Alone
The sun was in my eyes.
"Ms. Lewis?" I squinted and called out, lowering my paw from my forehead.
"You're the kid from the university?" the tall silhouette answered. "I expected you to be," she paused, finally stepping out of the harsh light, "well, I expected you to be a lot younger."
"I'm only thirty," I mumbled back. I looked down for a moment and straightened my polo shirt.
"You're only thirty?" Ms. Lewis, a caramel-colored civet, snorted condescendingly. "You look like hell."
I examined myself again. Okay, I guess I could have tried a little harder. My ears drooped and my tail went limp. I could feel my tongue starting to dry out. My chest swelled as I started taking deeper breaths, trying to hide my nervousness. This is why I don't talk to people.
"You know I'm only kidding, right?" Ms. Lewis finally smirked, probably enjoying seeing me squirm like this. Her voice softened a little, with a hint of playfulness starting to emerge.
"So, is this the place?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Trying to sound cool.
"Um, no," she bit her lip. "I just thought that we could meet here and talk about today's project over a cup of coffee."
"I don't drink coffee," I quickly informed Ms. Lewis. I looked into her eyes with my best "cool face".
"It's only ten," the civet looked down at her phone and reported, smiling at me, "but there's a bar I know, not too far from here. We could order a pitcher and chat there."
"I don't drink bee..." I started, but she cut me off before I could finish the last word.
"You are the worst college student ever," she stared me down, her face turning as motionless as a statue. As I felt the pace of my heart thump at double-speed, she grinned widely and chuckled. "What do you like then, Emre?"
"Cookies-and-cream chocolate pie," I responded, without missing a beat.
"The chocolate Lab likes chocolate pie, eh?" the civet narrowed her expression.
I took this opportunity to give her a once-over, tracing an imaginary outline around her slender frame with my eyes. When our gaze met again, I wondered if she was doing the same thing to me.
"Well," her smile grew larger still, "I do know of a place that serves just that. But that'll have to wait until tomorrow. It's a beautiful day out today, and you've got lots of work to do."
"It is beautiful," I tried my luck at some sweet talking; hoping for a home run but expecting a strike-out.
"Why don't you just ride with me in my truck?" Ms. Lewis offered. She pulled her keys out of her pants pocket and took a step away from my car. "I can just go over the specifics on the way."
"Okay..." I followed her lead. I couldn't really think of anything else to say. I was focusing too hard on trying to walk like a bad ass.
"So, what did they tell you on the phone interview?" she asked, sliding her keys into the ignition switch.
I sat down in her passenger's seat and clicked on my safety belt. "I'm here to survey the local Mollusca, right?"
She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "You don't, like, live in your parents basement and play video games all day; do you?"
"No," I snickered a little bit, realizing how dorky I must be making myself seem. "I've got a small apartment a block from the college. And I spend my free time tutoring freshmen, actually." I wanted to say that yes, I do spend more time than I should playing games. But I'm not sure if she was asking because she was interested, or wanted to pick on me some more.
"Good," she let out long breath, "I was starting to get a little worried there."
She flipped on the air conditioning, sending a welcome breeze down the fur on my forearms. It was just way too sunny outside, and the sun and I aren't always on the best of terms with each other.
"Fort Woodstock started out as a temp-town that was built to quarter the military reserves at the tail-end of the Spanish-American War," Ms. Lewis recited, as if reading from a textbook. "It served as a home and hospital for thousands, until World War I. From 1912 until Woodstock was closed in 1999, the fort's primary purpose was the training of soldiers in the U.S. Army."
"Fascinating!" I crooned, making a goofy face at the civet.
"Hey," Ms. Lewis's paws left the steering wheel for a second as she laughed, "I've had to hear that story so many times these past two years. As you already know, I'm one of the heads of a group of volunteers trying to turn the abandoned fort into a wildlife refuge."
"Right," I picked up where she left off. "But you had to stop because of all of the snails that you discovered. You needed a gastropod expert, and so you called me." I sat up straight in my seat, beaming a little bit.
"Actually," she contradicted, "you weren't the first one we called. Not by a long shot." She glanced over to me with what looked like a flirtatious wink. "But, none of them knew half as much as you do about these snails. So, that's why we picked you."
