“Mike.”
Mike stared down at the bodies.
“Look at me, Mike.”
The other man, older, waved his calloused and scarred hand in front of Mike’s face, but got no response. He shaded his eyes and squinted up the road at the cloud of dust fading into the distance, stretched his arms out sideways in a shrug to the skies, dropped them to his sides, and looked again at Mike.
Mike staggered over to the gray remains of a fence that ran intermittently along the road, loosely delineating a private ditch from the public highway. He leaned his butt against the fence and wrapped his arms around himself as if he didn’t feel the blazing sun.
“Why’d you have to go ‘n’ do that?” Mike whispered.
“It wasn’t me,” said the older man.
“They made me watch. Where were you?”
“I saw it too.”
“Whyn’t you do anything?”
The older man was silent for a while, then said, “I loved her too, Mike. More than you.”
Mike finally raised his head and stared at him, seeing him for the first time, and nodded, swallowing hard.
“She talked ‘bout you a lot,” he managed. “I figured when we got together that’d die down kinda natural, but it didn’t. Not really. Once I had her, you left her though. Some father you are.”
The older man left the two bodies where they lay staining the dust and approached Mike. He didn’t lean on the fence, but stood facing him. Mike met his eyes for a few seconds, then looked down again, studying the peaks and valleys of the motorcycle tracks. After a long minute, he spoke, still tracing the lines with his eyes.
“You weren’t around at all for her, y’know? Let alone me. The flash came, billions dead, and she was afraid you mighta been gone, too. She fell asleep crying your name every night for a year.” Mike’s voice was rising now, and he looked at the older man. “And since then we been on the road, by ourselves, just trying to live and not get ate, and now you show up? Too late to do anything? Just in time to watch?”
The older man looked at him, the creases in the corners of his eyes damp with tears.
“Michael,” he said.
“What?” spat Mike.
“Come with me.”
“I wouldn’t go with you for a million bucks. Not even if you showed up ten minutes ago.”
“Come with me, Michael.”
“Y’know what? I never liked you. Not once. Never wanted to like you, not even for her.”
“Come with me, Michael.”
“Never.”
The older man stood, tears standing in his eyes but not falling, and looked at Mike. He turned and walked up the road, opposite the dust cloud, and did not turn back.
Mike sat on the fence. He stared at the bodies, his face streaked with hot tears drying into a quiet rage.
When the older man was gone, a voice at his elbow startled Mike.
“Mike.”
It was a familiar voice, but when Mike looked, he didn’t quite recognize the face. A sunburned, leathery man leaned on the other side of the fence and smiled at him.
“Do I know you?” asked Mike.
“I believe you do. You’re on my fence.”
“Sorry,” Mike said, but he didn’t get off.
The man looked at Mike and then at the bodies. He smiled again, then looked around, sniffing the air. Mike copied him, almost instinctively, and caught an acrid whiff of smoke from a far-off fire.
“Where’s your gal?” the man asked.
“I dunno,” said Mike.
“Well, half ain’t bad,” said the man. “Care for a smoke?”
“Why not,” sighed Mike. The man handed him a hand-rolled something and lit it for him. A few minutes of silence passed. Mike blew a gray stream into the afternoon and coughed, once.
“Those road gangs are something else, huh?” said the man.
“You know them?” asked Mike.
“Intimately, you might say.”
Mike frowned at the cigarette as the smoke from his lungs mingled with the dust from the road. He looked at the man, who smiled at him again.
“Let’s go,” said the man.
Mike shrugged, took a final drag on the cigarette, and flicked it into the road where it dissolved into ash. He swung his legs over to the other side of the fence, and hopped off.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” said the man, and they walked down into the ditch.
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