Life Among The Dead (Book 2): A Castle Made of Sand

by Cotton, Daniel

  “Aw, Bruce!” Dan says out of frustration, laying his face in his hands. “What the fuck are we going to do? We’re stranded here, the rest of us are out there. There’s no way to regroup that I can see!”

  “What’s this ‘we’ shit? I’m just visiting,” Bruce says. “I’m taking my ass back upstairs in a minute. Your old man and I have a pool game scheduled. Grudge match between Ben Franklin and Jesus. They’ve been talking all sorts of shit after besting us one time. Wall and I are going to mop the floor with those douchebags.”

  “Your skin cleared up.” Dan notes that his uncle’s face is now intact and not the ruined visage he saw when he was brought home.

  “Yeah, they like to keep appearances up where I am. I keep telling the Big Guy he needs to get on his kid about wearing some gloves, cover up that garish stigmata… There’s just no trusting a guy who can cheat at a game of peek-a-boo.”

  The diversionary exchange loses its power. The king without a realm is exasperated and asks, “What am I going to do?”

  “Something will come to you,” the dead man stands. “I’m just a figment of your imagination. Try to calm down. The stress is causing a cerebral blockage, making it hard for you to brainstorm. Do what I do, curl up with a good book. I prefer magazines actually. Relieve that tension.”

  “Are you telling me to jerk off?”

  “No need for such vulgarity. I’m just saying you need to take a little ‘me time.’”

  ##

  Dan opens his eyes in the dark. His dream of the morning had been so vivid he feels jetlagged; it’s still the dead of night. He rolls out of an empty bed, forgetting the wound given to him by the strange girl. The bandage shifts, separating the fresh scabs and making it sting.

  His visitation from his uncle has given him an idea. So he rushes through the quiet ranch to the den, using a candle to see. He must hold a hand before the flame lest his haste extinguish his light source. Heather and Carla are sitting at the chessboard table by the hearth, playing cribbage by lantern light.

  “Hi, honey,” his wife says. “Can’t sleep either?”

  Dan doesn’t hear her, because he’s too busy searching the room for what he has been inspired to find. He darts from the bar to the gun cabinets trying to locate it.

  “Looking for something?” Carla asks the obvious. She knows that he is and simply wants to be helpful.

  Dan halts his furious inspection, feeling lightheaded. It isn’t simply the time change between now and his dream. His body is hot though he feels chilled. “Have you guys seen a big box of porn anywhere?”

  “What?” Heather inquires, her shock is evident in her voice.

  “Magazines,” he explains. “Penthouse, Hustler, Swank…”

  “I heard you! Why are you looking…” she attempts to ask, but he is off again, re-searching places he has already been.

  Carla attempts to use humor to diffuse the awkward and potentially explosive situation. “My dad, before he ran off, always said ‘it doesn’t matter where a man gets his appetite, as long as he’s eating at home.’” She fails to ease the tension, but after a nervous laugh she takes another stab at it. “Of course, he always seemed to opt for takeout. You know, something cheap and easy he could pick up. I think I’m going to go.”

  “No, Carla, stay. I want you to see this,” Dan says without looking at her.

  “I don’t think I want to… whatever it is.”

  A feverish Dan looks at the tree trunk table that the bewildered ladies sit at. The impressive piece of furniture on which he had played countless games of chess against Bruce last winter. After Oz had brought his uncle’s body home, Dan took a peek at what lies within a secret cabinet under the heavily lacquered top. The women watch him pull four hefty banker’s boxes from it.

  Three of the troves are filled with files, loose papers, and envelopes. Since they are of no use to Dan, he pushes them away so he can focus on the one he has been questing for. He feels eyes upon him, and finally realizing the oddness of his actions he explains himself. He isn’t certain how to word this, how to tell his spectators that his uncle came to him in a dream to tell him the solution to all their turmoil is masturbation.