"And I'm to do what, exactly?" I inquired, lines creasing across my forehead. "Count them?"
"Well, yes. We didn't have any malacologists on our team, but we're fairly certain that there are at least three different types of these snails," she explained. "And they are everywhere. Whole colonies of them are on some of these barracks."
"Escargatoire," I corrected.
"What?" she confusedly asked.
"A group of snails isn't a colony," I went on, "it's an escargatoire."
"Fascinating!" she copied my tone from earlier. "Just reach into the glove box and look over all of the paperwork. I'll need you to sign the waiver, and a few other things."
"A waiver?" I furrowed my brow. "On a snail counting expedition?"
"These buildings are really old," she told me. "A rotting floor here, a collapsed ceiling there. We've just got to cover ourselves in case you get a sliver or a cut and try to sue us." She flashed me another wink.
"Sounds fair," I agreed, and pushed the button on the dashboard compartment. I rustled past her proof-of-insurance and her owner's manual before resting my paw on the documents. And I felt something cold as I ran my finger back out of the glove box.
I'm not a gun guy; but from the size of the handgun that she was hiding in there, I'd say she has some secrets that she's not telling me.
"Do you have a license for this?" I crackled as I closed the compartment, a slight tremble in my voice.
"You have to be licensed to carry those?" she retorted. I couldn't tell if she was being serious or not.
"What do you need one of those things for?" I intruded.
"My ex-boyfriend was..." she inhaled deeply, "a little crazy. So I had to kill him."
"You did wha..." I started.
"Joking!" she burst into a fit of laughter. "I was only joking! But that was stupid. And mean. Sorry."
Of course, the day I meet the girl of my dreams, the weather is bright and breezy, I sniffled and thought silently to myself. My allergies are going to really piss me off today.
"Actually," she continued her explanation, "my parents are really protective and made me get it when I started back to school. It was either that or one of those taser things." Her face crinkled up adorably as she mentioned her family. "I've never even used it."
"Well, I'd hope not," I laughed, a little nervously. "Is it even loaded?"
"I don't even know," the civet replied. She sounded sincere. Ms. Lewis slowed the truck until it was at a complete stop, then shut off the engine.
"Why did you do that?" I wondered aloud. The tip of my nose pressed to the window as I peered outside.
"We're here, silly," she pointed forward through the windshield to the old, wooden fence. I turned, quickly smearing a wet nose-print on her window. I sniffled, again cursing the pollen.
"I expected a run-down ghost town," I rhymed, stepping out of the truck. "This place doesn't look that decrepit."
"I haven't spent much time up here in the barracks," she told me as she pointed back behind us. "What we just drove past," she started, "is where they did their weapons training. That's my pride and joy. Pick up some bullet casings, throw away some magazines; and swarms of interesting bugs just take back over the area."
"You're an entomologist?" I inquired. She popped open her camper door and tailgate, pulling out her supplies.
"I've always been into insects," she answered, a sweetness coming through with each word. "It's what I've always wanted to do."
"So how long are we going to be here today?" I watched her put on her pack, eager to get to work.
"Well," she pushed a button on her keychain, locking the truck's doors, "you'll be exploring the barracks. I've got to settle a territory dispute between some hornets and honeybees at the old rifle range."
"Oh," I slouched, disappointedly.
"We'll meet here at sunset," her smile instantly perked me back up. "It's mid-July, so we've got plenty of daylight left."
"Okay, so I'll just call you when I'm done?" I hoped.
"No signal out here," she pulled out her phone and pointed its screen towards me. "We're in the middle of literally nowhere. A perfect spot for a wildlife refuge."
"Right," I smiled back at her. "Anything else before we start?" I didn't mind being alone, actually. I'm surprised that I haven't embarrassed myself by now. Given enough opportunity, I usually wind up doing something stupid in front of other people. Some time to myself would be a good chance to recharge my "cool meter".
"There is one last thing..." Ms. Lewis added. She paused, biting her lip as if she were making a decision about something. "Bring extra pencils; you know, in case yours breaks."
"Is that all?" I crooked my neck.
