He couldn’t carry the canvas sack on his back. Once the weight of the Aukowie remains reached twenty pounds, the canvas sack would collapse him to his knees. He ended up having to cart it around in the wheelbarrow.
He had started weeding early-as soon as the first wave of Aukowies broke through the field-but it was still after sundown before he finished the second pass. He looked over the field and saw small Aukowies covering the first half of it. He decided to let them wait, that he’d start early the next morning and get to them then. After he burned the pile of Aukowie remains and buried their ashes, he ate a can of sardines and wearily mounted Lester’s mountain bike and headed towards town in the hopes of obtaining an air mattress from Jerry Hallwell’s store.
It was past ten by the time he reached the town center. The Army Surplus store was already closed for the night, as was the town drugstore. Somehow he’d have to leave the field earlier the next day so he could get an air mattress. Earlier when he had passed the Caretaker’s cabin he saw that his belongings had been taken away as Hank had promised, so if he wanted aspirin he was going to have to ride out to the all-night supermarket. Every muscle in his body ached, and his ankle hurt to the point where he was fantasizing about chopping his foot off. He needed aspirin badly, and he needed to sleep on something other than hard ground.
He dialed Hank on a payphone outside the town drugstore. As the phone rang he thought about Hank’s offer to put him up. He found himself wondering again about that offer. Maybe one night wouldn’t be so bad…
Hank Thompson’s wife answered the phone and curtly asked who was calling.
“Hello, Jeanette, this is Jack Durkin. I know it’s late, but can I speak to Hank?”
“No.”
There was a sharp click as she hung up.
Durkin stared at the receiver befuddled. Even though he had recognized Jeanette’s voice, he still couldn’t help wondering whether he had dialed a wrong number and talked to someone who only sounded like her. He dug out change from his pocket for another call and tried Hank’s number again. On the third ring Jeanette answered, a chill coming from her voice as she demanded to know who was calling.
“Jeanette, I know it’s late and I apologize,” Durkin said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “But I know Hank’s expecting me to call-”
“My husband’s dead,” Jeanette Thompson said. “He died last night from a massive coronary, in no small part due to the agitation your hysteria caused him.”
She hung up the phone again.
Durkin took several steps away from the phone, dazed, and then stumbled back to it. He searched his pockets, found enough change for another call and dialed Hank’s number again. When Jeanette Thompson picked up, he told her how sorry he was about Hank. “Your husband was a good man,” he said. He stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts. On the other end there was only a stone-cold silence.
“I know this is bad time to be asking this,” he said, “but Hank had things of mine that are important. A contract and a book. I need to get them back-”
“Yes, Mr. Durkin,” she said harshly, “this is a bad time for you to be asking me for anything. I saw my husband die last night. I spent today arranging his funeral. If you want those items returned, call me back in a week, and if they haven’t been disposed of, I will see that they are returned to you. If you call back before then I will make sure those items are thrown in the trash.”
She hung up again.
Durkin took several steps away from the payphone and sat down on the curb with his head in his hands. He had never felt more lost. He sat for a long moment, wondering how he was going to save the world without Hank’s help and cursing himself for letting the contract and Book of Aukowies out of his possession. But what difference did it make? Let her throw it away. He was no longer Caretaker, so what difference did any of it make?
He thought of his pa and his grandpa before him. How weeding that field turned them both into old men before their years. How they were both in their early fifties when they died, only a few short years after retiring as Caretaker. He thought about how much they had sacrificed of themselves. He thought about how much he himself had sacrificed.
There was a reason for all of it.
He steeled himself and fought against the despair crashing down over him. What he did was too important to let his feelings overwhelm him.
He was going to get his contract and book back from Jeanette Thompson. He was going to finish this season and weed those damn Aukowies until first frost. After that he’d have all winter to talk sense into the members of the town council. He knew that he’d have to get Lester to come clean and tell them what really happened before they changed their minds. Later, after this season of killing Aukowies, he was going to find Lester and get through to his son.
Jack Durkin wiped his hand across his eyes and then pushed himself to his feet. The streets were mostly empty. If anyone had driven or walked by, he hadn’t seen them. He hobbled over to his bike and walked it to the Rusty Nail.
Charlie Harper stood impassively as Durkin hobbled into his bar. After Durkin laboriously seated himself on one of the stools, he ordered a shot of bourbon, defiantly meeting Charlie’s cold stare.
“Three dollars,” Charlie said.
With some difficulty, Durkin worked his wallet out of his back pocket, took out a ten dollar bill and placed it in front of him. Charlie stared at the bill for a good minute before picking it up and holding it to the light to make sure it was genuine. Satisfied, he put the bill in his pocket and poured Durkin a shot of bourbon.
“Where’s my change?”
Charlie had moved down the bar to pick up some empty glasses. Without looking at Durkin, he said, “It’s costing me forty bucks to fix the camcorder that you broke. I’m making those seven dollars a down payment towards that, and I expect the rest of the money later.”
“You’ll get it,” Durkin said. “Every penny of it.”
He lifted up the shot glass and stared at the amber liquid. Silently he said a prayer for Hank Thompson’s soul, then downed the bourbon in a single gulp. For a few seconds, the burn of it made him forget the throbbing in his ankle.
He cleared his throat and told Charlie that the town council had cancelled the Caretaker position. “That means the contract’s no longer in effect as far as I’m concerned, either,” he added. “If you want to come down to that field with me I’ll show you what those Aukowies really are.”
Charlie was wiping a rag over part of the bar. He froze, his muscles tensing. All at once he started laughing an angry laugh.
“Is that so,” he said.
“Yep, it is. What’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing. It’s pathetic, that’s what it is.” Charlie walked over to the cash register and took out a folded up newspaper that had been shoved underneath it. He unfolded the paper and placed it in front of Durkin.
“I’ve been saving this in case you ever had the nerve to step back in here,” he said.
The page in front of Durkin had an article about his arraignment hearing from a few weeks earlier with the headline ‘I’m Only Pulling Out Weeds Everyday’. The gist of the article was that he had come clean in court and admitted that the legend of monsters growing out of Lorne Field was nothing but a hoax so that he, and his ancestors before him, could milk it for all it was worth. Durkin’s face reddened as he read the article.
“I only said what I did because the judge needed me to,” he insisted.
“Sure, that’s why you said it.”
“If I didn’t I might’ve been locked up in jail. And then there’d be no one left to weed the Aukowies!”
Charlie eyes glazed over as he stared at Durkin. He didn’t bother to respond.