The Callings

© Lawrence Falcetano

The black SUV rolled through the dark woods with its lights off, its tires crunching twigs and dried leaves, breaking the silence of an arid autumn night. The October moon was bright but did little to penetrate the abundance of trees and closely tangled limbs, leaving this part of the woods in virtual darkness. Carl Bellamy had no trouble finding the small clearing, having been here several times during the passed month, he was confident he could find his way. He turned off the engine and maneuvered his ample belly out from behind the steering wheel while Allen Finney got out on the other side. The two men stepped into the returning silence and walked to the rear of the vehicle. When Carl raised the lift gate, the interior light flickered on, illuminating the black canvas body bag they had stuffed into the cargo area earlier. Leaving the gate up so the light would spill out onto the immediate area, they lifted the bag out, carried it a short distance and dropped it on the ground beside a freshly dug grave. Carl pushed the bag over the edge with his foot, causing it to fall into the open pit. It landed in the blackness at the bottom with a thud. They each pulled a shovel from a mound of loose soil beside the hole, and began filling the void. Both worked in silence, quickly and methodically as if every movement had been rehearsed. Through the dim light, Carl scanned the several nearby holes, which had been dug and refilled earlier in the month. He was satisfied that it was impossible to detect their presents since the autumn breeze had blown twigs and fallen leaves over the disturbed earth so it blended now with natures own.

When their assigned task was completed, they tossed the shovels into the SUV closed the lift gate and returned to the front seat. Carl switched on the overhead light and removed a clipboard from between the seats. He scanned the list of names until he found what he was looking for, then, with his pencil, ran a line through it. “No relatives and no questions,” he said. He slid the clipboard back between the seats. “Tomorrow we'll call on Silas Gibb, the widower who lives by Schooly's Point. He'll make number eight.”

Allen dropped his head back on the headrest and let out a sigh of relief. “How many more for us?” he asked.

“Relax,” Carl said. “Think of this as your civic duty.”

“It's murder!” Allen snapped.

“No more murder than abortion,” Carl said.

“It's not the same.”

“Sure it is, just the opposite end of the life cycle. Besides, you agreed to do your part like the rest of the council members.”

“I don't have to like it.”

“We went over this at the meetings,” Carl reminded. “It's our only solution. Think of your kids…and mine? Think of their future.”

Allen shut his eyes and thought about his wife and two young daughters. Their future was the sole reason he had entered into this unholy alliance.

“Well, it's time someone else took a turn,” he said.

“Everybody on the council takes their turn, until the job is completed,” Carl said. “That was the agreement.” He switched off the light. The two men sat in the dark silence staring out at the pinpoints of amber light that was the town nestled in the valley below, its slumbering residents unaware that their name might soon be the next penciled off the long list.

* * *

Silas Gibb sat on his porch keeping a watchful eye on the young folks passing his front yard on their way home from school. At eighty-six, he was the oldest resident of Pine Valley and he knew these young “whipper-snappers” had little respect for people and property and needed to be watched.

Time had changed many things in Pine Valley, especially the young people. In his day, youngsters respected their elders and their hard earned property. But, this was a new breed; several generations beyond his own, of people he didn't understand . . . people he feared.

Fear had been spreading throughout Pine Valley on the autumn wind. Silas heard the fantastic yarns of how the elderly in town were disappearing suddenly and without explanation.

Although he thought it all “a bunch of craziness”, a small part of him shuddered at the possibility of it being a bizarre reality.

He leaned forward in his rocker now, and squinted down the road to see Carl Bellamy's SUV stop by his front gate. He watched warily as Carl struggled out from behind the steering wheel and Allen Finney get out on the passenger side. Silas recalled Allen Finney was the town attorney and Carl a local physician and wondered why they were calling on him today since he had never had much of an acquaintance with either man. As far as he was concerned, they were new comers to Pine Valley, the “Yuppie” type who bought their way onto the town council for their own advantage.

Carl opened the front gate and the two men walked up the stone path. “Afternoon Silas,” Carl said, resting one foot on the porch step and leaning an elbow on the stair rail.

Allen Finney flopped down on the bottom step, removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and began wiping the glisten from the top of his shaved head. ”Hot for October,” he said.

“Can't spare any water,” Silas said, “but got plenty o' cold beer.”

“We're okay, “ Carl said. “Just calling to see how folks around here are doing during the--should I say, crises.”