"No," she went on, after some more hesitation. "Be careful. Rumor is that some of the researchers in the residential areas have gone missing. Some team members won't go anywhere near it. They say it's ghosts."
"Really?" I giggle a little bit. "You believe in..."
"No," she cut me off with a titter of her own, "but it can get a little weird, wrapped up in your work, out here in your own little world where very few people have set foot in over a decade."
"Understandably," I nodded.
"But, you do have to wonder," she looked past me, toward the barracks. "Since they closed the fort, there have been news reports... Missing kids and all that."
"You mean the big scare a few years back?" I remembered. "When they put the curfew into effect?"
"But I thought you were from..." she began.
"The curfew was four counties wide," I informed her. "I was supposed to return a video that night to the store and got a late fee. I'll never forget that week."
She breathed out a chuckle, showing off her perfect smile.
"Well," I kept going, hoping that my conversational luck would hold out a little longer, "those kids were like eighteen. They probably just ran away from home."
"Yeah, you're probably right," she concluded. "I usually don't worry about... I just..." She laughed again, infectiously; and I joined in.
I started away from the truck. I waved to the civet as we walked in different directions.
"I'll see you at sunset, Ms. Lewis," I cupped my paws over my mouth and shouted.
"I can't wait, Emre," she sang back. "And don't call me Ms. Lewis. Call me..." She was too far away for me to hear any more. Soon after, I couldn't even see her through the trees.
"This is actually going well," I said to myself. "I can't believe it!"
Several buildings stretched out in front of me. There were a few that looked like roadside motels, a couple warehouses, some townhomes, and a tall building a few blocks back. It looked pretty much like I pictured it, though I was expecting broken windows and trash all over the ground.
The paved parking lot at the entrance to the barracks had a few cracks here and there, but didn't look as bad as I'd thought it would. All of the doors were locked, as I'd been told during the phone interview, so I stuck to the perimeter of the first building. I glanced at some wild dandelions nearby and sneezed. All it takes is seeing those things and I go into a frenzy. I pulled a few tissues from my pants pocket and blew my nose.
"Great! No trash can," I observed. I stuffed the wadded-up tissue back into my pocket.
"There are snails along the foundation of everything in the cul-de-sac," I remembered from the phone call a few days ago. "But; Buildings B, C, and E seemed to have the most unique specimens."
I padded over to Building B. Sure enough, there was quite a large escargatoire amassed at the bottom of the door frame. Excitedly pulling my notepad from my back pocket, I knelt on the concrete and started scribbling whilst I observed.
By the time I had collected all of the information I needed, I had filled a page and a half with notes. But as enthusiastic as I was for snail-counting, my mind kept drifting. Drifting to Ms. Lewis. Drifting to that cookies-and-cream chocolate pie that we'll be eating tomorrow.
"I'm taking a break," I announced to no one. I stood up and gripped the door knob; and, out of habit, turned it. To my surprise, it silently opened. "Guess they forgot one," I whispered as I took a high step into Building B, avoiding the mollusks that called this place home.
Everything looked, well, normal. Two rows of beds, facing each other; all perfectly made. "I wonder why they left everything like this?" I asked myself. But better yet: "I wonder if there's anything valuable in these foot lockers?"
Part of me knew that it was wrong to search through other peoples' things. But really, if something was left behind, who would miss it?
Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty...
"Maybe they did take everything," I exhaled.
I opened one last locker, just in case. "What do ya know?" I grinned. "Jackpot."
There wasn't much inside. A few books, socks, sweatpants, t-shirts.
"Bummer," I kicked the lid, closing it with a clank. "Well, the mollusks beckon. Off to Building C."
I took another look at the long forgotten room as I stepped back outside. I imagined how different it would have felt and sounded and smelled in there. Imagined how it would have looked when it was bustling with life.
My next observation point was just a little further down the unpainted road, wide enough for one lane of cars to drive through. I lolled my tongue out over my jaw as the breeze abruptly stopped, heat stabbing into my fur. "No need to practice manners when I'm the only one here," I chortled. I shielded my eyes from the bright sun with my notepad and darted across, pretending to dodge traffic.
