flicker of recognition to register on Owen’s face, so eventually Tanny had stopped fishing for redress. If Owen was man enough to be able to just let it go, then he would be too….
Throughout the afternoon dark clouds had been amassing in the eastern sky like a pack of nebulous rotters closing in on prey. By the time the sun had nearly completed it descent, they had devoured nearly every speck of blue and they flickered with distant lightning. The wind had picked up as well and the boughs of pine trees swayed as their needles whispered the secret language of nature.
“Looks like rain.” Owen had said as he surveyed the sky with one hand cupped over his eyes. “Smells like it too.”
“Think it’s gonna be a corker, kid. I don’t like the way those clouds look.”
They’d decided to head up into the hills, reasoning that the thick cover of leaves would shelter them from the brunt of the storm. There would be less risk of the undead as well. The corpses tended to throng toward places more likely to harbor the living: cities and towns, railways, old roadside attractions that were slowly crumbling from the twin forces of time and neglect. Perhaps it was instinct; or even the last vestiges of memory in minds that had lost practically every shred of humanity when their souls had fled the bodies. Whatever the reason, as long as the wilderness didn’t jut up against an interstate or some abandoned resort, the chances were greater of seeing a bear out there than a rotter.
The hillside turned out to be steeper than it looked and conversation had quickly been replaced by labored breathing and grunts. At several points, the pair had to press themselves against the side of the hill with their arms and legs splayed wide as they searched for roots and rocks to use as handholds. Avalanches of dirt tumbled from feet that scrambled for purchase and, despite the cool breeze that rippled their clothing, both men soon found that sweat had plastered their shirts to their backs like a second skin.
Dozens of tiny cuts and abrasions stung his hands and Tanny had begun to think that he wouldn’t make it, that his heart would burst on the side of this bastard of a mountain and he’d become just another stiff wandering around in Graveyard Earth. His muscles trembled and felt as if inquisitors had stretched him across the rack before piling invisible rocks onto his back. The pressure seemed to press the air from his lungs and, at that moment, he would have confessed to kissing the arse of Satan on a moonlit night, to boiling children in a wicked brew, and blighting the crops of neighboring farms with pestilence: anything to find a modicum of relief from the burning ache the radiated from his chest and shoulders.
But the ground had leveled off shortly thereafter and the two collapsed against the trunks of trees that had stood on this mountain long before either of their ancestors had worked up the courage to tame this wild land. They huffed and panted, sucking in great lungfuls of air that had the musty scent of old vegetation as distant thunder rumbled through the hills and valleys.
“You know, kid,” Tanny panted, “this looks like a fine spot to me. What d’ya say?”
It took longer for them to catch their breath than it did for the clearing to be transformed into a full-fledged campsite. Owen pitched the tent with the skill of a man who probably could have completed the task in complete darkness. While he hammered the pegs into the moss covered ground, Tanny began dragging fallen limbs and branches from the surrounding forest and arranged them in an almost pyramidal shape. Dry leaves, scraps of bark, and small twigs were shoved through the gaps in the wood and made good company for the flame of his disposable lighter.
From his backpack, he removed two tin cans whose sides looked blackened and scorched. The cans had jagged holes punched through either side and Tanny threaded lengths of wire through them and then twisted the ends together. The overall effect was that the man had just fashioned a couple of miniature pails and he poured water into them like a scientist carefully measuring his flasks. Once each had been filled to his liking, he recapped his canteen and hung the pair of cans from two forked branches that had been thrust into the earth.
“Hey,” Owen had called, “that’s pretty damn smart.”
The cans dangled over the crackling tongues of flame and soon had wisps of steam curling from them as the water roiled and bubbled within. Into each can, Tanny shook a measured amount of macaroni and stirred it every few minutes with a small piece of wood.
After half a dozen repetitions of this, he wrapped an old shirt around his hands and slowly drained the water off into a small bowl, into which he tossed a couple of teabags.
Owen offered a couple of Slim Jims from his own stash and the two snapped the meat sticks into little logs which were summarily stirred into the pale and bloated pasta. The men ate directly from the cans, tilting them back and allowing the food to practically slide down their throats. When the meal was over, Tanny poured the now- steeped tea into each can and the two clinked them together as if they were sharing a snort of brandy at the gentleman’s club.
“Kind of starchy,” Tanny said apologetically, “but I’m not about to waste a drop of that water.”
By this time, shadows had crept through the forest and seemed to parry and thrust with the flickering glow of the fire. Beyond the clearing was only a ring of darkness that struggled to conquer their oasis of light like an invading cancer.
“Think that storm might blow over after all.” Tanny observed. “Looks like its moving off to the south. Shame, though. Was hoping to maybe collect a little rain by morning.”
Owen grunted a reply as he rifled through his own pack and Tanny’s brow furrowed as he watched the objects his companion pulled from it. First was a tea candle no bigger than a fifty cent piece; but this was quickly followed by a slender stick of incense that tinted the air with the scent of strawberries. Next, he removed a manilla envelope and then busied himself with pulling out handfuls of small stones.
Tanny’s gaze shifted from the envelope to Owen, who appeared to be building some sort of miniature wall out of the little pieces of granite and quartz.
“Hey, kid, what’cha doing?”
Owen was so engrossed in his work that Tanny’s voice didn’t seem to register in the least bit. His glasses had begun to slip down the bridge of his nose and he took a moment to push them back up with the tip of his finger before setting back to work.
Reaching over, Tanny picked the envelope and turned it over in his hands: it was so flat and light that for a moment, he wondered if there was actually anything in it. He’d seen a lot of weird shit since he’d been on the road: people who proclaimed the zombies to be Divine messengers of God, a man who swore this was all just some consensual hallucination brought about by the drugs the government had introduced into the water supply…. But something about the look on Owen’s face made him feel as though those people had been nothing more than eccentric.
At times, the boy looked as though he were aglow with some sort of inner radiance. Excitement flickered behind those glasses and a smile spread across his face like someone who’d just witnessed something so miraculous, so wonderful, that human language would never be able to capture it in words. But just as quickly as this state of grace descended upon him, so would it be lifted. The muscles in his face seemed to lose their will and his jaw hung open as drool pooled up and glistened on his bottom lip. Simultaneously, the color drained from his face, leaving only a ghostly pallor surrounding eyes that now looked more like two dull marbles. For all intents and purposes, it was like watching one of those damn zombies. Albeit, one who’d been tasked with constructing what was turning out to be a ring of stones.
Tanny glanced at the envelope again, raised it to his ear, and shook gently. He could hear something move inside: not a rattle or shake, though. More like something sliding around. Paper?
He placed the envelope on his lap and lit a cigarette as he eyed Owen again. His friend now had a look of terrible determination to him, as if the fate of the world depended entirely upon him placing the next stone in just the right position…
What the hell was in that thing anyway?
Exhaling a slow plume of smoke, Tanny allowed the cigarette to hang loosely in his lips. “Damn you and your locked door, Bluebeard.” he mumbled.
Lifting the envelope, he undid the metal clasp on the back and stole one more look at Owen. The man was oblivious to Tanny, entirely focused on completing his edifice. Tanny tilted the container, shook it slightly, and a piece of paper slid out into his waiting hand.
It was a glossy eight by ten of a woman with dark, wavy hair that cascaded down to her shoulder blades. She was turned partially away from the camera and looked back over her shoulder with the tip of her index finger resting
