The Caretaker of Lorne Field

Chapter 11

Jack Durkin bought a machete at the Army Surplus store for twenty-five dollars. Jerry Hallwell eyed him suspiciously as he rung up the sale.

“What are you buying a machete for?” he asked.

“Wha’cha think for? My weeding.”

“I heard you weren’t doing that anymore.”

“You heard wrong. Put that in a bag.”

Hallwell gave Durkin a long look before doing as he’d asked. Durkin handed him thirty dollars and Hallwell counted out the change.

“It looks like you lost a lot of weight.”

“Special diet.”

Hallwell nodded soberly. “I’m sorry to hear about Bert,” he said.

Durkin’s lips formed two grim lines as they pushed hard together, but other than that gave no indication he heard. He took his change and the machete and left the store. After buying some aspirin at the drug store, he took out what he had left from the money Hank had given him and counted six dollars and change. He chewed on a handful of aspirin, then walked across the street to the diner and took one of the booths.

When the waitress came over, he ordered scrambled eggs, sausage, pancakes and a pot of coffee. The waitress hung around looking uncomfortable. Durkin thought it was because of the way he looked and smelled, but then she started to tell him how sorry she was about what happened to Bert. He looked up at her and saw her smiling somewhat sad and brittle. She was young, no older than twenty, blond, and thin as a stick-maybe even skinnier than he had become. He saw her name tag read Nancy Wilkens and realized she was Lucy and Ed’s little girl, all grown up.

“Thank you, honey,” he told her.

She nodded, her smile growing sadder. “I used to see Bert riding his bike around town, always carrying his fishing pole. He was such a nice boy.”

The muscles along Durkin’s jaw hardened. He turned and looked out the window. After he felt her leave, he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.

She brought the coffee pot first and he emptied it quickly, drinking six cups from it. She brought another pot with her when she brought the food. He had no appetite and barely tasted any of what he ate, but he knew he was going to need his strength. He knew he was going to have a hard night in front of him. He methodically finished what was on his plate, then sat back and drank more coffee. When the second pot was empty, Nancy came over and asked if he’d like more coffee or anything else.

“Nothing more, thanks,” he said, trying hard to smile at her. “Just the bill.”

“There’s no bill, Mr. Durkin. This is on me.”

“That ain’t right-”

“No, please.”

Jack Durkin took the six dollars and change that he had left and placed it on the table. “I can still leave a tip,” he said, winking. Before she could argue with him, he pushed himself out of the booth and hobbled out of the diner.

Shayes Pond could’ve made a nice Monet oil painting, with the lily pads floating on the surface and willow trees scattered along the banks. Jack Durkin knew Bert liked to go fishing there, and more times than not would bring home fresh water bass that he caught from the pond. Like Bert, Durkin went fishing a lot when he was younger, usually at a spot he’d discovered at Crystal Pond, but he could see why Bert liked this place. Once Durkin took over as Caretaker, that part of his life was gone. He saved his fishing pole and gave it to Lester when he turned ten, but Lester never really had any interest in it, and eventually his prized fishing pole ended up in Bert’s hands.

Probably because it was a school day, he had the place to himself. No other boys like Bert out there fishing. In a way he was disappointed. He found a grassy spot in the sun and sat down. For weeks he had heard nothing but his own moaning and sighing, but here he could hear bullfrogs in the weeds and squirrels and birds chattering noisily in the trees. The racket they made was soothing. It made him want to close his eyes, but he fought the urge. He had too much to think about. It was only three o’clock and he had hours to wait before it would be safe to head back to Lorne Field and deal with the Aukowies. There was still one-third of the field that he had never gotten to, and given all day to grow unabated that part would be covered by one-foot high Aukowies. He knew the Aukowies on the rest of the field would reach at least six inches high. Even at his strongest, he doubted whether he’d be able to handle the field like that. In his present shape, the only chance he had was using the machete.

