Part 5

“You talk,” Brick finally said, flabbergastedly, when his own speech returned.

“I do indeed,” replied Humphrey.

“Why didn’t you speak before?” asked Brick, leaning back against the trunk of a tree.

“I find one learns more by listening, especially one of my…condition. People tend to let their guard down in the presence of a mute one-eyed hunchback.”

Brick stared at the fire a moment. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a hip flask. He unscrewed the top, took a long drink, and tossed it across the fire to Humphrey, who caught it in the air.

As Humphrey drank, Brick asked him, “So how’d you end up down here? That ain’t no jungle accent.”

“I was born here.” He tossed the flask back to Brick who killed it. “My parents were missionaries. When I was born, many thought they were cursed. As my deformities became more pronounced, the villagers became increasingly hostile toward me. When I was 10, I took up juggling and was subsequently accused of witchcraft. A group of villagers came to our house to take me away. My father, always a man of peace, met them on the steps with a shotgun. He took down a couple, but they overpowered him and killed him. However, his actions bought my mother and I just enough time to escape. We fled to England.”

“Why did you come back?” asked Brick.

“Revenge. But those that killed my father were dead by the time I returned. A sickness had passed through the village and killed many. I suppose it was they who were cursed. I thought about digging up their skeletons and juggling the bones, for some kind of symbolic vengeance, but I decided against it.”

Brick smiled, remembering the skeleton festivals of his youth.

“Soon enough,” continued Humphrey, “I fell in love with a village girl and married her. And now, 13 children later, here I am.”

“You helped me escape,” said Brick. “Will your family be in danger?”

“I do not think so. My wife is a cousin of the chief, and while he is fairly unforgiving to outsiders, he is loyal to his kin. Nevertheless, I will go back to rescue them.”

“As I will go back to rescue the gold.”

“Ahhh, the Gold of Churromatsu.”

“You’ve heard of it. Do you know where it is?” Brick’s eyes lit up.

“No, but I may be able to find it. If you help me get my family out, I will help you find the gold.”

Brick pondered that a moment. “Deal,” he finally responded. “I’m not much for heroics, but I’ll make an exception this time. Now, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What did you do while you were in England?”

“Well, when we first arrived-ARGH!” Suddenly, two hands came out of the darkness and pulled a burlap sack over Humphrey’s head and yanked him back. Before Brick could react, the same thing happened to him. His hands were soon zip tied behind his back and someone was holding him from behind. Someone else stepped in front of him.

Brick heard a familiar voice say, “Clarence Brickhausen. Do you know who sent me?”

“Uh…your mama?”

The man chuckled. Then something hard and flat hit Brick square in the face, and the last thing he heard was the crunch of his nose breaking before he lost consciousness.

Part 4 - From Mario E. in La Quinta, CA

“There we go.” Brick finished making the fire that had taken him a couple of hours to ignite and light. He probably should have paid more attention when his training officers in the Army were instructing them how to start fires. Taking the fresh fish he and Humphrey had caught, he put them on a spit over the fire (since he seemed to show a disdain for “Hunchie,” “Cyback,” and “Hunchclops,” so much so that he wouldn’t interact with Brick the second half of the day, he redubbed him Humphrey).

“Ah, Humphrey. Such a nice view out here tonight. You can’t get views like this of the stars in many places back in the states.” Humphrey did his usual sort of nod that Brick would take for him sort of understanding him. Brick was beginning to feel a kinship with Humphrey. Not so much for the fact that he alone controlled the elephants, their preferred method of jungle transportation. Or that he knew the jungle like the back of his hand, essentially being like a GPS without that annoying “Make the next available u-turn…” bitch squawking in his ear. Nor was it because he had been the only thing standing between safety and the flesh being eaten off his bones by potentially cannibalistic half-naked rich natives...even though it really helped.