Sure enough, the snails inhabiting Building C were completely different than those that I'd just studied. I bent down to get a closer look, sliding away from a stray dandelion that was dangerously close to my muzzle. "Not this time, nature," I joked to the flower.
"Did you say something, Wallace?" a man's voice huffed from behind me. I snapped my head around, the fur on my forearms and tail starting to ruffle.
"Excuse me?" I turned and asked. "Umm... I really didn't mean to break into..."
"Wallace, you're dressed funny," the stranger responded. He was a deer, white-tailed, and stood my height if you didn't count the antlers. "And what are you going on about?"
"Hi," I sniffled. "My name's Emre. I was brought here by Ms. Lewis. We're surveying the local wildlife."
"Staff Sergeant Lewis?" the deer cocked his head. "No, he's at the mess hall pretending to be the president."
"Look," I gasped, the inside of my mouth stinging from the sudden dryness, "I'm here with the preservation... the wildlife... the volunteer people."
"Wait," his head raised and his eyes affixed on something, though I'm not sure what. Hopefully he was making sense out of my stammering and stuttering.
"I'm collecting data on the snails inhabiting the residential area," I cleared my throat and explained.
"Snails?" he repeated, still staring off into the distance. "Oh, the snails. Of course. I'm sorry; I got confused for a sec."
"It's okay," I assured him, letting out a deep breath. "My name's Emre."
He extended his arm. I wrapped my paw around his and shook. His grip was warm and firm.
"I take it you're the caretaker?" I inquired, examining his appearance as I talked. Clean shaven, crew cut. He was wearing khaki dress pants and a light gray t-shirt.
"Yeah, I take care of things around here," he grinned, his perfectly straight and white teeth sliding out over his lips. "How'd you guess?"
"Well," I yawned, letting some moisture back into my mouth; "the grass is really well kept, and everything looks really tidy. Except for a few stray dandelions here and there." I shoved my paws deeply into my pockets. I get nervous talking to other guys for some reason. Especially when they're well-spoken and in good shape like this guy. Basically any guy that looked like he could kick my tail socially or physically if I said the wrong thing.
"I like the dandelions," he defended. "I think it's good to let a few wild flowers grow. Something beautiful in the randomness of it all. If you pluck it up, then everything's all the same again."
"That's..." I was taken aback at his sentiment, "well, that's very true."
"So, you're here for the snails?" the deer clasped my shoulder. "Buddy, I'll show you where the big ones are. Follow me."
"Okay," my stiffened fur relaxed as I start to feel comfortable talking to the caretaker. "But I still have to examine the ones at Building C and E before sunset. I've got to meet Ms. Lewis with my report tonight."
"Of course," he promised. "But you've got to see these. They're huge!" He briskly walked back toward the parking lot, looking back to make sure that I was following.
"Where are we going?" I asked, bewildered. "They told me that all of them are in the..."
"They don't know about these," he informed me. "Nobody knows about them."
"Alright, but we've got to hurry," I bargained. "I've only got a few days to complete my survey."
We trekked back to the parking lot, past the empty truck, and into the woods through a gap in the old fence.
"It's not far, but we can save time by bypassing the rifle range," he relayed. "Lots of shortcuts around here."
"The rifle range is where Ms. Lewis is investigating some honeybees," I told the deer. "Have you met her?"
"Not many people come through the fort these days," the caretaker said, a happy expression washing over his face. "You'll have a safety inspector here, a documentarian there, and even some thrill-seekers getting a rush of adrenaline from vandalizing or breaking-and-entering the library."
"There's a library on base?" I casually remarked as I stepped over what few branches laid across this well-worn path.
"Here is the escargatoire you were looking for!" the deer stopped suddenly and exclaimed. He pointed ahead, and my attention followed. In the clearing, there were rows and rows of vegetables. A garden.
"You used the right word," I laughed. "Most people don't know what a group of snails is called." I was starting to like this guy.
"There's a book in the library about Mollusca," the deer smirked. "Read it cover to cover. It was pretty interesting."
He wasn't lying about the size of these snails. I dropped to the ground, crawling on my paws and knees in awe. There were hundreds of them.
"Yeah, I borrowed the book after these guys decided to move into my garden," the caretaker picked up an old rusty hoe and started pushing some of the soil around.
