Death Springs Eternal

by Robert J. Duperre

  With that thought in mind, Doug collapsed in a heap. He was going to lose Horace now, too. He could feel it. In a state of weakness he tucked his knees to his chest, buried his head between them, and cried.

  * * *

  Come nightfall, the forest was awash with life. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and the crunching sounds of small creatures roaming about echoed through the trees. After so many months of dead silence, a part of Allison Steinberg felt she should appreciate this nighttime clatter. Instead, all she felt was fear.

  She huddled close to the meager fire, letting the flames dry her mud-drenched clothes. Her legs were sore, her back and shoulders even more so, and her mind was a cluttered mess of fear and uncertainty. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t have anyone to talk to. Tom had withdrawn from her, becoming something of a living shadow in the days after the tragedy. He hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since then, seemed unable to look her in the eye. He pulled away from Shelly as well, which was even more concerning. He constantly muttered to himself and seemed lost in his own world. He wouldn’t eat. He hadn’t been this way since before Corky and the others arrived at the Clinton Hotel, and it frightened her. Add that to his strange behavior on the day of the explosion, when he rambled over and over about a horrible dream and that they had to get far away from the place, and she could come to only one conclusion.

  Her husband was losing his mind, and she felt helpless.

  She gazed at him, the flames casting ghostly shadows on his face as he sat there with a blank expression, staring at the fire. Shelly lay between them, using Tom’s jacket as a blanket, sleeping fitfully. Her cherub cheeks puffed out and a soft wail escaped her. Her arms flailed as if she was falling. Allison leaned over, scooped her daughter up in her arms, and held her close. The girl breathed in shallow bursts against her neck. She was crying.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispered, rocking back and forth. “Mama’s got you.”

  Shelly continued to sob, drenching Allison’s crusty blouse with her tears. There didn’t seem to be anything she could do to calm the girl down—a nightly occurrence since they’d left the hotel grounds. She glanced at Tom, trying to ask him for help without words, but he remained as he was, staring blankly into the fire. A hiss of frustration parted her lips.

  Footsteps approached from behind her. Allison startled and craned her neck. Corky’s massive frame hovered above her, flickers of yellow and orange dancing in his beard. He stooped and placed a giant hand on Shelly’s head.

  “Want me to give it a try?” he asked.

  Allison nodded and allowed him to pluck the crying girl from her grasp. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and held her to his chest, looking like a tamed yeti in the firelight. Shelly’s bawling quieted to a few random sniffles. Eventually her head dropped to his shoulder and her eyes closed. Allison felt a twinge of resentment rise up. This was her daughter, her responsibility. To see this man, this lumbering oaf, able to pull off what she could not more than rankled her.

  “She’s sleeping now,” said Corky. “You want her back?”

  Shaking her head and forcing the bitterness from her thoughts, she replied, “No, that’s okay. I think she feels safe with you. Maybe if she stays with you for the night, she’ll get some uninterrupted sleep.”

  “You sure ’bout that?”

  Not at all. “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  Corky lumbered away, back to his secluded spot, leaving Allison alone with her seemingly comatose husband. She scooted over on her butt, pressed against his side, and rested her head on his shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t respond, remaining still as a statue. But that was okay, she supposed. It was quiet and warm, and she could feel his heart beat against her cheek. He was still with her, at least for the time being. Maybe a night without Shelly waking up screaming would do them both good.

  It wasn’t much to hold onto, but it was something.

  * * *

  It was hot again, much hotter than it should’ve been. Or at least that’s what Tom thought. He stumbled down the rise, rocks tumbling beneath his feet, threatening to spill him over like they had Dennis. He mumbled his displeasure, forming make-believe words in his mind, pretending he was speaking in some foreign tongue.

  He listened to opposing conversations the whole time—the ones going on behind him and the one in his own head. Corky and Luis were arguing over the best way to maneuver Dennis down the hill, while the foreign conscience that invaded his every moment—waking and sleeping—prattled on and on.

  It told him how important he was, how much he mattered. It guided his feet, leading him along an invisible path through the trees, until they reached a narrow, clay-encrusted gully. It spoke to him of duty and order, of obedience and protection, of gleaming kingdoms yet to come. It sang in a language he didn’t understand, occupied his thoughts with contemplations he thought he’d left behind back when things like future and influence and power still mattered.

  He tried his best not to listen, wanting nothing more than for the pestering voice to leave him alone with his guilt. Yet still it persisted, growing stronger with each step he took, making reality seem less real, the people around him less viable. He couldn’t connect with anyone any longer. He was a man on an island, surrounded by an endless sea of blood.

  A commotion sounded behind him, and he heard someone yelp in pain. Turning around, he saw that Luis had dropped Dennis, who sat on the ground, slapping at the one who’d carried him like a child in the midst of a tantrum. Allison looked at him, trailing a few steps behind, and headed over to help out their wounded friend.

  Tom almost followed suit—he wanted to—but the voice in his head spoke up once more. Now is your chance, it said. Follow the path. Keep walking.

  “Why?”

  There are people waiting. Waiting for you. Go to them.

