The Man In The Mountain

An overhead sun bereft of cloud cover torches the stark red landscape, dust devils loom in front of a never ending sea of cliffs and ravines that blanket the horizon as far as the eye can see. Mountains are strewn all about the backdrop. A broken black-tar highway serpentines throughout the majestic valley, accented beautifully by the speckled road side glitter of the never ending sea of shattered bottles shimmering along its curves.

Dirt kicks off the knobby tires of an old, rust colored Ford Ranger flying down the desert highway. “Those bitches at Black Bear don’t know how to turn their God damn cards right,” the grizzled old man behind the wheel mumbles to himself, taking a long swill of beer. He veers down the exit ramp, towards Shiprock, New Mexico. He struggles to pull his tobacco tin free from his middle console. As he finally digs it loose from the candy wrappers and faded lottery tickets, he fumbles it between his fingers, propelling it down towards the dreaded passenger side fast-food-graveyard in the far right corner of the vehicle.

  He peers down into the purgatory of plastic, leans his reach downward, dragging his right hand at random through the paper bags and sticky wax cups as his left hand loosely holds the wheel. He is wrist deep in trash, sifting blindly for a solid object in the greasy paper abyss, casually swerving throughout the highway lines like a bored child coloring a diner place mat.

   Focusing his vision down on his personal garbage pit, he loses sight of the road, nearly side-swiping the guard rail on the adjacent hillside while he fishes his tin free from the gas station scrapyard. He snags the tin between his fingers, steadies the wheel and maintains his speed. “Fuckin’ A,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

  He gives the plastic puck a few hardy snaps back and forth before digging out a brown lump and stuffing it in his cheek. He wipes the excess chaw on his gritty blue jeans as he sticks the lid back on. “I’ll show those ass holes.”

He finishes his beer and casually tosses the bottle into the desert. It shatters violently against the concrete, spraying glass shards all about the shoulder. He drives on, the broken fragments staying behind, shimmering in the hot afternoon sun, left to wither away over centuries, to slowly  erode back into the sand from whence it came.

  “Diamond Jack’s always does me right, Cindy gives the best cards in town and she starts at noon,” he mutters as he scratches at the leaking chaw residue amassing in his scraggly beard. The radio starts to fade into static, he rolls over the dial to the next station.

   ‘Aaaaand we’re back, another commercial free hour of country’s greatest on K101, in honor of the anticipation of the 25 year CD box set release this fall, here’s The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.’

   “Nice.” he says as he reaches for his latest 20 ounce makeshift spittoon. Alas, yet another item just out of his grasp across his shredded bench seat. As he struggles to attain the old Mr. Pibb bottle, his eyes flutter from the road once more, this time nary a moment goes by before suddenly his tires screech and churn, the truck makes a giant thud and the vehicle kicks and capers under the strain of the crushing bump.

    The rickety suspension screams, jumping up with a harsh snap, the truck bucking like a bronco, wildly swerving back and forth. He struggles to maintain his grip on the reigns. The ol’ Ranger is going into a tailspin. Soon it will whiplash, then barrel-roll end over end into the steep ravine below. He acts swiftly, countering the aggressive drift by slicing all the way back across the roadway and careening off the adjacent guard rail, using it as a support beam. The truck regains control, crunches fully over the remainder of the thick shell stuck in the wheel-well and screeches to a gruesome halt.

“Oh. My. God.” He says aloud as he looks back at the thirty feet of swerving blood trails leading back to the crushed shell behind him. He can see the winding road to the horizon in both directions, not another car in sight. The only sound he can hear is his racing heartbeat thudding hard against his chest and his own words echoing back at him from the hills in slow motion. He shakes his head back and forth several times. Stevie Nicks croons 'you will never love me again’ softly in the background.

  “Damn Armadillo almost got us huh Betsy!” He slaps the dashboard of his run down pick up. He looks for the chew bottle and realizes it is right next to him now, he gives a subtle smiling nod as he scoops it up. “Beauty marks add character aye girl, and you got gumption don’choo know it!” He coughs dryly, looking over from his cracked side mirror to all the dents and scratches down Betsy’s battered frame. “Can barely tell which ones are new!” He cracks into a snuff-laced chuckle, coughing up a half digested chaw ball in the process. He unleashes a massive wad of black syrupy phlegm into the old bottle.

   “Looks like I got that Dillo’ luck tonight ha ha, cough, cough.”

He gives a hefty knock on the side of his door with his left hand, cranks the volume and grabs the wheel with his right, he slowly steps on the gas as he spits another gob of tobacco juice into his own personal saliva septic tank. “I can’t lose tonight baby,” he sings through his brown stained teeth, “I can’t lose tonight, oh Yeeeah!”

   Pulling away from the scene of his fateful collision with the armadillo, he glances in his rearview and notices a Coyote skulk out from behind the rocks. “Oh so that's what you were running from aye little fella- Whoa! That’s a big sonbit- wait, is. Is.. T-that a wolf?”

   The animal is moving strangely in his rearview, his eyes widen in the mirror as it slinks towards his slowly departing vehicle. “What the fuck?”

   The creature rises up onto its hind legs, skulking towards Betsy and her rider on two bare, light brown feet. It’s layered with dark red fur and matted sand, has human feet and hands, and the unnaturally dark red, furry face of a coyote, bejeweled with bright, crimson eyes that shimmer wildly against the glaring mid-day sun.

   “Oh shit! Oh fuck! Oh G- Hrrrrng.”

   Suddenly his body tenses up, without warning his already palpating heart goes into full on cardiac arrest, his body spasms and convulses. He tries to pull away but his car veers off the dusty asphalt road, spilling out perfectly between a gap in the guard rail and speeding into the sprawling desert with reckless abandon.

  His aortic valve ruptures and he goes into pulmonary shock instantly. His body goes rigid, his foot stomps the gas pedal to the floor and locks into place. His body is petrified, his eyes bloodshot and bulging, his mouth frothing with tobacco spittle and white foam as his speedometer climbs and climbs. He clutches his heart and gasps for breath, he begins to turn blue, stiff and stuck to the wheel, careening through the open desert hills as the car bounces and swerves into the lowland brush.

He flies past an old familiar fork in the last bits of dirt road and soars through the Colorado border at full speed, heading right towards the middle cliff drop of a sprawling ravine that leads right into the heart of the La Plata Range.

   'Chaaaiiiin, Keep us together, running in the shadows! Chaaaaiiiin-’

   Betsy takes a valiant plunge clean through the haggard old cliff rail, crashing and free falling off the 1000 foot drop like a war horse in her final fight, she and her rider achieve glory one last time as they free float together in the air, the man’s body stricken in place as his garbage graveyard enters the weightlessness of interstellar travel all around him. With his dying breath he looks downward to his destination and chokes out his last words. “What. Are. The. Odds.”

  Old man McCallister is having a peaceful farm day with the Misses, they are both on the couch watching television from across the room. “Shel change the channel could ya please, our show is almost on.”

   “Fine I’ll change it this time, but you have to next time,” Shelly says with a wink and a smile as she slowly sets down her crossword book. She waddles on over to the black and white TV set, turns the knob but it falls off. “Gerald, it did the thing again,” she groans, bending over to pick up the knob.

   Gerald adjusts his thick glasses, his knees bough and creak as he slowly churns his way over to the TV. “I’ll fix it dear you can go rest your legs.”

   “Oh thanks sweetie but I need to know how to fix this so when you’re in the field I can do it.”

   “Ok, sure, well, you need this for starters,” he removes his well worn Leather-Man handy tool and snaps the cap end, making a tiny tweak to the knob, then sticks it right back on. “Just like that, see?” He gently rubs her shoulder.

   “Oh wow, just leave that on the table then would ya?”

   “Well, not this one,” he says with a smile, returning the tool to his pocket, “I use this bad boy about ten times a day.”

   She dotingly smiles back, “fair enough.”

   “I’ll get you one though,” he says lovingly. “Do you want me to put your show on then?”

   “Well, you stood up too, so you can decide.”

   “Oh no. You.”

   “No you.”

   “Ok, well, how about we wa- At that very moment, a 4 ton pickup truck crashes violently through the roof, its front axle aligned perfectly above their TV set and couch. Betsy crushes them both into a thick red paste, covering the entirety of the old farm house in a deep, dark red splattering of Gerald and Shelly McCallister’s blood and guts.

A young man casually strolls through the campus courtyard of Colorado College. He has an armful of books in his hands, a backpack strewn over one shoulder, and a duffle bag strapped across his chest. He has a medium, golden complexion, hazel green eyes, and a mop of dark brown, disheveled hair that flops about as he descends down the university stairs.

   He’s a bit gangly at this stage of his life, long limbed even. He stands an even 6’0 flat, but he hasn’t really filled into the sporadic growth spurts that finally stopped last Spring. His worn out dark grey Converse stomp on the frayed ends of his ripped, faded old Levi’s as he speeds down the University steps. A group of girls all clad in Class of 92’ sweaters wave at him as he walks past. A young classmate yells back to him.

   “Bye Addison, see ya next semester!”

   His thumb protrudes from his sleeve as he sticks a flanneled arm up in the air, waving back with a sheepish half smile, nearly dropping his books in the process.

   He flops into a seat at the campus bus stop, muttering internally to himself. “See ya next semester..  Yep. I’ll beeee baaack.. Sighs* How am I gonna tell Dad I switched majors again?”

   Addison rides the bus all day. At dusk, the Greyhound pulls off at a rest stop. He saunters over to the phone booth and picks up the receiver.

The phone rings.. and rings… and - “Braybrooke Cleaning and Remodeling, Winnifred speaking.” A girl, late twenties, light sepia skin tone, fiery light brown eyes with auburn and blonde streaked, shoulder length hair, presses the phone up against her heavily studded ear. She wraps the phone cord around her finger and slides into the roller chair towards her desk.

   “Yes, you read right, we do bio-hazard clean up AND home restorations. … Uh huh, currently we’re the only one anywhere near you. … Yes, we’re in Red Valley, just outside of Shiprock. We have tribal licensure so traveling through the San Juan Territory won’t be an issue. …OK, slow down sir. I need to know the condition of the bodies first. …Uh huh.” She writes the words, ‘gory paste’ on her notepad, then right underneath that, she writes, ‘truck wheels ground grandparents into floor?’ … “Anything else? Oh that’s just what the coroner told you, I understand. …And the blood splatter is projectile-sprayed all across everything? Got it… Yeah we can do that. … Well we can be out there as soon as possible, but I still need a few more details. … Right. … And is the truck still on top of what’s left of them then?”

   She scrawls more information on her sheet, pulling open her binder full of Hazmat rates.. She emphatically nods her head as her finger scrolls down the page. “Truck through the roof? Yep we can winch that out no problem. Yes sir I understand. …Yes, our Hazmat restoration team starts by getting all the blood and guts out of everything, which I understand you are very concerned about, and yes, we store it safely in our Bio-tanks for disposal at a specialized waste treatment facility. … Uh huh, not to worry, we are vetted and insured.”

   She flips the page over and there are only two more rates listed. The Diamond Package, and the Diamond Deluxe, the all inclusive full home bio cleaning and full home restoration bundle. It is listed at $5,000. She glances at her clock as she nods and twirls the phone cord.

   “Like I said sir, the La Plata Range is pretty far from us, so 24 hours is out of the ques- … She sits up in her chair and leans into the receiver, her almond brown eyes flaring up with fury. “Mr. McCallister please, 48 hours is the absolute fastest I feel comfortable guaranteeing. … Well sure! If you think you can pick your grandpa’s skull out of the carpet and scrub your grandma’s guts off the game room wall any faster, be my guest. …Oh so you’re two days out yourself, and the burial is on the property the following day? Got it.. Well listen Mr. Mac,” she taps her pen on the Diamond Deluxe tab.

   “I think I can expedite this, but that’s gonna be our most expensive option I’m afraid. Yeah, it’s the Triple Diamond Package, and that runs, lets see, um, $10,000?” Her voice piqued with a slight inflection as she scrunches her face and winces nervously. … She freezes in place briefly, then does a spin in her chair and an arm flailing dance as she calmly says, “ yes of course Mr. McCallister sir, 48 hours! Just make the check out to Roland J. BrayBrooke. Yep. collectable on arrival. … One more request? No problem, I’m all ears! … Um, sure? I mean yes. I’ll let them know. Absolutely. I’m calling my team now, we are on our way!”

