Chapter 5: Arts, Crafts, and Illiteracy in the Modern Age

The red spray paint bled down the side of the barn.

Nov 3. Heading S to Eden. Mommy loves y

The can fizzled in my hand. I shook it hard; the ball inside rattled, tick-shp tick-shp, like a psychotic hitting his head against prison bars. I finished the "ou" as the last bit of paint dribbled out onto my finger. I threw the can down into the mud, furious. I was down to my last one.

As I started to climb down the moss-covered ladder, I admired the flash of red paint on my nail—the frost bitten blue of my finger making it pop even more. My first manicure in years. Not my worst, either.

Again, the spray paint rattled: tick-shp. I looked down— but the can hadn’t moved. My hair stood on end. I pulled the revolver from my belt and crouched down—feeling naked with my feet still far from the ground. I scanned the wild grown fields surrounding the barn.

Tick-shp! Around the corner, I heard the bending and snapping of corn as something stepped out of the field. Footsteps squelched in the mud… becoming more distant…

It’s walking around the opposite side.

“Excuse me,” said a tiny voice behind me.

I whipped my head around and saw a girl, no older than twelve, standing pigeon-toed on the black top. She loosened her Hello Kitty backpack strap and waved at me.

The Untamed was already around the corner by the time I turned back. Its neck was cocked like a dogs. Its bright yellow face was blank, it’s mouth hung open in a tiny 0 as it giggled a metallic laugh: tick-shp tick-shp.

It shouldn’t be this far away from town!

I leapt off the ladder. Something popped as I landed in the mud— sending lightning up my legs and into my spine. Adrenaline numb, I sprinted toward the girl. The Untamed laughed and lurched after us, dragging something heavy behind it.

“Rooowr!” I screamed. I meant to say run, but my mouth was full of mud. Thunder clapped in my hand as I fired the pistol behind me without looking.

“Hello there!” said The Girl as I grabbed her arm and yanked her off the road into the corn field behind her.

I ran and ran and ran— zigzagging through the maze—the husks tearing greedily at my coat and face. The wintry air dried my lungs till they ached like massive holes in my chest.

I collapsed. Heaving. Gasping. Above the spears of corn, the clouds floated by indifferently. The sky was blue and bright. The little girl was giggling.

You would have never known the world had ended.

Nov 5. S 2 Maxwell. Love u.

Walk south on I9 through the fringe towns of Indianapolis, and every few hundred feet you’ll find a white house or barn. More than half of them are tinted red from my past visits.

Continue through Eden, and just as your feet start to get sore you’ll find a Toyota resting grill first in a ditch. I limped over, pulled open the door and started unbuttoning the denim jacket that sat clumped in the driver seat. I sifted through the bleach white bones inside the shirt.

I've searched her neckline five times over the past years. This time made six. Each time I didn’t find a necklace. Each time I re-buttoned her shirt. Each time I thought the same thing: If the ancients were right, then at least she would have a way to get around heaven.

“Ready?” The Girl asked, sitting in the back seat.

“We’re leaving,” I said.

“Oh, my bad,” she turned and buckled her seat belt. “Now, I’m ready.”

Nov 6. GrnField. Miss u.

The steeple of the modest church had fallen in through the roof. I walked through the packed, silent pews, checking the Sunday Best necklines one by one.

“Excuse me,” said the girl, high-stepping over the empty shoes and pant legs. “Pardon me, good to see you.” She pointed at a green sundress and turned to me. “This is definitely your color.”

I looked and saw the gold, half-heart locket poking out from underneath the dress. My breath caught in my throat.

Had I missed her?

I pulled the half-heart necklace out from underneath my coat and knelt down close to the dress. The magnetized lockets clinked together— an imperfect match.

“Did you know her?” the girl asked.

A moan escaped my throat before I could answer. “No.”

Nov 7. Fountain twn.

I snapped awake. After a moment of panic, I realized the noise I heard was my own teeth chattering. On the other side of the room, The Girl held her knees to her chest.

I sat up and looked out the window of the abandoned house. In the distance, Indianapolis stood like a bundle of stars trying to return to the sky. The Giants moaned as they crawled across the concrete towers.

A crack of light tore open the night to my left: an eye-squinting yellow spilling over the horizon.

“What a pretty sunrise,” said the girl, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

To the right, an arch of orange poked its head over the horizon— the clouds above it turning violet and red.

Back to the west, the clouds ripped apart. The yellow glow curled over on itself— a mushroom sun. The window splintered and spiderwebbed in front of my face. The clouds raced overhead in long bows. A pebble dropped into a pond.