No, it was because for some reason Humphrey was the closest thing he’d had to a brother since his own kin’s sudden unexplainable disappearance. He’d spent years trying to find his brother. The last thing he’d ever heard from him was that he was joining a secret government program, and that he didn’t know how long it would be until they would hear from him again. But that was twenty years ago, and Brick sort of gave up hope looking for him. Still, there was always that little bit inside of him that hoped beyond hope that one day he’d see him again.

For right now though he couldn’t be thinking like that. He had to feed his hero that had helped him for the past week from being cooked like the rainbow fish in front of him. It seemed pretty cooked by now. He took it off the spit and gave it to his pal. Humphrey took one bite and just by the look on his face, it probably wasn’t cooked enough. But Humphrey seemed to have a really high tolerance for things that most other people would not stand. Brick sort of felt bad for the guy. So before he was done eating his fish, Brick offered Humphrey his whole uneaten fish. Humphrey began to push it away, sort of indicating he would feel horrible for eating both fish, but Brick was stubborn. Humphrey reluctantly ate it while Brick stared at the stars.

“You see those stars right there, Humphrey? Those all together make up Scorpio, you see? S-C-O-R-P-I-O.”

At first Humphrey looked at him blankly and then with a questioning look. Brick took this as his cue to explain again. Slowly.

“S-C-O-R-P-I-O. THOSE STARS ARE S-C-O-R-P-I-O.” The next thing that happened made Brick more surprised than he had ever felt in his life, even more so than when he found out his great grandfather stole Teddy Roosevelt’s elephant gun, when he figured out his dad was actually gay, and when he learned that his “mom” was actually a dad, combined.

In the most eloquent British accent Brick had ever heard in his entire life, Humphrey said, “My dear lad. I do believe you are mistaken. That is actually Orion’s Belt and part of The Big Dipper.” Brick was left speechless.

Part 3

His guide, and now co-conspirator, nodded. He had helped Brick escape, which probably brought some kind of death sentence in the village. Maybe some torture along with that. Brick was grateful. Grateful and exhausted.

They rode for what seemed like hours, to the outskirts of the jungle. Beyond this, the elephants would go no further. Fortunately, they had long since lost their pursuers. The two dismounted next to a river and Hunchie bid a silent farewell to the huge creatures. Brick sort of awkwardly waved goodbye, but the elephants seemed to hate him as much as the chief did. It probably had something to do with him killing their leader. As Hunchie watched them disappear into the jungle, Brick drank his fill of river water and filled his CamelBak. Hunchie pointed toward the mountains in the distance and they started following the water toward them.

Part 2 - From A. Kim in San Diego, CA

Brick managed to put some distance between himself and the warriors but he could still hear them chanting as if they were right behind him. It sounded as if they were chanting "Seize him! Seize him!" in their language, over and over again.

There’s no time to stop and rest, he thought to himself. Brick may be a veteran but his 44-year-old legs weren’t what they used to be, and he felt as if they would give out at any moment.

Suddenly, a deep rumbling drowned out the warriors’ murderous chants. Brick felt the earth move beneath him. It couldn't be an earthquake because unless Discovery Channel was wrong, there were no fault lines in that part of the world. Suddenly he heard an elephant call. Brick glanced back to see the herd of elephants catching up to him. There was one elephant up in front leading the pack, and there was an oddly shaped man, if you could call him a man, riding on top of the elephant. Judging by the figure Brick knew it was Hunchie.

Brick continued to run at full speed but now his focus was only on one thing-How did Hunchie even manage to get on top of the giant elephant? As soon as he thought that, Brick was choking on a cloud of dust. Then all of a sudden he felt his shirt being grabbed by a hook, and he was hoisted on top of the elephant. Hunchie had managed to steal a special weapon from the village. The weapon resembled a fishing line but it was much larger.

"Thank you, brother," Brick managed to say after he came to his senses.

