by Laura Bickle
Ginger and I lay in the golden field, staring up at the shapes that the clouds made in the blue sky. I rested while Alex kept watch, feeling the sun warm on my face and Ginger turning fitfully beside me.
It almost reminded me of home. Of a normal life, feeling earth at my back and sky above me. I remembered sneaking a few naps like this in my father’s fields when I was a girl, when my chores were done. I’d wake and look up at the clouds, picking out the shapes of beasts and men, daydreaming about the future. My dogs would doze with me, moving their legs and whimpering as they dreamed of chasing rabbits.
Now I watched Ginger twitch beside me. Her eyes were closed, but a thin gloss of sweat covered her face. Angry red tendrils from the wound at her shoulder had crawled up her neck. A sign of infection. She moaned in her sleep. I wondered what she was dreaming. I wondered if it hurt.
A couple of hours before sunset, we roused ourselves to continue moving. Ginger opened her eyes and blinked at the sunlight. I noticed that there was a small fleck of red in the glass blue of her iris. I took her pulse and laid my hand across her forehead. She had a bit of fever, and her heartbeat was rapid.
“How long?” she said, licking cracked lips.
“I don’t know.” I smoothed a piece of blond hair out of her eyes. “But you’re still with us right now. And that’s what matters.”
I glanced up at Alex, but he couldn’t meet my gaze. He turned away, and his shadow blotted out the sun. But I could see his shoulders shaking in grief.
***
Turning toward Darkness is a gradual process, in all things.
When I was a child, I was taught that evil creeps in stealthily. First there are little things, like coveting a pocket mirror in the sin of vanity. Then lying to one’s parents, reading magazines with subversive ideas, drinking beer and smoking. These sins seem small, but they taint the soul and grow larger, become theft and rebellion and turning away from God. Once the seed has taken root, there is no stopping it.
I don’t think that I believed that philosophy, then. But I might now, seeing the terrible Darkness of vampirism slowly destroy someone I loved.
Ginger stopped eating that evening. The crab apples had been vomited up in a mess of black blood. She was awake all night. We took the risk of a small fire to make her more comfortable. It was the time of year in which we were beginning to have no choice in making them at night if we wanted to avoid frostbite. But Ginger backed away from it. I saw the fire reflecting in her eyes as she looked out in the darkness.
Somewhere, in the black countryside, something howled.
I wondered if it was one of the wolves from the Animal Farm, or local coyotes. I wondered if he—or they—were following because they were hungry, because they smelled death.
Horace’s ears twitched. He’d begun to edge away from Ginger, and the wolves made him nervous.
I sidled up closer to Ginger. “Tell me about your family. What was it like when the kids were little?” I wanted to anchor her as much as I could in her humanity.
She licked her cracked lips. “They were always good kids. Dan and I tried to raise them to be independent. Part of that was me wanting to shield them from being hurt when we moved around so much. Dan would be stationed one place and then another for a year or two at a time. We didn’t want them to be crushed when we left their school and their friends.”
I couldn’t imagine that. I’d lived in one place for my whole life, with the same set of friends. Being under the Bann—being kicked out of my community—was the first time that I’d spent the night away from home. I had cried. I don’t think that Ginger or Alex heard me. I didn’t want them to.
“I did a good job, I think. Tom and Julia both went to college, far away. Julia isn’t as rebellious as Tom, that’s for sure. I never caught her smoking weed in the basement.” Her eyes glistened. “I think that Julia has a bit of natural faith about her, a docility. Tom, he has to learn everything the hard way. I hope that he’s not learning it the hard way now.
But maybe . . . maybe Dan can find them.”
Ginger had lived alone after her children went off to college. Her husband had reenlisted in the National Guard and was gone for months at a time. I knew that she had gone home every day to an empty house.
“He will,” I said soothingly. “He has all the power of the military around him—all the machines and the minds. He will find them.”
Her gaze was unfocused. “I just wish that I could have told them goodbye.”
