Notes from the Author

"Shopping for Single Grave Plots" is again written in a three-tiered metaphoric structure, and is a continuation of the adventures started in, "My Soul Mate Was Aborted!" and "So What if I'm Hungover?"

The third and final installment of the series, "Shopping for Single Grave Plots" is an epic adventure into the mind and heart of the author.

As with all good stories, it is best to start at the beginning. The entries are organized in chronological order by month to your right. Simply click on the month, then click on the entries in order from top to bottom to keep chronology. You can also click the button on the bottom left side of the page marked 'newer post' for the next available entry once you've started.

 

It is hoped that you will enjoy!

Epilogue

 

 "MIA!  Yers iz nots supposed to be bringin dis babies in dis cafe!"  Consuela screams above the lunchtime crowd. 

 

I ignore her.  I'm trying desperately to figure out how to change a diaper and the last thing I have time for is Consuela's self-centeredness.

 

"MIA!  Yerz iz supposed to be helpings and yers iz not dis babies mader!" She yells through tears as she waves a spatula in the air while trying to take aim at my head.

 

"Consuela, shut the fuck up!" I yell back at her and return to trying to figure out which end of the diaper is up.  "Why do they make this thing so symmetrical?" I say quietly to myself. 

 

A moment later the spatula hits my head.  Before I have time to react, Consuela waddles out from behind the counter.

 

A couple of patrons grumble.  They're not used to not being served.

 

"Yers is supposeds to be ders," she points to behind the counter. "Not heres!" She wails and tries to slap me across the face.  I hold the baby in place with one hand while swinging at Consuela with the other. 

 

"Who bought you this cafe?  ME!  So get your fat ass behind the counter and make some lunches.  You work for me -- not the other way around!"  I yell back at her.  Our eyes become locked in a heated debate.  I refuse to back down.  We stare until my eyes are two Styrofoam balls.  I am not losing to Consuela.  Not today.  Not now.

 

The lunchtime crowd becomes more impatient and so I lean forward and flare both nostrils to let her know I mean business.

 

She backs away but continues to grumble loudly so everyone can hear.  "Yers iz onlies sinkin of yerself alls de times!" Consuela whines as she slops some ground beef angrily onto a tortilla before handing the order over to the first person in line.

 

"All yers evers sinks about is MIA, but yers never wants to help da Conseula!  Nevers!" She wails as she fries up some more fish tacos and hands someone their drink order.  Eventually her wails become like annoying elevator music and I return my concentration to the diaper fiasco. 

 

"This will have to do," I say as I take a chance that the correct way is the tape on the back of the diaper.  The baby simply laughs.  She thinks its funny. 

 

I motion to Jim to trade places with me and a minute later I am back behind the counter beside a disgruntled Consuela who whips money from people's hands and slams the cash register with every transaction.

 

"Enough!" I snarl to her in a decibel only she can hear. 

 

In the background I can see Jim rocking the baby to sleep and so, knowing she is fine for the moment, I decide to put Consuela in her place once and for all.

 

'"AAAAAAYYYAAAAH!" She screams as I grab her by her banana clip and slam her to the floor.  I place her in a headlock while smiling politely to the customers closest to the counter who have a good view.  When everyone seems reassured by my smile, I talk between my teeth so that Consuela knows I mean business. 

 

"I will let go in a minute," I start but Consuela manages to elbow me, and a moment later I am winded and on the floor.

 

"Yers iz nots evers doings zat to mees agains!" She squeals as she grabs a handful of salsa and whips it at my face.

 

I ask the few remaining patrons to excuse us for a moment or two, to which they politely oblige, and grabbing the nearest ladle I whack Consuela over the head with it.

 

She falls.

 

Passed out, her eyes rolled back; I place my foot on her neck and hold her in place until she comes to.  Eventually she stirs.

 

"This is how this is going to go." I begin to which she rolls her eyes as she tries to wrestle herself free from under my foot.

 

I apply more pressure.

 

She acquiesces.

 

"You are going to be nice.  You are going to serve these kind people, and you are not going to give me a hard time.  It is not all about Consuela anymore.  Got it?" I say and apply a bit more pressure so she knows I am not joking around.

 

A minute passes as the patrons and I wait to see if the beast will settle.  Inevitably she does by saying, "I gots it" before I allow her to stand.

 

I apologize to everyone in line and offer them a free meal and drink for waiting -- which they all accept.  A harsh silence lowers the temperature of the air, but eventually Consuela and I slip into a subtle rhythm and room begins to warm.

 

When the last of the customers exit and the store is once again quiet I walk over to Jim, grab the baby, and place her in Consuela's arms.  At first Consuela pretends like she doesn't care, but a moment later I notice her shoulders soften and the baby coos.

 

"See, she likes you.  Try and be nice to her, ok?" I say as I readjust Consuela's banana clip and smooth down her hair.  In the mirror I can see Consuela warming up to baby Hope and for a brief moment I savour the possibility that everything might work out fine -- despite the fact that I'm covered with salsa and bruises.

 

The moment is short lived when I realize that the diaper is not on correctly. Consuela quickly hands her back to me.

 

"Sorry," I say trying to hold back my laughter as diarrhea runs down Consuela's pleather pants.

 

"I iz no likes dis baby anymores," she tells me as she runs out of the cafe in tears.  I try not to take it to heart that Consuela isn't adjusting as well as I'd hoped.  I know it will take time, but since none of us have anything but time and an open road ahead of us I figure that we might as well keep trudging forward.

 

And so, asking Jim to man the cafe while I go and find Consuela to see if she's ok, I know that as long as I keep pressing forward with an open heart that everything will be fine.

 

"Right?" I say to Hope who confirms with a drool filled smile.