Part 1

The hunchback remained perfectly still. Brick was impressed. The chief had assigned this little man to be both guide and servant while Brick was a guest in their village. Thus far, he had not uttered a single word. His was a nice hunch though-nearly 90 degrees. It didn’t seem to bother him or cause him any discomfort. Nor did his rather deformed face. He was born with only his right eye, and his face pulled to the left a bit so that the eye was closer to the middle, giving him the appearance of a Cyclops. Brick had been calling him Cyback. Or Hunchclops. He hadn’t decided which he preferred. But now was not the time for name choosing. Now was the time to bring down an elephant.

*******

Brick had come to the jungle only a few weeks ago, spending the last of his money to get here. All in the hopes of finding gold. The legends, the local rumors, the Discovery Channel specials; they all pointed to this place. He had been making his way in the “town” since then, doing odd jobs to survive, trying to find clues as to where the treasure might be hidden. One night, as luck would have it, he was playing dominoes in the local bar, drunk on soju, and started bragging about his elephant gun. Apparently, someone was listening. That night he passed out under the table but was awoken the next morning by a huge man holding a gold coin in front of his face. The giant didn’t speak much English, but told him to “get elephant gun” and brought him deep into the jungle to meet the village chief.

*******

The chief had played host for a couple days, but now he wanted a demonstration of the elephant gun’s power. Brick didn’t trust the chief at all, what with all his missing teeth, his weird grin, and his several dozen wives. There was a reasonable possibility he would be cannibalized. But he needed that gold, so he had to take the chance.

The jungle here opened up into a kind of field surrounded by lush foliage, with a small watering hole in the middle. The chief and his entourage watched safely from the top of a nearby hill. Even from here, Brick could see the sunlight glinting off the chief’s gold jewelry. He and his guide were camouflaged in some trees by the watering hole watching the herd that had just arrived. Big, grey, and terrifying, these raging monsters drank their brown stagnant water obliviously, never realizing that a human assassin waited patiently in the shadows for one of them to get close enough to kill.

Poised and ready, Brick stood behind Cyback, scanning through the elephant scope, using the hunch as a shooting rest. It worked perfectly; he even smashed out a little groove in the hunch fat to fit the end of the rifle barrel.

Brick preferred to shoot standing when he could. He was never any good at shooting from the prone and his knees were no good for kneeling for too long. 20 years in the Army will do that to your knees.

Well, almost 20 years. First Sergeant Clarence Brickhausen (he would never forgive his parents for naming him Clarence) had been 2 months from retirement when he found out that his son, Jake, wasn’t his son after all. The company commander, Captain Donovan, was the real father, a man he had been close friends with since Ranger School. That unpleasant episode had begun when his wife took him to dinner to give him the news, which he took with quiet dignity. It had ended when he drove a Bradley through the captain’s house.

No one died, which turned out to be a good thing for Brick. They let him off with a dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of retirement pay, demotion to Private, and 3 years at Fort Leavenworth. His wife took everything in the divorce. Except for the elephant gun that his great grandfather (whom Brick was named after) stole from Teddy Roosevelt. He had left it with his cousin for safe keeping.

Six years later, his ex-wife lived in a mansion with the ex-kid and soon-to-be General Donovan, and Brick was broke, in the middle of the jungle, about to shoot an elephant off a hunchback’s back.

Brick wasn’t exactly an old man, but he felt old. He’d be 44 pretty soon, though he didn’t expect much of a birthday party. Somehow he still had a full head of hair under his raggedy old desert cap, though by the time he was 30 it had gone mostly grey. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. He hadn’t shaved since he got here, so he had a decent beard going. It at least had some brown mixed in with the grey, a good match for his weathered face. Dark sunglasses covered his tired eyes. Standing just over 6 feet, he was still in decent shape for his age-not by choice, but because between the Army, prison, and the jobs he managed to get since he’d gotten out, he didn’t have much time for sitting around.

There would be plenty of time to sit around soon enough though. When he was rich, he would buy a huge boat and build a giant house right on the deck. He’d live out the rest of his days on the ocean in his mighty house boat. He would just have to kill this elephant right quick, tear out its heart, and then present it to the chief. Then the chief, in sublime gratitude and admiration, would accept him as a brother and share the gold with him.

