Heaven Knows Everyone Is Miserable Now
Chapter 10: A Fickle Prayer
The first rays of sunlight broke through a clear twilight sky while Jirocho got the old Subaru working. The engine sputtered and coughed against the old man's wishes, but Jirocho was persistent in defeating the machinery's wiles. Hijikata sat in the passenger seat and Pirako took the back, her presence so akin to Kagura's Hijikata was surprised not to hear her voice when she spoke.
"Everyone got their ugly-slicer?" Pirako asked cheerfully, brandishing her wakizashi.
Jirocho grunted a low affirmative, busy jerking the volatile car into motion. Hijikata nodded and tucked the sheathed machete Jirocho and Pirako had provided him for protection. Their arsenal of weaponry was remarkable yet considering Jirocho's past and how long father and daughter had been scavenging the area, Hijikata couldn't say he was surprised when they presented him with the big knife.
"Everyone got their emergency snack?" Pirako asked next, waving a wrapped chocolate bar she had made sure to squeeze into the tightest pocket of each of their jackets back at the house.
Jirocho grumbled in agreement, and Hijikata mimicked the old man sullenly, trying hard not to roll his eyes.
"Everyone got their extra roll of tape?" Pirako pulled out a roll of duct tape from her bag and pointed to the taped sleeves of her jacket, "Y'all know where the uglies like to bite first, right?"
Hijikata nodded out of politeness.
"And everyone got their emergency slicer?" Pirako shot one foot up in the air and pressed the sole of her boot into the ceiling of the car to show the dagger tucked into the small makeshift sheath tied around her ankle.
"Watch it." Jirocho groaned.
Pirako put her foot down and giggled.
Hijikata clutched the seatbelt tight against his chest.
"We're ready, let's go."
The car roared at Hijikata's impatient tone. Jirocho stepped gently on the pedal and the car lurched forward onto the road.
It was the first time Hijikata had left the confines of the house. He had first arrived unconscious and ignorant of his whereabouts, so he took the opportunity to study the area around Jirocho and Pirako's house as they drove away down a modest country road quartered by houses built many decades before the dead had started walking, wooden houses with stones above the rooftop tiles, verandas concealed from view behind overgrown bushes and hanging tree boughs. The doors and windows were locked, most boarded shut, denoting the traces of early panic and fear, same as Hijikata had seen everywhere else.
The road forked into two different directions as they exited the desolate neighborhood. One way led further into the village where more and more buildings clustered together and the occasional grumbling corpse could be seen moving across the street, the other connected to a wide double-lane road built for heavier traffic but which was now burdened with abandoned vehicles, the drivers either dead and roaming, or alive and miles away.
Jirocho steered the Subaru towards the wide road and dodged the obstacles with ease. Hijikata could see the tire marks on the road, the beaten trail he had traversed many times before, impervious to the dust and dirt blown by the unrelenting wind. Despite their confrontation the previous day, Hijikata trusted Jirocho's guidance. They were moving away from the village and taking a slower but safer route towards the primary school where Jirocho had detected an unusual amount of dead rotters. Not knowing the basis for the incident made Hijikata itch for a cigarette, but he was too proud to ask Jirocho for another. He had made a mental note to find a pack of cigarettes for himself no matter what they found, whether there were traces of Gintoki or the kids or not. It was the lowest form of mercy Hijikata could hope for himself, if hope was meant for him at all.
Fortunately, Pirako's rambling distracted Hijikata from his cravings. She shared stories of people she and her father had known back at the village, odd encounters with rotters that bore familiar faces, useful tools she had found at various spots they drove by: the lumber store, the community center, the flower market, the wholesaler of beauty products, the local contractor's warehouse. She only stopped talking when her father stepped on the brakes next to a small altar by the road.
