Chuck: “Like stale beer and unfulfilled dreams.”

  Stu: “Like drunk losers and bad decisions.”

  Duncan: “Tough, but fair. What do EMTs smell like?”

  He’d been seriously considering training to be an emergency medical technician, even though he had a big problem with the sight of blood, and had discussed the plan with his buddies more than once.

  Chuck: “Like wannabe nurses.”

  Stu: “Like wannabe firefighters.”

  Duncan: “Ouch. Keep ’em coming.”

  Chuck: “Like small town bartenders with delusions of grandeur.”

  Stu: “Like a college dropout who suddenly realizes the value of education.”

  Duncan laughed. “You guys are brutal.”

  “I’ll tell you what they don’t smell like,” Chuck added. “They don’t smell like fish. Who’s got the bug spray?”

  Duncan reached for the aerosol can of repellent resting on the instrument panel above the steering column. He tossed it to Chuck, who missed the catch. The spray thumped on the flat bottom of the pontoon with a hollow clang, then rolled across the rough plastic carpet to rest next to Duncan’s oversized Umco tackle box. Duncan picked up the can and sprayed a thick cloud around himself.

  “All you’re doing is accelerating mutation.” Stu cast again, frowning. “Female horseflies can lay a thousand eggs in a few days. Because insects have such fast reproduction cycles, they can evolve faster than the pesticide industry can keep up. You kill the susceptible, the survivors pass on their genes. Same thing is happening with antibiotics.”

  “Make Stu shut up, Duncan.”

  “Stu, shut up.”

  “Insects rule the planet, guys. They were here before we were, and they’ll be here after we’re gone.”

  “He’s not shutting up, Captain.”

  “Captain’s rules, Stu,” Duncan said. “No more bugs.”

  Stu coughed, then spat. “What else is there to talk about? We’re not catching anything, and we’ve already discussed the Brewers, the upcoming season of Chainsaw Man, and that new mole that’s growing on Chuck’s neck.”

  “I’ve always had that mole.” Chuck frowned. “Right?”

  “I’m just saying that the don’t discuss work while on vacation rule shouldn’t include situations that are relevant. Duncan slings beers, and we still talk about beer. I’m not going on and on about my Lepidoptera research. But Chuck was bitten by an insect, I know about insects, so I’m keeping the conversation rolling.”

  “My mole isn’t really getting bigger.” Chuck was touching his neck. “You guys are shitting me. Right?”

  Duncan squinted up at the sun, wondering if he should call it a morning. They’d worked the lily pads with topwater buzzers, tried out old-school Terminator spinners on several weed beds, jigged artificial worms at the drop-offs, and were now drifting on the east side of the lake throwing crankbaits. An hour ago, Stu claimed to have missed a topwater hit, and two hours before that Chuck insisted he had a strike, which looked more like a weed to Duncan for the half a second he had it on.

  The lake is playing hard to get. And I don’t know how to turn things around.

  Sometimes the fish don’t bite no matter what you threw at them. Like they all decided, en masse, to go on a hunger strike.

  Maybe it was feeding cycles. Or moon phases. Or just playing coy.

  Or maybe the fish are staying in their lairs, like all the vacationers staying in their houses because of the shitty air quality.

  Seriously, Canada, don’t you have firefighters?

  Duncan looked out across the great expanse of water, searching for other boats. Sometimes other fishermen found the hotspots, and moving closer to them resulted in a few strikes. But the lake was uncharacteristically empty.

  He eyed the east shoreline, which wasn’t as lush as the rest of the lake. A big forest fire, a homegrown one years back, had burned away all the old growth, and nature hadn’t quite recovered yet. Rather than tall trees, the presiding feature was an eighty-foot-tall steel fire tower, erected after the blaze as an early warning system.

  Soon after its construction the DNR abandoned their 100+ statewide lookout posts for modern technology. The tower’s metal siren still glinted from the peaked roof, never used.

