Life Among The Dead (65 page)

“
No,” She cries. “He bit me.”

Bruce’s heart falls into his stomach
. Not her,
he thinks. He goes to her side, and for once in his life is at a loss for words. He knows he has to say something.
Anything.

“
Where did he get you?” Is all he can manage.

“
In the garage.”

“
I mean, where on you?”

“
Calf.” She says. “He was under the car and grabbed me. I tried to hold him back by his hair. The clump just tore away from his scalp. I had no time to react…”

“
I’m so sorry.” Bruce brushes her hair away from her face. “I should have never asked you to go alone.”

“
You didn’t know.”

“
I should have…” His hand balls into a tight fist.

“
Bruce,” She interrupts. “You did nothing wrong. It’s what I signed on for. Situation normal: All fucked up.”

“
I hate the fact I can’t un-fuck this one for you, Kid.” Bruce tells her solemnly. Silence falls between the two as they look into each other’s eyes. They both know there’s only one option.

“
What now?” Bruce asks, breaking the quiet.

“
You know ‘what now’.” She replies.

“
No, we can wait. You may have some… freak immunity to it.”

“
There is no immunity for this.” She shakes her head.

“
We can cut your leg off before it spreads.” He is hopeful.

“
That’s actually been tried.” She tells him. Her tone indicates that it didn’t go well for the amputee. “One of the scientists got bit on the hand by one of his test subjects. He lopped his arm off at the elbow within minutes of contact. He still turned.”

“
So, there’s no hope? This is it?” Bruce hates to accept the facts.

“
I wish we had another choice.” Rash gives him a weak smile. She never did get her three wishes.

“
I wish I could grant that one for you.”

“
Me too.”

Bruce excuses himself to the den. He returns with a small pistol in his hand, retrieved from Wall’s cabinet. He chose the smallest gun, finding the larger calibers too obscene for the task he is obliged to perform.

“
It’s so cute and little.” Rash says.

“
It isn’t the size that matters.” Bruce tries to use humor; the sadness of his voice ruins the joke.

“
If I had a nickel for every guy who has said that…” Rash attempts to cheer him up. The old man can’t make eye contact with her. “You have to be gentle, it’s my first time.”

Bruce can see what she is doing. The condemned is trying to comfort the executioner. She knows he uses humor to cover up serious emotion. It has always been his armor against life when things get too real. She is beating him at his own game. He decides to play along with her.

“
Don’t worry baby.” He starts smoothly. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Just lie back, and let the seasoned hands of experience take care of you.”

“
Hmm. Where do you want to put it?”

“
Back in the gun cabinet.” Bruce collapses into the chair next to her. He doesn’t know if he can do this.

“
This happens to every guy sooner or later.”

“
Rash, this is serious. You’re actually one of the few people I’ve met that I didn’t want to shoot in the head. Why ruin that?”

“
Because I can’t do it myself, and one of us has to.” Rash answers. They fall back into silence. Bruce is staring at the miniscule gun in his hand. It’s a two shot Derringer, typically used by woman for self-defense. The handle is curved and covers only half his palm.

“
Do you have any kids, Bruce?” Rash asks.

“
No.”

“
Ever married?”

“
Came close once. I had a fiancé when I used to live here.”

“
What happened?”

“
She died. About three months before our wedding day.” Bruce looks to the floor when Rash makes that sound girls always seem to make when you tell them such news, an intake of air, like a sigh in reverse that speaks volumes about how bad they feel for you.

“
I’m so sorry.” She says.

“
It was a long time ago.” Bruce forces himself back into his stoic demeanor. “She had some heart thing. Had it since birth, I guess. She didn’t even know.”

Another pause in conversation, Rash can see Bruce wants to say something and is just giving the man all the time he needs.

“
You actually remind me of my Rosie.” He smiles when he says her name though his eyes are sad and distant. “She never took my shit either. She actually got me, and was able to joke right back. Not a lot of ladies are like that. At least, I’ve never met another one like her, until I met you.”

Rash takes Bruce’s hand in consolation.

“
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been with woman since. I’ve been with scores of woman. I’ve sewn more oats than that Quaker on the box. There just hasn’t been any that I wanted to keep around.”

“
You have to do me.” Rash says. She thinks now that he has purged some pent up emotion he will be able to get this over with.

“
I just wish it wasn’t a bullet I was putting in you.” The old man raises an eyebrow.

“
Hey, once I’m gone… Who’s to know?” Rash jokes. She digs into her shirt and pulls out her dog tags. With a tug she snaps the ball-chain. “Here, take these as a memento.”

“
I usually take panties or nudie pics as mementos,” He coils the ball chain around his hand. “These’ll do.”

“
Like I said before, ‘Once I’m gone’…”

They share a laugh together as Rash empties her pockets. She has been carrying Bruce’s diary for him in her cargo pocket. The hard cover notebook was folded down the middle lengthwise. She also puts a paper bag with holes in it onto the table. The bag is moving.

“
The pigeon’s still alive?” Bruce marvels at the bird’s resilience.

“
He’s my new boyfriend. Your pigeon has been keeping me company in my pants.”

“
Lucky bird.” Bruce says as he inspects the wallet the soldier girl had lain on the table.

“
There’s no money in it.” She says.

“
I want a picture.” Bruce finds one of Rash and a tall black man, her late friend Zee in better days. He slips the picture into his own wallet next to a photo he always carries of Rosie.

“
Ready?” They ask at the same time.

“
I love you, Rashida.” Bruce says, kissing his friend’s cheek.

“
I love you too, Bruce.” She closes her eyes.

