Sunrise (29 page)

A hand pressed against his back.

Kevin tensed.

Eagle sighed.

Faintly, almost hidden in the shadows of the room, Kevin saw his oldest son reaching out to his brothers.

The hand that greeted him was not that of a seventeen-year-old boy.

No.

No boy’s hand was wracked with age, bent in two like a claw extending to grasp its prey, nor did his joints buckle under the immense pressure of death and swell in the absence of blood. No. No boy looked the way Jessiah did, with his eyes closed and his pupils long gone, and no boy ever would, could,
should,
as for that to be the case would be to determine that all men are created equal—that age, as long-lasting as it happened to be, was not without distinction, and that life, in its bitter progress, was not rife with challenge.

“Kevin?” Eagle said.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Are you ready?”

Kevin looked down. Eagle held a bowl of soup in his hand.

Is anyone ever really ready?

He whispered, “I am.”

Kevin knocked on the door. “Guys,” he said, “we need to let Jessiah get some rest now.”

“All right,” Arnold said. He looked down at his older brother, took his hand in his, then leaned down to whisper in his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Mark did the same.

Both times, Kevin noticed, he heard three faint words before his sons stepped away from Jessiah’s bed.

I love you.

It broke Kevin’s heart to watch his boys leave the room.

“Jessiah,” he said, stepping up to the bed. “Buddy?”

“It hurts,” the boy whispered.

“I know, baby. I know.” He linked his hand into his son’s and wiped his thinning hair away from his face. “Eagle’s gonna help you eat something, ok?”

“My stomach hurts too, Dad.”

“I’m so sorry, Jessiah.”

“It’s…not…your fault.” Jessiah squeezed Kevin’s hand. The effort felt like nothing more than a child on his first day born. “Dad?” he asked.

“I’m here,” Kevin replied.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kevin said. “More than anything else in the world.”

In the final moments spent at his son’s side, Kevin leaned forward and pressed his lips to the boy’s brow.

I love you,
Jessiah.

Eagle stepped forward. “I’m going to help you eat,” he said, pulling up a chair to the bed’s side. “Whenever you’re ready, Jessiah.”

Kevin squeezed his son’s hand one last time.

As he left the room, a scream fighting its way of his chest, he realized that he couldn’t even say goodbye.

An hour later, Eagle came downstairs and stepped into the room. The grim look on his face froze Kevin’s heart, but confirmed what he already knew. “He stopped breathing ten minutes ago,” Eagle said. “He’s gone.”

Mark wailed.

Kevin bowed his head.
It’s over.

He tried to contain himself as his sons cried beside him. “It’s ok, guys. He’s not suffering anymore. He’s…he’s in a better place.”

At this, Kevin cried as well.

Is he really?
he thought.
Is he really in a better place?

He couldn’t possibly know. All he knew was that, in his mind, he’d done the right thing. He’d let his son go, eased his suffering.

Leaning forward, Kevin pushed himself to his feet and looked out the window, toward the sole maple tree that stood at the top of their hill.

“Come on,” he said, looking back at his two sons.

“Where, Dad?” Arnold said through his tears.

“We need to go dig the hole, guys. Before it gets dark.”

Neither boy said a word.

In the brief moment that followed, Kevin thought they hadn’t heard him, or were too paralyzed by their grief to move. Then they both stood and followed him out the door.

In the fading light of the cold afternoon, Kevin thrust the blade of his spade into the ground and tried not to think that it was his son’s grave he was now digging. Brow furrowed and eyes halfway shut due to the glare that hovered over the trees, he slammed his foot onto the flat edge of the blade and grimaced when he met resistance, but quickly shook it off when he threw the rock into the pile. Nearby, bent double and shivering, his two sons repeated the process, first thrusting, then tugging, then depositing the soil into the slowly-growing pile of dirt.

It seemed completely unlike them, to be digging a hole for a person. People weren’t buried by people—they were buried by machines, mechanical gods created only to serve those who created them. People were supposed to sit back and watch as the events of death unfolded before them, as first the viewing was presented, then the funeral. Afterward, when they stood at the foot of death, that of which Kevin and his sons were now digging, they were supposed to pay their final respects, to say goodbye in the presence of wake to the person they would not see again until they themselves died.

Will we though?
Kevin thought.
Will we?

