CivilWarLand in Bad Decline: Stories and a Novella Read Online Free PDF

trail.
    “Ouch,” Mr. A says. “This could be a serious negative.”
    In the foyer the kids are trying to get the loaches in the corporate tank to eat bits of Styrofoam. I phone Evelyn and tell her what happened and she calls me a butcher. She wants to know how on earth I could bring the boys to the Park knowing what I knew. She says she doesn’t see howI’m going to live with myself in light of how much they trusted and loved me and how badly I let them down by leaving their fates to chance.
    I say I’m sorry and she seems to be thinking. Then she tells me just get them home without putting them in further jeopardy assuming that’s within the scope of my mental powers.
    At home she puts them in the tub and sends me out for pizza. I opt for Melvin’s Pasta Lair. Melvin’s a religious zealot who during the Depression worked five jobs at once. Sometimes I tell him my troubles and he says I should stop whining and count my blessings. Tonight I tell him I feel I should take some responsibility for eliminating the Samuel problem but I’m hesitant because of the discrepancy in our relative experience in violence. He says you mean you’re scared. I say not scared, just aware of the likelihood of the possibility of failure. He gives me a look. I say it must have been great to grow up when men were men. He says men have always been what they are now, namely incapable of coping with life without the intervention of God the Almighty. Then in the oven behind him my pizza starts smoking and he says case in point.
    He makes me another and urges me to get in touch with my Lord personally. I tell him I will. I always tell him I will.
    When I get home they’re gone.
    Evelyn’s note says: I could never forgive you for putting our sons at risk. Goodbye forever, you passive flake. Don’t try to find us. I’ve told the kids you sent us away in order to marry a floozy.
    Like an idiot I run out to the street. Mrs. Schmidt isprodding her automatic sprinkler system with a rake, trying to detect leaks in advance. She asks how I am and I tell her not now. I sit on the lawn. The stars are very near. The phone rings. I run inside prepared to grovel, but it’s only Mr. A. He says come down to the Park immediately because he’s got big horrific news.
    When I get there he’s sitting in his office half-crocked. He tells me we’re unemployed. The investors have gotten wind of the bird-watcher shootings and withdrawn all support. The Park is no more. I tell him about Evelyn and the kids. He says that’s the least of his worries because he’s got crushing debt. He asks if I have any savings he could have. I say no. He says that just for the record and my own personal development, he’s always found me dull and has kept me around primarily for my yes-man capabilities and because sometimes I’m so cautious I’m a hoot.
    Then he says: Look, get your ass out, I’m torching this shithole for insurance purposes.
    I want to hit or at least insult him, but I need this week’s pay to find my kids. So I jog off through the Park. In front of Information Hoedown I see the McKinnons cavorting. I get closer and see that they’re not cavorting at all, they’ve inadvertently wandered too close to their actual death site and are being compelled to act out again and again the last minutes of their lives. The girls are lying side by side on the ground and the Mr. is whacking at them with an invisible scythe. The Mrs. is belly-up with one arm flailing in what must have been the parlor. The shrieking is mind-boggling. When he’s killed everyone the Mr. walks out to his former field and mimes blowing out his brains. Then he gets up and starts over. It goes on and on, through five cycles. Finallyhe sits down in the dirt and starts weeping. The Mrs. and the girls backpedal away. He gets up and follows them, pitifully trying to explain.
    Behind us the Visitor Center erupts in flames.
    The McKinnons go off down the hill, passing through bushes and trees.