by Jeff Wood
How we doing down here?
Simone nearly jumps out of her skin. Mr. Stevens is standing in the doorway. He holds a lit cigarette at his side.
SIMONE
Omigod you scared me. The lights went out.
MR. STEVENS
Yes, there seems to be some problem with the power.
SIMONE
Yeah… Um, how many of these are we going to need?
MR. STEVENS
I imagine we better hit all of them, just to be on the safe side.
SIMONE
Oh. Okay.
MR. STEVENS
Super. Thanks again. I know this isn’t glamorous work.
SIMONE
Uh huh. Hey I was also getting a little curious.
MR. STEVENS
About what?
SIMONE
How long is it that we’ve been here?
MR. STEVENS
How do you mean?
SIMONE
How long have we— I’m sorry. I mean, today.
How long have I been working here. Today.
Stevens draws a blank on her.
MR. STEVENS
You know the rule, Simone.
SIMONE
Yes, I know, but where is everyone? Else.
MR. STEVENS
I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at with this line of questioning.
SIMONE
Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?
MR. STEVENS
I’d be delighted.
SIMONE
Do you have children?
MR. STEVENS
Of course not. We’re all going to die. After all.
They stare at each other poker-faced and Mr. Stevens takes a drag off his cigarette. The radio in the salt and pepper room snows between stations.
SIMONE
Okay, well, actually I was wondering if I might be able to take a short break today.
MR. STEVENS
You bet. Whatever you need to do.
Mr. Stevens abruptly checks his watch, causing Simone to jump again—
MR. STEVENS
Well. Gotta run. Just hit as many of these as you can. Thanks again.
Simone catches her breath.
***
The three surveyors are moving steadily through the quiet afternoon trees.
Gunner and Sue are tromping as a pair. Gunner hauls the tripod slung over his shoulder. Sue carries his clipboard and can of spray paint, occasionally pausing to mark significant trees.
Jonah hikes out ahead of them, moving through the bare winter forest, nimbly pushing branches aside, ducking and weaving slowly through the brush.
Patches of snow here and there. Chickadees chattering and blue jays caterwauling.
***
Robert is raking dead cardinals into a large red pile in the center of his front lawn. He claws at the grass with a leaf rake. He stops to wipe his brow and scans the neighborhood to see if anyone has noticed the odd manner of yard work.
The neighborhood is entirely empty and Robert is alone with his large pile of dead red birds.
***
Jonah is standing in a small clearing in the trees. Before him lies a large mound of earth about waist high, rounded smooth and covered with healthy green grass.
Light shines through the sparse canopy, illuminating the mound of bright green grass, out of season amid the drab surroundings.
Gunner and Sue emerge from the trees behind Jonah and stand next to him at the odd land-feature. Gunner observes the mound for a moment and then takes off his hat in a gesture of solemnity.
Somehow taking the cue, Sue speaks in a quiet voice.
SUE
What is it?
GUNNER
Indians.
SUE
(momentarily fascinated)
Oh—
Sue hesitates, unsure how to proceed, shifting back and forth uneasily. Jonah looks up at the light coming through the trees while Gunner is fixated on the green mound.
Then Sue takes the cap off his can of spray paint. He shakes the can, steps forward and quickly marks the mound of earth with an orange X.
TSSSST— TSSSST.
Jonah and Gunner both shoot him an incredulous look.
SUE
(defensively)
What?
Spooked by his irreverence, the men look superstitiously back down at the Indian burial mound.
***
Samson rolls through a sector of new streets on the fringes of the housing development. A construction zone of exposed foundations, housing frames, and dirt yards.
Cruising slowly, looking for signs of life, Sam spies a small ghost standing inside one of the open skeletal houses—literally, it is a young child wearing a white sheet with cut-out eye-holes gazing back at him. Then he sees another child, climbing up from an open basement. Another dropping down from some rafters. Another, running between two houses. And another, crossing the street in his rearview mirror. The children look quite young to be playing in a construction site.
But there are children everywhere! Coming out of the woodwork like rats.
A boy wearing a homemade superhero cape runs out ahead of Samson’s truck. He sprints around a corner, his cape flying behind him, screaming a high-pitched alarm at the top of his lungs.
SUPER BOY
Ahhhh!!! He’s coming!!!
Samson slowly follows the child around the corner. Little kids line up on the street curb, clapping and cheering.
At the end of the street a cul-de-sac reaches out into a field. The circular dead-end is filled with children coloring on the pavement with street chalk. Outfitted in winter gear—snowsuits, mismatched layers, and a hodgepodge of ragtag accessories—the kids are down on the pavement covering the street with colored chalk. Their little hands are moving furiously, gripping the large pieces of chalk in their fists, around and around, the sound of circling chalk creating a swooping, sweeping rhythm.
Samson pulls into a driveway, jumps out of his truck, and announces gloriously—
SAMSON
HOT CHOCOLATE!!!
The children cheer and surround him like a pack of wild dogs. Sam sets out a self-service thermos and some white Styrofoam cups. Then he wades through the children and walks across the cul-de-sac toward a house.
