by Alan Spencer
Brock couldn't stop looking at his sister. She was radiant for the first time in years. Her natural pallor was healthy and no longer deprived of vitality. She was no longer a gray toned memory.
They were waiting for Angel's flight to board. "You keep in touch. You tell me how Ellen's doing, okay?"
"I will."
Brock touched her hand, softly drawing her attention so they were looking at each other face-to-face. "I'm serious, Angel. I don't want to lose touch. I know you can't forgive me for everything, and I understand that. I've lost many privileges with you with all the shit we've drowned in, but..."
Angel sighed. "We both acted like idiots back then. It's not all your fault, Brock. We both did things we regret. We've got to move on from that. What happened, happened. I'm not living in the past anymore. I love you. Of course I'll keep in touch. I always will."
Brock hadn't heard her say that genuinely for over two years. He kissed her forehead. "I love you too, Sis."
Hannah returned, bringing back a sub sandwich and offering them the first bite. "I'm sorry to pig out, but I'm starving. I literally got back in town three hours ago. I took the first flight back after my movie shoot wrapped." A somber look touched her face. "I just had to see you off, Angel. I'm so proud of you."
"Four months sober," Angel declared. "You didn't have to catch a last minute flight to see me, though. I still appreciate it."
"I wouldn't have missed it. Besides, Dust Devil was finished way ahead of schedule, and the movie's on its way to DVD. Maybe it'll play at a couple of film festivals, who knows? A paycheck's a paycheck, isn't that right, talent boy? So is that girl's choir going to make it to the final round, the ones that can light their farts to the tunes of "The Sound of Music?""
Brock raised his eyebrows. "You'll have to watch the season finale. Actually, under contract, I couldn't even tell my mother about the final outcome or I could get sued. Reality TV, go figure."
The intercom announced Angel's flight was boarding. They stood up, their time to chat concluding. Brock held Angel's arm softly and drew her close for a hug. "Are you okay? I mean, not okay, but, are you okay enough?"
Angel knew he was referring to Blue Hills. They had avoided any major discussion about the place. Brock checked the headlines, the daily news, the Internet, everywhere, and not a word was spoken about the disappearance of an entire town or those who were drawn into its evil. He checked various state maps, local history, and it was as if Blue Hills and the people who lived there never existed. Even on the maps he studied, Blue Hills was annexed. There was no explanation.
"I'm," Angel paused, thinking on it, "processing everything. I think about that place, yes. It's made me appreciate my life more, and that's the best I can take from it. What it means beyond that, I don't know."
"You call me soon," Brock said. "Your birthday's in two months. We'll celebrate it together. Deal?"
"Yes, it's a deal." She smiled big, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "You better bake me a cake."
The line was thinning out for her flight, and Angel waved goodbye, promising they'd keep in touch. She called out, "I love you, guys" before finally boarding. Brock stood by Hannah hip-to-hip and absorbed the moment. So much had passed during the last few months, Hannah's movie wrapping-up, Brock's season finale of "America's Got Flair" was finalized, and now they had nothing better to do than dote on Angel's departure.
It was only a matter of time before Hannah mentioned Blue Hills again. "I looked on a map of Virginia the other day. Blue Hills is now called something else, and they're turning it into a tourist trap. I read something where it said the woods are being cleared. People are calling it a newly discovered gem. A great place for a vacation."
Brock asked what had really been on his mind. "I wonder how long the dead have been under our feet waiting to come back up like they did."
Hannah turned to get a better look at him. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"
"Was Blue Hills the first place the dead decided to rise up from the ground and live out their deep down fantasies? The world has a long history. In the ground is where we all go in the end. Centuries of organic material beneath our feet, and now, their ideas live on. Blue Hills can't be the only place this has happened."
Hannah guided him from such thoughts by presenting him the turkey and Suisse sandwich. "Why don't you worry about helping me finish this sandwich instead of talking about such nonsense? I'm over it. I'm done. It's behind us, and I'm happy with that. Now let's start planning our wedding."
