As Mark grabbed him, the rest of the body disappeared.
A few minutes later, Mark climbed out of the grave and turned to look inside. His shoulders were tense, his head low, and I could feel him desperately trying to keep his composure.
He lowered himself to his knees and pressed his hands to the ground in front of him, lowering his head to touch his hands as he bowed in front of the grave. A few members of the Eight Group lowered their heads. Minsoo’s tears were streaming down his face, Hiroki took a deep breath and let it out shakily, the tears starting to fall down his cheeks.
When Mark straightened, he sat back on his heels and lifted one hand to his face, trying to hold the tears at bay. He stood and walked to the pile of dirt, grabbing a fistful and gently tossing it into the grave.
He folded his hands in front of him, and stepped back, his head bowed, allowing the rest of us to come forward and bid farewell.
Rin went to the grave next, bowing at the waist before grabbing a handful of dirt. She held it in her hand, clenching the earth as she swallowed back her tears.
“You always had a way of making me smile, even when I really didn’t want to,” she smiled, her voice breaking as the tears began to flow. “Thank you, Woobin…” She tossed the dirt into the grave and stepped back, allowing everyone else to come forward and say their goodbyes. Some said silent prayers at his grave, a few others thanked him quietly, some bowed, but everyone was crying, pained by the death.
Griffin said a silent prayer before throwing his handful of dirt into the grave. Tori thanked him for being who he was, for caring and loving so openly, and that she hoped to be at least half as loving of a person as he had been.
Clark could not say anything, but he bowed his head in silent prayer.
I was the last one to move.
I had been terrified to approach the grave, to see the sheet-covered body in the pit and realize it was about to be swallowed up. I slid my heavy feet forward.
Sniffing and blinking some of the tears out of my eyes, I grabbed some of the cool, soft dirt in the pile before turning to Josh.
The sheet was littered with spots where the dirt had fallen on him, his body turned on his side as though he was sleeping, tangled in the sheets of his bed. I could only hold the cold dirt in my hand, feeling it clump in my fist as I stared blankly.
I lowered myself to my knees, sitting back on my heels and sniffing as the tears fell.
I’m sorry…I whispered silently.
There was nothing else I could say. I remained on my knees, repeating the phrase in my head over and over again as I stared at the body. But finally, I released the dirt in my hand.
Slowly pulling myself onto unsteady feet, I backed away from the grave.
Mark stepped forward and bent to grab a shovel. Griffin also moved forward, as did Tori, but Mark turned to them, placing the spade of his shovel on the other two and looking at the two experiments coldly. They stopped, staring at Mark before the leader of the Eight Group finally moved the blade off the other two shovels and began filling in the grave on his own.
Tori and Griffin backed away.
Many members of the Eight Group left the site, leaving Mark to fill in the grave as he wished, away from prying eyes. Clark turned to me and took my hand.
“Come on.”
“No, I want to stay.” I forced myself to smile thinly. “Go on, I’ll be okay. I just…I want to sit here with him a little while.”
Tori hugged me tightly. Griffin also wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and held me.
But they left, throwing occasional glances back at the two of us as they started back to the fort.
I sat on the ground, watching Mark take each shovel full of dirt and carefully drop it into the grave. I had no right to be there, not after everything that the two had endured together and the way Josh’s life had ended. I knew I was witnessing Mark’s painful goodbye to his best friend, but I could not bring myself to leave. There was something that made me stay.
As the grave was filled in, I found myself praying.
It took an hour for Mark to fill in the grave again. When he was finished, he gently smoothed over the dirt, bringing twigs and leaves over the fresh dirt in an attempt to hide the unsettled earth. He placed one larger rock over the top of the grave, and finally backed away, studying his work. That was when I stood.
I walked to the other two shovels, picking them up as I looked at Mark. His eyes were dark, filled with pain that no words could express, tears gathered around his bottom eyelashes.
Slowly, I reached out and took the shovel from his hand. He let me remove it, his hand falling limply to his side as he continued to stare at the rock, the only marker that he could have made over his friend’s grave.
I watched as, once again, Mark lowered himself to his knees and pressed his forehead to his hands, remaining there for several long moments. Some of his tears fell into the earth, absorbed into the grave.
When he stood again, he looked like he was barely clinging to his sanity.
“Mark…” I murmured, gently taking his hand. He did not move, even as my hand wrapped around his. I was sure that if he stayed at the grave, he would snap, so I tried to gently take him away from the painful place.
I tenderly pulled on his hand, and he turned, following my lead as I walked with the shovels under my other arm, trying to keep the tears out of my eyes as I held onto his hand.
His eyes were focused low on the ground, his feet shuffling over the earth.
I stopped when his hand slipped from mine. Quickly turning, I saw him pressing his forehead to the bark of a tree, his eyes closed tightly. I swallowed hard, not sure what to do.
He turned to look at his friend’s grave again, the tears still welling in his eyes.
