South by Frank Owen

Author:Frank Owen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books Ltd

28

It took Felix two days to bury the boys.

Garrett was first up. He’d kind of liked the kid. Reminded Felix of himself all those years back in New York. All mouth and nothing out of reach. Walden he’d not spoken to before he’d turned the way he was now, icy and slack-jawed. Felix could judge him only by his sun-shy skin and the hair still parted cleanly, even though the boy had struggled in his death throes. Garrett’s grave was deeper, the stones piled up in a cairn. Walden had a couple of spadesful of dirt thrown over his chest.

‘Sorry, boys. I know I’m playing favorites. Looks like someone got killed by a rockfall right next to a grave,’ Felix told them when it was all done and he stood regarding his work. ‘But that’s just the way it is. The fucks are running real low right now. Real low.’ He reckoned they would understand. Walden would, anyhow. Even in death he had the look of the underdog.

Felix hobbled back inside, made it back down the stairs to his room so he could lay his carcass down. He didn’t feel much better than the two boys back there in the dirt. Some of it was the guilt. He’d not been out to check on the weather boxes for – what was it now? One, two, three, four, five, six days? – and that was bad. Staying a step ahead of the wind relied on data, on the familiar circuit he walked as often as could, like a nurse doing hospital rounds. Once a day would be ideal, of course, but a man could end up chasing his own raggedy tail. He’d been meaning to go the day that Vida and Garrett and Dyce stormed in, just as soon as the wind died down. But that day had run away in a blur, hadn’t it? His head hurt when he thought about it. Felix ran his questing fingers over the rough stitching in his scalp. The day after that was what? Tye’s visit. Then he had begun the digging of Garrett’s grave – and underestimated how much the manual labor would sap his strength. He’d slept late the next morning and only got round to Walden’s grave near noon, and it showed.

He couldn’t wait another day. He’d have to get going even though it was already late. Felix tried to get up again but his legs were shaking and his body would not obey the order to stand. He slapped at one thigh.

‘Come on, old man! You’re not dead yet.’

He managed to get up. What did he need? His bag was packed with the usual: some jerky to chew on, get the blood going again; water – always water; and then his notebook. He thought a while and then added his Llama Danton. Felix didn’t usually take the gun with him on his rounds: it was bad juju. That kind of thinking made a man twitchy, and twitchy was an invitation. But knowing that Tye Callahan was in his neighborhood unsettled him some.

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