Unnerved by his doubt, he straightened his posture and traced the cross over his heart, desperately wishing for the crystal beads his father had passed down to him at his thirteenth birthday. They would be in his bedroom, he knew, locked away in a little wooden box inscribed with everything he would ever need to know.

In that very moment of weakness, where he thought his legs would give out and he would scream, he caught Eagle tracing the crown of the hill, waving a stick of incense and muttering something under his breath.

A prayer?

The smell of lavender and bark drifted on the wind as the air shifted and a slight breeze crested the curve of the hilltop.

“Dad?” Arnold asked.

“What?” he asked.

“That smell…”

“It’s Eagle,” Kevin explained, looking down at the hole before them. Though not deep enough, they couldn’t keep going. The maple’s old roots had already stopped them once before. “I think we’re done, guys. It’s not deep, but it’ll work.” Kevin raised his hand and waved at Eagle, beckoning him.

Eagle stepped forward just as the last of the incense began to burn down. “I need you to help me get him,” he said. “I don’t want the boys to have to do this.”

“Nor do I,” Eagle said, turning his eyes on the boys. “Arnold, Mark, would you go to the edge of the woods and gather any bark and stones you can find?”

“Yes sir,” Arnold said. “But bark?”

“We’re going to use it to cover your brother. It’s an old tradition.”

“Ok,” the boy said. “Come on, Mark.”

“Daddy?”

“Go with your brother,” Kevin said. “Be careful. Don’t go into the woods.”

Before Mark could speak any further, Arnold grabbed his arm and began to lead him down the hill.

“Your boys are stronger than I thought they would be,” Eagle said, turning to start toward the house with Kevin.

“They’re stronger than I am,” Kevin sighed, reaching up to brush tears away. “Thank you, Eagle.”

“For what?”

“Incensing the hill.”

“It’s not something my people did, but I know it’s important to you.”

“I haven’t practiced for years.”

“Don’t fault yourself. He is with us no matter what anyone says.”

Kevin pushed the door open and waited for Eagle to enter before starting up the stairs. As they ascended, Kevin stared at the photos that lined the walls. Before, when they were still together, his wife used to say that for every year of their children’s lives, they would place a photo slightly higher on the wall, to commemorate their lives, to mark for the world and family and friends to see their triumphs through adolescence and their conquest for the future. It seemed funny that his wife had wanted to do such a thing—to adorn the walls with images of the past. In hindsight, however, Jack found each and every image a cruel contrast to his horrific suffering.

When they came to the final stair, Kevin looked at the picture of Jessiah on his seventeenth birthday and broke down into sobs.

Eagle pressed his hand against Kevin’s lower back. “Come. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Taking a moment to console himself, Kevin closed his eyes, stepped off the final stair, then made his way into the room in which Jessiah had spent the last week of his life. It took him a moment to compose himself, to prepare for what he might see, but when he looked up at the bed, he felt a startling sense of peace at the sight that lay before him.

Eagle was right; Jessiah had simply gone to sleep.

“We’ll wrap him in the blankets,” Eagle said, stepping forward to pull the sheets free from the mattress. “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” Kevin said, stepping around the other side of the bed. He looked down at his son and pressed a hand to his face, tracing his cheekbone with the curve of his thumb. When he came to the boy’s ear, where his hairline began to recede to his sideburn, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the boy’s cheek.

I love you,
he thought, more at peace than he could have possibly been.
I’m sorry it had to end this way.

No father deserved to outlive his son.

With that knowledge in mind, Kevin bent down, freed the sheets, then pulled them over his son’s body.

When Eagle tied the sheets together, Kevin lifted his son into his arms and pressed Jessiah’s head against his shoulder.

He turned, walked toward the door, and made his way down the stairs.

By the time they stepped up to the tree, Arnold and Mark had returned with the rocks and bark.

“This is it,” Kevin said, looking up at his boys. “This is where we say goodbye to your brother.”

Mark sniffled, tears coursing down his face. Arnold reached down and took his little brother’s hand in his own.

Stepping forward, Kevin lifted his leg, then pressed his foot into the bottom of the hole before maneuvering himself down into it. Once inside, he gently laid his son’s body into the natural part in the roots, all the while taking extra care to ensure that his head would not fall to the dirt.