He found himself staring at the pond and trying to picture Bert sitting on the bank with his fishing pole. After a while he gave in and let his eyelids close, then lay down on his back and felt the sun warming his face. Every time he’d start to drift off he’d think of Bert being hit by a truck and he’d be jolted awake. It got to where all he could see in his mind’s eye was Bert’s lifeless body.

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them hard with the palms of his hands and tried to blot out that image.

What haven’t I done for you? he thought. What more do you need to take from me? I’m beggin’ you, just tell me which one you’re doing, punishing me or testing me? Which one is it?

He cried then. Tears lined his heavily-weathered face, his chest aching with each sob. After a while his exhaustion caught up to him and he passed into something between sleep and unconsciousness.

It was dark when Durkin woke. Disoriented, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Slowly it came back to him and he remembered everything that happened that day. He remembered what happened at the field. He remembered about his son. He squinted hard at his watch and saw it was nine thirty-five. After chewing on some aspirin, he found the machete next to him, pushed himself to his feet and got on Lester’s bike.

He rode first to the Caretaker’s cabin, then onto what used to be the dirt path to Lorne Field. They had turned it into a dirt road wide enough for two cars. At the start of the path the town had posted a sign warning against trespassers and announcing that construction would be starting soon for a new subdivision of luxury homes. When he reached the field there was enough moonlight for him to see that the shed was gone. He searched further back in the woods from where the shed had been and found remnants of it there. Picking through the pile of broken boards, he found his flashlight, tested it to make sure it still worked, and walked back to the edge of the field and flashed the light over it.

It was as he expected it. At the end closest to him the Aukowies were a foot-high and swayed towards the light. It was a cool, crisp night, with the air dead still, but he could see them swaying. He could see their faces waiting in anticipation. His jaw muscles set, he took the machete and went to work.

An hour later he had made only a small dent in the field. He stopped to wipe the sweat from his face, then rested with his hands on his knees and waited for the pounding in his chest and temples to slow down. Off in the distance he could see headlights coming down the new dirt road. As Wolcott’s jeep came closer, the headlights framed him. The jeep came to a stop with the engine still running and the headlights left on. Wolcott stepped out of it. The lights were bright enough that Durkin had put a hand to his eyes as he squinted towards Wolcott. Wolcott’s face was left mostly in shadows.

“Is that a machete you’re holding?”

Durkin was still winded from his exertion. He tried answering, but couldn’t manage the breath necessary. Even buried in shadows, he could see the harshness on Wolcott’s face.

“Damn it, Jack, put the machete down.”

“Dan, I’m only doing what I have to. Why don’t you go home and leave me alone.”

“Put the machete down now! This is the last time I’m telling you!”

Wolcott’s hand dropped to his service revolver. Durkin looked from him to the field of Aukowies.

“They dug up this field today, didn’t they?” Durkin said. “At least enough for their road. How come if these are just weeds, they’re growin’ here as strong as ever?”

“I don’t know, Jack, and to tell you the truth, I don’t care. They’re only weeds. That’s all they are.”

“If that’s true, how about you stepping out among them? You do that and I’ll drop the machete. Not only that, I’ll never come back here. I promise on my son’s grave.”

“Damn it, Jack, if those were really monsters growing out there, don’t you think the army would’ve been brought in, or something like that? You really think they would’ve left it to one man to protect the world?”

Durkin kept his gaze fixed on the Aukowies. “It’s been done this way for a reason. Once Aukowies are given a chance to mature, bullets and bombs won’t make much of a difference to them,” he said. He could hear Wolcott swearing to himself. He kept his gaze focused where it was. He didn’t want to look at Wolcott.

“Is that what it’s going to take to satisfy you? Fine, Jack, I’ll take a little stroll among your weeds.”

Wolcott walked past him. Jack Durkin closed his eyes and covered both his ears with his hands. He didn’t want to see what was going to happen next, and he certainly didn’t want to hear it.