Shooting Towards The Moon

by Gray Compass

Sole Survivor

"Bedford Police Department, how can I help you?"

"Chief Stevenson?"

"Yes... Who is it?" A fairly recognizable voice asked.

There was silence on the line.

"Todd- Todd McRaven, sir." I replied hesitatingly.

"What's the matter Todd? Anything wrong?" He asked.

"Sir... My brother is dead."

---

That wasn't a good morning. Not that I expected it to be.

My eyes were heavy like two round pebbles, dark patches underneath them. The bruises and scratches ached under the slightest touch. I had not a minute of peace since the night before; I was tired, hungry, hurt — there was a dead body buried on the front lawn
— and a unicorn hiding somewhere inside the old storehouse.

A firetruck was parked sideways between me and the farmhouse. They arrived shortly after the police. We lived in an isolated place; there were crops for miles and miles. Bedford was the nearest town — I hadn't many choices.

"So... You buried him?"

Chief Stevenson was a very respected man; people treated him like a guru, as if he had answers to all things. His grizzly hair and deep blue eyes reflected a kind of hidden knowledge. All things considered, time was quite generous with him.

"I didn't know what to do." I replied, feeling a little nauseated as I saw the firefighters carrying away a white body bag. The shallow grave now empty again.

"You should have called as soon as you got home. Do you see how suspicious this whole thing looks like, Todd?" Stevenson asked, taking off his hat.

"With all due respect sir... do you think I'd have buried him — right there in front of our house — if I was planning to hide the body?" I replied, biting down my lower lip, feeling the memories finally sinking.

"It's not a matter of what I'm thinking or not, Todd. I don't make the laws-"

"He was the only thing I had, for Christ's sake!" I yelled. "I hated him at times, but for all that's sacred- he was my brother." A strange silence fell over the fields, pierced only by the cowing calls of a lonely crow perched up on the weather vane. "You worked with my father for thirty years — you know my family — or what remained of it. I'd never-"

"I know Todd." He sighed.

"We were looking for the thing in the woods, Billy had one of his panic attacks again, but this time he had a loaded gun. I tried to take it away from him and he freaked out, his foot got stuck into something, we crashed on the ground — the gun fired." I said, stumbling over the words "You can arrest me, honestly, I don't care anymore. But the forensic guys will prove my words in the end. There will be gunpowder particles under his fingernails or something."

"I'm not arresting you. Perhaps I should; I have enough reasons to do so. But I'm not." He said. "Accidents happen. But son... Your life has been this huge accident since your father passed away. That's not normal; you know it's not."

I nodded slowly.

"You'll have to sign a few papers. Bedford has no forensic department, we'll just check the body, and that's all. I'm not sending this case to the capital; I'm taking your word here." He looked at me, I did not flinched. "You'll have to provide a proper burial to-"

"I can't. I barely have money to put gas on my truck." I muttered.

"The state can only provide a cremation service." The chief said, "I'm sorry."

"No... It's alright, that's what he'd prefer." I said, recalling a conversation I had with my brother about a year after our father died. "We all turn back to dust, Chief Stevenson."

"It's on the book."

---

Behind the farmhouse there was an old building where generations of McRavens tossed anything that wasn't useful enough to be around the farm, but still useful enough to not be discarded permanently. After a few decades the place became a museum of dust, junk, and ironmongery.

"I know you're there."

My voice echoed through the storehouse, I coughed, blowing a thin cloud of dust. I pushed the front doors open as far as I could, but there wasn't enough light to fill the place. You could tear the walls apart, and still there wouldn't be enough light. Our storehouse had become almost a black hole.

"Shit..." I muttered.

"Please come out... I ain't doing anything to you." I sighed, sitting on an old rocking chair. I knew she wouldn't come out — I wouldn't — if I was in her skin.

I grabbed my flashlight and started to point it towards random objects and cracks, hoping to see that anomalous blue color.

Rising from the chair, I slowly made my way into that crumbly mess of a place. My shoes left deep impressions on the dust-covered floor, I realized that if I left footprints as I walked, she would leave some kind of hoof marks too.

Focusing my attention on the floor, it didn't took long until I found the marks I was looking for. There was only one way in — she couldn't have escaped through another path.