  “But what do I tell the others?”

  Make something up. This is your key to reaching safety.

  Tom groaned and raised his voice. “Uh, guys,” he said. “I’m going to wander a little ahead. Okay?”

  The rest of his party stared at him as if he was a stranger who’d just then appeared in their midst. It was then he realized he hadn’t spoken more than a murmur since the day of the explosion. He cringed, cradled his elbows in his hands, and shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.

  “Go ahead,” said Corky, a hint of a grin appearing on the large man’s face. “We’ll catch up.”

  Tom nodded, turned around, and stumbled away. He curled around the bend, walking out of their sight. He kept thinking of Corky, of how the gentle giant had welcomed him and his family with open arms. The man showed him love, had become a friend, but the voice went on and on about how much love and friendship didn’t matter any longer. A part of Tom disagreed, but he couldn’t argue with the liquid calm he began to feel.

  He kept placing one foot in front of the other, and soon the trees above him grew sparse. The gully shortened, revealing swaying brown grass on both sides. Sweat poured down his neck, gathered in his armpits, soaked his underwear.

  The path veered to the left, and he stopped. There was a blockade in front of him, a hundred feet away. Razor wire wrapped around planks of wood, crossing from one side of the gulch to the other, slipping over the shallow edges and continuing in either direction until disappearing into the trees. He slipped behind the tall grasses on the edge of the culvert and peered through the blades.

  There were ten, maybe fifteen people on the other side of the fence, dressed in fatigues with weapons slung over their shoulders. They hadn’t noticed his approach. They carried on behind the deadly wire barricade, chatting and laughing. A few might have been playing cards, he couldn’t tell. But they seemed at ease, as if they had not a care in the world.

  That is the place, said the new conscience. Go to them. End this chapter, begin a new one.

  “What do I say?” Tom whispered.

  You were a public servant once. Figure it out.r />
  “Okay.”

  Tom stepped out from behind the cover of grass and walked slowly up the narrow path, arms raised. The soldiers spotted him and immediately their chatter ceased. They jumped from their positions, grabbed their weapons, and trained them on him.

  “I’m unarmed!” Tom shouted, keeping his movements steady. “Please, I need your help!”

  He breathed a sigh of relief, seeing the soldiers relax their previously tense poses. But still his guilt persisted.

  Just remember, the rest are expendable. It is the only way your family will be safe.

  Shivering and feeling close to tears, he kept on waking.

  * * *

  Corky threw Dennis’s arm over his shoulder and hefted the injured man to his feet. If only this’d happened a couple days earlier, when they passed through Buckingham. There’d been a supermarket and a medical center there. They could’ve filled up on supplies, bandages, braces…hell, maybe even picked up a pair of crutches, just in case. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty and all, he thought, trying to stand up straight and having a difficult time of it. Dennis was tall, at least six feet, but Corky still towered over him. If he were going to do this, he’d have to walk crouched over the whole time.

  “Guys, this ain’t gonna work,” he said.

  Luis stepped over to him. “Kinda figured as much,” he said. Corky braced Dennis and helped flop him over to Luis. Doug approached from the other side, offering his own shoulder for support.

  “Thanks, you guys,” Dennis said through gritted teeth, his Bayou drawl now so prevalent that his words were almost unintelligible. His right eye was swollen shut. “Sorry to be such a pain in the ass.”

  “Don’t…worry none…Denny,” said Luis, shifting to get in a comfortable position. “That’s what friends’re for.”

  “Through good times…” Corky began to sing.

  “Oh, enough,” mumbled Dennis. That got Corky laughing.

  Luis and Doug worked on maneuvering Dennis into the gully. Allison and Shelly tailed behind, the mother seeming to have a much brighter disposition than she’d had in days. He didn’t know whether that was due to a good night’s sleep or the fact that her husband had finally said more than two words out loud, but he didn’t think it mattered. All that did matter was that despite their hardships, despite the friends they’d lost, they were still together, and things promised to get better. Even the weather was cooperating—still hot, but nowhere near as humid as it’d been the past few days.

  Shelly bounced alongside her mother, curls springing about her head. She’d regained her pep as well, and it made him grin something fierce to see her in action. He’d been growing concerned about her, what with her night terrors and crying fits. But she’d slept like a baby on his chest the previous night and now acted in the blithe, carefree way he preferred.

  The only one whose condition didn’t seem to be improving was Horace. The old man was death personified, horribly pale with yellow splotches covering his skin. His breathing rattled like a motor whose bearings had worn thin and he was constantly coughing. On more than one occasion Corky feared his lungs would come shooting out of his mouth—that’s how violent the fits were. And he and Doug seemed distant today, though Dougie kept peering at him out the corner of his eye like a shamed child trying to see if his parent was watching him.

  Corky sidled up to the old timer and threw his arm around him. “What’s up, Ho-bag?” he asked, trying to be as cheerful as possible.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, c’mon dude! Shoot one back at me!”

  He coughed. “I’m sorry, Charles. I’m not feeling well at the moment.”

  “Well…duh. What can I do?”

