The Hauntings of Playing God (The Great De-Evolution) Read Online Free PDF Page A

connected, that Elaine would have died anyway.
    Morgan rubs her friend’s arm where the IV had been. A slight bruise remains on Elaine’s forearm, pinpointing the spot where her life might have been saved. There is no intelligent reason for this gesture, nothing that can make a difference, but it makes her feel like maybe she can rub life right back into her friend’s body. She might as well be rubbing her friend’s feet or washing her hair, but she is desperate.
    “I should have sat up with you. I should have made sure you didn’t pull the tube out. I should have done something else.” She says this to the entire gymnasium, as if defending her need for sleep to the jury of Blocks she is surrounded by.
    The only response she gets is the click of the air conditioning unit as it kicks on to provide relief from the warm Miami mornings.
    “Oh my God,” she says, looking around.
    Sixty-four bodies surround her. Distracted, her fingers relax. Elaine’s hand immediately falls to the side of the cot, where it hangs without swaying.
    “My God,” she says again.
    She is alone. For the first time in her life, she is utterly and truly alone. With her are a gymnasium full of people relying on her to stay alive. Four quadrants of sixteen bodies depending on her. Sixty-four souls with her as their protector. And yet she is alone.
    “Oh my God,” she says again.
    Behind her, she hears the imaginary voices of over fifty people say, in unison, “You aren’t alone. You have us.”
    “Is that why the game was so important?” she says, looking down at Elaine.
    What else can she say? Her head falls into her hands. She sobs over the body of the only other person who knew what she was going through, who helped care for the Blocks. It is only when she has cried so long, no new tears able to fall, that she remembers to brush her hand over her friend’s eyelids.
    The eyes, which had been staring up at the rafters, or beyond, finally close.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    6
     
     
    The forklift starts on the first try. Even so, Morgan sits atop it, motionless, until she assesses what she is supposed to do and judges whether or not she can do it. A wood block has been added to the pedal so her miniature legs can reach it. It takes both of her hands to move a lever that a normal driver is supposed to be able to throw around with ease. She only knows how to operate the damn thing because she watched George use it so many times.
    “Dear lord,” she mutters.
    The machine’s loud rumble cancels any noise created by the power generator and air conditioner. A pile of blankets conceal her friend’s body so she doesn’t have to see it. The same stack of blankets makes it impossible for Morgan not to think about the times, as a kid, when she hid in the laundry during games of hide-and-go-seek, waiting to see if her mother could find her. Now, the bundle of blankets hides a body from sight before it goes into the incinerator.
    There is no other way to dispose of bodies. Certainly, she cannot dig a grave. The body has to be removed from the area some way, though, or else disease will creep in and spread throughout the entire gymnasium. And she can’t simply abandon the body outside the gymnasium. Predators would be attracted to the remains and begin circling the building she calls home. Instead, anyone who dies is carried to the flames.
    The duty used to belong to George. Any time a Block passed away, George would climb up into the forklift, position it in place, and take the body to the fire. Every once in a while he had to reposition the forklift three or four times before it was aligned with the bed correctly, and Morgan and Elaine realized George’s eyesight must have been failing him more than he was willing to admit.
    “Would you like help?” they would ask him.
    “I’m fine,” he always replied, moving his thick glasses up on his nose and squinting.
    “Are you sure?”
    But instead of answering, he would shake his head and