   Winnifred Braybrooke ignores the blinking hold light, pressing down the clicker on the corded line instead, she lets it go softly, then punches and pecks her index finger across the keypad with a maddening fervor.

Addison spies a small line of people forming outside his closed phone booth with a quick glance at their faint reflections in the dirty glass. His shoulder turns further from the glaring on-lookers behind him, all the while listening to his Dad’s favorite soft-jazz ‘hold music’ in the background. He fumbles in his pockets until he comes up with two quarters and a hand full of lint. He can feel the stares of the small crowd burning through his back as he hunches over, hangs up, quickly stuffs the change in the slot and dials again.

   A freshly coated hot pink nail presses the disconnect button before a full ring is completed. He is sent straight to the call-loop message line. “Oh Come on Winnie pick up!”

   The Voicemail begins: ‘Hello, thank you for calling Braybrooke cleaning.’

   “Jeez haven't heard this in forever, Mom sounded so young when she recorded this.”

   ‘Standard decontamination, press 1, bio-hazard decontamination, press 2. Hazmat clean up, press 3.’

   “Oh come on Winnie, pick up the line!”

   ‘For blood born pathogens and body decomposition, press 4. For grief counseling, press 5. To leave your name and number press 6, and we will return your call as soon as possible. Addie presses 6 and takes a deep breath.

*BEEP* “HeyWinnieIt’sAddieImOnTheGreyLineHeadingHomeBeTherein2DaysDontTell-*BEEP*

-Dad I’m coming home yet..” Addison sighs as the line goes dead and his money clanks into the bottom of the phone’s change bank.

   Addison peers through the foggy glass out at the bus, it honks its horn. The receiver thumps back in place, he rolls open the creaky sliding phone booth door. He hasn't even walked two steps before the next guy in line crams inside. Addison squeezes past him as the creaky door slams shut so hard it bounces half way back open. He shuffles towards the bus with a sad look back at the glowing soda machine, his hands in his empty pockets, “Pssh, what a waste of my last 50 cents..”

“Amo here. Hey sis what’s up?” A giant of a man says, slapping at the speaker phone button on the massive box in the center of the vehicle. He has a dark brown, heavily receding buzzcut, a freshly shaved face from that morning that has already filled in to well past the five o’ clock shadow mark, and a chiseled jaw line that squares out his Hazmat mask perfectly. He has dark, chestnut colored eyes that compliment his medium tan complexion, his colossal 6’4, 240 Lb. frame filling the entirety of the driver’s seat. His arms and chest are so massive he stretches the plastic in spots, he often jokes that if he flexes just right he can rip his suit open like the Hulk. He is driving a Sprinter van with Hazmat Specs and a big biohazard symbol in between the Braybrooke & Sons cleaning logo on the side. He bellows into the receiver. “Talk loud and fast Winnie, this crappy new car phone don’t work for nothin’.”

   “Hey Amo, we need you to finish up at the disposal facility and immediately pack and leave! I just upsold the first ever Triple Diamond Job!”

   “What? I’m supposed to be in Norcal by Friday! It’s my weekend and I’m picking the boys up from their T-Ball championship this week?”

   “Did you hear what I just said? I quoted them double and they didn’t bat an eye. I’ll pay for your flight, you won’t have to drive, you’ll make it. With what this guy just agreed to pay I might even bump you to First Class, but you gotta move fast dude!”

   He emits a guttural groan. “Fine. I suppose it’ll be worth my time.. Where to?”

   “A small farmstead in La Plata Canyon.”

   “That old mining township? Are you serious?” Amo rolls his window down as he approaches the dump entrance, he flashes his CSCU badge and they wave him through.

   “Did you hear me?”

   “No, what?” He rolls his window back up.

   “I said yes I’m serious, don’t you realize the payout from this job is going to exceed our demands for the next quarter at least! And the guy’s only real request was that it be done fast!”

   “Ok, ok.. I’m in, but if it’s a Triple Diamond, I mean, it’s gotta be bad news, right? So like, how bad we talkin'?” The van whips around to the back of the dump to the ‘specialized materials’ area. Amo drops his respirator down onto his face, jumps out of the cab and flips a switch on his van. He opens the van doors as the hydraulics on the back chassis slowly tip upward.

   “Smashed truck through the roof of a house directly on top of two people.”

   “Oh Damn. Ok, wow that’s nasty!”

   “I know, it’s gonna be gross as hell dude, make sure to take plenty of insurance pics!”

   “Oh yeah you know it!” He turns on his compression line. “I’m just about to be done here. How soon will Dad be ready to leave?”

   “Dad’s not going.”

   “What?! I’ll never get it done solo in that time frame! How come he’s not going?”

   Well, he also got an ASAP call. He is knee deep in brain matter right now. Some poor sap shot himself in his cubicle this afternoon. The corporation said they want everyone back to work tomorrow like nothing happened, so he’s scrubbing everything down tonight.”

“What a bunch of soulless bastards.”

“Plus It’s Harry’s graduation on Friday remember?”

   “Oh shit that’s right..”

   “Mom is making him go, they’re getting all emotional because the baby of the family is all grown up now..”

   “Spoiled brat,” Amo chuckles.

   “Coddled baby,” Winnie chides.

   They both laugh briefly before Amo turns serious again.

   “But that means Harry can’t help either.. Dang! How the hell am I gonna get this done? The packing and drive alone will take me a whole day by myself!”

   “Hmmmm, you’re right,” Winnie mutters, looking at the clock. She starts doing some loose math on a scrap piece of paper, “well, good luck out there, see you back at the house in how long?”

   A bunch of bloodied rags and broken glass, heavily stained couch cushions and dark red bed sheets topple out from the van onto the soiled earth of the dump site. “I’ll be there in like an hour, hour and a half tops.”

   “Ok, but hurry the fuck up please.” The guy on the phone sounded very serious about the time frame, and if we want to press for top dollar on the overhead we need to be on our A game.”

   Amo detaches an internal delousing hose and sprays out the interior of the van, watery blood leaks onto the ground, he recoils the hose, slamming the hatch doors closed without meaning to. The van tips back down.

   “Agreed. I’ll be..” He flips the switch. “..Any second now..”

   The back hatch levels out, he hops back in the cab, the chassis and hinges link and close in place. He takes his headwear off and peels his sticky rubber hazmat suit off his glistening, burly shoulders; revealing a giant hairy chest bound in place by two tiny A-shirt straps that look like a pair of 2 pound plastic grocery bag handles holding 200 pounds of apples in place.

   Amo slams the van in gear, “on my way!”

   “Good.”

   “WHAT? I can’t hear you.. Hello?” The line clicks to a dial tone. “Ahhh I lost her..”

Winnie hangs up the phone and quickly finishes scrawling out her math equation. She then punches those numbers into a calculator as she looks at the clock. She uses her pen to press the answering machine button to check the new messages, she goes back to writing. “Hmmm. He’s right, he won’t make it if he doesn't drive straight through.. It would be much faster if Amo didn't have to come home first. And he’s got everything he needs with him..”

   She curls her crunchy half curls around her hot-pink fingertip as she writes and ponders aloud, she clicks the button on the machine with her ball point in between equations. *Beep. The first message begins to play as she scribbles out her numbers and does new math.

   “Hi, I found a dead cat under my grandma’s couch as we were moving her stuff today. How do you get decomposed animal flesh out of an antique wool rug without damaging the design?”

   “You can’t, without industrial strength bleach its pathogens will be embedded in the microfibers forever,” she quips with an eye roll.

   “Call me back at” - Winnie hits the skip button.

   *Beep. ‘Incoming Payphone Call.’ The machine burps out another shrill *beep. HeyWinnieIt’sAddieImOnTheGreyLineHeadingHomeBeTherein2DaysDontTell-

*Beep* “Hey is this the place that does asbestos removal because we-”

   Winnie stops the machine as she stares at her new, unfeasible math, then back at her scribbled out equation.

   Winnie glances at the clock, then back to the answering machine. She picks up the phone and grabs a neon green bottle of nail polish from her double decker nail salon style polish rack on her office desk. She stabs her index into the keypad until the line begins to trill. She uncaps the bottle and begins to accent the tips of her hot pink nails, her index fingernail in particular is always chipping for some reason. The line stops ringing.

   A muffled, static filled voice says, “Amo here.”

   “Turn around!”

   “What?!”

   “TURN AROUND! Go pick up Addie at-”

   “I can’t HEAR you!”

    “I said tur-

   “WHAAAAT?”

Addison is half-asleep on the bus, Skinny Legs and All by Tom Robbins is open on his lap. Down In A Hole, by Alice in Chains is playing over his Walkman headphones. He feels the bus brakes squeal as it begins to slow down. The old Greyhound glides up the rest stop ramp, lurching him awake from his twilight slumber. He pulls his hood down and removes his leaning head from the window. His focus sharpens at an all too familiar vehicle speeding towards them as they pull in.

  As the bus slows, Addison stops his cassette player, staring intently at the giant Hazmat Van with Biohazard symbols all over the sides. The van speeds in front of the bus and screeches to a halt, stopping it short of its intended destination.

   A very large man steps out in a full hazmat suit and walks towards the bus. Everyone starts murmuring in horror as the spaceman slowly pounds on the bus doors. Addison removes his headphones and rests them around his neck.

   The doors rattle open, Amo steps onto the bus platform. “Addison Braybrooke,” he commands, loudly and slowly, through labored Darth Vader breaths of recycled air, his giant yellow gloved hand pointing directly at him, “come with me please.”

   Everyone on the bus scoots away from Addison immediately. One man covers his face with his shirt. A woman and child go running off the bus away from him. The bus driver looks on in horror as Addison grabs his things and exits the bus.

   As Amo is walking in front, Addison shoves him down the bus stairs and his rubber suit bounces off the side walls, nearly breaking the bus doors as he stumbles down through them. They both laugh. “Jeez dude, you sure do know how to make a traumatic entrance..”

THE HOUSE BENEATH

Addison is in the passenger seat, looking over at his older brother. “So Amo, mind telling me why are we going the opposite way?”

   “Because Addie, we’re going to a farm in the middle of nowhere on a 48 turn.”

   Addison sighs and looks out the window, not missing Amo’s cut and dry demeanor in the slightest. “Maybe it’s for the best.. I decided I’m done with pre-law.”

   “Oh man, switching majors again?! Dad’s gonna have a field day..”

   “Yeah, I know. I applied for a grant extension through the tribe, and once it got approved I decided to go for it.”

“Wait I thought you always said you felt weird about getting native grant money because Dad’s white?”

“Well I did, until he casually mentioned last fall he can’t afford to pay for more school..”

   “So what are you going back for now?”

   “Well. Honestly. I don’t know man..”

   “What? You changed majors and applied for a grant and you don’t have a new field in sight? Oh buddy. I’m saving your ass more than you're saving mine right now!”

They arrive at the vehicular Manslaughter site in La Plata Canyon, in the middle of the afternoon the next day. Amo pulls the van off into the dirt and crawls to a stop. He grumbles deeply, “we’re here Addie, wake up,” lightly shove-punching his brother.

   “Hnnng, errr, whuh?”

   “We’re here man, go set up the tent cordon would ya? I gotta shut my eyes for a bit.”

   “Well yeah I could’ve driven more than one tank ya know,” Addison, yawns stretching awake.

   “Yeah, I know, you just weren't driving fast enough is all, now. If you could.. *Yawn, set up the walls..” Amo leans his seat all the way back, “I’ll be ready in 30.. Then I’ll start on the assessment..” He settles in and splays out, “and then the.. ..the scrub down..” Amo mutters, scratching his stubbly neck, already beginning to drift off mid sentence.

   Addison opens up the back of the work van and starts setting up all the equipment. The nostalgic smell of chemicals, solvents and plastic brings him back to the last time he worked for his Dad, almost three summer’s ago now. Things were so much simpler then, when he thought he knew what he wanted to be ‘when he grew up.’

