by Kurt Gepner
They touched their rims together and drank to Dale’s toast.
"This really is good, Hank." Tom regarded his beverage with a swirl. "You’re a man of many talents." Hank dismally nodded his acknowledgement of Tom’s praise. "It goes down smooth," Tom continued, still regarding his drink. "Like one of Silas’ stories. I’m going to remember that it’s the quality of your connections with people that make you a person. Silas was a person of the highest quality."
They touched their rims together and drank to Tom’s toast.
Camille cleared his throat and held up his mug. "Silas lived through some tough times. As a black man growing up when he did, where he did, he could have been full of hate. And losing his family the way he did…" He let his words hang for a moment. "But his heart was too big for that. He was too proud for that. I admired Silas for choosing to be decent when he had every right to be pissed off at the world."
They all touched their rims together and drank to Camille’s toast.
For a while, they stood silently, looking at their feet and the last sip of drink in their mugs. TJ shifted his weight from foot to foot, speaking volumes with his body, but refusing to open his mouth. The men waited, and finally TJ held out his mug. "Silas was like the father I never had," he said with uncharacteristic meekness. Then he quickly drained his mug and walked a few feet from the men.
The others watched his back and then Tom lifted his mug. They touched their rims together and drank to TJ’s toast.
After the men stood for a time in silent contemplation, Tom coughed and said, "That sure did warm me up. What’s the proof on this stuff?"
Hank shrugged. "Probably about one-twenty, or maybe one-thirty."
"So…." Tom said, holding up his mug. "This was like drinking a six-pack of beer in the span of ten minutes."
Hank gave him a little smile. "Probably."
"Well, that explains the tingling sensation I feel in my lips," Tom observed. "So, Boss," he said a little loosely. "I hate to ruin this sacred moment with business, but what’s the plan?" Tom had proved to be a very pragmatic individual and this moment was no exception.
Hank looked at the sky. The dawn was fully established and the clouds were parting to reveal a stark blue contrast behind them. The day promised to be sparkling and fresh. Hank wished that it would storm, not only to reflect the turmoil in his heart, but also to wash away the left over blood and gore.
Kyle wandered back and TJ rejoined them as Hank began outlining his orders. While he spoke, they all ate hungrily, dipping crackers and jerky greedily into the tub of honey. Even Hank’s appetite was stimulated enough for him to force down a few mouthfuls of nutrition.
The plans, as Hank prescribed them were for Camille and Kyle to go find the Caravan and guide them back to the Meadow. Silas’ body would be interred in the lean-to behind the hut, until they could conduct a proper burial. The other bodies would be stripped of anything useful. A quarter-mile farther down the road there was a rocky pit where they would build a bonfire and disposed of them.
The hut and clearing needed to be cleaned up of the blood, too. TJ and Tom volunteered to do the cleaning, while Dale and Hank would transport the bodies to the pit and build the pyre. The two hermits, Thaddeus and Abe, would help out wherever they preferred. After meager picnic had been consumed, they all set about accomplishing their given tasks.
Kyle and Camille each had a pistol and rifle, along with a few bottles of water. Hank worried for his father-in-law, but if anyone among them could make the return journey, it was that old goat.
Clean up was just as exhausting as the battle, but differently so. The bodies of the invaders were unceremoniously stripped and tossed into the ravine. Thaddeus, who persisted in his abhorrence of blood, was only able to assist with the disposal in a supporting role. He quickly lashed together a travois so they could easily haul the bodies to the pit. While Hank and Dale applied their efforts to that task, Thaddeus also gathered wood and constructed a pyre of adequate size to do the job.
From the hut they removed all of the supplies and furniture, cleaning what needed it. Inside, they splashed buckets of water and used a scrub brush to wash the blood from the walls. Fresh dirt was spread over the flagstone floor to absorb the water and blood. Then it got shoveled into a wheelbarrow that was numbered among the tools in Hank’s lean-to. Along with that dirt, all of the places where men had died outside were dug up to be rid of as much blood from the clearing as possible. The hope was to attract as few predators as possible. All of the contaminated dirt got dumped into the stream.
