Sparrow Man

by M. R. Pritchard

  Standing, I adjust my bag and start following Sparrow.

  As we walk in broad daylight, the machete that Sparrow used to chop off Noah’s head is gripped tightly in his hand. It seems that this is the first time I’ve seen it since we started this little journey, besides when he cut my hair. And I wonder if he does have one of those leather things to strap it to his back and maybe that’s why he wears that coat.

  …

  We walk fast and quiet, just like Sparrow suggested. No chatter about birds or feathers or sins. He said that the meat sacks would come and they do. We can hear them moaning behind us, moving slower than icebergs, dragging their feet until the moon rises. Then Sparrow holds up his hand so we could hear them all drop asleep in the road with a collective thud.

  Now, walking in the dark again, I’m too tired to talk. Sparrow must notice this. He slows himself considerably so I don’t trail too far behind him. Eventually, we reach a portion of the road where there is forest on one side and steep, rocky cliff ledge on the other, stained with mineral deposits.

  “Want to sleep outside today?” Sparrow spins a stick in his hand as we walk down the middle of the road.

  “How could we manage that?” I ask, my voice thick with exhaustion.

  Sparrow points the stick up. I follow it and see a flat grassy area jutting out of the cliff above us. “Meat sacks can’t climb.”

  I sigh, not looking forward to climbing. “Sure.”

  “Come on. It’s not that far up,” he replies cheerfully.

  I follow Sparrow, walking along a rocky incline before it turns into a cliff with crevices and hollows perfectly spaced for us to climb.

  “One time,” I start to tell him as we climb. “We had this neighbor in the trailer park and her husband had this collection of remote control helicopters. I think I was like twelve or something. Anyways, we were pretty poor, especially since my mom left all of her money to me and not a penny to daddy. That pissed him off real good cause I couldn’t touch it until I was eighteen. I never had many toys, but I wanted to play with one of those helicopters real bad. So Noah and me, we snuck into the house and stole one, played with it all day long until Noah crashed it into the side of another trailer in the trailer park. Got both of us two weeks in juvy. Didn’t realize that helicopter cost over five grand.” I’m not really sure why I tell him this, but ever since he asked me to tell him my sins I’ve had a verbal catharsis.

  “That’s quite the expensive toy.”

  “Yeah. When I got released, daddy surprised me by emptying my room of all of my possessions. Everything except for my clothes and a mattress on the floor.”

  “What did he do with it all?”

  “Not sure. I think he sold it to pay for my restitution.”

  “I think that’s one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard.” Sparrow’s hand slips and a small waterfall of rocks plummets to the road below us.

  We continue our climb in the dim morning light, and sure enough, as the sun comes up, the meat sacks come out. Gimping down the road, moaning like injured cows. A few of them stop and wander around the base of the cliff. Sometimes, when we push off the rock to boost ourselves higher, the loose rocks tumble down the cliff and hit the walking dead. They moan and stare, too stupid to look up.

  When we finally reach the flat outcropping that juts off of the cliff, the sun is pouring down on us. The sky is light blue, not a cloud visible and I have the sudden uncontrollable urge to sunbathe.

  “Do you have a problem with skin, Sparrow?” I ask, reaching for the hem of my shirt. White trash like me has no problem walking around in a bra and shorts that barely cover our ass cheeks.

  “Why would I have a problem with skin?” He sits and leans over the side of the cliff to see what’s going on below us.

  I pull off my shirt, my boots, my socks, my jeans. And as I dig for my blanket to lie on the ground, standing there in nothing but my underwear, I catch a glimpse of Sparrow’s red-cheeked face out of the corner of my eye.

  Stomach still full from the deer, I forget about eating anything as I lay on my back, close my eyes, and start soaking the rays into my skin. The warm sun combined with the exhaustion of walking so much has a calming effect which sends me into an immediate sleep.

  “What is that scar from?” I hear Sparrow ask.

  Groggy, I open my eyes to find Sparrow gazing at me. I look down, seeing the straight scar across my lower abdomen. “That’s where they took my uterus out.”

