checked his work. The bottom of the grave was nice and flat, the corners perfectly edged. It was important to him to be as precise as possible. It was the way his father, a US Navy vet, would have liked it.
The plots were near a tree on a west-facing slope, the very ground his parents had purchased several years ago for the day they would need it. He hadn’t realized they’d taken the step until he found the information in their things.
Naturally, they had bought only two plots, so he was worried when he came out here that he’d have to double up, maybe his parents together in one, and his sisters in the other. But the spots on both sides of his parents’ chosen resting places were vacant. Since it was unlikely anyone would claim the land, he did.
He had appropriated a Winnebago motor home from one of his parents’ neighbors, and used it to transport his family to the cemetery. He started with his father first, half carrying, half dragging him across the lawn, then laying him as gently as possible into one of the center two graves. His mother came next, and then, flanking his parents, his sisters.
He’d considered finding coffins for each of them at first, but one check of the available boxes inside the mortuary quickly dispelled that notion. They were far too heavy for him to move by himself, and would be even more so once they were filled. His parents and sisters would have to make do with the sheets he had wrapped them in.
Standing there in the shade of the tree, he wasn’t sure what he should do next. To this point it had been almost a mechanical process—shroud the bodies, transport them, dig the graves, put the bodies in the holes. In fact, if it hadn’t been like that, he may have never been able to finish. But now, with only the burying remaining, he felt he should do something more.
A prayer, maybe?
The only prayer he knew was the Lord’s Prayer, and even with that one he was unsure about some of the wording. Still, it was better than nothing.
He moved to the foot of the graves and began.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive…”
Is it “our trespassers”? That didn’t seem right.
As he tried to recall the correct phrase, a memory came to him. His mother, young and vibrant, holding his hand in hers while carrying his sister—it must have been Kathy—as they entered a church.
When they were inside, she glanced down at him and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t forget, Benjamin, no talking.” She squeezed his hand and smiled.
It was a short memory, a minor detail of some forgotten day, but it was more than enough to knock him to his knees. He had thought he’d finished with the tears. He had thought his emotions had already played out.
He was wrong.
He rolled onto his back on the narrow strip of grass between his mother and father, the last time together as a family, the five of them in a row. How long he sobbed, he didn’t know, but by the time he regained control again, the shadows had grown long.
It took all of his effort, but he finally forced himself to his feet and picked up the shovel.
Again, he felt the need to say something, but this time not even a prayer came to mind, so he stuck the blade into the pile of dirt and began filling the graves.
6
WYOMING-MONTANA BORDER
5:49 PM MST
A SH AND THE others of thelast contingent to leave the Ranch spent the entire day trying to stay ahead of the storm. Their luck ran out twenty-three miles north of Sheridan, Wyoming.
At first it was only a smattering of snow, the flakes hitting the road and melting almost immediately, but in no time, the intensity increased to a point the Humvees had to slow to a crawl.
“We’ll stop in Sheridan and find shelter,” Matt announced over the radio. “Looks like we’re going to have to ride this out.”
The final twenty miles took them nearly an hour and a
The plots were near a tree on a west-facing slope, the very ground his parents had purchased several years ago for the day they would need it. He hadn’t realized they’d taken the step until he found the information in their things.
Naturally, they had bought only two plots, so he was worried when he came out here that he’d have to double up, maybe his parents together in one, and his sisters in the other. But the spots on both sides of his parents’ chosen resting places were vacant. Since it was unlikely anyone would claim the land, he did.
He had appropriated a Winnebago motor home from one of his parents’ neighbors, and used it to transport his family to the cemetery. He started with his father first, half carrying, half dragging him across the lawn, then laying him as gently as possible into one of the center two graves. His mother came next, and then, flanking his parents, his sisters.
He’d considered finding coffins for each of them at first, but one check of the available boxes inside the mortuary quickly dispelled that notion. They were far too heavy for him to move by himself, and would be even more so once they were filled. His parents and sisters would have to make do with the sheets he had wrapped them in.
Standing there in the shade of the tree, he wasn’t sure what he should do next. To this point it had been almost a mechanical process—shroud the bodies, transport them, dig the graves, put the bodies in the holes. In fact, if it hadn’t been like that, he may have never been able to finish. But now, with only the burying remaining, he felt he should do something more.
A prayer, maybe?
The only prayer he knew was the Lord’s Prayer, and even with that one he was unsure about some of the wording. Still, it was better than nothing.
He moved to the foot of the graves and began.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive…”
Is it “our trespassers”? That didn’t seem right.
As he tried to recall the correct phrase, a memory came to him. His mother, young and vibrant, holding his hand in hers while carrying his sister—it must have been Kathy—as they entered a church.
When they were inside, she glanced down at him and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t forget, Benjamin, no talking.” She squeezed his hand and smiled.
It was a short memory, a minor detail of some forgotten day, but it was more than enough to knock him to his knees. He had thought he’d finished with the tears. He had thought his emotions had already played out.
He was wrong.
He rolled onto his back on the narrow strip of grass between his mother and father, the last time together as a family, the five of them in a row. How long he sobbed, he didn’t know, but by the time he regained control again, the shadows had grown long.
It took all of his effort, but he finally forced himself to his feet and picked up the shovel.
Again, he felt the need to say something, but this time not even a prayer came to mind, so he stuck the blade into the pile of dirt and began filling the graves.
6
WYOMING-MONTANA BORDER
5:49 PM MST
A SH AND THE others of thelast contingent to leave the Ranch spent the entire day trying to stay ahead of the storm. Their luck ran out twenty-three miles north of Sheridan, Wyoming.
At first it was only a smattering of snow, the flakes hitting the road and melting almost immediately, but in no time, the intensity increased to a point the Humvees had to slow to a crawl.
“We’ll stop in Sheridan and find shelter,” Matt announced over the radio. “Looks like we’re going to have to ride this out.”
The final twenty miles took them nearly an hour and a
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