The men slaved on, exhausting their feelings in mundane labor, until the job was done and a semblance of tranquility had been restored to the Meadow. By sunset, the pyre had burned down to coals. They had all gathered in the glade where Hank was pacing out the camp, when they heard the unmistakable rumble of the Duck Truck.
"Thank you, Jesus," Dale muttered.
"Well," TJ said, "The hard part is over."
Hank scoffed. "Are you kidding? The hard part has just begun."
TJ looked horrified, but Tom and Dale knew what Hank meant. They had to build and plow and plant and store and prepare themselves to survive a winter in the mountains by the most primitive means that they knew. They would all have to work harder, day after day after day, than any of them ever had before.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The procession that slowly rumbled toward them was comical by civilized standards, and Thaddeus - who rivaled Phim in extreme reactions - burst into raucous laughter at the sight of the hand-painted 1965 Ford F250 pulling a 26-foot U-haul truck. As the 1972 Volkswagen Microbus came into view, with a chicken perched on the steering wheel, Thaddeus fell on the ground in a state of hilarious paralysis. A small herd of goats tethered to the second trailer was the last straw. He turned blue and started choking from an overdose of humor. Abe gently patted his friend’s back, ever his caretaker.
Hank was more grateful for the Caravan's arrival than he could even describe to himself. It was true that he was feeling a terrible hurt from Evie’s infidelity, but it was also true that he adored her and sorely missed her reassuring company. He had given a lot of contemplation to the recently uncovered facts, while cleaning blood and burning bodies. Although his wife had cheated on him, it didn’t change the twenty-five years that preceded his discovery of that fact. There was a lot they needed to talk about, but after everything, he truly needed her.
The Duck Truck rolled to a stop and Phim Pham waved gleefully at the grungy, grimy, sweaty men. Jessie, appearing grim and worried, shut down the motor. People spilled out of the U-haul and off of the trailers. Excitement, joy and relief boiled over the collection of mixed faces. Lexi ran up to the men and TJ deflated as she rushed into her father's arms. "I love you, Daddy. Don’t you forget that!"
Hank was grateful to see his daughter and hugged her deeply, but he was baffled by her words. "I love you too, Princess!" She gave him a sad smile, a kiss on his cheek and then let go of him. Hank watched her as she fell into TJ’s embrace and felt vaguely envious of the blossoming relationship as the two lit up with a kiss. He remembered that feeling from so very long ago.
When he turned back to the Caravan, Evie stood directly in front of him. Despite everything… because of everything, Hank was relieved to see her. He nearly broke into tears just for knowing that she was safe. But his heart sank when he caught sight of her expression. She was shaking his pocket journal before his face, like a bible of conviction. "Really?" She demanded. "You want me to suffer with guilt and humiliation for the rest of my life?"
For a moment, Hank was lost as to what she meant. Then he remembered that he had fallen asleep while writing in it. Jamie and Phim must have found it. He felt mortified for what he had written. But then he realized what Evie was doing. If she could make him apologize for something, anything, then she could negotiate for forgiveness. She was trying to make him take blame. His face hardened. "Is that all you care about?" He asked. "I don’t get a: thank God y
ou saved our granddaughter? Or: I’m so glad you’re not hurt?"
Jaw pumping with the effort to find a retort, Evie said nothing. Frowning in return, Hank said, "I’ve done nothing but love you, Evie. The words I wrote about you are just feelings. And you’re not going to stand over me like some hapless victim seeking justice."
"Hapless victim?" She blurted, finally having a concept she could cling to. "Do you know what people are saying? Do you realize that you’ve trapped me in this mess? You left this," she waved his journal through the space between them, "for a psychotic little girl to read and now everybody knows that I made a mistake. I’m stuck here and everyday I’m going to be judged as the ungrateful, adulteress wife of the savior." She finished her verbal attack with an audacious set of air-quotes.
