Boone
Page 21
When he made it to the police station, he struggled to get the door open because of all the water piled up against it, but he finally got it open it, the water pouring inside, and Peter stepped within.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by what he saw, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you got used to.
There were bodies against the wall. The water had shifted them. There was a sign mentioning Boone. He knew something crazy had happened here, but he didn’t know what. He didn’t want to know. He saw the body in the dress, headless. He saw the head. He turned and saw the switchboard and the bottle of whiskey there.
Peter went to the bottle, picked it up, and took a sniff. He took a drink. He didn’t know why. It seemed like the right thing to do. The liquid going down his throat was rough and hot, like a jagged fireball. He winced, gasped, and then took another drink, enjoying the feeling coming over him suddenly. It was warm.
He looked around and noticed the body in the dress was wearing a belt, a gun on its hip. There was makeup on its face. Something truly lunatic had happened here.
Peter took the gun, which was wet. He checked it to make sure it was loaded. It was. He’d never fired one before, but how hard could it be? The red switch meant fire. If he wanted to check and see if the gun worked, he just had to flick the switch to red and pull the trigger. It wasn’t hard. But maybe the water had ruined it. He didn’t know.
He wrote a note on a piece of paper with a pen he found. He said that there were two kids in a house on Carrington Avenue, Stephen and Veronica, and they were both alive and needed help. He wrote the address down as well. He taped the note to the desk, so the next person who came in would see it.
He left the police station, taking the gun. He liked the way it felt.
He wasn’t sure what to think anymore. The night had changed him. He didn’t understand how a world like this could have a God, not after all that had happened and what he’d seen. His faith had been tested, and perhaps he’d failed that test, but he didn’t care anymore.
He would take the road south, sticking to higher grounds as best he could, away from the deeper water. Maybe he could find a raft of some sort and paddle across the valley.
He missed Vince. He loved him. He loved and missed his parents as well. But this was a different calling, one he didn’t understand, but hoped he would in time.
It was the flood. It had come from up above, but what Boone had done had come from somewhere else. He couldn’t deny that.
If he would’ve looked behind him to the west, he would’ve seen a lone figure sitting on a rooftop. He would’ve seen the glimmer of metal as well, the axe in his hands.
But Peter took a different route.
He headed south, where the turnpike would be if it hadn’t been buried in water. Maybe he would be picked up. Maybe not. Maybe the waters would rise higher and that would be the end of him. Maybe he would use the gun on himself to end his confusion, but he didn’t think so.
He simply didn’t know.
As he looked to the side, and as the sun emerged—if only briefly through the broken clouds—he saw his shadow on the water. It looked like a gnome-like, gangly creature.
Peter smiled.
The clouds came back, and his shadow disappeared.
He’d say a prayer, then walk on.
He’d say a prayer for Boone.
~
Boone managed to sleep, which he thought was funny. In his sleep, he dreamed of Isabelle, not the axe, but the girl in the fourth grade who’d put her hands over his ears and told him no matter how bad it got, how difficult and painful, he had to stop the screaming.
He’d done all that and more.
Part of him thought his mother had never killed her, that Isabelle had never been real, but a gift from the Divine Source to help him on his pilgrimage.
He liked to believe this was true. Either way, they were both better off now.
The thunder and lightning had ceased. The clouds were heavy and thick, but it was still raining, and the sky was getting lighter.
Boone sat up and looked around him. The tops of the houses and the church were visible, even the sanitarium . . . if he chose to look behind him.
He did not.
Tree branches and pieces of fencing were being carried away in the slow moving current. He watched a dead cow to the left of the house float away behind him. He thought he saw a stray mutt, an Irish setter it looked like, but it was hard to tell.
The clouds were breaking up. Sunlight shone through. Dark streaks were in the water, like tiny red veins. Several bodies drifted by, all of it moving south, behind him.
Shepherd’s Grove had turned into a silent, watery grave.
Boone reached over and grabbed the axe, setting it across his lap
He hadn’t done it all on his own. He knew that, and that was okay.
But people would come, the squawk boxes. He knew that, too. Maybe in a few hours, maybe a few days. But they would come, and the silence would turn to white noise again.
When the first helicopter appeared on the horizon, he’d slip back into the water. He’d find a tree branch to hold onto and float away with the rest of the debris. He’d let the current take him until he disappeared or came to dry land. He’d wander the hills, axe in hand, and seek the ultimate resting place.
But for now, there was no blaring white noise. No screaming. His mother was dead, along with the shadow that had been following him. There was only silence, the golden harmony of the rhythm and the rain.
Boone savored every second for as long as it lasted. He turned his face to the heavens and smiled, letting the last of the day’s rainfall touch his face.
Thank you, Dear Reader, for taking the time to read Boone. If you enjoyed the tale, please consider posting a short review where you purchased the book. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and always appreciated.
Brandon Berntson
If you liked Boone, you might try Body of Immorality, Snapdragon Book I and II, Corona of Blue, or All The Gods Against Me.
About the Author:
Brandon Berntson was born in Boise Idaho, but grew up in various towns throughout Colorado, where most of his stories take place. A fan of dark fantasy, horror, magical realism, and young adult fantasy, he is the author of Castle Juliet and When We Were Dragons, enchanting, magical reads for all ages, along with Body of Immorality, a cryptic collection of horror stories, and the raw, adult-themed, All The Gods Against Me.
A fan of ice hockey, Beethoven, Black Sabbath, classic horror films, and Star Trek, he makes his home in Boulder, Colorado. Visit him at www.brandonberntson.com or his Amazon Author Page.
Go to the next page to see the complete works of Brandon Berntson.
Also by Brandon Berntson:
Urban/Dark Fantasy:
All The Gods Against Me: The Story of Clarence Manning
Calliope
Worlds Away
Snapdragon Book I: My Enemy
Snapdragon Book II: In the Land of the Dragon
Horror:
Corona of Blue
Body of Immorality: Tales of Madness and the Macabre
Donny’s Day
Silly Girl
To Disturb the Dead
The Battle of the Elect
Literary/Magical realism:
The Smoky Dragon (a love story)
Blue Sky Winter (A Christmas Tale)
One World
All It Will Always Be
King of Forgotten Land
Comic Horror:
Buick Cannon (A Joke From the Moon)
Fantasy/Young Adult:
When We Were Dragons
Castle Juliet
le(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share