by AJ Powers
He grunted as he watched Watson walk away from the window and back over to his desk. Even with such a powerful round, a bullet going through glass could alter its trajectory significantly. Shooting a target a foot or two behind glass was not a big deal, but Watson’s desk was nearly 15 feet away from the window, making the chances of a strike nearly zero. Because of his hesitation, he might have missed his only chance for the night.
But much to his surprise, Watson returned to the window. Clay readied himself again, striving to overcome the whispers he heard in his head—warnings of the dangerous path he was on. As he tightened his finger around the trigger, Megan’s pleas began to invade his thoughts.
Don’t do this, Clayton. No matter how much you justify it to yourself, it will be murder! He heard her saying. You are better than this.
He had shrugged off any and all attempts she had made to stop him from seeking vengeance. She was right, though, and Clay knew that even before he left. There was no sense in trying to convince himself otherwise. But he didn’t care. Charlie was dead, and the only thing keeping the guilty party from being punished was a 2.3 pound trigger pull.
Beads of sweat began to creep down Clay’s face as his eye remained glued to the scope. Why can’t I do this? He thought. His anger towards Watson was greater than anything he had ever felt before. When he left home, he knew if the opportunity to take a shot presented itself, then it would be done and over with. Clay would be on his way back home before anyone knew what had happened. Yet, as Clay learned, murder—even when seeking justice—was not so cut and dry.
Clay’s convictions started to out-muscle his rage. His finger, although still resting on the trigger, eased slightly. With his left hand, he cleared away some of the perspiration building up around his eyebrows and kept a lock on Watson’s chest.
Then he heard him. “Which will you feed?” Charlie asked as if he were standing right next to Clay.
Clay shut his eyes and removed his finger from the trigger. He rested his forehead on the top of the rifle still perched in the tree and sighed with relief. He felt regret for what he was about to do—what he still wanted to do. But he was thankful he could not go through with it.
Several minutes passed, and by the time he looked back up, the window was no longer glowing, and all activity had ceased. Clay was relieved the temptation was gone.
Once he was able to collect himself, he turned and left, stopping at a post office for the night before making the rest of the journey home early the next morning.
The climb up the stairs was more unbearable than ever. That was one appealing prospect about finding a new place to live—no stairs!
Megan was sitting on the stairs with a lantern just outside the door on the top floor. She had been up all night, waiting for his return. She looked even worse than he felt. Guilt sank in when he finally realized much of her stress had been brought on by him, and that made him feel even worse than he already did. It was bad enough that Charlie died less than an hour after Clay had left to get the antibiotics, but for the better part of two days, Megan had to take care of a house full of mourning children. She had no time to mourn herself because the children needed her to be strong for them. She didn’t have it in her to do it alone, but she was forced to anyway.
Then, once Clay had returned and discovered Charlie had succumbed to his injuries, she once again was left to handle everything on her own as her brother went off to seek retribution. Clay had been so self-absorbed that he had never taken into consideration the hell that Megan was going through. Judging by the empty expression on her face, he started to realize she was suffering more than he was.
She looked up at him and stared into his eyes, as if trying to read his mind. “Did you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He shook his head; tears began to fill his eyes.
She rose to her feet and hugged her little brother. It was the first sense of relief she had felt in the last three days. Megan bawled, pressing her face into Clay’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He hadn’t heard her cry with such intensity since Michelle died.
The door opened causing both of them to jump from the loud and sudden noise. Lona leaned out to make sure Megan was okay. Clay nodded at her. Lona got the message and went back inside, doing her best to close the door without a sound.
Megan’s sobs tapered, and the stairwell eventually fell quiet. She pulled away from Clay and saw a sopping mess of tears all over his shirt. She even managed to chuckle slightly when she pointed at it. “Sorry,” she said as she wiped away a rogue tear.
Clay pulled the shirt away from his body and looked down at it briefly before letting go. “You do the laundry anyhow,” he said with a smile.
