Recapitulation: Barry has played on the fears of an old man to help him fill up a grave. Jenna is meanwhile incapacitated with a concussion.
They scooped the hole closed just as the sun resembled an inverted fish bowl, bottom seventh still obscured by the gentle horizon. Barry moved the grass divots by hand into place, fitting them with the care and precision of a Mayan wallbuilder. He could not have slipped a knife between the divots. Not that he ever carried a knife.
Barry and the old man sank to the floor. Jenna wandered over. She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation. “Now that you guys are done, I have to ask, what happened, and why is he clutching his chest?”
Barry looked up from his cross-legged rest. He’d noticed somehow the old man’s grunting had taken on a more anxious tone, yet chalked it up to the hopes he wouldn’t die. Now, his left arm stuck out straight, his fingernails drawing blood from his palm. His right arm clawed at the source of the pain, as if ready to rip through the outer layers of clothing and skin to get to the rib cage, and then the heart, ready to rip it out and perhaps even eat it.
As it stood, Jenna couldn’t remember more than ten seconds into the immediate past. The old man’s body rebelled against his will to live. He had on him a modern treasure map in the form of a hidden will and the old man’s wallet, which he might have stolen. The old man still feared that Barry would kill him. He was covered in filth, as was Jenna, whose head ceased its constant outpouring of blood. The sunrise exposed them for all their illegal glory, casting a bold honey glow across their tired faces. Soon the workers would return and discover them. He needed a nap or fifteen, as the past twenty-four hours presented little more than hard labor and harder stress on him. And, he still couldn’t drive a stick shift, their sole means of transportation and getaway.
The Volvo could fit two of them, and the shovels, or all three of them, and they’d have to leave the shovels behind. Or, Barry could attempt to drive away by himself and crash. Then it became a matter of what to take, among the shovels, Jenna, and the old man.
He groaned. She held her hand to her head, as if she could push out the swirling sensation. “What happened? Why are you just sitting there? Answer me.” Her insistence speared through him like bolt lightning. They really were running out of time.
The shovels treated him well, like old dogs unable to hunt, but still able to rush to him when he came home. He’d purchased them after his first day of work at
The old man, he didn’t deserve this gripping fate. This morning, probably just like every other morning, he’d trundle down to the graveyard, visit his wife, or his child, or a friend, maybe even his own grave. He just experienced the bad fortune to meet Barry and Jenna, and be placed in mortal fear for his own life. Without Barry, the old man would never have suffered this heart attack, or suffered him. He had to help.
Jenna, his would-be wife, his true annoyance, and he’d pulled her into a grave and given her a concussion. Then again, she’d made him accessory to grave robbery. Hell, he was an accomplice. If there was another person, and now there was, he might even be a conspirator. Oh god, she’d made him a conspirator for grave robbery. How bad would that sentencing be, would he even make it out of prison alive? Better to leave her here, she’d recover eventually. Might not even remember the promises he made to let her live in his apartment, promises now erased by the constant static rushing her head.
How hard would it be to drive away? Then it hit him. He needed her to tell him how to drive, unless.
“Can you drive a manual transmission?”
“I’m dying, get me help, please.”
Barry could carry two out of the three at any one time, and it was probably for the best that he didn’t leave the shovels where they would be linked back to him. Why did Jenna have to packrat her car and keep it chock full of useless crap? Damn.
He looked at Jenna. “I’m going to take a real quick nap. Wake me up in five minutes.”
“Arrgh,” stated the old man.
“Shut up or I’m leaving you here.” He passed out on the cool grass, oblivious to the truth that Jenna would forget to wake him in thirty seconds.
No comments:
Post a Comment