“What you doing out there?” May whispered.
“Gettin’ water.”
“Well, get yo’ black ass back inside.”
“Now stay with me, May, there’s something I gotta do.”
“Yeah, and it’s getting yo’ black ass inside this barn right now.”
The timber of May’s voice was creeping up. Winston put a finger to his mouth, shushing her.
“Don’t shush me.”
“Hand me that shovel.”
“For what?”
“May, quit askin’ me questions. Just hand it ta me. Quickly, now.”
May begrudgingly removed the shovel from its hook and handed it through the window to Winston.
“Hold on,” he said, as he bolted to the fence, tossed the shovel through, and darted back to May. He untied the milk jugs and handed them one at a time to her, leaving the rope tied and dangling from his waist.
“Now get back inside the apartment,” Winston said, “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“Where you going?”
“A titty bar, May, what’s you think? I’m gonna go assess the situation,” he lied.
May sighed, but did not question Winston’s stubbornness.
“Be careful you damned ol’ fool.”
“No,” Winston replied, winked, and then did his trick over the razor-wire fence.
May watched him go. He turned back to her, his rifle slung across his shoulder. She thought she saw virility in his eyes. He gave a quick nod, pulled the stepstool into the umbrella of the woods, and then dissolved into the darkness. Amadeus was sitting there in the woods looking back at her and she understood why he hadn’t come back — the fence. He mouthed a silent meow, and then followed his master into the woods.
May set the water inside the apartment and then shuffled to the open barn door and stood there, staring at Med’s skull. She had no feelings about it whatsoever, as if it was just a prop used to teach anatomy to schoolchildren. Had the Russian soldier who was now smoking his cigarette and sitting at Medusa’s stump turned and looked over his shoulder, he would have surely seen her, and it would have been all over — it being May’s life, and probably Winston’s, too. She continued to stand there for five minutes in a stupor, wondering why she couldn’t just go sleep in her own bed. She didn’t have to wonder what her husband was going to do and he didn’t have to lie to her — he was going to bury Med and Julie. Why he was going to bury their rotted corpses was an easy conjecture — to Winston, it was simply the right thing to do. May went back to the apartment, closed and locked the door behind her, and was asleep when her head hit the pillow.
Winston found the bodies amongst the trash. Amadeus unearthed a nest of baby rabbits. Both discoveries were equally gory. He tied his handkerchief around his mouth and nose, and proceeded to dig a hole as quietly as he could, leaving his rifle within easy reach should he need to defend himself. The hole was close to the highway overpass, perhaps twenty-five feet past where the bodies and trash had been dumped. Winston silently rejoiced at the soft soil, happy it wasn’t that damned solid red Georgia clay so prevalent in the southeast. Clay would have made his task infinitely more difficult, perhaps impossible. He made piles of dirt around the edge of the hole as he dug. The grave wouldn’t need to be overly large because the bodies were somewhat decomposed from the weeks they were exposed to the unseasonably warm weather, and Med’s body was sans thinker. Suddenly, the stock of Winston’s own gun crashed down upon his skull, knocked him unconscious, and he fell face-first into the grave.
Yong Woo-jin
Yong Woo-jin was born in 2005 in the North Korean city of Pyongsong. The city of 300,000 was a hub of nuclear science and chemical weapon research, with as many as a half dozen university centers simultaneously developing weapons programs by the year 2020. The universities staffed over 10,000 researchers after the United States’ 2016 election, in response to the new administration’s hardline stance on its Non-Nuclear Proliferation Treaty. In short, North Korean nuclear possession was not to be tolerated. However, North Korea’s Supreme Commander, Marshal Kim Jong-un, took great liberties to test America’s patience by developing and firing test missiles into the Sea of Japan. The country never did develop its own reliable intercontinental ballistic nuclear missile, but they were still a nuclear country, aided by Russia and a Middle-Eastern faction of wealthy oil tycoons. Pakistan, the only Middle-Eastern country to acquire nuclear weapons, did not participate in what would come to be known as the Great Liberating War. The conflict responsible for starting the new war was the invasion of South Korea by North Korea. The United States originally excused itself from the conflict, its military overburdened by combat in the Middle East, but ultimately it sent troops to South Korea. Ironically, the United States’ goal was not to advance into yet another world war, but to halt its inevitable expansion onto American soil. The tactic proved to be a massive military blunder, backfiring on a tremendous scale as a result of xenophobic leaders who do not possess the mental capacity to bargain with those of whom they were already afraid.
Woo-jin grew up as normally as any other North Korean boy. He attended twelve years of compulsory school where he performed above average. An only son from a low social class, or songbun, Woo-jin didn’t have many friends, not even on the football (soccer) team on which he was a star player. Though his songbun status was perhaps the lowest acceptable rank, his coaches had often expressed to him that if he continued to improve his playing (though his position was that of fullback, he was an adept scorer) he might one day be invited to play for the North Korean National Football Team, which would improve his family’s status. He was that good. But Woo-jin wasn’t interested in playing professional football — he was a devout Buddhist who secretly enjoyed learning about the history of the world, an activity strictly forbidden by North Korean edict. He intended to apply to the Korean Buddhist Federation for permission to attend the country’s sole three-year college that trained Buddhist clergy.
However, shortly after his sixteenth birthday, Woo-jin was pressed into military service — as all young North Korean men and women were. Conscription laws in times of war lowered the age from seventeen to sixteen and increased compulsory time spent in the military from ten years to an indefinite term, or until the war was won. He was sent away to training camp, where he did well and became a member of the Korean People’s Army Ground Force, pledging his allegiance to Supreme Commander Marshal Kim Jong-un.
Woo-jin took part in the extravagant football games organized by competing officers, his being the authoritarian Major Chaek Sojwa, a man from a higher songbun who was relentless in his company’s pursuit of victory. Woo-jin was a naturally talented football player, which earned him favorable and lenient accommodations from Major Chaek during training, but Woo-jin’s low songbun status produced animosity between him and the other trainees (unfortunately, because of his grandfather’s employment as a lawyer and his Japanese lineage, the Yong family was considered “tainted blood” to the Workers’ Party of Korea and could not be part of the ruling status for at least three generations, or until Woo-jin had children). Major Chaek thought him to be a clumsy soldier, but highly valued his athleticism and made a lot of money betting that his team could beat all of its competitors. Indeed they did, thanks to Woo-jin.