Numbered

Chapter 14 - Death's Toll

It had been four days since Jake's death; three whole days of complete inactivity; three whole days of a depressing loneliness. Zeke sat atop a plateau, a quarter mile out of Kalaloch, Washington and overlooking the ocean. It was generally warm weather with an occasional breeze slightly ruffling his hair. It had rained on Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, but there he stayed, finding no reason to move from this spot, let alone at all. In front of him was a perfectly shaped cross with Jake's name written across it. His friend had always loved the ocean, so it was fitting to have his cross overlooking one. It would have been nice to bury his body, but there was nothing left to bury. He and Angelica had gone back a day after their escape, hoping to take whatever was left of him with them, but those savages left nothing. They took every last bit of him, including the bones. The only thing Zeke had left of Jake were his memories of him. Another breeze, this one from the east, blew over him and with it came Angelica's perfume.

She came to stand beside him and placed a plate of food down in front of him. She never said a word, just stood there and stared sympathetically at him, hoping for him to open up his mouth first. Angelica had done this four times a day, all three days since they had been here and he had not taken one bite, not one drink. She let out a faint sigh before turning and walking back down the hill. She was fine company and all, but he hardly knew her; he might as well have been on his own. Jake was the last thing he had and now he was gone, leaving him all alone. His last bit of family, torn away from him; he felt like he had died with him. He did not feel anything, nothing at all: no tears, no happiness, no anger; he was just one big empty well anymore. He heard footsteps behind him, but he did not bother turning his head. Zeke figured it was Angelica, probably going to persuade him to come back into the city. She sat down next to him, but a wisp of gray hair told him it was not Angelica. He turned his head and saw an older woman, her face covered with wrinkles, but plenty of wisdom.

"You know it is not doing you any good just sitting up here," she advised in that old womanly voice.

No response.

"Your friend did not die just so you could waste away mourning him. It is not what he would have wanted."

"How do you know what he would have wanted?" Zeke snapped. "He gave up on us, on me. Just because of a few injuries, he threw himself away."

"You don't know that. For whatever reason, he knew he would not make it, but he did not give up. He died to save you. The only one giving up here is you."

"Life is not worth living anymore."

"Life is no longer worth living when you are dead, not somebody else."

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"Learn who is behind this. Maybe save those who are left."

"I guess..."

"Good, then let's go. You need some real food and a much needed bath."

The old lady rose to her feet and waited for Zeke to do so as well, though it was all for naught. He remained seated and fell silent once again, his gaze back out to sea. With a heavy sigh and an overly exaggerated shake of her head, she moved behind Zeke and placed her hands under his arms. Surprisingly, she hauled him to his feet, grabbed his ear, and proceeded to drag him down the hill. The entire way down, the only thing on his mind was how much it hurt. For an old lady, she sure had quite a grip. Weren't old people supposed to be feeble and frail? Angelica was pacing at the foot of the hill, wringing her hands all the while. Upon seeing Zeke and the woman, she immediately stopped and practically jumped for joy. She disappeared around the foot of the hill, an engine roaring to life followed shortly after. The whole ride back to the woman's home, he simply stared out the window, never saying a word. He knew the old woman was looking at him, probably devising schemes to break him of his depression.

The house was a creamy yellow with a black shingled roof and a gorgeous rooster weather vane. All along the outside, there were numerous potted plants and wind chimes. One wind chime was decorated with glass leaves, another had cardinals and blue jays, and another had the eight planets. Once in the house, the old lady sped into the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans and multiple food products. Angelica and Zeke sat in the living room; he just stared at the floor, while she held his hand and continued her sympathetic glances. He could hear her talking to him, yet he did not hear any of it. Delectable smells were soon floating in from the other room, making his mouth water. The living room was a robin's egg blue, but the attention getter were all the pictures. Each of them had the old lady with numerous other people, including Angelica. Based on the old lady's age, he would have to guess she was the great-grandmother. Sure enough, there was a framed poem by Angelica praising the lady for all the things she was to her. A minute later, the lady came in carrying plates of pasta and garlic toast. To his misfortune, she was not satisfied with him just eating a little. She came over to the couch and started to force feed until he groaned of a bellyache around a mouthful of food.

"Alrighty sonny. Time for a bath because you smell like a goddamn garbage dumpster. Now, we can do it the easy way or the hard way, take your pick."

"The hard way," Zeke responded, all intents on giving the lady a difficult time. He knew she was trying to snap him out of this depression, but he was not going to allow it, not without a fight anyway. She gave a knowing smile and disappeared into the bathroom, from which a lot of scuffling was emitted. A few cabinets were opened and slammed closed; there was ripping as packaging was torn open; lastly, water was heard running as the tub was being filled. How was this supposed to be the hard way? Zeke thought rather confused. She was doing all the work. The lady re-emerged and disappeared into another room, again reappearing with a laundry basket in hand, which she placed outside the bathroom door. She walked back into the bathroom and, one last time, reappeared, this time holding a scrubbing brush. He was absolutely baffled at how this was supposed to be the hard way. He had a suspicion that he should know, yet he could not put his finger on it.

"How was this the hard way?"

"The hard way is me bathing you."

"Easy way, easy way," he shouted, grabbing the brush as he ran past her into the bathroom.

"Works every time," the old lady chuckled, walking back into the kitchen to bake dessert.

As Zeke had done the first time, he washed himself twice, scrubbing as ferociously as he could to remove the dirt and grime. Maybe sitting on the hill was not the wisest idea, but he felt shattered. He was not sure what he should have done. Searching for this mysterious assailant seemed like a lost cause, but it was better than just sitting around, twiddling his thumbs and feeling sorry for himself. After getting dressed, he tossed the dirty towel and his clothes into the basket and stepped into the kitchen. Angelica and her grandmother were sitting at the table eating cookies and milk. He was readily invited to join and they stayed up until two in the morning, just talking, mostly snapping Zeke out of his depression. Needless to say, they succeeded and they even managed to make him crack a few smiles. At about three, her grandma went to bed, but they stayed up an extra hour, just getting to know one another more. Eventually, they relocated into Angelica's room and the rest of the night blurred into a sweaty, hot mess.