by Kip Nelson
As they continued along the road their pace slowed and they began walking again rather than running. They were quiet, each of them trying to come to terms with what had happened. They all had lived somewhat sheltered lives, focused on the make believe and the fictional. This was very real. There was no turning off the console to return to a real life. There was no escaping what any of them had witnessed.
The forest gave way to some department stores. Tillman felt a slight relief in his heart, but that quickly evaporated as he saw looters already were there, and then saw an overturned cop car. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, and the looters didn't seem as if they were going to be finished any time soon. It saddened him to see how some people turned to thoughtless destruction so quickly, but he wasn't about to go preach to them.
They were too busy running through the stores, smashing windows, and playing with the various things they had stolen from the stores to notice Tillman and the others.
That was just the way Tillman liked it. He signaled to the others to remain quiet, and then they crept ahead carefully, keeping as far away from the marauders as possible. After having escaped the situation with Ron the last thing they wanted was to become embroiled with another mad group. This time there were more of them, and Tillman wasn't sure that one gun would do the trick. They moved on from the scene quickly and were glad to put it behind them. Tillman also hoped that if Tad and Simon had given chase they wouldn't be so prepared and would end up engaging the looters in a conflict.
The most important thing at the moment was to find somewhere safe. Penelope still was tearful, and Greg was panting heavily. Tillman himself had to accept that he needed to give his ankle some rest for a significant amount of time, and although he wanted to put as much distance between himself and Tad and Simon, he also knew that they needed to take stock of their situation.
They had been walking for hours and it was taking its toll on their bodies. Tillman estimated that it was about three in the morning, and the surge of adrenaline that had flooded through his body in the initial throes of the apocalypse was wearing off. He was beginning to crash, and it was only his grim determination that was keeping him going.
His speech to Greg and Penelope about how they were equipped to make it through the night because of their experience staying up until the wee hours of the morning was true for them, but for Tillman it was something of a throwback to a time in his life he long ago had left behind. When personal fitness and emotional well-being had become important to him he had decided that staying up irregularly wasn't going to be beneficial to his health, so he kept to a strict sleep schedule, which now was being interrupted.
They walked some distance until they found an enclosure. Tillman swung his pack off his back and dumped it on the ground. He quickly rummaged through it and pulled out some bolt cutters. Greg's eyes went wide, and his eyebrows rose so dramatically that his face doubled in size.
“Is there anything you don't have in there?” Greg asked, astounded.
Tillman grunted in reply as he placed the bolt cutters against the padlock and brought them down with force. There was a sharp crack as the cutters snapped against the metal. The padlock fell harmlessly to the ground, and the gate creaked as it swung open, revealing the enclosure to them.
“Should we be doing this?” Penelope asked.
“We don't have much choice. We need to rest. I know I've been pushing you hard, and I'm sorry if I went overboard with it. This place should be secure and should offer us enough shelter so we can get a couple of hours' rest,” Tillman said.
He held open the gate for Greg and Penelope to walk through, telling them to be careful of the barbed wire. After they were through, he dragged his pack through, and then pulled out a combination lock. It would give the appearance of security, and might make people think twice about trying to get in.
Unless they had bolt cutters, of course, but Tillman was banking on the fact that most people wouldn't share the same foresight as him.
They walked through the dark enclosure carefully, listening for any sign of trouble. Everything was quiet, however, and Tillman was able to breathe a little easier. Now that they were hidden from the road he was quite sure that Tad and Simon wouldn't be able to find them. There were too many possible avenues for them to take. Tad and Simon wouldn't be able to explore them all, and they weren't going to be thinking clearly enough to figure out which route Tillman and the others were likely to have taken.
They made their way to a large storage shed and were pleased to find it was unlocked. Once inside, they found that it was even darker than the outside world. There were small windows near the roof that only let in narrow shafts of moonlight. The three of them made their way to one of these shafts and sat down so they could at least see each other. Until their eyes adjusted they wouldn't be able to tell what else was in the shed, and even then, it wouldn't be easy to see, not until dawn anyway.
They sat down on the floor, which was cold and hard. They had walked in carefully, taking it one step at a time, reaching out with their hands to make sure that they weren't going to bump into anything.
Nothing gave them a nasty surprise.
Penelope sat in the middle of the shaft, looking as though a spotlight was upon her. She drew her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Greg sat silhouetted in shadow, while Tillman was on the edge, where the light met the darkness.
It took a few moments for them to catch their breath. Tillman knew what was coming, though. He had been prepared for it ever since he had shot Ron.
“Why the hell did you kill him, Tillman?! If they weren't our enemies before, they are now,” Greg yelled. His words echoed through the shed. Penelope glared at him and put her hands to her ears.
“First of all, stop yelling,” Tillman growled in a low whisper. Greg looked chagrined. “Second, what did you expect me to do? They weren't going to stop until they got their hands on Penelope, and that was not going to happen.”
