1Author's Notes:
I hate that this chapter has taken so long to become reality. Ever since I got promoted to Captain, I have a lot more responsibility and much longer work days. Still, little by little, I was finally able to finish this latest addition.
I welcome everyone's comments and criticism. I take everything to heart and am open to ideas on how I can improve my work.
There are events that I originally planned to put in this chapter but chose to move to Chapter 15. Consequently, I had to change the title and I would like to thank my wife for coming up with "Walking Away". Also, I would like to thank my six-year old for helping me come up with dialogue for Kevin. I especially want to thank all those who have taken the time to read my work and give feedback. I appreciate all of you.
I have already started work on Chapter 15, The Fire. In the meantime, I look forward to what everyone has to say about:
Chapter 14
Walking Away
BAM! BAM! BAM!
A loud pounding noise jarred Martha awake. She sat up in bed and listened for it again but everything was quiet except for the steady, rhythmic tick of the wall clock and rain pattering on the window. After some time she began to think that maybe it had just been her imagination or a dream so she eased herself back under the covers.
Her head had hardly touched the pillow when the pounding resumed, fiercer than before, and a desperate, panicked voice cut like a razor through the darkness, "Martha! Martha! Help me! Oh god! PLEASE HELP ME!"
Martha swung herself out of bed, slipped on her shoes, grabbed the flashlight she kept on the nightstand, and ran downstairs to the front door. Taking no thought of who or what might be on the other side, she slid the deadbolt free and yanked it open.
There, leaning against the door jamb, was Michelle.
The flashlight shining up into her face wreathed her wide-open eyes in shadow, making them look wild and vacant. She was trembling and her breath came in short pants. Rainwater dripped from her hair and ran down her face in tiny rivulets over deep gashes on both cheeks to finally mingle with the blood that saturated the front of her sweatshirt.
Michelle staggered forward and, fell to her knees. Martha grabbed her arm and after a short struggle, managed to get her to her feet long enough to lead her to the base of the stairs where she sat her down.
Lacerations, four on right cheek, three on left, Martha thought, her mind a blaze of activity as she quickly evaluated Michelle's wounds. Deep tissue trauma, zygomatic bone exposed. Pale skin,…blue lips…inadequate oxygen perfusion…possible hemorrhagic shock.
"It…it wasn't…it wasn't…supposed…to be like this,' Michelle stammered.
Martha moved her light to where Michelle clutched her right hand tightly against her chest. Blood streamed slowly and steadily from between the fingers of her left hand, down both arms, and to the floor where a few small, diluted puddles were beginning to form.
"Michelle…Michelle," Martha spoke softly, trying to project a feeling of calm, though her stomach was in knots. "Let me look at your hand."
"We were…going to be happy," Michelle said, seemingly oblivious to her friend. "Happy…we were…supposed to be…happy."
"Please," Martha tugged gently at her arm, "I want to help you. Let me..."
"A family," Michelle smiled dreamily. "We could have been a family. I…I…I would…I would have…taken care of him. He's so lonely. Something happened to him...I know. A woman knows these things. It was something…bad."
"What are you talking about?"
Michelle's smile dissolved into a look of teary-eyed confusion. She eased her hand away from her chest and held it out for Martha to see. Her small finger and ring finger were missing. All that remained were jagged stumps of bone and tattered tissue just below where the middle knuckles had been.
"Oh my god! Oh my…" Martha started but quickly managed to shake off her panic and pull together a facade of clinical calm. "It's okay. It's alright. It's not that bad. I…I've got to go get some bandaging but I'll be right back. Just stay here."
Martha vanished into the darkness but soon re-emerged with a large first aid kit and a gallon of water. She twisted the cap off the jug and repeatedly doused Michelle's hand until she was satisfied the wounds were clean then tore open a roll of gauze and started tightly wrapping her fingers. "This will help stop the bleeding. It's not life threatening. I promise. How did this…"
"I would have made him happy. I would have been good to him. I would have given him everything a man needs," Michelle whimpered as she rocked back and forth unsteadily. "I just wanted him to love me! Why wouldn't he love me? Why? Why? Why? WHY?" she wailed, becoming increasingly hysterical.
