Sixteen Sunsets

by Mark Gardner

  A smile tugged at the corner of Peter’s mouth. “You’re like me, then.”

  “Whatever, old man. Just leave me alone.”

  Peter nodded and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he said, “If you’re hungry, come to the cabin. It’s been ages since I’ve had a proper guest.”

  Joaquin stared, slack-jawed at the old man. He noticed he no longer thought of him as a crazy old hermit. Maybe it was because he was so damned hungry, that his defenses fell so quickly, and he thought about following the old man. What might you think with a full stomach? a quiet voice resonated in the back of his head. He stood on unsure legs, numb from hiding from the confrontation he had witnessed between the old man and Kristof.

  “Follow in my footsteps, literally,” commanded the old from ahead, “or the day will end badly for you.”

  Joaquin shrugged and followed the man, stepping on his footprints in the soft packed dirt.

  “Ron, please get us a few value meals,” Globe ordered.

  “I want you to get them,” declared Bree, her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence.

  “Are you sure, Bree?” asked Globe.

  “Yes, please.” She turned to Ron in the bucket seat next to her and stared at him. “I don’t trust Ron.”

  Globe’s face fell, but he nodded at the armed guard behind Bree and Ron, stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward a fast-food store that laughably called itself a restaurant. The R-C-M-P liaison followed suit. Globe reluctantly left Bree under Ron’s supervision.

  Ron waited until Globe, and the Mountie were inside the restaurant, and he turned to Bree. “I don’t know why he gives you everything you want,” he sneered.

  Bree smiled and tilted her head. “It’s because I’m a pretty, pretty princess.”

  Ron sighed. “I don’t think so.”

  Bree’s eyes narrowed. “I am a pretty, pretty princess.” She held up her stuffed cat. “And Puss is my royal subject.”

  Ron seized the stuffed cat and tossed it into the front seat.

  “You’re a meanie!” Bree shrieked.

  “What’re you gonna do about it, princess?” Ron mocked.

  Bree smiled and looked into Ron’s eyes. When their gaze locked, he was unable to look away. He felt his heart race. The thundering in his ears was unbearable. His shallow breathing was labored, each inhalation couldn’t provide enough life-giving oxygen. The capillaries in his eyes broke and flooded the whites of his eyes with a dark crimson.

  Ron couldn’t understand what was taking Major Globe so long. He tried closing his eyes to clear his thinking. Why isn’t the guard intervening? he thought as the edges of his vision darkened. The thumping in his ears blocked out all other stimuli.

  The guard with the weapon trained on Bree thumbed the safety at Ron’s mocking comment. He started to take a breath, but Ron’s vitriol was followed by him slumping against the seat in front of him. The guard let out his breath slowly as Bree stared out of the window to the restaurant.

  “I hope they have dinosaur nuggets!” Bree squealed as Ron’s eyes and ears dripped blood on the upholstery and his smart, crisp suit. “The stegosaur tastes the best!” The guard flipped the switch back to safe as he finished exhaling the extra breath he took in. His eyes darted right as Major Globe and his liaison came out of the restaurant loaded with bags of food.

  Returning his gaze to Bree, the guard thought, I just might survive this operation after all.

  Joaquin awoke in the old man’s cabin. His eyes stared at the apex of the high roof. Spider webs clung to each cross beam. He rolled over and looked at what was the old man’s bed.

  I’m up first, he thought with a smile. The old man had been up before him the last two days. Joaquin had already figured out the routine. He rolled the furs into tight bundles and piled them into an empty space beside the fireplace. He tossed in a handful of tinder and added another log.

  Joaquin retrieved two bowls and spoons from the counter beside the sink. He filled each with a measured amount of cereal – one to a line on the inside of the bowl, and the other to his best approximation. The bowl with the line was the old man’s, and it was dented and chipped from years, perhaps decades of use. Joaquin’s bowl was shiny and new, well new enough. It had apparently never been used before. Joaquin stared at the bowls and their analog to himself and the old man.

  “Good work, kid.”

  Joaquin nodded and watched the old man retrieve milk from the refrigerator and pour equal amounts into each bowl. When they’d finished eating, Joaquin washed their dishes in the sink and laid them on the counter.