“Goodbye, son,” he whispered.

After crawling out of the hole, Eagle bent down, took a piece of bark, then began to set it over Jessiah’s body.

“Dear God,” Kevin said, taking his own piece of bark and setting it over his boy as his sons and Eagle continued to do the same. “Please, hear my plea. Please take my son into your arms and take care of him until we meet again. I could not save him in life, but I know you can in death. Please, watch over both him and my family and guide us to the path you think is right. Amen.”

“I need you to help me with one last thing,” Kevin said.

“Anything,” Eagle replied.

“The barn. She’s still there.”

“Who?”

“Diana.”

He stood in the darkened space within the barn. Trembling, the gun in his hand, he stared at the single enclosed stall and tried to imagine the horror that stood behind the stable door. He knew, in essence, what was there—with its perfect hooves and its bashful eyes, it had once been nothing more than a horse, a beautiful creature Jessiah had fallen in love with when he was only thirteen years old. She’d been a foal then, still awkward on her too-long legs and her too-heavy body, but she had been beautiful, so beautiful, in fact, that she had captured his son’s heart with a single look and made it her own. Maybe it was that beauty that had ended his son’s life. Maybe it was her eyes that had sealed his fate.

“I don’t know what’s in here,” he said, looking up at Eagle, who stood in the open entryway. “If something happens, I want you to take the kids and go.”

“Where?”

“Idaho. It’s on the map. I marked it down.”

“I understand.”

“She killed him,” Kevin said. “She killed my son, Eagle, and I’ll be damned if I let her get away with it.”

Reaching forward, Kevin lifted the nail out of place and watched as the wooden plank swung out of view.

A snout appeared from the darkness, then her eyes.

Is this it?
he thought.
Is this really her?

The creature inside Diana’s stall opened her mouth.

When the sound came out of her throat—when it entered Kevin’s ears and killed every ounce of happiness that could have ever possibly existed within his heart—he knew that the thing that stood before him, no matter how changed or decayed, was Diana.

Kevin raised his gun.

And fired.

CHAPTER 12

A week later, after a complicated series of supply runs and waiting for the rain to bestow them with a necessary supply of water, the first part of the wall was up. Situated behind the three houses on the ground that separated the farm from the yards, it stood an astounding fifteen feet tall and looked exactly the way Jamie had initially envisioned it—sloped toward the ground and capped with an impressive display of miniaturized stakes which stood like sentinels to guard their eternal wasteland.

Standing at the foot of the wall and trying desperately not to breathe in the concrete dust, Dakota watched as Jamie nailed the final corner in place.

He did it. He really fuckin’ did it.

“Hey!” Jamie called down, waving the hammer in his hand. “Look at it!”

“It looks awesome!” Dakota laughed. “I can’t believe it worked.”

“‘Course it did! Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Dakota chuckled, smiling as Jamie descended the ladder. “What about the other walls?”

“All they need is concrete and they’ll be done too.”

“How much longer will it take?”

“We could probably be done today if we’re lucky,” Jamie said. He slipped the hammer into his tool belt and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, turning his head to look toward where Steve and Ian continued to mix concrete. “I just wish we had some kind of pulley system. It sucks having to do it by hand.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dakota offered.

“Not particularly. I mean, if we had more than one ladder, sure, you could help pour the shit. Right now though, there’s not much anyone can do. I’ve already got Steve and Ian mixing and passing the stuff up to me. Nothing much anyone can do other than watch.”

“Yeah,” Dakota sighed. “I know.”

“Can you do me a favor, if you don’t mind? Get me a bottle of water and check on Erik. I think he’s getting another headache.”

“Again?”

Jamie sighed. “It fucking sucks, especially since he can’t really treat himself in the state he’s in.”

“I’ll check on him,” Dakota nodded, pressing a hand against Jamie’s upper arm. “Don’t overwork yourself, ‘k? Let Steve and Ian pour the stuff if they offer.”

“I will,” Jamie said.

  Inside, Dakota poured some pretzels into a small bowl, retrieved a bottle of water from one of the lower cupboards and rummaged through the medicine cabinet until he found the migraine medicine. Once sure he had everything Erik could possibly need, he made his way out into the living room, then down the hall, toward Jamie’s old room where Erik was now staying.