"MICHELLE! Listen to me! Who are you talking about? Who…?" The words seemed to catch in the air and hang like a mist as a thought crept into Martha's mind, a thought terrible, horrible, a thought that made her mouth go dry and her heart hammer so hard that it felt like it might break out of her chest. She closed her eyes tightly and steeled her nerve. She could be wrong.
She prayed she was wrong.
She had to be wrong.
" Did…did John do this?"
The question's effect was extraordinary. Michelle went stock still. Only her eyes moved, turning slowly in their sockets to stare directly at Martha but she didn't say anything.
"Did John do this?" she asked again, every syllable enunciated through clenched teeth but there was no answer and she feared no time to gently coax one out. She took hold of Michelle's shoulders and shook her violently. "WAS IT JOHN? DID HE DO THIS? DID HE BITE YOU?"
Michelle's chin quivered. She took a sharp, deep breath and held it for a moment before erupting into a fit of screaming. The unexpected outburst caused Martha to recoil and when she released her grip, Michelle fell back on her side, curling up as though she'd been kicked in the stomach.
"Is Kevin all right? Where is he? What's happened to him?" Martha pressed but Michelle didn't respond. She only kept crying. "Michelle…please…I…I…this is…GODAMMIT!"
Martha realized she wasn't going to get anything out of her friend and she couldn't stay where she was, taunted by the inexorable conclusion that presented itself. She had to get to Kevin and hope for the best so she grabbed her flashlight and ran into the storm outside.
Lightning flashes illuminated the night sky, casting twisted, menacing shadows all across the ground below. It was easy to imagine the dead lurching about in the darkness everywhere, stumbling down the sidewalk, shambling among the trees, even pouring out of the houses, but the macabre atmosphere was wasted on Martha. She was too busy running.
The rain had slowed to barely a trickle but the wind was still blowing in strong gusts and combined with the hot muggy air, it made Martha feel more like she were swimming. Still, she was in very good shape. She wasn't a natural runner and for most of her life had never given her personal fitness much consideration. But that was then and in the world she lived in now, it paid to be able to run very, very fast. So she had taken to doing laps along the inner perimeter of the wall almost every day. And now she ran as if she were in a race with all the grisly possibilities playing out in her mind and Kevin was the prize for whoever got there first.
Michelle's house sat in the far northeast corner of Eastlake. Flanked on two sides by the outer wall and heavily surrounded by old growth oaks and carefully placed willows, it was well concealed from general view. Were it not for the drive leading off the street and around the back to the garage, a passerby might easily not even realize it was there. But Martha had come to know this place intimately during her time caring for Kevin and even in the oppressive gloom, she had little difficulty finding her way.
Martha cleared the front steps in one leap but stopped short of the door. It was open and silently swayed back and forth with the rhythm of the wind. More cautious now, she crept forward, step-by-step until she stood inside.
She moved her flashlight around, taking in her surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing seemed wrong. The house was dark and it was quiet but otherwise, as best she could tell, everything looked just as it did when she was last there. "Kevin!" she called out, hoping for some response. None came.
Warily, she ascended the stairs. Halfway up, she called to him again. She closed her eyes and strained to hear something, anything, but there was only the rumble of distant thunder from the retreating storm and the pounding of her heart in her ears which grew louder and more fierce the closer she got to the second floor landing. And when she got to the top step, there he was.
Kevin lay on his back, blood all over him and around him. His torso was torn open from the neck down. Pieces of splintered rib and shredded intestines were strewn about the floor. His limbs trembled slightly and his eyes shook back and forth. The muscles in his jaw jerked spasmodically almost as if he were trying to speak but these movements were only the vestiges of what, in life, had been exquisite agony. But that life was gone. He was dead, gutted like an animal and left to rot.
Martha swayed for a moment and then fell to her knees next to the little boy. She put her hands on his face and leaned down to touch her forehead to his. "Kevin…,"she whimpered, "…I'm…I'm sorry…I'm sorry. I thought…I…oh god…no…no…no…no no no no no…" Harder and harder, she cried until at last she threw her head back, screaming like someone who had been tortured beyond reason.