I kissed her cheek. “We will tell them.”
Her head lowered, and she smiled ruefully. One of the cracks in her lip split open. “It’s funny. As I passed fifty, with the house empty . . . I had developed a fear of dying alone. Of having a stroke or a heart attack and lying dead on the kitchen linoleum for days before anyone found me.”
I pressed my hand to her cheek. “That won’t happen. I promise.”
She took my hand. Hers was cold. “Thank you.”
It was the least thing I could do for her, but also the hardest.
Alex and I watched as Ginger grew paler and the flecks of red in her eyes grew over the course of the night. Her gums receded, and I could see the teeth growing. Once, when I approached her to offer her water, I startled her and she hissed. She shied away from the sun the next day, sleeping under a tree. She unconsciously rolled and followed the shade in her sleep. I watched as the fingers wound in her coat contorted and twisted, the skin splintering.
“I don’t think she’s going to last much longer,” Alex said.
I nodded. We kept our distance from her for the rest of the day. Horace would no longer graze near her. He stood on the opposite side of this bit of pasture. I rubbed my eyes, hiccupping.
I knew how to destroy vampires. I knew to cut off their heads, stuff their mouths with garlic if we had it, and burn the bodies. I had done it before, to people I knew.
But never someone I loved.
Alex took my hand. “We’ll do it together,” he said.
“As gently as we can.”
“And it should be before dark. While she’s still sleeping.” He cast her a troubled look. “I think she’ll turn then.”
I bowed my head.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We searched the pasture for a rock. Alex found a big chunk of pink jasper, as large as Ginger’s head. We wanted her to feel as little pain as possible, and to our thinking, it would be easier if she was unconscious.
I took the rock from him. He was reluctant to let it go.
“I should be the one to do it,” I said quietly. In the Plain way, men prepared men for burial, for reasons of modesty. Women cared for the women. This seemed no different. More grisly, but the same.
And yet . . . these conditions seemed too harsh for those old rules to apply. This was not bundling a peaceful grandmother in her favorite dress to be buried. Ginger had been my friend, had been like a second mother to me for many years. I rubbed my dripping nose and sobbed.
Alex embraced me. “I will help you. We will do this together.”
“But I . . .”
“You’re not going to be alone in this. I promise.”
Once I could draw breath without sobbing, we walked back to the tree and stood over her. I don’t know if she felt the cool of our shadows on her, in between the sparse shade of the tree. She was drawn in upon herself, like a ball. Her platinum blond head peeked above her coat and her eyes were closed. I gently tugged the coat up over her head, so I didn’t have to see her face. The coat moved against her nose with her breath, outlining the profile of her face.
I lifted the stone twice before I was able to bring myself to slam it down onto her head.
Ginger gave a small squeak, like a startled mouse. A soft exhalation disturbed the fabric of the coat. And then there was no more—she lay still.
Tears streamed from my eyes. The rock slipped from my hands and rolled down away from the tree. I staggered back.
What had I done?
“I’m
sorry,” I sobbed. “I love you, Ginger.”
Alex knelt down and turned her over. I could not bring myself to look over his shoulder as he removed the coat. I saw a stain on the dirt that was dark. Not the color of blood, but like molasses. Dark.
“She’s gone,” he said quietly. He gazed at me with a stricken expression of tenderness.
I saw the silver knife glittering in his left hand and a stake in his right. We knew what had to be done to keep her from rising as a vampire.
I knelt down beside him, shaking. I opened Ginger’s coat and the stained and soggy blouse. It took me three tries to work the buttons. Her chest was pale, and I could see that the red tongues of the infection had worked beneath her bra strap and wound around her ribs.
I forced myself to try to take the knife from Alex. His hands were frozen around the hilt.
“No,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
The stake plunged between the upper left two ribs, spilling a dark, viscous fluid on the ground.
I was glad that Alex was here, glad that he was here to take some of this terrible burden from me. The silver glinted in his fist as he brought the blade to her throat. I looked away, away until her head rolled down the little slope to come to rest beside the stone.