  “That’s good,” remarked the old man.

  Joaquin turned to his new host and raised his eyebrows.

  “A man keeps his home and community clean.” The old man nodded as if these were universal truths.

  Joaquin leaned against the sink, and the old man continued. “A man keeps his body and mind clean, and he only communes with those who believe in living by these same ideals.”

  Joaquin looked at the Jack Daniels bottles lined up on the floor.

  The old man followed Joaquin’s gaze. “Don’t worry, kid, I’m already a man.”

  “I’ve heard people refer to themselves as men before,” Joaquin retorted through tightened jaw. “It usually happened before I got hit with an empty beer can.”

  “Oh boo hoo. You think you’re the only boy to have ever been abused by others?”

  Joaquin’s ears burned, but he held his tongue. The rest of the day went per the exacting schedule the old man kept in the small cabin in the Canadian wilderness.

  Joaquin awoke in the old man’s cabin. The spider webs were gone. The old man had him clean the wood the previous day. Joaquin sighed and rolled his furs and blankets into tight rolls. He stoked the fire and fed it another log. The morning had progressed as it had days prior, with Joaquin performing all the chores and duties the old man had previously done for himself.

  After dinner, the old man made no attempt to remove the dishes.

  “Why am I doing all the work around here?”

  “It’s for discipline. A man has to have it and has to follow the rules by it. Otherwise, he’s lost.”

  Joaquin scowled, and the old man shook his head sadly.

  “A man is concerned about other people. He does things for others willingly without the expectation of pay or reward.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Joaquin retorted. “My whore of a mother told me that before she took different men to her bed. My so called friends told me that before I sat outside of a convenience store with the engine running.”

  “Cry me a river, kid. You think you’re the only sad sack with a sad sack story?”

  Joaquin slammed the plates into the sink before starting the precise cleaning ritual the old man had demanded.

  “Apparently, no one taught you ‘cheerful.’”

  Joaquin sighed, looked toward the ceiling and continued his cleaning.

  “A man looks at the bright side of all situations. He cheerfully does tasks that come his way. He tries to make others happy.”

  Joaquin finished his chore and put everything in its place. He walked to the door, put on a makeshift fur coat and picked up the ax leaning against the door frame. The old man followed suit.

  A bird was hopping along the ground in search of a meager existence. Joaquin raised the ax to strike, but the old man’s hand stopped the childish display of anger.

  “A man is kind. He understands that there is strength in being gentle. He treats others as he would want to be treated. He does not hurt or kill harmless things without reason.”

  “Damn it, old man!” Joaquin seethed as he relinquished the ax. “I don’t need your lessons on being a man!”

  “Obviously, you do.” The old man tenderly touched Joaquin’s shoulder. “You keep telling me of the hard life you lived on the streets of Seattle. I’ve got news for you, kid; there are places on this rock far worse than Seattle or Los Angeles. There are places on this p
lanet where a human being can be killed just for being a woman. Warlords terrorize entire communities with fear and violence. There are poisonous religions that teach intolerance. When a man sees these injustices, when he sees rules and laws that are unfair, he tries to have them changed in a legal and orderly fashion rather than disobeying the law of the land.”

  “You don’t know what it was like! You ain’t got no idea how I’ve lived my life.” Joaquin thrust out his chin in defiance. “Don’t talk to me about being a man, you crusty old fuck. You keep hiding here in the forest! I’ve been a man since I was ten. I took care of myself with no one around.”

  “And look where that got you.”

  Joaquin’s grip on the ax’s handle tightened, but he kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

  The old man stepped closer to Joaquin.

  “Joaquin, hear me out. These lessons as you call them should’ve been taught to you over the course of your childhood. By learning these lessons as a child, you learn to face injustice and danger even when you’re afraid. A man has the courage to stand up for what he thinks is right, even if others laugh at him or threaten him.”

  Joaquin fought to hold in tears – tears he didn’t know he needed to shed.

  “You told me these last few days of your failed attempts at being a hero. A hero is just a man who acts on these lessons, these truths. Follow these lessons and you will be a hero, non. You’ll be a shining example to others. Having money doesn’t make you rich. A man knows he has to work to pay his way and help others. He saves for unseen needs. He protects and conserves natural resources, and carefully uses time and property.”

