Buddy woke groggily. His friend Bobby - for he insisted he was a friend and not a ‘daddy’ - lay on the other side of the rail carriage, his worn out backpack serving as a pillow. The tracks beat out their timeless hypnotic rhythm beneath the box car they were in, but the railsong was slowing in tempo. The train soon came to a stop.
A short while later someone wrenched open the boxcar’s door. “Outta here White trash!” a surley voice yelled, “And get that shitrat outta my sight before I stomp its fuckin’ head in!”
Bobby staggered to his feet and picked up his pack. “Easy there fella. I’m going. C’mon buddy, this is our stop.”
“Hurry the fuck up before I kill you both, no one will know or care.” The man snarled, banging a heavy wrench against the side of the box car. Bobby didn’t reply. He scooped up Buddy and stepped off the train.
“Hold on there fellas. Where the hell are we?” All around them were nothing but mountains and Douglas firs, stained rose gold by the chilly cloudless sunset.
“Somewhere you won’t be my problem again puta. Or anyone else’s. Start walking.”
“But we’ll freeze. Its going on fall and its nearly dusk. Please fellas, just as far as the next stop. You won’t see me again I promise.”
Buddy noticed there was a second hooman outside the box car. He was fat and pale with the drooping jowls and lumpy red nose of an inveterate alcoholic. He sported a cowboy hat and a seedy moustache. And there was something in his hand. A shiny metal lump of a very particular shape. Buddy knew what those lumps did, Bobby had one too. They made scary noises then whatever they were pointed at would take the forever sleep. This one was pointed at Bobby. Buddy freaked.
“Nuu! Poopy an pwus-size mistahs nu gib daddeh foebah sweepies! Pwease nu huwties!”
Bobby tensed, Buddy could feel it. The man with the wrench lunged, screaming something in a language Buddy did not understand. Bobby bolted, heading for the woods. A crack ran out, then another, but there was no third. Bobby kept running for a long time. Eventually he tripped, rolling onto his backpack to protect Buddy. He panted and heaved, his teeth chattering, his eyes staring far beyond the canopy and the darkening tyrian sky above it. Buddy knew he was seeing the sand places where he had lost many friends. He nuzzled Bobby, licking his face and murmuring urgently to him.
“Huu, battwe buddeh, am Buddeh hewe, ovah. Pwease come homesies. Scawy sandpit not reaw nu mow, am dawkie times an vewy cowd. Buddeh miss yoo. Come back pwease.” Bobby did not respond. He was in his own personal hell.
Buddy began to panic. “Pwease daddeh! Am youw Buddeh, an Buddeh need yoo to wake upsies! Pwease, am cowd dawkie times. Hewp! Daddeh need fiwe and shewtew! Need fwuff piwe or get sickies!”
After a while Bobby’s teeth stopped chattering and his hand stopped scrabbling for a holster that wasn’t there. Instead his pale, trembling fingers quested for Buddy’s fluff. Upon finding the hand began stroking him gently.
“I-its okay lil fellah. I’m here. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s home.”
Buddy swallowed hard. He knew Bobby didn’t mean him when he said these things. He meant his bestest and onwy babbeh Kyle. Kyle’s mummah had been Bobby’s special friend before he went to the scawy sandpit but she had a new special friend when he got back. Now she wouldn’t let him see their babbeh. It gave Bobby worstest heart hurties and that gave Buddy heart hurties too. He couldn’t be Kyle. He was only Buddy.
Eventually Bobby came back to himself but by then it was full dark. Frost-rimed stars twinkled above the canopy but there was almost no moon. It was very, very cold.
Bobby rose wordlessly to his haunches and gently set Buddy aside. He worked the zippers on his backpack with trembling hands and reached inside for a small torch. He tried to flick it on.
“Shit. Must’ve broken when we fell over Buddy. Ohh boy. This isn’t good.”
He scratched his way through the pack for a while. It sounded like many things were broken, including some that were made of glass. Bobby cursed. “Fuck! I cut myself.” He sucked noisily at his finger then continued rummaging, albeit more carefully.
Finally the night burst into brilliant life as Bobby lit his zippo. It was the one with his unit insignia on it. He had shown it to buddy many times, especially when they got the burnie waters that Bobby loved so much.
“We might just make it outta this after all buddy.” He chuckled. He didn’t sound too sure though. Buddy felt scaredy poopies coming on and excused himself. “Fwuffy need da John.”
What followed was a lot of scrabbling around in the dark for dry tinder, followed by larger sticks and then branches. Soon a smoky fire was burning and the two travellers huddled beside it. The wind had picked up and it carried a killing cold. They’d been just in time.
Buddy gathered some pine needles and put them in his mess kit cup along with a little water, nestling them by the fire to steep overnight. He produced a squashed, expired protein bar from his pack and gave a third to buddy, eating the rest himself. Then he stacked more branches in his firepit and yawned, stretching. Buddy knew Bobby was tired from the scary sandpit in his head.
He drew an ancient sawn-off single barrel shotgun from beneath the lining of his backpack and loaded a heavy slug, laying it down beside him. He snuggled down on a hasty bed of pine branches, opened his oft-patched jacked and patted his chest.
“Cmon buddy. Bring it here.” He summoned his fluffy friend.
“Yay! Wuv fwuffpile wiv Bobby!” Buddy cheered and snuggled up. Bobby zipped up the jacket with him inside. They slept.
Buddy stirred before dawn. The fire was almost out and something felt wrong. The woods were dead silent. He felt watched.
“D-daddeh…” He said without thinking, his little head nuzzling Bobby’s unkempt blonde beard from beneath the collar of his jacket. “Da- er, Bobby, wake upsies! Munstah!”
He could see its eyes in the light from the dying fire. They were at human head height and the embers danced in them hypnotically. Bobby stirred.
“What’s wrong buddy?” Bobby asked sleepily.
“Munstah upsies?” The thing queried Buddy’s own voice, cocking its head to one side. Then it stood and stepped into the light.
Buddy pissed himself and screamed.
Smalltownsville Gazette
RAIL DISASTER AT DEVIL’S RAVINE
Investigators say it happened in the early hours of Friday morning. A terrible derailment has carried an entire locomotive and its cargo down the sheer cliffs of Devil’s Ravine. Two State Rail employees, Pedro Gonzales and local range officer Travis ‘Elmer’ Silkey are still missing. Search efforts are ongoing. Signs of predator activity in the vicinity of the crash give rescuers little hope and the surrounding state forest is closed to the public until further notice. Locals are warned that a rabid bear may be on the loose as well as one or more feral ‘fluffy’ biotoys, which remain a pest of national significance. Residents are advised to take precautions such as locking doors, securing trash cans and double bagging food waste that includes or resembles pasta.