peripheral vision, wary of its many shadows.
“You were gone a long time,” the old man said.
Don tried to answer, but his lips had become an exotic form of rubber. He shuddered and stamped along the concrete until his feet were burning in his boots and he felt enough strength to answer. “I had trouble.”
The old man didn't break the horse’s dull stare. “What kind of trouble?”
“They came for our things. The house was raided by the time I got back.”
“What was left, we didn’t need.”
“I know. I just told them what I wanted. But one of them already had the locket.”
“And?”
“He wouldn’t hear me.”
“Did you tell them who you were?”
“They weren’t interested. They knew we weren’t coming back. They must’ve been watching us pack up for days.”
“You shouldn’t have gone alone. People never respect a man on his own.”
“I had to. There wasn’t time.”
“You should have said something. I had to wake up to find you gone. I had to look after Billy. What would I have done if you hadn’t come back?”
Don fumed. “I had to get it,” he said. He touched the locket, now hanging from his neck, and his gaze fell to the ground. “It’s all I have left of Miranda’s.”
The old man abandoned his testiness, and was quiet until Don raised his head once more. “I know,” he said. “You were saying?”
“They were taking it all,” Don began. He made to say more, but hesitated.
The old man caught his eye. “What happened?”
“They thought I was there to do the same, so they got rough. I tried to make them see sense, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“And?”
Don could meet his gaze no longer, and instead addressed the jetty as he said, “Dad, I killed one of them.”
The old man’s mouth drew into a sharp line, but he continued to caress the horse’s mane. After a while he gave the tiniest of nods.
Don knew he would get no more. “I grabbed for the locket, but he wouldn’t let go.” He paced, grunting. “Argh…we fell, and it was dark. I picked up the first thing I could lay my hands on and beat him over the head with it, and…it was your old claw hammer. I killed him,” he murmured, uttering the last words in a harsh voice unlike his own.
“You did what you had to do.”
“I killed a man.”
The old man seized his arm. Don stared down into his sunken face and was subjected to the ravages of his frank, searching eyes. “Yes, you killed a man,” he said. “Smashed his head in, no doubt. And then what?”
Don swallowed. “And then I ran. I took the locket and ran.”
The old man nodded impatiently. “Yes, you ran. And then ?”
“They followed me across our fields and through the forest. But I think I lost them.”
“You think.” Two words, only two, but more than enough to make Don’s heart skip a beat.
The old man searched his face. Then he said, “Get in the boat. We can’t be seen in the harbour.”
Don moved closer to him. “I lost them, I swear.”
“Get in the boat.”
Don glanced back at the village a final time—and then he saw them. The distant orange glow turned his chest to ice and sent his knees shaking. He made to alert the old man, but he’d already noticed, and was in the process of loosening the boat’s tether, his ancient hands a blur.
“They followed me. I shouldn’t have come back!”
“Be quiet now,” the old man hissed.
The orange lights were in the lower parts of the port, bringing the dead buildings to life, shining ghostly light through long-weathered glass. The rain was thinning as dawn approached. The storm was moving up the coast, leaving the harbour in relative silence. The rumble that had plagued Don in the forest had once again become audible, and was growing louder by the second.
Don sat in the boat and laid the oars over his lap, flexing his arms for a last time. He rubbed them until his tingling skin screamed in protest before taking hold of the oars again, preparing to push off from the
“You were gone a long time,” the old man said.
Don tried to answer, but his lips had become an exotic form of rubber. He shuddered and stamped along the concrete until his feet were burning in his boots and he felt enough strength to answer. “I had trouble.”
The old man didn't break the horse’s dull stare. “What kind of trouble?”
“They came for our things. The house was raided by the time I got back.”
“What was left, we didn’t need.”
“I know. I just told them what I wanted. But one of them already had the locket.”
“And?”
“He wouldn’t hear me.”
“Did you tell them who you were?”
“They weren’t interested. They knew we weren’t coming back. They must’ve been watching us pack up for days.”
“You shouldn’t have gone alone. People never respect a man on his own.”
“I had to. There wasn’t time.”
“You should have said something. I had to wake up to find you gone. I had to look after Billy. What would I have done if you hadn’t come back?”
Don fumed. “I had to get it,” he said. He touched the locket, now hanging from his neck, and his gaze fell to the ground. “It’s all I have left of Miranda’s.”
The old man abandoned his testiness, and was quiet until Don raised his head once more. “I know,” he said. “You were saying?”
“They were taking it all,” Don began. He made to say more, but hesitated.
The old man caught his eye. “What happened?”
“They thought I was there to do the same, so they got rough. I tried to make them see sense, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“And?”
Don could meet his gaze no longer, and instead addressed the jetty as he said, “Dad, I killed one of them.”
The old man’s mouth drew into a sharp line, but he continued to caress the horse’s mane. After a while he gave the tiniest of nods.
Don knew he would get no more. “I grabbed for the locket, but he wouldn’t let go.” He paced, grunting. “Argh…we fell, and it was dark. I picked up the first thing I could lay my hands on and beat him over the head with it, and…it was your old claw hammer. I killed him,” he murmured, uttering the last words in a harsh voice unlike his own.
“You did what you had to do.”
“I killed a man.”
The old man seized his arm. Don stared down into his sunken face and was subjected to the ravages of his frank, searching eyes. “Yes, you killed a man,” he said. “Smashed his head in, no doubt. And then what?”
Don swallowed. “And then I ran. I took the locket and ran.”
The old man nodded impatiently. “Yes, you ran. And then ?”
“They followed me across our fields and through the forest. But I think I lost them.”
“You think.” Two words, only two, but more than enough to make Don’s heart skip a beat.
The old man searched his face. Then he said, “Get in the boat. We can’t be seen in the harbour.”
Don moved closer to him. “I lost them, I swear.”
“Get in the boat.”
Don glanced back at the village a final time—and then he saw them. The distant orange glow turned his chest to ice and sent his knees shaking. He made to alert the old man, but he’d already noticed, and was in the process of loosening the boat’s tether, his ancient hands a blur.
“They followed me. I shouldn’t have come back!”
“Be quiet now,” the old man hissed.
The orange lights were in the lower parts of the port, bringing the dead buildings to life, shining ghostly light through long-weathered glass. The rain was thinning as dawn approached. The storm was moving up the coast, leaving the harbour in relative silence. The rumble that had plagued Don in the forest had once again become audible, and was growing louder by the second.
Don sat in the boat and laid the oars over his lap, flexing his arms for a last time. He rubbed them until his tingling skin screamed in protest before taking hold of the oars again, preparing to push off from the
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