 

"Exactly," I tell her as I make my way down the hall towards a disgruntled Consuela who will definitely not be singing any Ricky Martin today.

 

 

 



The road less traveled

 

I take a look around the town one last time.  The hospital now looks like the buildings I left behind in the city -- burnt and defeated.  Everything is in disarray. 

 

"Do you think we should set fire to the rest of it?" I ask Jim who brings the last of the leftover rations out to the car. 

 

He shrugs.  "What's the point?"

 

I suppose he's right.  Nature will eventually do what she always does and heal the wounds with moss and other green delicacies.  In a few years from now new patrons won't be any wiser to the torture and tragedy that occurred.  They may actually appreciate what's left of the infrastructure.

 

We both slide into the car at the same time.  Since I slept well last night, I've offered to take the wheel for the first leg of the journey so Jim can rest.  In the back, Hope sleeps silently in her makeshift car seat made mostly of a basket and some soft blankets. 

 

Every now and then she coos.

 

We drive through town, past the bridge, and down the road where I first entered a lifetime ago.  When I get to the gate where I first met Jim, I stop.  His jar of pennies still sits on the ledge near his outpost.  Ignoring his whines, I hop out of the car to retrieve it.  Jim tells me to leave them.  He doesn't want to bring any reminders of this place with him.

 

I stick my hand in the can anyways and grab a coin to place on the dashboard for good luck.  When I look down I realize it's a penny. 

 

"What are the odds that this is mine from when I first came?" I ask.  Jim doesn't really care.  I think he's too tired.  He ignores me, turns over, and tries to fall back asleep.

 

I place the penny on the dashboard - head's up for good luck, and continue to drive away from town.  The road out of town heads south and we'll need to follow it for bit before we can make our way west.  I slow down as we pass Annie's grave.  I give her a big smile to let her know that everything's going to be fine, and she waves back with a bigger smile from behind her tombstone as if to say 'I'm ok too'. 

"I love you, Annie." I say quietly so as not to wake Jim or the baby.

 

The sun shines brightly in the sky above us telling me 'it's going to be ok' and a short while later I make the right hand turn that steers us towards a new chapter of unknowns.  One of possibilities rather than despair. 

As we drive along I notice the green in the leaves of the trees becoming more vibrant, and I use that as an indication that we are heading the right way. 

 

When Jim wakes from his nap, we decide to pull over so I can feed Hope.  For now, she's getting a milky syrup that Donna recommended.  Eventually we'll pass a store or gas station that will have formula.

 

Saying goodbye to Donna was awkward.  She had a hard time making eye contact, but nonetheless she gave me a quick hug before she left.  It was hard to watch her walk away with the others.  One by one, their backs slipping into the thickness of the woods never to be seen or heard from again.  My heart did ache slightly for her, but having chosen a different trajectory mutual existence was impossible.

 

We just didn't see the world the same way anymore.

 

Hope shakes me from the melancholy of the past to tell me she's done feeding.  There is probably no one more unqualified than me to take care of this little girl, but since I'm all she has I'll have to do.  Jim tells me that I'm doing fine -- and he's probably right.  And, as I place the baby back in her makeshift car seat I hear for the first time a quantifiable indication that we are on the right path.

 

"Did you hear that?" I say the moment it happens.  My heart skips a beat.  Jim and I both look up to scan the sky and a second or two later a small bird scuttles through the air.

 

"Oh my god!" I say in an octave that isn't becoming. 

 

"You were right." Jim says as he watches the bird disappear into the trees.

 

Life exists where it hadn't before.  Part of me wants to go back and tell the others -- but the need to trudge forward is more intoxicating and I make a promise to myself that I will return one day and let them know that there is something better out there for them.

 

But not today.

 

Today we will race towards whatever bountiful pleasures still remain in the world because they are ours for the taking. 

 

And as the sun lures us further and further along the road of possibilities, I take comfort in knowing that as long as I continue to nurture the hope in my heart -- the world of my dreams will unfold.

 

"Everything's going to be fine," I say to Hope who sits wide eyed in the backseat as life bleeds into our surroundings.  Trees become more colourful.  The sun seems more vibrant.

 

The last of any doubt is quickly erased a moment later when the radio begins to play.

 

"They're waiting for us!" I say to Jim through a river of tears.  He reaches over and turns up the volume.

As we draw nearer to the very real probability that civilization is just beyond the horizon, I say a small prayer for those who were unable to join us on this leg of the journey.  And then I tell them thank you -- for somehow, in my heart of hearts, I know they are guiding me along.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Hush Little Baby pt.2

 

"Here," says Donna as she shoves the baby in my arms.  I try not to drop it.

 

I'm completely confused.

 

Donna takes a seat beside me.  "We stopped Belinda before she could hurt it," she tells me as tears start to form in the bottom of both of my eyes.

 

"I don't understand how she can be so hateful," I tell her.  Donna nods.

 

"It's different now.  None of us want to stay here anymore -- not after what happened.  We're going to try and find another town north of here."

 

I tell Donna that Maria told me that they didn't know of any other mutants and that they came from the East.  Somehow my offering that information has given me safe passage with the rest of the group.

 

"Thank you," Donna says as she stands and walks towards the door.  "We'll be leaving in the morning.  We've burnt the hospital out of respect to those who were slaughtered.  We'll be taking as many rations as we can carry.  The next town shouldn't be more than three or four days' journey." She says.  It sounds like a re-iteration to the rest of the group.

 

"You're welcome to stay.  No one will bother you.  I've spoken with Belinda." Donna tells me as she exits.

 

I sit there on the floor of the tavern while one by one the others file out.  Jim lurks a bit longer than the rest and so I reach out my hand to thank him for all that he's done. 

 

"I'm going to stay with you," he says.

 

"That would be amazing!" I burst through a fresh wave of tears.  For the first time I'm terrified to be alone and having Jim with me on this next leg of the journey is such a relief.