  “Why did they take your uterus out?”

  “I was pregnant once and something bad happened.”

  “Was it because of those men?”

  “Yeah.” I roll over to hide the scar and tan my backside. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Why do you have tattoos all over?”

  My father said it was because I was stupid, a waste of life and his time. That’s what he said, but I don’t tell Sparrow that. “Because I’m bad, Sparrow, a bad, bad sinner,” I tell him as I rest my cheek on my folded hands.

  “Are you bad to the bone?” Sparrow asks and I can hear the hint of amusement in his voice.

  I laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. Are you afraid I’ll wake up a walking meat sack now?”

  “Nope,” he replies.

  I hear him move.

  “You hungry today?” I ask, smiling to myself.

  “Always hungry.”

  Remembering that he told me he gets his energy from the sunlight I ask, “Gonna take off that coat and soak up the rays?”

  “Don’t need to.”

  Turning to look at him I say, “You are strange, Sparrow.”

  His eyes narrow on me. “You are strange, Meg.”

  He looks away, closing his eyes and facing the sun, and starts to hum, Never Say Goodbye.

  Somewhere between the third and the fifth verse, I fall asleep.

  …

  Sinners don’t dream but we do always wake with a startle, afraid that our wrongdoings have finally caught up with us as we slept and might surprise us with a reprimand. Today is different. I wake up, slowly, to witness an amazing sunset. There’s not a cloud in the sky and it’s all light pink and orange and so beautiful, like I’ve never seen in my life. My hand still resting on my cheek; I feel something covering my back. I turn, finding that I’ve been covered with my spare blanket.

  “You seeing this, Sparrow?” I ask. Sitting up and looking around, I notice that Sparrow is no longer next to me.

  “Oh, my God,” I mumble scrambling to the edge of the cliff to see if he fell off. There’s nothing on the ground, just two of those meat sacks milling about.

  I rush to put my clothes on, and feeling the ache of sunburn on my shoulders, I think that maybe I should have left my clothes on to sleep. Bending to pack the blanket, something hits me in the back. I turn and look up to find Sparrow climbing down from the rock above us. When he gets close enough, he jumps down beside me.

  “Sparrow?”

  “What?” He asks with an accomplished grin.

  “I thought you fell off… I thought you left.”

  “Nope, just had to get these.” He holds his hand up with two huge gray-brown feathers between his fingers.

  “Where did you get those?” I ask.

  He points up. I look, focusing on the rock above us.

  “Eagle’s nest,” he says with exhilaration in his voice that I’ve never heard before. He rubs the feather across his cheek and closes his eyes.

  I squint and see that jutting from the side of the cliff is a collection of twigs. Before I can take a breath, a giant bald eagle lifts off of the cliff and flies away.

  “See?” Sparrow asks, tucking the feathers into his coat pocket. “Told you. Eagle nest.”

  “Jesus Christ, Sparrow, could you tell me next time you do something like that?”

  He tips his head to the side. “You thought I left you behind?”

  “Kind of,” I reply. “Or, I thought you became meat sack surprise.” I point to the bodies mill
ing about below us.

  He leans over the side of the cliff, looking down, and I notice for the first time how his long lashes brush his cheeks and his hair curls up at the nape of his neck.

  A crazy man shouldn’t have those features.

  I throw myself on the ground and search my bag for something to eat. I polish off the rest of my crackers and drink the last flat soda.

  When the sun is gone and the moon is almost straight above us, Sparrow stands up and begins to descend off of our perch. I strap my backpack on and follow him.

  …

  We walk down Oxbow Lane. Eventually, in what feels like a hundred miles ahead of us, we will come to the road where Sparrow will find his snowy owl.

  It’s not long before the effect of the previous day’s walk and sunburn catch up with me. Before it’s even close to dawn my feet are dragging.

  “Sparrow?” I ask.

  “Meg?” He twirls a stick in his hand.

  “I’m really tired,” I confess to him.

  “I can tell.” He taps the stick on the pavement.

  “Can we stop soon?”

  He points his stick ahead of us, down the road. “Just around this bend there’s another flat spot in the cliffs. We can stop there.”

