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

Chapter 6: Mayfly (Parts 10 & 11 of 11)

The hand entwining hers could only be thought about in short, intense bursts like waves from a pulsar star radiating across the cosmos. Warmth. Together. Tender. Close. Thoughts that beat like blood in her ears.

Amy followed him, allowing herself to be dragged not because she was unwilling but because her feet had become clumsy and unresponsive. Moore moved with certainty as though there had been a well-marked path to guide them through the sprawl of the cemetery. They ventured further from the others and the cries and chatter of their little group became indistinct mumbles on the wind. The snow came down harder than the lazy flakes of before.  It was carried on gusts in sheets like lace sails. It frosted the edges of the gravestones and the tree branches giving everything a beautiful otherworldly feel, but Amy's cheeks stung from the icy needles.

They stopped before a simple grave. Moore pointed to it with his body not his hands. The flakes were beginning to fill in the recessed letters spelling out "Maurice Harris." The dates showed a lifespan of a sixteen year-old, who had been dead since 1994.

Amy felt a strange, frightening thrill and for a moment thought she really had fallen into one of her books. Was this the grave of the boy standing beside her? Was Moore about to reveal that he was a vampire?

In a synaptic flash she saw their future together. He would tell her what he was. She would tell him what she was. He would be shocked at first but soon see it was fate that brought them together. Moore would explain how he survived these past twenty years and show her how to be a creature of legend and live in the real world too.

But he said instead, "This is my uncle. He died when my dad was only twelve. Pop doesn't mention him much, but when he does, you'd think they spent a whole lifetime together."

The hush in his voice and the cold that pressed around her brought a brilliant clarity to the moment—every atom seemed distinct. Amy clutched at his hand returning the pressure he put on hers, while leaning close against him.

"He died in a car accident long before I was even born. It always seemed strange to me that I was so linked to someone who I had never shared the world with. Although I really hadn't thought about it much, until a couple of years ago. Things weren't going very well for me and I started coming here on my own to talk to him, like he might understand my problems—like a big brother or something. Now I'm older than he was. Strange."  He shook his head.  "I still visit him from time to time."

He shifted so they faced one another but still had their bodies crushed together. Moore looked down at Amy. "How strange is that? Talking to someone I never knew. Asking advice of a dead boy. So, no I don't think you're strange at all," he said answering a question Amy couldn't remember asking.

They kissed again, this time longer and less shy. While they were locked in each other's embrace the wind picked up to a howl. Frozen grit blew down the back of Amy's neck and she squirmed involuntarily, breaking the moment she desperately wanted to last.

"It's getting fierce out here. This way." He dashed toward a small chapel, where an archway formed a shallow porch that offered shelter from the storm.

"It won't last long," Moore said sounding as though he's seen snowy gales like this all the time. "We'll wait it out and go back to the others in a few minutes."

"I don't want to go back." Amy said this shyly but her actions were bolder as she forced their lips together again.

For an undefined period of time that at once seemed to go on forever and was way too short. The world shrunk down to a dizzying reality consisting of nothing but lips and hands and skin and hair. Then Moore's mouth parted and his wet tongue was pressing against her lips.