   Amo puts his hat over his eyes and is fully asleep in the drivers seat lounge in seconds. Addison steps into the familiar feel, and peculiar smell of the old ‘spare’ hazmat suit folded up in the back, and begins to walk the property. Amo’s buzzsaw snoring is so loud Addison could swear it was making the van shake a little.   

   As Addison paces around the farm’s perimeter he takes in the sheer remoteness of it all. Just two days prior he was on the busy campus of Colorado College turning in his Criminal Psychology final, now the swishing scrunch of his rubber hazmat boots on the hard desert earth is the only sound for miles.

   The crunching gravel echos back at him off the canyon walls, he can almost see the recycled air molecules whirring past him as he affixes the spare respirator.

   The cartridges are old and fuzzy, but he can breathe freely at least. He adjusts the padding across his nose and mouth, he loosens the strap at the back of his head, he pulls his scraggily unkempt hair through and over the band. After acclimating to the faint smell of his younger brother Harry’s wanna be aftershave, he pulls the plastic cover over the top of his suit and zips it up.

   He peers out his clear plastic letterbox windshield at the snowy peaked mountains in the distance. He squints against the bleating overhead sun as he looks up the cliff edge. He looks all the way down at the caved in roof and the jutting out truck bed. He scratches his head. “What are the odds..”

Addison approaches the front door, he notices it to be locked. Not just locked, but the door is particularly well made, hand carved black oak and wrought iron interwoven on top. There is a large one eyed raven door knocker still attached at one of the hinges. He hops up the splintered outer wall and climbs through the massive hole in the ceiling.

   Once inside, it’s a seemingly normal old farm abode, clearly lived in by an elderly couple. Old knick knacks, a shattered plate collection, a broken clock radio -unaffected by the crash- papers, magazines, mail, all strewn about like a deck of cards in the middle of a game of 52 pick up, hide and seek edition. He treads lightly through the fallen shingles and broken debris all around him.

  He picks up a cracked picture of the elderly couple with a big size 11 police tread stamped across the blood and dirt caked, splintered glass. In the photo the two are very sweetly playing cards together and smiling. Then he sees it, the gory paste remains of two corpses. His focus shifts from picture frame to truck frame as he stares in awe at the flattened, ghostly remnants of two people intertwined with the back half of the rusty old pickup.

   Addison’s eyes widen, he gapes at the over-the-top style gore before him, his mind flashes to the time he watched Dead Alive at a sleep over in fifth grade, and everyone got sick but him. Little Addie, already desensitized to it all after the countless nights witnessing his father come home covered in real blood.

   But this, he is truly aghast at the horror before him, it is so gruesome. The bodies are… everywhere. His gaze floats from the blood soaked floor to the dripping red ceiling, to the blood spattered book shelf, to the gore streaked kitchen cabinets, to the blood-logged hallway base boards. ‘I really didn’t think my first job back was gonna be like this..’

   He gags and begins to get dizzy in his suit as he squishes across the blood soaked carpet. A shrill, screeching clang of metal on metal wrapping against the heavy black oak door outside jars his wit.

   Addison drops the frame in a startled fright at the harsh, racking sound. The 4x6 fully shatters on the floor as he walks to the front of the homestead.

   “Open up Addie, anybody home?”

   Addison goes to open the door, but struggles as he realizes there are several well made locks in place.

   “Hey man, did you order this pizza or not?” Amo laughs, knocking loudly again.

   Addison finally gets the door open and Amo is standing there holding a loud vacuum tube device, he has his massive Hazmat suit on, a giant pale filled with chemical bottles in one hand, and a hose line in the other. He shoves the large hose into his brother’s chest.

   “Blood Gun’s empty and ready to go!”

   “Okay, thanks. The Steam Vac always was my faaavorriiiite..” Addison chides with a humorless eye roll.

   Amo walks in and drops the bucket loudly on the ground. “Dang! Would you look at that! Now that is a frickin' new one!” He walks around the gore. “I mean, wow..

  “I know right-

   “I mean, I knew the Ranger was durable, but damn, this ol’ thing held up!”

   “Wait, what?”

   “Yeah, I mean, all things considered, the old steel frame is much more dependable, any of our modern 90’s cars would have been collapsed into a pancake, or heck, maybe it even wouldn't have smashed through this place! All the plastic and filler they’re starting to get made with now..”

   Amo peers up at the damage, “I mean, this place does look pretty well built for a farm house, huh. Well, aaanyyywaays.. Looks like the BMI remains are already starting to settle, the direct sunlight is speeding up the process, and since it’s open air, flies are already setting in. We got our work cut out for us on this one. So let’s get to it!” He claps his gloves together.

   Addie nods and pulls the massive wet-vac hose over to the far wall, ready to begin the long and arduous process of steaming encrusted bits of flesh and dried blood off the walls, then sucking it up into the bio vac.

   Amo takes out the Polaroid camera. He snaps a few photos of the spectacle and catalogs them in the insurance folder, alongside a few adjacent pictures of the surrounding scene, and of the items of note that will be scrapped.

   Addison stares at the scene in wonder as his brother walks around and catalogs the belongings of the deceased, casually, as if they weren’t still scattered all around them. His focus hones in on Amo’s footsteps, which are emitting a thick, wet, sloshing sound as he clomps around the red soaked carpet doing inventory.

   He cannot shake the horror before him, but it’s so all-encompassing that at the same time, he’s become oddly one with it. Not at peace exactly, more the calm detachment from reality a soldier feels in combat, like it’s a movie happening to someone else.

   Addison is staring absently at shattered pieces of bone and truck parts in some sort of mish-mashed, gluey paste, coagulating against the stark wood paneling and shitty linoleum and outdated old carpet floor in every possible direction. Inside the truck is another, entirely different pool of blood, dark and seeping, oozing out from the many breaks in the windshield.

   Addison walks past the broken picture frame he dropped moments earlier. He stoops to pick it up, the faded 4x6 falls free from the last bits of glass around the fractured frame edge. It flutters down and next to a melted distributor cap, a tiny bit of stringy pink mass that could be intestine, and a shattered tooth. He plucks the photo up off the sticky ground, showcasing a tiny piece of scalp with bloody grey hair strands still attached, spray painted onto the thick red floor beneath it, he shudders briefly.

   Addison turns his eyes back to the photo, the man is sitting in a fancy recliner in some sort of rec room, he is holding the lever with one hand while he is holding playing cards with the other. The woman is staring at the cards in his hand, and the man is staring directly at the person taking the picture. He has a peculiar grin on his face, but Addie wouldn't call it a smile.

   He turns the picture over for a description or a date, but he sees a set of interesting looking symbols and a string of numbers written on the back of the photo instead. He squints at the strange circular rune shapes. “What the hell kind of writing is this?”

   Amo stomps back in and tosses a large hockey bag filled with demolition tools noisily down on the counter. “Hey Addie?”

   “Yeah?”

   “What do you think they were watching?” Amo nods at the flattened TV set splayed about the living room.

   Addison pockets the picture absent-mindedly as he throws the broken frame in the Decon dumpster and looks at the TV bits. “What? I don’t know man..”

   “M.A.S.H” Amo says, wheeling the Blood Gun Vac over to the Ranger parked in the living room. He looks directly at his brother with his classic deadpan stare, eagerly awaiting a response.

   Addison looks up from his daze and simply shakes his head, “dude..”

In the middle of the night, a full 18 hours later, the house itself is nearly clean. Addison and Amo are sitting at the spotless dining room table eating sandwiches from their last gas station stop, they are listening to a re-broadcast of an earlier baseball game on the radio - they also listened to it live. Their suits are peeled back and the area itself where they are eating is clean and decontaminated, per PPE standard regulations that is.

   Addison is staring at the truck bed, deep in thought, so deep in fact he forgets to eat, he nearly forgets he is holding a sandwich. Amo can almost hear the gears in his brother’s head audibly churning.

   “I wonder how come the car didn't explode?”

   “That’s a movie myth.” Amo mumbles in between large, mouth filling bites of Pastrami and Rye. “Cars don’t often explode unless there is some sort of ignition source.” Crumbs fall in his quarter inch long stubble whiskers now, he casually scratches them away. “In this case the people’s blood must’ve extinguished the flames before their fatty tissue ignited it,” Amo says, with the same tone he takes when reading off baseball stats. He takes another big chomp of sandwich, only two bites in and already half gone.

   “I wonder why they wanted this done so quickly?”

   “Something to do with burial rights I’d assume.”

   “Yeah, I suppose..”

   Amo inhales another bite and slams half his 20oz Dr. Pepper in a single gulp, squeezing the bottle like it can’t come out fast enough, somehow chewing all the while. “Well, once we’re done with lunch” -

   “you mean dinner?”

   “Yeah, whatever, once we’re done eating, let’s get the tow winch out and *Hiccup. .. And. *Hiccup. .. …*Hiccup. Oh no.. This is *Hiccup… It man. I’m a hiccup guy now, *Hiccup. I’ll never rid myself of this horrid plague, *Hiccup. I’ll be forced to retch my way through *Hiccup.. Meals, unable to drink or have a conver- *Hiccup -Sation.. I seen it on Sally Jessy *Hiccup.. Guy had em’ for 22 years..” He pounds his chest hard as he laboriously continues, “I can see it now.. *Hiccup. Jesus!” He punches his chest again like that will help. “Forced into the outer rungs of society, *Hiccup. Cast out like a *Hiccup. Like a *Hiccup, goddamn leper.. ..What are my boys gonna do without their father to guide them through life? Who will be there for them when - when…” He pauses and takes a few deep breaths.

   Addison just stares at him, laughing. “You ok there pal?”

   … Amo stares into space.. … “..Oh thank Christ they’re gone! Phew! Where was I?”

   “The truck..”

   “Right, we gotta lift the truck out with the chassis straps hooked up to the van, the gore inside from what’s left of the driver is self contained so I’ll sort that out when it’s outside,” he has his tiny little sandwich tree in between his fingers now, he uses it to articulate his point.

   “Right, let’s hope that’ll work..”

   Amo tosses the tiny tree in his mouth like a pelican eating a minnow, he dusts the crumbs from his hands. “Wait a sec. Do you hear that?”

   “Hear what, another dumb ass home run?” Addison turns the Rockies game down, the applause and crowd noise gives way to the sound of approaching engines.

   Amo gives a curious look to his brother, both of them rising from the table in unison to get a better look through the hole in the broken house.

   “Huh, I am just now noticing there is not a single window in this place.”

Amo nods at Addison, “Yeah, that is weird. The power still works too, even weirder in my opinion.” Amo’s eyes glint at the barely touched Turkey and Swiss on the table, his gaze flitters over to his younger brother, then back to the sandwich. “You gonna eat that?”

Two very well equipped Desert Jeeps show up on the property. Four people get out of the two vehicles and approach the Farmhouse door. There is a well dressed, elderly native man at the front of the group, he has a golden bolo tie with a bright red gem in the middle of it. He has long, jet black hair that flows freely in the night air. He does not look his age, whatever that may be. He sticks out his gem-studded cufflink suit sleeve, puts a tattooed hand in the air and makes a signal to the 3 other men “Beni, Jade, Tanz..”

   There are 3 circular, scarred rune symbols on each finger of each hand, he moves his fingers and hands together to communicate, He points to the main house, the van, and the toolshed down the hill. They nod as they split up.

   The three of them fan out across the property, Beni peers through the bio-bag filled work van, Jade around the side of the house.

   “Can I help you?” The well dressed man is briefly startled as he looks up at what appears to be a giant astronaut suddenly standing in the now open doorway.

   Tanz slinks off towards the tiny tool shed at the edge of the property. The well dressed man speaks.

   “Yes hello, we are here for the bereaved.”

   “I’m sorry,” Amo says, his voice echoey yet commanding as it booms through his respirator, like a fighter pilot calling in an ordinance drop. “We were told the family wasn't coming until tomorrow afternoon.”

   “We were told you would be done by tonight.”

   “It’ll be tomorrow, and either way, you’re early.”

“Yes, it appears so. Mind if I come in? The man says as more of a statement than a question, attempting to step swiftly past Amo.

