Respect For The Dead

by Lindsey Goddard

  Her eyes glazed over. The corners of her mouth relaxed into a frown, and she muttered something too faint for James to hear. She fell from her kneeling position in the yard, dropping sideways onto a pile of upturned soil.

  “Sleep tight,” said James, scooping the woman into his arms. The least he could do was place her in a bed. But what comfort would that offer when she awoke?

  **

  Her brown hair looked ebony in the weak glow of a shadowed moon. A soft breeze blew the strands away from her face, revealing her olive green eyes. James traced the gentle curves of her cheeks with his eyes, ending at her luscious pink lips. The black veil of night had no effect on her beauty. He would use the precious, dim light of the moon to remember this moment forever.

  She leaned in to kiss him lightly on the forehead. She wrapped a hand around his neck, grains of sand still sticking to her palm. Between them, tiny legs began to kick. Their newborn smacked its lips and began to cry. It took all of James’ strength not to burst into tears.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she reassured him. “Better to allow him one night of love than an empty life of servitude…”

  He touched his baby’s face, running his thumb over the nub of its nose. Beyond them, the ocean shined like dark glass.

  James shifted uncomfortably in his bunk. The plastic lining of his thin foam mattress squeaked faintly against the metal frame. It’d been two years since he was forced into the army, and his body still protested the sleeping arrangements. A steady burn radiated his spine at all times, muscles constantly sore to the touch.

  He stared blankly at the plain white ceiling, each tick of the clock like a gong in his brain. How his bunk mates managed to sleep through the night was an ongoing mystery to James. Perhaps they had faith that the world could be saved, like he had tried to believe in the beginning. Maybe when they looked at the dying sun—the amber shade of their youth now a distant memory, replaced by a menacing orange—they trusted that the army could bring light into a cold and dark world when it was gone.

  He blinked hard, feeling the burn of exhaustion on the dry surface of his eyes. He couldn’t shake the day’s events from his head. The desperate woman’s eyes still pleaded for his mercy, for her child to be returned to loving arms. Behind her, the sun glowed like a humongous tangerine, casting shadows over everything in sight. The baby started to cry just as his mother lost consciousness, knees slipping underneath her dead weight.

  James had done his duty, just as he’d been trained. Another day in the life of servitude.

  A gruff sigh escaped his lungs. He hated knowing what would happen… what would become of that infant. Castration was a given. It would be performed within the week. The new generation of soldiers were denied procreation.

  In the past, James had been assigned to medical waste detail in between his patrol shifts. Every time he slung one of the durable black bags over the side of the medical waste truck, hearing the wet thunk as it landed in a malformed pile of God-knows-what, he couldn’t help but shudder with disgust. He thanked the lucky stars for his manhood. He’d escaped the cruelty of “the new way” by a decade, something James never took for granted.

  The giant gas ball in the sky was expanding, growing larger. Often it glowed in disturbing shades of red. Some predicated it would erupt and char the earth to a cinder. Some believed it would simply fizzle out. Whatever the outcome, the US government had decided that, in the event of survivors, small numbers would be best.

  Young females had escaped the medical fate of the males, but their future didn’t hold much wonder, either. Most of them were put to work by the age of ten, making dehydrated food in the countless factories that were springing up all over the county. The US was trapped in a constant state of provision. Preparation for the end of times.

  James huffed, rolling over on his side. The blank gray wall near his bed held only one thing of interest. A calendar. He’d been eyeing it for weeks. Every night the memories of her grew stronger, and more impossible to resist. He bit his lip. Today was the anniversary of a night that he’d been trying for two years to forget. The night he held his love, one last time in his arms, feeling her hot breath on his chest. The night they cradled their child together, covering every inch of its skin with kisses, before sending him quietly into death.

  **

  James shook his head in disbelief. Was he actually going through with this? He pressed his back to the cold, stone wall, surveying the fenced yard with trepidation. Two gun towers stood on either side of the building. They seemed monstrously tall against the backdrop of trees. It was well after curfew, and soldiers were expected to stay in their bunks until morning. His jaw chattered with anxiety, spine rigid against the wall.