Even after everyone knew things had changed, when hopeful denials seemed more like sick jokes, I still followed my morning routine. I woke up early, had my coffee, studied my lesson plans. This week was always on the fall of Rome.

“When Rome fell,” I started, “it took a year for the news to reach farthest edges of the empire. The people just went about their days, following laws and customs that no longer existed.”

The girl looked up at me, startled that I had spoken first without being prompted. She smiled and said “Some of our piggies escaped their pen one time, and ran into the woods. They came back for my birthday but they were covered in fur, and they had these big-ole tusks. They didn’t even sound the same. Sometimes I wish they had just sent a card.”

“Exactly,” I said. Storm clouds began to collect in the West.

Nov 8. Shlby Ville

Snow doesn’t make the world silent, it just makes everything you do louder.

“What is wrong with you!” I screamed. The Girl trembled enough that the spray can rattled in her hand. The can was empty; the last of it drying out in the shape of a flower on the wall behind her.

Black snow caught in her eyelashes as tears welled in her eyes. She dropped the can, turned, and sprinted away toward Greenfield.

“Wait!” I called out to her. “Don’t go into town!”

She kept running, the pink backpack disappearing in the black snow flurries.

There was no point in going after her. I couldn’t keep up even if I was healthy, and my ankle roared with every step. Somewhere West, through the wall of black snow, my home was nearby, with enough food and firewood to last me through the winter. The end of another loop. I could rest, and start again when it got warmer.

I had one bullet left in the chamber.

Why am I checking my gun?

Only then did I realize my feet were carrying me toward town. Only then, in the bone-chilling silence, did I realize I loved her.

The windows of the Shelbyville post office were completely iced over. I crouched along chunky snowbanks, blinking the snow out of my eyes. Up ahead, the yellow streetlight only a block away looked like some distant sun.

Footsteps crunched through the snow on the opposite side of the bank. I pointed my pistol into the ether as something sprinted past. I crouched there, frozen, my muscles heavy as iron. It occurred to me then that no history textbooks ever discuss death beyond a date and a reason. The moment before death has no time or reason. Wouldn’t that be a good lesson?

Tick-shp. The sound was no louder than a thought. I held my breath… listened… until I heard it again. It dragged me forward like a raft tied to a rope. The sound grew louder and louder until I reached a department store. Then it stopped.

From the amount of snow inside, the door had been open for a few hours. Pistol first, I checked the shadowy aisles. Down the last aisle, a pink backpack sat open on the floor. Nearby, an evicted stuffed animal sat with its legs pointed up at the ceiling. I got closer and saw the backpack was packed tight with spray paint cans.

To this day, I’m unsure who screamed first: me, the girl, or It.

The Untamed tackled me into the display, sending it, and us, crashing to the floor. I held the Untamed back as its pocked teeth clapped close enough to my face that I could smell its caustic breath.

I reached into the darkness, searching for the gun. Tick-shp. A spray paint can rattled in my hand. I brought it up and sprayed it into the eyes of the Untamed.

It reeled back, clawing at its face. In its panic, it kicked the gun across the floor. I crawled over, picked it up, and fired at the red target.

The muzzle flash reflected in the gold, half-heart locket around the Untamed’s neck. The necklace and the Untamed both crumbled to the floor.

I pulled out the locket from underneath my coat, bent down, and picked up the necklace off the floor. When I held it to mine, they snapped together. A perfect fit.

“Oh, God.” I said.

“I’m so sorry,” said The Girl. She lifted the backpack up toward me. “These are for you,” she said. Then she collapsed.

On the outskirts of town, the snow came down in heavy black sheets like oil from a gushing well. The girls hand burned like an ice cube in mine. She kept walking as her head lulled from side to side, her eyes rolling in her skull.

Before I could see the porch steps, I had already lifted my foot. The key clinked against the lock until my shaking hand could find the hole.

Inside, I carried her over to the fireplace. Once I got it started, it burned so brightly it was hard to look at.

Hours passed. The Girl laid at the lip of the fire, but her temperature stayed the same. I unzipped my coat and laid beside her— the carpet rough against my cheek. I pulled her into my coat and zipped us up.

I held her tight, her head cold against my chest.

Eden.

Walk West off I9 from Shellbyville, and not far from the airfield you’ll find a squat brick home with a tire swing out front— the tree covered in spray painted flowers. When you're close enough to see the heart lockets hanging above the door, you’ll smell coffee brewing. Listen carefully, and you’ll hear a little girl giggling with her mother.