Keep The Fire HotSummer 2025

Emerging from the darkness of deep woods towards the hazed morning light limps a winded and bloody WINSTON PRICE.

WIN approaches the last row of trees and squints one good eye out over the clearing, past the misted rolling hills to an unlit town below.

Chimney smoke from one or two homes in a mostly smokeless town.

He leans into a tree with his shoulder and immediately regrets it, pulling away to confirm a fresh line of sap now attached to his battered jacket.

Accepted, he leans back into the tree.

Warm air has dealt with most of the snow but small piles still sit shrinking where shade protects them. Like around the base of this tree.

WIN’s boots crunch the snow as he shifts weight every few seconds to relieve fatigue.

He drags his finger along the lines of the last section.

Only one clear word: Canada. And one number along a line, the 49th.

Frenzied blue-pen ink circles around this town on this blood stained piece of map with names in a language he doesn’t speak.

They better be there.

If they aren’t, he will have no idea where to go next.

A fierce wince of pain reminds him he has a bandage on his leg to replace.

WIN leans to pull up his pant leg by the cuff. It sickens him.

The bandage is filthy but will hold. For now.

(to himself)

Do I need a story?

Will anyone talk to a blood-covered dirtbag limping into town, stinking of desperation?

He pushes himself beyond the sticky gravity of the tree and exits the treeline into the clearing.

WIN looks back to the treeline as best he can with a stream of caked blood and scab over his swollen right eye.

The broken nose and the cloth he stuck in both nostrils stops the bleeding but makes it harder to breathe.

At least this clearing is a wide and easy descent towards the town.

His clumsy gait is aimed at an empty yard for a house with closed doors and intact windows.

Forgotten clothes on a clothesline in the wind.

Toys.

Mess.

People nearby recently.

WIN pulls from his pocket a lime green transformer toy in the shape of a bulldozer.

He practices sucking in his breath to calm himself, pinching his pointing finger into the ball of his thumb.

(to himself)

I can handle anything.

I can fucking do this.

His daughter’s laugh is in his head and riding on the wind, collapsing in waves from the soft collisions of the assorted Spruce, Maple, and Trembling Aspen.

He smiles at the memory of ANGIE’s smile and how perfect she looked in that summer dress with combat boots and her hair tied back.

Tears blur his vision to go with his laboured mouth breathing.

It's then he realizes that this town is on the wrong side of the river he’s looking at.

Damn.

Out of the corner of his eye some commotion, a woman in torn jeans, grass stains at the widening knees, running and being knocked down by a heavy, bald asshole in an oversized coat.

Half of her plaid shirt jacket is torn off and this guy is pulling on the other half.

WIN’s best sprint in this condition is sad to watch but there he is trying to get there anyway.

The attacker pulls out a bowie knife big enough to be seen from orbit.

The woman’s left backhand swats the attacker’s hand from the bottom of the knife handle knocking it away and when he stretches for it he’s exposed.

No hesitation. She slips out from under his weight, wraps herself around his back like a toddler looking for a piggy-back ride and bites deep into the side of his neck, pulling away a mouthful of gore and the blood is a fountain of leaking scumbag.

WIN arrives and leans over hands on legs while catching his breath.

MARA rolls off her dying attacker to catch her breath.

Without looking up at WIN she realizes there's another person within just a few feet of her and flusters awkwardly for the bowie knife and points it at him.

Get the fuck BACK.

Whoa! I came to help.

Are you ok?

I’m fucking fine, what you think?

I guess you are.

MARA straightens upright, painted red from the chin down, still pointing the knife at WIN not the least comforted by the corpse she just created between her and the new dirtbag she has to deal with.

He’s been following me for days.

Wouldn’t just fuck off.

I think he killed someone I knew.

A friend?

Someone I knew.

Anyway, did you fall off a cliff?

Something like that. I’m going to sit.

Running gave me a throbbing headache.

Keeping his eyes forward, WIN collapses slowly then all at once, to his ass on the ground.

Are you situated here in this town, over here?

No.

Do you know anyone in this town?

Why? Do you know anyone in this town?

Fucking hell, I’m asking.

Yeah, asshole, why.

I’m looking for some people.

What people?

My ex and my kids.

Bullshit.

How is that bullshit?

It sounds like a line of bullshit. I’m not buying it.

How’d you get the beating? Stealing something?