That, or he would figure out a way to steal it. Either way, he knew he was closer to victory than he had been in a long time, and for once, he was in a good mood.

And the mood just got better. Cyback’s elephant call had finally worked. The biggest bull of the herd was walking right toward them. It was as if the sun had broken through the clouds just to illuminate this providential gift. Brick could almost hear the glory bells jangling throughout the quadrants of heaven.

Brick almost felt sympathy for the poor beast, until he remembered that this elephant’s ancestor, the mammoth, had probably been responsible for the deadly tusking of many a caveman. At this thought his sympathy soon disappeared. Besides, the villagers would feast on this thing for weeks.

As he exhaled he held his breath, aimed right behind the shoulder…and squeezed the trigger. BLAM! He hadn’t fired the rifle for a while, so the kick took him by surprise. But he didn’t have time to think about his shoulder. The elephant had turned at the last second and all he hit was an ear.

The rest of the herd ran through the trees at the sound of the shot. The bull, now missing a chunk of his ear, startled, but then he roared in anger and began to charge. But not at Brick. He went right towards the hill where the chief was sitting.

Everyone in the chief’s camp started screaming and scrambling for safety, but there was no place for them to go. They all tripped over each other in wild terror as the grey death bore down upon them.

Brick immediately started running toward the chief at a different angle; he had to cut the elephant off. His knees were not happy. As he ran, he quickly loaded another round. Somehow he knew that the hunchback was right behind him. He tried to take aim at the elephant as he ran, but he couldn’t get a clear shot. The vines and plants were catching his boots and slowing him down as well.

Pretty soon he realized he wasn’t going to make it. Time for Plan B.

Brick started slowing down and let his guide get ahead of him. Then he yelled, “Hunchie, kneel!” As if he knew exactly what Brick was thinking, the hunchback slid into the dirt like second base and came up in a crouch.

Brick ran right up his back and jumped on the hunch, firmly planting his two feet like an Olympic gymnast. He bounced into the air and flew toward the elephant. It wasn’t pretty but he managed to aim his rifle toward the earth as he sailed. One chance was all he had. He passed over the elephant right as it was about to sow devastation through the chief’s camp. Brick focused and took the shot. This time his aim was dead on-right through the top of the elephant’s head. Brick continued on through the air and landed in the bushes.

The elephant came to a halt right in front of the chief’s camp. Everyone stood stunned, staring at it, waiting. It stumbled a little, and then fell over dead.

Disaster averted, thought Brick, as he stood up and collected himself. He brushed off the leaves and emerged from the bushes triumphantly, expecting an eruption of applause. All he got was stares of hatred. The chief was sobbing. It turns out that when the elephant collapsed, it smashed one of his wives. Brick recognized her too, though he only knew her as #19. Brick wasn’t very good with names.

When the chief looked up and saw him standing there, his face turned from mourning to rage. He swung his arm out violently, pointing with his overgrown yellow fingernail, and yelled something in the language of the village. By the context, Brick thought it was more likely to mean “Seize him!” than “Thank you!” Turns out he was right. Several warriors began to advance on him.

Well, that’s that, thought Brick. He shook his head, sighed, and took off running through the trees.

Introduction

By way of John ripping off Dusty, and Megan ripping off John, I’ve now ripped them all off and started my own blog.



This blog is intended to be a story, written by whoever contributes. I’ve written the first part. Anyone else can write the next part, as much or as little as you want. The next person will have to go from there. Just copy the text into an email (with ‘eggs in the barn’ in the subject box) with a name/city to attribute it to or if you want to be anonymous. I'll try to keep the editing minimal. On the off chance that more than one person sends me the next installment at the same time, I’ll put up the best one. What’s more likely is I’ll get no response, at which point I’ll start bugging people I know to write something.