Silas leaned back in his rocker and ran his arms through his suspenders so they would hang loosely by his sides. “Spend most time these days keepin' an eye on young'uns,” he said. “Town's overrun with ‘em.”

“People come here from all over to start families.” Carl said.

“We're a growing community,” Allen added.

“Growin' too fast,” Silas continued. “Seems like we're runnin' outta things. Last week the council voted to ration drinking water.”

“Temporary,” Carl said.

“What will they take from us next?” Silas asked.

“Overcrowding has become a dilemma,” Carl agreed. “But, the council believes they've found a solution.”

“Folks should go back to where they came,” Silas suggested. “And take them young'uns with them.”

“There's no place to go back to,” Allen offered. “The country's overpopulated and the government's not sure what to do. It's up to local folks to find their own solution.”

“Been here all my life,” Silas said, “always plenty for everybody.” He leaned forward in his rocker to make sure the two men heard what he had to say next… “And what about these folks disappearin'?”

There were several moments of silence while Allen waited for Carl to offer an explanation…

“Rumors,” Carl finally said.

Silas looked at him skeptically. “It's the ol' folks,” he reminded.

Carl wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and changed the subject. “Maybe we'll have them beers,” he said.

Silas pushed himself up from his rocker and ran his arms through his suspenders, snapping them back onto his shoulders. He turned toward the house, pulled back the screen door and walked gingerly toward the kitchen.

Carl climbed the steps quickly, motioning for Allen to follow. They took a position on either side of the door. Carl pulled a leather case from his pocket and removed a syringe that had been filled with a clear liquid. He held it in the ready position with his thumb on the plunger and waited…

They could hear Silas through the screen, ratting utensils, slamming drawers and grumbling about not being able to find a can opener. In a short while, he appeared back at the door, balancing an armful of beer cans. Pushing the screen back, he stepped out onto the porch. Before the door closed--they were on him!

* * *

“We have a problem,” Mayor Carmichael said, opening his spiral bound notebook.

Allen Finny sat at the long mahogany table with the other council members and waited to hear the news. He wondered how long it would take their “perfect plan” to go awry. He had been struggling for more than a month with the morality of “mandatory defoliation of elderly citizens,” since reluctantly agreeing with the council to implement the plan.

In addition to Carl and himself, the council included: Mayor Carmichael, Police Chief Kaminski and Tom Reagan the town benefactor, who had once been mayor.

“Subject number eight,” the mayor continued, sliding his finger down the list of names and dates. “Mr. Silas Gibb. I believe that was your assignment, Carl.”

“Mine and Allen's,” Carl said.

“Despite the council's extensive research in compiling the subject list,” Tom Reagan said, “an unexpected relative has surfaced and is inquiring as to Mr. Gibb's whereabouts.”

“I was assured every detail was accounted for,” Allen said.

“Contingencies,” Tom Reagan added. “We were aware that something like this could happen but didn't think it would. We were all very thorough, Allen.”

“Who is it?” Carl asked.

“I can explain,” a voice echoed from the far end of the table. Police Chief Kaminski pushed his huge body up from his armchair and stood before the council. He was a big man with broad shoulders and biceps as thick as his thighs. He placed his lit cigar in the ashtray on the table and wiped his lips with the back of his hand before he spoke.

“A young woman came to my office two days ago looking for her uncle, the aforementioned Mr. Gibb. She explained that she had been attending school in Europe and since the unexpected death of her parents in an auto accident; Mr. Gibb had become her only living relative. She wrote to him last month and they made arrangements for her to come to Pine Valley. When she arrived at the address he'd given her--”

“She found the place empty, of course,” Allen interjected.

“It seemed odd to her that he wouldn't be there since he knew when she was to arrive. Considering his age, she concluded he couldn't have gone far and decided to spend the night. When there was no sign of him in the morning, she came to me.”

“How did you handle it?” Carl asked.

“I wasn't sure if he was on the list, so I drove her back to the place and gave it a good looking over. Under the circumstance, there wasn't a plausible explanation to give her. I told her I'd follow up and call her when I found anything. She assured me she'd be staying at the house until her uncle showed up.”

“Has she filed a missing persons report?” Allen asked. “We don't want the county involved in this.”

“No--but this girl wants answers,” the chief said. He retrieved his cigar from the ashtray and eased back into his armchair, losing himself in the pleasure of a long draw and the aromatic smoke that encircled his head.

“What do you propose to do?” the mayor asked Allen.

Allen threw an incredulous look at Carl, then back at the mayor. “I don't see why we-- ”

“The assignment belonged to both of you,” the mayor interrupted. “We can't continue until this problem is resolved.”