Megan gave a small chuckle before taking a deep breath. Exhaustion had long set in, and she was running purely on adrenaline. Even so, she handled herself well and kept the big picture in view.
“Uhm,” she said rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands, “it’s been nearly three days. There’s already a bit of a smell coming from the infirmary, and it’s only going to get worse. I think we need to get him buried soon.”
That was the last thing Clay felt like doing at that moment, but he knew she was right. He nodded in agreement, and the two walked towards the infirmary. The odor of death had pervaded the hall, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Clay was expecting. He was grateful.
Clay gave Megan a moment to say goodbye and then wrapped an extra couple of towels around the body and proceeded to the stairwell. He was relieved that none of the kids with the exception of Lona were awake yet. He didn’t want them to remember Charlie that way, wrapped in bloodied blankets and towels, being carried out by Clay.
He eventually made it outside just as the sun was rising. He struggled to carry both the body and a shovel, which made the journey to the burial ground all the more treacherous. While digging, Clay began to feel like he was trying to dig into solid rock. Each pile of dirt heavier than the previous. It took more than an hour to get the hole dug out, and it wasn’t even close to six feet deep, but it would be sufficient for its purposes.
After sipping on some water and catching his breath, Clay picked up Charlie’s body and carefully lowered him into the shallow grave. Sitting on his knees, Clay began to recall some of his fond memories of Charlie. To have fun in such perilous times seemed impossible. Yet, so often, Charlie and Clay would find themselves in such moments. Clay loved that kid like his own brother and would forever miss him.
Clay came to a stand and rested both of his hands on the top of the shovel handle. Staring down at the small excavation site, he prayed for God’s mercy on Charlie, and strength for Megan and himself—something he had been severely lacking over the past few days.
Clay wiped his forehead with his arm and shoveled the pile of dirt back into the grave. “I’ll see ya on the other side, dude.”
Chapter 27
Clay awoke to muffled arguments just outside his door. About what, he was not sure, but before he could even sit up Megan had intervened, silencing the grieving kids.
He rubbed his face with his hands, slowly transitioning them to fists to rub his eyes. As he stared up at the stained drop ceiling of the conference room, he was surprised at how good he felt physically. He hadn’t done much of anything since he had laid Charlie to rest four days ago. He mostly slept, and on occasion, if he was awake, joined the family for a meal. The days of sleep were as much for emotional exhaustion as for physical. Unfortunately, the state of his body and mind were not congruent.
He looked at his watch and saw how late in the morning it was. He immediately got out of bed and began to get dressed into the clothes Megan had placed on the conference room table the night before—black slacks and a black button-up shirt. He loathed wearing such attire, not because he didn’t like dress clothes, but because what it meant to wear them.
Clay buttoned his shirt and brushed the sleeves in an attempt to flatten out some of the wrinkles. Mega
n went to great lengths to have the clothes prim and proper, but in a world without dryers and irons, there was only so much she could do. As he buttoned the cuffs, he heard the door open.
“You look nice,” Megan said with a strong, healthy voice, a departure from the morning Clay returned from Watson’s.
“Thanks,” Clay responded looking at her, “You do as well.”
Megan looked down and examined the dress she was donning, one of the few she still had from her mother’s wardrobe. It wasn’t exactly a typical funeral dress, namely because of the bright floral pattern used. She had a dark dress she used to wear for memorials before Michelle’s wake. It was then that she decided to wear something more vibrant, something that wasn’t as dark and depressing as Michelle herself had become leading to her death. She said she wore the dress to celebrate life, not death: the life that Michelle had lived, the new life she was living. And for that reason, she would never again wear black to a funeral.
“Thank you,” she said, then crossed her arms over her stomach and looked at Clay with sympathy. “How are you holding up?”
Clay was silent for a moment, trying to come up with a coherent response that would capture just how he felt. Nothing. All he could do was shrug.
