Feet in the Fire: The Redemption of Howard Marsh 3 by Bob McGough

Author:Bob McGough [McGough, Bob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Broken Oak Publishing
Published: 2022-01-25T20:00:00+00:00

Sunday Best, Sunday Rest

I woke up on the floor, my cheek in a puddle of my own drool. I had perhaps taken one too many downers, I decided, then realized the fact I woke up at all meant that could not be the case. I had simply taken almost one too many downers.

It was full dark in my shed, which was a little off. Usually when I crashed like that, I left a light on, or left the door open. It was mildly disconcerting, so I just lay there and tried to go back to sleep. The concrete was too unforgiving, though, so after a good ten minutes of trying I gave up. My cheek was sticky with what I hoped was my own slobber.

With a groan I staggered to my feet. I wobbled a bit, but after a few seconds I steadied myself and made my way to the shed door. With a grunt I rolled it up, immediately regretting every moment of my life that had led to this point. Sunlight poured in, blinding me. I stepped back, trying to cover my eyes, and tripped over something. I landed on my ass with a thud, rattling my half-blind eyes in their sockets.

I let loose a string of curses so foul they could have peeled paint off a wall.

“Mornin’ to you too, Marsh,” came a calm, smooth voice. I knew that voice, and knew it well, but was in no mind at that moment to figure it out.

“I’m sunblinded, so if you’re gonna kill me, do it quick and get me out my misery.”

I heard the laughter of a half dozen people flow, that of both men and women. “I reckon we’ll let you live this time,” came that same voice.

I shielded my eyes and rose to my feet once again. My eyes were coming around, though they hated every second of it. Everyone was shadows for a second, and then they began to come into focus.

“Ah, mornin’, Johnny,” I said, recognizing the man at last. I nodded to the woman at his side. “Emily.”

Johnny was a tall man, well over six feet, and born with looks that would have made a New York model jealous. He was funny, and kind, and super talented. Normally that was a surefire recipe for me to take a disliking to someone, but with him . . . hell, everyone loved Johnny. He was the best fiddle player in Jubal County—which is maybe not the claim to fame in this century that it would have been in the last, but still. He was good enough that even the uptight religious types forgave him his hippie lifestyle out at the Camp, so long as he played all the church socials.

His wife, Emily, was at his side, her arms full of clothes, and behind them were the other men and women of the Camp, in various stages of undress. They looked to be stripping down outta their everyday clothes, which was your standard hippie fare. Lots of flowy dresses and shit.

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