The October Light of August

by Robert John Jenson

  And it looked like I was going to have to bury someone else today.

  Shit.

  I nearly slipped off the rain-slick roof, then slipped on the branches of the maple tree, but made it safely to the ground. The rain was light now, but the thunder sounded like it was closer. Well, getting struck by lightning while digging a grave was better than being a meal for the dead I supposed.

  The pickaxe was still buried in Jesse's head, and as I tried to pull it out his body tried to rise with it. I shook and wiggled the tool until it worked its way loose. Then I darted over to a corner of the yard to retch, hoping I wouldn't be overheard. When I felt less queasy, I marched over to the garden, and giving my mother's grave as much room as I could, I attacked the dirt with a vengeance.

  I didn't intend to dig too deep or spend too much time at all, but began to feel guilty and ended up digging deeper than I had for my mom, but narrower. Wrestling Jesse's body into the hole was probably the hardest part of the job. That, and prying the gun loose from his fingers – he was stiff as a board and his left arm was out away from his body. I wound up putting him in on his side, and jumping on his arm to make it lay down against his body. When I was certain it wouldn't spring back up, I began to shovel the wet dirt over his body as the rain picked up in tempo.

  The sky brightened with a flash of lightning, and soon thunder rolled over the neighborhood. I tamped down the final shovel loads and decided it would be a good time to try and fortify the gate. I grabbed a couple two-by-fours from the shed, dug them in and braced them into the turf, then nailed them against the gate. Thunder had been rumbling steadily, and I hoped no dead could hear my hammer blows. That would have to do.

  Rain was streaming down the roof of the house, the rain spouts gushing as the gutters directed the flow of water. I had brought with me a bar of soap and some shampoo, so I moved out of sight from the neighbor's windows, stripped, and had my first good shower in weeks. It took some time until I felt I had all of the shampoo out of my hair, but I felt much better. I draped some clothes over patio chairs out in the rain. I thought about scrubbing them with soap, but I was getting cold – the heat from digging a grave was leaving my body, and I didn't want to cramp up climbing the tree. So I made it back up and into my room where I toweled myself dry and then wrapped a bath robe around me.

  As the storm continued outside, I decided I should probably try and collect some of the rain water. I gathered up an empty coffee can and some water bottles, glasses and cups, pried the two-by-four off of the door and set them out in the rain. I then went inside, found three funnels and put them into the water bottles. They promptly tipped over until I used some rocks to brace them up. The wind didn't seem to be too strong, so I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. I hammered the door shut again, toweled off and put on the robe once more. I had a lunch of water and trail mix, and realized I was sleepy. I shuffled upstairs and crashed into bed.

  I woke in the early evening, feeling hot and stuffy in the bath robe, so I flung it off and went to find the 'pot of doom' as my mom had christened it. I'm guessing anyone reading this cares as much about my bathroom habits as I do in writing about them, so I only need to note that I sincerely hope there are areas that still have the luxury of running water.

  After I put on some clean shorts and a t-shirt, I went back to the window to see if Jesse's wife was around, but I didn't see her. It was still drizzling outside, and I could see a dead guy swaying in the street in front of Jesse's house (yes, yes - technically Jesse's wife's house now). He didn't seem to be interested in anything but occupying that little patch of asphalt for the moment, so I went downstairs to warm up some chili on a camp stove (I really miss cheese) and wash it down with an energy drink.

  I was by then pretty stiff and sore, and grimaced my way back upstairs where I took some more ibuprofen. I lay back on the bed, and soon was out.

  An enormous crack of thunder woke me. The house actually creaked and settled in its wake, and as I sat up a bolt of lightning illuminated the room and I could see rain blowing in the open window. The house shook again under the thunderclap. I jumped up to slam the window shut, and moved down the hallway in the dark to shut the other bedroom window. The floorboards were slick with rain and as I lowered the window I slipped and went down, banging my knees hard. I swore long and loudly, curled on the floor in a fetal position until the pain eased into a dull throbbing. I blindly grabbed a comforter off the bed and pushed it around to sop up the rain water. There was a flashlight on the nightstand so I grabbed it and used it to make my way back to my mom's room, dragging the comforter behind me. The floor wasn't so wet there, but I mopped it as best I could and then shoved the soggy fabric into a corner. I would hang it in the basement later.