 

For a brief second I forget that I have a baby in my arms, but then she cries.  I take this moment to look at her face -- perfect and unburnt.  The first baby born since the disaster.

 

"We're going to go west," I tell her as I readjust her bindings and stop her from crying.  Jim agrees that we should.  Tomorrow after the others leave, we will pack the car with all the supplies we can carry and head there.

 

For the first time in a long time I have hope in my heart -- the kind that exists on its own.  That separate entity that fills your heart with new purpose -- not the kind you have to convince yourself of.  A real hope for something better. 

 

"That's what we'll call her," I tell Jim who gives me his first smile in quite a long time.  And as Hope cries an abundance of relief, I rock her into a deep peaceful slumber.  Eventually I too fall asleep on the floor of the tavern with Jim in the background collecting food and other rations.

 

I sleep for the first time with the real knowledge that hope is with me, that there is better out there; and even though the world as you know it may have crumbled around you -- somehow, somewhere, a new beginning exists as long as you're willing to believe in it.

 

 

 

 



Hush Little Baby

 

"You don't have to respond just yet, but think about it." Says Donna with a smile as she sits on the edge of my hospital bed.  I try to ignore the itch from the IV inserted in my hand to ward off infection from the wound on my leg.

 

Morphine is fun.

 

We sit there as the sun wafts into the hospital room.  A moment later Jim enters with flowers.  He doesn't think to put them in a vase but simply lays them at the end of the bed next to my good leg.

 

"Thank you, their beautiful." I tell him with a smile.  He blushes.

 

Donna stands and uses an empty jug used for ice water to put the flowers in, and places them near the window.  They perk up the room but they can't perk up the sadness in my heart.

 

"It's as if that was her destiny.  She was so badly burnt from before.  It's like she was meant to go in a fire or something," I say very haphazardly as I try to distance myself from the grief that is trying to set in.

 

We watch mundane television to pass time and I sail along in the painlessness provided by the morphine. 

 

Eventually the ladies from social services enter.  One of them politely knocks on the open door.

 

"How's she doing?" She asks Donna who gives an affirmative smile.

 

"We're good," I say sounding a little slurred.

 

"I know we can talk about this in more detail once you're better, but we all feel that you would make the perfect foster mother for the child." Says the taller of the two.

 

I don't argue. Partly because I have no energy, but mostly because I don't want to disappoint.  It's a miracle that the little baby survived and my heart does go out to it, but I'm just not sure if I want the responsibility.

 

"It's all just a bit much to take in," I tell them and close my eyes.  I lay my head back against the pillow and welcome the fatigue that is setting in.

 

"It's just too much..." I say slowly as I drift into slumber.  I'm barely awake when I notice Donna turning down the volume on the TV before leaving the room.  I have no idea as I drift in and out of thoughts if Jim is still there.  This day has been extraordinarily eventful and right now -- right here, in this moment; all I want to do is close my eyes and not think about anything for as long as the nap will allow.  And so I welcome the warmth of a deep sleep as --

 

 

 

 

 

 



Now what?

 

When I come to, Belinda is hovering over me.  Her nostrils flare with anger as she snarls, "If it were up to me you'd be dead already." 

 

I look to my left and right before realizing that I'm in the tavern. Someone has tended to the wound on my leg. 

 

It's Jim.

 

He doesn't smile when we make eye contact, and so I know there has been a shift in our relationship, but none-the-less I thank him for helping with my wound.

 

He simply nods.

 

I let the silence creep in to create a buffer between me and the discomfort before I think to ask, "Where's the baby?"

 

No one answers.

 

The smell of the hospital engulfed in flames enters into my awareness and I look pleadingly around the room for answers.  Eventually someone speaks.

 

"Donna has the baby," they say.

 

I try not to make more conversation than necessary.  I tell myself they've torched the hospital to remove any reminder of the slaughter that occurred and try my best to push away the thought that I was left for dead.

 

"I want to see the baby!" I yell a moment later when my anxiety has escalated to a point where I can no longer control my speech.

 

They all look at each other and make some sort of consensus that isn't obvious to me.  A  minute later Belinda storms out of the tavern in a huff and I'm left with Jim sitting next to me in silence.

 

"Please don't hate me," I say to him once I'm certain that no one is paying attention.

 

He doesn't respond right away, but simply looks at me through a musky layer of fatigue and tells me with his eyes that he doesn't.  A moment later his eyes confide that he feels betrayed.

 

"She needed my help.  She didn't kill me when she had the chance," I plead but he goes silent into the recesses of his mind again.  He's on a different continuum.

 

I reach out my hand to tell him that I'm sorry, but he pulls his away and so I sit there in silence until the next sequence of events unfold.

 

As I wait I think about Maria, the baby, the town, and how I no longer fit.  I wonder if they will throw me into the inferno, and then I wonder why they haven't? My mind twists and contorts a litany of thoughts that wander aimlessly throughout my consciousness unable to offer any comfort.

 

When the door to the tavern opens again, Donna enters holding Maria's baby.  She's disgruntled and I can tell that she's struggling to come to a decision.  I smile at her awkwardly.  At least she has the decency to offer me an honest look of disgust.

 

As Donna makes her way towards me I take a deep breath and hope that this will somehow turn out in my favour.  Before I have a chance to accurately assess the situation the baby cries.  A long and healthy cry.  And I take relief in knowing that its life was spared -- for now.