“There must have been another way out,” Greg said desperately.
“It was all so easy,” Penelope said absently. She was staring forward, looking as though she wasn't really a part of the world.
“No, it wasn't,” Tillman said, bowing his head, feeling the weight of what he had done.
“I mean that it happened so quickly. One minute he was standing there, the next he was gone. There was no time to do anything. And then it was just so...final. You know some things in life aren't like games or movies. I never thought killing someone would be the same. He didn't get a chance to say anything else. One moment and it was all over,” she said.
“I know,” Tillman replied.
“You could have aimed for his leg at least, maybe just wounded him. You killed a man Tillman!”
“I know,” Tillman replied tersely. “You think I wanted to do it? You think I wanted to take a man's life? I wish that he could have stopped what he was doing. I wish that he would have backed off, but he thought of himself as the top dog in this world, like everyone owed him a piece of themselves, and if I let him win he'd keep taking and taking until he left behind a trail of broken people. I didn't exactly have much time to think about what I should do. He didn't leave me with a good choice.”
“But you murdered a man. What are you going to do now?” Greg said.
“What do you think I'm going to do? The plan remains the same,” Tillman said.
“But what about the cops?” Greg asked.
“Oh my God, Greg!” Penelope said.
“Don't you finally get it? Don't you understand? There are no cops anymore. There's nothing. There's just those who are alive and those who are dead. That's the only thing that matters in the world now. If Tillman wanted to, he could go around and kill a hundred people with that gun. It doesn't matter anymore, it just doesn't matter,” Penelope said, her voice getting smaller as she spoke.
Tillman's heart went out to her. She had witnessed a shocking thing that day, and it was hard
for each of them to take in. Tillman was ultimately the one responsible, though. He was the one who had to bear the guilt and the shame.
“There are some things that matter, Penelope. It matters why we do things, and why we don't do things. I don't excuse myself for killing that man. It was wrong, but it was the only thing I could do in the circumstance, unless I wanted us all to be harmed. We're all going to have to get used to the idea of doing things that don't sit right with us. We're all going to have some hard choices to make,” Tillman said.
“And how are you going to punish yourself?” Greg asked. “There has to be some kind of system here. Otherwise, anyone just can do anything.”
“I'm going to punish myself every day. The echo of the memory is going to flash in my mind. That last look he gave me is etched into my soul and I never will forget what it is to take a man's life,” Tillman said.
“I'm not sure that's good enough,” Greg said.
“It has to be,” Tillman said, looking directly at him, “because it's all we've got. I keep telling you that this world has changed, Greg, but you don't seem to be listening. There is no higher power anymore. There's no justice system. There are no police. Hell, all the prisoners who have been locked up are probably free, roaming the countryside. This is a lawless place now, and if people like us don't stand up to them, the monsters are going to roam free. All it takes is one of them to do harm and innocent people are going to pay the price.
“If I have to compromise my own morality to be the shield that protects people, then so be it. I will not let people like him threaten others. That's not who I am. This is not a game. There are no extra lives, no do-overs. If I make the wrong choice, we all suffer. He wasn't going to stop, Greg. If I hadn’t done anything they would have left us bleeding out in those woods and they would have taken Penelope and--” he stopped himself before he went any further.
Tillman looked over at Penelope, who was rocking back and forth.
“He wanted me,” Penelope said.
“Pen,” Greg began, reaching out a hand, but he only felt air for Penelope tore herself away and ran into the shadows, leaving the spotlight empty. Greg and Tillman heard her soft sobs, but neither of them said anything. They weren't sure what they could say.
The two old friends looked at each other and for the first time noticed how each of them had changed over the years. Tillman remembered a time when they both had been full of optimism and hope about their futures, with plans to take over the world. Now, the world was in tatters and the only hope that mattered was the hope of being alive to see the next day.
“We should get some sleep. We'll have to make a good start tomorrow. It's been a hell of a night and we deserve a rest,” Tillman said. He laid on the floor and placed his hands under his head. They didn't make a comfortable pillow, but he was so exhausted he didn't think it would matter. He closed his eyes.
“Tillman, thank you for coming back for me,” Greg said.
Tillman heard the sincerity in his voice and knew that he was being genuine. It was one of the few times that night Greg had been cordial without a hint of bitterness or spite. Both men knew that Greg wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for Tillman.
“You're welcome,” Tillman murmured.
He turned around and tried to get to sleep as best he could. When he closed his eyes, he was faced with the terrible punishment he had inflicted on Ron. The image of his two sons cowering over him was unshakable, but the worst thing was he knew he could live with himself. He had killed a man, and it wasn't breaking his spirit like it was supposed to do.
That was frightening.
Tillman fell asleep to the sound of Penelope's fretful sobs and, in time, those dwindled as well. The trio finally were able to get some well-earned rest, while outside the post-apocalyptic world continued devolving into anarchy and chaos.