I stood there, gasping. The sunshine washed over me, cold and distant. Alex had his back to me. I could see his stained hands, the way his shoulders shook.
I couldn’t help myself. My whole spirit buckled and shattered. I pressed my hands to my mouth and let loose a hoarse cry of anguish, like a raven’s caw.
***
We used some of the remaining lighter fluid on Ginger’s remains and dragged her head and body to the pyre. I stripped her wedding rings from her fingers with the intention of giving them to her family, if we ever saw them. I gently removed her broken glasses from her pocket and tucked them into our pack. We sat upwind of the pyre, feeding the fire with leaves and dried branches. We were covered in blood. I’m sure that if there was something lurking in the countryside, it could smell us. I don’t think I cared much, anymore. We were open, exposed, and I felt, deep down, that we deserved whatever came for us. But Alex insisted that we burn our clothes and don the English garments we’d taken from the Animal Farm. I cast my Plain dress and apron into the fire, watching the remnants of my former life flicker and burn. But I kept the bonnet in the pocket of the loose jeans I wore.
“We can bury her ashes in the morning,” I said. I was pressed up against Alex’s side. I felt him nod against me. I covered his hand with mine. I had slipped Ginger’s rings on my right index finger. There was a simple gold band and a gold ring with a diamond in it. It was the first time in my life I’d ever worn jewelry. It made me feel closer to her.
“She is at peace now,” I said, mostly to convince myself. “It is Gelassenheit.” Not murder, I thought. Please, not murder . . .
He said nothing.
I tugged at his sleeve, pleading for him to affirm me. “She’s at peace . . . God’s will . . .” I whispered. It sounded like a question.
He choked and turned his head away. “This isn’t Gelassenheit. This is a cruel God tormenting us.”
“Don’t say that,” I said. I wanted to believe that what we had done was terrible but necessary. “I was always told that God smiles upon those who do his dirty work.”
“Bonnet, I . . . I can’t believe in an all-powerful being who would allow this . . . who wants this to happen. Screw your Gelassenheit.”
I shrank back. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, to try to blot it all out: the fire, the ache in my chest, the rings around my finger. And Alex’s anger. I knew that it wasn’t directed at me but at the easiest thing to blame. And that was God.
We passed the night without speaking further, watching Ginger burn from a safe distance. I thought I heard howling, and shivered. But I was determined to stay put, to make sure that the fire didn’t burn out. I didn’t have power over much, but I could ensure that Ginger’s remains didn’t fall to scavengers.
By silent agreement, we took turns on watch. Alex lay curled up on the ground, his head in my lap. I wore his coat around my shoulders.
I thought of how far I’d come. Not just in terms of miles, but how far I’d fallen from grace. I had given my heart and body to an English man. I had been placed under the Bann and cast out of my community. I had learned how to use weapons and how to kill. Except for the bonnet in my pocket, there was no sign of who I had been.
And Ginger was gone. I hoped that I could honor my promise to tell her husband and children goodbye for her. I hoped that the world would be set to rights and that I would be given that chance, to do something good for the woman who had loved me like one of her own children. The woman whom I’d just killed.
I sobbed, scrubbed at my eyes with my sleeve. It wasn’t fair. I felt like screaming at God, like demanding answers. But I knew that he wouldn’t answer me. He never answered me. He was just as distant and cold as the stars above.
I stared out into the night, and my breath caught in my throat when I saw a pair of glowing eyes staring back at me.
For a moment, I considered closing my eyes. Surrendering to the Darkness and letting this long nightmare be finished.
But I couldn’t. It wasn’t just me. I had to protect Alex. He was all I had left.
My hand crept down to the silver knife lying closed on the grass.
The eyes crept closer, and a creature of smoke and sinew came into the touch of the firelight.
Not a vampire. A wolf.
