levels a double-barrelled shotgun at a prone Danny.
"We ain't got time for this!" spits Bessie, about to charge down at the ghost.
Clockwork appears; he grabs A. T. and Bessie. "Then we will make the time," he says. He vanishes with the two teenage ghosts.
Danny trembles as he rises to his feet, reverting to normal. After examining himself and finding no wounds, he glares at his spectral assailant.
The ghost, an obstinate, bulky, and familiar-looking teenager wearing a brown hat, a red jacket, and blue denim dungarees, trains his shotgun on Danny.
"That won't work on me twice," seethes Danny. "Now please get out of my way."
"I reckon that it ain't clear to me why I should acquiesce to your request, Mr. Fenton," says the ghost.
"I'm here-against my better judgment-to save your dunderhead of a descendant from being a sacrificial lamb, Dashiell Hamilton Baxter," says Danny.
"I know that much," says Dashiell. "I ain't a lummox, you know."
Danny stares at Dashiell.
"Thing is," continues Dashiell, "I don't rightly see how you can justify slippin' into my home like a thief in the night."
"What kind of insane troll logic do you guys operate under!?" balks Danny. "One of your kindred is about to kill another out of the retarded belief that it will make his flavor of magical sky fairy happy enough to make it rain again and save his stupid farm!"
"Interesting," says Dashiell. "I don't reckon that Shane believes in magical sky fairies. Last I was able to see, there was some kind of nickelodeon picture about magical sky fairies that Shane's little girl likes to watch on the picture box. But fairies ain't real."
"Neither is God," says Danny.
"Then explain how the rain can't fall here when the weathermen measured all the conditions and say it should, atheist-boy," says Dashiell.
"Simple. Shane and his farm are just fucked right now. He should, logically, pick up his shit and leave to be with his kids," says Danny.
"Yeah," says Dashiell, "and you should have your ass parked in front of another picture box, playin' some shootin' game called Halo on XBOX Live."
"I came here because my father is literally in mortal danger, fighting for his life and sanity," spits Danny.
"So just like you can't abandon your pa," shrugs Dashiell, "Shane can't leave Baxter Farm to twist in the wind. We Baxters have many flaws, but quittin' ain't one. You Fentons might crumple like a piece of paper," Dashiell continues with an infuriatingly-familiar grin, "but we don't budge when trouble hits."
"Fentons. Never. Quit. Furthermore," continues Danny, "I have shat out stronger ghosts than you, the ancestor of a kid who has teddy bears in his room."
"The room you are reputed to have 'trashed', to use the boy's own words," says Dashiell.
"For the record," spits Danny, "I didn't trash his room. An asshole named Technus did, because said ghost latched onto some technology I sold Dash to upgrade his computer. None of this matters right now, though," Danny continues, "because I need to stop Shane from murdering his cousin as a blood sacrifice."
"'All things must be done in decency and in order!'" declares Dashiell. "Otherwise, how can you set matters right, Jackson Daniel Fenton the Second?"
"I...?" Danny begins.
"Mr. Fenton," says Dashiell tersely, "you can't just come to a man's home uninvited and impose your will on him, even if you think you're doin' the right thing. Otherwise," he continues, "you ain't no better than the sorry bastard who cursed the land...or the boorish oaf whose life you're tryin' to save."
"I am not a high school jerkass bully," counters Danny, "and definitely not a sadistic thug with a veneer of gentility who is, on the scale of right and wrong, far worse than Dash Baxter, who-if I can save his life-might buy a clue someday."
Dashiell scowls.
"You do want me to save your teenage descendant, don't you?" asks Danny.
"I want you to knock on the door, like a respectable gentleman who was reared properly," says Dashiell. "It's the only way you'll be able to save my scion."
"Fine," scowls Danny, "if only to humor you." He walks up the steps to the house and knocks.
NEXT: Forget the former things, neither consider the things of old...