by A. K. Meek
Skirting a corner of the courthouse, Kurt caught a glimpse of a familiar figure lurking in shadow. But before he could investigate, he noticed the mayor. He sped up and closed the distance between them.
She saw him approach but kept staring into the starless sky, arms crossed over her chest like she was freezing cold even though she stood twenty feet from a burn barrel. Orange flickered through rust holes as black and char rose sluggishly in stagnant air.
“Nice night,” he said sarcastically. Earlier, he made a pact with himself to not curse the weather for one night. He lied.
She gave a dismissive huff. “For what, a roast?” His question appeared to have reminded her she was sweating and she wiped her forehead. Barrel light glistened off beads of sweat.
“Where are your guards? You shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s dangerous.”
“I had to get out of my office, get away from everyone. I feel trapped in there.”
Kurt knew exactly what she meant.
“You want to get away from everyone? Even me?” he said, boyish innocence on his face.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Stop it. You know what I mean.” She took a deep breath of hot air, but it did little to help. “What have I done here?”
“What have we done, you mean.”
“I made the decision to lock us up here. For what? What are we waiting for, to die?”
Many nights Kurt had wondered the same thing, but didn’t think saying it at this point would help the situation. He knew better than anyone about questioning your own authority, if you’ve made the right decisions. If people died because of your wrong decisions. He’d often wondered that himself.
“You think you’ve done the wrong thing by building the wall?”
Aubrey dragged her foot in the trampled dirt, making a nonsensical swirl. “Don’t know. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, right?” she dragged her foot some more. “Funny how we always think of what we could do different than what we did right.”
Kurt watched the orange flame licking the fringes of the barrel. Even from this distance he swore the warmth added to his discomfort. “I think that’s our nature. We make those might have beens more enticing because they were unfilled paths. Take us—”
“Us?”
“Well,” Kurt blushed as he realized what this must sound like. He had to elaborate, and fast. “I mean when we were in high school. Imagine you didn’t go off to the University of Georgia. Where would we be…” Kurt lost the rest of his conversation as someone in the background caught his eye.
“What? And give up my scholarship?” Aubrey laughed, her voice bringing him back into the conversation. “I think I still hold the record for the 200 meters.”
He laughed out of a duty to show he was paying attention, even though he caught only half of what she said. “Yeah, I guess,” he offered as a weak contribution. He searched for the figure again.
Aubrey smacked his arm in a playful way. “Are you even listening to me?”
The fire in the burn barrel sparked and embers rose into the night.
Kurt turned to Aubrey. “Of course I’m listening…”
Then, the identity of the skulker in the darkness registered. Councilman Ted Aldrich. He shouldn’t be here because he was banned. Kurt decided even if the whole town was falling apart, he could still do his share by escorting Ted out.
By now Ted had half a block lead on him. He started to a sprint after him.
“Where are you going?” Aubrey asked.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Kurt called over his shoulder.
Ted must’ve seen him and moved quicker, almost a trot as he sought to get away. Kurt picked up his speed.
An explosion ripped through the night.
The blast startled him, then a concussive wave hit him from behind. He tumbled forward to the ground, his chest reverberating like he was having a heart attack. His ears went numb from the deafening sound.
His mind raced in confusion as he tumbled. He came to a stop in the dirt, thinking he was already dead.
A moment of stunned silence, lying flat on the ground, then thin screams trickled into Kur’s ringing ears. He shook his head and tried to gather his wits. Slowly, he rose to wobbly knees.
When he turned to see where the blast occurred, he found small fires dotting the street. Smoke rose from what was left of a burn barrel, pieces scattered on the street and the courthouse lawn.
Four people were writhing on the ground. Two more were not moving at all.
“Aubrey!” he screamed. “Aubrey!” He scrambled to his feet and staggered dizzily. He fought back the sensation and started to run.
Townsfolk were flocking to the area, seeking to help.
Screams ripped into the night. Scanning the wounded, Kurt counted six victims so far. But there was one in particular he was looking for. He saw her against a row of hedges. A young couple were bent over her. The woman was breathing into her mouth while the man was frantically giving her chest compressions.
Tears streamed down Kurt’s face as he ran to see if Aubrey was alive or dead.
It had been over a week since Johnny last set foot in Bartel. It was a sad homecoming. When he left in the middle of the night, he wasn’t sure if he would ever see this place again. Much like the rest of his life, he had made a life-altering decision on a whim. Because that’s what Johnny did. That’s what he knew. So, he returned to Bartel in the dead of night.
Even though he had never gone on any patrols, he had a good idea about the wall that was being built. Kurt never thought Johnny was capable enough to do anything like a patrol. In fact, everyone joked he’d be the first to kill someone with friendly fire. That had become one in a long list of running jokes at his expense. He remembered everyone in the sheriff’s office laughing at him when LaTonya first said that.
One more kick in the teeth.
The .38 special that he held in his slightly shaking hand felt good in an odd way. It was a symbol of trust. Roscoe had given it to him.
Roscoe trusted him.
Bob trusted him.
They trusted him enough to send him on this important task. Now, Roscoe was following Johnny as he led two others back into Bartel.
