Part 1.

I first met Neal shortly after my wife had died. I was holed-up in the attic of a boarding house in the middle of a safe zone just outside of Denver, recovering from a long illness that had beaten me down through most of the winter. I was thin as a waif, looking emaciated despite the repeated attempts of my aunt, who lived in a room below me, to try to keep some meat on my bones. I’d withered to a hundred and forty miserable pounds when spring finally came, my long fever broke, and we knew the long days and nights of maddening siege would come again. My old friend Allen, who had wintered in the room next door to my aunt, had told me stories of this crazy saint who drove the open roads through swarms of the dead. (more…)

The sky was a mottled gray-blue, growing little brighter with the coming dawn.  There were still patches of snow in the corners of the courtyard of Barbour Middle School when Brian pulled into his usual parking space in the third row. He eased the old brown Volvo station wagon into Park, grabbing his dented brushed stainless steel mug and his worn leather messenger bag after the engine settled down and stopped. As Brian walked across the wet parking lot, he looked up at the old, two story brick relic of the late 1950’s. The first white “r” and the dot above the “i” had peeled away from the sign on the front of the building, showing a rusted casing beneath. The concrete gutter above the roof over the entry walkway had crumbled a little more over the winter, and snow-melt was dripping from the roof onto the middle of the pitted sidewalk. Despite the superficial flaws, Brian loved the old school. He just hated having to do all of the dirty work. (more…)