  The old man reached for Joaquin’s other shoulder. “A man is polite to everyone regardless of age or position. He knows good manners make it easier for people to get along. A man is a friend to all. He seeks to understand others. He respects those with ideas and customs that differ from his own.”

  The old man drew a sobbing Joaquin into an embrace. “A man tells the truth and keeps his promises,” Peter whispered between Joaquin’s sobs. “Honesty is part of his code of conduct. A man can be depended on. A man with these qualities is someone I’m proud to call a son.”

  Joaquin nodded, tears and snot running against Peter’s fur jacket. They stood, embraced as the sun set west of the cabin. Joaquin didn’t know it at the time, but the tough love Peter doled out that evening was a turning point in both their lives. Their old lives set as did the sun and their new lives began as the moon shone its triumphant path across the night sky.

  Kristof leaned against a tree and surveyed his surroundings. He was cold, since, in his impetuousness, he failed to start a fire for the night. Days of eating berries, grubs, crickets and other forest-dwelling edibles had left him irritable.

  He had envisioned the encounter with his father after so many years differently than it had played out. In his dreamed reality, a weeping Peter welcomed him with open arms, lamenting the time spent apart. Declarations of unending love weren’t necessarily expected, but they would’ve been nice. Continuing in the world of expectations, his father would realize he had been hiding from a force that did not pursue him and return home with Kristof.

  Perhaps Krystal would want to meet the father Kristof was just beginning to know and their fractured relationship would mend as well. They would live happily ever after – so the fairy tale went.

  But, thought Kristof, even if everything went smoothly... His current power of seeing all the angles wouldn’t allow him to believe the fairy tale. Two people with extra-human powers wouldn’t be welcome in a xenophobic society. His super-intelligence would only go so far to hide their existence. And my time is limited due to this thing in my head, he continued his thoughts. Even as he thought of the word, he could ‘hear’ the vitriol in the ever-encompassing word, ‘thing.’

  The government would eventually find him, and his father and the chase would inevitably progress. He had no doubts that once he lost his super-intelligence, discovery and capture would soon to follow. He suspected they might seek out others like himself, perhaps form a society outside of the purview of the lowly humans.

  Lowly humans. The thought raced through his head. He was extra-human after all. Did the rules of humanity even apply to him? His thoughts were interrupted by a giggle.

  “Humanity?” a child’s voice echoed. “A humanity who chased away your father?”

  “Who said that?” he demanded.

  “A humanity who has persecuted us for being different?”

  Kristof looked around, trying to locate the voice.

  “A humanity that uses us against each other in a war against ourselves?”

  A little girl emerged from the shadow of a nearby tree. She wore a pink dress and a knitted pink sweater. Her blond ponytail was secured with a pink ribbon. Her toes wiggled in the soft soil as she stood there staring at Kristof over the stuffed cat she clutched to her chest.

  “How did you get all the way out here?” Kristof asked. “Are you all right?” Perhaps he hadn’t completely forsaken humanity.

  “Silly!” The little girl giggled. “I’m not here at all!” She skipped around the clearing, kicking at leaves and other debris.

  “Not here...”

  “I’m bringing the soldier-doctor to the cabin.” The girl beamed with pride.

  Kristof started to rise. “Why would you lead them to us?”

  The girl ignored his question. Instead, she looked up to the sky visible through the clearing. “Looks like a chance of reign.”

  Kristof relaxed a little but kept his distance from the apparition. He followed the girl’s gaze. “Those are strato- and alto- cumulus clouds. Only Cumulonimbus and Nimbostratus clouds produce rain.” He thought about his response for a moment. He must’ve looked through a meteorology book while planning his expedition. The information was at the tip of his tongue in the instant he needed it.

  “Not rain, as in fat wet glops mussing up my beautiful dress,” she said and spun in a circle, arms outstretched. She stopped her frivolity and stared intently at Kristof. “Reign, as in the boss or a ruler.” She squinted and pantomimed a wink, putting her entire face and head into the motion. “Or a king...”