Hijikata sat motionless on the passenger seat and watched as father and daughter exited the car to kneel by the small statue to pray. Pirako looked over her shoulder to send Hijikata a soft smile, an inviting one, but it was an invitation Hijikata could not accept. He clenched his fists, felt the cold handle of the machete around his fingers. He was inundated with images of another shrine, one whose memories he could not get rid of. It seemed he had spent a lifetime there, a different life. A life he, somehow, to his eternal shame, yearned to go back to. Regardless of the heartache, the feral child he had helped bury, the man he had been unable to leave behind, the price he had paid for his honor, the price he had consequently forced Gintoki to pay, he wished he could go back. There had been deity statues there too. Sculpted faces of divine animals hidden among the overgrown vegetation, skirting the path towards the gates of the shrine later overrun with mindless growlers.
Hijikata stared as Pirako knocked on the car window. She gestured towards the breast pocket of his jacket and clenched her fingers.
"Gimme." she mouthed from the other side of the glass.
Hijikata scrunched his brows and Pirako pointed one finger down towards the window, beckoning him to roll it down. When he did, her voice came low but chirpy.
"Give it to me, gimme, gimme," she said again, reaching for the pocket of his jacket, "The chocolate bar."
"Don't you have yours?" Hijikata grumbled, unwilling to part with his food.
"I already offered mine. Since you won't pray, I'll leave it as an offering from you." Pirako said.
Hijikata sneered.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Hijikata-san," Pirako shook her head, "Don't be a stubborn fella. The offerings work, I tell ya'. Don't you want a blessing? You're in mighty need of one, ain't ya'?"
Pirako's expression was genuine, without contempt. But Hijikata would have preferred contempt to pity.
"I'm alright. I'm ready to go."
"Oi, it's past the expiration date, dummy. This is what the emergency snacks are for." Pirako explained.
"You pack expired food for worship?" Hijikata wanted to laugh, "I wonder what kind of blessings you're getting in return."
"Lots of them!" Pirako replied stubbornly, "And we found ya', ya' big meanie!"
"Not sure whether that was a blessing or a curse." Hijikata muttered. His eyes locked with Jirocho's as the latter walked back to the car.
The older man's hard gaze warned Hijikata to be civil. Hijikata took out his chocolate bar and handed it to Pirako.
"Take it."
"Thanks!" Pirako beamed, "Just you wait! You'll see."
Pirako sauntered back to the shrine, placed Hijikata's chocolate bar next to hers and her father's and joined her palms together for a brief prayer. She returned with a satisfied smile on her face, conviction pouring out of every pore.
Hijikata didn't understand her. He didn't envy her, either. A warm feeling seeped into his chest. He knew what it meant all too well.
Kagura ceased bouncing her leg as the van pulled up next to a large farm complex the Yagyuu had chosen as a stronghold for their farming campaign. She recognized the surrounding fields, the open farmlands that she cursed for the distance they put between her and the last whereabouts of Gintoki and Hijikata. Her eyes scoured the horizon. She discerned the country house where Kitaoji and Nishino had chanced upon Shinpachi days before.
"Feels like weeks ago." Kagura said, voice sullen.
Shinpachi nodded beside her. He raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun and peer at the foot of the eastern hill. Ridges grew high behind it until they formed a single far-ranging mountain, a tall, dark green body full of memories and terror.
"The fields are still clear. The horde hasn't followed us here."
"I just hope Gin-chan hasn't done anything stupid." Kagura whispered.
"What do you mean?"
"Trying to take the horde all by himself… turn it away from us? I don't know…"
"But he isn't alone," Shinpachi reminded her, "Hijikata-san wouldn't let him do anything as stupid as that."
"I think Toshi might be just as stupid sometimes…"
"Let's not give up hope yet," a soft smile stretched across Shinpachi's features, "Sarutobi-san gave Gin-san clear instructions. So long as we don't give up, so long as-"
Bitterness crawled up Kagura's throat.
"Easy for you to say when you're about to let Sacchan ship us off to some damn settlement who knows how many miles from here."
"Wait a minute, Kagura-chan. I thought we were over this. We agreed-"
"No, you agreed! I-" Kagura choked on her words, her gaze turned again towards the looming mountain, "I thought we would have more time."