The skeleton frame of a house sits at the end of the street. The dirt lawn is filled with furniture. A couch, a recliner, coffee table, lamp, television. A family of contemporary Native Americans is bundled up and gathered in the front yard, watching TV
Samson steps over the curb and up onto the dirt lawn.
An ancient woman relaxes in the easy chair in front of the television. She smokes a gentleman’s pipe and when she sees Samson she regards him and motions to a small boy who takes off running into the house. Then she looks up into Samson’s mirrored shades, gestures at him with her pipe, and speaks to him in Wyandot, an Iroquoian language.
A younger man in the family translates for Samson.
WYANDOT TRANSLATOR
She says that the Devil is a curious crow, and crafty too. Since he could not be God, he became God’s mirror, and now we are not so sure who is who.
The boy emerges from the frame house and crosses the yard, struggling to carry a pair of gallon milk jugs. The jugs are filled with a bright Tang-orange liquid.
WYANDOT TRANSLATOR
But really it is easy. When we make a deal with the Devil, we go to the Devil’s paradise. And the Devil is the only one who makes deals.
The boy places the jugs at Samson’s feet. Sam pulls an envelope of cash out of his coat pocket and hands it to the translator who tucks it inside the blanket draped over his shoulders.
The old woman thanks Samson, smokes her pipe, and smiles.
WYANDOT TRANSLATOR
She says that the Big Scioto is frozen, but it’s a good day for ice-fishing!
Out in the street, a child is scribbling furiously and methodically with chalk on the concrete. Aro
und and around his chalk goes… Beyond him, many more children are scribbling in circles. The sound of chalk circling on the concrete creates an overwhelming rhythmic, circling, scraping sound.
The entire street is ringed with children, drawing circles.
Pulling back and looking down on the cul-de-sac: incredibly, the children have filled the entire cul-de-sac with colored chalk, creating a circle-based drawing. Smaller dots form bigger dots, which in turn form large circles. Hundreds of concentric circles resonate harmonically like colored raindrops on a concrete pond.
The drawing resembles a giant aboriginal painting.
Pulling back even farther and ascending above the neighborhood, the street drawing continues. Unconsciously, the children have created an image as the result of their collective circular scribbling: a long green snake slithers down the street and into the neighborhood…
In the cul-de-sac, the snake’s mouth opens around an orb of colored dots and circles as if it is consuming an Easter egg.
Ascending higher, the neighborhood is only a piece of a greater patchwork, a quilt of fields and suburban clusters. Ohio. The Great Lakes, and the Eastern Seaboard arcing across the turning planet. The Northern Hemisphere. Planet Earth hangs in the vacuum of black space. And the Sun, radiating fission, solar flares, swirling gaseous hurricanes, and light.
***
Dust particulates floating in a stream of bright sunlight.
Sunlight on Simone’s hands.
Simone stands at a large window on the upper mezzanine in the lobby of the Convention Center. She is a lone, organic figure within an otherwise cubist and off-worldly architecture. Golden afternoon light spills over her. She closes her eyes like a cat in the window, basking in the warm, much-needed sunlight.
***
A gorgeous oak tree stands alone at the center of an empty winter cornfield. Bare black branches extend like gnarled fingers from the thick, centenary trunk of the tree.
Jonah, Gunner, and Sue emerge from the woods and stand at the edge of the field as though taking in a vista. They look out across the field, faces awash in the magic light of an early dusk. Sue breaches the moment.
SUE
All right, let’s just set up somewhere here. We can tag this one and then get outta here.
GUNNER
What are they gonna build here?
SUE
Oh, I dunno… Let’s see…
He flips back a couple pages of his clipboard.
SUE
Event Horizon… A Convention Center.
GUNNER
Huh.
Gunner continues watching the tree.
SUE
(to Jonah)
Well you know what to do. Head on out there.
(to Gunner)
Gunner, let’s see if we can get this in one shot. Then we can all go home.
Jonah starts off into the field.
Gunner then momentarily sees the tree and the entire field completely inverted and upside down.
GUNNER
(stopping Jonah)
Actually, I think I’d like to call it a day.
SUE
Just one more run. Then we’ll call it.
GUNNER
Nah, it’s getting cold and I’m hungry.
SUE
Me too but we’re all the way out here and I’m sure you got it in you to take one more shot.
GUNNER
Nope. I don’t think so.
JONAH
I can do it, if we have to.
GUNNER
You stay where you are.
SUE
Oh come on, Gunner. Don’t be ridiculous. Help me out here.
GUNNER
I’m pretty sure I’ve made up my mind.
SUE
Don’t make me pull rank here, Gunner.
GUNNER
Do what you have to do.
SUE
Well then I will.
GUNNER
I’ve got the keys to the truck.
Sue glares.
SUE
Gunner, now I’ve just about reached the end of my rope with you. If you’re not gonna take this shot then I’ll pace out the distance and mark it myself.
He allows for a response but he gets none. He marches off toward the tree with his can of surveyor’s spray paint, counting out the paces passive-aggressively.
Gunner’s eyes turn wild and set and he calls out to Sue.
GUNNER
I’m gonna have to ask you not to do that.
SUE
(shouting over his shoulder)
And if you leave me out here, then you can just forget it.
