"The Last Deed"

Blake leaned over his desk in the basement of his home, staring at the city planning blue prints and fingering a spool of wire when the sirens went off. The sound tore into his ear drums and echoed across the walls. The sound so loud and deafening it felt as though the earth were shaking. Is actually happening this time? Blake thought.

             The city plans lay sprawled across the table. A collection of blue prints of office buildings and cul-de sac’s and parks and playgrounds and grocery stores and schools. Not long from now, all of these buildings would be reduced to rubble, or so he hoped. He grabbed the city plans, his hands trembling as unraveled them and walked them toward the shredder in the corner of the basement.

             Blake covered his ears as he headed up the stairs. The floors creaked and his legs ached, his joints no longer able to support the frame of a 6 foot 5 inch 250 pound man. His chest pounded. At the top of the stairs he looked through the thin vertical window adjacent to the front door. He could see only what looked like a dark funnel emanating from the sky. But as soon as Blake spotted it, the funnel seemed to change. It’s shape taking the form of nightmares. The same nightmares that woke him in the middle of night, covered in piss and sweat.

             Staring into the window, his hands pressed against the door and hand nose almost pressed against the window, he felt a tugging at his pants. When he looked down he saw Lucille. Her bright green eyes and smiled calmed him, bringing him back from that place of terror.  

             “We have to go Papa,” Lucille said. She wore a cross around her neck and she had a backpack strapped around her back. “This is what you were talking about all this time. This is it isn’t? I saw it outside but I really tried hard not to look.”

             “I saw it too, “,” Blake said.

             “Are you alright Papa? You said this would happen didn’t you? Once the funnel comes then – ” Lucille said.

             “You’re a good listener,” Blake said. “Just like your mother.”

             “We have to go soon don’t we?”

             “You already have your backpack I see,” Blake said.

             “You taught me well. Now, please. Let’s go.”

             The sirens stopped, but the sound was replaced only by screams of those running across the street. When Blake looked outside again, there were families already outside, heaving away from the funnel and toward the mountain. He could see children pulling at their mothers and little boys being held by their fathers. A slow stampede of people Blake had grown up slowly disappearing from view.

             Blake pulled his phone from pocket. He texted the number 314 to the number he had been instructed to call if and when a sighting happened. Several times he fumbled the phone, and even when he was able to hold on to it, he found his fingers didn’t move like they used to, and he kept pressing the wrong buttons.

             “What are you trying to do Papa?”

             Blake kept pressing the buttons. Finally, he tapped “send” and the text went through.

             “Who was that?”

             “It’s nobody,” Blake said.

             It couldn’t have been more than three minutes until the bus showed up at their house. But it was perhaps the worst three minutes of his life. Staring at Lucille, Blake couldn’t help but see the eyes of his own daughter. The ember green eyes that stared back at him in the hospital. The promise that he made to himself that he would be home more and maybe, just maybe he could be a good father. But that memory was quickly overshadowed by the more recent and painful ones. The arguments and fights and drove her in hands of men who didn’t care for her. Only wanted her for a night or maybe two. Still, even in the most moments, when she hated him, Blake told himself he was being a good father. And that’s when she told him she was pregnant and Lucille was coming into the world. And those moments and first few years of Lucille’s life had been so perfect. So precious. Until Lucille started drinking again. And kept going out each night until the last night.

             “Someone is here,” Lucille said.

             “Listen to me Lucille,” Blake said.

             She pulled at his hand, willing him to the door and to the truck that was outside. Blake opened the door. He tried not to look at the funnel, at the bright lights, and horrors inside it. He could barely hear her over the screams of people running down the street.

             “Let’s go, the bus is here. Isn’t it going to the mountains where we will be safe?”    

             “You are listening to me,” Blake said.

             He pulled her in close. She kept talking, but over the strange sounds coming from the funnel he couldn’t hear a word she was saying.

             “You have to be strong in this word,” Blake said.

             Before Lucille could answer, Blake hugged her. A man in uniform came out of the bus, nodded at Blake, and put Lucille on the bus. As he walked back inside, he saw piece of paper crunched up on the ground. He picked it up, and went back inside, knowing tonight would be his last.

                                                                                     II

             Six hours later when night fell and the funnel had thickened to least a mile long, a knock sounded on the front door of Blake’s house. Blake removed the cigarette from his mouth and stamped with his foot on the cold hard wood floors. He pressed his eye to the peephole of the door. Outside, he saw a short man who struggled to stand. He held a cane and leaned against the door. He could see the old man’s mouth moving but struggled to hear anything that was being said.

