Excerpt: Fall of Glory

The sky was a deep shade of periwinkle as David Graham walked down the path to the lake. He was hypersensitive to everything around him, the reedy blades of grass between his toes, the sweet taste of dusk air. Someone across the way had a fire going -- he could smell the thick, heady musk of burning cedar. He shivered slightly under the thin cotton of his shirt. The weather had been gradually sliding into winter for about a month now, leaving frost on the grass in the morning. It wouldn’t be long before the lake began to freeze. Now, it lapped against the dock in hollow drumbeats. The frogs, hidden amongst the shadows, intoned with a croaking chorus. A coyote yapped in the distance, no doubt waking for its nightly hunt.

He wasn’t wearing shoes; he hadn’t had time to put them on, and he didn’t really need them anyway. His feet found their way to the cold of the stepping stones, hard, slippery, grave markers hidden in the overgrown grass. The dock stood before him, stretching out over the lake on thin stilts.. He would miss being up north. He would miss the purity of the air, the silence of the wilderness, the changing of the fall leaves.

The dock creaked beneath him, shaking slightly. He walked to the very end of it and stopped with his toes pointing over the edge. He leaned over, looking down into the water. His face glowed blue in the reflection, kaleidoscope images shifting and changing over his rugged features. Changing, changing. The only permanent thing is change. He’d once heard that at a lecture back in his university days. He had never understood how true that was until now.

He knew he should feel worse about what was about to happen. He really couldn’t bring himself to find such emotion, though. All he had was a dull ache inside, as if he’d been in mourning and was just coming out a deep depression. He was tired; tired of thinking, tired of running, tired of trying to be something that maybe just wasn’t him. He stared at the lake, flowing beneath his feet. He briefly wondered how many generations his lake had seen. There were millions of molecules floating around in that lake, for thousands of years. He wondered if he’d get to see it this way again…if anyone would get to see it this way. Sooner or later, everything would change.

“Hey,” he called out to the darkness.

There was no reply, save for the constant thump of water under the dock. The car was parked around the other side of the house, so whoever was nearby would not be able to see him yet.

His hair ruffled slightly, a friendly gesture of the wind.

A beer can floated by. He almost laughed. He shook his head instead, a wry grin forming upon his lips.

“You finally got me, huh? Can’t we just talk for a minute?”

A creak answered his call this time, indicating someone walking along the wraparound porch of the A-frame cabin.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Graham said. He felt as of he were talking to himself, although he knew he wasn’t.

A twig snapped in the forest, surprising him. He hadn’t anticipated more than one of them – had his pursuers caught up with him faster than expected? Or had they sent more than one of their henchmen to do the deed?

“Look! I’m on the end of a dock. Where else am I going to go? I don’t have a weapon. And believe you me, I couldn’t lift a hand to deck someone even if I wanted to.”

More rustling. Graham raised his hands and turned around.

A shape burst out of the forest. Heavy, irregular footsteps. They came fast at him, running down towards the dock. He couldn’t make out the whole shape. Then, a figure slipped into the moonlight.

“Sieg?”

His Swiss Mountain Dog bounded towards him. The bushy animal skidded to a halt at his feet, tail down and whining. The patched on his fur that should have been white were stained red. Whoever was pursuing him had been in his house and had left the door open. They had also apparently kicked his dog.

He felt someone watching him. It was an uneasy feeling, being watched without knowing whose eyes were burning though his body. Seconds ago, it seemed, he had been the one doing the watching. He looked up just as a dark figure on the porch of the cottage raised a long, thin object to its shoulder. Graham immediately knew the familiar shape. A rifle.

“I have the plans,” he said calmly, holding the memory key up with one hand, the othe rat equal height in a gesture of surrender.
“Doesn’t matter,” said a man’s voice, “it’s too late to be sorry now.”

“Don’t you want them?” Graham asked.

“No,” called the voice, “all I want it to put a bullet through that thick skull of yours.”

“Then why haven’t you done that before?”

“I couldn’t find you.”

Graham was confused. Hadn’t they known his whereabouts for quite a while, now?

“I’m going to pull this trigger right now. And it’s going to be extremely satisfying.”

“No…” he said under his breath. He knew this had been an inevitable ending to his adventure. He suddenly felt angry. Angry about everything. He was angry about the betrayal, about his plans, about his goddamn dog, and most of all about the fact that he couldn’t feel anything else. Nothing but anger. He didn’t want to die this way. He stood still, letting the man take aim.

“Just know I did this for you!” He yelled to the figure, “I did this for all of us!”
The only answer he got was a singeing red light in this retina as the rifle’s scope found his head.

The crack of a rifle cut through the late autumn air. A body slumped over, instantly dead. For a moment, all was silent on Elk Lake.