“They’re outside, Father!”
“Silence! Do you not see that God speaks to us, even now!? You ask what we are without our souls? What we are without God’s love!? Well, Brothers and Sisters, I invite you all to look out that window and gaze upon the answer for yourselves!”
–Father Elijah Campbell. Larkspur, Colorado. 20 Days After.
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Death.
It was the great equalizer between those alive and those undead. Though each had unique ways to prolong their existence, nothing could be done once either passed the invisible threshold in between. The undead might persist. They might consume the bodies of a million lesser creatures to keep their own functional. They might even stand strong until the sun burnt out and mountains eroded to dust. But there was no way to alter the irrevocable once it had been inflicted, nor any means to extend sentience once it had been whisked out.
Thus, there was no greater fear among all creatures of the world than death. They avoided heights, predators, toxins. Their bodies were programmed to eat lest they wither, and their minds developed infinite aversions to all that could snuff out life. Who could be surprised by such a natural development? Death was the end of experience. The end of knowledge. The end of expression.
As Leah stared at the pile of Buttercup’s surviving gear – a worthwhile substitute for his body – she could think of nothing else than the finality of death. Why must all be so pitifully subservient to it?
“…And so once again must we bid farewell to another irreplaceable soul,” Mastermind said, continuing the eulogy. “Buttercup wasn’t the most intelligent of Hunters. Hell, he was hardly a veteran of the craft, and was quite new to the game, all things considered. But that did not make him inept. No, no. None could deny his prowess. Even at the very end…”
Funerals were always strange. Unlike the old world, there were no families to call, nor next of kin to notify. Only the deceased’s friends would come and pay homage. Religion had died with the living, so no scripture could be beckoned. Some funerals were even called when only rehollowing had occurred, as the death of a mind was considered comparable to a full purge, and on at least one occasion, the “dead” Hunter rebuilt enough of his Rez to call the rest of them out for assuming the worst. In the end, every funeral became a unique motley of rites and traditions, seldom holding any consistency at all.
Thankfully, Mastermind had taken the reins since joining her crew, and he treated each event with respect, donning a tiny bowtie for this very one in an homage to their fallen brethren. The group stood in silence as he continued the eulogy. Kurt had removed his eye-patch, and stared at Buttercup’s effigy with a perpetual scowl. Leah kept her own arms crossed, leaned against a tree not far away. She’d sat through too many of these. Even Liam Fenix had forced himself to stand for the occasion, though his scalp was drenched in sweat, and he wheezed every so often. The wound had been stitched, but it was still fresh, and the smell of living blood was an aggravating distraction, and one that they each had to pretend wasn’t triggering the Hunger for them.
At least the spot is nice. It was late in the afternoon now, almost a full day since Buttercup’s death had been final, and the sun cast long streaks through the trees. A clean, blue pond lay in front, reflecting the pine-covered mountains that rose in the backdrop. A field of wheat flowed through the distance in between, capping the horizon in a ring of gold.
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Leah had refused to stop moving until they’d reached Colorado, though that was before learning that a stray round had nicked their backup fuel, and that they weren’t going much further by vehicle. She was gladdened to have made it here.
Buttercup deserved this much.
“I’d like to share a story, if you all don’t mind,” Mastermind said, pivoting to the final part of the ceremony. “It is one that truly encapsulates our dearly departed friend. He approached me first after a rather discouraging Hunt, and made a jest about my likeness matching a pre-Hollowing bobblehead he’d come across in Tartarus. I told him to sodomize himself over such an insinuation, or something to that effect.” He smiled. “That insult did not deter our boisterous Buttercup, however. His resolve was buoyed instead, and he tore through half the city just to prove his point.
“The result could not be denied. There he came, almost a week later, the prized possession in his arms. One would think the artists based it off me, save for a few details. My tiny doppelganger’s hair was blonde where mine is black, and he has not been afflicted with the same Mark as me.” He stroked the gash on his neck. “Though I cannot help but think that an asymmetric wobble that exposes its underside was put in place by Buttercup, just to strengthen his argument.”
He smiled. “I believe that to be Buttercup’s greatest skill. Not his shooting, nor his tracking, but his ability to make each of us smile. No matter how dire the circumstance, he always found a way to bring comfort in this otherwise dismal world. I keep his gift on my desk in the Lodge, where I hope that it will outlast us all.”
On that thought, he tossed a fistful of dirt on the pile of gear and stepped aside. This was the part of the ceremony that was consistent in just about every rezzer funeral. Each friend would share a story in the hopes that by dispersing them to as many reservoirs as possible, their essence would survive indefinitely. That motivated all to stave off the Hollowing harder, lest they lose not just themselves, but everyone else who had died along the way.
Kurt walked up next. “I remember one time, Buttercup tried to get me a suit. Said he wanted to make me look good. Make me look ‘flashy’. Spent a dozen books to get one tailored for me.” He grimaced. “I hated everything about it.” His eye started to water. “I’m gonna miss that bastard.”
He tossed his dirt and made room.
Liam limped forth. “Can’t say I’ve known Buttercup as long as any of you. Can’t say I’ve known any of this, really. I was never much of a people person, even before. But one thing I do know is a kind heart when I see one. Sure, he was a sardonic arse when he wanted to be, but that didn’t stop the goodness he kept buried beneath. You want to know what he said to me in that final moment? That I wasn’t allowed to die until I visited his brothel. Even then, even when we were truly fucked, all he could think about was getting me laid.” He chuckled, made awkward with a cough. “He could’ve stayed back and let me die. I don’t think he cared about a cure half as much as the rest of us. But instead of walking away and letting fate play out, he was willing to sacrifice himself, not just for me, but for the hope that this nightmare might end, even if he couldn’t be part of what came after.”
He turned to Mastermind. “I think you’re half-right, mate. Sure, Buttercup was the type to make each of us smile, but if there’s any lesson he’s taught me more, it’s that there is a lot more humanity buried in your kind than even you realize. Being human is much more than having a beating heart. It is about the acts of kindness that we each take. That is what separates us from animals, and if truth be told, I believe that all of you are much better people than anyone I have ever known. You will certainly see for yourselves when this is all over, and we can share a drink over our lost friend, Buttercup.”
He tossed his dirt, and the others nodded to the sentiment.
They all looked to Leah next, but she felt sick. Give me a break. What the hell did Liam Fenix know of their kind? He was just another bullshitter saying what he thought they wanted to hear.
She stormed off in silence.