Mark reached into his pocket and sniffed once, pulling out his pocket knife and flicking it open. I was about to tell him not to do whatever he was thinking, but he turned the blade and lifted it to the tree, gently carving something in the bark, his eyes focused intently on the task.
I stepped over and looked at what he was carving.
There was a small cross in the tree, just in sight of the grave.
When he had the pocket knife stowed again, I took his hand once more, taking him back to the fort, both of us desperately trying to hold our composure as we left Josh to rest.
Once we were back in the fort, Tori walked forward to take the shovels. Mark started to walk further into the bunker, his hand leaving mine, his head down. Griffin saw him moving and walked up to him.
“Hey, Mark,” he started, putting a hand on Mark’s shoulder to stop him. “Why don’t you—”
Mark violently jerked away from Griffin’s hand, glaring at the taller experiment darkly before turning once again and moving toward the hall of the shooting range. Everyone watched him disappear, not wanting to disturb him but worried about leaving him alone.
Griffin sighed and then his brow creased in confusion. He glanced at his hand and his eyes went wide. I saw his palm and fingers covered in a line of dark red liquid.
“He’s hurt…” Griffin blinked. “He must have gotten shot as well.”
My eyes went wide as I began to panic.
“Don’t worry, Lily,” Tori said quickly. “If it was really a problem, he would not have been able to dig,” she assured. “Let’s just leave him alone for now. I’ll get a few medical supplies for him. We should just leave him alone, though.”
Everyone did.
Tori gave alcohol, gauze, and tape to Mark, telling us that he was in the small recreation room, which no one ever used anyway.
The entire fort was deep in mourning. Josh’s death was much harder than Tara’s, which only few had actually witnessed. It was harder to handle than the injuries received on our failed raid. This was different. It felt like the entire mood of the group had changed. Everyone was uneasy, anxious, and frightened.
I went to Eun, who had been trying not to cry out of respect for her older bro
ther’s mourning. I sat next to her as she sat against the wall of the bunker. She turned to me, her face looking much younger than she could have been, and streaked with tears. I hugged her tightly, both of us crying together, not worried about the eyes in the room. No one questioned our tears.
Eun cried herself into exhaustion and Hiroki carried her into one of the bunk rooms. I had a horrible headache, but my thoughts were too wound up to sleep. I sighed, rubbing my temples and trying to calm my mind.
Before I noticed him coming over, Mykail was at my side, sitting next to me.
“I’m so sorry…” he breathed, taking my hand gently. I sniffed and nodded before letting myself place my head on his shoulder, allowing myself to take comfort in him.
I looked at his hand holding mine as his thumb stroked over my rough skin. Everything about me had changed. My skin was cracked and dry, my hair tangled and often pulled back because it was so hard to keep tamed. My health had obviously diminished as my diet had turned to the rations. I no longer cared about my appearance, too focused on the internal conflict I was constantly facing. But I still thought our hands looked good together.
Several hours later, when everyone was getting their rations, their heads down and shoulders slumped, I slipped away, walking into the small rec room, opening the door and peering inside.
The reason no one went into that room was because of the dissolving couches and bad lighting. Other than the couches, there was one table to the side of the room with a few chairs around it, but the light above the table had never worked. Mark was sitting at that table, ignoring the flickering of the faulty light behind him, his back facing me as he carefully pulled the sleeve of his shirt back over his shoulder, which was now bandaged.
I closed the door, knowing that he heard me because the screech of the hinges set my teeth on edge. I walked over slowly, looking on the table in front of Mark to see the scissors and tape, one more sheet of folded gauze on the table sitting next to the almost-empty bottle of whiskey used to sterilize after we ran out of sterilizing alcohol from the medical room.
It was obvious from the look on Mark’s face that most of the alcohol had been ingested rather that used for medicinal purposes on his shoulder.
“Mark…” I started. “I won’t bother you for long, but…” I carefully pulled on the knotted brown string around my wrist, removing the bracelet with the coin and holding it out to him. “I thought…I think you should have this.”
He turned his head, looking at the bracelet that Josh had given me for my birthday, but he did not take it. I stepped forward and placed it on the table in front of him, allowing me to get a better look at his state. He appeared to be shut off, numbed by the alcohol and the pain of his loss.
“Please…let me know if I can do anything to help you…”
I turned to leave, sure he wanted to be alone, when his hand darted out, locking around my wrist. I stopped and turned. He was looking ahead, his eyes lost in the grain of the wood that made up the table, but his hand was firm, asking me to stay.
I grabbed the chair next to him and sat, my back facing the table, his hand releasing my arm when I was seated. I studied the fabric on the back of the worn out couch, trying to see if I could make any patterns as the light flickered above, sparing short glances at Mark and pretending not to notice when he pushed a stray tear off his cheek.
* *** *
There was one matter of business I had to deal with that I could not tell anyone about. Mark, being drunk as he was, did not notice when I slipped out. Many of the others were asleep as I crept into the tunnel that led to the exit near the park, where we had successfully unloaded all the raided supplies on the night Becca had helped us. I glared at the parking lot for no particular reason as I started the long walk into town.
