Surviving The End (Book 3): New World

by Hamilton, Grace

  This time, however, Pike said nothing. James didn’t see him at first. His holding cell was crisscrossed with shifting shadows from candlelight shining through the bars. Immediately, a strong, sour smell invaded the sheriff’s nostrils, and he gagged.

  “Don’t tell me you croaked, you rascal,” he said, stepping farther into the room.

  He saw the puddle of vomit before he saw the man, and he recognized the disgusting remnants of a delicious vegetable casserole that Beth had made. James had brought Pike a generous portion of casserole for lunch. It was now vomited all over the floor of his cell. As he approached the cell door, James finally saw Pike curled up beside his concrete cot, his face buried in the crook of his arm. He had vomit on the leg of his pants and on his arm.

  “What are you doing down there?” James asked.

  “I’m dying, sheriff,” Pike said weakly. “I got some kind of stomach bug. It’s real bad, coming out of both ends.”

  “You want me to go get the doctor?” James asked. “It’ll take a while. I’ll have to track him down.”

  “Just put me out of my misery, why don’t you?” Pike said. He flopped onto his back, revealing vomit crusted to his cheeks and chin. “I know I’m never getting out of this cell. Just end it for me. My whole torso hurts, man. I can’t take this. Nothing stays down, not food, not water. Come on. One bullet.”

  “Why don’t you climb up on your cot there, and I’ll go get the doctor,” the sheriff said. “As an added bonus, I can wash all that puke down the drain so you’re not stewing in it. How does that sound?”

  “Climb in the cot, he says,” Pike muttered. “Easy for you to say.”

  He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up with his forearm, but the arm wobbled and he went back down.

  “Please, Sheriff, I can’t throw up no more,” he said. “If you ain’t gonna put me out of my misery, get me some kind of medication that’ll just knock me out. It hurts. My guts feel like they’re all twisted up.”

  Sheriff Cooley sighed and fished the right key from the key ring. Pike didn’t realize how tempting his request really was.

  If the McDonalds had put an end to this guy that night, it would have saved me a whole lot of hassle, he thought.

  “I’m going to help you climb on your cot,” James said, “and then I’m going to rinse that nice vegetable medley down the drain. After that, I’m going for the doctor. Now, that’s it. No more talk about putting people out of their misery.”

  Pike made a soft sound that might have been the beginnings of a sob. He tried to lift himself again, but his arm gave out. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I’m sorry I threatened you. This is the worst I’ve ever felt. It’s so hot in here. It’s like being in hell.”

  “Not hell,” the sheriff said, unlocking the cell door. “Purgatory.”

  “What’s the difference?” Pike said.

  “Hell goes on forever. Purgatory ends once you learn to behave.”

  He pulled open the cell door and stepped inside. The smell was overpowering now. He didn’t think he would ever look at one of Beth’s casseroles the same. Pike saw him coming and seemed to cower, pressing himself into the sharp angle where the concrete cot met the concrete floor, almost like he thought the sheriff was going to kick him.

  There’s not much left of this old boy, the sheriff thought.

  He stooped down and hooked his hand under Pike’s arm, lifting him to his knees. The prisoner’s head lolled to one side.

  “Come on,” James said. “We’ll get you up on your bed so I can rinse the floor. Help me out here, Pike.”

  “I ain’t got strength in my legs, Sheriff,” Pike said. He got one of his feet under him, but he couldn’t seem to lift his weight. “I been puking and pooping all day. I’m an empty shell.”

  James slid his other arm around Pike’s back, trying not to touch any of the vomit spattered on his shirt. It looked like he was just going to have to hoist him up like dead weight and fling him onto the thin rubberized padding on top of the concrete block that served as his bed. James bent at the knees, trying not to put too much weight on his back.

  “Can you at least wiggle your butt toward the edge of the cot?” James said. “Give me two inches here, Pike. That’s all I need.”

  “I’m doing the best I can,” Pike said, gasping for breath. “Here, Sheriff. Let me try something else.”

  James didn’t see the right hook coming. Pike had sold his weakness so effectively that the sudden burst of light and pain caught the sheriff completely off guard. Even as he fell backward, he wasn’t sure what had happened to him. Through the fog of surprise, he saw Pike lunge forward, leaping off the floor like a pouncing cat. He got his forearm against the sheriff’s throat and shoved him back against the bars. James brought his hand up to ward off further blows, his mind racing even as his body reeled.

  That little scumbag was faking, he thought.

