The surviving brother carried Will back to the car. The boy was no longer convulsing, but still out. Still trapped in the empty desert.
After the Trash Man’s downfall, the garbage piles looked deflated, sagging — as if they had lost their fullness when their master was destroyed.
When Will opened his eyes, they were already driving. He was in the passenger seat, head leaned against the window. Seatbelt on. Without moving his head, he said,
“Why did you come here?” His voice was groggy and slow.
The stranger didn’t answer.
“You want to die,” the boy answered his own question.
“Was the Trash Man really your brother?” he continued, head still leaning against the window.
“Yes,” he replied. Then after a pause, he added “He was Rot.”
“His name was Rot?”
“No.”
That answer didn’t explain much, but Will didn’t push. The stranger sounded distant. He had just killed his brother. He was mourning, after all.
“And you, what are you?” Will now turned to face the man.
The stranger took a deep breath. How much did he want to share? How much could he keep for himself? Nothing. He could hold nothing back from this boy. Not anymore.
“I am... the Hunter,” he said. “But some have called me Joe.”
They were near Old Moss’s house now. The sun was rising. Birds flew over the landfill, and they both looked up at the same time. Only now did they notice — they hadn’t seen any animals in the landfill. Not even bugs. But now, birds were there.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
Then Will screamed, “Stop!” Joe was startled, hitting the brakes hard. They both were thrown forward. The boy opened the door and ran towards the fridge.
“Hey, boy, don’t—” but it was too late. The boy had already opened the fridge. What he saw made him scream.
What had once been a man was now a puddle of wet fabric, sluggish tissue, dirt, moss, bones, teeth — about three — and hair. The smell was as rancid as decomposing meat, and a reeking, viscous fluid was pooling on the ground. Old Moss’s juice. It made Will jump back like a cat.
Joe was standing behind him, looking at that scene. The boy was hyperventilating and started crying.
“I’m... I’m your Old Moss now, aren’t I?” he asked, not believing what his mouth was saying. But his body already knew the answer — they were both in the desert.
Joe just nodded. What could he say? He did drag Will into this, even though he knew very well what could happen. He was so sure he’d die tonight, he hadn’t cared.
Another life, another soul he had taken.
“Will I have moss growing in me?” Will asked, breaking the trance Joe was in.
The hunter looked at him in disbelief.
“Is that what you’re worried about?”
“Well yeah!” No it wasn’t. Not only that. But it was what his teenage brain could process. Joe, however, smiled. It was a strange thing to see on his face.
“No. He was bound to Rot, so he had rot growing in him.”
“That’s it, then? I’m bound to you? What will happen to me?”
What will happen to me? The question echoed in the landfill, hanging in the air. Joe knew the answer, but how could he say it?
“Your head will be filled with voices pretty soon. Let’s go back. Then you can ask anything,” Joe said, walking back to the car.
Will was still standing there, speechless. He thought about his parents, his job, his co-worker. His games, his plans, his savings. None of these seemed to matter anymore. He had the memory of himself worrying about those things — but the feeling, the constant concern over people and plans and whatnot, was gone.
All his concern now was to stay close to the Hunter.
Protect him.