Damage & Decay

Chapter 11

Part One: Family Business

"I don't know what's waiting for us when we die– something better, something worse. I only know that I'm not ready to find out yet."

- Charles De Lint, The Onion Girl

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They didn't speak for several miles. Eren kept looking back, but even he didn't know if he was checking to see if they were being followed or looking with regret that they'd done nothing about what was happening. His jaw ached from clenching.

They reached the crest of the hill that separated the field of tall grass from an upslope that wound around the base of a huge mountain. There was a road there, a two-lane backtop hat was cracked and choked with weeds. The road spun off toward a chain of mountains that marched into the distance and vanished into heat haze far to the southeast. There were old bones among the weeds, and Eren kept stopping to look at them.

"I don't want to do this anymore," said Eren.

Armin kept walking.

"I don't want to do what you do. Not if it means doing . . . that sort of stuff."

"I already told you. I don't do that sort of stuff."

"but you're around it. You see it. It's part of your life."

Eren kicked a rock and sent it skittering off the road and into the grass. Crows scolded him as they leaped into the air, leaving behind a rabbit carcass on which they'd been feeding.

Armin stopped and looked back. "If we turn back now, you'll only know part of the truth."

"I don't care about the truth."

"Too late for that now, Eren. You've seen some of it. If you don't see the rest, it'll leave you--"

"Leave me what? Unbalanced?  You can stick that Zen crap up your--"

"Language."

Eren bent and snatched up a shinbone that had been polished white by scavengers and weather. He threw it at Armin, who sidestepped to let it pass.

"Screw you and your truth and all of this stuff!" screamed Eren. "You're just like those guys back there! You come out here, all noble an wise and with all that bull, but you're no different. You're a killer. Everyone in town says so!"

Armin stalked over to him and grabbed a fistful of Eren's shirt and lifted him to his toes. "Shut up!" he said with a snarl. "You just shut your damn mouth!"

Eren was shocked into silence.

"You don't know who I am or what I am." Armin shook Eren hard enough to rattle his teeth. "You don't know what I've done. You don't know the things I've had to do to keep  you safe. To keep us safe. You don't know what I--"

He broke off and flung Eren away from his. Eren staggered backward and fell hard on his butt, legs splayed among the weeds and old bones. His eyes bugged with shock, and Armin stood above him, different expressions warring on his face. Anger, shock at his own actions, burning frustration. Even love.

"Eren . . ."

Eren got to his feet and dusted off his pants. Once more he looked back the way they're come and then stepped up to Armin, staring up at his big brother with an expression that was equally mixed and conflicted.

"I'm sorry," they both said.

They stared at each other.

Eren smiled.

Armin's smile was slower in coming.

"You're a total pain in my butt, little brother."

"You're a world-class jerk."

The hot breeze blew past them. Armin said, "If you want to go back, then we'll go back."

Eren shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"Do I have to have an answer?"

"Right now? No. Eventually? Probably."

"Yeah," said Eren. "That's okay, I guess. Just tell me one thing. I know you said it already, but I really need to know. Really, Armin."

Armin nodded.

"You're not  like them. Right? Swear on something." He pulled out his wallet and held up the picture. "Swear on Mom and Dad."

Armin nodded. "Okay, Eren. I swear."

"On Mom and Dad."

"On Mom and Dad." Armin touched the picture and nodded.

"Okay," said Eren. "Then let's go."

The afternoon burned on, and they followed the two-lane road around the base of the mountain. Neither spoke for almost an hour and then Armin said, "This isn't just a walk we're taking, kiddo. I'm out here on a job."

Eren shot him a look. "You're here to kill a zom?"

Armin shrugged. "It's not they way I like to phrase it, but . . . yes, that's the bottom line."

They walked another half mile.

"How does this work? The . . . job, I mean.:

"You saw part of it when you applied to that erosion artist," said Armin. He dug into a jacket pocket and removed an envelope, opened it, and took out a piece of paper that he unfolded and handed to Eren. There was a small color photograph clipped to one corner that showed a smiling man of about thirty, with sandy hair and a sparse beard. The paper it was clipped to was a large portrait of the same man as he might be now if he was a zombie. The name "Harold" was handwritten in one corner.

"This is why erosion portraits are so useful. People have pictures done of wives, husbands, children . . . anyone they loved. Someone they lost. Sometimes they can even remember what a person was wearing on First Night, and that makes it easier for me, because as I said, the dead seldom move far from where they lived. Or worked. Guys like me find them."

"And kill them?"

Armin answered that with a shrug. They rounded a bend in the road and saw the first few houses of a small town built onto the side of the mountain. Even from a quarter mile away Eren could see zombies standing in yards or on the sidewalks. One stood in the middle of the road with his face tilted toward the sun.

Nothing moved.

Armin folded the erosion portrait and put it in his pocket, then took out the vial of cadaverine and sprinkled some on his clothes. He handed it to Eren, then dabbed some mint gel on his upper lip and passed the jar to his brother.

"You ready?"

"Not even a little bit," said Eren.

Armin loosed his sword in its scabbard, and led the way. Eren shook his head, unsure of how exactly the day had brought him to this moment, and then followed.