  The old man shook his head and gently removed Corky’s hand from around his neck. “Not a thing. I simply wish to be left alone.”

  Hurt, Corky stepped away. “Okay, fine,” he said. “Party pooper.”

  The path they followed looked like a dried-up riverbed. Judging by the tufts of tall grass sprouting from the banks, it must have been dry for years. But with the recent rainfall, a thin stream of trickling water flowed down the center, creating new craters and tiny throughways. Corky walked along this tiny tributary, stepping from one side to the other, remembering what it was like to be a kid. Step on a crack and all that. He caught the shadow of a little girl behind him and peered over his shoulder to see Shelly mimicking his movements. He smiled.

  The land graded downward, and the sides of the culvert became lower. Corky walked close to the edge of the channel, holding out his arm so the swaying grasses tickled his wrist as he moved. Reaching behind him, he pulled out his water bottle, containing the last few sips of clean water he had available. He unscrewed the cap and swigged it down. His abdomen cramped up slightly.

  He stopped, realizing he hadn’t relieved himself all morning.

  “Uh, guys,” he said. “Everyone hold up. I gotta piss.”

  Luis and Doug shuffled Dennis around in a circle until they faced him. Horace stood still, keeping his back to them. Allison and Shelly skipped on by.

  “Quirky’s gotta pee!” exclaimed Shelly.

  “Shush, that’s inappropriate,” Allison replied.

  Doug wiggled out from beneath Dennis’s arm. “I gotta go, too,” he told them.

  Luis nodded. “Okay. We’ll wait here.”

  “Nah, keep going. We’ll catch up. Plus, it’ll do me some good to stretch my legs for a bit before I have to lug Denny around again. Know what I mean?”

  Luis laughed. “Yup. My turn later though.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Doug jogged over, rifle swaying on its strap by his side. “We doing this?” the kid asked.

  “Yeppers,” said Corky. He pushed his way through the grass while the rest of their party started down the path once more. Doug followed him in.

  A hundred or so paces into the field, the grass was taller than his head. There were even some random cornstalks surrounding him—wild corn, brown kernels, he saw when he ripped an ear from its stalk. He dropped the ear to the ground, unzipped his fly, and relieved himself. Doug stepped up next to him and did the same. He glanced at the boy, saw his eyes staring straight ahead as if he was standing in front of a drill sergeant, and giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Doug.

  “You got a tiny pecker,” he replied.

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  Doug sighed. Corky swiveled his hips, aiming a stream of urine at the young soldier’s boots. Doug jumped back, spraying like a wild fire hose. Corky began cackling.

  “You’re an asshole,” the kid muttered, buttoning his pants.

  Corky shook out the last few drops and tucked himself back in. “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood, Dougie. Thought we could maybe see who shot the farthest, y’know?”

  That got a slight grin out of the kid. “It’s like you’re a five-year-old, Cork. A really big five-year-old.”

  “It’s a fault. Sue me.”

  He slapped Doug on the back and the pair turned around to head back. A strange sound emerged, like a cat in heat.

  “What the hell was that?” Corky asked.

  Doug’s lips tightened. “Not sure.”

  It came again, louder, and there was no mistaking it this time. Someone was screaming. Bloody murder.

  “Oh shit.”

  They took off at a run, Doug flying ahead of him, hurtling diagonally through the grass. The pop of gunfire filled the air, and he watched as Doug swung his rifle from his back to his shoulder in a single motion. It was a beautiful display of dexterity, even if the current situation made it difficult to appreciate it.

  The grasses came to an end, and when Corky saw what lay ahead his jaw dropped. In a fit of panic he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, leapt from the ground, and tackled Doug from behind. The kid’s head struck the dirt and bounced. Corky got up on his knees and pulled Doug out of sight.

  The path before him was filled with people. A pai
r of soldiers snatched up Allison and Shelly, dragging them to the opposite side of the shallow gulch. Tom was nowhere to be seen. Another eight men held their weapons at the ready, the way he’d seen Doug do countless times before. They fired round after round at a spot just outside of his field of view.

  Corky leaned forward, trying to get a better look. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Dennis was flat on his back, clutching at his stomach. A river of red flowed from him, bubbling from a hole in his abdomen. Luis, squatting beside him, his eyes darting around in fear, tried to get up and scurry away. He seemed to have a hard time gaining his footing on the muddy surface, and he slipped and slid in a lame attempt at running. A shower of pink mist sprinkled from his chest, causing him to slump forward, and then a bullet ripped through his neck. Blood squirted from the wound, which he instinctually brought a hand up to cover while still attempting to stagger away. Corky watched in horror, tears filling his eyes, as another wave of bullets tore through his friend, plowing through his skull, dropping him to the ground atop bits of his own brain. Luis shuddered twice and then fell still.

  Doug struggled beneath him. “What’re you doing?” the kid shouted. “Get off me!” His foot came up, the heel catching Corky in the back of the head. He tumbled forward and off of him. He heard Doug shouting at those below, ordering the soldiers to stop shooting. Even though he was right below the kid he could barely hear his voice, the report of gunfire was so loud.