Amo puts a big rubbery bear paw up and blocks his way. “I’m sorry, I can’t legally allow you to do that under article seven of the Colorado statute, and clause three of the Navajo Nation by-laws. This is still considered an active crime scene until we remove all contaminates.”

   “Forgive me, I just lost my Brother, I’m not up on the law but I’m sure no one will mind,” he broadly gestures to the desert around him with a callous smirk and an air of superiority.

   Amo raises an eyebrow and holds firm in his tone, he broadens his massive shoulders. A gesture Addison knows all too well from growing up together, if there is one thing Amo hates it’s being told what to do, especially if it’s by some rich asshole.

Amo expands, filling the entire door frame like a seven foot goalie in a three foot net. “Sorry pal, the law is one thing, but the blood borne pathogens and bio-hazardous waste inside are a whole nother’ animal..”

   “I don’t care about that.”

   “But we do sir, we take out job very seriously.” Amo says kindly, firmly, and with a very faint, blink and you’ll miss it ‘fuck you’ twinkle in his eye.

   The well dressed man pauses to think, his black hair flows in the breeze as he looks back to the other men coming into view, they both shake their heads at him. “Hmmm. Well, do you have another one of those fancy suits?”

   “We don’t actually, sorry.” Amo says quickly, with conviction. “The blood will be cleaned up and the roof restored in time for the funeral ceremony tomorrow on the property, this I can assure you..”

   “Ahem, yes, well, you see, my Brother had a very time sensitive.. .. ..Document that needs to be processed..”

   “Sure buddy, tell me what it looks like and I’ll see if I can find it?”

   “Hmmm. Nooo.”

   “Well I haven’t seen any documents or paperwork or anything of the sort sir, my job is just to dispose of the hazardous waste and restore the property.”

   “Right. Of coarse.” At this moment the well dressed man sees Tanz, one of his associates, climb down into the farm house from the roof hole above and begin to snoop around inside, directly behind Amo and just around the corner from where Addison is sitting at the table.

   The well dressed man changes his tone. “So, this line of work, is it always like this for you?”

   “No, it ranges widely, mostly body decompositions, deconstructions, and decontaminations, every once in awhile though. You get one so bad it’s hard to look at. Even for me..” He turns to look at the wreck, giving an intended glimpse to the well dressed man outside the door, he peeks inside, Tanz sneaks out of view just in time.

   “Yeah, it’s a shame He had to go like that..” Amo raises the same curious eyebrow as he leans back into the door frame, re-blocking it.

   Tanz moves the carpet underneath the end table in the corner, notches a code into a rolling cypher, opens a hatch door, and enters a chamber in the floor. He closes the trap-door silently atop him as he descends, the carpet fits perfectly back in place.

   Addison walks up, “breaks over buddy back to it!” He slaps Amo on the back with a light laugh, Amo looks at Addison with a serious, brotherly glare, then to the man at the door.

   “Ahem, excuse me sir, my condolences,” Addison says, extending a rubbery hand to the man. The well dressed man sees the rug flap back in place, he smiles and goes to meet his hand.

   Amo slaps his brother’s glove away, “don’t touch him you fool, I've literally just been lecturing protocol for ten minutes, do you want us to lose our license?”

   “Yes. NO.. Right, my apologies, first day back and all.”

   “Amo loudly clears his throat. “Well, again, sorry I can’t be of more help, it was nice meeting you all,” he nods at the men already back in their vehicles, “I know this is hard for you, but you’ll have some closure tomorrow.”

   “Of course, closure, definitely.. Thank you for your help,” …

   “Amond,” Amo waves his gloved hand.

“Addison.” Addie says with a light wave.

   The well dressed man waves back. “Thank you for your help Amond and Addison. We will be back tomorrow.”

The two desert Jeeps rumble off through the canyon. Amo and Addison watch them depart from the doorway.

   “Well now that was fucking weird,” Amo says, respirator atop his head as he sips his soda.

   “Middle of the night too,” Addison seconds, looking at his watch. The Jeep tail lights fade, then disappear over the hills and down the far side of the ravine.

   “Welp.” Amo slams the rest of his 20oz, crushes the plastic into a ball, and tosses it into the nearest trash bin. He emits a loud belch. “Best for last Addie-laddie,” he snaps his respirator back on and zips his suit up. “Let’s get this car off these corpses!”

Amo reels the winch line down from above the roof and through the house, Addison hooks it to the Ranger’s rear axle. As Amo kicks the reel in gear and the car starts to lift, Addison sees that the truck had punched straight through the roof, straight through the chairs and people and antique tube TV set, but crinkled flat like a wet ball of clay pitched against hard cement when it collided with the sub-floor of the homestead.

   “Huh, that’s strange.” Addison says aloud to himself as he leans in to inspect the chipped and scarred flooring beneath him, expecting to find a deep crater into the dirt below. He loses complete disregarded for the truck dangling above his head as he looks closer at the peculiar damage pattern. The manifold groans and sways as it begins to separate from the ground and lift out of the house.

   The flattened flannel of the couch has merged with shreds of their clothing, bits of bone lay alongside broken springs and shattered television glass. And while it didn’t explode, it still ran hot enough to cook the smashed slurry of flesh and melt the couch and radiator into one, searing, sticky mess.

   Thick, globular droplets of flesh and coagulated fat ooze and squelch as they separate, dripping and leaking down from the truck as it bucks and sways. Some of the body mass, oil and coolant mixed remnants are even splattering back down onto Addison’s suit, like some sort of pestilent rain. He doesn’t seem to notice. Something has captured his attention.

   He cleans and removes the debris from the scene into bio hazard bags, he then kicks his boots back and forth to lightly sweep the area beneath the point of impact.

   Addison puts his head against the floor. He brushes the ground with his glove. Underneath the cleared away roof slate shingles, metal and broken glass, he sees that the subfloor had been breached, but below that there is another thick layer of stone, completely untouched by the crash. Addison clears the debris and runs his glove across the smooth, dark stone floor beneath his knees. He crooks his head to the side. “What the hell?”

   Addison flinches and ducks out of the way as the truck makes a loud crashing noise. It breaks up and out through the remaining house above it, several more shingles and fragments of the framing splinter and fall down, both inside and outside the house.

   Amo pulls up the hydraulic winch, the truck is dangling freely now, he moves the mechanical arm and slowly drops the line outside. The half-truck lands hard on the ground with a loud thud, shaking the earth, but not the house.

   “Hey Amo, look at this!” Addison beckons the second he re-enters the home. Amo walks up and stands over his brother. “Look,” Addison says, pointing at the hard stone floor. He rubs it clean with his gloved palm and knocks on it with his knuckles as he gets to his feet. “Ever seen stone flooring beneath a subfloor?”

   “Oh yeah, I’ve seen it, not really out here so much as the ground is already relatively hard, but definitely in places with basements, and hell, it makes sense for your foundation to be as strong as possible, even if you are building on solid bedrock. Earthquakes, mudslides, erosion.. Can’t be too careful!” Amo nudges a wooden rocking chair in the corner to accentuate his point. It floats back and forth several times before it slowly stops moving.

   “Yeah, now that you mention it, this house is perfectly level,” Amo says curiously, observing the rocking pattern of the chair with a scientific eye. “Quite the foundation for a farmhouse if I do say so myself. .. Well, anyways..” Amo says with a shrug, looking up from the chair to the wall behind him. “Oh cool one of those Magic Eye pictures, like you know, from the mall! I could never get it to work though,” he says, compulsively staring at it. And staring at it.. And staring. …

   “Ooh I love those,” Addison walks over to his brother in the far corner of the room.

“Nothing! It’s just fuzz, a blur, just a blanket of ants, like a tv channel with bad reception. I just. I don’t get it? Think maybe, like, they only work on kids?”

   “Then why would these old folks have one?” Addie says with a mocking chuckle as he too, compulsively has to stare at it now. He steps close, he trains his eye.

   “Dunno, maybe their grandkids-”

   “Shhhh! I must concentrate and activate my youth,” he says with a whisper, a smile breaking across his face.

   “Ahh whatever shut up,” Amo says laughing and walking away.

   Addie focuses in on the fuzz, he stares at the static, he leans in, then steps back, and back, and back some more, until slowly a mountain and a setting sun emerge from within the blanket of television ants. “Wow.” … Addie says flatly.

   “What is it?”

   “Oh it’s crazy man, it’s Air Bud and Michael Jordan playing one on one!”

   “Hilarious…”

   Addie laughs. “You’ll never guess.” He looks about, gesturing at the several mountain themed paintings and pictures about the room. It’s a fucking mountain.”

   “Awesome! excellent work! Congratulations,”  Amo says jokingly, as he walks past Addison he playfully shoves him so hard he slips on a gelatinous blood smear and loses his balance, he very slowly falls to the ground.

   “It’s really slippery right there Addie, you should watch your step,” Amo says with a smirk.

   “Man I missed this,” he quips, returning his brother’s dry wit without skipping a beat as he slowly props himself up off the mushy, crimson soaked carpet.            

The two Jeeps drive into a deep ravine, they turn off their cars and wait. After some time Tanz emerges from behind a rock wall and gets back in the Jeep.

   The well dressed man turns to Tanz. “Well, did you find it?”

   “No sir Mr. Siobhan, it wasn't there, I searched everywhere! If it was in his study, panic room or escape hatch I would've found it..”

   “Yes, well, I’m not convinced.”

   “Maybe the police found it?”

   “No, there was no evidence of the Lodge being opened in years, not since The Farm days.”

   “Maybe those two crime scene clean up kids found it?”

   “No way, those two don't know shit, the cops don’t know shit, and it’s our job to keep it that way, as I just said I would've been able to tell had the hatch been opened! But I did get this though..”

   Tanz gives Mr. Siobhan a plastic container with a hazmat label on it filled with blood.

   He takes the jar in between his scarred fingers. “We’ll do some more recon tomorrow, feel out the situation, see who from the old tribe shows up, then make sure it goes down. We’ll search again after it’s done..”

   “Why don't we start a week early, gut those clean up guys and ransack the house til we find it?”

   He raises a tattooed fist and points two knuckles to the sky. “No. We mustn't begin the next phase before the new moon.. Besides, if He doesn't have it, I’m sure Mother does..”

   “I can’t believe His power was able to reach him all the way out here..” Jade says in wonder. “Right through the fortress roof no less..” Beni seconds. The tattooed hands fold into each other. “It’s all part of The Plan..”

                                                  THE ALTAR OF FIRE

   Addison and Amo are both asleep in the house when they again hear vehicles approaching. They quickly stir awake. Amo looks to the sunspot shining through onto the dining room floor from the hole in the ceiling, looks away, then stares again with a newfound, groggy realization. “Oh no! We overslept and they’re early!”

   Amo nudges his brother awake with a light shove, Addison tumbles out of his sleeping bag and onto the stone subfloor.

   “We still need to finish the roof patch!”

   Addison looks as if he was just awakened by an earthquake. They quickly scramble to their feet and get back to work.

   Addison speed walks outside to change the filter on the Hydro Vac Chem Cleaner. He sees two giant box trucks driving down the long dirt road. Behind that, an 18-wheeler flat bed with a bulldozer on the back. “Why would they be bringing a bulldozer?”

   While walking back inside he swears he hears a goat bleating from within one of the trucks.

   Addison is on the ladder bracing the ceiling brackets from inside the house, Amo is on the roof hastily hammering down plywood with reckless abandon for his brother’s well being on the other side.

   There is a loud metal wrapping on the half opened door, its sound is lost against nails being pounded into roof studs. The door loudly creaks open, also masked behind the much louder hammer clangs.

   “Hello there!”

   The hammering continues.

   The man repeats himself, Cupping his hands over his mouth now to direct and amplify his voice. “HELLO THERE! I’m Mr. McCallister!”

   Addison turns at the faint noise below him and almost falls from the ladder as he sees a man suddenly standing in the open doorway looking up at him. Amo peers down from the ever shrinking roof hole and responds to the tiny man dressed in robes suddenly walking into the living room.

   “Hello!” Amo calls back from the opening in the ceiling, his voice booming and godly whilst shouting down from above, the robed man jumps back in response; the ceasing of the hammer blows only serving to add an ethereal reverb to his boisterous baritone pitch.