She walked over and hugged him with one arm, tilting her head onto his shoulder. “Do you need to stay home? I can do the—”
“No,” he interrupted and gently broke the hug to look at her, “I’ll be okay. I can do it.”
Megan wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not, but she wasn’t going to push the matter. Clay had developed a bond with Charlie unlike any other. In a house full of sisters, Clay had always wanted a brother, and Charlie had inherited that role. Even Geoffrey, who Clay considered his best friend, wasn’t as close to Clay as Charlie had been.
As Megan looked into his bleary eyes, she wondered if he was grieving more for Charlie than he had for his own sisters—even his own mother. Perhaps, she thought, but then looked back and reflected on how she, herself, had responded to Charlie’s death. It was only then that she realized that Charlie had joined the family only a few short months after the ash smothered the sky. That meant they had known him longer than their own sister, Colleen, who died at the age of six.
More shouts from the lobby caused Megan to roll her eyes and sigh. She put her hand on Clay’s arm. “We should go soon,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She left the room and stomped across the floor, chasing a few of the kids. “Blake, Tyler, go get your shoes on! We’re leaving in five minutes!”
They both said “Yes, Ma’am,” in near perfect unison and ran down the hall to retrieve their shoes.
Clay walked over to a chest at the foot of his bed and knelt down. Spinning the dial on the padlock in a left-right-left motion, he unlatched it and lifted the top. Inside were mostly keepsakes from the family: his great-grandfather’s purple heart; a photo of his father in his formal police uniform; beneath that was a picture of his father graduating from E.M.T school just two years later. All of the treasures within the chest usually spawned a flood of affectionate memories, but each one was carefully set aside as he dug towards the bottom of the trunk. Eventually, he found a letter sized envelope. He picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket.
He looked at all of the various items in the chest in total disarray. He wanted to neatly put them back in their proper place, but Megan would be coming to get him any minute, so he closed the lid and put the lock back on.
He heard the footsteps in the lobby heading his way, so he preemptively said, “I’m on my way.”
The footsteps stopped, then started heading off in the other direction. Clay grabbed his rifle and slid a spare magazine into the oversized pockets of the slacks and met up with the rest of the family waiting in the hall next to the stairwell.
Some of the kids were taking it harder than others. Blake and Courtney hadn’t known Charlie all that long. Clay thought perhaps their grief was more a product of the atmosphere. He looked over at Tyler and was pained to see his red eyes flooded with tears. Tyler, the boy who never seemed to stop smiling, looked shattered.
Lona didn’t look any worse for wear. Clay had guessed her crying days were behind her. But as her eyes met his, he could see the pain; he could see the sorrow. I hate you, Watson!
Seeing everyone there, lining up to go mourn the loss of a dear friend and brother, Clay started to doubt himself for taking his finger off the trigger when Watson was in his cross hairs. He shuddered as the tidal wave of emotions once again smashed into him, bringing back unforgiving thoughts he wished would just go away. He knew he had done the right thing by walking away. He knew what Megan had said was true—it would have been murder—but he couldn’t help but wonder how it would have felt if he had fed the other wolf.
Clay picked up Bethany, who was really too young to understand what was going on, but was feeding off of everyone else’s emotions. She tightly grasped her stuffed giraffe, the one Charlie had picked out for her, and held it close to her chest as the group made their descent to the garage.
The family stayed back as Clay unlocked and opened the door. His heart skipped a beat as the door swung open, and he saw a figure sitting on the ground a few feet in front of him. He instinctively raised his rifle and took aim.
“Kelsey?”
She barely flinched at the intimidating sight of Clay with the rifle. “Clay!” she exclaimed with a smile. She turned her body and pushed off the ground with the palm of her hand and stood up. She had been sitting there for a couple of hours and hadn’t realized how stiff she had become.
“Wow,” she said as she looked at him, “You’re looking sharp! Are you seeing someone else?” she said jokingly as she walked up and gave him a kiss.
The touch of Kelsey’s soft lips nearly captivated Clay, but he pulled back and extended his arms slightly, creating some distance between the two.