  Earlier, Duncan had discussed climbing the tower with Stu and Chuck and drinking a few beers on the observation deck. He knew how to get through the gate.

  Maybe at night we could even see the fires in Ontario. I have no idea how far you can see from that height.

  But that’s for later. For now, we’re fishing.

  Duncan scanned the shore for watercraft, turning north, then west. Lots of boats tied to piers, but none on open water.

  Except for…

  The marsh. A hundred meters into the marsh, Duncan spotted a bass boat half-hidden by reeds.

  The only other boat on the lake. He must be catching some fish.

  But do I really want to go into the marsh?

  Do I even have the balls to go there? After last time?

  Duncan had lived through some bad things. Some scary things.

  But the marsh was a different kind of scary.

  Because what happened in the marsh, fifteen years ago, had been my fault…

  LEO

  THREE DAYS AGO, GETTING CLOSER…

  Leo arrived in Eau Claire on foot, the soles of both shoes detached and flapping with each step like baby alligator mouths. He hadn’t eaten in a few days, and hadn’t really thought about it.

  All he thought about was the Tug.

  He’d walked the hundred and seventy something miles up I-94, drinking out of ditches and ponds and occasional bottles of trash tossed alongside the road by motorists, even if those bottles were full of piss.

  Leo didn’t care about the taste. He just needed the hydration.

  He made no attempts to hitch a ride, and no one offered. Twice, police pulled up to question him. The first time, they left him undisturbed alongside the road, unwilling to contaminate their squad cars with his stench.

  The second time, they demanded ID and got grabby.

  Did they deserve four broken arms for abusing their authority and violating his civil rights?

  Probably not. But Leo didn’t care about that.

  All he cared about was the Tug, pulling at every cell in his body, drawing him north.

  Wausau was one ninth the size of Madison, but still large enough to boast dozens of restaurants. Leo was hunting through the dumpster of a chain burger store, stuffing half-eaten food in his mouth, when a car pulled up and honked.

  He expected another cop car—they were definitely looking for him—and wondered if he’d have to fight his way out of the situation. While searching the garbage for a weapon, a calm, steady voice asked, “Are you hungry?”

  Leo peered over the edge of the dumpster and saw an elderly woman leaning out of her car window. Her face didn’t appear hostile.

  In fact, it seemed kind.

  He was very hungry. He was always very hungry.

  And his cells hurt. All of them. Especially, for whatever reason, his right wrist.

  “What do you want?” Leo asked, his voice low and scratchy from disuse.

  “I can buy you lunch.”

  “Why?”

  “Because human beings aren’t meant to eat out of dumpsters.”

  Maybe some are.

  Maybe some don’t even deserve that luxury.

  “I’m not judging your lifestyle choices,” the woman continued. “But if this is desperation, not choice, we could go inside and I can buy you a fresh meal, rather than one someone discarded.”

  Leo wasn’t sure how to handle the offer. Since he’d been purged, he’d run into some charitable people among the losers and cops and desperates. Some had offered him money. Some had offered him food.

  Since Leo burned through calories like a high schooler on the wrestling team, he usually accepted food when offered.

  He nodded, then vaulted over the side of the dumpster and landed like a cat next to the woman’s car.

  “You’re a spry one,” the woman said. Her nose crinkled. “And ripe. How about before we have a burger we get you cleaned up and into some new clothes?”

  What’s her end game here? Just charity?

  Does she want sex?

  Not likely. Not with how I look.

  One of those religious types, looking to save my soul?

  Lady, you’re too late for that…

  “There’s a thrift store a block south of here. If you don’t trust me to get in, I can meet you there.”

  Don’t trust you?

  You’re the one who shouldn’t trust me.

  He leaned closer to the vehicle and studied her. Late seventies. Gray and wrinkled. With a hard edge behind the kindness.

  “I’m Mary,” she said.

  “Leo.”

