More Boxes

“I’m going to need some more boxes to finish packing up this family,” said Steve.

“I’ll get some from the truck.” Mark lifted one of the sealed boxes and headed for the door.

Steve stared at the stack of sealed boxes against the wall. He glanced at his watch. “Damn. We're way behind.”

“Big families mean more boxes.”

Steve flinched and turned. Mark handed him an armful of collapsed moving boxes.

“Just make sure you tape it really well. We don’t want anything falling out.”

They worked in silence for several hours. Steve loaded the last box onto the truck, and Mark closed the doors. Last Stop Movers was painted in bold letters.

“That took a little longer than I expected. Hopefully, we can get to the house and unload before it gets too dark.”

“Big families mean more boxes,” Mark said. “You never give yourself enough time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I haven’t been doing this as long as you have. Next time I’ll start earlier.”

Steve backed the truck out of the driveway. They drove in silence for several miles, eventually pulling off the interstate and onto a two-lane country road. A few miles later, they turned onto a dirt road. The truck rocked over the uneven ground.

Steve drove past a rusted pickup truck and parked behind a lone house tucked away in a large cluster of trees.

Mark hopped out of the cab and walked to the back of the truck. Steve followed. They opened the doors.

Several boxes had tipped over and broken open.

A severed head lay on the floor of the truck. An arm and torso beside it.

Mark breathed through his nose. “I told you to tape it really well. Now we have to scrub the truck again.”

“How’s this my fault?” Steve scooped the pieces back into the box.

Mark grabbed a box and headed to the house.

Quickly resealing the box, Steve carried it into the house.

Mark placed his box on the floor next to the stack of boxes that already filled most of the room.

“Big families mean more boxes.”