  He slid into a sitting position, chewing at the mangled remnants of his inner cheek. He couldn’t wipe the remembrance of her face from his mind. He couldn’t live another day alone. He tightened the laces on his black combat boots, and rose from the ground, readying himself for escape. He took a breath, and made a dash for the fence.

  He covered the length of pavement in no time, clearing as much of the wire fence as he could manage in one jump. His feet scrambled against the steel, boots too big to find the proper foot holes. Knuckles white, he strained to the top, pulling with all of his might.

  He heard the gunshot when he was nearly free, and prayed it wasn’t the Sedation Rifle. If he lost consciousness now, and fell over the side, a blow to his skull would surely mean the end. James remained alert, navigating down the other side of the barrier. His stomach wrenched with excitement when he realized his boots were safely on the ground. Moving swiftly, he sprinted for the woods.

  James cried out in pain as the chemicals from the gunshot penetrated his clothing, searing into his skin. This was not the work of a Sedation Rifle; that sensation would be much duller, almost numb. James had been struck by the Immobilizer. Soon it would render him motionless, unable to control his arms and legs. The escape was now a race against time.

  He ran through the woods, swiping stray branches out of the way. He had to make it to the beach, in hopes that she’d be there. He had to apologize for the things he had said…

  James listened intently as she finished her lullaby. It was sadder than the last four she’d sang, gently rocking their baby in her arms. Her voice sounded weary, still exhausted from the birth. It made the song’s tender notes seem even more sincere, the fact that she barely had the strength to sing at all.

  “I was thinking,” James whispered when she finished. “Maybe we don’t have to go through with this…”

  Iris turned scrutinizing green eyes on him, as if he’d said something shocking or wrong. They burned like emeralds against the paleness of her skin. “James, we have to. We can’t allow him to be found.”

  James was prepared to argue his defense. “I know, I know. It just seems so immoral, so cruel.” She flinched, and James instantly wished he’d chosen any word but ‘cruel’. “There’s no guarantee that they will find him, Iris. We can relocate, somewhere desolate… away from the city.”

  “You think they don’t do sweeps of the countryside too? They’ll find him, they will. They always do! He’ll be taken away, and raised as a soldier. No hugs and kisses from us.” She looked down at the infant and furrowed her brow, remorse apparent on her face. “I’d be surprised if we weren’t jailed for harboring a child.” She looked back at James, eyes begging for his approval.

  “Then your mind is made up, but I’ll make this very clear… this is your choice, and your choice alone. I will have no part of it.” He turned around in the sand, putting his back to Iris. The beach was quiet, save for the ebbing of waves on the shore… and the coos of the condemned child at his back.

  James fought against the effects of the Immobilizer. The sensation began in his fingertips, a warm tingle that vibrated through his veins. Then came the pin-pricks, like red hot needles being stabbed into his palms. The drug soon rendered his hands completely useless. He prayed that his l
egs would stay strong, though his knees were beginning to buckle. Sweat trickled from his forehead, stinging his eyes and the various abrasions caused by sharp twigs and branches. Tears streaked down his cheeks, mingling with the sweat on his filth-covered face.

  He was running at full speed. The beach couldn’t be much further. More specifically, their spot on the beach. The place where dreams were born and crushed at once.

  He watched Iris as she waded into the water. The ocean glimmered like the surface of a fortune teller’s crystal ball, bearing only the bad news of things to come. She pressed the baby to her chest, reminding James of a little girl with her first baby doll. Innumerable seconds passed as she stood, unmoving, with the newborn’s head nuzzled against her neck.

  Then, all at once—and in one fluid motion—Iris plunged the infant’s body beneath the sea. She held it there, her face upturned to the muted moon, refusing to watch the struggle below. James put a hand to his chest as he watched her actions, sudden panic ripping his heart to shreds. He sprang to his feet, running past the gentle waves of shore. He fought the water that pushed against him, trying desperately to change her mind. “Wait!” he screamed. “Please, let him up! Let him up!”