But if the look in Donna's eyes is any indication of what is about to unfold, neither that baby nor myself will be safe for much longer.  And so, I take a deep breath and try to navigate my anxious thoughts into some sort of a solution before it is too late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



A helping hand

 

When I come to I begin to cough.  Thick black smoke billows all around me.  There's a sharp shearing pain on the left side of my head that only permits me to open my right eye.  Blood seeps past my right shoulder down the floor of the room and into the open hallway where the smoke is coming from.  A moment later I realize that the blood is not mine. Although I'm unable to turn to my left to confirm whose blood it is -- in my heart I know.  I try to assess the situation: my hands are bound -- as are my legs.

 

I scream. 

 

I scream until the walls in my throat rip open -- and then I scream some more.  Somehow my anger fuels me into a sitting position.

 

I see a bound Consuela on the other side of the room. 

 

To my left is Maria.  Her blood saunters along the floor past me with a quiet purpose -- as if the last of her life is pointing the way out.

 

It takes me a moment to realize that the blood is coming from a gaping wound in her belly.  Her baby is gone.  They've taken it.

 

"Maria, I'm so sorry." I whisper to her as I try to get to my feet.  On the other side of the room I see Consuela rubbing her bindings against the sharp metal corner of a cabinet door.  A moment later she frees her hands -- then her legs, before shimmying over to free me.

 

"How could they do this to her?" I say to Consuela as she grabs her scalpel and frees my hands.

 

I sit there for a second allowing the tears to flow for Maria, but eventually the smoke takes over and we have no choice but to leave.  I crawl on my hands and knees under the smoke along the hallway -- but somehow my left leg catches fire.

 

"AHHHHH!" I yell from the agony as Consuela tries to douse the flames with her body.  She drags me into the stairwell and rips off my pants; then hoists me over her shoulder and runs as fast as she can down the stairs.  My mind is a blur.  The entire building is on fire and the strange smell of smoke and flesh takes control of everything as I sway in and out of consciousness -- hoping against hope that they haven't taken my car; but knowing that our first obstacle is to get out of the hospital.

 

We make it to an exit on the first floor and Consuela uses her feet to kick it open -- but it won't budge.  They've barricaded us in.  There's only one other exit in sight, with no guarantee that they haven't barricaded it as well. 

 

"We need to get to a window," I say to Consuela who nods in agreement.  We both cough our way to the first room we see and crawl as fast as we can to the glass.  The flames are now in the hall.  Time is of the essence.

 

Consuela breaks the glass easily with her elbow and a moment later I'm through -- but not before having my burnt leg sliced open from the jagged frame.

 

I fall to the ground in sheer agony.  Every emotion I have races through my mind as I try to stay conscious, but the pain is too severe and a moment later --

 

 



The Jaws of Life

 

 

The sirens are blaring.  Somehow I'm able to open one of my eyes through the searing pain.  The steering wheel is up by my chin and the hood of the car has accordioned inwards.   There is broken glass all around.

 

I try to move my neck to see if Maria is ok, but I can't.  The pain is too sharp.  I overhear the firemen yelling instruction to one another as the smoke billows all around us.  A fire ignites in what's left from the front of the car. The skin on my left leg burns.

 

"Maria," I say barely above a whisper as my throat clenches shut.

 

I try to assess the damage, but can't.  I only have the one eye to view with and so, like a broken submarine, I scan my obscure and unrecognizable surroundings. 

 

I know this is bad.

 

"NOW!" I hear one of the firemen yell as a small burst of flames happens just beyond my feet.  The loud crunch from metal ripping is quickly followed by me being yanked out of the car by strong arms and hands.

 

"Maria," I whisper one more time before a larger explosion behind me occurs.

 

I am quickly smothered with a large blanket.  The pain from the flames engulfing my legs is so extreme that I quickly fade out of this reality and into --

 

 

 

 



The pungency of death

 

When I get to the hospital, Maria is no longer by the dumpster and there is no sign of the others.  I stand still for a brief second hoping that the wind will offer me some hint as to what exactly is happening - but it doesn't.  I imagine that the others have taken Maria into the hospital and so I park the car and grab my double barrel which is miraculously laying in the backseat.

 

When I first open the side door I am instantly bombarded with the stench of death -- rotting body parts lay haphazardly over the floor of a room that must have been used as a holding cell.  I try to ignore it as I press on.

 

I say a quiet prayer of condolence to the fallen and continue tiptoeing forward down the main hall. 

 

It's eerily quiet.  The only sound I'm certain of is the rapid beating of my heart.  I try my best to breathe through my mouth to avoid the stench, but somehow its pungency manages to waft through the top of my mouth and into my nasal cavities.  The combination of the taste and smell of human slaughter causes my stomach to turn and my eyes to water.  It is unbearable beyond any comprehension.  I take my t-shirt and pull it over my nose and mouth to offer some reprieve from the odour.

 

A moment later I see her.

 

"What are you doing here?" I ask Consuela who sticks her head out from one of the doorways.  She doesn't respond but points to the floor above us to let me know that is where Maria and the others are.

 

I nod and tell her to wait there -- but she doesn't listen.  In her hand she holds a scalpel; and as I walk, she cowers two steps behind me.  I decide that I might need her help as I have no idea what I will be facing when I get upstairs.

 

My mind drifts for a moment or two but as I reach the stairs my focus returns.  I step stealthily towards the second floor, and wait in shadows of the stairwell until I can assess the situation.  The sun pours through a window above me into the hall and allows minimal visibility.  Maria is nowhere to be found, but I notice a different beam of light crossing the hallway from an open door -- and I imagine that she is most likely in that room.

 

I motion for Consuela to stay close behind me and as I cock the safety of my double barrel and open the door to the unknown.  We silently make our way towards the room we believe Maria is in. 

 

One step.

 

Then another.

 

Then another.

 

Silently encroaching.

 

I take a deep breath and then without wasting another second I turn my gun into the open room ready to take aim at any conflict.  It's fast.  Like cannonballing into water.  I have minimal backlash from my swift action, but immediately see that Maria lays there motionless -- blood all around her. 