Hank’s stone cold face revealed nothing of the turmoil that brewed in his heart. Mimicking his wife’s air-quotes, he said, "A mistake, Evie, would have been if you got drunk and woke up next to another man. A mistake would have been forgivable. You didn’t make a mistake. You made a choice. You are an ungrateful, adulteress wife."
Evie took his words like a blow to the gut. She couldn’t deny or argue against them. She never had been able to manage a solid argument against him, whether or not she was in the right.
With the realization of her phenomenal loss, Evie could no longer confine her tears. Her desperation was double, because they were in a time when she most desperately needed him and wanted him. Unbidden and without her volition, her mind imagined this new and dangerous world without Hank. Panic buckled her knees.
From the ground, at Hank’s feet, Evie clutched his hand. Pressing her fingers against the solid gold band that he wore as a symbol of their unity she bawled, "Hank, I am so sorry!" From the deepest place in her heart she implored. "Please forgive me. Please understand that I never meant to hurt you."
"But, Evie," he said with a pained, yet amazed expression, "You did hurt me." Hank looked around and saw that everyone was silently watching their spectacle. Even Thaddeus had lost all aspect of mirth and stood somberly watching the public demolition of a long and fruitful marriage.
Hank felt like vomiting. He felt like a failure. He felt like he was naked in front of everybody and compared to all other men, he was inferior. His wife had gone to another for her satisfaction. He was inadequate. He was ashamed.
Then a surreal insight came to Hank: There was almost no way in which his life had not been destroyed. New laws. Dead friends. Uncertain fates. He had taken lives. He intentionally killed other human beings. He had lost his wife, his rock, his foundation. He was a prisoner of his humiliation among these forty-odd people. Hank felt lost. He had nothing and felt no reason to go on.
The faces looking back at him were like a jury. In the court of life, he stood convicted. And yet the trial went on. "Stop it, Evie." He couldn’t look at her as he spoke. "You’re making us both look like fools."
"I don’t care! Please, Hank," Evie begged. "Please tell me that we can work through this," she cried. "I love you! I need you!" Evie held her arms out to the man who had always accepted her every fault with unyielding tenderness.
This is a new world, he cogently thought. For right or wrong, Hank realized that his first responsibility in this new world was to be honest with himself. He had forgiven Evie so many times in the past that she had come to expect it, as did he. Forgiveness was not wrong, in and of itself, but a habit of forgiveness was cowardly. Not this time. He had always communicated his thoughts and feeling with her, however difficult it may have been. So many times, she had hidden hers from him. No longer could he turn his eye. He refused to be blind to her shortcomings and iniquities.
He looked down upon his pleading wife. She looked cheap to him. She was nothing more than a consolation for his loneliness. They had made a family together, but he could only see a second rate alcoholic mother for whom he had always made excuses. She was a lush and a liar. And as he looked down at her, he thought of all she’d ever said while they were lying together. She was a fake.
Hank reached over and plucked his journal from her clutching hands. He looked Evie dead in the eye. He was a broken man who stood in a broken world at the end of a broken marriage. He had no forgiveness left for himself, or his wife. His heart hardened and he thought he felt it entirely quit beating.
His wife grasped his left hand between hers, almost like a prayer. "Please, Hank..."
Shaking her hands away, he said, "Get away from me…."
Evie grabbed at him and caught his cuff. The words almost refused to leave his throat. He tried to pull away, but her desperate grip was viselike as she pleaded more urgently. "Please, Hank!"
"You…." He knew what he thought and felt, but to say it would make it real. It was real. She wouldn’t let go.
"Lying…" She cried and pulled his hand to her cheek. He flung his arm wide with the utterance of the last word he ever intended to say.
"Slut!"
Hank left Evie collapsed in a sobbing heap on the gravel of the lonely, mountain road. Nobody called to him or stood in his way. They all just watched as he vanished into the forest.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Matt found his brother sitting exactly where Brody had told him to look. The entire camp had searched for him. The two boys, Miguel and Brody, had spotted him a few hours ago. Everyone agreed that Matt should be the one to go to him. And despite the difficulties of climbing to the secluded grotto with a broken arm, Matt was grateful to be the one to go. He loved his brother and would do anything to bring him back from the abyss. A little pain was a very fair price to have that chance.
