"What you need, Carl?" Ted asked. Several hours had passed. Carl had taken some time to collect himself, then gathered everyone together on Mike's front porch.

"Ted, Hugh, I got a question for the both of you. Before this job, what's the last thing you remember?"

Hugh snorted. "You drunk, Carl?"

"I just wanna know."

"Well... I..." He trailed off. "It's kind of hazy, now that you mention it."

"Ted?"

"Well hell, Carl, I guess my house and my wife and working in the mines. I got lotsa memories."

"I know you do, but what about rightbefore? What do you remember about the flood? Who came and told you we needed to do this job?"

"Oh, now, Carl, that's easy... I mean... that is to say..."

Mike stepped in. "Hugh, what year is it?"

"1912," Hugh said immediately. "What the hell year you think?" He stood up. "You've all gone crazy, I -- ouch!"

"Oh!" Ted grunted, grabbing his hand. "What'd you do that for?"

Carl held up a knitting needle.

"The year," Mike said flatly, "is 1934."

"Look at your fingers, fellas," Carl said.

The two men raised their fingers. Eyes, suddenly wide, suddenly terrified, examined them closely. A thick, clear liquid dribbled down both hands in slow rivulets.

"Embalming fluid," Mike said. "Unless I'm mistaken, I'm the only man here with a pulse."

~

There was a great stir on Mike's porch, and after the screaming and the exclaiming and the accusing and the shaking heads and frantic cries had ceased, three men walked the dirt road to Pineville and sought out their homes.

A short time later they returned, glassy-eyed and resigned.

"Now do you believe me an' Carl?" Mike said.

Hugh and Ted nodded their hanging heads. Their houses were abandoned, their families gone.

"What year you say this is again?" Ted asked quietly.

"1934," Mike said. "Pineville's been dead since the early '20's, when the coal gave out. I'm the only one here. All I do is tend the cemetery, see that no one bothers anything. Come from Pittsburgh, originally. Paid by the county."

They trudged into Mike's living room and slumped down in rocking chairs by the fire. Outside the wind blew cold, sending dried leaves scuttling across the porch boards and stressing the roof beams.

Mike said, "According to this chart, you all... er... passed away on the same date: May 23 ^rd, 1912. You remember anything at all about it?"

They thought for a moment. "Come to think of it," Ted said, slowly, "I do remember something... something about water. But it's distant, like a dream."

"The mines!" Carl exclaimed. "Culver Lake. The flood."

"The roar... the rocks," said Ted.

"By God," said Hugh, "the collapse."

"We all work... or worked... the same midnight shift," Carl explained. "Looks like we didn't make it out of that one with all our faculties intact, as the doctors say."

Mike moaned. "This'll teach me for not taking an interest in other people's lives. If I'd only asked what you all did and where you all lived when you first got here... I just assumed you lived in Still Creek over the hill and were sent down to help. I never thought... that is, I never... I should have known when you was talking about Wilbur Collins. He died in 1893, and you all look so young, I----"

"Enough," said Carl. "Don't worry yourself over it. What we need to worry on now is the best course of action. There's something going on here that ain't natural, we've all guessed that since Day One, but now it seems we're a pretty big part of it ourselves. Well, to be frank I've got to say I don't think we belong up here, walking and talking, anymore than the rest of the folk out there who seem to be a tad restless too."

"Agreed," said Ted and Hugh.

"And I think we'd also agree that this is a fair bit, well, upsettingfor us, what with us being dead and our families all moved on and away... Upsetting for our friend here too, who ain't done nothing to deserve this kind of stress," Carl continued, nodding to Mike. "So the sooner things get back to normal, the better. Now, we've laid out there quiet for twenty-two years and change. Why we up and walking again now?"

"The flood," Hugh said.

"That's how I see it," Carl agreed. "The flood warshed us all up, something needed done to fix it, so we came back to ourselves. Taking care of this kind of thing is our job as volunteer firemen, after all."

"Agreed."

"But what about the others?" asked Ted. "Why are they up and about too?"

Mike said, "It's like that saying my granddaddy was fond of, the morbid cuss: 'The dead take care of their own.'"

"Sounds about right, given what's happened," said Hugh.

"Everyone out there in that yard and in that shed are doing their part, and we're heading up the project," Carl said.

"So all we got to do..." Hugh began.

"...Is finish what we started, and things'll fall back into line around here." Carl turned to Mike. "After all this, you mind if we stay on at the house a little while longer? That fire feels good, even if we ain't supposed to notice such things in our condition."

"Well hell, boys," Mike said, and they were glad to notice the color had returned to his face, "I'd say you deserve that at the very least."

~

They had the cemetery back in good order at the end of two weeks. Some gravestones needed replaced, including Carl's and Ted's (Hugh's was found in a rain gully a short distance from the grounds, a little chipped but otherwise fine), but Mike made a trip over to Still Creek and came back with a half dozen new stones. Finally, on October 27 ^th, they lined up in front of Mike's cabin and looked out upon the graveyard, grass neat, stones straight, and declared it finished.

All except one thing.

"Everything trim and tidy again, everyone tucked back in," Carl said. "Guess it's time you saw us off, Mike."

"Boys, it's been my pleasure." Mike shook hands all around. "You ready?"

They were. Three open graves lay side by side. Carl, Hugh, and Ted, dressed in smart, new tailor-made suits, climbed carefully down into the holes, minding the dirt, and lay down in the pine boxes they'd built for themselves the previous day.

"Feeling a bit tired, to be honest," Hugh said, reaching up to close his lid. "Miss my kids. Maybe if I go to sleep I'll see them again. So long, folks. Catch ya again sometime, I guess." He shut the lid, knocked twice, and Mike stepped down and latched it.

"I guess all this was fitting," Ted said, squirming slightly to get comfortable. "There ain't many people left to look after us... It would've been too big a job for you to do alone, Mike."

"You did great, Ted." The lid creaked shut. Mike latched it.

Carl shook Mike's hand again. "I want your honest opinion... You think this place looks good? Really good?"

"Even better that it did before."

"An untended grave is a shameful thing. It was quite a shock, this, but I'm glad we came back to do it." He reached up, grabbed the edge of his lid, and started to pull it closed over himself. "Oh, hey!" he added. "I almost forgot!"