The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 4: Into the Great Wide Open (Part 5 of 7)

The stomping on the stairs was indistinguishable from the beating of his heart as Horus lay still and silent, despite his growing excitement. A rag of a blanket covered him from his knees to just below his armpits. By the edge of the scratchy, smelly blanket, a hand rested on his chest with the three inches of sharpened steel held tightly in its grip.

The footsteps shifted from the wooden stairs to the concrete floor and the thump-thump-thump changed to tap-tap-tap. Everything happened with such routine that it might all be the workings of an elaborate Swiss cuckoo clock, one that had figures racing along a track at the chime of each hour. Only instead of a couple dancing or a man chopping firewood, this one had Kyle Silvers moving along its preordained paths.

The inner workings of a clock were called complications. Horus still remembered that from his days of doing crosswords. It was such a poetic and fitting term, like a murder of crows: the complications of time.

The complications in the house were moving into place with feet tap-tap-tapping closer to the cell with his evening meal. Whatever was in the bowl tonight was sure to be just as foul as every other night. But that was one of the rules of this place. Horus understood how it worked: he ate after they ate. He got leftover breakfast in the late morning and leftover dinner at night, cold so that if there had been a sauce or a gravy it was congealed to a greasy gelatin. The dinners were mostly rice or pasta, occasionally vegetables, seldom meat. On the rare occasions when they gave him meat, it wasn't unusual to find bites taken out of it.

Following the law of Cervantes, only hunger made the contents of the bowl appealing.

The keys rattled as they were removed from a pocket. "Get back. I'm opening the door," Kyle screamed at him.

No threat was issued. There was no need. If Horus was anywhere near the door when it opened, he'd be beaten and forfeit the meal. That had been well established.

The key twisted in the lock and a metallic clunk filled the cell. His body tensed and he had force a deep breath in through his nose to relax.

The door flew open-cuckoo-cuckoo.

A light shined on his face and from behind his closed eyelids, the world turned a sharp, fleshy pink. The flashlight was always their first weapon against him. They knew after so long in the dark, the light was blinding.

"What are you doing? Sleeping? Get up."

Horus laid there, his face a mask of serenity. Each of his breaths were too shallow to move the blanket.

"What? Are you dead or something? I said, get up."

Nothing happened for so long Horus began to wonder if he'd hallucinated Kyle entering.

But then he heard: "Shit." The oath was a pleasing mixture of annoyance and worry.

When the guard rearranged his things, the light floundered around the room as though it was coming from a sinking lighthouse. This Kyle always had too much in his hands. It made him slower to react, which was one of the reasons Horus waited for the evening meal. The dull thunk of the plastic bowl being put down hit his ears and Horus prayed his stomach wouldn't growl in a Pavlovian response to it. Next, the keys jangled as they were returned to a pocket.

While Kyle was still attempting to stow them away, there was a light thud as something hit the dirt floor. From the timbre of the sound it made while rolling and the curse Kyle let out under his breath, it was probably the cudgel he kept perched precarious in the crook of his arm.

Knowing he was unarmed sent a rash impulse through him to leap up, but Horus held the temptation down. It was a false opportunity testing his resolve. He needed to wait and follow the plan.