"This garden is really big," I admired. "You must have to come out here every day to work on it."
"I do," he admitted. "It's a fun hobby. And of course, it's nice to have lots of fresh veggies."
"Where did you learn to do all of this?" I started to ramble. "And they let you just take whatever you want?"
"I checked out a book on gardening. And one on how to dig a well," he explained, his voice starting to become heavy and gruff. "But the book that I've checked out the most; checked out so many times... is the Bible. And the Bible says that stealing is wrong, Wallace."
"What are you..." I tried to understand what he was saying.
"I know that you tried to steal from me, Wallace," the deer turned toward me. I slowly stood up, my legs shaking. "But I forgive you. The Bible says that you should forgive those that trespass against you."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I yelled at the caretaker. "I'm not Wallace!" I backed away a few steps, ready to turn tail and run at any moment.
"But I think that you are Wallace," he grumbled, his attention turning back to his garden. He just tended the same spot in the soil over and over. "Was Wallace even a dog?" He stopped raking with his hoe to tilt his antlers and ponder what he just said.
I stopped being polite at this point. I bolted, sending sprays of dirt and leaves in every direction. I looked back to see if he was following me, but he was still lost in thought back at his garden.
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit..." I cursed each time my feetpaws hit the ground until I reached the truck. "Ms. Lewis won't be back until sunset. That means I've got to spend the next few hours avoiding this psychopath." Yes, I was talking to myself again. No, I didn't care. I only knew that I shouldn't just stand here and wait. I just didn't know if I should go back to work or go lock myself up in Building B until the cute civet comes back to pick me up.
"Forget that guy," I decided. "He was probably just fucking with me anyway."
The sun started to peek back out from behind a cloud. Cicadas started to sing. I sneezed.
I took some more notes at Building C. Two whole pages worth. "Tomorrow, I'll bring Ms. Lewis out here. And some more people from her group. And maybe a cop or two," I planned. "But I am going to check out those huge snails in that crazy deer's garden."
I made my way to Building D, which looked just like all of the other letter-assigned barracks. "More of the same," I commented, quickly counting the snails before moving on to Building E.
I didn't go in, however. Just behind my next research objective, and something that I hadn't noticed before now, was a sign that read "Fort Woodstock Library and Book Store". It looked out of place, somehow. Something was just "off" about it. "I'm taking another break," I announced, sliding my notepad into my back pocket.
The door took a little finessing to open. Not because it was locked, but because it had probably wiggled out of its frame a little. "With only two working doors in the whole fort, I'm not surprised," I joked. But surely not even these doors got any use anymore, right? Well, except that odd caretaker guy, maybe.
I gingerly tugged the heavy door closed behind me. I was shocked to see that each floor-to-ceiling shelf was stuffed to the brim with books. "This place closed before Xbox was a thing," I remembered aloud. "That explains all the books. Nothing to do but read."
I brushed my fingers down the spines of each book as I passed, going row to row, looking for something interesting. The abundance of windows and the ample summer light made browsing easy.
"Guess this is where all the smokers went to sneak in their cigarettes," I surmised, catching a whiff of old smoke. Aisle by aisle I skimmed the names of books, wondering why they'd all been left behind.
By the time I made my way to the librarian's desk; my nose was running, getting closer to the smell of ash. Sure enough, glinting atop a short stack of books, there was a tiny tin tray littered with spent cigarettes. The smell was faint, but still distinct.
There were about two dozen books on the desk, all in neat piles. "Hey! There's The Diversity of Mollusks in the Southeastern United States," I discovered. I had read that in my second year at college.
I opened the book, fanning the pages in front of my muzzle, cooling my face by a few degrees. "This place needs air conditioning. Or at least some fans," I remarked. As I swayed the paperback, a thick piece of cardstock paper flung out of it.
"Checked out a grand total of..." I counted the names on the log, "six times." I read it further. Three of those times were by the same guy: "D. Wallace". Maybe that's why that deer keeps calling me Wallace. Maybe he saw it in the book or something.
"Weird," I muttered. I pulled the card out of the next book, An Abundance of Gourds. Again, D. Wallace was the last person to check the book out. In February 2000.
