"Tony?"

"Yeah, man?"

Danny collected his strength.

"Get me the f.u.c.k to a hospital."

Chapter 79.

In the following days, the world would remember the strange happenings as freak occurrences and nothing more. The awareness of the populace's immortality for a week was never realized for what it was, much to the grief of a certain few. There were stories of shock and horror, of people suffering terribly yet clinging courageously to life, only to succ.u.mb in the end. And if the stories reached high enough ears, they would be smiled at, and perhaps there would be a chance debate on two of the greatest mysteries known as Life and Death. In time, the events that took place during Death's absence would be scoffed at, discredited as bad science fiction, even though a strange, eerie coincidence still remained...

The number of people suffering from various life threatening maladies or in critical conditions, who had all expired at exactly the same time on the same morning, across multiple time zones.

Almost as if Death himself had suddenly remembered them.

Eventually, that particular week in time would be reminisced by the first responders, the ambulance drivers and the people working the graveyard shifts in public mortuaries and hospitals. A tale told to the newcomers, just to see how gullible they were. Strange things happened around dead folks and the nearly dead. Strange things happened all the time. And when they did, it was best to just deal with whatever was happening, note it and quietly move on. After all, miracles of people escaping death did indeed happen. All the time.

Three of them were delivered to a hospital in Surrey, British Columbia, by a single man driving a fire truck. The man refused to give his name or any other information to the medical staff. He quickly unloaded the three men, evaded any attempt to keep him at the hospital and drove off. The police were contacted, and a deserted fire truck would be found later, north of Surrey.

Of the driver, there was no sign.

Months later, after numerous life-saving and reconstructive surgeries, steel plates, implants and finally physical therapy, the three miracles were strong enough to be released back into the world.

One of the men returned to the States. He went back to the place he called home, decided he had enough of his line of work, and eventually disappeared.

To someplace tropical.

The two other miracles were of a different mind. They had past issues unresolved, any one could see that in their rehabilitation. It was in the way they spoke to each other, civil yet wary. One therapist even remarked that she heard the soft spoken gentleman from Nova Scotia saying that things were "still done" and that "it wasn't over."

Regarding whatever "it" was, the constantly smiling gentleman from Newfoundland with the thick accent seemed only too agreeable on the matter.

But all agreed that it was heartening to see both men actually encouraging the other to get stronger. They seemed to draw mutual strength from each other's miraculous recovery.

Then, as all recovered patients do, they were discharged from the hospital. It was a bright day in late August, and the humidity factor was high. As healed as they were ever going to be, they drove away in their respective cars.

Both men drove north.

Sometimes one took the lead over the other, pa.s.sing on the straighter strips of highway.

They arrived at the two cabins on a Sunday. Both men got out of their cars, parked in the middle of the country dirt road. The air was warm and moist and full of the smell of trees. It was a lush contrast to when they had first come here. They could see that the owners of the cabins had never returned during the summer, thus the damage done in the winter remained. They gazed around the front of the second cabin, and remembered their battle with Pain. In the grey of the crushed stone road, neither Stickman nor Danny could see any evidence of the war they had fought.

"Well," the Stickman said. "'Twas wintertime."

Danny nodded. Then, he walked away from the car, to the rich front lawn before the cabin where the siege had taken place. The Stickman followed. The day was hot, and the sun shone down from directly overhead.

Danny went to the far side of the lawn. There, he took off his shirt and tossed it to one side. At the other end, a smiling Stickman did the same. Both men regarded each other in silence, noting the scars on each other's bodies. It was indeed a miracle they healed so fast.

"Ye ready, me son?" the Stickman asked. He thought briefly of Beverly. If fate was on his side, if it was meant to be, he would be searching for her shortly.

"I'm ready," Danny had replied. He had his own plans. One concerned a woman and the other centered on turning the Beacon into a regular bar.

"Alright, den," the Stickman declared with a nod.

They both realized they could have been friends, especially after going through therapy together. In the beginning, it had been hard. Danny saw the Stickman only as unfinished business. He was the man that killed his two best friends. They talked about it, and Danny agreed that Stickman was seeking revenge for his best friend Badger. It was all a big mistake, seeing as through their conversations together they figured out that Pain was responsible for Badger anyway. But the Stickman did what, Danny had to admit, he would have only done himself if the roles had been reversed. It was f.u.c.ked up. Gary and Boomer should have talked. The Stickman should have listened. What was done was done. Mistakes had been made. And blood was spilled. But Danny could not allow the punishment and death of his friends to go unanswered. Understanding where the big man was coming from and losing his own friend, the Stickman offered Danny a solution. When they were both able to leave the hospital under their own power, they both agreed on one way to remedy the past. Perhaps it was stupid, but neither one of them thought so.

Both men stood opposite each other, stretching and flexing in the warm sun. Both men knew the other was strong from their time in therapy. Both knew each other's reputation from back East. Both men remembered their friends.

Smiling, Stickman slipped into his fighting stance. He drew up his invisible shields and asked for Ninja Bill to watch over him. He was about to fight the twin of the tower that had almost killed him.

Danny raised his hands. He was a legend in the Halifax bar circuit. He was a peacemaker. He was about to fight the killer of his two best friends.

"What'll be den?" the Stickman asked, shadow boxing and eternally jovial. "To de end?"

Danny smiled grimly at the crazy Newfoundlander. "To the end," he said wondering if it would go that far. He then wondered if they would be watched.

The Stickman wondered the same. "To de end, den," he repeated, bringing his arms up to guard. "Come at me, me son."

There, on the front lawn of the log cabin, the two men closed the distance and began circling each other. They moved closer together. Danny was all serious. The Stickman wore his grin.

And both swung at the same time.

About the Author.

Keith lives in the wild hills of Canada. His other books include:.

The Troll Hunter (Heroic Fantasy).

The Bear That Fell From The Stars (Science Fiction).

Check out www.keithcblackmore.com for further releases or comments on his work.

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