Gradually, her racking sobs gave way to gut-wrenching dry heaves and ultimately to silence. She took Kevin's hand in her own and held it against her face. He had finally gone still and his fingers were cold and rigid. Martha kept her eyes closed. She didn't want to look at him again, not like this, and she didn't need to. For all the horrible things she'd seen, this was the one thing that she had no hope of forgetting.
She struggled to form a coherent thought against the sickness and grief coursing through her shaking frame. Al, I have to get Al and Dale. I have to take care of Michelle…I have to…oh god…she's been bitten…she…she's going to die! She's going to die and it's because of me! I knew…I knew what John was and I didn't say anything. I didn't do anything. I could have done something! I…I trusted him…I...
Suddenly, she felt a drop hit the back of her neck. Another quickly followed, and another, and still another until a stream ran across her shoulder and down her chest. It was warm. Without looking, she knew what it was and she knew who was behind her.
"Oh god," she breathed.
"Ma…Maaaa…Maaarrrrthaaa." The reply was slurred and sounded more like a growl than a voice but was still recognizable.
Every muscle in Martha's body tensed and her mind raced through options, none of which looked very good. There was her flashlight. It was long, heavy, all metal, and under other circumstances would have been quite a formidable weapon. But she'd seen John in action and knew the odds in an up-close fight were decidedly against her. She could run but it was a feeble hope at best. She'd probably never make it as far as the door. Worst of all, nobody but Michelle knew she was here and she was catatonic.
No help was coming.
She was alone.
She turned her face upward to look into those familiar yellow eyes. In the ambient light, they looked strangely darker and they were fixed directly on her. Blood drenched John's clothes, his face and his hair. It dripped from his mouth and the knife in his hand. Another drop fell from the tip and landed on Martha's cheek.
"John…"
His lips parted and curled into a snarl.
"John…please,…please…"
He let out a horrific screech and threw himself down on top of her, sending her sprawling back across Kevin's body. A shower of white sparks and swirls filled her vision as she crashed into the floor. She fought to scream, to just get a breath but John had landed hard on her, forcing all the air out of her lungs. The flashlight had rolled several feet away but remained on and provided just enough light for her to see gleaming strands of bloody drool dangling from John's approaching mouth.
"No," she gasped. "No…don't…please…"
"Ssssoooo…hungry…"
An explosion of pain tore through her head as John sank his teeth into her cheek and fiercely ripped away one side of her face with a jerk of his neck. Frantically, he stuffed the flesh into his mouth with both hands.
Martha sputtered against the blood running down her throat. It sprayed out above her and landed back in her eyes, burning. She was choking on it and with one last tremendous effort, she shoved John off, sat bolt upright and…
…she was in her bed.
She gulped at the air in panic as she looked about. There was no Kevin, no John. This wasn't Michelle's house. It was hers. She was in her own room, in her own bed, again. It had been a dream. Just another dream.
It had been like this all night. Every time she closed her eyes to sleep, thoughts of the things John had told her mingled with her tired imagination to throw her onto a nightmare treadmill of grisly scenes playing out over and over. And the dreams always ended the same way, with Michelle and Kevin dead.
Martha brushed a few sweat soaked tendrils of hair away from her face. She fell back into her pillow and rubbed her eyes as if that would blot out the hellish images still drifting through her head. The clock by her bed said 7:17. She thought she could probably get by for another hour before she would really need to get up and she was so exhausted. But tired as she was, she couldn't face what she knew would be waiting on the other side of sleep or what, for her, had passed for sleep.
Rising from bed, she crossed silently to the windows. Most of the storm clouds were gone. The horizon was overspread by the golden glow of sunrise and rays of light shone through the trees, glistening off last night's rain that still clung to the leaves and branches. From her vantage point, it didn't look like anyone was out and about yet but they soon would be. The only sound was the far off chirping of some unseen birds. The view eased her mind and she could feel some of her anxiety slipping away. "At least there's something beautiful left in the world," she muttered.