Chapter Seventeen
Tillman awoke, bleary-eyed and aching. He groaned as he pushed himself onto his back. The hard floor hadn't provided much comfort, and although he'd been tired enough to rest, it was just about the worst night's sleep he'd ever had. He gently massaged his neck to try working out the cricks, and then winced as all his muscles seemed to tense at once. What he needed was a good bath, but the chances of that were practically zero.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing that he could forget about what he'd done. Hell, he wished that this whole thing had been a nightmare and he had awoken in his own bed.
But it wasn't a nightmare.
It was real.
Tillman had killed a man.
It wasn't the first thing he wanted to think about when he woke up, but it was the only thing on his mind. Ron's expression of surprise. The flash of the gun. The feeling of the vibrations rippling up his arm as he pulled the trigger and ended a man's life.
In games he had killed hundreds, probably thousands, of virtual beings. In real life he had practiced on the range for hundreds of hours, but nothing was like the physical act of shooting a man. He knew he had made the right decision, but that didn't mean it wouldn't weigh heavily upon his soul for days, years, decades to come. And how many more times would he be forced to do the same thing?
It was a question he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to.
As he took stock of his surroundings he noticed that golden light had replaced the silver that spilled into the room. The brighter light lit up the shed. Dust particles hung in the air. Greg still was sleeping. Tillman wondered if he should wake him up, then decided that perhaps Greg needed a little more rest. And he noticed there was no Penelope.
Tillman looked all around the shed, but there was no sign of her. There was some farming equipment against the walls, powerful machines that were as useless as all the cars he had encountered in this world so far. Most of them were covered with tarps, and he imagined that was how they would stay.
“Penelope,” Tillman spoke in a harsh whisper, but there was no reply. He searched the shadows for her, but there was no sign, and he started to get very worried.
Tillman walked outside. It took a few moments for him to realize it, but the pain in his ankle had subsided greatly. It seemed as though taking a rest had been the right thing to do, for the sake of his ankle anyway.
He opened the door slowly and peered outside, unsure of what he would find. For all he knew the people who owned this shed had discovered them and were waiting for him to emerge.
The sunlight was brilliant. The sky was blue and there was barely a cloud to be seen. The air was sweet and warm, the world was fresh. Just looking at this, one never would suspect the world had ended, that chaos and destruction reigned.
Tillman breathed in deeply, trying to be at peace, trying to let a sense of serenity soothe his soul, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Ron laying there dead, covered in a scarlet blanket, his two sons bowed beside him in desperate prayer for his return.
Tillman shook his head and walked from the shed. His feet crunched the gravel around him. There was no sign of anyone else, which was good. The last thing he wanted was their presence to be detected. He walked around the shed and found Penelope sitting by herself in the shadow, idly picking at some grass and tearing it apart before spreading it across the ground again.
“Morning,” Tillman said.
Penelope jumped a little, then turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were raw, as though she had been crying. She looked exhausted.
“Couldn't sleep?” he asked, and walked over to her, sitting down beside her.
“I slept for a little bit, but then I woke up and I just couldn't get settled again,” she said, running a hand through her orange hair.
“I thought something had happened when I woke up and saw that you were gone,” Tillman said.
“Nah, it seems pretty quiet around here, which is a change from everything else we've seen. I've almost been expecting someone to barge in and accuse us of trespassing, or for those looters to come harass us.”
&
nbsp; “I don't think we have to spend our lives in worry.”
“Don't we?” she asked. Tillman didn't know how to answer her.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did. I haven't done that yet. I'm sorry if I was harsh on you. I didn't quite know how to react,” she said.
“You're welcome. I told you I wasn't going to let anything happen to you, and I meant it.”
“I know, but I hate how you had to do it. Those men, you know, it's like I'm just some object of desire, and I can't defend myself. That never should have happened. If it just had been you and Greg, they wouldn't have bothered you.”
Tillman suppressed a smile. “I'm pretty sure they would have. Those are the type of people who want to pick a fight no matter what. They would have found some excuse, you were just the obvious reason to start. I agree, though, it's not fair that women have to feel more vulnerable.”
“I went through enough of that when I went out to bars, you know? You'll never know what it's like to be a woman, the way people look at you like they have a right to, the way they judge your appearance. It's hell.”
“And probably something that will stay the same even though the world has changed dramatically,” Tillman said.
“Probably,” Penelope sighed. “How are you this morning anyway?” she asked, suddenly realizing that she hadn't been polite.
“I'm okay, a little stiff,” Tillman shrugged.
“And how are you after, well, you know...”
There was a moment of silence that hung over them. Tillman wondered how long the shadow of the murder would cause this tension between them.
“Penelope, look, I'm not proud of what I did, but it was something that had to be done. He wasn't going to stop.”
“I know, but still, it's murder. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you were there, and I'd much rather him be dead than to have had them do what they wanted to me but seeing him just die like that. It's not anything I'd ever have thought I would see.”