"And we will. If Gin-san and Hijikata-san don't show up before the Biwa caravan arrives tomorrow, what else are we supposed to do but go north and try to get reinforcements? The Yagyuu Estate is stretched thin as it is. They will keep us here clearing and working these fields on the vain hope two strangers will show up to take our two feeding mouths away, or worse, they will recruit two more subjects to work for them. We'll be stuck here."
Shinpachi painted a grim vision, but the mere idea of having Gintoki back linked Kagura's entire being to hope, hope to delight. The Yagyuu Estate was far from perfect. Kagura could not abide its rules, the iffy chain of command, the meal times, the rationing decisions beyond her control, the knowledge she was less than a guest there, yet she couldn't help but feel a tumble of excitement at the prospect of showing it all to Gintoki, to walk beside him along the Estate walls and the ancient polished wooden verandas, to hear him prattle on about all the uptight bastards running the place. A grin pressed against the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, I would love to watch Gin-chan step all over that snooty asshole's toes."
Shinpachi lifted a finger to his lips.
"Sssh! Not so loud."
"I'm sure I wouldn't be the only one having a laugh," Kagura said with a faint chuckle, crossing her arms, "Besides, you're the one babbling about them stuffing us with promises under the pretense of forced labor. And have you forgotten how Eyepatch-lord keeps Sa-chan locked behind the gates?"
"Oi, oi, Kagura, not now." Shinpachi's eyes darted to a tall figure approaching behind Kagura.
Kagura turned around to face Nishino's wide frame with a hand on her waist and another outstretched, palm facing up. Nishino's upper lip twitched. He exchanged a daunting look with the two youths before depositing Kagura's bat in her hand.
"Thanks, big guy."
Nishino walked past Kagura, ignoring her snide remark as if she were a fly on the wall. His bulky frame cast a long shadow under the morning sun. Shinpachi swallowed dryly as Nishino returned him his weapon. Both him and Kagura knew the drill by now.
"Time to get to work." Nishino told them, "Northwest area by the tractor garages. See if any fence needs mending. Valuables go in the bag." he said flinging a rucksack in Shinpachi's direction which Shinpachi awkwardly caught between his arms.
"Yes, sir." Shinpachi nodded. He pulled Kagura by the elbow, and the two marched off to the north side of the complex to check for rotters. The daily toil they had agreed to for the off-chance of spotting a head of silver curls across the fields.
Nishino's dark, brooding gaze followed them. He clenched his fist, mulling over the girl's insolent behavior and the joy it brought her to test his stoicism. Something about her was too carefree for her own good. Did she not know the position she was in? Didn't any of them? These strangers who thought themselves invincible?
Approaching footsteps called Nishino's attention. Kitaoji stopped beside him, glanced at the two dwindling silhouettes over the rim of his glasses.
"Trouble?"
Nishino scoffed.
"They sure are," he replied, "They have no respect for us or Master Kyuubei. I don't understand why Toujou agreed to this plan. Seems foolish to me."
"We can't exactly pick and choose, Tsukamu. We have to accept what fate puts in our path."
"You're soundin' a lot like Toujou lately." Nishino groaned.
"Toujou-san is not a complete idiot," Kitaoji replied, his blank expression overcast, "And neither is Master-Kyuubei."
"I don't think that woman will be easily tricked," Nishino said, referring to Sarutobi who had stayed behind at the Estate under Kyuubei's orders, "You can't make believers of some folks."
"Then lucky us who got made before all this."
"You mean paid."
"Same thing." Kitaoji replied with a restrained smile.
"Maybe she'll relent when she realizes how hard those fuckers from Biwa like to bargain." Nishino spit on the ground for effect. He could feel his blood start to boil.
"Master-Kyuubei understands what needs to be done. It won't take much to change minds that are on the brink of despair," Kitaoji's tone was cold, his choice of words scrupulous. Neither he nor Nishino could glimpse much of Kagura or Shinpachi's backs then. They had retreated beyond the fields in the direction of a cluster of buildings on the opposite side of the farm complex.
