The Rise by H. D. Gordon Page A

minutes from our destination, but we had to stop. I’d insisted. We’d stolen a shovel from a barn a few miles back, and I didn’t feel bad about that at all. I needed it more right now than the farmer. I needed to bury my Mother. I couldn’t stand another minute in this van with the form of her body lying under the truck-stop blanket, and I couldn’t see tossing her in a river somewhere. I had already gotten sick twice, and the van smelled strongly of lemon-scented wipes, copper, and regurgitated stomach acid. At least now there was absolutely nothing left in my stomach, so I was stuck with dry-heaving. Small mercy.
     
    As soon as the van lurched to a stop, I threw the door open with a bang and jumped out, blinking my eyes at the harsh daylight. I stood on the edge of a dirt road, ahead of me a small forest. The stolen shovel was clutched in my cold left hand, my Gladius in my right. I began to march toward the line of trees, leaving the task of moving the bodies to the others. I couldn’t handle that, couldn’t think about it or understand it. But, dig, I could do. It might even help me to let off some steam, plunging the iron spade into the earth and ripping it up, as long as I didn’t think about what I was doing and why.
     
    Twigs and dry leaves crunched under my shoes and birds called out their presence from above. It was a warm, pleasant spring day, the sunlight gentle and sweet on my skin. That’s what I concentrated on, only that.
     
    Eventually, I came to a stop when I found a small clearing in the trees. Wild flowers bloomed here, yellow dandelions and purple violets. The air was cooler here, fresh, the sounds of nature the only things to be heard. A pretty place. A peaceful place. It would have to do.
     
    I set my Gladius down beside me, then straightened and slammed the tip of the spade into the ground, shoving it in deeper with my foot, over and over, turning and tossing the earth. I was panting like a winded dog by the time the others reached me. Sweat matted my hair to my forehead and neck. I’d ripped off my jacket and tossed it aside, and now the sun glinted off my silvered right arm like a mirror, blinding me when I moved it certain ways.
     
    I continued to dig. I could feel the eyes of the others watching me, knew how insane I must look, didn’t care. I just pretended they weren’t there. I wished they weren’t there, waiting to drop things into the holes I was digging. My wrists throbbed and hurt so bad that I was sure that at any second my hands were going to tear off of them and thump to the ground. That didn’t happen. But I welcomed the pain anyhow. It was better than nothing to hold my attention. Easier than dealing with whatever pain I would face emotionally when I had a moment to stop and think things through.
     
    We had only the one shovel, and either everyone else was too tired, or too afraid to offer to take it from me. Better that they didn’t. I wanted to do this. Somehow, it only felt right if it were me.
     
    Before I knew it, the task was complete, and two deep rectangles had been cut into the earth. I’m not sure how much time passed, and the others waited by patiently without saying a word. But when I climbed out of the earth with an assisting hand from Kayden, my body screamed its exhaustion at me through my muscles in high-pitched wails. Kayden’s arms wrapped around me, holding me upright. The digging had taken more from me than I had realized.
     
    When I felt able, I pushed away from Kayden to stand on my own feet. Things to be done. There were things to be done.
     
    Tommy came forward and handed me a bouquet of dandelions and violets, and I stared at them a moment, wondering what they were for. Now tears burned my eyes, and I blinked hard, and they rolled hot and wet down my cheeks. I turned and buried my head against Kayden’s chest, hiding there, crushing the flowers between us. He held me, and I heard the others moving the bodies, heard the thump! thump!