Her meditations were interrupted by an abrupt knock downstairs. Martha backed away from the window and into the near corner. For a moment, her heart caught in her throat and she clutched a hand to her chest.
"Martha? Martha? Are you home?" It was Michelle's calm, familiar voice.
"Just a second!" she called back and hastened to get dressed. Within a few minutes, she was downstairs, eager to see for herself that Michelle was okay. When Martha opened the door, the sight of her friend framed in the light of day, alive and unhurt, finally abated her fear that this might be another nightmare.
"Oh...Michelle...hey...good morning. Is everything all right, I mean...are you all right? Is Kevin all right?"
"Yeah...yeah...we're both fine. Um...are you okay?"
"Huh? Oh...I...yes...yes, I just...I just had a rough night," Martha tried to explain, realizing how strange she probably sounded. "Please, come inside, come inside."
"No, thanks. Kevin is still asleep and I don't want to leave him alone too long. I just...I wanted to ask you if John is okay."
"What?"
"You said you'd look in on him and...yesterday he seemed so sick. You did see him, didn't you?"
"Yes. Yes I did."
"And..."
"And he's fine. He just has...really high blood pressure. In some people it can cause severe nose bleeds." It was the first, best lie that came to mind and its effect was nothing short of miraculous.
"Really? Oh my gosh!" Michelle gushed. "I was so scared...I..." she hesitated and wiped away a few nervous tears, "I was...scared he might be really sick, that he might..."
"Well, you can relax," Martha said, trying to cut short the apprehension that fairly emanated from Michelle. "He's been through a lot but, I think...I think..."
"Uh-huh?"
"I think his health isn't anything that you need to be worried about." It was close enough to the truth.
"He's going to be all right. Now he has a home here with us and he has someone to take care of him." A slight smile crept across Michelle's lips. "You and I both know that what every man really needs is a woman take care of him, and I'll do whatever he needs me to do."
"You want to know what you need to do?" Martha said sternly. "I'll tell you what you need to do. You need to forget about John. Forget he ever came here. Forget you ever saw him. He isn't anything like what you think he is. He's not even human! He's one of those things. He's dead! I don't know how, but he's a walker that can think and talk, and he is dangerous! He's killed no telling how many people. The man killed his own sister! He's already told me he isn't staying, and for your sake, for your son's sake, let him go quietly. The sooner he's away from here, the safer we'll all be!"
At least, that was what Martha said in her mind. It's what she felt she should say. The words, however, got routed through her aching heart on the way to her mouth and came from her lips as, "I know you will."
"I guess I'd better get back. I don't want Kevin to wake up and me not be there." Michelle started to go but turned back to ask, "Are you sure you're okay? You seem awfully spaced out."
"I'm just tired." She put on what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Don't worry. I'll try taking a nap this afternoon. Don't worry about me. You get on back home."
"Okay. I'll see you later."
"Yeah, see you later."
Martha ducked inside, closing the door after her, and waited until she was certain Michelle was well out of ear shot before quietly adding, "Much later."
May 4, 1997 6:38 P.M.
Martha had spent the last hour stretched out on a lawn chair in front of her house watching clouds come together and drift apart again, much the same as her weary thoughts. The air was warm and pleasant. A soft breeze blew across her face, carrying the lulling sound of early crickets chirping.
On an evening like this, she could pretend that she and the others weren't really prisoners in this place. It was easy when everything around her seemed so perfect. She even went so far as to allow herself the indulgence of forgetting, for a little while, the things the surrounding wall was keeping out.
"You know..." The sound of a voice shattering the stillness startled her. She scrambled out of her chair and onto her feet to find John standing behind her. "...from my house in Salt Lake you could see the entire valley, all of it, north to south, east to west. I could see the mountains and a little beyond. When the sun would set, it made the mountains and the sky look like they were on fire. Susie and I would sit on the swing in our front yard and watch it together. Susie...Susie loved the sunset."
Martha stood where she was, waiting for him to say something else but the uneasy silence dragged on and on until she finally said, "I thought I might not get the chance to see you again."
