by Ike Hamill
Madelyn had married one once.
She remembered waking up in the hospital and seeing her neighbor chewing a fingernail near the window. Madelyn had explained, “Young men have quick triggers. He will grow out of it.”
The neighbor had spat her chewed fingernail towards the trash and narrowed her eyes.
“It was my fault anyway,” Madelyn had said. “I’m a bully.”
Madelyn remembered the way her neighbor shook her head. She never said a word, but her head shake spoke volumes.
# # # # #
With the scattergun loaded and her rifle slung over her shoulder, Madelyn slid open her spy slit.
She ducked away from the shaft of light. Cautiously, she angled her head so she could see out to the yard.
The young male was hovering near Noah’s body. He didn’t appear to be armed, but it was tough to tell with the baggy shirt he wore. Madelyn moved towards the door. She took a breath and let it out before she slid open the bolt. She came around the corner with her scattergun leading the way.
Sidestepping, she said, “Step away and get your hands up.”
She gestured with her eyes. The gun stayed pointed at his chest.
He stood up. He was taller than she was. He was taller than Noah had been. Aside from the height, he might as well have been Noah. His face was a window into her childhood.
“You didn’t have to kill him,” the young version of Noah said. “He was going to die anyway.”
“Pay closer attention, Young Noah,” she said. “He died in his sleep. Put him in the pit or get lost so I can do it.”
The young male shook his head. “We bury our dead two meters down. He doesn’t go in the pit.”
“That’s the city. Can’t do that out here. Have to burn him and fold his heat down into the ground,” she said. “And I’m done asking.”
She couldn’t fire a warning shot. He might be a city kid, but he should still know that she couldn’t risk firing two shots. One was bad enough. That much noise would carry a long way.
He seemed to sense his options and he made a choice. The boy who looked like a young version of Noah bent and picked up Noah by the ankles. He dragged Noah towards the pit. Madelyn followed him with the scattergun.
“Just drop him?” he asked.
“Step down in if you want,” she said. “I won’t double cross you.”
As soon as he climbed down into the incinerator pit, she knew that she was indeed going to double cross the young male. It was too easy. She could burn up Old Noah and Young Noah at the same time and her problems would be finished.
What then?
Young Noah pulled at Old Noah’s pant-leg to pull him down into the pit. Madelyn’s eyes drifted over to Sacrifice Rock. She thought about her father’s city gun. After taking care of the Noahs, she would be back to the gun and the rock.
Young Noah was holding a skull that he had picked up from the ashes.
“Put that down,” Madelyn said.
He threw it at her face.
Madelyn’s free hand went up to block the skull from hitting her. She barely registered how quickly the young male leaped from the incinerator pit and came at her. She didn’t have a chance to aim and pull the trigger. He knocked the gun from her hand and stripped the rifle from her sling. He moved like lightning.
The young male checked the chamber, flicked off the safety, and sighted her down the barrel.
Her problems were over. She looked down at her hands. She had caught the skull somehow. Its empty eyes were looking back at her. She tossed it towards the house. Madelyn brushed the dust from her hands.
“Lower my dad into the pit,” the young male said. “Gently.”
“Just shoot me,” she said.
“I don’t know how to operate your incinerator,” he said. “I would bury both of you, but you seem to think that it’s a bad idea.”
Madelyn chewed the side of her cheek and considered her options. She moved to Noah’s body. Turning her back on the young male, she bent and rolled Noah in. When he landed, the air was expelled from his stomach in a dead man’s burp. Madelyn looked up at the young male—Noah’s son—and saw the horrified surprise on his face. He was well trained. He hadn’t lost his aim.
He wasn’t going to make an easy mistake.
“Now shoot me and move on,” she said.
“This is my home now. This is my family’s place. You have no right to it.”
Madelyn looked up towards the sky and sighed. “You’re an idiot. I called you ’Young Noah’ and you must have seen your dad talking to me. You should have figured out that I’m your aunt.”
“Family is the people you trust, not the ones who share your blood,” he said.
“Yeah. Okay,” she said. The cable for the winch was over on the far side of the rocks. Madelyn moved without regard for the gun that was tracking her every step. She hooked it up on the other side and activated the winch. The only sound was the grinding of the stone slab over the base. She unhooked the cable from the ring.
“Tell me how to work that,” the young male said.
“There’s nothing to it,” she said. She knelt as she attached the hook to the second slab. “Motor is buried, like everything else. This switch releases it and this switch makes it pull. You look like you think you’re smart. You can figure it all out, I’m sure.”
She started the winch and the second stone slid into place. The pit was covered, but she would put the dirt and sod back to insulate it even more. Also, it would make the young male’s job harder when he went to incinerate her.
Madelyn grabbed her shovel and started to work. Young Noah backed up and sat on a rock. The gun remained aimed.
“What’s your name?” she asked between breaths.
He blinked and thought about it before he answered.
“Jacob Clarke,” he said.
“That’s my father’s name,” she said. She resumed shoveling.
“Not really,” he said. “He was Jacob Mason Clarke. I’m Jacob Riley Clarke.”