At the door, Dakota knocked, leaned forward, then asked, “Erik? You awake?”

The bedspring creaked and Erik mumbled something under his breath. A brief moment later the door opened to reveal Erik, naked, save for his boxer shorts and a look of complete misery.

“Hey,” Dakota smiled, hoping to push past the initial discomfort of Erik’s appearance. “How are you feeling?”

“I still feel like shit,” Erik said.

“Jamie wanted me to check on you. Can I come in?”

Erik pulled the door open all the way and started back for the bed. Dakota took the action as a welcoming one and stepped into the room. “I brought you a snack,” he said, setting the bowl on the end table. “And some pills.”

“Already took some,” Erik grumbled.

“Did you drink any water?”

“No.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Not really.”

“That’s probably why you’re sick,” Dakota sighed, pulling the sheet up over Erik’s waist. He grabbed the bowl and held it before the man. “Eat something.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s food. I got for you.”

“I’m not hungry, Dakota. My head’s ready to explode and I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“You’re probably dehydrated,” Dakota sighed, substituting the bowl of pretzels in his hand for the bottle of water. “At least take a drink. A little water’s not going to hurt you.”

“Can you just leave me alone, please?”

“Drink the water.”

“Whatever,” Erik growled, snatching the bottle away. “I’ll drink the fuckin’ water. Now will you please leave me alone?”

Dakota took a few steps back, taking extra care to make sure that Erik would drink the water. “If you need something, just call.”

“Whatever,” Erik grumbled.

When Dakota closed the door, he thought he caught the older man mumbling something under his breath before he left.

“How’s Erik?” Ian asked.

“Cranky as hell,” Dakota said, shutting the front door behind him.

“Nothing new I guess.”

“That’s not really funny,” Steve said, chuckling as Ian slugged his shoulder. “He was the same way coming here.”

“Cranky as hell,” Ian said, “couldn’t say something without him biting your head off.”

“He’s just sick,” Dakota said. “He can’t help it.”

“I know,” Steve said. “The least he could do is try to be a little more pleasant.”

When Jamie came up and offered him a look, Dakota simply shrugged. Jamie chuckled in response. “I guess you know what’s going on then,” Dakota said.

“He’s been my best friend for years. I know how stubborn he is.”

“He wouldn’t even take a drink of water until I practically forced him to.”

“That’s Erik for you. He’ll do whatever he wants if he isn’t going to get in trouble for it.”

“But he’s sick.”

“It doesn’t help that he’s a nurse. Or
was
, I should say. He went through enough training for it.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Dakota said, looking back at the house. “Someone should probably go in and check on him later though. I don’t think it’s the best idea if I do it.”

“You don’t think his headaches will get any worse,” Ian began, “do you?”

“I don’t know.” Jamie ran a hand over his forehead, looked between the three men before him, then turned his eyes back at the house, toward the furthest window on the left. “I’ve never had a migraine. All I know is what Erik’s told me, but from what he’s said, they usually don’t last more than a day or so. I’m guessing this is just from stress.”

“What could he be stressing out about?” Steve frowned. “We’re already here.”

“Erik’s got a lot of history you don’t know about, Steve. I just hope that backstory isn’t creeping up again.”

Two walls stood by the time night arrived.

Marked by the day’s progress, Jamie, Steve and Ian entered the house just as the last bits of light faded from the sky and collapsed on the couch, breathing heavily and stripping out of their clothes with the pained groans of men with stiff joints.

“God,” Jamie gasped, looking down at his hands. “Shit.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ian said. “You got concrete burns.”

“I thought I was wiping it off,” Jamie said, grimacing as he curled and uncurled his fingers. “Damn.”

“You ok?” Dakota asked.

“It hurts like a mother, but I’ll live.”

“What are we supposed to do for it?”

“Soak it in water, I guess.”

Dakota turned and started into the kitchen. While Jamie called out, saying not to waste the water on his hands, he crouched down, rummaged through the cupboards, then pulled out a few bottles of water and a small pot before considering the gas-powered stove before him. “Does the stove work?” he asked.

“It should,” Jamie said. “Dakota, don’t waste water on my hands.”

“Your hands are gonna fry if you don’t do something,” Ian said. “Using a little water isn’t going to hurt us any.”

