In that way he resembled the residents of Pasternak – at least the few who were wandering the aisles of the small grocery. Obviously single, unshaved older men limped slowly with handheld baskets; abandoned women leaned heavily on wire shopping carts with chattering wheels to support their aged bulk. They all seemed in a similar state of shock, as if the bottom had dropped out from beneath them and they were lost in a new weightless, worthless world. The only sign of life was the girl working the checkout register, waiting for a customer, her thumb swiping at a smartphone.
Jonathan and the brothers bought food they could carry – jerky, candy bars, trail mix – and then food for the cabin – eggs, bacon, bread, peanut butter. Conner planned on a massive breakfast before setting out in the morning. The girl at the register was probably sixteen, blond hair in a ponytail and disinterested eyes. She could have been found anywhere in America, but she was here and resented that most of all.
Michael stopped briefly at the neighboring liquor store and bought three bottles of whiskey, mumbling, “We’ll need these.” Stress fractures were beginning to show on his stony face. Conner remained business as usual, keeping up his slick demeanor, but Jonathan suspected that by the end they all would be revealed, stripped of their phony facades, like a gutted deer, opened to show its inner workings to the world.
Bill Flood’s apartment was just above the Olde American Diner on the corner of Main and Black Bridge Road, which crossed the cold and frothy Wilbur Creek. Darkness came early as the sun dropped below the mountains, and light from the diner showed a few couples seated in Fifties-style booths and men in trucker caps drinking coffee. A hastily constructed wooden staircase climbed the side of the diner to a small landing outside Bill’s apartment. Conner knocked while Jonathan and Michael waited a couple of steps below. They waited and knocked again and waited.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Conner said.
“He knew we were coming?” Jonathan asked.
“I talked to him last week,” Conner said. He took out his phone and called. They could hear the phone ringing just beyond the door. He then tried Bill’s cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail.
“Goddammit,” Conner said. “I just want to be there already.”
“Does anyone remember how to get to the cabin? Maybe we could go out there without him,” Jonathan said.
“Hell if I remember. The road isn’t even on the map, and even if we found it, what are we going to do, break in?” Conner said.
They stood for a moment longer, looking around the dark, lonely town accented with streetlights. It was cold, approaching freezing. Trucks and cars rolled down Main Street; figures with thick jackets and jeans trundled along the sidewalk in and out of the glow of shop windows and the Olde American Diner. From only the second floor, they could see over the tops of the century-old buildings to the surrounding mountains.
“We’re going to be out there with all that,” Jonathan said.
“With all what?”
He nodded toward the heavy darkness. The brothers looked and understood, on some level. At least at home there was the knowledge that civilization was right around the corner, but here there was no such refuge. In the mountains, night was still as ancient as when man first sparked fire and prayed to strange gods. And now they were here, dressed as hunters like Conner’s young son at the Halloween parade, pretending they could go out and live that dark life, complete their sacrifice. New fools in an old world, staring into the immense black of a moonless night.
There was no sign of Bill in the diner, and the waitress said she hadn’t seen him all day, but that he was a regular in the mornings. She suggested trying a tavern just down the street where he was known to frequent. Conner kept shaking his head and cursing Bill beneath his breath.
Jonathan called Mary to check in and tell her they had arrived safely but were still waiting on the cabin owner. He talked with Jacob and told his only son that he missed him. It was true; he missed them both terribly, the purpose of the trip adding to his burden, his fear of losing the only good things in his life if the plan went awry. Already the signs were not good. They were all tense. Everything needed to function perfectly in order for them to complete their task and return home before the weather set in. Jonathan told Mary cell coverage was limited at the cabin, so this was probably the last he’d speak to her or Jacob for three days. He told her he loved her and then told himself it was all for her and Jacob. It was both the truth and a lie.
Finally, Michael said, “Fuck it, let’s get some food and beers. Maybe we can find that old bastard at that bar.” Conner drove the SUV across the small town and parked outside The Forge, a tavern with small windows shining Pabst and Budweiser neon into the night. The Forge was a small place. It looked ramshackle even in a place as poor as Pasternak, the kind of place that probably spurred numerous public safety complaints but would never be touched because all the men drank there.
The inside was all dim light and smoke, New York’s anti-smoking laws ignored in this quiet cave. There were several tables in the front, and the bar ran the length of a narrow, wood-paneled interior. Men wrapped in shade and flannel, with thick hands and forearms, sat in booths and on barstools. The bartender was bone thin, scraggly hair dripping down his skull; he wore only jeans and an undershirt. The air inside was