Hank’s feet were planted on a wide boulder, his elbows planted on his knees. He was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, hunched over, with his chin resting on his knuckles. He stared in deep contemplation of the shotgun that rested on the boulder in front of him. The big man looked very small under the late afternoon sun.
"You’re loud," Hank said as Matt sat down next to him.
"You have a gun. I wasn’t trying to be quiet," Matt said. He drooped his right shoulder so his pack would slide off and handed it to his brother. Hank took it with a questioning look. Matt answered the look. "Since you didn’t kill yourself, I figured you’d be hungry after a whole day without food."
Hank tore into the pack and pulled out a Tupperware container full of stew. It had been more than thirty hours since his last meal and he was ravenous. "Evie made this stew," Hank observed after his first bite.
"She made it just for you," Matt confirmed.
Hank gulped down another bite and said, "She can make stew even better than Mom did."
"Evie feels very badly for what she did," Matt offered.
Without slowing down his fork, Hank said, "I’m sure."
"She doesn’t want to lose you," Matt said, quietly.
"You don’t lose trash," Hank said, after chugging a bottle of water and belching. "You throw it away."
Matt frowned. "That’s a stupid thing to say. You’re not trash."
Hank shrugged and spooned more food into his mouth. He was finally pacing himself.
Looking at the shotgun, Matt asked, "You don’t intend to use that thing, do you?"
"Not on myself," Hank said. "If that’s what you mean."
Alarmed, Matt asked, "Not on Evie?"
Hank beamed mischievously at his brother, but then shook his head. "No," he said.
"When are you coming back?" Matt asked.
"Why does it matter?" Hank asked.
"We need you," Matt told him.
"You’d figure it out without me," Hank assured his brother.
Briefly Matt looked distraught. "Hey," he changed the subject as cheerfully as he could. "Good news. They picked up Reggie along the way. Theresa got him all patched up. He should be fine." In a suggestive tone he added, "I’m sure he’d like to see you…"
Hank blinked and frowned. He felt horrible for leaving his heroic dog to die alongside the road.
"We’re all wai
ting for you to come back," Matt said.
Hank looked at his brother without emotion.
"Well…" Matt conceded, "All of us, except Camille. He says we don’t need you to start planting."
Matt was so startled when Hank abruptly stood that he almost fell over backward. The mountain of a man grabbed and holstered Whisper and said, "I’ve made up my mind."
"You’re coming back?" Matt asked hopefully.
"Camille is the best butcher that you’ll ever find," Hank praised. "He can cut up a whole cow, by himself, and have it wrapped and labeled in less than a day." He put out his hand to help his brother stand. "But I’ve never met a worse gardener in all my life. If he starts planting without me… everyone will starve."
"What about Evie?" Matt asked.
"She’ll starve, too," Hank replied.
"So that’s it?" Matt pressed. "You’ve just decided to come back? No problems, no worries?"
Hank took a deep breath and gave his brother a distraught look. "If you think I’m okay right now, then you don’t know me near as well as I thought. My mind is messed up, Matt. But we have bigger worries than my self-pity."
Matt nodded sorrowfully. "But really… What about Evie?"
Hank frowned. "We’ve been together a long time," he said. "We’ll get it worked out." He sighed heavily. "She had sex with another man, she didn’t murder our children. And I still love her."
"You need each other," Matt stated.
Nodding thoughtfully Hank said "Probably… But I definitely need you," Hank said with a smile and hugged his brother. Matt hugged him back. "Besides," Hank said as he released his sibling and they started walking back to camp. "I’m thinking a lot clearer, now that I gots some vittles in me bellies," He said with a silly voice and a childish grin. "And I have plans, Brother. Big plans. If I’m going to be full of resentment and self loathing, I may as well turn that energy to some good use. Don’t you think?"