Gunner begins moving toward Sue as they shout at each other.
GUNNER
Put the paint down, Sue.
SUE
What is the goddamn matter with you?
GUNNER
I said, put the paint can down.
Sue keeps walking.
GUNNER
Sue!
Gunner runs at Sue. Sue takes off and Gunner chases him across the field. He catches up and tackles Sue to the ground. Sue struggles and kicks but he is no match for Gunner and Gunner wrestles the can of spray paint away from him.
SUE
Gunner?!?!
GUNNER
I said, put the goddamn paint can down! Now how do you like it?!
Gunner holds him down and sprays orange paint all over him as Sue tries to shield himself. Then Gunner sprays paint into the air until the can is empty.
GUNNER
It’s time to go home and there’s nothing we can do about it!
He hurls the empty paint can across the field and grabs Sue by the collar, pulling him up close and eyeing his partner with ferocious intimacy.
GUNNER
It’s coming, Sue. It’s coming.
Gunner drops him and walks away. Utterly bewildered, Sue watches him go.
Gunner marches aggressively toward Jonah. Jonah nervously steps aside as Gunner plows right by him, disappearing into the trees.
Out in the field, Sue gets on his feet, like a plucked chicken, ridiculously covered in orange paint.
The old lonely tree stands above him in the field.
***
Gunner walks alone, methodically moving through the trees as if pulled by some force.
Somewhere off behind him, Jonah and Sue haul their gear, stomping through the underbrush. The forest is dimming and quiet but for the sounds of the men pushing through the branches and brambles.
Gunner speeds on ahead, urgently heading toward the truck, huffing, sniffing, and crashing, branches whipping at his face and thighs until he breaks out into a dead run and is running for his life.
***
Simone is curled up on the mezzanine floor, asleep in the warm, diminishing pool of light. Curled up like a cat, dreaming.
***
Gunner is sprinting through the trees with complete terror-stricken abandon.
He careens down a slope, spills out of the woods, and stumbles into the middle of the road. He folds over and braces himself on his knees, panting and heaving, alone in the road.
Shortly, Jonah and Sue emerge from the trees, catching him in his moment of desperate recovery. They load up their gear while he stands in the center of the road catching his breath.
When they’re finished loading, Jonah and Sue get into the truck and wait.
Gunner stands in the road looking at the truck for an odd extra minute. Then he climbs into the driver’s seat, starts the truck, and drives away.
Gunner drives, Sue rides shotgun, Jonah sits in the backseat. The men are silent as the truck cruises down the wooded winter road.
Sue finally breaks the ice as they pass a deer-crossing sign.
SUE
Gunner. Well, I’m just sorry that things have come to this—
A deer suddenly leaps in front of the vehicle. Gunner slams on the brakes, but the truck hits the buck head-on. The deer flips onto the hood and careens t
oward the windshield—
Nothing but white light and a high-pitched chord, like wine glasses feeding back—
***
Long banquet tables are covered in white tablecloths. Jonah is sitting alone at a table, hunched over his notebook, writing. He is wearing a cater-waiter’s tuxedo uniform.
Simone is sitting a few tables away. She is looking at him. Oddly, both of their faces are covered in Kabuki-style white face paint.
Jonah looks up from his notebook and sees her—
***
The engine is idling. Thick, foul exhaust steams from the tailpipe. The Chevy Suburban sits in the middle of the road.
Jonah stumbles out of the truck and staggers on the blacktop.
The prize buck is dead.
And so are Gunner and Sue. The buck is lying across the hood. Its head has gone through the driver-side of the windshield and pinned Gunner to the seat. His arms are hung up in the antlers and one eye has been gored. His jugular has been fatally lacerated.
Sue has been thrown over the dash and smashed through the passenger side of the windshield. His head is mounted like a wild boar on a wall of shattered glass, face splattered with orange paint, eyes wide to eternity.
A pool of blood runs across the hood of the vehicle and drips to the cold, cold road. Jonah wavers on his feet, absorbing the shock of the grotesque still-life. He manages to check his watch. It is still ticking.
Gunner suddenly spasms into a burning, primal grimace. He rages against the dead animal and the void, clenching its antlers in a terminal grapple. Then he surrenders, seeing it, and blasting out his last long breath like a blown steam valve. His foot slides off the brake pedal.
The truck rolls, creeping by Jonah like a ghost ship.
As the truck passes, a strange figure is revealed. A white mud man is standing on the other side of the road. Jonah gazes at the primitive apparition of himself.
The truck crawls down the road and rolls into the ditch.
Jonah is held in place, magnetized and paralyzed, fighting to run, but unable. There is nowhere to go, and he faces himself, the mud man, painfully, slowly collapsing. He sinks to the ground, brought to his knees.
The two figures sit on opposite sides of the road, gazing into the ghostly, mirrored images of each other.
Jonah quivers and shakes, fighting something mean.
Blood running from their noses.
Staring it down.
IV
The sun goes down on the Ohio countryside.
Bare winter cornfields are ablaze in the magic light of dusk. Flocks of black crows shout across the fields. Black treetops silhouette against the horizon-sky.