A H.E.R.O.S PROJECT 12

10. Apologies

I've been walking for an hour.

I'm always amazed by how large Grandpa's property is. You would think I knew Argus like the back of my hand since Richie and I spent most of our lives here with Grandpa. Eugenes was our part-time home. Our just-for-show residency with Mom. Our real home had always been in the woods.

Grandpa would take care of Richie and me during our summers, winter breaks, and most weekends. Grandpa would take us fishing at the river and streams higher north. He taught us how to make a campfire; at night, we listened to Grandpa share stories about Greek mythology and the names of each constellation we saw in the sky. I spent countless hours playing fetch with Lou while Grandpa napped on the porch before the sunset and sleepy darkness spread over the woods. It was a blissful escape from society and our problems back home in Eugenes. It's funny because I don't like the outdoors like Grandpa and Richie.

Mom didn't have to say it—she needed a break from her kids. I think—we were the problem. That's why I assume Mom kept handing us over to Grandpa. Not that I minded or didn't understand what Mom was going through. It's hard trying to hold it together for us. It's hard work raising two children on your own. It's easier to lose yourself in your career than to face your problems. I get it. I don't, but I do.

We'd hiked these hills, built snowmen, made hazardous tree houses, and dug holes in pursuit of buried treasure Grandpa said was lying somewhere. I looked. I turned over every log and rock and climbed every tree to find riches beyond my wildest imagination and attain absolute freedom. It took me years to learn that there was no treasure here. That there's nothing special lying around. But Lou and Grandpa led the way with Grandpa's favorite black compass, urging Richie and me to keep looking, exploring, and never give up. We never strayed from their careful eyes. We hunted for treasure together.

Paranoid, that's what it is. My old man is sure that someone is coming for him and us. Grandpa tried to brainwash Richie and me when we were younger. He'd always fuss about how much the government hated him and how evil the government was. They're always watching and listening because he knows too much, has seen too much, and they think he'll tell someone what he knows. Grandpa believes you should be prepared for the worst because the worst has happened and can happen again. He said something about global memory loss, and everyone but a few, like himself, can't forget the truth.

"Grandpa," I remember asking him when I was eight, "When did the worst happen?"

"Well," Grandpa said, his blue eyes scanning the highest tree branches, the chirping birds, "Well, a long time ago. Back before ya'll was born. I was about your age. That's when it happened. Damn, the media didn't report it cause it went against this nation's security. People ought to know the truth. I know the truth, and it eats me up every day. And dammit, they're always keeping secrets from small people like us. That's why I chose out after I served my time. I tried to get your Dad too. He couldn't leave. I left them and came here where they couldn't take me. They'd break the rules if they came here."

Grandpa dropped his head, his hands squeezing the gun strapped on his belt. "Best decision of my life. I knew what those bastards wanted. Not me. But I know they'll ask again, and I'll tell them no. No, you hear me! They can't have an ounce of my blood. My father gave them his, and it got him killed. Damn them. They're still out there, ya know. My father told me so before he hit the grave. I saw one before he died. It lived in the dirt just like this. Black as night. I thought it was a monster, but there are things out here you haven't seen worse than monsters Anaya, and the darn thing didn't have a face."

Grandpa pulled me close, examining a family of squawking crows gathering overhead. He rips his gun off his belt and shoots at them, killing one. The surviving flock frantically flies away. We walk to the crow's corpse, and he does what he typically does to crows he kills, steps on their heads until their skulls crack. He said, his boot on the bird's head, "There are so many. It's impossible to find them all. Some can fly, and others like dirt because they refuse sunlight and fresh air. Monsters Anaya, they're monsters like my daddy. When the worst ended, they restarted everything back to normal, and they couldn't find the rest. They escaped, but my daddy did a good job rounding most up. Most he could kill. Monsters the size of hills, he killed them first. The few that could think, they hid."