Even with all the distractions…
Even with having to half-carry Lester the three miles back to their home…
He heaved the canvas sack over his shoulder and carried it to the stone pit. After dumping the Aukowie remains with all the others, he tossed a match onto the pile and watched it burst into flames. Once again they shot close to twenty feet upward, a bluish-reddish flame lighting the sky. It was an unnatural color for a fire, something that burning weeds shouldn’t cause. It hit him then that he had planned to videotape the flames. Up until that moment he had forgotten about Charlie Harper’s video camcorder. After Lester lost his thumb he put the camcorder in the shed for safekeeping. He turned to retrieve it, but stopped after a couple of steps knowing the flames would be out by the time he got it. He turned back to the fire and watched it burn. It didn’t matter. Lester had videotaped enough of that foot-high Aukowie in action before he dropped the camcorder…
The scene played back again in his mind, just as it had all afternoon. He had warned Lester what to expect, but the boy still thought it was all one big joke. When the foot-high Aukowie quit playing possum and whipped out at him, he was ready for it but his boy wasn’t. He sidestepped the attack, then tried to pin the thing back with the spade. Lester, who was standing a good ten feet away to his left, nearly dropped the camcorder then. Durkin glanced over his shoulder and saw the boy fumbling with it, his skin paling to a sick white. He yelled at him to just be careful and keep videotaping. He knew a one-foot high Aukowie didn’t have anywhere near the strength of a fully matured one, but they could still surprise you. If he had been able to leverage his full body weight and strength properly he would’ve been able to pin that Aukowie to the ground, but he was reaching too much and didn’t have his full weight behind him and the Aukowie was able to whip the spade out of his hands. It flew past Lester and almost hit him. Lester stumbled then. He dropped the camcorder also.
Durkin realized too late that Lester had reached down for the camcorder. It didn’t click fast enough in his mind that it had fallen among two-inch high Aukowies. Before he could say anything he saw his son’s thumb disappear. It was as if it had been chewed up by a buzz saw. He remembered the pink spray that came from it. He remembered Lester staring down at his hand, confused, trying to make sense out of what had happened. And then the screaming. Jesus, there was a lot of screaming. Even now in the dead stillness of the early evening he could hear traces of it.
He slapped Lester hard across the face then, trying to bring him out of his shock. Lester stopped screaming. He still whimpered and cried, but he stopped his screaming. Durkin needed to tie something around his son’s hand. His own shirt was too dirty and damp with perspiration. He was afraid it would infect his son’s wound, so he had Lester take his shirt off and he wrapped it tightly around Lester’s damaged hand. After the shirt was tied as tightly as he could make it, Durkin picked up the camcorder and led Lester off the field. He had to keep telling his son to keep his hand held up. He didn’t have to look down to know the rustling sounds were being made by baby Aukowies that had gotten a taste of human blood. Durkin left the camcorder in the shed and then brought Lester back home.
The flames died down. All that was left was a foul stench and a mound of smoldering ashes. He thought about Lester and wondered how his boy was doing. He wouldn’t die from losing his thumb like that, not unless he bled to death or picked up a nasty infection. And Durkin couldn’t help wishing that one of those two things would happen. He also couldn’t help regretting not tying his own shirt around Lester’s hand. While he felt ashamed for those thoughts, he no longer had any doubts about Lester. The boy was not cut out to be Caretaker. It was as simple as that. He couldn’t risk the fate of the world in Lester’s hands. Bert was going to have to be Caretaker. Durkin found himself alternately wishing Lester was okay and hoping his son would die.
He used a shovel that he had brought from the shed to bury the Aukowie ashes and mix in lime. When he was done he stored the shovel and canvas sack back in the shed and took the camcorder. He stood for a moment looking upwards at the barren sky overhead. Even in the early evening with the Aukowies weeded out, birds still avoided the area. All his years coming here he never once saw a bird fly over Lorne Field. Never saw any squirrels or chipmunks in the woods nearby either. He wondered whether it was like this in the winter when the Aukowies were deep underground and hibernating. He wondered if birds dared fly past the field then. He decided one day he’d have to come out and see for himself.
He started down the dirt path leading to the Caretaker’s cabin. Thoughts about Lester bombarded him. He could see clearly the look on Lester’s face as his son realized what had happened to his thumb, then how helpless Lester was when he had to be mostly carried those last two miles home. He tried to shake those images from his mind and instead focus on what he had to do. Bert needed to become the next Caretaker. Which meant that he was going to have to continue being Caretaker for another eight years. As hard as that sounded, he was going to have to accept that. It also meant he was going to have to take the necessary steps to make Bert his eldest son. Unless Lester died from losing too much blood. Or picked up a deadly infection…
All of Durkin’s strength bled out of him as those thoughts crept into his mind. He grabbed onto a tree for support, his legs wobbly beneath him. He decided then that he would have to ignore the contract and transfer the Caretaker position to his second son. What was wrong with that? After losing his thumb, Lester was probably no longer even capable of doing the job. It was just common sense. Durkin felt better, less shaky, at least for the moment. Then all his recent transgressions came crashing down on him. First letting an Aukowie grow to one foot in height, then leaving the field before finishing his weeding for the day, and now this. Up until two days ago he had lived his life exactly to the letter of the contract, never wavering, never making any exceptions. As far as he knew, all Durkins before him had done the same. And now this.
The first Durkin to turn his back on the contract…
He was so damn cold. His tongue had turned fuzzy, like he had swallowed a wool sock.
The same one that his pa and grandpa and every Durkin before them held sacred. And now one intentional violation after the next…
His head reeled with that thought. The ground started to slip sideways on him. Then the sky went black and the earth rushed up to meet him, smacking him in the face. He didn’t even feel it. He couldn’t feel anything except being so damn cold. He tried to lift his head up through the blackness but couldn’t.
Dear God, he thought, I’m going to die right now and nobody’s going to be left to save the world. I do believe in you. Please, I want so much to believe in you.
He didn’t die, though. He realized he had only fainted. After a minute or so the blackness started to fade. Slowly, he rolled onto his back. He lifted his hand in front of his eyes and could see its outline through a dim haze. He dropped his hand to his forehead, resting it there. His skin felt so damn clammy and wet. He shivered, realizing his shirt was drenched in cold sweat. After several more minutes he was able to push himself to a sitting position. He had dropped the camcorder when he fell and was now reaching out with his arms trying to locate it. He felt it, then gathered it up and pushed himself to his feet. He made a decision then. He was-n’t going to violate the contract again. No more exceptions.
He steadied himself, waiting until he had some strength in his legs, then set off down the path again. He was surprised when he turned the next bend to see Sheriff Wolcott leaning against a tree.