John Miller - The Last Day

Watcher held the knife up and ran his eyes over the curve of the gleaming blade. On a cold October night in Afghanistan, he had killed three men with this knife in the space of thirty seconds, give or take. They became notches on the hilt.

He thought about another day when he'd used the same knife.

Watcher crouched among trees, silent, listening. In the late afternoon light, he could see the lake, fractioned by the trees, and he heard the drone of speedboats. He had been sitting with his back against a pine tree when he saw the boy leave the tent and step out near the still-smoldering campfire. The boy picked up a stick, squatted, and began prodding curiously at the coals. The child was a beautiful creature-a tow-headed boy of three, and Watcher smiled as a shaft of sunlight illu minated the buttons of the boy's spine. Inside the tent a woman lay sleeping. Watcher was close enough that he could just hear the child's stick punching through the crusty bed of ash.

The boy wore a wrinkled red swimsuit and sandals. After a few minutes of poking, the child grew bored, and started to wander aimlessly around the campsite. Watcher stood and crept silently within fifteen feet of the boy.

The child turned his head and saw something that caught his attention. He approached curiously the rotting trunk of a fallen tree. The boy's excited laughter floated to his stalker. Holding the stick like a sword, the child began stabbing at something in the leaves beside the tree.

Watcher moved swiftly, using the boy's laughter to cover his footsteps, and he swept his way quickly around behind the child. Three paces behind the boy, Watcher reached down, unsnapped the knife from its sheath, and drew out the curved blade. In one fluid motion, he flipped the knife in the air, caught the blade with his fingers, and threw the knife hard.

The child squealed as the knife hit home.

Watcher grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him aside, looking down to see his knife pinning down a three- foot- long snake, its sleek body covered over with a light and dark copper- colored pattern. The inch- wide triangular head rose and the snake tried in vain to strike. Small sharp fangs curved from the roof of the reptile's open mouth.

“ ’Nake!” the boy shouted, laughing. “ ’Nake!” He raised the stick and swatted at the reptile, striking its thick body behind where the blade had it pinned to the exposed root of the tree.

The snake writhed futilely until Watcher stepped on its head and withdrew the Randall. Watcher pressed down hard, feeling the small skull give as he moved his boot as though grinding out a cigarette. He reached down in a swift movement and severed the flattened head from the copperhead's body. After wiping the snake's blood and dirt off onto his black jeans, Watcher slid the knife back into its leather sheath and snapped the strap.

He reached down, picked up the severed head, and cast it off into the woods.

Turning, he lifted the startled child into the air, raising him as high as his arms allowed. When he lowered the boy he kissed him on his warm soft cheek and hugged him to his chest.

“Snakes will bite you, and you can die,” Watcher explained. “You never mess with snakes.”

“Bad ’nake,” the boy said, throwing his small arms around Watcher's neck and squeezing as hard as he could.

“You have to be careful,” Watcher said. “The world is full of danger, and I won't always be here to protect you.”

Alice Palmer reached under her bed and took out the model car so her boyfriend, Earl Tucker, could see it. He took it in his hands and turned it in the sunlight streaming in through the window to get a better look.

Her mother hated Earl, and that alone made him appealing to Alice. She told Alice that Earl lacked class, had no sense of propriety, and had been shorted crucial social filters necessary for any interaction more involved than buying cigarettes in a convenience store. She further said he looked like a shiftless, genetically crippled cartoon hick. She said that the biggest decision he'd made in life was not only that being an illiterate black man was glamorous, but that he actually was one.

At nineteen, Earl was six feet four inches tall and had never in his life weighed more than one hundred and fifty pounds. He smoked Newport cigarettes, and did whatever drugs he could get his hands on. He had closely cropped hair, acne, a pronounced overbite, and large ears you could see light through. When he talked he motioned with his hands as though he was communicating with an invisible audience using sign language. Because he didn't have a regular job he was available when Alice wanted company. It wasn't like she planned to marry him or anything.

“So… know ah'm sayin’?… this same perv that's on the TV news gave you this and he wants it back enough to pay you five hundred dollars for it?” he asked. “Jesus… know ah'm saying?… this is our lucky day.”

“That's right,” she said. “He doesn't look like a pervert, but according to the news he is.”

“And, like we know, you know, look, he wanted to fuck you because you, you know, look like a little kid.”

“I never said that. He was just friendly, is all.”

“He wanted to fuck you, a’ight. I think he gave you the little car, like but when you said you wouldn't suck him off in the airplane bathroom, he took it back. So, look here now, you friggin’ snatched it out of being angry and scared and like that. Indian- giving son of a bitch likes young stuff. And he has big bucks, right?”

She shrugged. “How would I know that?”

“He has his own damned company. He owns the big place they showed on the TV How much you reckon we could ask him for? To keep his unproper advances on you quiet. A lot, is how much, know ah'm sayin’? Like I could get my tattoo finished, man.”

“The detective said five hundred bucks.”

“I figure it's worth like a thousand, you know? Like maybe a lot more than a thou,” he said, smiling to show the top row of prominent yellow teeth. “That's a starting point for a negotiating placement. Like see, they say one, you say naw it gone be more like ten, and we settle right smack in the middle.”

“His investigator gave me weird vibes. I think I better take the five hundred and get it over with.”

“You got this perv by the gonadies, my darling. You just say if this pervert don't pay the five grand, you might jes have to talk to the man about him putting his hands on your leg. Maybe saying he'd pay you-know ah'm sayin’?-to put on a Catholic schoolgirl uniform and let him fuck you while you sucked on his lollipop.”

“It was on an airplane. I doubt he thought I could get a school uniform on a plane. And how could he screw me while I did that, like I even would?”

“Naw, dig this, I mean later on, baby doll. He gave you that little card with your picture drawed on it so you could call him and set things up in a motel, you see. Let your brain create a little here. A real- life eighteen- year- old virgin that looks more like about thirteen. He wanted to talk to you. Anybody that wouldn't is a queer, pure and simple, know ah mean?”

Alice smiled at the compliment. “You think I look thirteen?” Earl was generous with compliments only when he was horny or had an idea about what she could steal, which was about always.

“You call this dude back and tell him he needs to make us a better offer? Then you say you can't be bothered to think about it fa’ less’n five grands and you ’ont come off that number even if hell freezes up. He tries to say no, you tell him you are going to talk to the cops about him trying to touch yo’ snatch and saying you looked maybe twelve or some shit, and ’bout him wanting to get a motel room and all ’at. Stick to it. I'll be right there to give you like lots of my own love and mental support you need. If he gets rough and tries anything I'll have my dad's gat.”