 

Before I have a chance to determine if she's alive or dead I feel a deep pain on the side of my head.

 

And the room instantly turns to black.

 

 

 

 

 

 



The getaway car

 

We manage to reach the hospital ahead of the others and so I hide Maria behind a dumpster.

 

"Do not move!" I tell her.  "I will be back as soon as possible."

 

She winces, but makes sure to nod her head in agreement.  It's the last thing I see as I turn the bend and race towards Jim's with everything I have.  I have no idea how much of an advantage we still have, but I don't waste a second harbouring on it when I need that second to propel me forward.

 

I ignore the burning in my chest and lungs and focus my eyes on the road ahead.  Jim's is just to the right of the next bend.  I try not to let my mind become flooded with thoughts about the probability of the car not being there.  Instead, I focus on the reality that it is most likely standing where we last left it.

 

"Think positive," I say under my breath as I turn the bend.

 

When I reach Jim's a wave of relief washes over me as I find my car sitting there as if it was always waiting for me.  When I get to the driver's side door I see the keys in the ignition.

 

"Thank God," I say and slide into the driver's seat to start the car.

 

"Please, please, please." I whisper as my hand turns the key.  There is a bit of a cough, but a moment later, the cars starts.  I start to pull away but realize that we might need to stock up on some gas and so I reverse the car up to Jim's garage.  Leaving the car running I race quickly into Jim's garage to grab two containers of gasoline and put them in the trunk.

 

A minute later I'm back on the road -- seconds away from reaching Maria.  I start to negotiate whether or not we should grab some rations when it dawns on me that Maria might very well be in labour and that we will probably need to grab supplies from the hospital.

 

"Shit!" I yell into the empty car. 

I should have thought of that beforehand.

 

"Shit!  Shit!  Shit!" I say as I take out all my frustration on the steering wheel.

 

When my mini-tantrum is done I take a deep breath and tell myself that everything is going to be --

 

But then I hear it:  

 

A blood curdling scream.

 

My heart sinks as I press the gas pedal all the way to the floor.  And as the car jumps into high gear and gives me all it has; I already know I'm too late.  The others have reached Maria, and I am not there to stop them.

 

 



You must keep putting one foot in front of the other.

 

I try not to think about worst case scenarios as we stumble our way down the mountain.  I've calculated in my head that the majority of them will stay until the bodies are well burnt -- with a few leaving once things are underway.  If we can cross into the woods before that first group sets out we should be able to make it.

 

"I need to know your name," I tell her as we start across the open field.  The sun is now high above us casting long shadows that make us more visible to the naked eye from the top of the mountain.

 

"Maria," she tells me as we trudge forward through the pain and exhaustion.  We don't have the option of slowing down.  Not if we want to survive this.

 

"Maria, do you remember seeing a car at our camp?" I ask her as we hustle along.  She tells me 'no' and then I remember that it is still at Jim's -- which adds to our time as his place is on the outskirts of camp opposite from where we are approaching.

 

"Ok, I had a car.  If none of you came across it then it should still be in working order.  We just have to get to it.  When we get back to camp, I'm going to leave you by the main road near the hospital and run and get it.  Are you ok with that?"

 

She tells me she is and then I see her wince.

 

"It won't be much longer now," I tell her as tears start to roll down her cheeks. I can't tell if it's her leg or possible pre-labour; but I know that she is really hurting.

 

"Try and think of something other than this place," I say to her.  "That's what I do.  Your body will move automatically -- so take yourself out of it.  I'll make sure we keep moving." I coax, but a few steps later she drops to her knees using the full force of her weight.

 

"I can't," she tells me as she tries to suppress her agony.

 

"Maria, come on." I say frantically and look to the top of the mountain.  A large cloud of smoke now rises from it; meaning the fire is well underway.  Any second now a scout could turn the corner and see us.  I crouch down and look her straight in the eye. 

 

At first I look pleadingly, but then sheer panic sets in and I react.

 

"Get up!" I yell at her.  I yank her by her hair and pull her to her feet.  The pain I'm causing her is brutal; and she has no choice but to rise.  I force her arm over my shoulder once again and continue to drag her along as we cross the field.

 

"Don't do this." I yell at her as she resists, causing us to slow down our pace to a dangerous walk.

 

"I don't want to do this anymore," she tells me as she quivers holding her belly.  She is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

 

And so, I turn and slap her across the face.

 

"You can have your pity party when we're in the car.  Not now.  You're not doing this to me now.  I don't care what is going on in your head -- you are going to help us get out of here.  If not for me; then do it for your baby.  Ok?"

 

She stands there for a moment deciding between a mental breakdown or the very real probability of an escape. I hold my breath.  Seconds feel like centuries, and just as I'm about to lose any hope, she opens her mouth -- wipes away her tears and says, "I'm sorry."

 

And so, through her pain and suffering she forces herself to take one step after the other.  I push her to move faster than she is capable of; and she does her best to keep up.  She cries in silence now.  Tears steadily streaming down both cheeks -- but she is persistent and we reach the forest without anyone spotting us. 

 

From here we are only a short distance from the edge of camp and the hospital.  The end is in sight. 

 

"You're doing amazing," I tell her and continue forward not slowing our pace.  Without a clear view of the mountain I have no idea how far behind us the others might be.  But I know that they're coming.  The wind warns me in whispers as it passes my ear.  It tells me that we must keep moving.  That they are right behind us, and that any stumble or stall could result in our death.

 

And as we make our way through the forest, I keep my focus on getting to my car as fast as I can.  I plan out in my mind where rations might be near the tavern and, more than anything, I hope that fate chooses to take pity on us with the others.  But before I can plead to her Maria suddenly falls to the ground and begins to convulse. 

