How It All Ends (Battle Ground, Excerpt II)

Augustina.

“Yes…?”

He stood for a moment, looked down, shook his head, and laughed.

“What are you laughing for?”

Because you always say, “Yes.”

Never “Yeah,”, “Yah,” “What?”.

Always “Yes.”

“And you find this funny because…?”

Because I need something funny to find at the moment. Is that ok with you?

Augustina stared with a gaze of scarcity and enlightenment.

“Yes.”

You don’t have to leave you know. You’re the queen of an entire town. And you have your first follower. Hector. Reincarnated protector of Troy. You know you will always be safe.

“You know I can’t stay. I have a life to live. And it belongs in this sunrise. Not here.”

Fair enough. I packed ten cans of cat food in your backpack and a bag of treats. So he’s going to follow you.

“I know. I thought my bag was heavier than last time, so I took a peek…low and behold, cat stuff. Like I said, I have a life to live. I think you’re done with yours.”

Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides loving you, he’s the last of my responsibilities. Why would I want to be alone for the rest of my life, especially when I know when that life will end.

“It’s your call, Babe. I’m going this way. I still have more stuff to build.”

She walked toward him, cupped his chin in her hands, “We will miss you. Just like we miss everyone else.”

She kissed him, delicately.

A kiss before dying.

“Goodbye, stranger. Whatever your name is. It never really mattered, did it? You were just there. The world is so crazy. So don’t even tell me your name now. It will make the story so much more uninteresting.”

Would it matter if I told you my name? I will.

"No. I don't want to remember your name. It will just be another weight. I prefer not knowing who you are. It makes things easier on me. And Hector."

Augustina turned and started walking up the hill. Hector followed…apparently smelling the cat treats. Or just knowing he was supposed to follow Augustina.

The traveler watched for a while as they marched up the hill. Hector stopped, looked behind. It’s possible he remembered being the kitten once adopted and being brought home, running

through the bedroom, attacking anything that moved.

Then he dashed into the bushes, breaking cover to get back on the road to walk beside Augustina. He was raised by dogs, after all, so he knew where one was meant to walk. He started his new job immediately, scanning the horizon for threats. One last turn, and he could no longer see the traveler.

Dad.

…

They disappeared up the hill. He saw Hector turn a couple times, each turn warranted a wave goodbye. And now it was time. Hector was a smart cat, he knew what was going on. He was also a dick, so he he didn't care. He went were the food was. He also knew

But when and where.

The boat launch. And as soon as possible. Before he changed his mind.

That was the promise he made to himself, and he always kept his promises. Well, upon reflection, one could argue he never really kept any of his promises. But when you play for keeps, you keep your promises.

So he waited until Augustina and Hector disappeared over the hill, and began his trek to the Daybreak boat launch. He took the shortcut and hiked down the hill, just before the bridge.

The gun weighed heavier with every step, tucked in his belt at the small of his back. He didn’t need to feel it with his fingers, he knew it was there. His secret was that it was never loaded. It was just to scare anyone he might run into, never loaded because he never expected to run into anyone he might have to use it on. But the bullet…the one that competed for his affection in his right pocket with the locket his grandmother had given him.

That was no good.

Grandma deserved more respect than competing with a bullet.

It was an uneventful tryst walking to the boat dock, and now the wait began.

He reached in and pulled out the locket, walked to the end of the boat launch, and dipped his boots into the water Cooter and Cletus used to dive into.

And now it was his turn.

You’ve done a lot of stupid shit in your life, and if you do this…there’s no one left to blame you.

His habit. Now years old, his thumb rubbed over the locket and he asked grandma for her advice. All he got was the glint of sunlight off the water. He heard a splash off to his right, and saw Cooter and Cletus chase after a stick he had just thrown. Looked at the island and saw the high school kids swinging on the rope swing. To his left his mom was cooking hamburgers on a BBQ grill.

He looked up and saw Augustina and Hector walking up the hill.

No time like the present.

Our traveler, our survivor, our hero. Stood, and found a branch to hang the locket on.

For a moment, almost as though he had a second thought, but he never had second thoughts. Those were the worst. He’d made it this far.

Why ruin a good thing.

He found the broken branch, and hung to locket, with its delicate clasp. He pulled the locket to his lips and gave it a kiss.

Years of rubbing the damn thing with his thumb, and now he gives it a kiss.

I’m sorry, grandma. I guess I wasn’t made out to be what you thought of me.

He wandered back to the boat ramp and put his feet back into the water. What a way to go.

He looked up. I told you what a motherfucker I thought you were, you’re such an asshole. I hope you don’t hold it against me when I see you in a few.

That habit. Worse than smoking. Oh, that’s right, I still have smokes. Left pocket. Out came the box, and what a coincidence…one left.

He lit his smoke, took a deep drag, and reached into his right pocket.

The bullet. .45 caliber, hollow-point, metal jacket.

His feet swirled in the water, boots on, but it didn’t matter. Or wouldn’t matter soon. He pulled out the bullet anyway. A stale Camel Light in his left hand, a .45 in this right. He looked at the bullet as though he was wondering how his life came to this, took another drag, and looked at the smoke as though he wondered how he started smoking again.

Two drags. Then down to the filter. A flick of the butt into the river…he liked fish, but whatever.

Springfield, .45 shorty. Sat in his nightstand for ten years, he always caressed it before he went to sleep just to know it was there. He knew how to use it, so anyone that could wake him up would never stand a chance.

Just like he wouldn’t.

As he slid the bullet into chamber, clicked the thingy and the slide did what it was designed to do.

Mom hollered that burgers were done, Cooter and Cletus ran back up from the river with their stick.

He pressed the barrel of the gun to his temple. Angled to cause maximum damage, he didn’t want to live through this if he actually talked himself into squeezing the trigger. He knew this gun, hair-trigger, so if he even sneezed it was going off.

He stared at the water. Specifically, the sunlight dancing through the current.

…

Augustina heard a “pop’. Looked down at Hector, “Come on buddy, we’ve got a long way to go.”

…

The pastor hear a “pop”.

Time for a walk. There isn’t anyone left for us to talk to , he said to Alexander, rescued from the church fire.

The pastor walked along the road.

He could still smell the burning plastic, but as he got closer to the river he began to smell gun powder. Stronger as he git closer to the river.

Especially when he got to the bridge above Daybreak.

He stopped, looked to the right of the bridge and saw nothing.

Went to the other side, looking at the boat ramp.

There lies the traveler. Half-in, half-out of the water at the bottom of the boat launch.

The pastor stood for a moment. God has a purpose for everything. Even the gun that laid next to the dead man below.

“I’m an old man. I can’t drag that guy to the church.”

The pastor stood there for minutes, maybe hours, maybe no one ever kept track. But at some point he dropped to his knees. Forehead pressed against the concrete of the bridge.

More minutes. More hours.

Then he stood.

“I enjoyed our talks. Traveler. God speed to you, my friend.”