There was a feeling turning in my stomach that I could not put words to. It was a hot ball of lava that I had never felt before, rupturing the sides of my stomach to permeate into my bloodstream, down to the marrow of my bones, gripping every part of my being tighter than a vice.
I had never felt such intensity before. It consumed me to the point where I went into a hypnosis, walking along the sidewalks without noticing the cold or the landmarks that passed. I turned on instinct, weaving through the pathways of the city that I had come to know in the past month and a half while my brain took turns in opposing directions, coiling the spring tighter, straining everything it could before I snapped.
I walked up the well-lit steps of the tall building and to the glass-surrounded phone that stood outside, the decrepit phonebook hanging from the chain at the bottom, graffiti of two wings painted on the left side with a sticker for Club Archangel on the other.
Picking up the receiver, I cradled it against my shoulder, fishing for the coins I had brought.
The phone rang seven times before the voicemail message sounded, the robotic voice of the woman infuriating me. I slapped the tongue of the cradle and inserted coins again, dialing the same number with angry fingers, grinding my teeth as I heard the shrill pattern of the ring.
Once again, seven times I endured the sound before the same voice told me I was being ignored.
But I was persistent, once again redialing the number, refusing to give up.
The fourth call yielded results.
Two rings and the phone clicked. There was a heavy silence for four seconds.
“Hello?” a familiar voice whispered, tired, weary, but obviously not from sleep.
“Why?”
It was a simple word, but apparently it stumped Becca, because she remained deathly silent for what felt like eternity.
“I…”
“You what?”
“Look, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I snarled, hot tears of anger rising to my eyes as the spring snapped inside me. “You’re fucking sorry? That’s what you have to tell me?”
“Lily…there’s nothing else I can say.”
“No, don’t give me that bullshit. You can say a hell of a lot more. I asked you a simple question. Why?” I growled. “Josh is dead because of you.”
There was a thick silence that followed the words I had choked on. Saying that he was dead out loud was like admitting defeat to the universe, acknowledging that one of my dearest friends had been taken away.
“…no one was supposed to die…”
“What the fuck did you think would happen?!” I snapped. “I told you what would happen if the Commission caught us, and you brought them right to us! I trusted you! Mark trusted you! Why? Why?!” I demanded, the tears falling down my face. I did not care how weak and pathetic my voice was.
Becca’s voice was just as weak when she answered.
“I had to…”
“You had to?” I gawked. “Well, guess what? I had to watch Josh die…I saw the life leave him while his best friend held on to him. I watched people who knew him from childhood, people who loved him, bury him in an unmarked grave, and after all that pain we had to endure…you…you have the audacity to justify it for your own means…”
“Look, the Commission knows about me,” she said sharply, her voice nasal from the tears that had overtaken her. “They told me that I wouldn’t be taken in if I helped them in apprehending you.”
“What the fuck, Becca?” I practically sobbed. “I have that threat over my head every goddamn day…that was when you should have called me, told me what was going on and run to us for help. We could have—”
“I don’t believe in what you’re doing anymore, Lily,” she growled around her tears. “You’re attacking buildings, killing people to try and scare them…How can I stand behind that?”
“That was not Mykail!” I gasped. “I told you that!”
“I don’t believe that it was his brother…” Becca hissed.
I pressed my head to the cold side of the acrylic around the phone booth, the tears forming hot rivers over my face.
“I will never forgive you for this…” I snarled. “You and the Commis
sion deserve each other, you heartless bitch!”
I slammed the receiver down, ignoring the change that clinked in the tray, and stormed away from the phone, wanting to scream, though I refrained.
I walked along the river, past the couples enjoying the end of the weekend as the night grew darker. I ignored them, watching my feet enter and leave my field of vision as I walked, hypnotizing myself with the rhythm.
I looked up when I knew I was getting close and spotted the lonely bridge just ahead of me, arched over the river with its chipped red paint and painful memories. I approached the bridge slowly, stepping up the slope to the peak, where I stopped and looked over the rushing river below, leaning on the rail, entertaining with no serious devotion the question of how cold the water would be.
I bent my head forward and was overtaken. Another spring had snapped, this one slicing open the part of my chest that I had tried to pull back together the previous day as I watched Mark wrap his friend in the shroud. I let out a pathetic moan and curled up, pressing my head to the beam under the main railing as I crouched down, trying to keep my body from splitting in half.
I turned around and sat against the same pole, bringing my knees into my chest and hugging them, dropping my head, the sounds of my crying covered by the roaring of the river.
* *** *
I had caught a chill and felt extremely sick when I woke up from my forty-minute sleep. I had been lectured by Griffin when I got back to the fort. I pretended to listen, but when he stopped talking, I looked at him and asked a simple question.
“Did Mark notice I was gone?”
His silence was all the answer I needed. He did not scold me any further.
I carried my blanket around with me the following morning, trying not to look too much like death, but after glancing at myself in the showers I realized I looked a few shades worse than death.
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