Jack and the Mountain
Prelude

1980: The Boston Mountains, Arkansas 
The wind cut hard across the mountaintop cemetery. It sent skirling leaves and the seasons’ first flurry of icy snow over the weathered gravestones and through the raddled trees’ clutching fingers. Abe stood holding his hat. He looked uncomfortable in his worn brown suit. It was clean, but didn’t fit and was shiny at elbows and knees. It was old, just like Abe. He looked angry.  
Father Preddy put his hand on the man’s shoulder briefly, was rewarded with a scowl and a refusal to meet his eyes. The little priest’s mouth moved as if to speak but then stilled. This man didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. He squinted into the wind instead, watched the lowering clouds roll across the rounded mountain peaks, blinked his watering eyes against the tiny ice crystals. The priest squeezed the old man’s bony shoulder and walked away. 
“Why’d you do it, Sam?” Abe’s voice grated with unshed tears and smothered anger. He was speaking to the grave before him, the dead man inside. 
The freshly filled hole was an obscene wound in the soft flesh of the earth. Another old man returned to the soil. Abe’s only friend for years. More than just a friend, his best friend, a teacher, a confidant, a source of strength and, most importantly, the second to the last of the Wall’s defenders. A man who had always known what to do, until, one day, he hadn’t. Until now. 
“Jesus, what am I gonna do now?” the old man said. He could feel the Wall in the back of his mind, strong at the moment, still solid, but Abe knew it was weakening, already weakening, moment-by-moment. Abe didn’t know if he was strong enough, smart enough, or wise enough to keep the barrier going. He was old and so, so tired. He was the last of the faithful.  
A wave of fury and fear rolled through him. 
“You coward. You dirty, dirty coward.” He spat out. “Why? Why, did you do this? You know I can’t do the work on my own. How am I going to do this? People are going to start hurting themselves, hurting others. You knew, Sam! You knew!” The yell sounded flat in the dead air. It disappeared, unheard, unnoticed. The old man stood stolidly as another strong gust of wind tried to push him away, adjusted his crooked tie for the fiftieth time, reached up and wiped away a tear, licked his dry, dry lips. “You left me alone…”  
The old man had more to say, more words of acid and rage and many, many more of sorrow and dismay, but he choked them down. He dropped to his knees in the cold, careless of his suit pants, and placed his leathery hand palm-down on the upturned earth. He bent his head. His lips moved silently. A whispered prayer. An invocation. A pledge. He closed his fingers on the dirt, gripped the powdery soil in his fist and rose haltingly back to his feet. He inspected the handful closely, looked at the darkening sky, then put the earth into his pocket and walked away.  
The Wall was fading, always fading and now there was only Abe to do what needed to be done. God willing, he’d find a way