   Amo rubs his ears and lowers his tone before continuing. “Roof is almost done sir, obviously this isn't a permanent fix, but it will definitely hold up until you can get a concrete guy and a framer out here to reinforce the base, and a roofer with the skill set to handle the reinstall of slate shingles.”

   “Mr. Braybrooke I presume?” The man looks up to the fully bearded face in the ceiling, “and son?” He says, looking to Addison.

   “Actually, our father is attending to other matters, so he sent us in his stead, we are And Sons.” Amo says with a half smile. I’m Amond but you can call me Amo.”

   “And I’m Addison but you can call me Addie,” he chimes in a jovial tone.

   “Ah yes, well, thank you for everything, Amo and Addie. This looks, well, it looks like it did the last time I saw it anyways, or at least, from what I remember..”

He begins to walk around and pick up various items nostalgically. “I haven't been here since I was a child.. Things were so different then,” he says solemnly, holding a broken figurine doll in his hands and looking at the various nature and landscape paintings of mountains on the walls around him. “Well then.. I’ll let you get back to it. How much longer do you think?”

   Both Addie and Mr. McCallister are looking up to Amo for an answer now.

   “45, hour tops!”

   “Sounds good. Procession doesn’t start til sundown, you’ll have plenty of time.” Mr. McCallister pulls the large heavy door clambering shut behind him.

   Just as the door clangs hard against its hinges, the stud Amo is leaning on groans and cracks, this sends Addie’s tilted ladder, and Addie along with it, tumbling onto the ground. He groans and picks himself up off the hard floor yet again.

The sun is slipping past the distant peaks as Addie grabs the last rivets from the van, Amo is bolting in the final studs. “Hey Addie, toss me those rivets and then move that oversized end table to the far corner of the room would ya, last but not least gotta pull that lil’ bit of carpet up and then reinforce that buttress over there.”

   “You’re a buttress.”

   “What was that?” Amo says with a laugh.

   “You heard me,” Addie says with a smile as he begins throwing the heavy metal rivets at his brother one at a time.

   “Hey, cut it out- ow, hey, stop it asshole!” Amo says with a grin as he catches the last rivet and throws it back at him.

   Addie ducks and the metal fastener clangs and bounces on the ground. Tink, tink, thunk.

   Addie looks closely at the rivet laying under the end table. “Did you hear that?”

   “Hear what?”

   “Huh..” Addie huffs, moving the surprisingly heavy end table out of the way, grunting as he yanks up the last patches of adhesive laden shag carpet. “This looks fine actually.” He says with a defeated shrug.

   “Doesn’t matter. Gotta do the whole thing.”

   “Well what if-”

   “Rip it up bud!”

   “But-

   “They wanted it done right, so they called us.”

   “Right, or maybe the Mustard Boys didn't want it,” Addie says under his breath, moving all their gear from one side of the room to the other, then working over the carpet tracks.

   “Hey man, this carpet, it’s stuck on something?”

   “Get the edge puller from the van, you gotta start with the tac-strips in the corner, remember?”

   Addie tunes his brother out, grabs the rivet off the floor and tosses it repeatedly until he gets the same tonal result. He drops to his knees, pulls hard and rips up a single square of carpet that is cut perfectly on the far side, exposing a stone hatch in the floor underneath. There is a Mountain Symbol leafed in gold on the hand crafted iron hinge adorned in the center.

   “HOLY FUCKING SHIT DUDE!”

   “What, did you break something?”

   “Holy shit holy shit holy shit” Addie stammers, his jaw trembling with shivering excitement “Amo come over here!” Quick!”

   “Oh, that? Yeah big deal, we see all sorts of crazy stuff in houses, I'm sure it’s just a wine cellar or a bomb shelter.”

   “Or a sex dungeon or a torture chamber!” Addie says.

   “Storm runoff channel, septic tank storage, water well.”

   “BURIED TREASURE.” Addie says with boyish wonder.

   “Anyways, I’m sure it’s locked..”

   Addie ignores his brother’s words of caution. He looks at the coded cypher handle, he looks at the symbols that have been neatly arranged. His hand has a mind of its own, and has casually wrapped its fingers around the golden handle. Before he knows what he is doing, he is pulling and turning the golden ring, the hatch in the floor creaks open. “Looks like it’s unlocked,” Addie says with a grin.

   “Don’t go in there dude! We don't know what’s down there and we don’t have time for whatever it is anyway, if there’s no blood we don't touch it.”

   “How do we know there’s no blood?” Addie says slyly, peering down into the hole.

   “Dude, the family is right outside, don’t! We have specific instructions not to touch anything that isn't contaminated, this is probably why!”

   Addie reaches into a nearby tool chest and grabs a headlamp.

   “I’m gonna uh, go check the structural integrity of the foundation, and uh, see if any blood borne pathogens are present, *ahem. Sir..” He tightens his respirator mask, snaps on his headlamp and climbs down the ladder rungs.

   Amo rolls his eyes and shout whispers, “hurry the hell up then, and don’t take anything!”

   Addie rolls the dissected carpet patch back over the hatch and disappears into the floor.

Addie climbs down the hatch and into the bunker, the rungs go down and down for quite some time. When he finally lands at the bottom and shines his headlamp around, he sees that it appears to be another whole house, made entirely of large blocks of stone, completely below ground, closed off and built over.

   There are faded old family pictures of many people still clinging to the paint peeled walls, broken glass from shattered light bulbs crunch beneath his feet. The dim headlamp eerily illuminates his path as he slowly walks through the dark corridors. He can’t help but be overcome with wonder at the ghostly pictures on the walls.

   “Who were these people?” He thinks to himself as he walks through the halls, through the barracks of dusty half-made bunk beds, a communal shower area and gathering hall, past what looks to be some sort of wood shop, until he gets to a large office at the back of the homestead layout.

   Judging by the faded, yellowed film in the pictures all over the walls, he guesses they were taken in the late 60’s, maybe early 70’s. He remembers the emulsification of the film from his grandad’s old Kodak, how it tinged the edges of the roll if it wasn't developed in the proper timeframe, how it would cast an orange glow on the edges of the frames. These look the same, or close enough anyways.

   Addie notes a common thread. In all these pictures everyone is wearing mining uniforms, and most of them seem to be mining themed overall. Addie looks past the tinged film, beyond the dusty frames, to the large, old wooden door at the end of the hall.                   

   Addie slowly opens the heavy, black oak door to the massive study. It doesn't creak or groan like he so obviously thought it would, instead it makes no sound at all, it’s almost as if it just floated open. He moves it back and forth a few times and the door swings just as effortlessly, almost weightless. His focus shifts to an elaborately carved wrap around book shelf of solid black oak covering every wall of the room, every book and every shelf an exact fit. In front of that, an even more intricately carved heavy black oak desk, and an over-sized black oak desk chair behind it.

   The wood is an obsidian maroon hue, with an opaque sheen, as if oiled and lacquered every day for a thousand years. The whole room smells of an old growth forest. The musty aroma of paper books and oiled oak permeate the heavy stone walls. The air is cold, but not damp, rather the whole room is a perfect 65 degrees. And dry, like a humidor for books.

   The entire study is somehow free of dust as well. Addie is baffled at this, being in the cleaning business and all.

   He peers around the book shelf, the titles are obscure and far reaching works, very old looking, from authors far before his time. As a scholar and a well read guy, surely he would recognize one of these titles, right?

   He searches the shelves, nothing. Now it’s become a sense of pride, he can’t remember the last time he looked through someone’s shelves and didn't recognize a single book. He keeps scouring. “Ah, Stradivarius and the Permafrost Forest. Well, at least I’ve heard the name before.

   He sets the book back in its perfect resting place on the shelf, something else catches his attention.

   In the back of the room, an entire section of very old looking books, parchments and scrolls are all very seemingly out of order for such a well kept room. He walks over to the back of the dark study, his flashlight headlamp the only light as he scans about.

   He sees several more books knocked off the far back shelf against the wall, “tossed” on the floor like after a police raid, a few of the books are even ripped apart. These books are very old by the looks of them, leather bound, carved covers.

   Upon closer inspection he sees several of the desk drawers are opened haphazardly as well, their contents spilled out on the floor. He walks over to the pile on the ground in the corner.

   He sees the open pages to be obscure titles and pictures. Works on Zoroastrianism and Jaguar Priests, books filled with Sanskrit, books filled with Cuneiform, others in Greek or Babylonian, Latin and South American. Math, so many books filled edge to edge with nothing but complex formulas and advanced computations. The books are old, leather bound and ragged, well traveled.

   “These must be ancient,” he thinks aloud as he sees a pile of scrolls overflowing from a cabinet shelf that has been dumped out in the corner and strewn about. He pulls open a dusty scroll filled with Egyptian hieroglyphs, another showcasing an ancient world map of the Americas, when suddenly his flashlight catches something and he quickly drops the parchment.

   He stops his perusing as his light hones in on a partial boot printed dirt smudge in the corner next to the shelf. He stoops down to inspect it closer.

   “The same red dirt from the gravel driveway?”

   The hair on his arms stands at attention and he quickly does the same as he swiftly pans his light about the darkened room. After he’s satisfied he’s alone again, he continues.

   Next to the boot print, on a barren patch of shelf, he sees a tiny pattern in the wood, with an emerging notch that has clearly just been moved.

   “No way? Another secret door? Behind a bookshelf? Come on Bat Cave!” He presses in the notch, and sure enough the book shelf creaks open.

   He peers behind it, nothing, just a cold rock wall, that is, not until he looks straight up into the depression in the ceiling. There, craning his neck straight up, he sees a tiny cylindrical hole in the rock, complete with ladder rungs carved into the bedrock itself leading straight upward. He crawls up the delved out rungs.

Up and up he climbs until the steps stop and there is another cylindrical opening in the rock. He shines his light down the dim stone tunnel. “Well, I’ve come this far,” he shrugs to himself. He crawls in.

   Arm over arm he crawls, until at last he sees a circular stone door in front of him. There is a set of runes protruding from the circular stone door. He sees they have clearly just been moved and there is a lever now emerging. He studies the pattern, very similar to the one on the top floor hatch he surmises as he pulls the protruding handle. The man-hole cover sized cylindrical door rolls to the left with a slow, loud rumble that makes Addie recoil backwards. As it rumbles away into the rock wall, it reveals another circular door, which then rolls to the right. Then another that rolls back to the left very slowly, showing yet another door on the right slowly rolling over it to seal it back up again, “some type of interlocking stone tumbler carousel system?” Sunlight pours through the opening as he pops his head out from the normal looking rocks around him and peaks around.

   Addie winces at the daylight of the dusky purple skies above. He is looking out on a deep ravine, far off from the main house. He spies a vast grove of overgrown Black Oak trees below. “A tree farm? In the desert?”

   He quickly notices the outer door indeed has no codex cypher or apparent way to be opened, “A one-way escape hatch? Huh. That’s strange.” He dips back down the rungs just before the heavy rock wall entrance rolls back into a locked position behind him.

   He walks back through the bookshelf and checks his dad’s old military issue diver’s watch. “Shit, I’ve already been down here way too long, I better get back.” He snaps the shelf closed.

   As he is retracing his steps on the way back out the door, he stops.

   “Whoa, that’s the landscape painting and rocking chair from the broken picture!” He walks into the communal rec room. He looks closer at the old blanket covered chair. “Looked different in the photo..”

   He removes the blanket. He sees the chair is also made of hand carved black oak. He notices that it seems to be attached to the stone floor. He looks closer at the wood. There are intricate symbols and patterns on the arms of the chair. “Wow. These carvings are astounding,” he rubs his fingers across the markings.

   “How could someone make such fine cut lines so as only to be noticed when staring directly at it from above? This work is truly amazing!” He sits in the chair. It is surprisingly comfortable for such a rigid design. He looks closer at the markings.

   From a sitting position, the pattern etched in the chair arms looks entirely different. Addie stares as he softly caresses the marbled wood grain. It feels so nice, so soothing, it somehow helps him appreciate the architecture even more, being able to feel its construction.