It's not important.

You want help in that town,

you use your fucking words right now.

Did she leave your loser ass?

They were taken.

What about the beating?

I’ve been looking for my family for a long time through some hard bullshit and that took me down some dark roads and the people on those dark roads aren’t all the hugging kind.

Are they following you?

If they are, they're doing it without beating hearts in their chests.

You’d be surprised.

How's that?

Do you have a weapon?

Why?

What exactly did you plan to do when you came over to help?

Use harsh language and hope for the best?

I’m not entirely useless, I’m just sore and a bit tired.

You might be helpless.

Usually takes longer

For?

For people to get such a high opinion of me.

MARA nods in quiet agreement.

WIN evaluates the mortal wound of her deceased attacker.

WIN stares past the wound and into deep inner space as he contemplates his current situation standing with body at his feet and no friends to be found.

The spell breaks and the environment comes into focus.

This town looks like every other fucking northern shithole town in old Ontario.

Infinite and yet suffocating scenic beauty with more broken down pickups than books in the library.

To his right the river runs south and widens north to become the lake and across from him the rising sun warms the half sunken corpses of the marina.

In this town, the living use the dead as camouflage for boats too.

One boat alone looks maintained among its half sunken comrades.

MARA pulls the oversized coat off the body and lets the torso flop to the soft Earth as she slides into it.

It's fair since this limp prick cost me the one I had.

No judgement.

MARA eyes WIN hard in deep evaluation and draws in a deep breath to manage herself.

The jacket slides off again.

Nope. Stinks.

She maintains his eyes as she slides the blade into her belt so she knows that he knows she still has that bowie at the ready for any of his possible bullshit.

I’ll take you to the library and if the man is there you can deal with your bullshit.

I’m on my way north.

What's north?

More throats to tear out.

WIN gives an awkward head nod in acknowledgement and rolls his one good eye as soon as MARA looks away.

He looks to the road and the giant bridge that crosses the river a short walk away.

He winces from the pain in his leg.

Ok, let's get on with it. I need to find a new bandage or three.

Should we walk to the bridge?

Seems better than a swim.

Burned out house after burned out house as they enter the town, one stumbling step at a time.

The few not burned out have had some eight winters of storms make sticks of their doors and glittering floor angels of their windows.

Past houses to the main drag.

The streets are clear enough to drive a dump truck through without hitting another car.

There is something menacing about the open space that would have once felt comfortable but now just makes you feel like an easier target.

These buildings were all built in the ‘60s.

Each building somehow looks like it's on stilts or made of containers or should be in some temporary arctic outpost.

If you had a picture of this street from 30 years ago it would look the exact same as it does right now.

Except for maybe the chinese food place and the weed dispensary as the only evidence the modern world ever happened.

WIN and MARA witness a fox running along the train tracks almost beside them as he casts frequent quick glances in their direction.

That would have been a thing he’d have talked about before. He talked about animals with the kids all the time.

He looks to MARA to try and say something but thinks better of it.

He puts his hand in his pocket to hold his son’s toy.

When we get there, I’ll go in first. You’ll wait outside. If he's there and if he will see you, you can go in and I’ll move on.

How do you know this guy?

I just do.

It's up on the left.

Is he armed?

MARA doesn't answer, only shaking her head at how stupid the question is.

The library is on the corner of what might be a main street, facing only train tracks and more streets and then more dead houses and probably more emptiness after that.

Behind the library is a modern-looking children’s playground.

There is no litter.

No windows are broken.

The entrance is on the side street and MARA heads right for it.

She is already inside the door as WIN hobbles up the curb to call out;

I’ll just wait out here then.

The colors and the morning sun give WIN some solace.

The bench where he sits facing the playground with his back to the doors.

He thinks of his kids playing in these bars. Running around.

And the ache almost overwhelms him. The embrace of home.

Breathing exercises to try to stem the flow. But he fails and the water streams from his eyes and the sickness has him. He is lost to it.

You have fucking work to do, you fucking loser.

Stand up and be ready for that door to open.

MARA drives the body of a skinny pocked-faced dirtbag into the library door to open it.

The percussion of the panic bar handle hitting its limit cracks the silence and shakes WIN like it had hit him.

MARA’s victim hasn’t seen the sun in days and might look better now, at the end of all things, than he ever did.

