RENDER UNTO THE LAKE

There is a thing that belongs in the lake. There’s a special article that nary but a precious few people know belongs in the lake. The vast majority will not understand. Not in my lifetime. Even when all we do is help them hurry along on a set path.

A handful of like-minded individuals, under my direction, have been carrying three to four at a time. Usually around 200lbs trekking through the woods to the lake. Rarely using roads. Doing our best to avoid trail cameras.

If we ever got caught, formally, we’d see hard time. They would “clean it up”. Headlines. Op-ed writers, true-crime fanatics, journalists. They’d shine a light on our mission and we’d be ruined.

There’s buzz, of course, and rumors. Congregations, public halls. A misdirected investigative piece in the local paper. Cars aren’t starting, people are missing. Decline in wild game population, aquatic wildlife in general. They’re blaming it on some serial killer, a roving band of teenagers. I’m relieved they‘ve found some explanation.

There’ve been minor issues with locals. Hikers, joggers, hunters, mountain bikers, etc. Last week a couple, jogging, crossed our path. They had their piece to say about the mission. Completely confused. Chiding, raving away. There was a scuffle but we prevailed. Packed their remains with our load. Dragged them to rest in the lake. There’s no other way to get this done. Absolute discretion, owing to their lack of understanding.

There’s no hard evidence. No reason to suspect us, especially me. Disregarding the minor but locally televised incident in February ’97, I’m above reproach.

It’s about batteries. Preferably car batteries. We are trying to fit as many as possible of them in the lake. Any lake, really, but there’s this one that’s closest so that’s where we go.

Three years ago I came to understand that this was the unspoken wish of my community. A wish that none dared commit to public policy or proposal. I came to know that, at any cost, I had to fit as many car batteries in the lake as possible.

The first year I was on my own. Store to store, cash in hand all over the state. Wide radius. They mustn’t suspect. Angle grinder in a backpack, snub .38 in my pocket. Stripping cars. Lead-acid, lithium-ion, absorption glass mat. All into the lake.

My muscles would ache but I grew over time. Stronger. Some days I was too tired. Exhausted. On those days I packed a big lunch and hiked to the lake at a comfortable pace. Once there I would pelt AA batteries into the water. Glued the batteries to rocks. Skipped them across the surface. I got pretty good.

The first one to join, barely into the second year, was Yves. We had known about each-other. We grew up here. Met eyes buying groceries. Would nod at one another passing in halls. But the day I really met him, everything became easier.

He saw me in the woods, some November morning, pulling a sled heavy with wet cell rechargeables I’d scavenged from the suburbs. A good 100 feet out, he just stood there. Staring. Seeing him, I fired. He ran. I chased. Pulling nuts out of my pockets, stuffing them in my mouth. Muttering excerpts from the ‘talk’ section of Wikipedias’ page on ‘automotive battery’, chasing. Sucking up electrolytes from my camelbak. Relishing the hunt of this half-familiar man through the woods.

I ran him down, simply outlasted him. Time on the treadmill had paid off. He’d pissed himself and I was going to shoot him. I was dizzy and out of breath, entirely euphoric. I struggled to reload my revolver. Shaking, pushing the refilled cylinder in its place, Yves barely had time to ask me “why”. I answered. I explained to him my mission, plainly. He offered me his help.

It wasn’t mutual understanding that entwined us. Yves doesn’t have a sense of duty or a political narrative supporting mutual aid, like I do. All he had in the world was one close friend who had moved to the city some months prior. With no hobbies or passions, Yves had sort of — come apart.

To him, I am a friend. To me, he is a splendid mule. We go together, most always. More batteries each time.

Over time our number increased, vastly. Through message boards, forums and the like. People come and go. Contributing according to ability, going about their lives and returning. More batteries in hand each time.

We are formalising, opening up to membership. Putting up posters. Increasingly, we move in the open. I am validated. I have serviced the community’s unspoken wish and they love me for it.

Our purview expands to slag, industrial waste. Pharmaceuticals, oils and diesel.

The lake burns skin. It intoxicates. The surrounding environment is all but useless. We have the local council in hand. The paper publishes on our behalf, tepid nonsense and ambiguous prose. A civil society unanimously fitting batteries into the lake.

I know in my heart that the people at large, the Nation, would support us. Even if they’d not admit to it at this early stage. If it ever came to a televised trial, I would have near total public support. A vanguard and a hero.

We have filled the lake.