  I follow him, barely able to keep up. While we climb the rock face that rises above the highway, I don’t confess any sins to him this time. And as I lay down on the flat area he’s designated our camp for the night, I don’t even hear what song he starts humming before I fall asleep.

  …

  I wake to a loud thud and Sparrow making some strange grunting noise. No, he’s gurgling! I scramble to my feet.

  “Sparrow!” I scream at him as one of the walking dead grips a decaying hand around his throat. “You said they couldn’t climb!”

  His eyes flick to the wall of stone above us. “I think,” he chokes out. “I think this one fell.”

  I look up. Dear God, maybe it was a camper who turned in his sleep. Maybe he was camping up there away from the dead like we’ve been doing. Either way, he’s dead now, and I have to get his rotting ass away from Sparrow.

  Near his feet I see a metallic gleam. I bend and pick up the machete I’ve seen Sparrow use, and grasping it in my hand I slice at the dead man. The machete thumps into his back. It doesn’t slice, it doesn’t cut, it doesn’t do anything but hit the dead man like a blunt spoon.

  “What the hell is wrong with your weapon?” I shout.

  “It doesn’t like you,” Sparrow chokes out as he pushes at the dead man’s face.

  “What the shit is that supposed to mean? Your machete has feelings?” The corpse turns around and hisses at me. “Holy fuck, Sparrow!”

  I bend down, my fingers fumbling as I unzip my bag and pull out the handgun I took from Noah’s basement. I aim it at the dead man’s head and fire. Just like a rotten cantaloupe it explodes and Sparrow and I are covered in rotting, putrid debris.

  Sparrow shoves the corpse off of him and we watch as it tumbles down the rocky cliff.

  “I think,” I choke on my breath. “I think I’m going to puke,” I tell Sparrow, clicking the safety on the handgun.

  Sparrow stares at me, shocked, sweat dripping down his face and panting like the other night when we ran five miles from that crazy man in the Country Store with the shotgun.

  “It will be night soon,” Sparrow tells me between breaths and standing very still. “We’ll find a pond or a waterfall or something before the dead wake up and get this washed off.”

  I look down at the gun in my hand and a violent shudder, one that I can barely contain, runs through me. The last time I shot a gun it was aimed at seven men who had just got done doing some very, very bad things to me.

  Sparrow’s image before me blurs, turns to white, and for some reason I no longer see him. Instead, I see those men busting through my front door and I feel the baby kicking in my belly as I run away from them. I can hear their heavy footfalls as they chase me up the stairs, the sound of them kicking in the bedroom door. Screaming. Running.

  Shit.

  “Meg?” I hear a familiar voice. “Meg?” It’s just a tad bit louder.

  The image of Sparrow comes back into focus before me and I see that his face is pale as a sheet, his eyes wide with worry. When I glance down I see why-I’m pointing the handgun at his chest, with my finger on the trigger and the safety off.

  “Meg?” he asks again as he reaches out, placing his pale hand on the barrel of the gun.

  “Sparrow?” I whisper, my voice faltering.

  “It’s okay.” His green eyes bore into mine and I wonder what the hell am I doing and what the hell has happened around me.

  I click the safety on and drop my arms. “Shit.”

  “It’s okay,” Sparrow tells me as I wrap the handgun up in the shirt it was in.

  I zip my backpack and fall to my knees. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, unable to meet his eyes, knowing that I could have shot him. I could have killed him on this little cliff, just like I killed those men in my house.

  As we wait for the moon to rise, an awkward silence vibrates around us and Sparrow starts to hum, Letting You Go. Angered with myself, I want to tell him to shut up, but with the realization that I almost killed the one man who’s been nothing but nice to me, I can’t seem to find words.

  …

  As we walk, with the stench of the rotting dead wafting off of us, I notice a road sign in the threatening glow of morning. Split-Rock Road, it says. This gives me a glimmer of hope. Just past Split-Rock Road is a house with a fenced in yard and a pool. I used to have a friend that lived there. They had one of those huge kidney shaped pools and a pool house and everything. I know this because I seduced my friend’s boyfriend in that pool house the summer before I left for college and she walked in on us.

