The Last Day

THIRTY-TWO

Watcher held the knife up and ran his eyes over the curve of the gleaming blade. On a cold October night in Afghanistan, he had killed three men with this knife in the space of thirty seconds, give or take. They became notches on the hilt.

He thought about another day when he'd used the same knife.

Watcher crouched among trees, silent, listening. In the late afternoon light, he could see the lake, fractioned by the trees, and he heard the drone of speedboats. He had been sitting with his back against a pine tree when he saw the boy leave the tent and step out near the still-smoldering campfire. The boy picked up a stick, squatted, and began prodding curiously at the coals. The child was a beautiful creature-a tow-headed boy of three, and Watcher smiled as a shaft of sunlight illu minated the buttons of the boy's spine. Inside the tent a woman lay sleeping. Watcher was close enough that he could just hear the child's stick punching through the crusty bed of ash.

The boy wore a wrinkled red swimsuit and sandals. After a few minutes of poking, the child grew bored, and started to wander aimlessly around the campsite. Watcher stood and crept silently within fifteen feet of the boy.

The child turned his head and saw something that caught his attention. He approached curiously the rotting trunk of a fallen tree. The boy's excited laughter floated to his stalker. Holding the stick like a sword, the child began stabbing at something in the leaves beside the tree.

Watcher moved swiftly, using the boy's laughter to cover his footsteps, and he swept his way quickly around behind the child. Three paces behind the boy, Watcher reached down, unsnapped the knife from its sheath, and drew out the curved blade. In one fluid motion, he flipped the knife in the air, caught the blade with his fingers, and threw the knife hard.

The child squealed as the knife hit home.

Watcher grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him aside, looking down to see his knife pinning down a three- foot- long snake, its sleek body covered over with a light and dark copper- colored pattern. The inch- wide triangular head rose and the snake tried in vain to strike. Small sharp fangs curved from the roof of the reptile's open mouth.

“ ’Nake!” the boy shouted, laughing. “ ’Nake!” He raised the stick and swatted at the reptile, striking its thick body behind where the blade had it pinned to the exposed root of the tree.

The snake writhed futilely until Watcher stepped on its head and withdrew the Randall. Watcher pressed down hard, feeling the small skull give as he moved his boot as though grinding out a cigarette. He reached down in a swift movement and severed the flattened head from the copperhead's body. After wiping the snake's blood and dirt off onto his black jeans, Watcher slid the knife back into its leather sheath and snapped the strap.

He reached down, picked up the severed head, and cast it off into the woods.

Turning, he lifted the startled child into the air, raising him as high as his arms allowed. When he lowered the boy he kissed him on his warm soft cheek and hugged him to his chest.

“Snakes will bite you, and you can die,” Watcher explained. “You never mess with snakes.”

“Bad ’nake,” the boy said, throwing his small arms around Watcher's neck and squeezing as hard as he could.

“You have to be careful,” Watcher said. “The world is full of danger, and I won't always be here to protect you.”