According to Bob, Johnny was chosen because he had remained in town the longest, so he knew what the layout was. Since he had been working in the sheriff’s office, and Kurt was his brother, he figured Johnny had better insight than anyone else. No one was better fit for this task than Johnny. Johnny was important. They had given him a gun.
He knew the stretches of the wall that had the fewest patrols. There was too much wall and not enough people to keep it all guarded. It was a foolish dream to think that a small group could keep a whole town confined.
He led Roscoe and some other guy that he met just the day before, a truck driver going by the nickname of Squash, a lanky Hispanic that didn’t look a day over eighteen, into Bartel under the cover of night. They slipped through a section of wall Johnny had figured wouldn’t be heavily patrolled. A short alleyway separated a four-store strip mall that had been abandoned when the world ended. It was almost too easy to get inside the wall.
Once in town they stuck to the shadows. Wearing baseball caps and baggy clothes so no one would suspect them of being anything more than hoodlums out for some late night trouble. That was commonplace nowadays.
Not many people were out anyway. The occasional insomniac, giving no more than a casual, indifferent glance in their direction. Just another someone going who knows where.
Johnny led them through the dark and quiet city blocks toward downtown. Flashbacks of the bicycle gang came flooding back to him. He dismissed them, focused on the task at hand. He would not fail. He would not let Bob down.
He found a section of street that was a little darker than the surrounding area where he could see the front of the sheriff’s office. It was a perfect vantage point for their mission. Between the sheriff’s office and the courthouse, burn barrels flickered in the night.
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Johnny squinted into the dark from behind an abandoned SUV. Roscoe and Squash huddled close to him. He pointed. “There,” he said for Squash’s benefit, since he had never been to Bartel. From what little Squash told everyone, he was from out west, around Columbus, on the Georgia border.
“I can’t tell, but I think there’s a ton of people inside,” Johnny said. Butterflies formed in his stomach even though he had known for at least two days what was coming. Now that he was here, it was more real than anything. Bile rose in his throat but he swallowed it away.
“Looks like maybe one or two,” Squash said, his Mexican accent thick. “You’re not chickening out, are you?”
Johnny spat on the ground and mentally cursed Squash. “Nah,” he said. “I think we need a distraction.”
Roscoe slapped him lightly on the back. “That’s why we’re here for, Johnny-boy,” he said. He tapped Squash on the shoulder. “Let’s dance.”
“How’ll I know the distraction?” Johnny said.
“Oh, you’ll know,” Roscoe said, then he and Squash scurried back down the sidewalk, disappearing into the night.
Johnny watched the sheriff’s—his brother’s—office, trying to make his heart stop leaping. His breathing hitched with adrenaline and his pistol was wet with his sweat. He wiped it on his shirt then tucked it in his back pocket.
He waited. And cursed Roscoe for taking so long. And waited some more.
An explosion two blocks over startled him into a shriek. His already-anxious heart was on the verge of bursting from his chest and running down the street without the rest of his body.
It was one heck of a distraction. Roscoe wasn’t kidding when he said he’d know when it happened.
The door to the sheriff’s department flew open and five people poured out, all headed in the direction of the blast. The ruse worked.
Johnny licked his dry lips and waited a couple more minutes to make sure no one else emerged. But he knew he couldn’t wait too long. Just another minute to see if his nerves would settle down. When they didn’t, he knew it was now or never.
Keeping to a crouch as he ran, he made his way to the sheriff’s office. The last time he was here he stormed out the doors, thinking he would never set foot in this place again. But so much had already happened in that small amount of time.
Inside the office were three candles that did little to illuminate. If anything, they threw a ghostly pallor over the room. Putting the feeling of walking into a mortuary aside, Johnny made his way to his brother’s office. He knew where Kurt stashed the keys to the armory. He always kept them in the same place. He was a creature of habit.
Johnny slid open the desk drawer, which gave an all too loud screech, and found the keys.
He made his way to the armory door and unlocked it. The lockers inside held all of the firepower of Bartel. Feeling like a professional cat burglar, Johnny worked the locker clasp and jiggled the handle then yanked on the door, the metal against metal screamed to the world he was breaking into it.
His heart dropped as he saw the racks were mostly empty. One double barrel shotgun and a few assorted handguns were left. The rest of the weapons were already in the hands of the deputies patrolling the streets.
Johnny thought for a minute on what to do, then had a brilliant idea. He grabbed two of the military duffel bags Kurt used to make ammunition runs, and started loading the handguns. Holding the shotgun in one hand, he started loading boxes of ammunition, cartridges and spare banana clips with his other. Bob would surely appreciate ammunition just as much as firearms.
After three long minutes of filling the bags, a sound caused him to freeze. His heart was still thumping wildly with adrenaline, fear, and excitement. He listened intently as his heartbeat drummed in his ears. Finally, he identified unexpected sound. There was no mistake about it, now. He heard a dog bark. And it wasn’t just any dog, but one he knew.
“Susie,” he said to himself. Dropping the bags, he moved to the armory door and pushed it so that it would appear to be closed without actually engaging the lock. He didn’t need the click of the auto lock to announce his presence.