   He remembers the time he was banned from all museum field trips after he stepped over the red rope to get a better look at the brand new T-Rex exhibit. He laughs as he appreciates the art as only he knows how, with a hands on approach. And art this is. A masterpiece of craftsmanship, even more so than the secret book case, the floating door or the petrified desk at the end of the hall.

   As his pupils bounce around the pattern, his eyes become accustomed to it, and a greater pattern emerges. His focus blurs and the tiny patterns of swirls and arcs give way to three grand rune shapes on each arm. “Whoa what the hell?”

   He turns his gaze sharply to focus in on the left side of the chair. The pattern is gone. He turns to the right, gone as well. He rubs his eyes. “Those looked like..” He rummages in the pockets of his suit. He digs out the folded up photo.

   “Those were the same six shapes! No wonder they had that mall picture on their wall!”

   He stares blankly at the patterns, he lets his eyes wander and blur, he stares fuzzily in between the two chair arms, and sure enough six shapes blur into focus in his peripheral. “Wait, this one is..” He holds out the photo and looks again to compare. He closes his eyes, picturing in his mind the main house hatch lever, the book shelf puzzle lever symbols, as well as the escape hatch lever symbols. He opens his eyes and stares at just the right angle, with the photo in between his hands, in between the chair arms.

   The pattern re-emerges. He corrects the runes into the same direction as the photo. He is surprised to find that the chair arm has interlocking hinge pieces that can move. He spins the last pattern on the left arm and the chair moves back on the stone floor almost a full three inches, it does this methodically as it clicks three times, each time lurching back another inch, like a roller coaster climbing up a track, only much smoother.

   He corrects the pattern on the right, and sure enough, another three clicks, another three inches back on the floor. Another hatch is beginning to appear on the floor before him.. 2 more runes and three more inches back with each rotation, and a black stone door in the floor is suddenly unearthed.

Addie stares intently at the chiseled block of obsidian stone beneath his feet. This one has a mountain etched in black on black in the middle of the 2x2 enclosure. “It looks the same as the one that lead me down here, only, this one doesn't have a rung to open it, in fact, there appears to be no way to open it at all.” Addie stares at the smooth black stone door below his feet. He stares and waits for a pattern to emerge but none appear. “Hmmm.” He looks at the picture again.

   Addie looks at the man’s peculiar expression in the crumpled photo, he pans his gaze to the paintings on the wall, he looks to the clean sink, then at the filled overflowing dish pit it had become. He sees the man’s hand is on the lever. He looks closer.

Although the chair appears as a reclining rocker, the truth is much more elaborate. He feels the runes on the inside handle. He looks to the numbered sequence of runes on the picture backing.

   He discerns it to mean 2 forward, one back, click rune 1. 2 back click rune 2. 1 forward, 2 back, click rune 3. He looks closer at the inside handle. He sees three tiny carved runes in the chairs reclining handle.

   He follows the sequence exactly. He hears internal parts of the chair moving, then five notches pop out of the handle, but nothing else happens. The door still hasn't budged.

   “Why won’t you open?”

   He looks to the cards in the man’s hand, it’s not a winning hand, nor any poker hand that counts for that matter. Addie rotates the numbers in the poker hand in accordance with the notches, and as he presses in the fifth and final wooden button, heavy counterweights move from within the chair’s foundation.

   The reclining feature kicks out like a spring loaded jack-in the box.

   Addie jumps back into the seat of the chair, his feet curled up into a ball beneath him without a seconds hesitation. At the same time he does this the hatch drops into the floor, the recliner itself has just opened up and turned into a tiny, narrow stair well.

   Addie shines his head lamp down the dark stairs as he slowly walks down. He sees the walls to be solid rock, hewn away into a deep tunnel. The cold stone walls are covered in primitive paintings and runes. Shapes and designs spiral down the entirety of the chasm.

   As he gets to the end of the deep underground slope, he finds a small dug out chamber, with a black alter made of heavy black stone and interwoven with oak and iron in the center of the small, carved out dome.

   Behind that, a single, elaborate oil painting leaned against the wall. He is overcome with curiosity at the massive, snow capped mountain. It is separated into four layers. He looks closer. There appears to be a spiraled path wrapping from the inner depths of the mountain all the way to the top of the highest peak.

   There is a golden, hovering being made of white light, sitting in a meditation pose on a tuft of clouds above the mountain. The figure has a crown of bones over its eyes, it has many limbs.

   In front of the painting, a curious smell pulls his attention, and his headlamp shifts back to the macabre statue in front of him.

   Atop the alter, there is the skull of a bear adorned with the gold-soldered horns of a ram. The skull is bleached white and intricately carved with swirling runes. Its cracks and fractures filled with smelted gold. The swirling horns are carved with a fractal repeating spiral that swirls into an infinite loop. The curled horns have been stained black with charcoal. He sees that the alter is also stained black, but of a different shade, one that only dried layers of stained blood can attain.

   He looks closer, the alter is made of animal bones of all kinds. There are crow feathers and wolf paws and coyote tails and turtle shells at the base of the pile in the dust. Cobwebs from long dead tarantulas decorate the entire visage, their furry, dust covered bodies entombed for eternity in the shrine before him.

   The eight spired branches, staked and overlapping one another in a perfect angular pattern around the pedestal. Addie looks closer at the shaped sticks before him. At first thought to be solid wood, the branches are actually, upon further inspection, petrified stone. He thumps one just to be sure. He rubs his hand.

   Unlike the study, this room is permeated with new tufts of airborne dust, ash and dirt with every movement, every breath he takes further disturbs the stale crypt air, the particles illuminating perfectly off his head lamp. He double checks to make sure his mask is on tight.

   Below the altar, at the base of the cracked pedestal, nearly hidden in the pile of bones and carapaces, he notices something sticking out from beneath them.

   Addie looks closer, reaches up to his forehead to focus the light. It shines onto a small, dust covered book.

   He very delicately removes the bones from atop, he softly picks it up, and gently brushes the dust off the front.

   Addie ponders the palm sized book in his hands. It is made of bound animal hide and thick murky parchment paper. He flips through the pages.

   “Ah, more hieroglyphs? Greek, latin, what fucking language is this?” He fans through the thick leaflets. “What the hell is this, it makes no sense? It’s just scribbles, weird drawings, and symbols.. But it is cool though, probably crazy old too. I wonder who wrote it, I wonder what it means..”

   As he fans to the end of the book he sees a small, carved out section in the back where something was tucked inside, “whatever was in there isn't in there now.. Huh.” He says aloud, lightly fingering the hollowed out hidey-hole in the leather as he stares at the undecipherable scribbles and symbols in his hands.

   “I know Amo told me not to take anything, but what if this is some sort of missing piece to some ancient culture or something? I have to know!” He says, steeling himself with conviction as the book hovers just outside of his pocket.

   Addie climbs back up the black staircase, and unlike the other two exposed hatch levers he found, Addie pulls the chair lever accordingly and it moves back over the hole into the earth, he then affixes the chair back into its previous position and re-covers it with the blanket as if he was never there.

   He retraces his steps back into the main house. As he does this, he makes a mental note of all the pictures, all the people, the paintings and architecture of the buried house, “if all these people lived here, worked here.. Where did all these people go? And why did they all leave in such a hurry?”

   He looks back at all the scattered belongings, moldy food in the sinks and overflowing trashes one last time before he makes for the hatch rungs back up into the main house.

   He pats the book in his pocket as he looks at the large, dusty family miner’s portrait on the far wall, they are all lined up perfectly like a varsity roster photo, and the man from the picture in his pocket is sitting right in the middle. “Just who in the hell were you old timer?”

   He climbs back up the ladder. There is no handle on the inner door. “Fuck!” Addie shouts. He begins to bang on the door.

Amo leaps down from the roof ladder and opens the hatch lever. “Hurry the hell up!” He shouts, “the procession leader is coming in like five minutes to set up!” He lowers his tone. “We gotta go man, things are getting weird.”

   Amo reaches down and pulls him up with his mighty strength, Addie is briefly as weightless as a baby being lifted out of a car seat before being plopped back on his feet on the main level. Addie slams the hatch shut and spins the dial of runes like one would spin a combo lock on a safe. The stone door lays perfectly flat against the now exposed subfloor. Amo shoves the end table and it slides right back over the exposed, carpet free hatch. The front door opens.

   Amo runs to move the ladder and help open it, “Hey there Mr. Mac, all done! Just packing out now sir. “Ope, sorry, you're not Mr. McCallister..”

   A ghostly-white man with pin drop pupils walks right past him without a word and into the house. The man is clad in long, flowing blue robes that trail behind him in the dirt, the man is leading a goat through the house on a short rope and chanting, his other hand holds a piece of flora, a branch or root of some sort, and the man is flicking its wet essence about the room as he chants.

   “Ok, we just cleaned that? Hey!”

   “Whatever man, it’s their ceremony..” Addie says calmingly.

   “Pssh, you’re right about that one,” Amo says with a curling eyebrow raise.

   The man leads the goat out of the house and back into the dirt, chanting to himself all the while.

   “Welp. That’s our cue,” Amo says. “Addie, go grab the other tool chest and the last of the winch ropes over there, I’ll pack the ladders and stow the roof, then let’s hit the road.”

   “On it!” Addie springs for the box and heads for the door.

  As Amo is loading the last of the tools in the van, and Addie is coupling the trailer hitch for the trailer vat, Mr. Macallister comes up to them. “I see you're all done.”

   “Yep we-

   “But where are the remains?”

   “What? The remains of my Father. In the contract we specified we will be taking the remains.”

   “Oh, no, this is bio-hazardous waste at this point, and all the blood and gore is contained in that vat and those bio-bags in that trailer there, and no offense but that’s not the way you want to remember them.”

   “Yes, but I spoke with your sister about this at length, it’s why we hired you at all. We couldn't get here in time..”

   “The remains are with the coroner,” Amo counters.

   “No, we already obtained those, we need ALL the remains, our religion demands it.. If there are any other issues I’ll make sure to site tribal law and our religious sanctions when my attorneys are in touch.”

   Amo sighs. “No no, that won’t be necessary.”

   Amo goes into the glove box and grabs the paper work, rummaging through it, sure enough there is a footnote about the family possibly wanting to retain a few ‘keepsakes’ from the bodies. He looks up from the paperwork, “wait, it says a few keepsakes. But you're telling me you want the entire vat?”

   “Yes, everything we agreed upon please. As is our right, and our contract.”

   “I mean, yeah, ok sure..” Amo points to the vat, “so, these things are disposable, just bring it to a registered dump site when you’re done, but it’s still gonna be an add on fee to the bill..”

   “That’s fine,” Mr. McCallister says casually, pulling out a check book as his fellow worshippers are removing the gooey hazmat bags from within the trailer.

   Addie watches in mortified amazement as they haphazardly sling the liquid bags of matter over their robed shoulders and carry them to the center of a freshly made circle of stones in the middle of the farmland.

   Amo flips over the piece of paper, clicks his pen, turns around and points a thumb to his back as he hunches down in front of him, Mr. McCallister pins the document against Amo’s back and scribbles out a signature.

   “Right then, now that everything’s in proper order.” He turns to his brother at the back of the van as he pockets the bill of lading, “hey Addie, uncouple that hitch and roll up the brake wires would ya?”

   “B-but, I just spent the last twenty minutes getting the chains just right!”

   Amo stares with such a commanding glower of seriousness Addie immediately and silently obeys, and in record time too.

   “Oh, hey,” Addie turns to Mr. McCallister just before hopping in the van. “Thought you might want this.” He reaches into his pocket. He pulls out the plastic bag with the poker picture of his grandparents inside and hands it over.

   Mr. McCallister takes it slowly, a tear welling in his eye. “T-thank you,” he stammers, “it’s.. It’s finally over..” He sobs, pressing his fingers against the bag and stroking it softly. Addie nods solemnly and hops in the van.

  He slides the side door closed and they drive off. As they are leaving the farm, they see a bulldozer and a giant back hoe crane being rolled down a semi truck ramp. As they round the bend they see the man in the blue robes building a great fire in the center of the stone circle. Mr. McCallister tosses the picture Addie just gave him in the fire.

“Ok wow. First things first.. Why did they take the entire hazmat tank?”

   “They said it was in the agreement.” Amo says, turning up the steep hill.

   “Was it?”