  By the time he reached her side, tears forming a wet sheath across her face, James knew it was already done. “It’s over,” was all that she said. James turned his back on her, and never returned.

  James crawled through the dirt. It had been nearly an hour since his escape, and his legs were racked with pain. The pin-pricks consumed his calves and thighs, dancing like giant sewing needles along his aching muscles. He used his elbows to scoot himself along the stick-littered forest floor, writhing snakelike through the muck.

  Just ahead, the trees opened up. The sound of the ocean, lapping softly at the land, brought vigor back into his bones. He struggled to his feet, wrapping his arms around a tree trunk for balance. Beneath him, his ankles threatened to snap. His weight presented an unusual challenge as he took one small step, and then another.

  She’d be there, on the beach, mourning their baby’s death. James had to see her gorgeous face again.

  He took a few more steps before falling sideways. His shoulder bashed into a jagged rock. It was one of the only body parts that James could still feel, and shock waves of pain forced a squeal from his throat. The cries of anguish subsided into a frustrated groan as James struggled to his feet once again. He used forward momentum like a reckless wino, numb legs scrambling from tree trunk to tree trunk. The clearing was so close he could smell the ocean salt. He fell face forward into a mixture of moist soil and sand.

  And there she was. Even from behind, he recognized her beauty.

  Her long hair billowed in the mild breeze. Her slender torso, giving way to unusually curvy hips, was just the way he remembered in his dreams. “Iris,” he moaned through a mouthful of dirt and sand. “Iris,” he choked again, even louder.

  Her body straightened, shoulders stiff as she heard the troubled voice. Slowly, she turned to face the fallen soldier. A look of bewilderment played over her face. She studied the immobile figure from several yards away, though his features were engulfed in shadow. “Wha—what do you want?”

  “Iris, it’s me.” He paused to take a breath. “It’s James… It’s me. It’s James.”

  “Oh dear god!” She rushed to his side, her long white gown fluttering with each step. “James. Am I dreaming? Can it really be you?” She dropped to the ground, placing her palm to his cheek. She gazed into his bloodshot eyes.

  James stared up at his angel. She hadn’t changed in two years. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything…”

  “Shhh. Save your apologies. What’s the matter? What has happened to you?”

  “I had to see you… I escaped. I was shot… with the Immobilizer. They’ll wait until morning. Then they’ll come and find me…”

  Her green eyes narrowed, sorrow tugging at her perfect lips. She rubbed her thumb along the line of his jaw. “And then?”

  “Castration… for leaving the camp.” Iris grimaced, though James was shockingly calm. His mouth curled into a wry smile. “It’s almost always a woman.”

  “We’ll get you out of here. I’ll find help.” She removed her hand from his jaw. She pushed against the sand, attempting to stand.

  “No!” he screamed, eyes suddenly wide. “Just stay with me. Sing to me. Hold me until dusk.” He lowered his voice to a desperate whimper. “And then send me to heaven with our son.”

  She gasped. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. “No! I can’t!” Her lip quivered. “I can’t do that again.”

  “But you were right. Better to have one night of love…” he trailed off.

  “Than an empty life of servitude,” she finished.

  **

  Iris pulled James with all of her might. He had helped, using what strength he had left to slither along the beach to the sea. Waves washed over his vision as his body was dragged through the wet sand below. Deeper and deeper they went, until James could taste nothing but salt.

  He was unable to struggle as his head bobbed in and out of the water, limbs completely useless for swimming. A humongous orange sun poked over the horizon. The dark blue ocean changed to a menacing, deep shade of crimson. He let go of his breath in one solid whoosh, staring up at his long lost Iris. The songs she had sang while holding him through the night echoed in the back of his mind.

  Iris didn’t look at James as she held him under the surface, couldn’t bear to watch him slipping away. Her exquisite face was tilted upward, towards the sky, watching the sun rise in the distance.

