Dave Zeltserman - The Caretaker of Lorne Field

All of Durkin’s strength bled out of him as those thoughts crept into his mind. He grabbed onto a tree for support, his legs wobbly beneath him. He decided then that he would have to ignore the contract and transfer the Caretaker position to his second son. What was wrong with that? After losing his thumb, Lester was probably no longer even capable of doing the job. It was just common sense. Durkin felt better, less shaky, at least for the moment. Then all his recent transgressions came crashing down on him. First letting an Aukowie grow to one foot in height, then leaving the field before finishing his weeding for the day, and now this. Up until two days ago he had lived his life exactly to the letter of the contract, never wavering, never making any exceptions. As far as he knew, all Durkins before him had done the same. And now this.

The first Durkin to turn his back on the contract…

He was so damn cold. His tongue had turned fuzzy, like he had swallowed a wool sock.

The same one that his pa and grandpa and every Durkin before them held sacred. And now one intentional violation after the next…

His head reeled with that thought. The ground started to slip sideways on him. Then the sky went black and the earth rushed up to meet him, smacking him in the face. He didn’t even feel it. He couldn’t feel anything except being so damn cold. He tried to lift his head up through the blackness but couldn’t.

Dear God, he thought, I’m going to die right now and nobody’s going to be left to save the world. I do believe in you. Please, I want so much to believe in you.

He didn’t die, though. He realized he had only fainted. After a minute or so the blackness started to fade. Slowly, he rolled onto his back. He lifted his hand in front of his eyes and could see its outline through a dim haze. He dropped his hand to his forehead, resting it there. His skin felt so damn clammy and wet. He shivered, realizing his shirt was drenched in cold sweat. After several more minutes he was able to push himself to a sitting position. He had dropped the camcorder when he fell and was now reaching out with his arms trying to locate it. He felt it, then gathered it up and pushed himself to his feet. He made a decision then. He was-n’t going to violate the contract again. No more exceptions.

He steadied himself, waiting until he had some strength in his legs, then set off down the path again. He was surprised when he turned the next bend to see Sheriff Wolcott leaning against a tree.

“Jack,” Wolcott said, nodding.

“What are you doing here?” Durkin asked, his voice coming out as a low croak. “You’re not supposed to be out at Lorne Field. It’s against the contract.”

“I don’t believe I’m at Lorne Field.” Wolcott slapped his neck and studied the palm of his hand before wiping it against his pants leg. “I’ve been standing here waiting for you and getting bit up by mosquitoes. Damn things are the size of hummingbirds here. I don’t know how the hell you stand it.”

“What do you want?”

“Jesus, Jack, you know what I want. Your son had his thumb cut off. You need to tell me about it.” Wolcott’s eyes narrowed. “Jack, is something wrong? You look sick.”

“Never mind how I’m feeling. You ain’t my doctor.”

Wolcott chuckled softly. “No, I’m not. But you don’t look well at all. What happened out there today, Jack?”

“Didn’t you talk to Lester yet?”

“Not yet. He’s doped up on painkillers and his doctor asked me to wait ’til tomorrow.”

Durkin felt lightheaded and almost lost his balance. He could see that Wolcott noticed it.

“So Lester’s okay?” he asked.

“As okay as a seventeen-year-old boy can be after having his thumb chopped off.”

“It wasn’t chopped off.”

Wolcott raised an eyebrow and waited for Durkin to explain further.

“Lydia knows what happened. She didn’t tell you?”

“All she said was that there had been an accident.”

“That’s all she told you?”

“Jack, what happened?”

Durkin met Wolcott’s eyes and told him that an Aukowie had gotten Lester’s thumb.

“Come on, Jack-”

“I’m tellin’ you what happened.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“That’s what happened.”

“Damn it, Jack, I’m trying to give you every benefit of the doubt here.” Grimacing suddenly, the sheriff slapped hard at his forearm, then his right ear. He looked back at Durkin and shook his head at him as if he were talking to a five-year-old child. “I need you to explain it to me, Jack.”

“Don’t you patronize me. Not after what I do for you and your family everyday.”

“Yeah, I know, you save the world for us. Thanks, Jack, we appreciate it. But you have to tell me exactly how Lester lost his thumb. And telling me that an Aukowie got it isn’t good enough.”

“It ain’t, huh? I wish I could take you down to that field so you could see for yourself.”

“Is that a threat, Jack?”

“Nope, just something I wish I could do.”

Wolcott straightened up, flinched and slapped the back of his neck. He searched the palm of his hand to see if he’d been quick enough. “Well, why don’t we do that, Jack?” he offered.

“I can’t. That would be violating my contract.”

“You violated it earlier today, didn’t you, Jack? When you brought Lester in from the field?”

Durkin’s face reddened. “Yes, I did,” he admitted.

“Of course you did,” Wolcott said. “You had to. What else were you going to do? Leave your son out there to bleed to death?”

Durkin stared stone-faced at Wolcott. Wolcott waited for a response but didn’t get any. He slapped at another mosquito, then sighed as he glanced at his watch.

“Look, Jack, it’s getting late. I have a family to get home to. Why don’t we take a walk back to the field and you can explain to me what happened.”

Durkin didn’t say anything, just continued to stare hard at the sheriff. Wolcott smiled pleasantly. “Come on, Jack,” he said, “you violated your contract once today, what’s one more time?”

“I ain’t doing it. Not never again.”

Wolcott started to sigh, then hopped to one side, ducking his head and brushing furiously at his ear. “Goddamn these mosquitoes!’ he swore. He glared angrily at Durkin, his temper slipping away. “I want to hear right now what happened to Lester’s thumb,” he demanded, all signs of folksy pleasantness gone from his manner.

“Not much to tell. Lester dropped this camcorder. When he reached down to pick it up one of the Aukowies chewed his thumb off. It all happened too fast for me to do anything about it.”

“You’re telling me a weed bit off his thumb?”

“They ain’t weeds.”

Wolcott put a hand to his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and index finger. He did for a while. When he took his hand away his eyes were rimmed with red. “Jack,” he said, “you realize how nuts this sounds?”

“That’s what happened. Ask Lester if you don’t believe me.”

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Wolcott repeated softly. “You’re making this so damn hard on yourself. You want me to arrest you right now?”

“What for?”

“What for? How about maiming your son?”

“I didn’t touch Lester. Ask him yourself.”

“Sure. You didn’t touch him. A weed bit off his thumb.” Wolcott rubbed his eyes again, then pushed his hand through his hair. His hair was damp enough with sweat that it spiked up. “What was Lester doing with the camcorder?” he asked.

“He was helping me videotape those Aukowies in action.”

“Yeah? You didn’t by any chance videotape that weed biting off your son’s thumb?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He was videotaping me trying to dig up one of the Aukowies when the damn thing whipped the spade out of my hands. That was when Lester stumbled and dropped the camcorder. Maybe it landed so it was pointing in the right direction to videotape what happened to Lester.”