Judging by the way the hoof-prints were arranged, the unicorn was probably crawling when she entered the building. It'd make sense.

I stopped on my tracks, the flashlight pointed at a small trickle of blood.

"Crap."

Near the very bottom of the storehouse, an ancient-looking harvester blocked the way. The hoof-prints and blood marks continued through a narrow gap between the machine and the wall.

A muffled gasp broke the stillness of the air. I held my breath. The only sound I could hear was the rhythmic beating of my heart. But there was something else...

I squeezed myself through the gap, now there was definitely noise; she knew I was there, and she knew I wasn't leaving without her.

"Nggghh" She whimpered in pain, trying to crawl away.

"You're not going anywhere." I jumped over the loose tire of the harvester, landing behind it with a thud. The unicorn shrieked, pushing a pile of boxes towards me.

"Go away!" She yelled, as a mountain of rusty hardware crashed between us. A thick dust cloud filled the air, I leaned against the wall , almost coughing my lungs out.

I groped the surfaces near me, covering my face with an arm. I could feel the grainy taste of rust in my tongue.

When the cloud settled I realized what had happened to her. One of the boxes had tumbled over her bruised leg, she was lying on a corner, silent, tears running down her dust-covered cheeks.

As my flashlight revealed her body, she raised a hoof to cover her face. The place where the bullet had entered her leg was swollen; it didn't look good at all.

"I know you're in pain." I said. "I can help you, but you need to stay calm."

Hearing not a word in response I approached the large box that prevented the unicorn from moving. She wriggled, trying to pull her hoof, letting out a cry. "Don't-" I stopped. "Don't try to move it, you're hurting yourself even more." I approached again, grabbing the box and pushing it to the side.

"Leave m-me alone, please!"

"That's not gonna happen." Before she tried to escape again, I wrapped my arms around her body, lifting the marked one from the floor. As expected, I was met with some fierce resistance.

"Nghhhh" She groaned, twisting her limbs as I squeezed myself through the harvester gap. "G-get off me!" Boy, she could scream.

"If you kick me-" I dodged from her hooves. "If you kick me I will fall — you don't want to fall together, do ya?" I asked, she only groaned in response.

She was surprisingly lightweight for her size; I had carried deer before and they were heavier.

"Look, I don't know what the hell you are, and I understand why you'd try to run away from me, but if I leave you here you'll die. And I don't want to deal with any more deaths around these fields." I said, carrying the unicorn back to the entrance of the building, we were both covered in a fine ash-like dust. She stopped kicking, most likely because it was hurting her, not because she wanted to befriends me.

I kicked the backdoor of the farmhouse open, making my way through the kitchen and the living room.

"Put - me - down!" She grunted.

We had a very comfortable couch — one of the few nice things we still had around the house — so I laid her body there before deciding what to do. She looked quite surprised.

I raised my hands, letting out a sigh.

"Alright, listen, I'll be very honest with ya now." I said, contemplating the absurdly surreal unicorn in the living room. I pointed to her leg, she looked to the wound and back at me. "This thing in your leg — it won't heal. There's a bullet inside."

"W-what?" She murmured.

"We need to pull it out. The longer it stays there, the worse."

I needed alcohol.

"You did this to me!" She argued.

"My brother is dead because of you, alright?" I said, cleaning the dust from my face. "You're not dying under my care." I ran to the kitchen, opening the hot water tap and filling a few pans.

Alcohol. My brain reminded me.

I checked every cabinet, tossing things aside as I looked for a bottle of alcohol. We had kerosene, but not alcohol. What a crappy discovery.

"Dammit!" I kicked a chair. It bounced and hit the counter, making something on top of it clank.

My problems were solved.

I returned to the living room with the pans, some clean towels and a bottle of California Vodka. It was that or the kerosene. I knew I had a med-kit upstairs in my room, so I brought it down too.

"W-what are you going to do with that thing?" She asked, pointing to the bottle of vodka.

"Well, firstly- I will save your ass. We need to clean that wound, so it won't get an infection or something worse." I noted. "Then we can drink the rest and pretend this whole thing never happened."

Comments

[Gray Compass]

7513822 Thanks.

I like your writing style

Rare thing to hear that.