 

And that's when, for the first time, I hear the yells of the others who are now crossing the field. 

 

 

 



I may be hungry again.

When I get to the top of the mountain, I am at first amazed that some of the mutants are still writhing towards their death.  Their wounds are mortal -- but they have been left to suffer.

 

I take a deep breath.  My mutant has been tucked away in the bushes for now until I can properly assess the atmosphere.  The sun has begun to peak over the tree tops and illuminates the gore around me.  Puddles of blood lurk everywhere, and I try not to slip in them as I approach the group.

 

I look around for Donna before finding her just outside the cave nursing a wound on a man whose arm has been split open.

 

"No prisoners?" I ask as I approach.  She ignores my lame attempt at a joke. 

 

When she finishes applying some sort of pulp made from leaves on the wound, she addresses me.

 

"How'd you make out?" She asks.  It sounds trite.  She doesn't seem to be relieved that I'm ok and that I've arrived.  There is a definite shift in the consciousness of the group -- one I can't quite connect to. 

 

They massacre has changed her.  Changed everyone.

 

I take a Scarlett O'Hara moment as I walk around the battlefield trying my best not to cry at the devastation -- but then a tear forms into a stream of tears and I have no choice but to bring my hands to my face.

 

"I hope you're crying for ours and not theirs," says an angry voice.  I turn around to see Belinda looking at me cruelly.

 

"I'm just crying," I tell her and then walk away.

 

The air has definitely shifted.  Whatever anger lurked inside the hearts of the mutants has somehow transfered into the hearts of my pack.

 

When I see Jim I ask him why they are leaving some of the mutants to writhe in pain?  Surely they can't be more humane?  He tells me that they deserved it and then asks me to help him to move the body of one of our own.  I grab the legs and follow him towards a cremation pit for the four of our own who didn't make it.

 

The fire has already been started by Belinda who sits there solemnly staring at the baby embers and blowing on them gently.  I realizes that three of the four who didn't make it are her posse.

 

"Are we making a fire to cremate the mutants?" I ask, knowing full well that the answer is no.  They seem perfectly content leaving their mutilated bodies out to rot in the sun. 

 

The hatred is rampant.

 

I decide in that moment that it's time to leave.  That my mutant is not safe here; and that maybe our only hope is to return to camp, grab some supplies and head out west before the others make their way back down the mountain.

 

"I'll go grab some more wood," I tell them.  They all ignore me. 

As I walk away I make sure to go over and give Donna a hug.  She doesn't hug me back, but it doesn't matter.  It was important for me to tell her goodbye.

 

We'll have a two hour head start before the others will begin to return to camp.  If we move fast that may just be enough time to get to my car ahead of them. 

 

And so, I ask fate to do me the favour of allowing us to cross the field unnoticed.  Since it is now daylight, we will be fully exposed.  Should anyone from camp decide to survey the field while we cross, our escape will be jeopardized.

 

"We have to hurry," I tell my mutant when I return to the bushes where I left her.  She nods her head and helps herself to her feet.  Using all her might, she puts as much strain as she can on her maimed leg as we make our way as fast as we can down the mountain. 

 

Time is running out. 

 

The others will be behind us soon enough.

 

 



I hate small talk

"C'mon," I say to the mutant as I offer her my shoulder and try and help her to stand.  We head up the mountain towards the others in silence.  I have no idea how my people will react when they see me with her, but my hope is that they too will find a morsel of pity for humanity's sake.

"I'm sorry about your leg," I tell her as we make our way up hill.  I've determined that her leg is probably twisted, and not broken, since she is able to limp on it with my help.

She doesn't respond.

I guess apologizing for a twisted muscle in her leg is trite when compared to the mass slaughter of her friends and family.

"Were they your family?" I asked her as we continue to muster our way up the mountain.  She shakes her head 'no' and so I have some relief -- not much, from the situation.

"You know," I ramble out of sheer nervousness, "none of this would've ever happened had your people not slaughtered my people first." I tell her. 

She knows.

I decide to hold back on the worst small talk in the history of the universe and concentrate on what I'm going to say when we reach the top. 

"Would you like me to walk slower?" I ask her knowing full well that our pace is fine.  My stomach begins to turn in knots and before she has a chance to respond I quickly scoot behind a tree and throw up.

"Sorry," I say as I return back to her and re-offer her my shoulder so we can limp towards the top of the mountain to potentially meet her pending execution.  She still doesn't say anything and so, like an idiot, I fill the void with ramble.

"I think it's amazing that you were able to survive from the south," I tell her as I readjust my shoulder to accommodate for the deeper incline. 

Finally, and blessedly, she speaks.

"We came from the east." She says.  She doesn't elaborate, but it makes a lot of sense.  For a brief second my mind drifts to that text message from eons ago.

I decide that my strategy when I present her to the others is to pitch her as as source of intelligence.  We need her to tell us about what happened out east -- and, since I have maimed her she is in no condition to hurt any of us.

Also - the baby should be a consideration. 

I walk with a bit more confidence knowing what I'm going to say -- but just the same, we slow our pace.  There's no immediate need to rush a pregnant maimed woman up a mountain. 

"You know," I tell her as I lessen our pace even more.  "Maybe we should just give it the night -- leave them be.  You know, approach them tomorrow." I tell her.  She looks at me as if to say 'it doesn't really matter' and so we continue along, up the mountain -- as the early morning horizon winks hello to us.

I hope when we reach the top that there is an ounce of humanity in the hearts of the others.  I want them to take pity on this once-woman; a viable probability for any of us. 

I tell her everything's going to be ok, and somehow, the words melt into the air in front of us creating a path that leads to a better place.  One of peace and understanding.  And, like Dorothy from long long ago, I step onto that yellow brick road of sorts; determined to change the outcome of all our futures.