“Your mother’s maiden name?”
Jacob shook his head.
Madelyn shrugged.
“And you grew up in Narsaq?”
He shook his head again.
“Where did you grow up?” she asked.
“Oslo,” he said.
“That’s a hell of a walk from here,” she said. “How long did it take you?”
He shrugged again. She thought that he wasn’t going to answer.
Eventually, he did.
“A few years, I guess,” he said.
“And your father was dying the whole time?”
“No. He only started dying a few months ago. But we knew.”
Madelyn scraped the last of the dirt over and then leaned on the shovel.
“So you two started walking a few years ago because you thought he was going to die? And then he dies on the day you got here? That’s either an amazing coincidence, or the best planning ever.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said.
Madelyn began to move the sod over. She had to get down on her hands and knees to roll it back into place.
“Yeah? Tell me what it was like,” she said.
He didn’t answer. She looked up and saw three eyes—the two on Jacob’s face and the black eye of the end of the rifle barrel. Two of the eyes were crying.
“How about I tell you a story about when my father died?”
He didn’t answer.
# # # # #
Many years earlier…
“Let’s go,” Austin said. She knew he was serious because he was using his very quiet, controlled tone. That tone meant business.
“One sec,” Madelyn said. She brushed the mascara one more time, hoping to get rid of the clump.
“Trust me,” Austin said. “You want to get there before he dies.”
She nodded as she stood up. Austin had a dark sense of humor. He meant well. After three years of marriage she was still learning all of
his ins and outs.
“I just want to look good for him if this is the last time he’s going to see me.”
Austin nodded. “You look good.”
She smiled.
He took her arm and guided her towards the door. Austin even opened the door and held it for her. Madelyn already felt her eyes tearing up. This was going to be a horrible day.
The ride to the hospice was quiet. Austin hummed while he drove. Madelyn looked out the window and focused on her breathing. If she could just think of something else, she would be able to control herself. She wasn’t normally so emotional. Even when she had found out her grandmother died—her favorite person in the world—she had kept it together.
“You ready?” Austin asked. He was slowing down for the parking lot. “I can keep driving.”
He was giving her control over the situation. He was reinforcing that it was her decision to face her father’s mortality. There was no law that would compel her to go inside and see his pale frame. Noah had described their father as “tissue paper draped over a scaffolding of sticks.”
That image was enough to bring the tears back again.
Austin was about to pull right past the turn.
“Go in,” she said, waving. The tires complained as they made the turn.
She climbed out of the car and walked towards the door. Austin caught up.
“Can I have a minute alone?” she asked, stopping him at the door.
A shadow passed over his eyes. He gave her a quick nod and turned back for the car.
She went in alone.
He didn’t look half as bad as she had expected. She sat in the chair and took his hand. He opened his eyes.
“The Mac,” he said. His voice sounded like a jar of nails rattling.
“How are you?” she asked. She saw his eyes go to the doorway. “He’s in the car.”
A shadow passed over his eyes.
“Dad? How are you?”
“You look nice.”
She heard footsteps, but didn’t turn. She knew the sound of Noah’s feet. He was careless when he walked and his shoes always scuffed when he stepped.
Madelyn squeezed her father’s hand. She turned when she heard a woman’s voice in the hall.
“Are we all here? Shall we begin?” the woman asked Noah.
“I was told we had another hour,” her brother said.
The woman nodded. Her pink pajamas were absurd. If not for the plastic badge clipped to her shirt, she might have been an overgrown toddler, late for bedtime.
“A lot of people want to get everything over with,” the woman said.
“We’ll let you know,” Noah said. He came in and rounded the bed, taking their father’s other hand.
“Where’s Bea?” he whispered to Noah. There was no dark shadow in his eyes.
“Not feeling well,” Noah said.
Their father nodded.
Time slowed down as the silence stretched. Madelyn could feel the seconds taking longer and longer to pass. Their father seemed to age right before her eyes. The hollows of his cheeks deepened. She could see his pulse weakly inflating the vein on his forehead. His hair was wispy clouds. Madelyn tried to calculate how many weeks he had been in this place. She couldn’t remember. This was her second visit.
Her father cleared his throat. She leaned in to hear what he would say. He raised his eyebrows. There was nothing on his mind—he had only been clearing his throat.
“Tell us about Mom,” Noah said.
Madelyn frowned. Today was about Dad. Their long-dead mother was the last thing she wanted to hear about.
But her father’s face lit up from within. Madelyn realized that the story wasn’t for them. It was for their father. He was practically glowing with the memories.
When he moved his lips, understanding him took all her concentration.
“She was beautiful, your mother,” her father croaked. “Before I met her, I thought everyone was an independent person. After… Nothing was real without her. She made me a whole person. She does still. I see her in you guys.”
A tear formed in the corner of his eye. It didn’t fall. After hanging there a second, his body took the tear back.
Madelyn heard the worker walk down the hall again. She pictured a vulture dressed up in pink pajamas.
