They drove in silence the whole 10 minutes it took to cross the town. Will was, at this point, feeling hopeless. The neon sign in his head went from “Oh fuck” to “I am gonna die tonight.” The man noticed the boy’s lifeless eyes but said nothing. The regret was stamped on his face, but he was too stubborn to admit he’d fucked up another life he came across.

  I’ve known him since…well, forever, and I can say with propriety: nothing new under the sun.

  The graveyard. Spooky as it should be — for most people. No low fog drifting between the headstones, however. Shame, it would’ve matched Will’s mood.

  There was only one light illuminating the place, coming from the small church in the middle of it. It was a small wooden structure, pointy and old, and could barely fit 30 people at once. The graveyard surrounded this little church, and there was a footpath leading to it. A low fence, also made of wood, was used to demarcate the area. The asphalt ended there, in front of the graveyard. From then on, it was only an unkempt country road. Behind the area, there was a thick forest, framing the little cemetery.

  Perfect setting if our story happened here. But it didn’t.

  The stranger slowed down in front of the graveyard but didn’t stop. He looked at Will and said, “You will now tell me where to go.”

  Will nodded. He had been unable to say a word since the woods. His talkative nature was lost, along with his phone.

  The road continued clear until they reached the edge of the forest. There was a metal gate there, and a fallen sign next to it read “KEEP OUT.” The man opened the car door to get out but then stopped and looked at the boy again.

  “You’re not running again, are you?”

  Silence filled the car. Both just staring at each other.

  Then, Will moved — shook his head, confirmed he wouldn’t move. Apparently, it was pointless. He hadn’t even seen the stranger coming before.

  The stranger then left the car and opened the gate. Will didn’t move, as he had promised.

  They were now driving in total darkness, just the car’s headlights lighting the road. The forest was so dense they couldn’t see anything past the trees on either side. The man was driving slowly — the road was uneven. Both were quiet, listening.

  Curves and more curves in the road. Fallen trees, rocks, mud. But no bugs. No animals. Just the sound of the wind. They did not notice that.

  And then the smell hit them. A stench of decay — putrid air, garbage, rot, death. It found them before they could find its source. A quiet “ugh” slipped from Will’s mouth as he buried half his face in his sleeve. The stranger didn’t seem to bother. But he did smirk when the boy gagged a few times.

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  One last curve, and they reached the landfill. Two large mountains of trash sat side by side at the entrance, and another larger one loomed at the back. The road continued between the first two piles and turned right before the larger one. They kept driving slowly, but now the man was looking around, searching for something. Will noticed but said nothing.

  After turning right and driving a little further, they reached an opening. It was big enough for ten garbage trucks to maneuver with ease. Multiple roads led out of that area. The stranger stopped the car.

  “Where to, Will?” he asked, leaning back.

  There was an underlying concern in that question. It sounded confident, but when he said Will’s name, it trembled a bit.

  Swallowing hard, his mouth dry as dust, Will wet his lips and said,

  “Left. Take the... second road on the left.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “...Yes.”

  Before the man started driving again, he took a deep breath and said to the boy,

  “I am so—“ but he paused for a second. “You can have this car when this is over.”

  Will looked back at him, stunned. The stranger was trying to offer some comfort, but Will was only confused.

  The last part — when this is over — was what stuck in his mind, and he was really looking forward to that.

  They started moving again.

  Passed one, then two, then five large piles of trash. Then another intersection, and a few more. More mountains of waste — decomposing memories, things people no longer considered important.

  Then they reached a small intersection. But this one was different. It was smaller, and it appeared that two mountains had merged together. But after further inspection, they could see there was some sort of order in the middle: a large flat piece of metal, then two fridges on each side holding it horizontally.

  It was a roof. And walls. There was even a door in the front — made with a single dirty mattress leaning on one of the fridges. Will gasped. He recognized the place.

  “Old Moss,” he whispered.

  The stranger was unaffected. He wasn’t seeing or hearing anything. “What could some old cuckoo possibly d—”

  Something cold touched the man’s face. He froze. First, disbelief. But next, rage. Pure, old, honest wrath. He slowly looked at whoever was holding that piece of shit, who dared to touch his face.

  It was an old man. Old Moss, he presumed. The name was fitting — his clothes were covered in dirt and, well, moss. And his “perfume”? Putrid, pure carrion, like he was already dead but no one told him.

  “He said you would come one day,” the old man grunted.

  When he spoke, the stranger could see that only a few teeth had survived this lifestyle, and to his disgust, he could see mold inside the man’s mouth.

  “Did he tell you who I am, though?” the man asked, staring into Old Moss’s eyes.

  “Doesn’t matter. Get tha fuck out of here!” he yelled, racking the shotgun.

  Will was frozen in place. Again with the deer-in-the-headlights eyes. He had seen Old Moss only once in his life — and it had scared the hell out of him. The old man was just walking. But he ran so hard that day he felt blood in his mouth. But now? Now he was aiming a loaded fucking shotgun at them.

  The stranger was calm now. Slow breathing, hyper focused.

  And in a split second — he grabbed the shotgun’s barrel, pushed it aside, and with his right hand pulled out his pistol and shot the old man right between the eyes. It was so fast that Old Moss only fired upward, his body already falling to the ground.

  Will was screaming. He heard nothing. He had seen Old Moss’s brains fly, his eyes explode. The wet sound as he hit the ground. The late shotgun blast.

  Screaming, screaming his lungs out, hands covering his ears.

  The stranger put the pistol back inside his coat and leaned back, waiting for the kid to calm the fuck down.