  Mold

  Cassie set her suit case in the grass, studying the bungalow’s timeworn porch with a nervous blink of her eyes. It was quaint, out of place among the newly constructed split-levels and condos she’d passed on the way. Brick pillars stood on either side of the front steps; the grout had long-ago cracked and turned yellow. Three small windows—even in size—lined the front of the house, framed with maroon shutters. Paint peeled in large patches, revealing the dull color of wood underneath. Cassie sighed. Her stomach felt hard, like the center of a tightly-pulled knot. She had never been on her own before…

  Cassie gazed at the baby cradled in her arms. Softly, she traced a finger down the side of his face. “Well, kiddo. Home sweet home, for now… I guess…” Scooping the handle of her suitcase into her free hand, she smiled at her baby, lingering on his deep brown eyes. You look so much like Nathan, she thought. How will I ever stop thinking about him?

  As she approached the porch steps, she tested the first stair, pushing on the wood with one foot. The porch had once been a dark maroon color. Now, large areas of light-brown wood were visible where the weather had stripped the paint. She ran her fingers down the wooden banister. Thick splinters of wood stuck out like porcupine quills, some loose and some dangling in the wind. The porch’s railing had been warped by the passing of years, wiggling underneath her weight. She slowly ascended the stairs.

  The rusty hinges of the screen door creaked in protest as Cassie pulled it open. Taking a deep breath, she balled her fist and knocked.

  An elderly woman answered the door. Long white hair hung past her shoulders. Sagging skin forced her mouth into a permanent frown; her lips were puckered and dry. Her skin was a mosaic of liver spots and creases. But this is not what held Cassie’s attention. In the center of the woman’s eyes, where her pupils should have been, a smoky gray color blossomed, spreading across the surface of her irises.

  “You are… the new boarder,” the old woman wheezed, breathing deeply in between words. Cassie choked back a gasp as the woman reached out, touching the baby’s cheek with her palm. A smile tugged at the corners of her withered lips, almost defeating that frown. “Please… please… come in…” She gestured Cassie inside with a sweep of her arms, her brittle hands shaking as she did.

  Cassie stepped into the den and looked around. The interior was an improvement from the outside, but not by
much. A floral couch and loveseat sat to her right. An enormous collection of glass knickknacks decorated a plethora of shelves. The air smelled of dust and old potpourri.

  She turned back to the woman. “My name is Cassie,” she said, extending her hand for a shake. “And this is Caleb.” She nodded her head toward the baby.

  The old woman ignored Cassie’s hand and touched her fingertips to her chest. “Barbara,” she wheezed. “Barbara… Jennings.”

  She shuffled forward, close enough for Cassie to feel the heat of her breath, and lifted her hand into the air. “May I?” she asked. The woman’s outstretched fingers nearly touched Cassie’s face.

  “May you what?”

  Before she could answer, Barbara placed her hand on Cassie’s face. She ran a palm over her cheekbone, felt the curve of her chin. She pressed on Cassie’s nose, groped her forehead. The woman’s lips tried to form a smile, fighting against gravity. “You… are… pretty,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  Horror struck Cassie as she stared into Barbara’s vacant eyes. She can’t see a thing. She is blind.

  “It’s… not… so bad,” Barbara said, sensing the young girl’s revelation. “I still… get around.” The old woman tried to smile again, but something seemed to catch in her throat. She paused, breathing deeply, lungs rattling in her chest. She put her hands on her knees, concentrating on breathing.

  After a moment, she stood upright again, hand to her chest. “Let me… show you… the basement,” she said.

  Cassie stiffened. “Furnished basement for rent”, the paper had said, but now she was having second thoughts. This house was old—really old—and the thought of living in the basement made her palms begin to sweat.

  Barbara waved a hand in the air, leading her toward the hallway. She opened a white door between the kitchen and the bathroom. A cold draft swirled up from the darkened stairwell. Cassie stood behind the old woman, gazing into the blackness with dread.