"That's very nice of you to say, but...I think what you mean is, why are you still here?"
She was loathe to admit it but that was what she was trying to say, albeit less bluntly. Though now, social nicety hardly seemed worth the effort. "Well?' she asked.
"Well, what?"
"Why are you still here?"
"There was...something I wanted to do before I left."
"What?"
He sighed thoughtfully before answering. "Just...something for Kevin."
Martha wasn't sure what he meant, but he sounded sad, even pained, so she made a move to change the subject. "Michelle came to see me this morning."
"Really?"
"She asked me yesterday to check on you. She wanted to know if you were all right."
"And," he glared over his spectacles at her, "what did you say?"
"I just made something up. I said you'd be fine. She seemed to believe me but she's still worried about you."
John turned abruptly and, for a moment, she thought he was going to simply walk away but he turned back and squared himself on her. "She would do better to save her worry for her son."
"I was beginning to think you'd just taken off."
"Oh, I thought about it. I thought it might be easier. But...the more I thought, the more I realized it would just be easier for me. No, I told you I would say good-bye, and I will."
"What are you going to tell her? She's going to want to know why you're not staying."
"I don't know. It doesn't really matter what I tell her, does it? It's all going to end the same."
He moved toward her but stopped when she backed away a step. The movement had been subtle, reflexive. She hadn't meant to do it but it was done and now there was no taking it back, no pretending it hadn't happened.
For awhile, neither said anything. Martha kept her eyes turned away. She was nervous and ashamed of being nervous. She knew John would never ever admit it, but she could tell he was hurt. She had hurt him, and she didn't know what to do, so she didn't do anything except stand there.
John reached into his coat and from an inner pocket, removed a small book. "This," he held up the volume, "belonged to my grandmother. When Angie and I were kids, she'd come over anytime we were sick, and she'd read to us from this. When Grandma Smith died, she left it to both of us. We each kept it for a year at a time. We'd..." he closed his eyes for a second or two, trying to compose himself and his voice faltered a bit as he continued, "we'd always exchange it at Christmas. It was our tradition."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to understand why I'm giving it to you."
"What? But...why? I..."
"Listen to me. I can't go on forever. Someday, somehow, I am going to die. I don't know where, I don't know when, but I will die. And when it happens, I'll be alone. I don't want this book rotting away in some hole somewhere with me. I've lost everything else, but I don't have to lose this. This is a piece of my family that can go on, that can last. It'll be a lot safer here with you than it will ever be with me."
"I...can't. This is..."
"It's good. You'll enjoy it."
"But..."
"I know you're afraid. You're very afraid. You're afraid of me, you're afraid to be near me and it's all right. You should be. But...please," he held the book out to her imploringly, "take it. Just take it, and I'll go."
Martha said nothing; she didn't have to. The pain on John's face was evident, and she began to realize how much she had hurt him. She didn't know what to do, so instead of further protest, she took the book from him with as much grace as she could summon.
She looked at it carefully. It was old. Though the brown leather binding was somewhat worn and stiff, it wasn't brittle. The gilt lettering on the spine was faded but still readable, A Collection of Short Stories by The Reader's Muse. Martha thumbed through the first few pages. They were yellowed and thick, their texture like fine sandpaper. Just inside the cover, on the very first page was written: To John and Angela, My Precious Little Ones, I'll Always Love You, Grandma S.
Guilt began to settle on Martha as she read the inscription. She thought of all the things she had endured the past few years and how tiny they now seemed put up against all this man in front of her had lost and what he suffered day after day after day. More than that, he was the only reason she and Kevin were still alive. Even when he had the chance to hurt her, he didn't, despite the pain he was in and that was his choice. Now he was about to go quietly into exile and all he asked of her was that she keep safe this vestige of his life and family.
She felt selfish. She had treated him like vermin, and he didn't deserve it; he didn't deserve any of it. She felt like the monster she had thought he was.
"I have to go," John murmured.
"Don't!" She strode to him until only a few inches separated them. "I mean...wait. I'm sorry...just now...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. What I..."
"It's all right."