  Dan just lifts the lid to the crate to reveal two neat stacks of periodicals. The left is composed of vintage magazines in mint condition. If a market for them still existed, they would be very valuable. The other tower yields modern, far raunchier fare. It isn’t what is in the box, the published material, he sought.

  Dan turns the lid over in his hands to view the long white envelope taped to the plain brown underside, a discovery he had ignored on his previous inspection. Written in Bruce’s hand are the words Dan once thought meaningless, or held only value for the author himself. Now, they could mean everything: In the event of a water landing.

  ##

  Hey kid,

  If you’re reading this, one of three things has happened. 1) I never made it back from Vermello, and probably never will. 2) I made it back only to expire on the throne.

  3) You’ve proved to be a horrible nephew and husband, and went behind not only your wife’s back but mine as well to look at my personal cache of spank rags.

  Personally, I’m rooting for option three, but I know you’re better than that. If the words I labeled this with have piqued your interest it can only mean that all the naysayers who told me I was crazy to build my dam here were right, or that it has fallen by unnatural means. Since I can’t predict who is at fault, I’m going to make it easy and just blame you. Whatever you did, it’s done, so stop worrying about it.

  All the negativity of those people made me doubt myself. I began to wonder what I would do if the Parson’s did collapse. It had me paranoid to say the least.

  The hill my ranch sits on was constructed by carting the excavations of our quarry out east here. I couldn’t stand the thought of settling on anything but New Hampshire soil. The ranch itself was once a ski resort. I had some wild times at in Vermont. I had it moved board by board here and reconstructed. Rich guys like me like to do shit like that. Why else be rich, right?

  Getting to the point, I’ve never held much faith in insurance. A man is his best insurance. Those companies just like to dick people around, make them pay for peace of mind then never come through when they’re needed. A man needs to use his brain and prepare for the unthinkable, instill fail safes and contingencies in the anticipation of any disaster. One day you’ll learn how to use yours. Probably not with the same surgical precision as I use mine, but it’ll suit you.

  As I watched them rebuild my home, I had an epiphany. This is the point you will call me crazy…

  ##

  “He’s crazy!” Dan says after reading his uncle’s plan.

  “What is it?” Heather asks.

  “Bruce wants us to build an ark!”

  ##

  People often speculated where the Charles would go if the dam ever failed. Some said it would follow its old path, others said it would wash everything in its way straight to Mexico. Actually, it’ll veer east a bit and dump into the Gulf between Louisiana and Florida. I’ve made it a point to keep abreast of all changes in the topography south of here, both natural and manmade. I told you I was paranoid.

  Once underway, your best bet will be to stick to the middle and ride Old Man River all the way. You may be thinking that the voyage is too risky, but staying is riskier. The fact may have escaped your attention, perhaps it hasn’t presented itself yet, but our hill is now an island, and it’s going to erode fast. The river is far too swift and the hill is just a pile of dirt and scraps of granite. It’ll melt like a pat of butter before long.

  The reason you need to keep to the middle is simple--the shores aren’t going to be smooth from ages of wear. There’s going to be surprises underneath: buildings, trees, and all sorts of shit you don’t want to hit or get stuck on. As far as your vessel, there’s a shed out on the far edge of my land, and in it are all the tools and supplies you’ll need. Even before I wrote
this, I made you an instruction manual. Follow it to the letter, or else you’ll surely get yourself into trouble.

  Don’t fuck this up,

  Bruce

  3

  At first light, the castaways walk to the shed at the property’s end, after consuming a breakfast of the few items not packed up for Raleigh. Everyone ate but Dan, who felt too nauseous and didn’t see any point in wasting the food if it was just going to come back up. He feels a chill, though he sweats profusely.

  Words of concern are ignored, and he tells his wife and friends that he is fine. They suggest he lie down, but he refuses. He needs to see the extent of his uncle’s obsession. The inventory is exactly what he predicted--extensive. Bruce never took the easy way. The supplies are stacked to the rafters: planks and steel pipes, elbow joints and bags of assorted hardware, and of course King Bruce’s explicit handwritten instructions.