  The storm seemed to be passing over, lightning and thunder still fairly regular but more distant. I went to the window to watch, and in a crackle of illumination I spotted Jesse's wife leaning out her open window into the rain. The thunder rolled over us, and as several other bolts lit the sky I could see see was grinning.

  Seeing as her husband had fallen out that very window, I was a little concerned for her safety. I slid the window open.

  “Please be careful,” I called softly.

  I saw the dark shape of her shift as she directed her attention to me. Thunder rumbled.

  “I do so love a thunderstorm,” she shouted, and laughed.

  I couldn't tell if she was drunk, off her rocker, or just energized by the storm. Lightning flashed again, and she had her head tipped up into the sky, her wet hair twisting across her face and hanging in tangled strands.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “So do I. But...be careful. Is all. I mean.”

  She laughed again.

  “What's your name?” she asked.

  “My name?”

  “Yeah. You're name!”

  “Uh, Arthur. I usually go by 'Artie' though...”

  “Well Artie, I'm Jackie. Pleased to meet you.”

  Jesse and Jackie. Jackie and Jesse. That rolled off the tongue easy enough for friends, I bet. I could almost hear it, echoes of “Let's see if Jackie and Jesse want to meet us there. Do you know if Jackie and Jesse are coming? Did you hear about Jackie and Jesse?”

  “Pleased to meet you as well,” I replied.

  I heard a small hum of acknowledgement, and then we were quiet for several minutes. Lightning lit her again, and she had her head hanging down, rain running off the tips of her hair to the grass below.

  “I'm really sorry about your mother,” she finally murmured. Thunder gave an irritated grumble in the distance. “She seemed like such a sweet lady.”

  “Yeah,” I replied dumbly. “She truly was.”

  I paused, and then added, “I'm really sorry about -”

  “I know, I know,” she said.

  The rain poured harder for awhile, and in bursts of lightning I watched it cascade from her shoulders and hair. As the downpour eased again, she looked over to me and I could see a tired smile flash and disappear.

  “Never, never get blind, stinking drunk while the zombies are circling, Artie. Let that be a lesson.” A flash of lightning, and her head was shaking sadly, water drops flinging from her hair to get lost in the rain. I could hear the weariness in her voice, and wondered if I heard some guilt as well...

  “Yeah,” I offered, always the sparkling conversationalist.

  “I'm getting cold, Artie,” she said abruptly. “I think I'd better go in and dry off. Looks like the storm is winding down now.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  “But it was nice chatting with you,” she added, and ducked back in through the window. Lightning dimly flared, and I saw her slide the window down with a quiet thump. I reached up and pulled my window down and said quietly, “Nice chatting with you too.”

  I hadn't gotten too wet, so I stripped off my shirt and then lay on the bed. With my hands folded across my chest, I lay in the dark and whispered, “Jackie and Jesse. Jesse and Jackie,” over and over until
I fell asleep.

  I was debating the idea of trying to brew some coffee on my camp stove, when I heard muffled voices outside between the houses. I heard a gate shake violently, and then voices again, sounding irritated. I darted up the stairs, my knees groaning. The morning had brought sunshine streaming through the window, so I had opened it before going down to figure out what breakfast would be.

  As I was creeping towards the window I heard what sounded like a semi-truck's horn blare out in the street. This was the most astonishingly loud man-made noise I had heard in some time, and it startled me. Then, a sharp whistle.

  “Jesse! Hey man! You in there?” a voice called from the street. Then another sharp whistle. “Yo dude! Jesse!”

  The voices down below chuckled quietly, then I heard distinctly, “I'm telling you man, she's a MILF.”

  The semi-truck horn blared long and loud, and I used that noise to move quickly to the window and look out. A battered pick-up sat in the street, not an eighteen wheeler. The stump of a telephone pole projected from the bed, resting on what looked like a reinforced tailgate. I couldn't see exactly how it was anchored down. Oddly, my first thought was that they should have a red flag hanging off that pole, like they give you at lumber yards. That thing was a hazard.