  “You smell awful, Leo.”

  Nothing to say to that. She’s right.

  I’m no doubt gross.

  But life is gross, isn’t it?

  “I’ll meet you at the thrift store. Go into the bathroom there and clean up. Don’t be stingy with the soap. I’m thinking you’re about six three, size twelve boot?”

  He nodded, rubbing his aching wrist.

  She smiled and pulled away, turning south out of the parking lot.

  Leo stood for a moment, pondering what to do.

  The Tug tells me to keep going north.

  But I’m dehydrated and hungry and I stink. My clothes are trashed, my shoes are falling off.

  I’ve spent months living among people, looking at their faces as they look at me. I’ve seen revulsion. Pity. Contempt. Suspicion. Fear. Hate.

  But this woman is the first one to treat me like a normal person.

  Interesting.

  Was I ever a normal person?

  No. I went from being one of the lucky ones. Good genes. Handsome and healthy. I had money. Power. I was lusted after and feared.

  Then I became… this. A reject. An outcast.

  The highest highs, then the lowest lows.

  But never average. Never normal.

  Maybe this is a chance to find out what normal feels like.

  Leo headed south, the Tug making his skin tingle and his insides cramp up.

  “I’m obeying you,” Leo said. “But you don’t control me.”

  It felt like walking into a sandstorm with his eyes open, but Leo managed to make it the block to the secondhand store. He saw the woman’s parked car, empty, and he went inside the building and got the usual stares. Thankfully, no one prohibited him from entering, and Leo found the bathroom and walked to the sink, wincing at the reflection in the mirror. He was filthy, his scarred face looking like a patchwork quilt with scraggly discolored beard poking through the seams, his eyes bloodshot and droopy, his clothes tattered.

  I’ve never looked worse.

  Maybe nobody has ever looked worse.

  Leo cleaned up at the sink as best he could, using almost the entire contents of the liquid soap dispenser, washing his hair, his arms, his chest and groin. The sensation of his own hands on his body was muted by the Tug, pulling at him on a cellular level, the nerves responding to that magnetic sensation more than his own skin-on-skin contact.

  Leo took a moment to examine his wrist. Besides being swollen, the skin around it sort of…

  Wiggled. Like an invisible hand is squeezing and pulling the flesh.

  He made a fist, then gave his hand a shake to see if it was still firmly attached.

  Hurts, but seems okay. For the moment.

  When he finished washing himself, his tattered shirt in the garbage and his remaining clothes wet, he stepped out of the bathroom and faced the woman, standing there with several plastic bags.

  Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his disfigured, gnarled chest.

  “What happened to you, Leo?”

  “I was… possessed. By a demon.”

  She maintained steady eye contact. “Is the demon gone?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you feel as if you’re a danger to yourself or others?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Are you carrying a weapon, Leo?”

  “Not right now. You a cop?”

  “Ex-cop. Get dressed and we can talk over lunch.”

  She handed him the bags and Leo returned to the bathroom. Mary had sized him up pretty good. He put on boxer shorts, khakis, an old Panama Jack T-shirt, thick wool socks, some well-worn Colorado boots, and a Cubs baseball hat. There were also extra pairs of socks and underwear, and an old, beige trench coat, 44 long, with a high collar.

  For future bad weather. This woman has actually thought of everything.

  He tucked the extra clothes in the oversized coat pocket and stepped back out of the bathroom. Mary gave him a once-over but didn’t say anything. Then she led him out of the store.

  They didn’t go to her car. Instead she marched him across the parking lot, back to the fast-food place, and they went inside.

  She ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a pop, and bid Leo to get whatever he wanted. He repeated her order, and she added four more burgers. They filled their cups at the self-service dispenser, Mary with diet and Leo with something bright yellow, and took a seat in an adjacent booth.

  “How did you know I was a cop?” Mary asked.

  “Your questions by the bathroom. And you’re carrying a gun behind your right hip.”