  She looked up at the skies opening; thunder and lightning raced with each other. Fat, greasy blobs of precipitation fell, bouncing here and there before pooling. Kristof reached out and felt the moisture on his hands and clothing. The little girl looked to the sky, the rain completely missing her.

  “See, not rain.” The little girl smiled and pointed at him. Kristof looked at his hands again. They were stained red, and so were his clothes.

  “Reign, reign, reign, the king’s reign,” she chanted, humming a tune to which the blood rain drummed the ground. Blood continued to pour from the skies, but instead of clouds, Kristof saw a thunderous sea, dead bodies swimming in it – some smoldered, some were mangled beyond recognition. The world flipped – below became above and in the distance cities burned – skyscrapers crumbled in white flashes and he knew humanity had been subjugated.

  His hands and clothes were stained red. Blood continued to pour from the skies. Instead of clouds, he saw fields of dead bodies – some smoldering, some mangled beyond recognition. In the distance cities burned - buildings crumbled and he knew humanity had been subjugated.

  “See you at the cabin,” she whispered, retreating to her shadows.

  Kristof’s eyes snapped open. A warm sunlight filtered through the canopy overhead. He wiped the sleep from his eyes. It took him a moment to realize what had just happened. He held his hands over tired eyes – no blood, just a chill from the cold Canadian air. At least, that’s what Kristof told himself as he stood on shaky legs and started back to his father’s cabin.

  Showdown

  “What do we do?” Justin whispered. He had to fight himself – spending so much time in such a close proximity to Anne was intoxicating. The woman exudes sexuality, he thought before he chastised himself. Anne wasn’t just a beautiful woman; She wa
sn’t just the last ruler of the Jade Council; She wasn’t just an immortal who had not only witnessed thousands of years of history but affected it directly, she shaped history like a lump of potters’ clay. She wielded the power to form that clay into beautiful things. He was content to bask in her circle of influence.

  Anne quelled her response. She looked at the squad of mercenaries filing through the woods. She counted six of them, followed by Major Globe, Bree, and the R-C-M-P liaison. An armed escort trailed ten or so paces behind them. The rifleman wasn’t there to protect Globe; he was there to end Bree if the need arose. A shot to the back of the neck, separating the brainstem from the brain was suspected to be the only way to kill Bree. Anne knew that somewhere overhead, another helicopter hovered. It was an exact copy of the one they had stolen to break Joaquin out of jail. It may even be the very one, she thought, smiling. She wished she had been in the hangar when Globe discovered it missing, and when it was found with a single red leather evening glove lying in the pilot’s seat.

  “We follow and see how this plays out,” Anne whispered back, her hot breath causing the hairs on Justin’s neck to stand at attention. Stay focused! he thought to himself. The problem with the clay Anne shaped was that she was just as flawed as the gene-neutral humans she had hated for so many centuries. Anne’s fits of rage and passion were well known. He couldn’t hold a candle to her, and he knew it. The son of the son of the son of... Justin counted the iterations of his lineage all the way back to Midas. He imagined Anne and Midas sitting on thrones of gold. He knew of at least two others of his lineage that had courted Anne over the centuries. She wouldn’t confirm his suspicions, but he suspected his fate and the fate of his progeny would be forever entwined with hers.

  As the group passed, Bree looked over her shoulder. Anne knew Bree couldn’t see her from their hiding spot. Bree smiled anyway. Anne knew the little girl had seen her and Justin before. This wasn’t the first time Bree had let Anne know her attempts at subversion weren’t successful. The fact that she hadn’t warned Globe of their presence made Anne think of the times she and Bree had talked over the short years, they knew each other. Bree had an uncanny knack for seeing things unseen by those around her. Although Bree’s power had never been fully explained or researched – doing so would’ve been considered rude – Anne came to respect the unassuming little girl who constantly dressed in pink. Anne liked to think that perhaps her signature red clothing was influenced by or influenced Bree. She remembered a prophecy Bree had let slip years ago – ‘Several lineages will end at the first stair of Mother Nature’s coldest home.’ It was evident to Anne she was following a kill squad through the Canadian wilderness, and that they were all moving toward the very place Bree had rambled about.