Allen stood quickly. “But it's our problem.” he said. “ Each one of us. We're all in this together.”

“It was your assignment,” the mayor reminded.

“And your responsibility to make it right,” Tom Reagan added.

The Mayor stood and closed his notebook. “I'll expect results by our next council meeting on Tuesday,” he said. “Do what you have to do.”

The next morning, they drove in the SUV to the Gibb house.

“I'm glad you agreed to come with us,” Carl said to the chief. “The uniform will make things more official and your size is an intimidating factor.”

“Why does his size matter?” Allen asked, “ We're just trying to convince her that we're going to locate her uncle?”

“In case we're not convincing enough,” Carl said. He turned the SUV off the main road and stopped by the front gate of the Gibb house.

“Let the chief do most of the talking,” Allen suggested. “We don't want this to get out of hand.”

They climbed the steps to the porch and the chief rapped on the screen door. When the door opened, Allen peered around the chief's broad shoulder to see a woman in her mid twenties with short black hair, dressed in shorts and a sweatshirt.

“These men are from the council,” the chief said.

She led them to a front room where they sat on well-worn sofa. The woman stood before them with her hands on her hips, her muscular legs twitching nervously while she waited for some news. Allen couldn't help thinking she looked like a “butch” drill sergeant.

“We're here to assure you we're doing everything we can to find your uncle,” the chief said. “His disappearance is disturbing to all of us.”

“He's the only relative I have now,” the girl said. She spoke not with sorrow but with a kind of anger, as if the only thing she had in the world had been unjustly taken from her. “Shouldn't you have something by now?”

“We're utilizing every channel,” the chief said.”

“Seems to me the longer he's missing, the harder he'll be to find.”

“These things take time.”

The girl walked to portable bar by the front window and poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher. She didn't offer any. “When I call your office, you tell me the same thing.”

“We're a small department,” the chief said.

“I don't think your people could find a full moon on a dark night.” She took a long drink, then set the glass down. “I've decided to notify the county and file a missing persons report.”

“That's not the smart thing to do,” Carl said. He stood and walked closer to the girl. “We need more time.”

“You've had enough time.”

“It will only complicate things if you do this,” Carl continued.

“I'm sure we'll have something in a few days,” the chief added.

“The county will do a better job,” the girl said.

Allen saw the chief throw a furtive look at Carl, then get up from the sofa and walk behind the girl.

“It's your job to find him, not mine,” she was saying to Carl. “If you hadn't taken--”

The rest of her words were lost to an inarticulate muffle as the chief's big hand came down over her mouth. He swung his free arm quickly around her waste, locking her arms at her sides, leaving her helpless in his massive grip.

Allen jumped up and approached Carl. “This is wrong! ” he shouted.

Carl removed the leather case from his pocket and lifted out the liquid filled syringe.

“It was suppose to be just the elderly,” Allen reminded, “ to make room for everyone else.”

“She's leaving us no choice,” Carl said, positioning his thumb on the plunger.

The girl squirmed and kicked to free herself as Carl started toward her with the syringe.

Allen moved quickly, knocking Carl against a wall while trying to snatch the syringe from his hand. But Carl was quicker. He pushed Allen away with his free arm, keeping the syringe in the air above his head out of harm's way. Allen charged him a second time but now, Carl brought his hand up to meet Allen's throat, pressing his thumb against his windpipe. Allen tugged at Carl's fingers, struggling for air, his eyes wide, his face turning purple-red, but Carl squeezed harder pressing his thumb deeper into the cavity and keeping it there until Allen sunk slowly to his knees as helpless as the girl, his mouth widening to a silent scream as he collapsed to the carpeted floor.

* * *

The SUV crunched its way through the dark woods, stopping at the small clearing. Carl and Chief Kaminski got out and removed the two bodies from the rear, carried them to an open grave and dropped them to the bottom. Without hesitation, they began shoveling soil into the hole.

“We'll update the council members at the meeting tomorrow,” Carl said. “The girl won't be missed but this Allen thing will have to be dealt with.”

Only their labored breathing and the sound of moist earth hitting the bottom of the black hole broke the silence. When the work was nearly completed, the chief paused to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. “Allen just couldn't understand that we're doing the right thing,” he said, “trying to make things better for everyone.”

“It's only the natural progression of things,” Carl agreed, tossing the last shovel of soil onto the grave. “Out with the old--in with the new.”