             Whether or not the funnel could see him, or the man now at his door, Blake didn’t know. But he certainly didn’t want to wait to find out. He had heard of people of had come to see these funnels as cosmic deities, praying and sacrificing to them. And God forbid, if the funnel could see might risk exposing Blake’s plan.

             The old man pressed his cane against the door, knocking as hard as he could.

             “I know that you are in there,” the man said.

             Blade said nothing, praying that the man would go away. The man’s voice was old and tired, withered by the years.

             “I just need shelter for one night. My daughter is coming to get me. She got held up. But she’s coming I promise you,” the man said.

             Blake didn’t move. He sat with his back to the door. He could smell the cold air of the night. His joints ached as he sat, and he wondered about Lucille. How far away was she? Was she going to make it? Was he ever going to see her again? Although he suspected he already knew the answer to that question.

             “I don’t want to scream, but you might make me. God knows who would hear me I screamed? I just need shelter for one night.”

             Blake cursed under his breath. He certainly didn’t want anyone screaming. If they did, it was almost a near certainty that he would be heard. His plans would only work if he worked with complete secrecy and piece. Another thud of the cane slammed against the door.

             Blake stood up, went to the basement to retrieve his shotgun, and then walked outside though the back door of the house. The funnel was so bright, it almost made it hard to see. It was as though a spotlight was shining on town. And yet, within each one of those lights, he could see the most awful memories of his life. He tried not to look. He tried to only look down the sights of his shotgun. And when he got to the front door of the house, he stood behind the old man, and raised his shotgun.

             “You are a violent man,” the old man said.

             “I can be,” Blake said.

             “I just need to stay one night, until my family comes to get me.”

             “You need to leave.”

             As the man spoke, there was something that just did not sit right with Blake. Surely, the man looked innocent enough, but there was still something about him that made Blake nervous. But perhaps Blake was being unnecessarily cautious. Perhaps this man genuine, and all he needed was a safe place to stay for night. But even if he did, why didn’t the man just stay in his own home.

             “There are raiders out there,” the old man said.

             “Raiders?”

             “I don’t know what they want. They seem to follow around the funnel. Go wherever it goes. I’m not sure what they want from us. But I saw them coming so I ran.”

             “Where did you see them?”

             A few miles back.

             “Were they headed up on the mountainside?”

             The old man paused for a moment. Blake’s chest tightened, his mind racing toward Lucille. Had these raiders come for her? What would they have done if they saw her?”

             “I don’t know.”

             Blade continued to stare at the man.

             “Please, I’ll be here for a few hours. We are headed south. Toward Texas. I don’t think any of the funnels have come that way yet. I think there might be shelter there. You could come if you want. I can get you in. My brother runs one of them. I’ll let him know your coming. Yes, that’s a great idea. Why don’t you follow me. We will need to leave tonight.”

             Blake smiled and stepped away from his doorstep. “That’s very kind of you. But I won’t be coming.

             “My name is Malcolm by the way,” the old man said.

             “Blake.”

             As Malcolm walked past Blake, something told him that he had just possibly made the worst make of his life, but he hoped, just like Lucille had told him, that mankind was good,. That no matter what happened, things would work out in the end. So he trusted him, and let him inside. Yes perhaps everything will alright.

                                                                                    ***

             Blake took Malcolm down toward the basement. They said little, Malcolm offering nothing more than the obligatory compliments about the beautiful family photos and the nice house. Blake thanked him, but as they continued to speak it dawned on Blake that this would be the last night in this house. That soon all these family photo’s and heirlooms would be gone. Destroyed or lying  beneath a mountain of rumble.

             There was a small refrigerator in the corner of the basement, filled with sandwiches that he had make for himself, along with beer. Blake pulled the final two sandwiches from the refrigerator.

             “Seems like you’ve been busy down here,” Malcolm said.

             “Ham or Salami?” Rupert said.

             “Ham.”

             Blake handed Malcolm the sandwich. They sat down on the couch facing Blake’s desk. Blake wanted to know more about this man. There was something that ached a Malcolm. Something that was just not quite right, but exactly what it was he couldn’t place.

             “Where do you think the funnel came from?” Malcolm said.

             “I don’t know. Out of space I guess, though perhaps that is better left to the scientists.”

             “Can I tell you a secret,” Malcolm said, as he reached for his sandwich.

             “Tell me,” Blake said.

             “I think its rather beautiful.”

