End Of Days

18: Anger

They buried Fundy by the edge of the cliff, where he and Wilbur had watched his final sunset together.

Niki and Ranboo worked together to fashion a marker for the grave out of some old wood. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. With Phil's help, they burned his name into the larger piece of wood using some scrap metal. A reassurance that even if they all turned to nothing, his mark on the world would remain.

Niki knew that Fundy deserved a better grave. He deserved polish blackstone and flowers and a well kept lawn. He deserved perfect weather and visitors every day and photos of the life that had been lived. He deserved to have more than seventeen years. Fundy deserved the world. Niki resented herself for only being able to give him a marker atop a pile of fresh dirt.

For Ranboo, who had never felt grief like this, it was a shock. It was crying for hours, unable to stop. It was wondering what the point to living was, when it could all end from the bite of a creature. It was a numbness settling over him as he sat on the porch and stared out at the shed, knowing exactly what had happened there, and understanding that it could happen to any one of them in an instant.

Wilbur curled up alone in his room, his back pressed to the door. He had stopped crying a while ago, but his hands still shook. The only light came from the lanterns and string lights around the room-- all battery powered. Sniffling to himself, he opened his notebook to a new page and took his pen between his fingers.

'Dear Sally,

He didn't get better.'

Wilbur closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as he felt the tears again. There was no stopping them. It hurt so badly. Taking a sharp breath, he continued.

'I did everything I could. It just wasn't enough, in the end. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.'

Tears were falling onto the page, warping the paper and making the ink run. Wilbur didn't care. He kept writing.

'We buried him by the cliffside. It was the last place he was truly at peace, I think. I don't know what's after death. I never really believed in an afterlife or whatever, but now I wish that I could. I wish that I could convince myself that he's in a better place.

I think if I managed to convince myself, I'd find myself joining him soon. It's not fair, is it?

This might be my last letter for a while. I'm going to the city in the morning, and I'm going to do whatever I fucking can to find a cure. I don't know how long it will be, or if i'll have my book and my pen with me. Maybe by the time I get back you'll be here, waiting for me. We could read these letters together. Wouldn't that be nice?

I have to go, Sal. I have to try. I want a better world, a better life for you. For me. For our children, one day. I hope that next time I'm writing to you, it will be good news.

All my love,

Wilbur'.

He closed his notebook, letting out a long sigh as he got his tears under control. He was going to do something about this. He was going to stop anyone ever dying like Fundy had again.

Getting to his feet was easier than he thought it would be. Stepping out into the darkened house was easier than he thought it would be. Stepping into the night air outside felt refreshing and right.

He walked slowly to Fundy's grave, each step a little harder than the last. And then he was there, looking over the cliff and the marker that served as a tombstone. The pale moonlight illuminated the fresh dirt, but not the marker with his name. Wilbur didn't mind. He slowly kneeled down and pressed his hands against the soft ground.