Day 395

Kurt wakes up to the sound of the alarm clock beeping at him. He opens his eyes and darts them around the room. Clapping twice, the lights turn on. The room is empty except for him and the mess he leaves. He stares at the wall mirror, looking not at himself, but below him, at the empty space beneath the bed. Seeing he is still alone, he pulls the gun out from under his pillow and puts it on the nightstand. He looks at each of the doors in the room, making sure they are still shut.

He gets up and rubs his eyes with the side of his hand. “Nightmares, I tell ya.” He looks up and down a panel of lights with rows of green lights. “All green.” He looks at the second panel. “Green all night.”

He takes a shower.

He puts on jogging pants and ties his shoes, unties them, and then reties them with the detail of a sailor. He loads a pistol, switches the safety off and back on, then puts it in the holster strapped to his leg. He repeats the motion, attaching another pistol to the strap on his other leg. He practices pulling the gun out, closing his eyes and removing both of them single-handedly, one at a time. He pushes the strap forward with his thumb and pulls the pistol out, then practices it with the other hand, other pistol. He’s quick on his first try with each. There are four clips of ammo on his belt. He puts on sunglasses and walks down thirteen flights of stairs to the lobby.
He picks up a spade leaning against the front desk. It is an arm-length pole with a sharp, rounded blade attached to the end. On the other end is a handle it can be pushed from.
He goes out the doors carrying the spade. He walks carefully, the ground having his complete attention. At the bottom of the steps are beartraps. There are five rows of them, spread across, circling the tower. Will walks in a zig-zag as he takes the route his knows to avoid the traps. Once on the other side, he circles the building with the spade, looking at the traps. After his circle, he sets the spade down, sets his watch to time his run.

“Three miles, let’s get it in twenty-seven minutes this time.”

He looks out at the open day, the bright dawn. In the distance, a bird chirps, the wind rustles the leaves, and Will swears he can hear his own eyes blink. Against the silence, the beep of his watch is a gunshot.

Thirty minutes later, he will stop again at the parking lot, before his sea of beartraps and hit his watch again. He will catch his breath, look out into the day, pick up the spade, zig-zag back into
his tower, and know he will not see another living soul today.