   “Well yeah, kind of, but they paid extra for that old tank, double what it’s worth too, so all in all I’m just gonna let it go..”

   “But like, what religion was that?”

   “I have no frickin' idea man..”

   “Certainly not a tribal burial though I’ll tell you that much,” Addie says.

   “Yeah, well, once he threatened legal action I thought it best to hear him out.”

   “And the way he opened his check book,” Addie says with a grin, thwacking his brother in the arm with his hand.

   “Oh yeah, that was the clincher,” he says with a salesman’s smirk, “so now, after all that time and energy, we just saved ourselves quite a bit of both on the back end.”

   “Thank you for that one!” Addie says, rubbing dirt from his hands. “I am so goddamn wiped after moving that truck out of that house, holy shit man..”

   “Yeah, time, energy, AND money!” Amo says proudly. “Because now we don’t have to pay the biohazard disposal fees, OR drive to the dump site, OR decon the vat when we get home! Oh and we get to go buy a new, much better vat on top of it!”

   “Damn dude, quite the shrewd businessman!”

   “Yeah, I guess so,” he says tugging on his non-existent shirt collar, “this was just a $2k plus, with a 4 hour minus!” He returns his brothers shoulder thwack with a hard slap to his back, so hard in fact Addie’s seatbelt fastening him in place thinks he might be currently in a car wreck and tenses up to keep him from flying out the windshield.

   “Ok.. Processing all that, moving on.” Addie says as he rubs his whole neck and shoulders. He clears his throat and puffs out his chest. Ahem* “SO I FOUND A FUCKING SECRET HOUSE UNDERNEATH THAT OLD FARM DUDE!!”

   “What?”

GOD DAMN GOLDEN BEAR SKULL WITH RAM HORNS!!!!” Addie bellows.

   “Slow down bud. What are you saying?”

   Addie pulls the dark book from his inner suit liner. He holds up the tiny, golden furled, animal hide tome.

   “HO-LY SHIIIIT.” Amo stomps on the brakes, the cargo van slides to a stop half way up the steep incline on the opposite side of the mountain pass.

   “I know right? Look at this crazy fucking thing!” Addie says, fanning through it with his fingers. He looks to Amo for sibling approval - but Amo is looking in the rear view mirror.

   Amo stares back, dumbstruck. A massive plume of dust and debris rises in the direction of their tail lights.

   He parks right there on the roadside as he sees the farm house he just spent the last 51 hours devoted to cleaning and restoring, getting pushed in with bulldozers and cranes.

   Amo hops out and stares over the tiny guard rail down the steep cliff edge. “What the hell man? We have to go back!”

   “Nah dude, take a closer look,” Addie says as he steps out of the passenger side and stands next to him. He takes a newspaper from the glove box and Amo’s reading glasses from the case in there as well, he takes the lenses out, rips slits in the paper and stuffs a lens into the tiny slot, he then fits the other lens in the other ripped notch and makes a makeshift telescope. He hands it to his brother.

   Amo grabs the rolled up paper telescope and looks down the sights. There several people clad in long blue and yellow robes, dancing around the bonfire flames. In the middle there is a pyre of blood and bones being erected, the bags being slit open and messily spilled about the altar.

   The goat is then led into the middle of the flaming circle. “Dude what frickin' religion is this?”

   A black robe is brought forth from the rubble beside the farmhouse and draped around the goat, they all chant and sing as the throat is cut, the goat runs around inside the flaming circle, unable to escape.

   Several elders in their bright yellow and dark blue robes emerge with short-swords and stone daggers to finish it off, the sharpened blades piercing through the blood soaked black robe over and over again as they wail and cry.

   “I’m not sure yet,” Addie says, “but I sure as hell am gonna find out..”

At the top of the ravine, where the accident took place, the two Jeeps are parked beside the carved tracks in the dirt. The four men stand around and survey the scene from below. “So He’s really dead then..” Tanz says, peaking down through binoculars.

   “He’s really dead,” Jade says.

   “There’s no stopping it now.”

   “He’s become so powerful that His reach got to the Voice inside his fortress all the way out here when no one else could. The Circle is expanding.” Beni says

   “The Circle is expanding” Tanz echoes.

   “No stopping it now” Jade seconds.

   “His vision is close, you have done well, He will be pleased.” Beni says as he walks up to Mr. Siobhan standing at the very edge of the ravine staring down at the flames.

   Mr. Siobhan stares at the fire below and begins to laugh, “a new age begins with the coming of the Cold Blood Moon!”

   The others whoop and cheer.

   “My Brother has finally relinquished his claim to the Throne, now I will no longer have to share power!” More cries and screams of joy. “In 3 days time the pass of The Silver Moon will be opened for the first time in 36 years.. Soon I will be the King Under the Mountain!!”

   The others hug and embrace one another.

   Mr. Siobhan folds his tattooed hands in front of him as he stares at the bloody runes rising up the sides of the flaming altar. “And so from the ashes, a single Desert Oak shall arise.” he says.

   “And it will cleanse the entire earth with its breath,” the others chime in unison from within their huddled embrace.

   They watch from above as The Farm is destroyed, the reinforced buttress caves, and the roof collapses into the underground. The cranes excavate the rubble, the bulldozers flatten, and the back hoe is filling in the tunnels with dirt, the bright red flames roar up through the altar and into the dark, plum colored sky. The dirt fills the cavernous earth below.

RED SPARROW BOOKS

   The sun is barely peaking over the horizon to start the day as Amo backs up the driveway and parks the van in the garage on sleep drone autopilot. Amo locks up the garage as Addie takes his summer suitcase from the back.

   “We’ll unpack the van tomorrow, for now, sleep,” Amo grunts, now wearing an entire lumberjack level full beard that flows down his neck and spills forth from his shirt collar.

   “Agreed.” Addie grumbles back as they both slog up the stairs and into the main house.

   Amo goes to the fridge, Addie to the delousing shower in the basement.

Addie walks in the house and into the kitchen, A clean shaven, baby faced Amo is at the table eating cereal. Addie grabs the coffee pot off the burner and carries it to the cupboard. He grabs a mug and pours. “ It’s the middle of the afternoon, where is everyone?”

   “Winnie’s on the phone. “Dad’s out on a job. Mom is playing bridge with her friends.”

   “Where’s Harry? Haven't seen him since I’ve been back.” He returns the pot to the burner. “It was his last week of high school, he's at grad parties all day, you know how it is. He’s out with his friends at the moment but will be home soon, he has a big siding salesman interview too, I know that much.”

   “Cool” Addie says while grabbing a bowl and spoon and sitting at the table. He grabs the box in front of Amo, then the milk.

   In between bites of Lucky Charms, Addie mumbles, “so, that shit we saw last night man, woke me up in a cold sweat early this morning ya know.”

   ‘I’ll say,” Amo crunches back, the cereal spoon filled with little marshmallows is so tiny in his giant palm he has to hold it with his entire fist.

   “So I went to the library this morning and did some digging, I found out those religious fanatics were originally members of something called the Order of the Sacred Mountain.” Amo looks up from his bowl, then back down again. Addie continues.

   “Like, did you know, the O.S.M had four outposts, one at the base of each Sacred Mountain?” “One at a time they all closed down and moved to where we were last night.”

   “Sacred Mountains?” Amo mumbles in between loud crunches. “Yeah, remember? Grandma would always talk about how the four sacred mountains represent the essence of life for the Navajo people?”

   “Mmm hmm.” *Crunch crunch.

   “Whatever, anyways, so they moved their entire base of operations to one location. La Plata Canyon.”

   “Why there?”

   “They set up shop by skirting under tribal land rights protection with their “church” by-laws and began terracing and excavating the shale rock. Just over the farm ridge there was an old mine.”

   “Dang. So what happened?”

   “Well, that’s the thing, I don’t know. They apparently vanished in the mountains almost forty years ago, all the members left all their land and possessions to the OSM and joined the Sacred Mountain Commune deep in the depths of the uncharted range of the San Juan Mountains, then headed for White Shell Mountain even deeper in the Eastern Colorado range.

   They were rumored to be building a temple at Blanca’s Peak to teach their ways as their Master became too old to travel, but little evidence was found to support this, although several people have tried to locate the temple in the coming years, the path has proved to be quite treacherous, none have come back alive..”

   “How do you*crunch crunch* know all this?”

   “Like I just said, I went to the local town library early this morning, there wasn't much there, they weren’t much help, and actually they got all weird when I asked about it. Buuuut..” He pulls a folded up sheet of paper from his pocket, “they did have a few articles though, and check out this little ad blip I was able to print out.”

   Addie slaps a black and white trade show print out on the table, the article is about a rare gem smith coming into town to teach a new mining technique.

    Amo grabs the single sided, short and grainy article and stares at the picture. It’s a group of people in white robes at a massive gemstone convention selling their wares to the public. “Oh! I know these assholes, these are the guys that swindled Dillard’s parents into signing over all their land for a stake in some mining venture! Yeah..” He says, gripping the paper in one fist, tiny doll spoon in the other, “they lost everything and the decision tore the family apart!”

   “Really? What happened?”

   “The dad became one of these idiots,” he says as he nods to the white robe clad people in the picture, “and the mom got custody of Dillard, obviously," he grunts, gesturing again at the picture, “they moved to frickin' Kansas of all places. After that our run game was never the same,” he says remorsefully, “I never blocked for a better back ever again,” he chomps dejectedly, grabbing the cereal box and pouring another heaping bowl. “We coulda won state that year if it wasn't for these dickheads, screw these people!” He tosses the article aside and takes another giant bite of charms off his tiny spoon.

   Addie grabs the paper and smooths out his brothers iron-grip crease lines, he refolds the paper and puts it back in his pocket.

   “Fuckin’ hippies” Amo mumbles.

   “Yeah, ya know, now that you mention it, that seemed to be the general vibe when I was in the library too actually,” Addie says, noting his brother’s facial expression of disgust upon recognition of the photo. “Just after I printed this article though, just as I was leaving, one girl stocking catalogs in the back told me there is a book store on the edge of town that carries fringe titles and occult lore called Red Sparrow Books, and they might have more information on the OSM and the San Juan range they disappeared into.”

   “Yeah, speaking of books, what’s up with that crazy old book of symbols and scribbles man? Find anything out about that?” “Nothing man, but that’s what got this whole ball rolling ya know, I think the OSM know what that book might be. Maybe..”

   “Oh, and they didn't disappear, I saw one of their booths at the last flea market up north with the boys a few months back. Sad looking thing too,” he adds.

   “Hmmm, good to know.. Well at any rate I’m gonna go check out that shop today, gotta head to the bike store anyways, my tire treads are a lot lower than when I last saw them, frickin' Harry,” he mutters with a brotherly grin.

   “What a little shit,” Amo grins in similar fashion. “Oh hey while you're out, if you could stop at the hardware store across the street and grab another ball hitch gauge and lock that would save me a trip, we’re gonna need to upgrade with the new rig, so you’d be saving me two trips actually.” “Yeah sure, just give me the cash.”

   “Oh that reminds me, here’s this then. Job bonus for being available at the last minute, and for the uh, uniqueness of it all.. You’ll probably need this for books now huh,” Amo producers five, crisp one-hundred dollar bills from his wallet and folds them in half.

   Addie’s outstretched hand had nearly snatched them away already when Amo suddenly pulls back, “oh and $40 for the hitch couplings, here ya go bud,” he adds two wrinkled $20’s to the fold and Addie eagerly accepts the wadded cash.

   “Thanks man, I really do need it! Wasn't expecting to come back to work like this, but I definitely need the money for supplies, as the grants don't cover books anymore for some reason, so I’m gonna have to save all summer. Thanks dude!” He pockets the money.

   “More work where that came from,” Amo says, “not nearly as high paying as this was, but yeah, a lot of deconstruction jobs these days. Contaminated walls are becoming a big deal in this town unfortunately..” He says, shaking his head as he stands up, “frickin’ junkies..”

   Amo rinses his bowl in the sink and leaves it there. “Welp, I’m off to order a new Vat tank, then I have a flight to catch!”

Just as Amo is gathering his belongings in the entryway, a kid with a backpack is hopping over the closed door of an open top convertible filled with girls.

