Kzine Issue 16 by Graeme Hurry et al

Author:Graeme Hurry et al. [al., Graeme Hurry et]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kimota Publishing
Published: 2016-09-17T23:00:00+00:00

BEST LAID PLANS

by Joseph Benedict

The sun had just crested the horizon and already it was ninety degrees and climbing. There was no air conditioning in the cabin, and the windows were shut tight. My shirt clung to my sides. The thin air of the mountain-top didn’t help. Maybe it was just being closer to the sun. If I didn’t do something with the body soon, things were going to get unpleasant.

I sat in an old armchair with knobby slats digging into my back through the cushion. I still had the gun in my hand. The smells of burnt gunpowder and blood filled the room. Across from me, Jack slumped over in a battered rocking chair. It was still rocking. His face was disfigured, the skin slack and bruised. I couldn’t see it, but the back of his head had to be a mess of shattered bone and brains. I sighed and leaned over to rest my head in my free hand. I put the gun away.

Fuck you, Richard. Just pull the damn trigger. His voice was still clear in my head. My eyes burned, both from tears and the sweat that trickled down my face. I dug into my pants pocket and pulled out my cell. No service. A dusty, wall-mounted phone with a mile-long cord hung in the kitchen. I crossed the room, picked up the receiver, and dialed.

“Ritchie? That you?” Distortion muted the voice, but I still recognized Clarence’s thick rasp through the miles of phone line.

“Yeah. It’s done.”

“Good boy, Ritchie! Now get your ass back down here.” The line went dead.

I stood there staring at the phone. I sucked in a deep, ragged breath, and then my face twisted into a snarl. I tore the phone off the wall, snapping the cord, and hurled it across the room. It clattered against the closet door. I staggered into the wall and collapsed to the floor.

“Ah, fuck!” I slammed my fist on the floor.

* * *

An hour and a half later, I stood in the clearing behind the cabin, leaning against a shovel and trying to knuckle the cramp out of my back. The grave was long enough, but shallow. Rocks filled the soil, and the shovel clanged and caught with every scoop. I’d stripped down to my undershirt. The white button-up, now stained yellow with sweat, was tucked into my back pocket and hung almost to my knees. Every so often I tugged it free and wiped my face.

Digging the grave wasn’t part of my instructions. By now, I was thirty minutes overdue at the Mill House. Clarence would be fuming, but not pissed enough to send anyone up here. Not yet.

I picked up the shovel. While I worked, my mind wandered. I saw Jack, a crooked grin spread on his face, sipping a beer and cracking jokes with Pete behind the bar. I saw him curled up on the cold tiles of his bathroom, shaking and sobbing, the night after his first hit.

More than anything, I kept seeing this morning.

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