"No! It's not all right! It's not all right. It's not. I...it's just that...I'm..."
"Afraid." John eased forward a little bit. He removed his glasses and lifted her chin to bring her teary eyes to his. "And yes, it is all right," he said reassuringly.
A bundle of clouds drifted past overhead, blotting out the late afternoon sun and in the softer light, John didn't seem so pale or the lines in his face so deep. There was a gentleness in his eyes that Martha hadn't seen before, and a sadness. They weren't the same eyes she saw yesterday, and they most definitely weren't the same eyes from her dream. He really wasn't the man she had supposed. She placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart. Through his shirt she could feel his flesh was cold and still.
John place his hand over hers. "I will miss you, Martha."
"I...I wish...there was some way I could help you."
"You can."
"How?"
"Don't let on to Michelle about me...about what I am."
"I promise I won't."
He nodded his thanks, patted her hand, and allowed himself a small smile. "That'll do, Martha. That'll do."
She looked down at the book and back to John's face again. "I'll take good care of it."
"I know you will. I trust you."
Without warning, she hugged him tightly around his neck, kissed his cheek and, just as quickly, pulled away and dashed past him to retreat into her home. But as she crossed the threshold, a curiously strong feeling of loss stole over her. She hadn't expected this to be so hard, for him to be so...human. She looked back but...
...he was gone.
Martha clutched the book to her chest and, for awhile, stared at the empty space where he had been standing.
"Good-bye, John."
This isn't going to end well. It can't. This is insane, John thought as he watched Michelle, himself unseen, concealed by the huge trellis that bordered her front porch on both sides.
For the past half-hour she had been sitting quietly in the bay window of her living room, engrossed in a book. She bore very little resemblance to the sad, harrowed woman he'd come to know. Her hair was clean, brushed, and pulled back into a ponytail tied together with a pink ribbon. The desperation was gone from her eyes. They were clear and calm. It was only now, seeing her this way, that he realized how beautiful she was.
I don't have to do this. I shouldn't do this. I should just get out of here. I could be over the wall and gone...
"Mom!" Kevin appeared in the window next to Michelle.
"What is it honey?" She put down her book and lifted him up onto her knee.
"You said John was coming today."
"Kevin, I said he would come over if he was feeling better than yesterday."
"But if he doesn't come, I can't give him his present. Can we take it to him?"
"Honey," her voice was suddenly very somber, "we can't do that. It won't be long before it's going to be dark and we can't ever, ever be away from home when it's dark...and you know why."
"Because of the monsters?"
"Yes, honey...the monsters."
The monsters, John mused.
Like me.
Looking at them reminded him of the family he used to have, of the night he left them, just like he was leaving now. Susie and Justine were scared too. Scared of the monsters.
I should never have left them. I didn't have to leave.
But this time, I do.
I promised Justine I'd come home, and I didn't...until it was too late.
I didn't keep my promise.
But...I suppose I can keep this one.
John rapped his knuckles on the door.
"It's John! He's here! I'll get it! I'll get it!" came an excited little voice from inside the house. Moments later, the door flung open and there stood a pajama clad Kevin. "Mom! He's here! John's here! I knew he'd come!" The boy wrapped himself around John's legs and held on for dear life. "I knew you'd come!"
Soon, Michelle appeared and stood by for a while, surveying the scene with a smiling satisfaction before, with some difficulty, peeling her son off of John. "Look mom!" 'She continued, "He's here! He made it!"
"I see he did. You know what that means."
"What?"
"You can show him what you made."
"Yeah! Come on! Let's go! I have something to show you!" Kevin grabbed him by the coat and pulled him through the foyer.
"I need to talk to you," John said to Michelle.
"Sure, we can talk. Would you take a look at what Kevin's made for you first? If he doesn't show you soon, he's going to explode." She laid a hand on John's arm and let it linger there. "I'll wait for you downstairs in the living room. We can talk about anything you want."
Behind his glasses, John's eyes moved several times from Michelle's hand to her face and back again. It was a small gesture but it was more than enough to make him feel uneasy.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Mom. Come on, let's go!" Kevin fussed. "There's something you've gotta see! It's gonna be awesome!" With renewed vigor, he tugged frantically at John, leading him up the stairs, down the hall and through the door of his room.