  As a kid, when Uncle Bruce would make a rare visit, the two would put together models. The man always brought one with him as a gift. Dan, like most kids, would often get ahead of himself and need to be reminded to follow the directions, lest he skip an important step in the order of operations. Dan would become so excited about the finished product, he’d forget the minute details involved, which would result in sports cars with no seats, bombers without their gun turrets. Bruce never got mad. He would just say things like: ‘If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing right,’ or ‘Measure twice, cut once.’

  “Are we doing this?” Carla skeptically asks.

  “Not much choice,” Dan answers, leaning against the shed for strength. “We’re eroding. One way or another we’re going into the river.”

  “And we’ll be out of food before long,” Oz adds.

  “Can we do this?” Heather inquires.

  “Yup.” Oz peruses the schematic. “It’s all mapped out perfectly. Shouldn’t even take too long.”

  Jack and Vincent watch them carry long items from the shed. The boys sit contently in a tandem stroller with its sunshade drawn over their heads. The grown-ups have no such luxury to protect them from the heat, and within an hour they are sweating, especially Dan whose shirt is completely drenched. He had foolishly hoped the endeavor would be like something out of a movie montage, with the group unanimously deciding to take on the task, everyone lifts a tool, a few snapshots later and the job is done. So far all they have is a steel frame sitting on rows of smooth timber out on the front driveway.

  “Hey, boss, why don’t you sit this out for a bit?” Oz addresses Dan.

  “We need to get this done,” he responds, his vision going double when he looks at the large man.

  “We will. Everyone is going to take turns resting. You first.”

  Before Dan can protest further, he is being helped to the ranch.

  “Will he be ok?” Heather asks.

  “Probably just exhaustion and stress making him sick,” Carla tries to assure her friend. “Let’s keep working.”

  4

  Dan sits up on the couch when the others enter the den. A wool blanket is over his shoulders, and though it irritates the painful goose bumps all over his flushed body, he feels he can’t live without it. He feels much better having rested, much more cognizant. “My turn to go back out?”

  “It’s all done, honey,” Heather says, sitting next to her husband. She touches his burning skin and he notices she almost recoils from the heat.

  “Really? What time is it?”

  “Must be around 6 PM,” Carla estimates. “We’ll set sail in the morning.”

  “Good.” Dan nods. “The more daylight the better. Sorry I didn’t help more. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never get sick.”

  “It’s fine.” Heather rubs the top of his head softly. “Have you eaten?”

  “No.” he says emphatically. “I’m still too nauseous.”

  The three boxes Dan had moved to locate his uncle’s secret letter catch Oz’s eye, upon the sides he recognizes the words he had seen on the isolation trailer: The Rosie Parson’s Project. “What’s this?”

  “Bruce’s old papers,” Dan answers. “I still haven’t gone through them.”

  “Oh, but the porn you knew all about,” Heather teases.

  “What are you guys doing?” Dan asks when they kneel by the troves to investigate the old files.

  “Snooping,” Carla replies.

  Oz chuckles at her honesty. “Who’s Rosie Parson?”

  “An old flame of my uncle. She died before they could marry. Some sort of heart condition. The dam is--was--named after her. He did a lot of charity work in her name.”

  “I’ll say,” Oz confirms, bringing Dan an open folder. “Look familiar?”

  It takes a moment for his eyes to focus on a photograph of a young girl clipped inside the manila cover. The flash of the camera used created a glare on a sheet of plastic that stood in front of her at the time. “Hey, that’s the chick that bit me!”

  “Her name was Eve Snyder. She was born without any immunities. Your uncle donated a bubble--actually a rather large mobile home for her to live in. She had it bad. Permanent isolation is rare.

  “These boxes are filled with progress reports, letters, and thank you cards, all addressed to the Rosie Parson’s Project,” Carla announces.