“Right,” Dakota said, jumping as Ian stepped up beside him. “You scared me.”

Ian reached forward and opened a top cupboard. “You know where the vinegar is?”

“No.”

“It’s here somewhere,” Ian grunted. He balanced the weight on the tips of his toes and pushed a few boxes out of his way, then settled his weight back onto his feet when he found what he was looking for. “Pour some of this in here.”

“What does vinegar do?”

“Neutralize the chemical in the concrete.”

“Something tells me you’ve done this before,” Dakota said, upending the bottle and pouring the vinegar into the pot.

“I used to work construction before…well… I got more involved in other activities.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I mean, I’m cool with talking about it,” he said, pausing as Dakota started a burner, “but it’s not something I’m proud of.”

“We all have moments like that, Ian.” Dakota dipped a finger into the water, then a second when he couldn’t tell an initial difference. He waited a moment before dipping another in, dividing his attention between Ian and the timer above the stove. Once he deemed the water warm enough, he turned off the burner, removed it from the stove and dumped it into a separate bowl, complete with the extra vinegar. “Thanks for helping me with this, Ian.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Now we just have to get someone to use it,” Dakota laughed, raising his voice so Jamie could hear him.

“I will,” Jamie chuckled, nodding as Dakota set the bowl before him. “I’m not going to waste water.”

“You better not.”

“Thanks, babe.” Jamie grimaced as he eased his hands into the water. “We’ll have to see if we can find some gloves in one of the other houses.”

“Did either of you get burns?” Dakota asked, turning his attention to Steve and Ian.

“Nope,” Steve said.

“I’m fine,” Ian said, raising his hands for emphasis. “We used brooms. Jamie got the brunt of it.”

“Which I still feel bad for,” Steve said, slapping an arm around Jamie’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. It beats getting shot.”

“That it does.”

At that moment, Dakota couldn’t help but notice the scar on Steve’s arm.

It beats getting shot,
he thought,
but at least it’s a temporary pain.

Not sure what else to do, he seated himself beside Jamie and set a hand on his lower back.

His and Steve’s fingers touched.

“Did something happen down there?” Jamie asked, easing himself into bed.

“What do you mean?”

“With Steve. He got all quiet after I mentioned getting shot.”

“It’s…” Dakota sighed. “I guess you never talked to Steve about the Marines, have you?”

“No. He’s only ever mentioned getting discharged after being wounded in battle.”

“That scar on his arm? That’s the reason he was discharged. A bomb went off in front of him after he pushed another Marine away from it.”

“How’d he know it was there?”

“Someone saw the trip device in the back of the car. It was a decoy. The guy Steve pulled away from the car had just started to pull the door open before it exploded.”

“How’d he live?”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Dakota sighed. “Everyone who’s met him said it’s a miracle he survived. His arm was broken—it nearly had to be amputated—but his doctor was a miracle worker, I guess.”

“Sounds like it,” Jamie said. “I wouldn’t have said what I did if I’d known.”

“I know. It’s a touchy subject. Steve came back and couldn’t tell me what happened for a month. He’s still not over it.”

“Not something you get over easily. Did he ever go to therapy?”

“Therapy?”

“For PTSD.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know it doesn’t get rid of it completely, but at least it would’ve helped.”

“Steve’s bullheaded. It’s not in his character to ask someone else for help. He’s the helper, not the victim.”

“Oh well,” Jamie said. “Not much I can do about it now. Guess I’ll just apologize in the morning. I don’t want bad blood between us.”

“There wouldn’t be bad blood.”

“I know, but still. If you fucked up and can fix it, there’s no point not to.”

Sliding into bed, Dakota pulled the covers up over his shoulders and settled down onto the pillow.

Before he closed his eyes, he looked out the window and smiled at the wall that greeted him.

For the first time since everything began, he could finally call someplace home.

Dakota woke the following morning to the sound of cries and yells. Panicked, he jumped out of bed and tore the window open, desperately clawing at the safety locks and scrambling to push the curtains aside. One of the panels fell, followed by another, then a third, all of which knocked him aside or tore scratches across his face. Just when he thought that he wouldn’t be able to get through, he pushed his upper body forward and out the window.

He expected to see carnage—blood, destruction, the remaining two walls in ruins and his friends strewn across the front lawn. What he found, however, was a celebration.