I believe with everything that I am, that the future lays in the sanctity and respect associated with this woman's life.  With all life.  And, if we are to have any chance at survival and civility we must promote, value and subjugate at any cost, above all other reasons, an infusion peace.

Ham Sandwich equals ca-ching!

 

"Can I help you?" I ask as I approach the two women in business attire who sit at a table near the front of the cafe.  There is a smaller person sitting beside them, but their head is down.  A large hood from their oversized sweater shields their face.

 

The women read my confusion immediately as one of them stands and reaches out their hand.  "My name is Dana Stevens, we're from social services." She tells me and smiles.  I shake her hand quickly and then stand there trying to make sense of the situation.  I look over to Consuela who simply shrugs and gives me an 'i tolds yers so' look.

 

"Social Services?" I ask confused.

 

"Yes, we spoke with Dr. Martinez over at the hospital.  She told us that you have been instrumental in helping with one of her patients and we thought we might come by to see if this is an appropriate venue for Maria." She tells me and points to the hooded sweatshirt.
 

The hoody has a name.

 

"Maria?" I ask even more confused as I approach the table and try to sneak a peak at the Maria in question.

 

"Yes," says the other woman from Social Services.  "Maria, say hello.  Stop being so impolite."

 

"Hello," she says barely above a whisper.

 

"She's had a bad day." Says Dana Stevens from Social Services.

 

Jim brings over some coffees from everyone and I take a seat across from them trying to figure out what exactly it is that they want.

 

"We understand that you have apartments above this cafe," they start.  I nod.  They tell me how they would like Maria to stay with me and that I will be reimbursed for her lodging and food. 

 

I try to tell them that I'm not really in the business of taking people in -- that I did it for Jim as an exception and that the apartments upstairs are to be rental income.

 

They nod and thank me. 

Maria takes an extra second to have a sip of coffee and I notice that her her hand is badly scared -- as if she was in some sort of fire.

 

I smile at them and then make a mental note to myself to tell Donna not to send any charity cases my way.  I have my hands full with Consuela and Jim.

 

Maria takes a second or two to get out of her chair, and as she does I realize she is negotating the extra weight of a large belly under her oversized sweater.

 

When she turns, I notice that her burns extend to her face.

 

My heart sinks.

 

"Wait," I say as they head towards the door.

 

"I have a room.  It's not furnished -- but we'll figure something out." I tell them as both women from Social Services extend large smiles of relief.

 

I open up an arm and gesture for Maria to sit back down while I have Consuela make her something to eat.

 

The women from Social Services say they'll be back to check on her.  They inform me that Maria hasn't decided if she wants to keep the baby just yet, and that I am in no way obligated to care for the child.

 

I nod and tell them that we can discuss this in more detail later.  I then tell Jim to go upstairs and take the couch out of his apartment and put it in the one that I'm designating to be hers.

 

He nods.

And as Maria sits there quietly eating her ham sandwich and drinking her newly replaced decaf coffee, I am reminded once again, that there are greater profits to be had that extend beyond the boundaries of money.  Profits of the heart --which run invariably through the spirit of every human being.  Profits, than when acquired, have a greater impact because they endow greater rewards.

 

And as I head behind the counter to help Consuela with the noontime rush, I start to think about a bed, and carpeting, and perhaps even a television.  I start to think about paint colours, and dressers, and curtains.  And I notice as I do so, that Maria's heavy burden is slightly lifted.  Her shoulders become less weighted down with all the problems the world has to offer.  I watch her shoulders rise with a little more purpose and notice, for the first time, a current that extends beyond them.  It's invisible, yet visible, and streams out the cafe door and into the world. 

 

I make another ham sandwich for Maria and place it in front of her, encouraging her to eat.  She looks up and smiles and her shoulders rise a little more.  As they rise, a stream  of customers pour into the cafe; causing a small line to form out onto the street.

 

"Thank you," I say to the current as I hustle to get back behind the counter.  And as the line grows longer and thicker with every bite that Maria takes, I know that the current is saying 'you're welcome'. 

 

I feed Maria enough sandwiches to buy all her furniture, curtains and paint by the end of the afternoon.  And, leaving the cafe in Consuela's capable hands we venture out to collect for her new beginning.  I notice, as we slide into the car and make our way towards the stores, that Maria has let her hood slip to her shoulders -- allowing her scars to be exposed.  She is no longer hiding behind them.  And, briefly, as we make eye contact her scars disappear -- but only for a second. 

 

Before I can postulate on what I just saw, I am swept away by the demands of city traffic. 

 

Maria, like the baby inside of her, uses the lull of a car on a warm afternoon to take a long overdue nap.  She slips into the deepest parts of slumber -- the kind that only comes when stress is melted with every breath.  And as she breathes away her woes, I know that when she awakens everything that once was wrong will innevitable and forevermore be fine.

 

 

 

 

 

 



Please, don't.

I lay on my belly and shimmy towards the edge of the cliff that I'm stationed at.  We suspect that the mutants have no idea that we're here as they don't seem to have any formation as they walk up the mountain -- in fact, it's very casual.

 

I have no doubt that the others have all been done away with, and so I quietly say a small prayer to them in the hopes that they are able to help us.  We've set a trap inside the cave, and the rest of us are stationed strategically above and around with spears that we've fashioned over the last few days from tree branches.

 

I rotate mine in my hand to make sure that I have a firm grip.

 

The mutants slowly make their way towards camp.  There are some stragglers further behind which I and the others, who are weak like myself, have been assigned.

 

I am the weakest, so I have been assigned to the last straggler.

 

I try to fill my heart with anger and hatred for what they've done to the rest of our camp --but it doesn't come easy.  Part of me understands that they too are angry at what has happened and I inadvertently let me mind drift as the mutants pass by.

 

I am undetected.