Bruce raises the petite gun to her temple before he can lose his nerve. He hesitates for only a second, hoping she will stop him. Her face is completely at peace, there isn’t a trace of fear.
It’s what she wants,
he thinks.
And, I always give a lady what she wants.

He only catches a glimpse of the exit wound as the bullet leaves through the other side of her head. Just a flash of red across the table. The gun falls from his hand and he is running away from her. He leaves the table as fast as he can and retreats into the living room. He falls onto the couch, putting his elbows on his knees so he can push his hands against his eyes as hard as he can. His jaw is clenched so tightly it feels like his teeth might shatter. He is trying to keep the tears back with all of his will power.

It’s not fair
, he thinks rocking back and forth.
She was a good kid
. Even his internal voice cracks from the deep sorrow he feels. Tears want to fall for Rash, and for Wallace. They want to fall for the dredged up memories of Rosie. A couple of them even want to fall for Nancy. So much of his love has died in this house. He converts the awful emotion into one he’s always found useful and productive. He turns it into anger.

“
It’s not fair!” He screams, grabbing the coffee table before him and standing fast. He flips the large wooden table violently. Rage courses through his veins, burning like lava. “I’ve got shit to do.”

Bruce’s mind rattles off a list of things he wants to do before he leaves this house forever. He enters the den and heads straight to his brother. He twirls the man in his swivel seat and lifts him out. Flies beat against his face, he can feel a thriving ecosystem brewing beneath his brother’s skin.

He carries Wallace over to the sofa bed and lays him down next to his wife. Bruce drapes a sheet over the deceased couple.
Not even death shall part them,
he thinks.

From Wall’s gun case Bruce takes some weapons and their corresponding munitions. He finds some .44 rounds for his pistol as well. He snags a bottle of whisky from the bar and takes everything out to the living room. Opening the front door is difficult with his arms so full, but he manages. The salvaged gear is dropped onto the lawn.

Back inside, Bruce lifts the remains of his short time friend. He carries her to one of the living room couches and covers her with an afghan. The flies are already being attracted to her and the knitted blanket won’t keep them away for long. He doesn’t need long.

Bruce is trying to be quick and doesn’t want to make too many trips. He grabs everything off of the table and takes it outside. The weapons they had brought with them are piled with the others as well.

He now completes the last task Rash had been sent to do. He finds a can of gas in the garage and heads to the den one last time. Accelerant is doused over his brother and his wife. He travels to where Rash now lies, leaving a trail of the flammable liquid behind him. The fumes are making his eyes water. He allows the tears to fall now that he has an excuse. It’s like the flood gates have been opened, his cheeks quickly became soaked with his tears.

After Rash is coated with gas he lights the couch. He can’t stand the thought of watching her burn. He heads to the bathroom. His feet leave wet footprints of gasoline behind that ignite in his wake.

Whisky bottle in hand Bruce looks at his massacred face in the mirror. He pours a swig of the brown liquor down his throat, and then another down the left side of his face. He stares at his reflection that mimes his painful twitching. The alcohol enters all the tiny wounds disinfecting them. Cold water then soothes the burn, most of the old blood is cleaned away.

Hundreds of minute pockmarks disfigure his skin. The whole left side is swollen and tender to the touch. He takes another long swallow of rotgut before re-entering the inferno.

Bruce’s childhood home burns around him as he makes for the exit. Black smoke fills the rooms, starting from the ceiling and slowly working down, pushing out the viable air. The acrid soot tries to choke the old man to no avail. It can’t hurt him.

Bruce leaves all the gear on the ground and walks towards one of the neighbor’s vehicles. He hops onto the hood of a minivan and watches the house burn around the bodies of those he loves.

14

Hours have passed while Bruce watches flames spread along the outside of the blue house. Windows explode outwards from the heat and pressure raging within. He notices the old tool shed had been moved around to the back of the house.
Unless old Wall sold it
, Bruce wonders.
I’m pretty sure I know what’s in there.

The old man lowers himself to the ground. He is feeling his age, and the journey he has taken. The long rest was enough to make him relax. Now his muscles scream in protest. His abrasions have crusted over and feel painfully tight. He has to hobble to the shed.

Wallace has a Harley, the same model as Bruce’s, only his is black and orange and has a sidecar, Nancy’s seat. She never wanted to ride ‘bitch’, in fact she hated it being called that. On the side of the tank, a custom paintjob reads: King of the Road. Bruce tries to move the bike, but can’t seem to summon the strength. He has no idea how he can possibly make the trip all the way back home.

“
I think I’ll just stay here.” He says, feeling too damned old and way too tired to continue. He just wanted to end it. End everything, and go out in a glorious way. He has just the way in mind.

First, I have to get rid of the last witness
, Bruce thinks as he limps to the pile of weapons. His gluteus muscles feel like rocks, he can’t extend his legs fully due to how tight they feel. He takes the pigeon out of its paper bag. A brief note is scribbled onto a scrap of paper and inserted into the bird’s pouch. He hopes the bird isn’t brain damaged from the banging around it has received. He hopes it can find its way home all right.

“
Fuck off.” He tells the gray bird as he tosses it into the air. Bruce slowly heads back to the shed. He starts the bike and rides it out onto the residential street that used to be their dirt driveway. He lines himself up with the quarry.

He and Wall used to play in the quarry when they were boys. After a heavy rainfall they would swim in it with all the neighborhood kids. They all liked this one game where they tried to find out who could jump from the highest rocks. Bruce and Wall always won.

No one has ever jumped from where Bruce is now planning to. It was always considered too high, and there are far too many jagged rocks below. If a kid were to do it, he would need a bike. He would have to peddle as fast as possible, and hit a jump. It would also help if there had been a monsoon to fill the quarry.