Page 17 of Heartless
"Oh, what's he like?"
"Eh, you'll meet him soon."
I could picture Larkan now, his back ramrod straight as he shook my father's hand and called him 'sir'. He'd be the type of guy to compliment my mother's cooking and do the dishes for her. My parents would love him, and as much as I hated to admit it, he was pissing me off a lot less. He protected Mari on that mission to Blakeworth, and returned her to me without so much as a scratch. The kid deserved a patch, and my respect, for that alone.
"He's her only one? She always did prefer that."
"Yes, and before you ask any more questions..." I pointed at him, cigarette between my fingers. "You've kept me waiting long enough, old man. Your turn to tell me where you've been all these years."
"Alright, alright." He took a deep drag, holding it in his chest for a moment before releasing it out.
"Some militia came to the commune one night," he began. "They were all in black, no insignia, unmarked vans, that whole business we heard whispers of, but never thought it was true. They came in with rifles and riot gear, started pounding on doors and yelling for people to get in the vans."
"Fuck," I said. My cigarette was already halfway gone.
"Noelle was asleep. Carter stuck her in the cellar and told her not to move or make a sound until you came for her. But other than that, no one had time to react. We were outnumbered and they were takingeveryone, kids and old folks too. No one wanted to provoke these sons of bitches."
"Where'd they take you?"
"Their base, a bunch of old bunkers in Nevada. These guys called themselves the Original Patriots, saying they were trying to restore the country to its former glory, can you believe it? Kidnapping a bunch of families just trying to live peacefully and they call themselves patriots?"
"What did they want with all of you?" I finished my smoke and stuck another one in my mouth, already way past my usual daily amount, but also past the point of caring.
"Different tasks, depending on what they needed to run their camp. Soldiers, cooks, cleaners. They used children to run messages back and forth. We had to do everything we were told, on penalty of death. Some patriots, huh? And they wanted all the multi-husband families separated. It was to repent for our 'sinful ways'," he air-quoted.
"So what'd you end up doing?"
"They deemed Carter and I too old to be soldiers, so we were assigned to be mechanics. On opposites sides of the compound of course, once they figured out we were part of the same household. Your mom was in laundry and cooking for the first two years or so. That was hell. Carter and I barely saw her, and we weren't allowed to talk to her either. Then, uh," Dad paused, looking out over the river as he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, "Carter got hurt."
"How?" I demanded, anger already boiling in me for what my second father must have suffered.
"Piece of machinery fell on him," Dad sighed. "Broke his leg in three places. I didn't know until days after. When your mom found out, she somehow got hold of a welding torch and made him a cane so he could get around a bit. But his leg was fucked and the poor guy was in so much pain."
"Was there no medic?" I snarled. "Did no one even try to heal him?"
"Only the chosen ones, the Patriots, got medical attention," Dad said bitterly. "We had to repent for some indefinite amount of time before we could have that privilege."
"Fuck." I dragged on my cigarette only to find I had finished that one too. "How long were you there for?"
"Seven years." His voice was heavy with sadness. "We lost Carter after five. His leg got infected and he just kept getting worse. Your mom tried to sneak over to see him whenever she could, but he put a stop to that. He didn't want to risk her getting caught and punished. Last time I saw him, he was feverish, weak. Leg smelled like death." Dad sighed. "He was just gone the next morning. Bed stripped clean."
"You never saw his body?"
"They had a mass grave out in the desert for those that passed. Most likely they dumped him out there, but we'd be shot on sight if we tried to go find him."
"Fuck," I groaned, the desire to smoke completely gone. My stomach turned with nausea instead. "Guess I'm pouring my first whiskey out for Carter tonight."
None of my fathers had been weak men. Finn, my bio-dad, served twenty-two years in the Air Force and retired as a Major. Nolan, Daren's dad, had worked in farming his whole life and was built like a brick house. Cancer had taken him too young, withering him away to nothing within a year when Daren was twelve and I was fourteen. But it was Carter, Noelle's father, who stood like a mountain even when the other two had met their limit.
Never in my life had I heard Carter moan about being in pain. My dads were all roughly the same age, and I remembered Nolan and Finn bitching about aching joints and sore backs when I was a preteen. Carter would just snort and tell them to stop being pussies. They always ran in the early mornings and worked out together, with Carter always pushing himself the hardest.
I looked to Hades, sitting regally on the lawn next to us with his paws stretched out in front of him. His ear flicked in my direction, head tilting to acknowledge the question in my mind.
Carter Daley is at rest,the omniscient voice echoed through me. A brief summation, but one that comforted the agitated churning in my stomach.
"I always thought he'd last the longest, of all of us." Dad nodded, echoing my thoughts while giving no indication that he heard the voice.
"How'd you and Mom make it to Four Corners then?" I asked