  “He kept it anonymous,” Heather says with wonder.

  “Bruce said he didn’t want every schmuck with a sob story knocking on his door for a handout.”

  “Holy crap!” Carla leaps to her feet, holding a stack of receipts. “He started the foundation! It’s a free camp for troubled kids that I went to as a girl!”

  Her mind wanders, thinking about all the lessons she learned at that camp; self-reliance, and how to avoid bad choices. She has often wondered how different her life would have been had her mother not run out on her and Sid, forcing Carla to drop out of school to go to work. She found herself straddled with a mortgage and bills at such a young age. Her only recourse was to seek employment in the only two fields a dropout could get in the region--waitressing and stripping. It covered the household expenses, put food on the table, clothes on Sid’s back, and presents under the tree. She fought like hell to give her brother a good childhood, and, as she puts it, became a mom without the stretch marks.

  Once Sheriff Carla has a second to collect her thoughts, she continues to scan the papers. “He was planning to branch off to help the homeless.”

  “My dad told me about that,” Dan explains. “It wasn’t going to be a shelter, but an actual place for them to live until they got back on their feet and working. The project got held up by red tape. So many of them are running from criminal charges, or AWOL from the military, he needed to get them pardoned. Bruce said he just wanted to be able to walk down the street without people asking for spare change.”

  “Why did he make so little of it?” Heather asks. “He was doing so many great things.”

  “Yeah,” Carla pipes in. “I feel like a saint when I give a bell ringer a buck at Christmas.”

  “It was for her. For Rosie.” Dan looks down at the three boxes. “He hated that someone with such a good heart was taken from the world by heart problems.”

  “I knew there was something special about him,” Carla says, wiping her eyes. She composes herself. “We all need to eat and rest up for tomorrow. The shed had a few boxes of emergency rations and astronaut food.”

  With encouragement, Dan eats what he can stomach before they all turn in.

  5

  The survivors felt compelled to bunk together in the den in sleeping bags around the fire. Frustrated groans disturb Dan, and he sits up to see a familiar form looking through the boxes in the fire’s dying glow.

  “Bruce?”

  “Don’t even talk to me!” the ghost turns , holding up one of his magazines. “I let you paw through my jerkoff rags, but not my personal papers!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not cool.”

  “Did you just come back here to bitch?” Dan ask
s. “Shouldn’t you be up in heaven playing billiards with Santa and the Easter Bunny?”

  “Those fucks?” his uncle scoffs. “Santa, for one, is a douchebag who just takes credit for other people’s good deeds. And you try shooting stick with that rascally rabbit. Every time you turn around he’s hiding the fucking balls… I came down here to wish you luck tomorrow. It’ll be a bear but you’ll pull through, be in the gulf before dusk. I have faith in you... and a small wager in your favor. Turns out heaven is a lot like Vegas, just without the nearby brothels and two dollar buffets.”

  “I was looking at the map you drew of the river’s new path. I think we can pull off where Waterloo was, get to land quicker.”

  “What’re you stupid or something?” Bruce asks. “I said take it the entire way.”

  “We have people in…”

  “You’re no good to them drowned. Kings don’t drown. There’s too much risk in trying to stop.”

  “Ok,” he surrenders, if only to shut Bruce up.

  “Honey?” Heather sits up, cradling her husband’s shoulders. “Who are you talking to?”

  Bruce is gone. Dan has to wonder if he was dreaming or going insane. “No one, babe.”

  ##

  The flat bottomed craft rest upon a series of logs, each of even diameter, with several more aligned in front at the intervals dictated by the deceased designer. This is to be the method of launching; the craft will be pushed over the rollers, along with the many pontoons beneath it. The shed the materials were stored in has become the cabin, and fifty-two steel clamps that held it to a foundation now secure it to the deck.

  “He thought of everything,” Carla tells Dan, who sees the finished product for the first time. “There’s even a camping toilet.”