Fire From the Sky: Friendly Fire

by N. C. Reed

  “What do you need me to do?” Clay asked at once.

  “Send Brick home to guard the door,” Patricia replied. “Leon asked for him. Also, I need you to cover for Janice so she can take care of him. Marla is up there but . . . I hate to say this, but she's not the most dependable, and she gives Leon too much hell as it is. And right now that's no good. He has got to have some peace and work on his breathing.”

  “I’ll make that happen right now,” Clay promised, reaching for his radio. “Anything else?”

  “I think someone is going to have to eventually speak to Malitha, and that means to Franklin. Ideally it would be Gordon, but I'm shocked he and Angela haven't already been at either Leon or you about-,”

  “Clayton, I need to talk to you!” Angela Sanders' voice cut into the conversation.

  “You were saying?” Clay raised an eyebrow at his sister-in-law. “Let me have Corey find Brick and take him home. I’ll see Robert or Deuce about the schedule. With Millie and now Gwen working there, we should be able to cover it fine.”

  “Thanks,” Patricia smiled, patting his shoulder. “Good luck.”

  “Right,” Clay snorted. Raising a hand to stop his mother's next outburst, he used his radio to order Corey, who was riding the ATV almost as a gopher now that his arm was all but healed, to locate Brick and take him home. When he was done, he looked at his mother.

  “I'm almost afraid to ask, but what is it now?”

  ***

  “Well, there are definitely people,” Stacey sounded apprehensive.

  “Yeah,” Shane almost muttered. He slowed as they approached the church.

  “Several guns in that crowd,” Shane heard Zach say, followed by him racking a round into the big Browning.

  “Easy there, Gunner,” Shane urged. “Man's got a right to own a gun.”

  “Agree completely,” Zach replied. “Just rather they not be pointed at me.”

  “Hang back just a little, guys,” Shane ordered the trailing vehicles. “This don't look all that good, to be honest. Better we're not bunched up. Stay alert.”

  “Odie copies.”

  “Ghost copies.”

  “See anybody you know, Zach?” Shane asked.

  “Not at the moment, but I also ain't supposed to let anyone know who I am,” the teen replied. “Has that changed?”

  “No,” Shane said definitely. “Just wanted your input into anyone you recognized. Troublemakers, peacemakers, that sort of thing.”

  “At this point I'd be afraid to use what I used to know about anyone,” Zach admitted. “Lot has changed in the last few months.”

  “Very true,” Shane acknowledged. “But a troublemaker tends to stay that way, so be watchful, yeah?”

  “Copy that.”

  “Stop us at the drive so I can stay with the door when I'm talking,” Shane ordered Stacey.

  “Got it.” The big Hummer began to slow, creeping up to the point where the driveway into the church parking lot hit the highway. Shane took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping down onto the asphalt. People were already surging toward them.

  “Hold on there!” he ordered through the vehicle P.A. system. “Everybody just calm down a little, there!”

  “Who are you?”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Are you here to turn the lights back on?”

  “What will you do about all the homes we lost in the fire?”

  “You're from the government, right? What's going on?”

  “I need you to find my husband!”

  “-Wife”

  “-Daughter”

  The questions were as rapid fire as an automatic rifle and Shane nearly drew back in the face of so many demands. So much desperation.

  “Is anyone in charge here?” he tried again, but the crowd was now surging forward again.

  “Siren,” he said to Stacey, who hit a button on the console. Instantly it sounded as if a Banshee was wailing across the small town as the unique siren screamed at the people in the church yard. The sound stunted the surge as people began to back away. Shane waited for the sound to die away before trying again.

  “Is anyone in charge around here?” he asked once more. “My information said there was a preacher here at once point trying to keep things together? A Reverend Williams?”

  “He ain't here no more,” a dirty individual with a Ruger Mini-14 informed him. He was a little more than average build, and didn't show any signs of doing without over the winter. That alone was suspicious to Shane. His most notable feature was a missing tooth right in the front of his mouth. The man was in the front of the surging crowd, and most of those around him seemed to be afraid of him to some degree.

  “Now why are you here? Are you here to help or not?” he demanded. Shane noticed that when he talked, there was a slight whistling sound through the hole where the missing tooth should have been.

  “Cloyd Greevy,” Zach's soft voice entered Shane's ear. “Definitely a trouble maker.”

  “You're Mister Greevy, correct?” Shane used the information to his advantage and saw the man's eyes widen. “Word is you like doing things your own way. Right?”

  “Who said that?” Greevy looked around the group as if he'd been somehow betrayed.

  “I did,” Shane told him. “Don't look at them, look at me. When I asked for the Reverend you were the first one to speak up and let me know he wasn't here anymore. So tell me, just for my own personal information, where he went.”

  “I ain't gotta tell you nothin'!” was the belligerent reply. “Now you need to start answering some questions!”

  “If that's going to be your attitude then we’ll have to go,” Shane affected disappointment. “I'm sorry folks, but this man's attitude is just too much. We’ll try again to help you the next time we're through here. Until then, enjoy Mister Greevy's leadership.” Shane turned as if he were going to leave.