"So, somebody was coming here and borrowing books from the library," I tried to keep in my laughter, "and they actually wrote on the little cards and stamped them and everything. A whole year after they decommissioned the fort?" I couldn't help but chuckle a little.
The next book revealed more check-outs from D. Wallace. An Expert's Guide to Hydroseeding and Irrigation. Borrowed five times from February 2000 to November 2001. Skinning: A Hunter's Companion had two more dates from 2001 in its log.
Moving left on the desk, I saw several more books. Harvesting and planting crops, purifying water, wilderness survival. D. Wallace was serious about this stuff. At the top of another pile, The Holy Bible (King James's Version) had several sheets of white paper shoved inside its cover.
On plain notebook paper, folded in half lengthwise, "D. Wallace" appeared more times than I cared to count. Each date was exactly two weeks from the previous one, ending in December 2009 and beginning on October 2008.
"That's fucked up," I cussed, before putting my paw over my mouth realizing that I'm holding The Holy Bible. "Why didn't he just use the..." I stopped when I pulled the card out from its little sleeve-pocket. D. Wallace, twice more. But this time, he wasn't the last person to check it out. This time, his name was several from the bottom, and both dates were in 1998. "That was while this was still an active military base," I realized.
"Maybe they were different..." I tried to rationalize, before I noticed that the handwriting was the same on the card as it was on the last page of notebook paper. D. Wallace had been at Fort Woodstock from at least 1998 to 2009. "What happened to him?" I wondered.
"Whoa," is all that I could say. I stepped back from the desk and looked at all the books covering its top. The date stamp laid atop about a dozen ink pads.
I wiped my nose across the back of my arm. Stupid ash tray. Stupid pollen. I continued my search, past the desk, to the back few rows of the library. The faint smoky smell lingered in the air. I sniffled hard.
Sitting on the floor, in the middle of the last aisle, was a trash bin filled with magazines and newspapers. Someone had started a fire here. I coughed and reached my paw into the pile of burnt paper. The fire couldn't have burned long, probably just a quick fix for some heat or something. The plastic trash can was no worse for wear, though its contents were a crumbling mess.
It wasn't until that very moment that I got the feeling that I wasn't alone. I know that it's typical to let your imagination run away with you in moments like these, but I still couldn't shake the thought.
"Time to get out of here," I told myself. I passed the desk, the aisles of books, and the windows.
The window. That crazy deer was staring at me though the front window by the door. God knows how long he'd been there. "Just play it cool," I whispered. I can't let him know that he startled me. He's standing at the only way in or out.
I pressed my shoulder into the door to ease it open. "Oh, hello there," I remarked, thinking better of whistling a little tune as I stepped out of the library. That would have been overkill.
"Hey..." the caretaker greeted me again. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out earlier. I thought you were just some thief or scavenger; looking for loot at the base."
"I didn't take anything," I held up my empty paws. "I was only looking."
"That's what the last visitors here said," the deer smiled again, though it wasn't a comforting one.
"Oh," I smiled back, "were they part of the preservation group?"
"I don't know anything about that," the caretaker leaned onto the wall of the library as he slowly explained. "These two were just a couple o' kids. We thought they were just here to explore at first, but they turned out to be no-good."
"Well, it's good that they're gone then," I chuckled. "Can't trust anybody these days."
"It was a while ago," he breathed out each word thoughtfully. "Me and Wallace asked them to stay, once we observed them a little and thought it'd be better than running 'em off."
"Wait," I asked, confused, "you and Wallace live here?"
"Well, I didn't really have anything to go back to when they shut down this place," the deer frowned, his voice echoing an emotional pain. "I had only been here around a year when they decided to decommission Woodstock. But these guys were the only friends I'd ever had. I just didn't want to leave it."
"How did you..." I tried.
"Wallace and I waited a few weeks," he interrupted, pointing out past the old wooden fence. "We camped in the woods over there until we were sure nobody was coming back."
"And you stayed here," I added the dates, "for fourteen years?"
"We had everything we needed," the deer answered. "But... fourteen years? God, I didn't know it had been that long. I'm... thirty-three?" He laughed, holding his paw over his muzzle. "Damn, I'm getting old!"