 

In a few moments the mutants will fall into our trap.  I am far enough away that my straggler shouldn't hear.

 

I don't think about the guilt that is brewing up inside; but instead, stay focused for when my mutant crosses.

 

It's taking a lot longer than I thought it would.  I can hear a sort of struggle up where the trap is, but it's muffled -- like a heavy wind making its way through the trees.

 

It won't cause any alarm.

 

A moment later, my mutant crosses and so I jump from my position and land on them -- knocking them face first to the ground.  I raise my spear high above my head as I hear a moan. 

 

It's a woman.

 

I try to close my eyes and make one swift movement, but I can't -- and when she rolls around and faces me I see that she is pregnant.

 

"Please, don't." She asks me as we stand there in the dark of night making eye contact.  I try to think of all the reasons why I should do it -- like, she would do it to me, and she's done it to my people; but instead I freeze.

 

We stare at each other, and I notice a moment later that she hasn't made an attack towards me.  In the background we both can now hear the groans of her people being slaughtered; and in that moment she begins to cry.

 

I lower my spear.  Maybe it was that she spoke to me, or maybe it was the fact that she is pregnant -- but there is nothing in me that wants to hurt her.  In this moment -- she is no longer a mutant, but rather a survivor like myself.  And so, I lower my hand that isn't holding my spear to help her stand.

 

"You can run," I tell her, but we both know that her best chance of survival is to stick with me -- and so, in that moment; in the aftermath of my people's slaughter and the midst of hers; we have become allies.

 

"I can't," she tells me as she starts to limp.  I've either broken or twisted her leg from pouncing on her.

 

I offer my shoulder as a crutch and we both take a seat near the edge of the mountain to wait out the slaughter.  Should we approach now, there would be no chance of her survival.  And so, we sit and wait. 

 

She grieves quietly as the screams dwindle and then eventually disappear.  When the others are done, we will approach.  I will do my best to argue for her life, but it is not up to me. 

 

Who lives or dies is and always has been left up to fate and her sinewy calculations based on liturgical conditions that I still haven't quite grasped.

 

For whatever reason, I begin to pray for this mutant woman -- a fellow survivor.  I try to find forgiveness from those who have passed.  What little I gather from the wind, I channel towards her to act as a barrier of protection from the fear and hurt that wants to enact its revenge.

 

And I hope, as we both sit there awaiting the unknown, that fate has calculated pity in her ledger for this particular woman who chose not to harm me back.  A woman, very much like myself, who simply wants to live.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Tea for Two

"They never seem to lose their beauty, no matter what is going on, hey?" Says Jim as he takes a seat beside me outside of the cave.  It's our turn to be on the night watch.  We've been resting for a few days now. 

Tomorrow is the night we execute our plan of attack.

"Nope." I tell him as I continue to look at the stars dangling close to the horizon just above the tree tops. 

There's four of us on duty tonight.  The other two keep to themselves which allows Jim and I some time to catch up.  We've made a tea of sorts using the hot rocks from a small fire that burns safely on the other side of the mountain during the day.  The wind carries the smoke away from the mountain in the opposite direction from our camp and the forest; and so it is safe to do so -- but only during the day.  Come nightfall the rocks are brought up to our cave where they act as a sort of hearth.  Using a bowl shaped rock that someone found in the riverbed, Jim and I melt the licorice vine into river water to make our hot drink.

We seem to be the only ones with a taste for it. 

"I never did learn the constellations," I confess to him as we sip our teas from our bark containers and continue to scan ahead to see if we can see any movement in the night.

"That's Venus," Jim says and points to a bright one just to the left of me.

"Hi, Venus." I say outloud and raise my makeshift cup.

"To Venus!" Jim chimes in and raises his.  A moment passes as we let the silence seep into the conversation to allow for nightwatch duties.

This night is particularly clear; so much so that in certain patches on the field between the mountain and the forest's edge -- the ground appears lighter in colour.  It's a bright night with minimal clouds -- and so the stars are acting as a sort of muted spot light on parts of the field below.

"What if they're all gone by the time we get there?" I ask Jim but continue to look straight ahead.

"We owe it to them either way," he tells me as we continue to sip and scan. 

As a group, we've made a decision to take back our camp from the mutants, but we've been gone for almost a week and I wonder if there is anyone left to rescue?

I haven't felt an essence on the wind since this morning.  In my heart I fear that the mutants have eaten their full. 

As I sit there,  I continue to scan back and forth across the grassy field between the forest and our mountain.  

My thoughts begin to drift towards what tomorrow will bring, but then I feel Jim's hand on my knee.  He points straight ahead to a brighter patch on the grass in front of us that lays halfway between the base of the mountain and the forest's edge.

"Watch," he tells me as I fixate on it.

My heart is racing -- but a moment later I see what Jim was talking about:  a shadow passes through the bright patch.  It's difficult to make out exactly what it is -- but since the animals are gone it can only be one of two probabilites.

A moment later another shadow passes through.  Then another.  And another.
I stand to get a better view, to make sure with absolute certainty that it is not my imagination.

We continue to watch as one shadow after the other passes through this brighter patch on the ground below. 

There is no mistaking it. 

The mutants are headed our way.

"I'll go wake the others," says Jim as he gulps the rest of his tea and heads into the cave.  I continue to keep watch while counting the shadows in my head as they approach.  There are just over a dozen before the bright patch disappears behind a stream of clouds and I am once again blind. 

Judging from their pace they will reach us within the hour. 

"Thank you," I whisper to whomever held back the clouds long enough for us to see them.  I turn my thoughts towards waking the others and preparing for our next move.  I try my best not to focus on the only reason the mutants would have left our camp.  I don't want to think about that right now.  Right now, I need to concentrate on what is about to happen.

I'll grieve for the rest later.