Page 10 of Small Town Hunter

Something red flies past the window.

“Oooh, a cardinal!” tweets Alina.

I can’t see it from here, but I know what the billboard says: WILSON MINISTRY: ETERNAL HELL, OR SALVATION? YOU DECIDE.

“Here comes the train,” observes Charles.

“What?!” Mama shrieks. “Oh, you’re kidding me!”

But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.

The earth rumbles like the second coming. The noise is deafening. Mama claps her hands over her ears. My hand shakes on the door handle.As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil.

“What are you doing?” hisses Felicia.

“I need to pee,” I say, and open the door.

“TRINA!” Mama screams.

Felicia makes a grab for my dress, but all she gets is the train I’ve already untied. Plus, I’m too fast. I bolt in front of cars, running, running, running, running, RUNNING, RUNNING...

BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! BREEEEEEEEEEEE!

I tumble across, ripping the dress and landing square on my bare feet. A roaring wind at my back slams me forward into tumbleweed and dirt.

Inches.

Just inches. I realize I’m still screaming, and choke it back.

I’m alive.

I turn, staring up and up at the roaring beast of steel and smoke.

One cart is painted with the name CARDINAL SUPPLY.

People in Tippalonga always complain about the train. They put the tracks through the Black side of town, and it takes thirty or more minutes for the train to pass, sometimes longer, ifthere’s a jam at the crossings. Then all you can do is wait. I heard somebody say once that the reason black kids in Tippalonga don’t graduate is ‘cause of that train. You get caught on the wrong side, you might just miss an entire morning of school. At that point, why bother?

I sit back on my hands, among the trash and broken bottles, watching the train blur past.

CARDINAL SUPPLY.

“You good, sister?” asks a bedraggled man poking through the grass with a long stick. He looks homeless, and also high.

“I said, YOU GOOD, SISTER?”

“Um, I’m f-fine.”

“That’s good.” He stares at me. “You want some PCP?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alrighty.” He walks off, pushing aside grass with a stick. I’m alone, on the other side of town.

I don’t have a single plan.

But I know for a fact that Trina Marie Whiteleaf is not getting married today.

Yes, I do knowthat.

---