   “Bye Harrison” they say.

   “Bye ladies, I’ll see you at the party tonight, thanks for the ride!” He says as he swooshes his brown and frosted blonde pompadour up and out of his light brown face, his baby blue eyes wink back at the car as he turns away and slings his backpack over one shoulder and walks up the long driveway towards his house.

   His open buttoned shirt flaps in the wind, exposing a tight white shell necklace and an A frame undershirt atop loose fitting khaki shorts and fat laced Adidas shell toes.

   As Harrison walks in the entryway he bumps into Amo.

   “Watch it lil-lil’ bro.”

   “Watch it big-big bro,” they both push at each other and lightly wrestle in the entryway as they both laugh.

   “How’d the interview go?”

   “That’s tomorrow bud!”

   “Oh, right, I thought tomorrow was yesterday.. I don't know what day it is anymore,” he says with a deep, guttural yawn. “Gotta go, good luck!”

   “Thanks dude, go get some sleep, you look like shit ahaha.”

   “Yeah, sleeping in your bed will do that.”

   “What?! Why didn't you sleep on the thousand-pound Futon?” He squeals.

   Amo flinches at him and slams the door with a smirk.

   Harrison runs up stairs and looks at his bed, he makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “Smells like middle aged man in here! Fucking gross!” He bundles up his sheets and throws them down the hallway shoot.

   Addie dumps his nearly empty bowl in the sink, grabs his back pack and his bike lock, and heads out the door.

Addie rolls up to Red Sparrow books. It is evening, the sparsely populated street lights are just flickering on as he rides up to the tiny store. It looks closed. He bikes just a bit closer before turning around, and in that moment, a neon sparrow lights up inside its glass cage. The bird is flapping its red wings back and forth as the cage door opens and closes, the vermillion neon illuminates the damp fall pavement as he rolls up.

   An old bronze bell atop the door rattles off its second to last toll as he walks in the empty shop. There is a cat behind the counter, sitting at the register. Addie cannot help but smile at the sight. He emits a chuckle when he gets a glimpse of the tiny collar with a little laminated name tag attached.

   “Hey there .. Mr. Meowgi.”

   The long, lanky, calico frame of Mr. Meowgi jumps down and purrs at his feet. The cat coos, brushes around Addie’s frayed jeans and tattered Converse, then slinks away. Addie is left alone to peruse the shelves.

   Crystals and incense, tarot cards, illustrations of the Known Universe, star clusters and constellations posters hang high on the walls, tapestries with Buddhas and Shivas on them, various dried herbs, tinctures and natural remedies are at the front counter behind the casements. Soft classical music plays throughout the shop. There is a woman somewhere in the back stocking books.

   “Hello,” the woman’s voice calls casually from the depths of the aisles.

   “Hello.” Addie replies, neither of them seeing one another.

   He picks up a book by Alister Crowley with a giant penis on the cover.

   “Any particular author or subject I can help you find?”

   “Well..” He quickly sets down the dick book and strolls through the aisle in front of him, picking books up at random- ‘The Secret Doctrine by Helena Blovotsky’  -looking at the pictures on the covers- ‘Salem, Black Magic or Black Mold?’ -then setting them back down, “..Actually..” ‘Antarctic Expeditions of the Third Reich,’ ‘The Currents of Space by Isaac Asimov.’

   “..Yes. When you have a second of coarse.”

   He peers around and somehow still cannot put a face to the voice he hears, even though the shop is unusually small.

   “If you have any books or articles on the Order of the Sacred Mountain I’d be interested in taking a look at them..”

   “Dang! Haven’t had anyone ask for the Book in a long time!” The light, fluttery voice chimes as she glides into view from down the back of the aisle.

Addie peers upward, realizing the tiny shop has an entire second level and a whole second tier balcony of books up top. She is rolling around on a track ladder near the ceiling hovering above him.

   “They used to come in to this book store all the time and sell their gems and guide books ya know, haven't seen them in years though.. I think I still have one in the back here somewhere, let me look..”

   The young woman shoves the railing and the wheeled ladder whips around the track, she climbs up the rungs, hops off and climbs over the second level bannister rail with the same agility as Mr. MeowGi.

   “Yep. Here we are,” she chirps as she swiftly climbs to the back of the shop rafters and pulls a book from the very top, very back shelf.

   The book is in a glass case next to a copy of the Bhagavad Gita, an Original pressing of Cosmos by Carl Sagan, a signed copy of Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut, The First Editions of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles graphic novels by Eastman and Laird, and an original Optimus Prime Transformer action figurine, posed in full form in the middle of the display case.

   “These earrings are Desert Glass from a meteor strike in the heart of the Mojave ya know, got em’ from one of their shows when I was just a kid!” She pirouettes back over the waist high railing, pushes off with a light shove of her foot against the shelves, and the ladder rolls right down the track. She slides it to a perfect stop with her hand, her platformed boot-heels clink down the ladder.

   “Still my favorite earrings to this day,” she says as she slinks down the steps.

   Addie looks up from the unusual bookstore footwear to see black cotton stockings and a black knee-height skirt. She clods further down the rungs, revealing a dark red pullover cardigan with pulled up sleeves, an opal charm necklace on a piece of string over a tight fitting chartreuse blouse top, shoulder length light brown hair tinged with sunlight and bright red highlighted bangs, pouty lips lined with light pink lipstick.

   Tiny yellow stones of shimmering Desert Glass dot her ears, perfectly accenting beautiful, amber-gold eyes emboldened and outlined with thick black eyeshadow wings that pierce through Addie’s soul the very second she meets his gaze.

   “Is this, what you're looking for?” She says to him rather sultrily, staying two rungs above him, looking down from her perch like a hawk about to swoop up a rabbit.

   Addie’s eyes are shimmering, his heart nearly skipping a beat as he is now staring blankly at her light caramel complexion, a shade darker from the summer heat, her skin smooth and silky, her sparkling golden eyes have him hypnotized. He is completely dumbfounded by her radiant beauty, so much so that he forgets to speak.

   She hops down with a smirk, snaps a pink chewing gum bubble and holds up a book in each hand.

   “So I have a used Second Edition here, she holds up the dingy, yellowed paperback, visible fingerprint smudges on the cover. “But I also have an Original First Edition still left in my backlogs too, complete with full color illustrations and diagrams, if you're interested in that sort of thing..” She holds up the much larger, plastic sealed book in her other hand.

   Addie’s eyes glimmer at the shiny, plastic bound hardcover in her right hand.

   It has that new comic sheen to it, he instantly wants to tear it open and flip through it. She smiles as she slowly passes over the large, elaborately sealed and packaged hardcover book, he casually takes it from her. His arm moves under its weight, their hands briefly meet.

“Water through Stone, A Gem Miner’s Apprenticeship Guide, as taught by Master Stone-Smith Theoderick Siobhan.” Addie says, reading the title out loud, holding it firmly in both hands as he lightly caresses the shrink wrapped, embossed letters of the gilded title with his fingers. “Copyright 1958.. Huh? Anything else?”

   “No, just that. There are some articles out there on the aftermath of the disappearances, but they are all speculative and hearsay.” She pops a little pink gum bubble and is looking downward yet staring upwards, directly into his eyes.

   Her gaze so intense Addie has to look away.

   “Yeah, read those already, that’s why I’m here.” He looks closer at the elaborately packaged, out-dated Gem Guide in his hands. “What does this book have to do with the OSM?”

   “It was written by the founder.” She snips back as quickly as her gum bubbles crackle between her teeth.

   “The only thing he ever wrote before he himself disappeared..”

   “Wait, so, is this THE book? The one the library said they wouldn't carry?”

   “The One and Only.”

   “Huh.”

   “Yeah, weird right, I don’t know, they say it does something to you as you read it, but I read it and it didn't do shit to me so..”

   Addie smiles, she smiles back.

   She pushes away the ladder, grabs a stack of books from the shelf behind it and begins sorting them, looking at him intermittently as she catalogs, her methods seeming to have no rhyme or reason whatsoever.

   “All I know is that Mining Faction, Religion, Tribe- Whatever you want to call it, consumed my uncle. He sold the plot and moved his family to the Farm at the base of the ravine entrance to the Sacred Mountain pass.”

   “Then what happened?”

   “They worked themselves half to death, slaving away in the mines and the shale factories, all while slowly but surely ‘learning the ways of the Master.’ Once you finally graduated, or were ‘chosen’ that is, you would be sent to The Mountain shrine to meet the Master. Only my uncle was chosen.. He abandoned his family in the commune that very night and went deep into the White Shell Range-”

   “-And was never seen again?” Addie interjects excitedly.

   “No, not him..” He came back six months later, penny-less and embarrassed after signing his life away for a few secrets, my aunt divorced him immediately. He refused to talk about what happened but I think it’s cause he got duped out of all his land and money and felt like a fool, up until they day he drank himself to death that is..”

   “So.. is this guy a mason, some sort of spiritual guru, or is he just a con-man?”

   “He is a master architect, some say on par with Leonardo Da Vanci, Ben LaTrobe and Mimar Sunan. Hence his following.”

   Addie nods, pretending to know any of those names other than Da Vinci.

   “His teachings are interesting, pretty far out, but thought provoking to say the least..”

   Addie stares at the unassuming, glimmering cover, the book heavy in his hands. …

   “50 bucks.” She says as she slides behind the counter and puts her freshly polished clear-coated nails to use working over a well worn typewriter til.

   “Aw man I don't have 50-”

   She blows a very large bubble and stares straight through him as she slowly pulls the First Edition back towards her and slides forward the used paperback edition with a $3.99 sticker on it.

   -Wait!” He rummages through his pockets, “never mind! Here!” He pulls out a wad of crisp hundred dollar bills and hands her one. *Her bubblegum loudly pops.

   “What are you listening to by the way, it’s good.”

   “You feel it then?”

   “I’m sorry?”

   “The healing frequency! This is Symphony Number Five!” She points to a small bin filled with cassette tapes behind the register, it is marked with a hand written sign, covered in hearts and music notes and glitter that reads ‘Classical Music With Healing Properties.’ “I made the sign myself,” she says proudly.

   “It’s lovely,” Addie says with a charmed smile.

   “You see, certain Beethoven and Mozart symphonies are set to the tune of 432hz, which is the natural frequency of the Earth. And when humans align with the natural frequency of the universe, it has been proven to have a therapeutic effect. This music literally calms the soul, it regrows blood cells, relieves stress, strengthens neural pathways. 99 cents each or 6 for 5.” “Well, I’m sold," he says with a genuine smile, setting another five on the table. “I’ll take one of each those tapes as well please, thank you.”

   She smiles sweetly at him as she takes his money.

   “Frisson.” Addie mumbles.

   “I’m sorry?”

  Addie puts the book and the tapes in his backpack. “The goosebumps you get from new music, the chill that runs up your spine. It’s called Frisson.”

Addie walks out of the shop, she watches him intently as he bikes down the street, his two toned reflection wavers against the slick cement as it echoes through the neon shadows and back into the night.

   The door closes and the bell tolls once more for thee, then it falls to the ground, defeated. It’s last song has just been sung. The metal cracks and is cloven in two as it hits the hardwood entryway floor, the chime bounces down the stairs and sinks into the carpet.

   The shopkeeper watches him round the corner and out of sight, she twirls her sun bleached golden brown hair into a bun atop her head and sticks a pen through it. She looks curiously to the perfectly halved bell on the floor, another large bubble pops against her lips.

   She climbs her ladder up and heads to the back corner of the shop. She waters her spider lily, she sits in her reading chair, grabs her tarot deck off the coffee table and shuffles it. She lights a beeswax candle and flips The Hermit card over.

   Mr Meowgi pounces on the bell chime. She looks closely at the shrouded shores of the astral plane. She flips another card, The Heirophant.

   Meowgi bats the chime back and forth between his golden paws. She looks closely at the deck in front of her. She slowly turns the third card over -she spits her gum out and it’s instantly covered in cat hair as it hits the fuzzy carpet- she stares at the card of Ten Swords.

   Meowgi is on his back, the chime on his belly in between his paws as he stops and looks up at her, he then goes right back to purring and playing with his shiny metal ball.