Brewer
1
Pop’s Locket By Bo Brewer
John scrunched his nose as death oozed through the foggy truck windows. A scent he’d never quite get used to. Frozen bodies piled off the sides of the winding road. Men, women, children; stacked all the way up the mountain. John’s fingers fumbled through his pockets and found his flask. He made exceptions for alcohol on days like this. The bottle made things blurry, more forgettable. He’d do anything to make the job less real than he knew it was. In the driver’s seat was John’s partner, Anthony. He was grim, stern, ethical. His dead eyes kept to the road and his mouth kept shut. He’d only ever said but five words to John. “My son would love this,” he mumbled as he stuffed a G.I. Joe into his kit. That was six years ago. John knew nearly nothing about him, but they knew each other better than anyone else ever could. Because no one had seen the things they’d seen. No one else had smelt the things they’d smelt. And when they’d go home, they’d both have to put on a big smile and hug their children as if it were all just a bad dream. “A professional pretender,” John would joke to Anthony. The two would laugh for a moment; only until the truth crept back into their chests. Flashes of rolling corpses into mass graves flickered through their minds in the dead of their sleepless nights. They’d never forget things like that. No matter how many pills they took, no matter how many bottles they drank, the sorrow stuck to them like glue. The only escape would be their own deaths, and they both knew it. They slowed to a stop in the tiny Colorado town of Sidewinder. A convoy of trucks stood at the foot of the town. The engines gushed out a collective purr and the frosty winds nipped at John’s wrists as he stepped down from the truck. A hundred or so hazmat men gathered in
Brewer
2
silence as their boots sloshed in the snow. They didn’t know why they were there; the government never told them much and sometimes nothing. This was one of those times. Eyes wandered left and right awaiting some type of leadership. A man stood on the hood of one of the trucks. “You know the drill. Clear the houses, find any survivors, collect the bodies,” he said, then whimsically leapt off the hood, as if the bodies, and the death, and the misery had delighted him; as if he were a child on a school field trip at the zoo. He made his way towards the nearest home. The men stood idle, not moving a muscle. He turned to them with a grin, “they won’t bury themselves, will they?” he asked. It seemed to do the trick. John and Anthony regrouped as the men flooded into the town. The two approached a cottage home and entered without hesitation. Books, papers, and food were scattered across the creaky floorboards. The place looked like a pig pen, and the odor, it furthered the immersion. Anthony yanked open kitchen cabinets for valuables and snacks. He always liked to get to them first. He dug through some cracker packs as John ascended to the second floor where the bedrooms were. John twisted a brass knob and entered the room without a knock. The room was bare, and it appeared the owners just moved in. A couple of posters, a radio, and a notebook on a desk that faced the room’s only window; whose white curtain floated in the wind like a ghost. He strode to the notebook and began turning its pages. The writing came from a young hand. John squinted as he deciphered the chicken-scratch. It was a diary and it was nearly full. John flipped to the latest entry. ——————————————————————————————————————— January 7th, 1979 Pop gave me his locket—the one Mike wanted. But I don’t even want it. He said his Dad gave it to him and he wanted to give it to me. When I asked why he didn’t give it to my Dad he didn’t
Brewer
3
answer me. I think he’s mad at Dad. I wonder what Dad did. Dad can be mean sometimes, so maybe he was a bad kid to Pop when he was my age. He never listens to me because he’s old and I’m just a kid. He always tells me to put food back where I found it at the store. I never get what I want because I don’t think he has a lot of money. That’s why we had to move away. I hate Colorado. It’s cold and I have to put on a lot of shirts and jackets just to go outside. I miss home and I want to go back. I want to see my old friends. I have no one to play with here and Dad won’t ever play with me. But I have one friend, his name is Mickey. He’s kind of weird and he wears crutches on his hands so we can’t play catch. But sometimes he makes these funny faces that make me laugh so hard my head hurts. And he loves chocolate milk. He drank so much that Mrs. Porter had to tell him to stop going back in line at lunch to buy more. We always sit alone because the other kids don’t like us. Davis likes to be mean to us. He doesn’t leave us alone. Last Thursday after school he punched Mickey so hard he fell in the snow. I didn’t stop him because I didn’t know what to do. Mickey started crying and I had to help him up because he couldn’t get up by himself. His Mom came to pick him up and said thank you to me. She shouldn’t have said thank you to me, but Mickey didn’t tell her what happened. The next day he wouldn’t talk to me and I was alone again. We were supposed to have a sleepover that weekend. Dad even got me a sleeping bag so I could go. He asked me if Mickey had asked his parents and I didn’t know what to say. Now every time I go to school I just want to leave. I don’t have anyone to talk to and it’s so boring. Amy handed me a note on Friday and it was from Kate. She asked me if I liked her, but I don’t like her because she’s ugly. Mrs. Porter put us in the same math group together. I tried to be nice but she wouldn’t even look at me. I don’t want her to be my girlfriend but I want to be nice to her because she’s nice to everyone else. I think a lot of people would know I’m nice if they actually talked to me but they don’t because I’m new. Everyone likes Davis because he’s loud and
Brewer
4
he talks a lot. No one else even has a chance to say anything. A lot of the things he says is super dumb. He says he won’t watch the new Halloween movie only because his Dad won’t let him but I know it’s because he’s scared. What a baby. I watched it before we moved and I didn’t get scared one time. I wish the man in Halloween would go after Davis with his knife. I don’t want him to die but I want him to learn his lesson. I bet he would cry like a little baby. But it’s okay, because I don’t think I’ll see him again soon. Dad told me the school called him on the phone and said I didn’t have to go back next week. He said there was a flu going around and that a lot of people were getting sick. I’m so happy that I’ll finally get a break. Dad won’t let me go outside but he said that he got a bunch of movies we can watch. I can’t wait. I hope when I go back to school that Mickey won’t be so mad because I miss him. I’ll write again soon. -
Thomas
——————————————————————————————————————— John set the diary back on the desk and began scavenging the room for anything else he could find. He pulled open the bedside drawer and found a crumpled piece of notebook paper; the note from Kate. John grinned under his mask as he put the note back and left the room. A glow outlined one of the hallway doors. John heard buzzing as he pushed the door open. And there was blood everywhere. The walls were covered with smithereens of brains. Two grey bodies laid in the bathtub. What was left of Thomas’s head rested on his father’s lap next to a magnum. A glimmer of light caught John’s eye. It came from the boy’s hand. He squinted. It was a locket. John pried it from his hand and shoved it into his kit. He heard Anthony’s creaky footsteps as he crept up the stairs. He took their legs, and John took their arms. They stacked the two in the white front yard and marched towards the next house. John reached into his pocket and took a swig from his flask.