"You didn't ever think about leaving?" I shuffled my feet, not wanting to waste this last hour of daylight, but also curious about this guy's story.
"No," the deer closed his eyes and recalled. "We left for supplies only twice, and each time that was only to get some new clothes. You can get by washing your shirts in a creek with some herbs and flowers for only so long."
"I bet," I agreed. "This actually all sounds like it'd be kind of fun. I spend most of my day in front of a computer screen or the TV."
"Oh, it is," the deer opened his eyes again. He knelt down and took in a deep breath. "It would have been perfect if those shit-heads would have never come here." He stood up straight, grabbing the handle of one of his tools that he'd laid down on the pavement.
"Who..." I muttered.
"They said that they wanted to stay here," he whimpered. "Said that they'd help us take care of this place. But what do they do as soon as I start to let my guard down? They want to leave! Want to tell everyone that we're here. Make us leave with them!"
I backed up a few steps, hearing anger in his voice.
"We couldn't let them leave," he growled. "Not if they were going to take away the only thing that I've known since high school. We wouldn't let them!"
"Did you..." I began, as he cut me off again.
"I didn't want to," the deer's face twisted in sadness. "They tried to torch the library to make a signal fire so that someone would come to the fort. They were going to take us all away from here!"
He gulped hard, and I copied him. My nose began to run and my hands started to shake.
"I barely had time to run to the well and back," his expression contorted further, as he relived the painful memory. "And then they attacked Wallace..." he trailed off. Now we were both sniffling.
I tried to put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted to comfort him. But why?
"I smacked them on the head with Wallace's hoe," he rubbed at his forehead and recalled, "I was only trying to stop them."
I stopped my hand before it made contact. I quickly drew it back.
"And you can't just leave bodies," he cleared his throat, wet streaks staining the fur on the side of his face.
"Did you..." I started, finding my voice. "Did you eat them?"
"Of course not," he shot me a disgusted expression. "But we had to do something with them. We had to burn them. But we didn't realize that..."
I looked around for something to protect myself with. I didn't know if this lunatic was about to murder me or hug me.
"The screaming..." he sniffled again. "As we burned them, they started screaming."
"You..." I backed away another few feet. "You burned them alive?"
"We didn't know that they were still alive!" he protested, sobbing furiously. "But they didn't suffer long. We hid in our bunks until we heard the screaming stop."
No wonder these guys wanted to signal the cops. This guy is nuts.
"Do you know how badly it smells?" he asked, his shoulders slumping and his face lowering. "You can't just burn them once. You have to make sure it's all gone. They fueled our fires for a week or more. The smell..."
I didn't know whether to run or try and talk to this guy. About half an hour until sunset. Half an hour until Ms. Lewis and I get the hell out of here.
"Wallace was never the same after that day," the deer looked back up to me, trying to stare into my eyes. But I kept looking away. "He borrowed the good book from the library and read it every morning. Took him damn near a year to finish the thing."
Just let him talk. Let him get it all out. And as soon as I hear those truck doors, I'm gone.
"He said he was just going to get some new clothes," the deer cried out. "That his had a scent on them that wouldn't wash out. He's having a hard time finding the store, I suppose. As soon as he's back, I'll..."
"Everything will be okay," I finally spoke. I honestly felt bad for him, though I'm not sure if I should have.
"Wallace told me what the Bible says about killing," he went on. "That if you take your own life, you won't be admitted into Heaven."
"You wanted to kill yourself?" I asked, my heart heavy with emotion.
"I only tried once," the deer explained. "And then Wallace told me what the Bible said..." He trailed off again before regaining his composure.
"Send me to Heaven."
"What!?" I spat out.
"Send me to Heaven!" he barked.
"No, I won't..." I tried to reason with him.
"Here," he offered me his gardening tool and croaked. "Send me to Heaven..."
Fuck this. I made a run for it. Maybe Ms. Lewis will be at the truck waiting for me...
"Send me to Heaven!" the deer's words exploded out of him. He started to chase after me, but when I turned the corner around Building B, I didn't hear his footsteps behind me.
I stopped and looked around. The daylight was fading, the sun was hiding just below the treeline. Where is he?