  “There’s a place up here,” I tell Sparrow. “A house with a big pool.”

  “You sure?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I spare him the details of how I know.

  We walk, stopping at the end of the gravel driveway.

  Sparrow tilts his head to the side as though he’s listening to something far away. With a quick movement he rights himself and starts walking towards the house.

  “Are there people here?” I ask.

  “Nope, empty.”

  We stroll up to the sprawling McMansion that sits in a clearing off of the end of the driveway. I remember this place and the riches inside of it. Sara Shepard lived here, a pretty girl with blonde hair who never wanted a day in her life. She had everything I didn’t: a mother, parents that loved her, money in her pocket, a closet filled with the most stylish clothes money could buy from the nearby shopping malls. Sara didn’t know how lucky she had it. She didn’t even notice when I took things from her room like a shirt here, a pair of designer jeans there. I was the worst type of friend. She found that out the moment she walked in on me and her boyfriend. That’s what kind of friend I was-a bad one-just like daddy said.

  I was bad at everything; friendships, life, school.

  Sparrow tries the front door to the house. “Locked.” He leans around the porch, getting a good look at the huge brick fence that surrounds the back yard.

  “Oh!” I hold up my finger, remembering that there was always a spare key kept under the flower pot near the steps. I turn and tip the pot on its side, finding a silver key underneath. As I unlock the door and push my way inside, we are accosted by the smell of rot.

  “Ugh!” I cover my face. “I thought you said this place was empty?”

  “It is.” Sparrow walks in behind me and looks around. He points at a dog leash. “Pets?”

  It doesn’t take more than a second for me to get him. The humans left, the pets stayed, and without someone to care for them, they most likely died here. Then I remember, “Hey, they used to have canaries here, in the sunroom upstairs.”

  I see an eyebrow rise on Sparrow’s face. The kind of excitement you see on a kid’s face on Christmas morning. He ta
kes one step towards the stairs before stopping, turning, and locking the front door.

  “I have to clean up,” I tell him. “Meet you out back when you’re done.”

  We split up. Sparrow, unable to control himself with the hopes of pillaging those yellow canaries, runs up the stairs two at a time. I walk down the center hall, headed for the kitchen, where I know there is a sliding door that leads to the pool and patio.

  The house looks the same as it did the last time I was here; high ceilings, stone floors, and earth tones on the walls. This place is definitely out of the norm for the types of houses we have up here in the north country.

  When I reach the kitchen, I find it’s still magnificent with high cupboards, a chandelier over a huge granite topped island. I feel out of place here. Our entire trailer could have fit in this kitchen, and the nice little house I bought is smaller than their garage.

  I find the sliding glass door, open it and walk through.

  The back yard is overgrown, but the pool and the pool house are here, along with the huge privacy fence. I’m not sure what they needed a fence like this for, being in the middle of nowhere upstate New York. I walk to the edge of the pool, which is pretty clear with the exception of a few spots of algae on the liner. They must have doused the pool with chlorine not long before all of this happened.

  Unable to take the smell of myself anymore, I unclip my backpack and jump into the pool, clothes and all. The water is cool, refreshing. I dunk my head, running my hands over my face and hair, trying to get the decaying splatter off of me. When I can no longer smell the rot on my face, I start peeling away my clothes. First my boots, which I wish I had taken off before I jumped in. They’ll probably still be damp by the time we need to walk again. Next are the socks, jeans, and shirt. I scrub the clothes in the pool water, trying to get the splatter off, and then lay them out on the surrounding cement to dry in the morning sun. Looking down at myself in my underwear I figure what the hell, and unclip my bra and take off the underwear and scrub them clean in the water as well.

  Just as I’m stretching the clothes out to dry, Sparrow walks through the sliding glass doors with a handful of bright yellow feathers clutched in his hand and a huge smile on his face. The smile drops as soon as he catches the sight of me in the pool. He takes one look at my clothes on the patio and spins around, retreating into the huge house.