Those Across the River

by Christopher Buehlman

I didn’t go because the woods didn’t want me in them. And I didn’t want to go alone.

Nothing against the Jews, except they like their money and they killed Jesus,

I had nothing to hide from her, and a woman who doesn’t snoop after her man is either highly moral or doesn’t care enough.

How easily the paint of civilization peels off with a little bad weather.

I thanked her for the coffee and left, because there was no way to make things okay. One of the hardest and truest things a grown-up learns is that sometimes it’s not okay.”

And then he left, smaller than he had been.

When at last he spoke, he wanted to speak to me away from Lester because he didn’t want family to know what he had to say. But he had to tell so someone knew what they were.

I knew that plan. Deciding to kill somebody or something can be strong medicine for a while, but it burns. And it doesn’t stop after it’s all over.

“Is this your chance to die in the war like you should have?” “Stop.” “You don’t owe him that.” “I said let’s stop.”

And that was how it started. Nine men went into the woods.

God bless America. We had abolished slavery and reinvented serfdom.

Men who want revenge have no dignity. They have already died and sold everything.

WHITBROW WAS DEAD. Those across the river had killed it.

It wasn’t mercy. I would have finished it if I were merciful. I let him go because I’m weak.