The Return Man: Civilisation’s Gone. He’s Stayed to Bury the Dead. by V. M. Zito Page A

panorama of red hills and plump cactus, the majestic Superstitions in the distance.
    As his body spun he lost sight momentarily of the corpse, heard nothing but the hollow whistle of the swinging blade, heavy in his hands, and then his line of vision wheeled forward again, and there was the corpse, lunging at him, crazed.
    The sharp edge of the stop sign caught it at the neck…
    … slashed upward under the jaw…
    … burst out the other side. Marco didn’t even feel a check on the pole.
    In one fluid motion, the head tumbled into the air, cutfree, and Marco continued his swing around again, another complete circle, arriving back just in time to see the headless, one-armed body topple. A spasm of black goo spurted from the neck-hole.
    Marco relaxed his arms and let go. The stop sign skidded along the dirt and crashed back into the brittlebrush. He stumbled a few steps, letting his momentum subside, then stood shaking in place. His breath rattled through the congestion in his throat. His hands hurt. The rusted pole had sawed two bloody lines across his palms, the kind that would sting for days. He wiped his arm across his forehead, feeling the fever.
    Should’ve gone to bed an hour ago.
    He walked to where the decapitated corpse lay, a foul pile of brown clothes, its legs and single arm splayed out in three different directions like a broken, soiled doll. The head rested on its side a few feet further–face turned away from Marco, as if insolent.
    ‘Hey, come on,’ Marco said. ‘Nobody likes a poor loser.’
    He almost smiled. And then, just as abruptly, his eyes singed, tears hot on his lower lashes.
    Quit screwing around
, he thought, blinking.
Get back in. Another twenty corpses probably heard the racket, and they’ll be sniffing around.
    He crossed to the shadow of the barricade, passing the sign where it had settled. The white letters flashed at him from the red octagon.
    STOP
    ‘I’m trying,’ he answered. ‘I really am.’
2.5
    Dripping sweat, Marco circled the property outside the barricade and unlocked the main gate. He let himself backinto his yard and returned to the snare pole, where the ladder remained propped in position. Climbing to the top, he reeled in the cable and removed the arm.
    It was an eerie weight, still floppy at the elbow. Touching it seemed to release a reserve of foul odour. He crinkled his nose and flipped it over the wall. It landed near the headless corpse.
    Returning to the backyard, he entered the shed and pulled a plastic bin from a shelf next to the generator. He lifted the lid, and the stink of dead rabbits assailed him. Their matted bodies lay in stacked rows, about twelve that he’d poisoned out in the scrub before the Montana trip. He pulled one carcass off the top and brought it back to the snare to reset for another night.
    Sometimes he grew impatient, considered setting up traps all around the barricade. But the fear of filling the air for miles around with the smell of meat, attracting more corpses than he could handle, always convinced him otherwise. The last thing he wanted was a feeding frenzy.
    One lucky winner per day. That was the limit.
    Except he hadn’t gotten lucky yet. No Danielle.
    With a mixture of disappointment and relief, he finished his security check and headed back to the house. In the kitchen he scrubbed his hands, his wrists, his forearms all the way up to his raw elbows, scrubbing sadistically with soap and peroxide until there was no trace of the sticky feeling the corpse had left where it grabbed him.
    His head felt clearer now, his throat less tender, so perhaps the Sudafed had done some good after all. He rubbed his eyes, and the bloodshot veins scratched against the eyelids. No monsters in the yard, which meant he could put sleep back on the agenda.
    Upstairs, he replaced the Glock and bat in the closet. He wondered what the rest of Joan Roark’s day would be likewhile he slept. He imagined her, too, crashing in bed, perhaps with a nice dose