They walked to the airport parking lot, discussing a more pleasant topic, but for Brock, such questions wouldn't leave his mind, nor would their implications become any less of a threat. The dead underneath their feet outnumbered the living, and their ideas would live on in some form or another.
EPILOGUE
Thank you father, thank you so much for all you've done for us, you sick son-of-a-bitch.
Bickering in his head and taking in the cold of desolate winter, bundled up in his thermal gear, goggles, and the -22 degree winds, Thomas Moorehead worked hard to finish the job he'd set about doing. It wouldn't be the first time in Dead Horse, Alaska, that he'd dragged a human body through the snow from his Bronco truck and into his house. The human body wasn't just any corpse, but his long-time friend, David Burrell, a fellow oil-field worker.
The oil fields. Their paychecks. Their livelihoods. None if mattered anymore. Nothing did except for staying warm. Thomas strangled David with a length of chain. They'd been sharing a bottle of whiskey right before Thomas turned on his friend. Before killing David, they had been brainstorming on how to defeat their impending situation that had escalated since three weeks ago. But Thomas didn't have the time nor the patience to solve anything except the immediate problem of heat. The sub-zero cold could freeze them to their core and send them to an icy grave in no time if he didn't react fast enough.
Thomas had a five year-old girl named Naomi and a wife named Melinda who depended on him to bring him food, supplies, and the means to survive in the normal world, and in this terrible situation, nothing had changed.
Survival came first.
The oils wells stopped pumping three weeks ago. Every machine in town stopped functioning altogether, leaving the town of Dead Horse in a blanket of black. No electricity. No heat. Their vehicles wouldn't function without the new commodity.
If it weren't for you, you dead bastard, none of this would be happening. I wouldn't have killed my best friend for a night of heat.
Goddamn you, Father.
The door to their house flew open. His wife came out to grab David's arm and pull his corpse inside. She was shivering, freezing cold inside their home, wearing her thermal gear, and looking like a distressed Eskimo whose Igloo entrance was slowly sealing shut with ice.
"Is he really dead?" she asked morosely.
Thomas nodded, not wanting to speak of it. He'd already murdered his neighbors on both sides of him, a police trooper, a handful of his co-workers, and his sister.
-22 degrees would make anyone do these things, he thought, forcing himself to continue on with the arduous task of preparing David's body.
Naomi, his daughter, stayed hidden behind the couch. The poor girl refused to look at them, so scared. Thomas didn't want her to see what her parents did to the bodies in the basement. If they survived this ordeal, he wanted it so Naomi would be clueless as to why they had heat and the rest of the town was becoming a permafrost tomb.
Thomas's father was a visionary before he passed away from liver cancer. His death was an agonizing and prolonged event. His dream was to create a new way to heat homes without oil or the wasting of resources. The man had half-cocked notions of using corn and a cleaner version of ethanol to pull the trick off, but the man couldn't live long enough to see his concepts into reality. But in death, the man's vision continued, and that vision was a reality in the town of Dead Horse.
Husband and wife worked together to haul David's corpse down th
e basement stairs. Once there, they stripped David naked.
The voices of the dead rang out as chilling as the subzero winds. The voices whispered, taunted, and derided them.
"Warm yourselves/live another day/burn your candle down to the wicks to find ways of surviving/suffer to live/let the cold inspire you/save yourselves from death and let him burn burn burn/forever burn for the dead. "
Thomas ignored the voices, hearing his fellow co-workers at the oil fields and even his father's voice mix in with the others. He was alive, and they were dead, and he'd do anything to survive another day, including burning his best friend as fuel in the basement furnace until the man was a pile of ashes. The smell of burning flesh was forever engrained in the walls of their home.
They would live another day, no matter what the sacrifice, Thomas was determined, even if it meant turning on the ones he loved to avoid the deadly, unforgiving sub-zero chill. The furnace would burn precious heat until there were no more bodies left to burn but his own.
You Have Survived Coin-Operated Machines