Pens, pencils, markers, and crayons were scattered everywhere. Kevin ran to the desk against the far wall and shuffled through a chaotic stack of papers, pushing sheets aside, tossing others to the floor until he finally found the one he wanted. "Look! Look! I drew this just for you! I'm a good artist!"
John took the paper from the anxious boy. On one side, a small crayon stick figure stood next to an unnaturally tall one that was brandishing what looked like a sword. To their right was a mishmash of red-eyed amorphous creatures with gaping mouths full of sharp teeth.
"That's me, that's you, and those are the monsters," Kevin explained as he pointed to each drawing in turn.
"What are they doing?"
"They're running away because they're scared of you."
"Have you ever actually seen a zombie?"
Immediately, the boy's countenance changed from excited to dispirited. His smile vanished, his face clouded over and his eyes took on the haunting look of someone who had endured pain far beyond their years.
"My mom doesn't like that word," Kevin mumbled. "Sometimes I hear the grownups say it. I said it once, and my mom got mad...real mad." He drew a deep, tired sounding breath. "She told me they're why my dad's gone."
"I...," John started to say he was sorry but it didn't feel right. It seemed so trite and contrived. He'd heard those words so many times and said them so many times that they had almost all the meaning beaten out of them. Instead, he simply told him, "They're...why my wife and daughter are gone."
They sat quietly next to each other and watched the shadows in the room grow longer as the light of day waned. For a long time, neither spoke. A wide gulf of time and distance and circumstance separated the two, but there existed a solidarity between them and they understood that without having to say it. Both had suffered losses that should never have happened and each, in their own way, had done the only thing they could. They had learned to live with it.
"John?"
"Kevin?"
"Where did they come from...the monsters?"
The question caught John off-guard. He'd been so preoccupied with what was happening, he'd never really thought about how it was happening until now. "I don't know," he admitted. " I don't think anyone knows."
"Are there a lot of them?"
"Oh yes...there are a lot of them."
"How many?"
"I don't know."
"How many have you killed?"
"Somewhere along the way, I managed to lose count. It doesn't really matter. I've killed every single one I've ever seen."
"Wow," Kevin said with awe. "When I grow up, I want to be like you."
"If that's the case...these might help you along the way." From his pocket, John produced a pair of small sunglasses. "I think these should be just about your size," he said as he slid them onto Kevin's face.
"OH MY GOSH! These are so cool!" Kevin ran over to the dresser mirror to admire his new treasure. "Where did you get these?"
"Well...," John grinned, "I have ways."
Kevin hugged John as hard as he could. "Thank you! They're perfect! "They're the best present ever!"
"You're welcome." John patted his head and, inwardly he was grateful the boy seemed content with his answer. He didn't want to try to explain how he spent last night and most of today walking to Papillion to find the glasses and bring them back here.
"I'll keep my glasses on all the time, the same way you do."
"If it makes you happy. Anyway, it's time you got into bed."
"Do I have to? Can't I stay up a little bit longer?"
"Yes, you have to, and no, you can't. It's almost dark and you still need more rest."
"But I'm better now," Kevin continued to protest.
"You're not better, you're just feeling better. It'll be a while before you're completely well."
"Okay," Kevin said resignedly and crawled into his waiting bed. "Can we play cards again tomorrow, or maybe play outside?"
John's heart couldn't sink any lower. He'd grown accustomed to shame and guilt but this was the first time he could remember feeling cowardly. He knew this was for the best and he was tempted to tell Kevin he was leaving and why, to try to make him understand that no one would be safe until he was gone. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. "There'll be plenty of time to worry about tomorrow tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Sleep tight," John whispered as he pulled the covers over Kevin before gently folding the picture, putting it in his pocket, and slipping quietly out of the room.
"You'll see," Kevin called to him. "When I'm big, I'm gonna kill monsters just like you."
"When you're a grown man, I know you'll kill a lot of monsters." John closed the door behind him.
Just like me.