The only sound was my own breathing. I couldn't see the truck from here, but it wasn't far. If I ran full speed...
Somehow, my legs just wouldn't cooperate. I stood, frozen, for another full minute. Listening. Watching.
A soft tapping sound, like fingers on glass, came from behind me.
"I can't help you," I tried to call out, though my voice came out as barely a whisper. "But there are people that can. I'll make a few calls, and you..."
"You're not taking me from here!" the deer bellowed, suddenly dashing into my field of vision.
I sprinted again toward the truck, but this guy was just too fast. I barely made it to Building A before he had me on the ground.
"You're not taking me from here..." he repeated, pressing his face to mine as he growled.
"Just let me go!" I pleaded. "I won't..."
"As soon as you're in town, you'll tell everyone," he locked his gaze on me, staring as he pushed me hard into the pavement. "You'll have a lynch mob out here by tomorrow. I should have never trusted you, Wallace!"
"I won't," I promised. "I'll leave you alone..."
"And what about your friend?" the deer sat up, straddling my torso. "The beekeeper? I'll have to find her and..."
"No!" I struggled, pinned to the ground. I tried to break free, but he was sitting with all of his weight on me. "What if I stayed with you?"
"What?" his expression changed.
"What if I lived here with you?" I offered. "She doesn't know that you're here. We could just let her go."
"And you'd never leave? Never take me away from here?" he thought about my deal.
"Of course not." I was telling the truth. I just wanted to make sure the civet didn't get hurt.
The deer stood up. He offered me his hand and helped me to my feet. "I believe you. I know that you won't leave. Won't take me from my home."
I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs with some fresh air.
"But I don't believe that your friend doesn't know that I'm here," he accused. "Once I've found her..."
I tried the only thing I could think of. I grabbed his wooden-handled hoe. To his surprise, and mine, his grip faltered. Before he could say another word...
"I wish that you didn't make me do that," I angrily coughed out, adrenaline still rushing through me. I stood over his still body, and for some reason I still felt sympathy for him.
I knelt over the deer, examining the wound on his forehead. I didn't realize I could hit that hard.
I scanned his body, his face, his clothes. "It must have been really hard for you," I realized. I blinked several times, letting everything sink in. When I opened them again, something around his neck caught my attention. Something shiny. His ID tags.
I repositioned myself to get a better look. "I thought that there were usually two of these," I stopped for a second before tugging at the tag.
"Wallace, Daniel A.," I read aloud. I skimmed over his social security number before going on, "O-positive blood type. Methodist." I let the stainless steel fall back to his chest, which heaved up. Then down. Then up again. He was breathing. Slowly, but he was breathing.
"I just assaulted a homeless person," I climbed to my feet and put my paw to my lips. "I have to get him to a hospital. I'll tell them it was an accident."
Stretching his arm over my shoulder, I tried to position as much of his body as I could across my back; the way that you see firemen carrying injured people on TV.
I plodded toward the parking lot, regret filling me completely. Each step was a reminder of what I had done. By the time Ms. Lewis's vehicle was in sight, the weight was too much for me. As slowly as I could, I lowered him to the ground.
"Emre!" a familiar voice called out to me from the driver's side of her truck. "Hurry up! It's going to get dark soon."
"Coming!" I happily yelled back to her. I looked down at the deer, realizing that I can't just leave him here like this. I wrapped my paws around his calves, hoping to drag him the rest of the way. No luck. But something did brush against my wrist as I tugged. I lifted the leg of his pants to see another, singular ID tag; tied to his ankle with a nylon string. "That's weird," I murmured. I knew that they kept two of these on them, but I still wanted to investigate.
"What the..." I sputtered, as I confusedly read the tag. "Benton, Claud S., blood type A-negative, no religious preference."
"I knew it was you," Ms. Lewis panted, eyeing me from her parking spot. "When you knew so much about those missing kids, and the curfew... You're the ghost..." She popped open her glove compartment, nervously fumbled around for a moment, and then raised her handgun.
"Wait, don't..." I couldn't make out the sound. It was too loud. So loud it hurt.
The sun finally started to disappear on the horizon. The cicadas song grew louder and louder. I sniffled. It was such a beautiful day.