The animal warily approached, watching me with soft golden eyes. I recognized it from the Animal Farm—the smallest one who had just a bit too much gold on its chest, which made me think that there was some domestic dog in it. The one who had stayed behind after the others had left.
My hand moved away from the knife.
“It’s all right,” I whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”
I hoped that it wouldn’t hurt me. My father had said that wolves were shy of people and the only hazard they posed was to unguarded cattle if they were hungry. But those were different times, and everyone was hungry.
At the very edge of the firelight, the wolf slowly and deliberately lay down. He did not break from my gaze once as he did so. I could see the tension and fear in his body. He didn’t look as painfully skinny as he had the last time I’d seen him, and he looked clean.
My fingers snaked to the pack beside me. I found a fruit pie from the truck stop, one of our last ones. I had no appetite. I quietly unwrapped it and tossed it to the wolf.
It was a clumsy throw. The pie landed short, about three feet away from it, and broke apart. The wolf’s nose twitched. Without breaking eye contact with me, he sidled over to the pie, his belly close to the ground.
He gobbled it down and licked the grass for crumbs, reminding me of the dogs I’d owned and bred.
The wolf didn’t approach me. He went back to the spot at the edge of the fire and lay down. I saw that some of the tension had drained from his muscles, and he put his head between his paws.
“All right then,” I whispered. “You can help me keep watch.”
***
When dawn began to flush the edge of the horizon and the stars began to burn themselves out, the wolf climbed to his feet. He padded away into the tall grass. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. But I was willing to take his visit for what it was—a bit of comfort in the darkness.
Alex woke shortly after, and I didn’t mention the wolf. The fire had died down by then, and we went to poke through the ashes with sticks. Ginger’s bones were still there, burned black and covered in ash.
We found a couple of flat stones and set to digging a hole. It wasn’t a very respectable grave. But I needed to bury her. I set the bones inside the hole with the foot and leg bones facing east, in the Amish fashion.
Alex brought the skull, placed it on top of the burned rib cage and pelvis. I winced when I saw it. The top left portion of it had been caved in, down
to the eye socket. And the mouth was slightly open. I could see the sharp teeth inside, and shuddered.
We scraped dirt back into the hole, stomped the fresh earth down to keep the scavengers out. I tied two sticks together in a cross shape with some dry grass and staked it in the top of the disturbed earth. Alex stacked rocks before it in a pillar.
We stood before the makeshift grave. I tried to memorize where it was, how many paces from the tree. Alex carefully marked the area on his map.
Plain people did not eulogize their dead. I didn’t know how to begin to do that in the English fashion. So I began in Deitsch:
“Unser Vadder im Himmel,
dei Naame loss heilich sei,
Dei Reich loss komme . . .”
Alex said “Amen” with me at the end of the Lord’s Prayer, and I felt a small spark of warmth, that perhaps not all his hope had been lost. He took my hand and we stared at the small grave. In a Plain service, there would be sermons. Someone would give the name of the deceased, her birth and death dates. I was ashamed that I didn’t know Ginger’s birth year or her middle name.
Instead, I said: “Goodbye, Ginger. We shall see you in the kingdom of heaven.”
***
We traveled fast, since there were only two of us. Three, counting Horace.
Four, counting the wolf.
Alex and I rode together on the horse, wrapped in the cloak of silent mourning. We were mindful not to push Horace too hard, with our combined weight added to the poundage of our dwindling gear. But there was something reassuring to the feel of Alex’s arms around me. He was not much of a horseman. I had to show him how to mount and dismount without falling off, how to guide the horse with the reins. But he was gentle with the horse, and Horace knew that.
We traveled across open farmland. Occasionally, Alex would point to where we were on the map. I felt the strength of winter coming and worried over our food supplies. We were down to one bottle of cranberry juice and a bag of potato chips, which we shared before a small fire. It was getting too cold to contemplate night without it. Our lighter fluid was gone, and I managed to start a fire with some dry pine, but I had been lucky to find it.