Kitaoji turned towards the mountain ridge, eyes squinting.
"However, something intrigues me." he said, bringing Nishino's somber face towards him, "The description they gave of their companions."
"What about it?"
"They said one of them had silver hair. One could almost say… white."
"Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" Nishino spat, patience running thin, pressured by the stares digging into his back. Behind them, a group of five people waited for them to finish their conversation and start delegating tasks.
"It reminded me of those rumors about the Crow."
Nishino drew a loud breath, heaved his shoulders and swatted a hand at Kitaoji's deluded conjectures.
"Not you losing your mind too, Itsuki. That's enough for me. People are waiting."
"The rumors are not baseless."
"Of a self-aware rotter? Do you hear yourself?!"
"He may be a man just like you and me."
"And he just happens to be a friend of these kids?"
"No, you numbskull. Their friend could be mistaken as the Crow. Hunted."
"So be it. If their friend is someone who can bring not only a horde but a freak to our door, then he might as well never show up."
It wasn't long before Jirocho stopped the car again. The first signs of unmoving dead bodies appeared about a mile from their destination, dispersed along the road.
Jirocho parked the old Subaru by the roadside next to the shabby gates of a deserted car dealership.
"It's better if we continue on foot." he said.
Hijikata and Pirako nodded in agreement, and the three left the car with weapons ready. Hijikata walked towards the nearest fallen corpse, its rotten blood gleaming in the faint light of morning. Its disfigured features and tattered clothes told the story of a man who had turned long ago, weeks, maybe even months earlier. Whatever the case, the end of his second birth had come shortly. A deep gash below his ear had pierced brain matter and put an end to his ceaseless wandering.
"There's another one over here."
A few meters ahead, Pirako crouched beside another wasted rotter. Their legs bashed in, skull crushed. An unseemly sight.
"Are the other ones like this too, Pops?" Pirako wondered.
Jirocho nodded after a quick glance at the body.
"It's better if you see for yourself." Jirocho said, looking directly at Hijikata.
Hijikata did not flinch. Two bodies were not enough to come to any conclusion, though he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The scenery was different, the town was different, the company was different, but not the scattered bodies, not the eerie silence.
He and Pirako followed behind Jirocho and a few meters down the road more bodies showed up. All of them unmoving, dead, gone. The stench became richer and fouler as they drew near the primary school, and so did the number of bodies. They clustered. At an intersection where a closed snack bar and a barbershop met, a group of about ten corpses covered the asphalt. Jirocho and Hijikata inspected them one by one, examining the method by which they had been dispatched. Pirako kept watch a few feet away, surveilling the road.
"Does it look familiar to you?" Jirocho asked Hijikata as the latter assessed the last body of the batch.
Hijikata was silent, unsure whether to raise alarm. The rotters had been executed in different ways. Their heads smashed, pierced, broken, trampled. Hijikata understood why Jirocho believed it to be the work of a group.
"Yes, I've seen something like this before." Hijikata said.
He remembered Katsura's town. The evidence of indiscriminate killing in the bodies of the dead and undead alike; the type of slaughter witnessed in those early days of hysteria and panic, a legacy the Sweepers had begun to build months in advance. Nevertheless, the scene in front of Hijikata now lacked one small clue to suggest the Sweepers' presence.
"So, is it them?" Jirocho pressed, "The group of bastards that were after you?"
"I'm not sure," Hijikata replied, "These rotters… there's not a bullet wasted on them."
Jirocho grunted.
"So what? They could be rationing. Ain't easy to get your hands on ammunition in this country."
Hijikata shook his head. He remembered the sound of shots bursting in the air. The commotion raised to attract a horde of undead.
"They always acted like they had enough to spare. I'd say it's their modus operandi," Hijikata muttered under his breath, "Hoarding."
"Early days," Jirocho replied in a wistful tone, "Horrible things went down then."
"I don't think they are over yet." Hijikata said, his voice half a whisper.
