Best Canadian Stories 2023 by Mark Anthony Jarman

Author:Mark Anthony Jarman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Biblioasis
Published: 2022-10-12T00:00:00+00:00

Word spread the betting house had picked a loser. In the hour before the book closed at three, a deluge of new marks had come in to take the under, and by close it was clear the house wouldn’t be able to cover. Some of the marks began to complain, nervous now but excited; someone said they’d heard from a friend down south there wasn’t so much as a black cloud in the sky over Seven Bridges. Eventually, after nightfall, as the men waited either for confirmation the town had burned or for midnight to roll round, Miles came knocking again on the back-office door.

“They’re set to riot on you, Cap,” he said. “Don’t think you’ll pay.”

“When have I ever not paid, Miles?”

Miles shrugged. “I’m just the messenger, friend.”

“Those suckers out there know you speak for them now?” The Captain chuckled. “The one genius who took the over on a sure dud?”

Miles smacked the side of the Remington safe. “Just better be ready to empty this thing, is all I’m saying.”

“I tell you what, Miles,” the Captain said. “I’ll give you a mulligan, for old times’ sake. I’ll let you switch the bet, take the under at a half to one. How’s that for a Christmas gift?”

“Shove it up your ass,” Miles said. “I bought what I bought.”

“Shut up,” Worm said to the room, as another burst of static came through the handheld radio. “Ruby? You there?”

“It’s a hell of a thing, Bryce,” the voice on the other end said, low against the crackle and hum that every man in the room who’d been caught out by a bird before knew from memory. “Came up from the south. The whole time I was watching upland and then it came up from the south.”

“Listen,” Worm said. “Go down, get to the next tower over. Get to the river—”

“I swear it’s a language,” Ruby said. “A language all its own.”

The radio cut. For a moment the back room of the betting house was silent. Worm felt the tightness coming on. He reached into a drawer and pulled out his inhaler, pried his lungs open.

“I’m going down there,” he said.

“Going down where?” the Captain said. “You gonna drive a hundred miles south through logging roads and ash tracks? Then what, reason with it? Sit down.”

The Captain picked up the phone and dialed a number Worm recognized as that of another betting house two counties over. “Put Garrison on,” he yelled into the receiver.

“Garrison, I need you to call your tower boy out near 20-block, get me a read on some hole called Seven Bridges . . . Don’t give me that bullshit, Garrison . . . Fine, 1 percent of the take . . . 3 percent, that’s it, take it or I swear we’re done . . . Good, call me back.”

The men waited an hour, during which Worm tried calling every ranger station and watchtower within a hundred miles of Tower 18. Quickly it became clear the calling was futile, though

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