  A quick whistle issued from below me, and a voice called, “Yo Jesse! Jackie? You guys home? Come on bro, we're haulin' outta here!”

  Silence.

  “What's so important about this guy?” a different voice asked.

  “Nothing important,” said the first voice. “He's just a cool guy. Has some firepower, I can tell you that. And his wife is pretty hot.”

  The second said skeptically, “You think anything with a pussy is hot. I seen you eying dead bitches, thinking you might like some of that shit.”

  “Fuck you,” said the first guy, sounding disgusted. “The only action you ever had was fapping it to the internet. You probably pulled out the little guy to wave him at people on – what was that site? Chat something...”

  The second guy snorted and said, “Oh, don't pretend you don't know! You -” He was interrupted by another blast of the horn, and this time the truck's engine revved loudly.

  A voiced called from the truck again.

  “Did you guys check the back? See if his truck or bike is in the garage?”

  “Gate's locked,” replied the first guy below me.

  “So fucking climb it!”

  Low arguing ensued between the houses, which intensified with the sound of blows being landed and several, “Fuck yous” being sworn before I finally heard wood rattling and grunts as someone heaved himself over the fence.

  The morning was quiet again for awhile, except for the sound of crows cawing in the distance and the truck idling.

  “Hey! Mike – on your six, dude,” called the guy in the truck.

  “Aw shit,” the second guy muttered – apparently “Mike” and the winner in the fight not to go over the fence.

  I hugged the wall next to the window and looked down to see a dead man moving steadily towards Mike, who had stepped into view aiming a pistol at its head. The dead guy had a beer belly that hung over his tighty-whities and looked like the embodiment of momentum and mass in the flesh. Mike put a bullet through the dead guy's head, and then gave a yell as the corpse's forward progress continued to propel it along for several steps before it crashed into the side of Jackie's house and slid down the vinyl siding. Mike pumped a few more rounds into the body and then kicked it for good measure.

  The sound of the gate rattling and shaking made him whirl and fire off a shot at the fence, and then I heard the sound of a heavy thump and loud swearing.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you, fucktard?” yelled the first guy. “You almost shot me!”

  “Jesus, Nick, give a warning before you - ”

  If Nick had lost the first fight, fury and adrenaline gave him an edge this time as he launched himself into Mike who went down under a flurry of punches and kicks. The pistol fired and Nick straightened abruptly.

  “You get the fuck off me!” yelled Mike, wiping blood out of his blond mustache.

  Nick stood utterly still as Mike shakily aimed the pistol in his direction.

  “Put the gun down, Mike. Now.”

  Ah, the alpha dog. He stood with his arms folded, biceps bulging as they strained the fabric of the black Pink Floyd t-shirt – that faux-vintage look: crossed hammers looking faded and scabby on fresh, jet black fabric. Ball cap, shades, jeans, boots rounded him out. No need even to threaten with the gun at his hip. I could still hear the truck idling in the street, and would have given just about anything to see it driven off at that moment. Alas, the alpha dog had that under control as well it seemed.

  Mike wavered for a moment, then dropped the gun and wiped at his nose. Nick drew back a leg to kick him again, but the alpha would have none of it.

  “We do not have time for this,” he said tightly. “Cut the shit, and let's do what we came here to do.” He turned and stalked back to the truck. Nick followed him, and Mike jumped up and limped after them. After conferring in low tones at the truck for several minutes, Mike climbed into the cab and got behind the wheel while Nick and the alpha moved out of sight onto my mom's front yard. Mike swung the truck into the street, then backed it up over the curb onto Jackie's lawn.

  “I hope you have your seatbelt on, dumb ass,” Nick offered stage right. Mike must have decided to do that very thing, and I heard shared laughter out of sight punctuated by the truck's engine revving and then the vehicle accelerated back towards the front porch of Jackie's house. The porch steps crunched into the bumper of the truck, but a louder thump and crash of breaking glass made the spectators cheer.