Something rattled nearby. The noise echoed softly.
"Hey, I think I heard something," Pirako said.
The flutter of wings followed a shrill squawk. A dark shape flew across the sky.
"Crow-san?" Pirako wondered, eyes looking up.
"Pirako come here." the voice of her father was sharp, vibrating, impregnating the atmosphere at the intersection with a charged energy.
Tension built in the bottom of Hijikata's gut. He looked around and, finding no moving shapes, tried to reclaim control.
"It's just a bird, don't-" Hijikata's sentence was cut short. He looked up at the roof of the snack bar and lined on the topmost ledge of the building, a murder of crows gawked at them and the theater of blood at their feet. Another loud caw had Hijikata looking behind him at the rooftop ledge of the barbershop. A dozen big black birds teetered over the roof tiles, their eyes glinting in the morning sun like shiny black orbs. A couple of them flew onto the obsolete power lines crisscrossing the sky above the intersection.
"A-are they here for the bodies?" Pirako asked, voice trembling.
"Carrion," Jirocho hissed, "Nothing more. There will be more up ahead."
He turned and followed the road that led to the school, careful not to step on the corpses, though the pools of dark blood were hard to miss.
Hijikata waited for Pirako to walk after her father, sent a last look at the guarded mess of dead bodies, and followed the bloody footprints of his companions. He heard the flapping of wings as he left, the crows descending from their safe perches to nibble at the festering meat. Hijikata chanced a glimpse over his shoulder out of morbid curiosity, unable to shake the memories of the rabid looks he had seen on the faces of familiar people ravaged by the rot. He wondered if the virus - whatever it was that consumed humans once they were bitten - acted the same on animals. Did the corrupted blood change the birds? Did it make them more feral? Would it turn them on each other? Or did it simply hone their scavenger nature? Maybe that was exactly what it did to humans too. It ground them to their basics, the predator instinct ruled by hunger.
Without thought, Hijikata fingered his breast pocket in search of cigarettes. The ghost of a former habit. He picked up his pace, teeth gritted. He had been too stunned by the earlier spectacle to check the corpses for cigarettes. Curse words flew from his mouth. He gripped the handle of the machete tucked on his belt, hankering for action.
The roof of the primary school rose above the neighboring houses. Gusts of wind shook the branches of a tall beech tree that marked the entrance of the school, bright and full of life. The rustling sounds filled the empty streets, drowned the cackle of the crows. Hijikata heard Jirocho unsheathe his sword. A rotter had meandered onto the road, steps concealed by the wind. Jirocho's arm moved fast. He slashed the rotter's back, staggering him, then planted the tip of his blade in the middle of the rotter's skull. The squirming corpse stilled, was gone. Not a movement or sound wasted. But the wind blew stronger. Hijikata protected his eyes from the dust thrown his way. On the other side of the school's gates, dry leaves swirled under the tall tree. Pirako screamed beside him.
"Pops, watch out!"
Two rotters tackled Jirocho as he braced against a blast of wind. He threw them back with scabbard and sword, putting distance between them. Hijikata held Pirako's wrist, pulling her back.
"Watch the road."
Hijikata advanced on the two rotters circling Jirocho and his approach called their attention. His eyes met Jirocho's. They exchanged quick nods, each informing the other which rotter to take. Jirocho swung his scabbard against the creeper farthest from Hijikata, buying time, then kicked the one between them in Hijikata's direction. Hijikata dodged the stumbling rotter before bearing his machete down the rotter's head. Chunks of jaw spilled as the blade tore through putrid flesh. Hijikata was not as clean and efficient as Jirocho. Sickness and idleness had wrought a number on his muscles. He was too slow. The creeper twisted on the ground, fingernails scraping the pavement. Hijikata drove the machete two more times against the creeper's skull before finally reaching the brain.
"Damn it." he uttered, slightly out of breath.
"Pops!"