  “Hey you!” Greevy all but screamed. “You get back here!” He managed two steps forward before a single round from the huge machine gun slammed into the asphalt in front of him, throwing black top everywhere.

  “That's about enough of that,” Zach tried to deepen his voice and talk without an accent. He didn't speak further as he racked another round into the big gun. He had left one link empty so he could do that. Next time it would be more than one round, but he was pretty sure he had made his point.

  “My associates are protective of me, Mister Greevy,” Shane said. “Now, I will try once more before we go; I want to speak to the Reverend Williams. That's who I was told had been trying to organize relief efforts here. Simply saying 'he ain't here no more' will not do. I want to know where he is.”

  There was another surge through the crowd at that as people among the group began to talk. An older man, thin and gaunt, leaning on a cane, stepped forward.

  “Damn Greevy killed him when Williams wouldn't let him decide who got food and who didn't,” the old man declared. “That's where he is.”

  “You watch your fool old mouth, Clem Pickett, you know what's good for you!” Greevy almost screamed. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder as he spoke but before he could shoot a three round burst of fire rattled off and Greevy fell to the ground, screaming as he clutched first one leg and then the other.

  “Damn. That looks like it’ll hurt,” Shane mused as he walked forward and took the Ruger from where it had fallen near Greevy. He nodded his thanks to Zach, who had pulled his rifle up into the turret to deal with Greevy, knowing that his machine gun would walk across too many innocent people. He hoped they were innocent at any rate.

  “Now,” Shane looked at the crowd again. “Reverend Williams is gone, and Mister Greevy is no longer in charge. Is there anyone here who all of you recognize as someone who can keep things together and going?”

  He waited as the group began to talk among themselves. Greevy continued to scream as he lay on the ground, but was ignored as merely a nuisance. Shane began to hear Clem Pickett's name mentioned more a
nd more, possibly because he had the stones to step up when it mattered. He could see the older man's frown as he could hear his name being tossed around and did not appear to like it.

  “I come up here to play checks with my friends,” Pickett told Shane. “No way do I want any kind of responsibility for this mob. I'm going home.”

  “How many people in this group do you estimate don't live here at the church besides you?” Shane asked him.

  “I dunno,” Pickett shrugged. “Probably a bit over half? That's just a guess. We lost some houses in the fire but managed to stop the fire from getting into town. For all the good it did,” he snorted.

  “Well, maybe you could be the new mayor?” Shane asked him.

  “Why in the fires o' hell would I want that?” Pickett looked aghast.

  “Well, I just thought you might like to help get this place back on its feet,” Shane shrugged. “Wasn't but a thought. Sorry.”

  “What do you mean by back on its feet?” Pickett nibbled at the bait. He couldn't see a hook anywhere. “You aim to turn the power back on?”

  “You know no one can do that,” Shane said easily. “We may get power back one day, but for now that's just not possible. No, I mean get it back into some form of productivity. There's no help coming Mister Pickett, aside from what help groups like ours can supply. Today it's a little food and some information gathering. What your needs are and whether or not we can meet them. We want to try and get Jordan and other places like it back to where they support the people living there. Primarily with food and clean water, shelter and other basic needs. We have limited means, but we're using them as best we can. The answer to survival is to gear up and do it yourself. If you wait for someone else to do it you're in for a long wait.”

  “And yet here you are,” Pickett replied, appraising Shane carefully.

  “For a minute or so, and then moving on,” Shane nodded, grinning behind his mask. This old fella was sharp. “You guys have to take what help we can give you and make it work.”

  “What kind of help?” Pickett asked just before they were interrupted.

  “Reckon old Clem there can speak for us,” one man said and the entire group nodded in unison.

  “What in the hell makes you think I want such a responsibility?” Pickett demanded.

  “You're probably the only one can do it,” the man shrugged, and behind the rest nodded in agreement once more. “We got to do something, Clem. Was help coming, it'd be here already. We're just running around with ever body doing what's good for them and nothing else. All that has got us is trouble. We got to change and them being here is a good time to do it.”

  “Please?” more than one voice from the group pleaded. Pickett ran a hand down his face in frustration.

  “Damnation,” he muttered to himself. “I should have stayed home and played solitaire.” He looked at Shane.

  “What kinda help can you give us to get on our feet around here?”

  Behind his mask, Shane smiled.

  ***

  “Clayton, I don't like the way things are going around here.”

  “Well it's a good thing you said something or else I'd never have known,” Clay's sarcasm was easy for his mother to hear.

  “I don't appreciate that tone,” she warned him.

  “I don't appreciate having my meals interrupted,” Clay shrugged. “We all got things we hate. What is it that's bothering you today?”

  “I don't like how you're ignoring us.”

  “And how would that be?” Clay was puzzled.

  “We came to see you about that young woman you had chained-,”

  “That is not open for discussion,” Clay interrupted her with an upheld hand. “I don't come to your kitchen and tell you how to bake, do I? What else.”

  “I know Franklin came to complain about those two women,” Angela tried again.

  “Yes, except he didn't really have a complaint,” Clay nodded. “It's just something he doesn't like. Which is too bad, but it isn't an issue with most other people, at least not at this point.”