“I’ll be with her soon,” her father said. “I can’t wait.”
He looked sad.
Noah opened his mouth to say something. Their father beat him to the punch.
“If this keeps up,” he said. His eyes darted to the window and then back. He looked at each of his children for a second. “Go to your grandmother’s cabin. It’s safe there. You’ll see.”
Madelyn nodded. The idea was absurd. She had a job and a husband. They were thinking about kids. She couldn’t raise kids in the middle of the woods. She knew firsthand how irresponsible the notion was. She had loved her grandmother and the time they spent together. It was still an irresponsible notion.
She looked at Noah. He gave her a tiny shake of his head. The gesture said, “Don’t say anything. He’s crazy because he’s dying.”
Madelyn nodded to her brother and then to their father.
“Are you folks ready?” the vulture in the pink pajamas asked from the doorway.
Noah looked at his watch. “No. We still have…”
Their father cut him off. “Yes,” he croaked. “Please.”
With those two words, Madelyn’s tears fell. She dabbed her eyes with her hand and saw the dark mascara. It was stupid stuff to put on your eyelashes. She couldn’t remember why it had seemed important to put on. Maybe it was a mask. Maybe she was trying to disguise herself so nobody would see her attending her father’s death.
Noah had his face pressed to their father’s hand.
The vulture came to the foot of the bed.
“Go ahead,” their father said.
Whatever the vulture did, the effect was instantaneous. It looked like someone has pulled the plug out of their father’s drain. He deflated and sank into the bed. Noah kissed his hand. Madelyn just sat there, wondering how it could have happened so quickly.
He was gone.
She turned and looked to the door. Austin had never come in. It was probably for the best. His presence would have just made her father angry.
She turned back to see the vulture moving by Noah. She pushed up the arms of her pink pajamas and then covered their father’s face with his sheet. It was over.
Noah put out a hand towards Madelyn. She was still gripping her father’s fingers. Her brother expected her to give up the lifeless hand of her father and take his sweaty grip. The idea was absurd. She shook her head.
“I’ll walk you out?” Noah asked.
Madelyn was speechless. The tears rolled down her face, but she didn’t feel sad. All she felt was anger. Their stupid, useless father was dead and Noah wanted to walk her out. She didn’t answer. She sat there with her deflated father and waited for Noah to leave.
When she was finally alone with the body, she reached out a foot and kicked the door closed.
“I never showed you respect,” she said. The tears flowed.
That was it. It was all she could say.
A different vulture opened the door a centimeter or two and gave her the eyeball. Madelyn didn’t look. She could feel it on the back of her head. They wanted to move another victim into the room. Their business was deflating the last life out of people, and business was good.
“Fine,” she said with a frown. She got up and left her deflated father.
# # # # #
Madelyn looked up at her nephew.
They had traded faces.
His eyes were dry and now hers were leaking from the memory.
“Did you have anyone who was culled? No, that would have been way before your time,” she said.
He still had that gun trained right at her chest. Good boy. Someone had taught him well. She stood up and stomped the last of the sod b
ack into place. If he rolled it up again later today, a lot of it would die. It didn’t matter too much. Grass grew like gangbusters in October. He wouldn’t have to wait long for it to come back.
“We have to go inside to fire up the incinerator,” she said. She tilted her head towards the cabin. His eyes shifted over. He looked uneasy. From his perspective, there was no telling what was inside. “I suppose you could try to figure it out yourself. You’ll probably burn down half the forest though. While it’s running, you have ride the levels, you know? Have you maintained one of the second generation Q-batteries before? They’re fairly manual.”
He didn’t answer. He gestured with his eyes.
She walked towards the cabin and dropped to one knee to pick up the skull. His drop was much more fluid as he snatched the scattergun from the ground.
She climbed the steps and paused in front of the door.
“You want me to go first?” she asked.
“Are there any boobytraps?”
“Why would I tell you if there were?”
“Open the door,” he said. “Now put your hands against the wall.”
She did. She heard a click and a rustle. When she looked back, he had changed guns. It was a smart move. In close quarters, the scattergun would obliterate anything in front of him. He nodded and she walked inside.
As it turned out, she didn’t even need a boobytrap.
Her nephew took one look at the wall and he practically dropped the gun. Madelyn plucked it right from his hands. His mouth hung open as he regarded her decorations. She had a wall filled with bleached white skulls, just like the one she had tucked under her arm.
“And the rifle,” she said.
He handed it over.
She had a decision to make. She could march him back outside and immediately kill him, or she could make him uncover the incinerator first. It would be safer to shoot him immediately, but then she would have to do all that work again. She wasn’t looking forward to rolling, digging, and winching for the second time.
Madelyn sighed.
“Oh well,” she said. “Can’t finish until you start, right?”
“You killed all these people?” Jacob asked.
Madelyn looked at her wall and blinked. She saw it with fresh eyes—his eyes. The hanging skulls looked like trophies. That’s not at all what they were. They were tributes to all the fallen people she had come in contact with. They were hung with reverence. When a body when in the incinerator, the skull from the last person came out.