Pirako ran past Hijikata towards her father. Her scream was primal, shrilling. A fair weight dropped on the ground near Hijikata. He turned towards the sound, expecting to see the spent corpse of the rotter targeting Jirocho. But it was the old man's silver head he saw. Eyes shut with pain. Mouth open, breathing haggard.
Hijikata looked around in search of the rotter, heart at his throat. He saw him walking away toward the school, feet shuffling without hurry, keeping an undecided pace. The walk of those who wander not knowing where they are going.
Strange.
Rotters always knew where they were going. To feed. Always in search of life, to suck it out. To consume it. This rotter contradicted their purpose. He walked away, perhaps distracted by something else. The hinges of the school gates screeched as the wind pushed against them. Was he following that sound? Or was it something else? Something which had made Jirocho wary. Hijikata tore his eyes from the stumbling figure towards the ground beside him. Pirako held back her tears as she pored over her father. Blood gushed from a wound in his abdomen, sullying his clothes. A dark stain spread over his haramaki. Pirako pressed her hands against it, calling Jirocho over and over; desperate to keep him from entering a state of shock.
"Pops, Pops, listen to me. It's gonna be alright, ya hear me? Pops, please don't make that face. I'm here, I'm here!"
Jirocho's eyes opened. He looked at Pirako with compassion and weariness. He moved her hands away, pressed his own against his wound.
"I'm fine," he grumbled, struggling to regain his speech after the blow, "It's just a graze."
"What graze? You're bleeding! Let me see, let me see the bite!" tears fell from Pirako's eyes.
Jirocho pushed himself up, tried to lean on his elbow.
"What are you doing, Pops? Stop acting foolish, lay down!"
"Shut up, stupid girl!" Jirocho barked, deep wrinkles formed between his eyes. He darted his eyes towards Hijikata, ignoring the crying girl in front of him.
"What are you standing there for!?" Jirocho exclaimed, "That was no rotter I ever saw!"
Hijikata dry swallowed. So he hadn't imagined it, had he?
"Pops, don't speak. You're making it worse!" Pirako cried out, fighting against her father, who refused to lay down.
"I was not bit!" Jirocho snapped, "I was stabbed! That was no undead corpse after my flesh. He was warm, I tell you! Go after him!"
Hijikata didn't need to be told twice. He flicked the bloody chunks off his machete and turned around, the sole of his boots ground against gravel. He heard Pirako scream after him, telling him to stay, but if the shadow Jirocho had fought was indeed a man, there was no way to keep safe. The shadow travelled among the dead like one of them. He wore their skin like his own. He could bring a horde of rotters after them, ambush their house, disguise himself under a thousand different faces. Hijikata realized then how brilliant the plan was. To join the dead.
Past the school gates, the school pavement was smeared dark red and brown, contrasting the bright blue sky. The sun had escaped the folds of the surrounding mountains and risen high above the town. The wind had died down. Conditions made perfect for stalking creepers but not so much a fellow man. Hijikata stopped under the shadow of the birch tree, dry leaves dancing softly at his feet. If he wanted to keep out of sight of his mark, he was out of luck. The sun illuminated every direction. And the man left no trail. He walked like the rotters, treaded a path impossible to distinguish from a thousand others.
Getting inside the school building was certain death. Hijikata would not venture it alone, not before inspecting the building's surroundings. He got past the school front, registering the small bloody footprints that lead to the back of the school. Tragedy had touched this place like it had all others. Yet, Hijikata was not prepared for the full extent of it. He stopped behind the last corner to the school patio and took a peek. What he saw was a feast. A squawk occasionally broke through the uninterrupted pecking noises of half a hundred crows. Maybe more. Hijikata didn't bother to count. The carrion birds mingled with the bodies of dozens of undead children, a few adult ones, their preceptors maybe, or random creepers that had stumbled upon the school, Hijikata doubted there was anyone alive who could say for sure. He pulled his eyes from the birds to look for leads of the man he was after. He saw nothing. His eyes returned to the bodies. He saw without seeing until logic began cramming its way into his brain. How could the crows feast so freely upon rotters - for the children were rotters, they had been dead, infected. Hijikata could tell by the pale hands, the worn skin that melted in places and stretched thin in others. Despite their size, those tiny bodies had been an unfortunate part of the rotten mob that walked the planet. They too moved only through hunger, capable of feeding on the crows that now pecked their eyes. They sought noise, movement, smell.
