The New and Improved Romie Futch by Julia Elliott

Author:Julia Elliott
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tin House Books

EIGHT

I sat in an obscure chamber of Hampton Regional’s emergency facility, my right hand resting in a plastic vat of antiseptic fluid pinked with my blood. I’d been waiting for nearly an hour as doctors and nurses bickered over whether or not to stitch up my finger, whether there might be nerve damage, whether or not to send me to an orthopedic surgeon. So I slumped in the freezing room, cursing myself. I’d been a fool.

I should’ve known not to go galumphing into the woods that morning. Should’ve stayed in bed. Should’ve waited for a more auspicious day.

After a night of fitful dreams, I’d woken with a headache—the kind of foggy pain that had a fifty-fifty chance of veering into skull-splitting migraine mode. Overcast mornings seemed to bring the agony on—constipated weather states that refused to erupt into rain. But I took three Excedrin and fingered my acupressure headache zones until the ache retreated to a deeper section of my brain. I cleansed my body with an alcohol bath to eliminate my human stench. Decked myself out in freshly laundered camo. Loaded my grandfather’s Savage .45 with safari-grade ammo, bullets that would pierce a rhino’s hide.

I drove to the edge of a forest, hiked through second-growth pine until I reached the cypress swamp where I’d salvaged the remains of Hogzilla’s cannibalistic frenzy. Wearing a prophylactic latex glove, I spritzed various tree trunks with Feral Fire Sow-in-Heat spray. Upon removing said glove, I noted a hole in its pinkie finger. I’d forgotten my stash of SafeWipe disinfectant towelettes, so I dipped my hand into a stream, sniffed my finger, felt sure that no trace of pheromones lingered.

But the sow musk had tainted my flesh. It whispered beguiling messages to the wind.

Thinking myself odorless, thinking myself invisible, I hid behind a clump of buttonbush and waited. The heavens grumbled, but rain did not come.

Into this tranquility rushed a drift of hogs, some thirty strong, sows and piglets and a handful of horny boars. Squealing, grunting, filling the air with the reek of tainted meat, the boars dashed around sniffing the trees I’d anointed with Feral Fire spray. They snuffled and tore up the ground, devouring roots and insects. And then the whole parcel charged onward into wetter zones of swamp.

One boar and a sow dallied, however, with two piglets in orbit—soft, fuzzy creatures who veered in to nuzzle their mother’s flanks. Grunting, the boar sniffed the sow’s face. He nosed along her fatty rows of teats. He plunged his snout into her anogenital zone and took a deep, drunken whiff.

Squealing, the sow butted the boar’s neck with her modest tusks. The old razorback mounted his lover backward and maneuvered himself clockwise into proper alignment, whereupon the white worm of his penis emerged from its furry sheath. Slithering, the corkscrew phallus lashed at its target. At last, the boar clambered atop his mate and grasped her flanks with his front hooves. Thrusting furiously, he rammed his pale pecker home.

It took him awhile to hit his groove, and then he went strangely still.

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