“Hey!” she said, dissatisfied with the cold response. “What’s wrong?”
That’s when Megan leaned outside, pistol in hand. Kelsey immediately noticed her outfit too and was puzzled by the unusual attire.
Clay looked at her; his eyes were like piercing daggers. The last time they were together, all she could think about was how loving, kind, and gentle he was to her. Now, as he glared at her with contempt, it was all she could do, not to just flee.
The kids began to peek out, all dressed up in the same fashion.
“What’s going on, Clay?”
“We’re going to a wake,” he said before he turned to walk up the ramp.
“A wake?” she asked. “Who died?”
Clay stopped and looked back. Megan walked by him, and the children followed. Kelsey took a second and looked at the kids as they passed by. She had a hard time remembering names and faces, but she immediately noticed who wasn’t there.
“Charlie!” she gasped.
Clay started walking again, bringing up the rear of the group.
“Clay!” she cried, “I’m so sorry! What happened?” she asked as she followed him, hoping for an answer that didn’t come.
Sensing Clay’s fragile state of mind, Kelsey dropped back a few feet, and kept quiet. She followed the group to a small recreational center about two miles away.
As they reached one of the side entrances to the building, everyone but Clay stopped. He cautiously opened the door and entered alone, leaving the rest waiting outside. Megan handed Bethany over to Lona and retrieved her pistol, just in case.
Kelsey slowly made her way to the doors, stopping right next to Megan. “I am so sorry about Charlie,” Kelsey said fighting back tears.
Megan awkwardly shifted her weight, unsure of how to respond. Though Clay had not said anything connecting Kelsey to the attack, Megan thought it was quite a coincidence that a short time after Kelsey visited their home, people from her camp came barreling through their doors.
“Thank you,” Megan said, then paused for a while, looking down at the ground. She
was fighting back tears; she had promised herself that she was done crying in front of the kids. “Charlie was…” a lone tear streamed down her cheek, “a great kid.”
Kelsey noticed something was awkward with Megan. She didn’t really know her all that well, but something was amiss. “So…may I ask?” she inquired reluctantly.
Megan pushed away the tears with her fingers and formulated a response. “We were attacked by a group of men. Charlie died defending us.”
Kelsey’s hand covered her mouth; her eyes filled with tears. What kind of monster would shoot a kid?
“What did they want? Did you know them?” she asked.
Megan gave her a glare, one that sent chills down Kelsey’s spine. “You’ll need to ask Clay about that,” she said with bitterness in her voice.
Kelsey felt a pit in her stomach from the icy response. She didn’t know how or why, but knew that Charlie’s death would not have occurred had she never become part of Clay’s life. Guilt started to spread throughout her body that caused her to tremble in remorse.
The door unlatched, and Clay gave the all-clear. The group slowly poured in and walked down a long, filthy hallway to a door at the end of the corridor. Clay intentionally avoided eye contact with Kelsey as she came in behind everyone else. He shut the door and made his way down to the room at the end of the hall.
The doorway led to a large banquet room that had a great deal of round tables and chairs set up. Pictures, letters, and small trinkets filled up almost every inch of the tables, and the walls held the overflow. There was a stage set up at the very end which was clean, relatively speaking, compared to the rest of the room; there were no pictures or keepsakes. It was almost entirely empty except for a few folding chairs and a couple of empty microphone stands.
Megan and the kids zigzagged through the tables and made their way to the front where they all sat down on chairs that had been neatly arranged to face the stage. Kelsey trailed slowly behind as she looked at some of the tables. The banquet room, from the looks of it, was a memorial of sorts to countless loved ones lost in the past seven years. It was hauntingly beautiful. Everything looked gracefully and intentionally positioned, as if nothing was out of place. Such a sight inside an unprotected building was unthinkable. It was almost as if the Screamers, scavengers, and other passersby observed the large room as sacred ground and, for whatever reason, decided not to disturb the memories.