  “You’re perceptive.”

  “I didn’t notice things, before. Now I seem to notice everything.”

  “Have you done time?”

  Leo shook his head. “When I had my looks, I worked for a bad woman, did some bad things. Then the demon came, and I did more bad things.”

  “Do you still want to do bad things?”

  “No.”

  “What is it you want, Leo?”

  “I want to die.”

  Or more specifically, I want everything to be over and done with.

  Mary stared at him, hard. “You want to kill yourself?”

  “No.”

  “But you want to die?”

  “I want to get to the ending.”

  “What ending?” Mary asked.

  “Everything ends. I want to reach my end.”

  “So why keep going?”

  “There’s something I have to do first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re looking for your calling?”

  Leo looked away. “No. I have a calling. I just don’t know what it is.”

  The cashier announced their number, and Leo got up and grabbed the food tray.

  He ate joylessly, not really tasting anything, but knowing he needed the calories. The yellow soda tasted no better than the piss he had consumed alongside the interstate.

  They were silent while he began to eat, but Mary spoke up halfway into her cheeseburger.

  “I’m in town for my ex-husband. He left me and our daughter, Jacqueline, more than forty years ago.”

  She seemed to be waiting for Leo to say something, so he asked, “Why did he leave?”

  “He realized he was gay. Back then, it wasn’t like it is now. There was a stigma to it. I hated him because I thought he chose that lifestyle over his family. I hated myself because I didn’t do enough to make him love me.” Mary shrugged, and her face sagged. “Different times. Rather than explain it to our child, we agreed to tell her he was dead.”

  “So she grew up thinking she didn’t have a father.”

  Mary nodded, “Sometimes, when we think we’re making things better, we make them worse.”

  “But you’re here for him now. Your ex-husband.”

  Mary’s face brightened up. “He wrote a book. Had a signing at a local store. So I flew in from Colorado to support him.”

  “Because you didn’t support him years ago.”

  Mary smiled, which had a sadness to it. “Isn’t that strange? Blame is a toxic thing. We all feel like victims, because we hurt. That victimization gives us permission to hurt others. And when we do that, we hurt ourselves even more. Sometimes, with so much hurt, we can’t recognize what’s really important.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Kindness,” Mary said. “We can solve every problem in the world with kindness.”

  Leo didn’t believe that.

  We can’t solve disease. We can’t solve natural disasters. We can’t solve bad luck.

  “You don’t believe me,” Mary said.

  “Bad things… happen. Kindness won’t solve them.”

  Mary winked at him, in a way Leo imagined his grandmother would have, if he’d had one. “Try it sometime, see if it works.”

  “Is that why you helped me?”

  “Now that’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “You think I helped you… for you?”

  I’ll have to let that sink in and reflect on it later.

  “What’s his book about?” Leo asked.

  She reached down and pulled a book out of her purse and set it on the table.

  FORGIVENESS – LIFE LESSONS BY WILBUR STRENG

  “A self-help book?”

  “More like a book of thoughts and advice. It can be read in less than an hour; I doubt it’s more than a few thousand words. He did that self-publishing thing, so he isn’t going to make any money at it. But wrote it. And he’s proud of it.”

  Again Leo felt like she wanted him to ask a question. “And how do you feel about it?”

  “I don’t know. Six people came to the signing. But Wilbur was happy. He read some of his book. He answered a few questions from the bookstore owner.”

  “Did your daughter come?”

  “She’s with him now. Having drinks somewhere.”

  “Why aren’t you with them?”

  Mary smiled sadly, then tapped the word FORGIVENESS on the book cover. “I’m still working on that. Do you want to hear some of his advice?”

  Leo nodded. He had three more burgers to eat.

  Mary opened the book to the first page and began to read. “Forgive others. Forgive yourself. You can’t change the past, so don’t let it ruin your present.”

  She flipped to another page.

  “Have faith in something bigger than you.”