Slaves to Evil - 11 by Lee Goldberg

CHAPTER ONE
     
    “You’re killing me!” the man in the Vikings cap screamed at the cheap TV. “Arceneaux was wide open!”
    The crowd in Ziggy’s bar heartily agreed. Matt, who had no particular opinion on the subject, shouted, “Get some glasses!” He was in Minneapolis, and getting caught up in the excitement of the hometown crowd felt pretty good. Particularly when there wasn’t a lesion or pus-filled sore among them.
    For the first time in recent memory, Matt was actually having fun. He was getting shitfaced with a bunch of strangers in a sports bar he’d wandered into, yelling at whatever game happened to be on. It was a welcome release after the horrific experiences of the past few months. He pushed those dark thoughts away. The Vikings had the ball.
    A ruddy-faced drunk (Dave…or was it Steve?) clapped Matt on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’ll turn it around.”
    “Course they will,” said Matt.
    Probably…Dave waved at the bartender as he headed for the bathroom, gesturing back toward Matt. “Two more!”
    Matt didn’t bother pretending to protest. Who was he to turn down free beer? He drained the last swallow from his mug, his face pleasantly numbed by alcohol.
    As a matter of fact, the Vikes did turn it around and squeaked out a 26–25 victory over San Diego. In the ensuing celebration, Matt got to talking with Ty, a sociable young guy with baffling facial hair. Was that beard supposed to look like flames? Some sort of sea creature? Ty confided that he had a line on a job at a paper mill near Duluth.
    “Nothing exciting,” he admitted. “Loading and unloading trucks. But any kind of work’s been hard to come by.”
    “True,” said Matt.
    Ty was seized by an idea. “You should totally come with me! They need more people. I could put in a good word for you.”
    As a matter of fact, Matt’s funds were running low. He raised his mug in a tipsy salute. “Thanks. That’d be great.”
    After one more each, they caught a local bus to the main depot in town. The place was bustling, with long lines at the ticket windows and the digital schedule board declaring several routes sold out. Then Matt remembered—Thanksgiving was two days away. Everyone was going home to their families.
    He’d been trying not to think about the upcoming holiday, because it made him remember his last Thanksgiving with Janey. It had been a sad little celebration in her hospital room, with the traditional feast consisting mainly of pureed cranberries. She couldn’t keep down solid food anymore. Matt remembered telling Janey how thankful he was that she’d come into his life, however briefly. He still felt that way. He missed her every single day. Everything else in his life may have changed, but never that. He didn’t want it to. Being OK with Janey’s death would feel like a betrayal of all she meant to him.
    Matt and Ty were lucky—there were still tickets available to Duluth. Later, Matt would wonder if it was luck at all. In the meantime, he was happy to listen to Ty chatter as their bus cruised down the highway.
    “I’m not going to work in a factory forever. No way,” he insisted. “I’m saving up.”
    “For what?” asked Matt.
    “Ethiopia,” said Ty.
    Through his fading beer buzz, he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Ethiopia? The country?”
    Ty nodded emphatically. “Did you know that two-thirds of the people there can’t even read?”
    “I didn’t,” admitted Matt.
    “I’m going to teach them,” declared Ty. Then he laughed. “Not everyone, obviously, but kids in a village. With the Peace Corps or something.”
    He looked at Matt earnestly. “I want to make a difference, you know? I want to do something that matters.”
    Careful what you wish for, thought Matt. He often wished he could return to the quiet, inconsequential life he’d had before the avalanche. He’d spent nearly three months buried under the snow. Dead. At least until that assistant coroner had started cutting