  “Do it again!” yelled Nick.

  The truck spun its wheels before lurching away from the porch and tearing up the front lawn. Just as Mike hit the brakes, there was a brutal crack! and the back window of the truck grew a spiderweb-ringed hole as glass flew out of the front windshield.

  “What in the fuck do you guys think you're doing?” yelled Jackie. I couldn't see her, she must have been on the upper porch at the front of her house.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” yelled the alpha dog as he trotted into view waving his arms. “Come on now, Jackie – we thought you guys were gone! Jesus, is Jesse there?”

  Mike sat in the truck, his shoulders hunched and trying to look small.

  “Don't you worry, Jesse's got you covered,” Jackie responded.

  The alpha thought that over. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Look, I'm sorry we smashed your front door – you must have heard us yelling for you guys? We thought you must have hit the road. We're only looking for supplies, you know? Had to check and see if Jesse took all his shit, you know? Any chance that he left anything could help us out, you know?”

  “Right,” said Jackie. “If you don't mind, we'll go ahead and keep what's ours. And Nick if you make another move, this MILF will drop your ass where you stand.”

  “Aw, Jackie,” Nick shouted. “I didn't mean anything - ” Another shot ripped through the morning air, and I saw the alpha dog actually flinch.

  “Gonna shut up, Nick?” asked Jackie.

  The morning was quiet except for the birds. The alpha had his arms raised, as did Nick I presumed. It was at this point I wished I had a gun. It was also at that point I wondered what in the world I had done with Jesse's gun? I honestly could not remember doing anything with it after I had pried it from his hand. Sat it aside, maybe? Buried it with him? Jesus, where was it? I wanted to move from the window to go look out the one in my old room. Was the damn thing just lying out there in the grass? Could I climb down the tree and get it? I was sore all over, and my knees were killing me from banging them on the floor the night before. I was afraid I would slip off the roof. Climbing down a tree might be a disaster.

  The familiar, desperate feelings of indecision gripped me yet again. I wanted to look for the gun, but I didn't want to leave the window. Even though I wa
s useless to Jackie at that point, I felt leaving the window would be like abandoning her. Thankfully, Mrs. Clarke showed up to distract everyone.

  She shuffled into view from the front of our house, in white carpet slippers and slacks, her blouse loose and wrinkled. Her hair that had usually been styled once a month hung stringy and unwashed. She stopped and peered at the truck, then raised her cane.

  “You get that thing off of Jesse's lawn right now!” she screeched. “Just look what you've done to it! What do you idiots think you're doing out here?” She swept her cane around to point at the alpha dog. “You're making noise! Too damned much noise! If you had half the sense God gave a goose you'd be twice as bright as you are now, you steroid-swilling son of a bitch!”

  No one seemed to know what to say, and Mrs. Clarke walked around behind the truck and gave the tailgate a whack with her cane. “Go on now,” she snapped. “Get the hell out of here and stop this nonsense. We are supposed to stay in and keep quiet! You are making too much noise!”

  “Well, you heard the lady,” said Jackie. “Get your truck off of my lawn.”

  The alpha dog looked towards Mike, back up towards Jackie, and then to Mrs. Clarke. After a moment his arms wavered and he looked back to Mike and gave a quick jerk of his head in the direction of the street. Mike punched the accelerator, promptly rocketing the truck backwards. Mrs. Clarke disappeared violently as the truck shot towards the house and slammed up the steps and into a porch post. Jackie's house shook with the impact and I heard her yelp and swear loudly over the crack and squeal of splintering wood. What I could see of her front porch seemed to be sagging and the alpha dog's jaw dropped open in surprise.

  Holy shit.

  I saw Nick dart across the lawn to the front porch, and then the alpha did too. All that was left of Mrs. Clarke was a short smear on the walkway that lead up to the porch and presumably under the truck. I could hear muffled voices arguing on the front porch, and finally the sound of the truck's engine racing as it tried to haul itself off the steps. The porch shook and rattled, but the truck was hung up and didn't appear to be going anywhere.