Her left hand has a full grip of hair on his head and her right has his arm fully pinned behind him.

He’s a little less friendly than the last time I saw him but you can ask him your questions.

Fuck yourself sideways!

WIN shakes away the feeling in his head and hobbles over to meet them.

Who the fuck is this guy?

You ok, buddy?

He is tempted to step on this guy's shoeless toes while he asks his questions.

This must not be the first time someone has stomped on this guy's toes because as soon as he catches WIN looking at his feet he draws them in, toes curled.

There's a guy I need to find. Rumour is he stays in this town on the regular or at least passes through. Unusually tall, unusually blond, Dutch or Finnish Guy. Runs with a crew of raping, murdering skid motherfuckers. They’d have been through here a month or so ago on snowmobiles. Four or Five of them. Maybe more. Maybe less.

You don’t listen so good. I said get fucked.

My people will be back any minute. Any minute.

They’ll take both your eyes.

The last fools wandered into this town ... we had ‘em over a fuckin’ bonfire..

MARA starts pushing his bent arm further up his back, twisting his hand into a useless mitt, causing him to shout out in pain.

AGGHH Get off, the fuck off!

WIN produces the straight razor that he’s had with him all this time and MARA eyes it with incredulity.

He moves closer and now all three of them are nice and hugging close.

GRIP is struggling in smaller and smaller moves with his eyes following the blade.

WIN holds GRIP’s face tight by the jaw with his left and slowly brings the blade to GRIP’s eyes with his right.

Don’t.

(beat)

Don’t.. I.. please

My kids. And my woman. Are gone. You fuck. I want them back.

And if I cut pieces off you right now.. You’ll have earned it… right?

Who’d you have over a bonfire?

Who’d you have over a bonfire, asshole?

I don't know nothin about normies or kids or families. I swear. Aint been nobody like that that I seen up here since the fuckin MAGA cunts came through and washed them all away. And that was like… like years ago.

TALL, BLONDE, DUTCH OR FINNISH GUY. SNOWMOBILES.

Talk or I cut!

MARA has gone from surprised to impressed to worried for her own safety. But she keeps her firm grip on GRIP.

They can all smell each other, blood, unwashed clothes months old, and this special smelly fuck has paint fumes in his clothes and model glue in his whiskers. If you dragged this group through garbage you’d make the garbage dirtier.

Fucking cut him then, I don’t have all day.

Open your mouth. You won’t talk?

Now you never will again.

Give me that tongue, baby.

Fuck, no. NO.

OK, ok ok ok.

Right across the tracks. That neighborhood. I never been there with them but that's where they go. One of the streets over there somewhere.

Which one?

Use your words right now - straight ahead?

Walk over the tracks and turn right. In there somewhere.

Ok, let's tie him up.

Ferfocksakes!

I told you all I know and thats all I fuckin know.

I still have to live in this town!

If I get over there and there's nothing, I’m coming right back here to give you a big fat hug and kiss.

I ain’t lying, I want to keep my tongue,

you crazy half-blind asshole.

MARA watches while WIN ties GRIP’s arms tight at the wrist above his head with a sloppy knot to a rung on the monkey bars.

She steals glances at WIN’s collection of wounds.

When the knots are right he turns to get her approval.

Good?

Mmhmm. He isn’t going anywhere.

You want to go up there?

Did you get what you needed inside?

No, it left. I’m going north so I’ll walk with you up the street and when you turn right, I’ll be going mostly straight for a long while.

Right.

Like the fox before them, they walk at their brisk pace looking back in GRIP’s direction with quick glances even after he is fully hidden from view behind the library.

The train tracks they cross are empty in both directions, as empty as the intersection they walk through.

This time as they walk the wide empty streets they are side by side.

I hope you find your family.

You helped me when you didn't have to.

Why?

I really don’t know.

(beat)

Anyway.

Anyway.

They both give restrained smiles and look everywhere but at each other, as they stand alone in the street. There is recognition in them both. A hard-won willingness to commit violence that isn't natural to either of them.

Well I better.. get on with it

Yeah, same. Ok.

Ok.

WIN watches her walk away for only the briefest of moments before he looks towards the winding street to his right.

Busted, burnt out cars on the street and skeletons of houses that even bears would avoid going into.

He picks a side of the street to start on with a silent and half-hearted eenie, meanie, mino, moe and walks.

Completed Story Coming Soon