             “So, who you have waiting for you.”

             “Everyone see’s something different with the funnel. I think that is perhaps the most beautiful thing of all.”

             “It is the horrors of one’s life that is stuck inside those funnels.”

             “Is it the horrors though? I mean surely they are a bad thing. But is it so bad to be reminded of the things that made you stronger.”

             Malcolm took several large bites of his sandwich, then placed it down on the table, before picking it back up again. His teeth were perfectly white, his fingernails trimmed, and yet there was something so fanatical in his eyes that Blake began to push back on his seat.

             “There are some horrors that one should not be forced to remember. Some thing that happen in ones life that should not be revisited. That’s what I think.”

             “Did something happen to you?” Malcolm said, getting closer to the table, the bits of meat falling from his mouth.”

             Blake pushed back from his chair again. Malcolm pushed forward. “Please, tell me. What happened to you. I think its important. This is exactly what this whole thing is about.”

             “It doesn’t matter. And honestly, I don’t like that you’ve pushed so much. There is something that I need to do, and I think perhaps it is best if you –”

             As Blake continued to speak, he saw a figure approaching the house. Though still perhaps twenty to thirty feet from the house, Blake could see the man was tall, his face was covered in red. He carried with him a shotgun.

             Blake fell to his knees and began to crawl toward the basement. He knew that if he had enough time, he may perhaps be able to get to the weapons in the locked cabinet. Malcolm looked at him as though he had seen a ghost. He tried motioned Malcolm to duck, but Malcolm stayed seating, turning his head toward the window.

             “You do not have to fear them,” Malcolm said.

             “What?” Blake said.

             Malcom rose from his seat, and then waved toward the man in the window. Then, he turned back toward Blake and offered him an obligatory smile.

             “We will bring you to him,” Malcolm said.

             Malcolm walked toward the front door of the house and opened the door. Inside, three men walked in. They carried heavy bats, with drawings of the funnel painted on them. What horrors they had of their own, Blake couldn’t make out. They raised the bats, brought them down on Blake until Blake’s world turned black.

                                                                                    ***

             When Blake woke up, he lay tied to several floorboards. The winds were strong. Around him were swing-sets and slide. He realized that he wasn’t too far away from his house, in the playground where he had taken Lucille so many times before.

             Malcolm stood over him. His face was bloodied. His eyes bruised and his nose broken. Blake had done all that he could to fight him, but Malcolm was too strong. Too young. When Blake lifted his head, he could see the funnel not far from him. Coming closer and closer.

             “Your time has come,” Malcolm said.

             “Untie me right now, you mother fucker,” Blake said.

             “Soon all the things that you feared you will once more,” Malcolm said.

             “I want nothing to do with you. Get me the hell out of here.”

             “It’s not much longer now,” Blake said.

             Malcolm pulled at the rope tied around his wrist. He stared toward the sky, looking right in the funnel, as though it were some massive jumbotron in the sky. Blake turned his head, trying to look away.

             “You much watch it,” Malcolm said.

             “I can’t,” Blake said.

             “Today is the day you must face what happened.”

             “Let go of me. Let go of me right now,” Blake said.

             The wind around Blake turned cold. The crops blew and there was an awful odor that accompanied the funnel. As it go closer, Blake could see all those things that he couldn’t bear to see. He saw his daughter, beaten day and day out by her boyfriend. He saw her sitting on the bed, hitting toward Blake’s room but never going inside. He saw her putting Lucille in the car and driving toward the border and staying at a motel for night, but always driving back home. And he saw his daughter telling him that something awful might happen, and yet, there was nothing that he had done. He saw the disappointment on her face. He saw the anger. Why hadn’t he chosen to do anything? Why hadn’t he gone to the police. Better yet, why didn’t he confront him correctly.

             And he saw himself telling her time and time again, you can’t stay with him. You can’t stay with him and you have to leave him for Lucille. And he remembered the times that she stayed over at his house and she would crawl into his room and sleep on the floor and put Lucille on the bed, and tell him that her boyfriend would change and that he was a loving father. He saw her kissing him on the cheek and telling Blake what an excellent father he was.

             “There is nothing left for you to do.”

             Malcolm dropped to his knees as the funnel ripped toward the city. He began to cry out. Tears spilled from his eyes. Soon, you and I shall be in heaven. Free from our sins now that we have faced them.

             The smell of the funnel gained on them. As it got closer, he could hear the sound of his daughters voice, and he wondered and hoped, if maybe, just maybe, things would be peaceful for him soon.