“Hello?” he heard a voice say.
LaTonya.
The barking grew louder as Susie closed in on him from somewhere at the back of the building. LaTonya must’ve been back there with her. She didn’t leave with the rest to investigate the explosion.
His heart raced as he reached for the gun at the back of his pants. If she caught him here and saw what he was doing, that would be the end of it all. His chance of being on the winning side was over before it even started. He was determined not to let that happen. No matter who stood in his way. Even his brother.
Shoes clicked on the linoleum. He still held a shotgun in his hand. And he knew the shotgun wouldn’t be loaded. Kurt had this thing about having loaded guns in the armory. Johnny grasped the shotgun by the barrel. A silhouette illuminated by the dim candles emerged from the hallway.
“Hello,” Johnny said. His voice sounded weak, shallow, and frightened.
“Johnny?” LaTonya said. “Is that you?”
“Yes, yes,” Johnny said with renewed conviction.
She laughed. “Well, it looks like the prodigal brother has returned.” She laughed again. “Kurt said you ran away but I knew you’d be back. You can’t hack it out there. He said you’d run into trouble, but I say you’re the one to bring it.”
Without another thought Johnny brought up the shotgun clutched in his sweaty hands. He swung it like a club and the stock connected with LaTonya’s head. She had started to say something else but it was cut off. The violence of the blow to her head spooked Susie and she yelped, scrambling from the room. LaTonya collapsed to the floor.
In an odd moment of fearful euphoria, Johnny wondered if the crunch was her head or the stock breaking.
A low, pain-filled moaning rose from the floor. He’d never heard such a mournful voice, so wrapped in despair. It terrified him while making him mad all the same. With the barrel clutched in both hands he raised it up like he was getting ready to chop wood for the fireplace.
He brought it down again and again where he pictured LaTonya’s head would be in the darkness. And with each blow came the now-familiar crunching sound. He did this until the moaning stopped and the crunching turned soft.
He stood over her panting, overflowing with the disgust of death but enchanted with the raw power of taking another’s life.
Finished with the dark task, he was thankful for the night because he didn’t want to see what he had done. Sweat poured from his head. He felt lightheaded, wanting to throw up and pass out at the same time while having a heart attack.
But he came this far. He was all in. He couldn’t let her death be for nothing. So he raced back to the armory, swung the door open, then grabbed the bags he had filled minutes ago. He needed to get out of there and get out of there fast.
From the shadows Susie came out growling, suddenly filled with bravado. She nipped at Johnny’s ankle; he kicked at her but missed. She scampered back off into the dark.
He hurried from the sheriff’s office, each arm straining from the weight of the bags, tired from swinging the rifle. Slowing briefly at the door, he peeked in every direction to make sure no one saw him. Then he scampered across the street to his out of sight position. From there, he found his way back to the wall where they’d entered, where they agreed to meet up if they got separated.
Roscoe and Squash were already there, waiting for him.
03.05
THE HUNTED AND THE HERO
Kurt stood outside Ted’s home. The last time ended in a mess, when Earl had taken a bullet in the leg. Now, the sheriff was on a different mission.
He was on a manhunt.
Once the day broke, the insanity of the night before having played out for the hundredth time in his mind, Kurt began to have his doubts. Just before the explosion, he would’ve sworn on his life he saw Ted running from the scene. At that tumultuous mome
nt he believed Ted was fleeing the scene of the soon-to-be explosion. He set a bomb and was running away before it detonated.
But after a couple of hours of fitful sleep he wasn’t too sure. Was he trying to make the councilman fit into what he wanted to believe happened?
His mind went back to her.
He remembered the fervent prayer as he stood over her lifeless body. The seconds seemed hours until they got her breathing again. They moved her to the clinic. There, Helen stabilized her. The damage, a broken arm, a fractured rib, multiple shrapnel wounds to the face and the torso. She was one of the lucky ones.
One person died, a teenager. His buddy had to have his left leg amputated, just above the kneecap.
Another life lost, another destroyed. For what? He wasn’t even sure. Aubrey seemed like she would pull through, but at what cost? Imagine that, the husband blows her up, the wife puts her back together. Ironic.
There have been too many sons killed, he thought as his own, Shiloh, came to mind.
A sense of duty laid the blame for all these deaths and injuries squarely on his shoulders. That was his nature as a sheriff. Even though there was the mayor and the full city council, Bartel was his town. He was responsible for all that happened. He was responsible for all who died.
Now, with a quick jerk of his head he directed his men. They understood and began their assault.
Three circled around to the left of Ted’s home, two to the right, and two more of his deputies were backing him up. They were flanking the house just in case Ted tried to get away. Kurt was sure not going to let that happen.
He nestled the M-16 rifle butt into his shoulder and made a good cheek weld. He’d hoped to never use his tactical training. Kurt motioned with his head toward the front door, Clive ran up the steps gripping with both hands a battering ram.
“Sheriff’s department. Open up!” he yelled. He swung his arms back then brought the ram forward with all the strength he could muster.