There was only one explanation for their demise. They had been executed, all of them, like the ones at the intersection. And Hijikata understood now how, though the why still eluded him. It was the shadow. The man that had joined the dead. Hijikata tried to remember his face but could summon only a blur. Everything about him was drab, the color of dirt and caked blood. He stank like one of them. A wave of that horrible stench reached Hijikata then. He fought a gag reflex, stepped back to lean against the solid, safe wall of the school building.
A pair of dark eyes met his. He saw brilliant white around the irises. Layers upon layers of dry blood coated the man's skin. So thick were the smears that the blood had baked in places, in the creases between his brows, the corners of his mouth, beside his nostrils, in spots near his hairline before the matted hair disappeared under a faded hood. Pieces of dry blood and dust broke and fell from the man's face as he moved his lips and his expression changed.
Hijikata drove his machete up. All he heard was an unintelligible gargle. The man dodged the swing of his blade with feet matching the response of a human. A living breathing one. Jirocho had been right.
Fear emptied out of Hijikata and anger rolled in. He chased the man with furious strokes of his machete, unconsciously moving towards the center of the school patio. Hundreds of flapping wings thundered about Hijikata as he brought the fight to carrion feast. The crows took to the sky displeased, raining droplets of blood on the two figures fighting below.
The man took his chance to get closer as Hijikata covered his face from the running flock. It was then Hijikata spotted the bundle the man carried in one hand while the other held a knife. Hijikata's attention focused on the bundle, paralyzed. The bottom was black. Blood had pooled there. The shape of the bundle was uneven, roundish. Hijikata knew what hid in the folds. He saw the locks of hair intertwined with the large knot on the top. The hair was light, silvery. Hijikata's entire body went cold, rejecting his own silly conjecture. He wished he had never known coincidence. The handle of the machete slipped from his sweaty fingers. The rustling wind licked his neck and he shivered. He had broken into a cold sweat everywhere.
The gargling speech sounded again, but Hijikata could not tear his eyes away from that bundle. He heard the man speak, but his mind was blank. Hijikata jerked to action when the bundle fell to the ground and the knot loosened, releasing the head into open air. The curly mane of light hair, almost white, lacked its luster. Hijikata's heart clenched. He held his breath.
"No…" the word barely made it out of Hijikata's mouth. He took a step towards the rolling head and then remembered his foe. The grating sound again. Hijikata heard him spell words with difficulty, except for one.
"Do you see it too… Hijikata?"
Hijikata thought he had heard wrong. His name was a whisper on the wind.
"Do you see him?"
Hijikata looked at the man incomprehensibly, then back at the severed head on the ground. White eyes stared at nothing, devoid of iris or color. Below the nose, parted black lips yielded a glimpse into an endless hole, a mouth without tongue.
The dreamy whisper came again. Infused with gentleness. Bringing warmth back into Hijikata's body.
"Hijikata, answer me."
Hijikata's heart stopped. He stared at that empty mouth, hoping to see it move, to hear it say his name. But it didn't. It was quiet. Still. Dead. A deep gash under its chin told Hijikata it was too late for goodbyes. The culprit had seen that their knife had reached the brain. Shut it off.
Then Hijikata heard it again. His name.
"Hijikata."
The voice had come from the man in front of him. Hijikata exhaled, for the first time in centuries, it seemed. No, he was not going insane.
He wanted to answer back, but the name would not breach his lips. He inhaled slowly, while the face of the stranger in front of him acquired features Hijikata knew too well. He had seen them masked like this once before, bathed, as they both had been, in the blood of another wretch.
Hijikata might have smiled. He almost did, if not for Pirako's swift deliverance.