  “It is an issue,” Angela insisted. “I will not have people like that caring for children!”

  “Good thing you aren't in charge then, huh?” Clay stood his ground. “Neither of those women has done a single damn thing out of line. If they do then I’ll deal with it unless Leon is back on his feet, in which case he can. Unless and until they actually commit some foul deed, however, they are where they are. And I will not tolerate attacks on them, either. Just so you know.”

  “You were raised better that that!” she snapped at him.

  “Was I?” Clay asked carefully. “I thought I was raised that I wasn't allowed to judge other people, Mom. That I was supposed to remember who it was that got to do the judging. You know what I see? I see a group of people who can't deal with reality. Who can't seem to get it through their heads that things have changed, more or less permanently, and they can't or won't change with them.

  “Those two women live in a way you don't like; deal with it. America, for better or worse, already has. Like I told Mister George; you want your rights? Then you better be willing and ready to recognize the rights of other people as well. I know how to do that. I can recognize that even if I don't like what someone is doing, they have the right to do it so long as it don't affect me and mine, by which I mean cause us harm. Nothing those two women are doing is harming anyone, aside from maybe themselves, and that ain't my business. And honestly, it ain't my concern, either. They're consenting adults and got the right to do as they please, again so long as they ain't harming nobody else, which they aren't.”

  “How can you think that two women like that being allowed to care for small children isn't harmful?” his mother demanded.

  “Can you prove that it is?” Clay demanded in return. “Can you give me one instance of a child being harmed by the simple fact that them two are in an adult relationship?”

  “It's a sin,” Angela declared, as if that would do it.

  “So is adultery,” Clay nodded. “So are a lot of other things. Including judging others,” he raised an eyebrow. “And you've yet to show me how this is adversely affecting children who are too young to even realize that Trudy Leighton is a lesbian.”

  “What?” Angela seemed taken aback by this.

  “She works at the orphanage during the daytime, when all the older kids are at school,” Clay pointed out. “She's not indoctrinating them for God's sake, she's changing diapers and wiping noses. Washing diapers I guess, too. Making meals of mashed vegetables to feed to kids who have maybe three teeth or something. Kids who know maybe thirty words total, and lesbian ain't one of 'em. Now I asked you for one single instance of harm being done to those children, and you ain't got one, do you. And please, let’s not go for the 'it's a sin' angle any more. It ain't working. There's plenty of sin going on around here. Too much for you to single out two people who are working hard and aren't bothering anyone. Yes, I know Leighton has a mouth on her, but she's kept it in check other than during introductions. Of course, considering the objections of late, she might have known something I didn't when she expected trouble.”

  “I am not going to allow this,” Angela insisted.

  “You still think you got a say, don't you,” Clay almost smirked. “Tough. You don't. You aren't running things, Mom. You aren't going to, either. Your influence is whatever you can get out of me or Leon. Can't speak for Leon, but that bridge is pretty burned with me. And after Malitha George almost pushed Leon into a stroke over all this earlier this morning, I'd imagine you bringing it up with him is a non-starter as well. Welcome to try I guess, but it will have to wait a week since Patricia has ordered the Old Man to have five days of complete rest that includes no visitors.”

  “What?” Angela seemed stunned.

  “Malitha George went to see Leon this morning about this terrible thing of having a lesbian woman working to wash dirty diapers,” Clay's sarcasm was growing thicker. “Ended up calling Leon a he
athen and almost sending the Old Man into a stroke or maybe a heart attack. Left him struggling to breathe and Patty says he's knocking on pneumonia. Malitha got a good lick in, apparently. So now Leon is out for at least five days, assuming she hasn't actually killed him. That leaves you, and her, stuck with me. And I am completely out of understanding for all this bullshit!” his tone was suddenly harsher and his mother actually drew back slightly.

  “It is far past time for you, Malitha, Marla Jones and anyone else with a damn chip on her shoulder to get your head outta the dark and look around you! Things have changed! We are fighting for our fu-, for our survival here!” he barely caught himself. “We're fighting just to make it another day and the three of you somehow think that things are still just ducky! Well they ain't, nor are they likely to be again. Raising hell for mattresses? Really? Demanding your way be followed or else? Or else what?” he snarled.

  “You really think we can't get by without whatever work the three of you manage to do in a day?” he snorted in humor. “You spend more time making trouble than you do making bread, you know that? And it's going to end, one way or another. We are working just to make another season and the three of you are worried about a woman who has killed no telling how many women and children, and then worked up over two women in a relationship that is entirely none of your damn business! Three words for you; Get. Over. It.

  “And do it today, because if Leon is in a bad way then all of this crap just landed on my plate, and I promise you I'm going to be angry and ornery as long as I have to do his job and mine both!”

  With that he stomped away, his mother still almost staggering beneath the weight of his tirade.

  ***

  “Weather permitting, we’ll have a tractor here in two to three days that will plow up all the ground you can manage between you,” Shane informed Pickett. “Be ready for it so you can show the driver where the work needs to be done. This is seed,” Shane thrust a large basket into Pickett's hands, who in turn handed it to a larger man, the one who had initially appealed to him to take charge.