  Pike didn’t punch him again. Instead, he grabbed the sheriff by the shirt and yanked him away from the bars, sticking his leg out. James tripped and fell forward onto the rubber mat of the prisoner’s cot. His law enforcement instincts finally kicked in, and he flipped onto his back, reaching for his sidearm.

  It’s gone, he realized, fumbling at the empty holster.

  As he looked for the gun, he heard the loud clang of the door. Pike had backed out of the cell, pulling the door shut behind him. The sheriff rose and rushed at the door, trying to reach through the bars, but the prisoner danced back out of reach, laughing. James saw the keys on the floor outside of the cell.

  “You let me out of this cell right now,” he said, trying to sound forceful though his body tingled with fear. His worst fear was a prisoner getting the upper hand. He was powerless. His handgun was in Pike’s right hand, his keys between Pike’s feet, and his fate in the criminal’s hands. “Listen to me, Pike. You have nothing to gain from this. We have a community full of armed and anxious people. Let me out of here.”

  Pike gave him a slow, sly smile as he stooped down and picked up the keys, spinning the ring on the end of his finger. “I wasn’t even sick, you pig,” he said. “I faked the whole thing. Gagged myself so I’d puke up my lunch. How impressed are you with my performance?”

  “Very impressed,” the sheriff said. “Now, let’s be reasonable. Let me out so things don’t get worse for you.”

  “You have no idea how good it feels to be standing on this side of the cell,” Pike said, spinning the cylinder of the handgun. He pointed the gun at the sheriff.

  “So you’re going to kill me and get your revenge,” the sheriff said. “Is that it? I’m the reason you’re alive, Pike. I spared your life when others demanded your death. You just remember that.”

  “Killing you isn’t enough,” Pike said, lowering the gun. “Not nearly enough. Oh, no, no. I want to destroy everyone who played a part in putting me behind bars, and I can’t do that alone. You think I wasn’t paying attention when you brought me in here, but I was. I’ve been looking and listening the whole time.”

  James wasn’t sure what he meant, but Pike didn’t explain himself. Instead, he opened the holding area door and disappeared into the hallway. James heard him moving down the hall and into his office.

  Oh, God, what have I done? I let my guard down for a second. He sold his sickness. I believed it and took an ounce of compassion on him.

  He heard Pike rooting around in his office. James tried frantically to think of some way out of this. He couldn’t get out of the cell on his own. That was clear. Somehow, he had to either talk Pike into letting him go or get someone else to do it. Mike was due for his afternoon shift in a few minutes. What if Pike ambushed him?

  “Hey, Pike,” he called. “Hey there, buddy. Let’s have a little chat, so we can work out your situation.”

  He got no response to this. After a moment, he heard the distinct whine and hiss of his battery-operated shortwave radio being turned on. He’d brought it to the office so Beth could get hold of him.

&nbs
p; “Pike, come here and talk to me,” he said. “You’ll have a hard time getting revenge in this community. Most people are armed, but I can help you get out of Macon free and clear. Talk to me, buddy.”

  He heard Pike speaking into the radio. Was he trying to get hold of Beth? Did he intend to threaten the family, to use the sheriff as a hostage in some elaborate revenge plot? No, that didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t know Beth’s call sign or frequency. But he was definitely talking to someone. James pressed his ear between the bars and held his breath, trying to make out what the criminal was saying.

  “I heard you, Trent, but you’ve got to speak up,” Pike said.

  This was followed by a second voice speaking through a cloud of static. When James concentrated hard, he could just make out most of the words.

  “How did you find…?”

  “Borrowed the sheriff’s radio,” Pike said, “tried the same frequency we used when we coordinated jobs. I didn’t know if you’d have your ears up or not.”

  His voice was getting louder, and James realized Pike was walking down the hall with the radio in hand. Soon, he appeared in the open holding area door.

  “Yeah, and I’m still coordinating jobs,” the voice on the other end said, “but not with you. Why are you wasting my airwaves, Pike?”

  “I’ve got someone here you might be interested in.” Pike held the receiver out toward the sheriff.

  “Come on,” James said. “Let’s not do this, Pike. Let’s talk. We can work out something that won’t end badly for all of us.”

  Pike laughed and pulled the receiver back. Then he turned and walked back into the hall. “That was him. I’ve got a whole town turned against me here, but I swapped places with the sheriff. He’s in the cell, and I’m roaming free.”

  “And why should I give a damn?” the one named Trent said.

  “Because this town is ripe for the plucking,” Pike said. “There are some rich families here. I just need the manpower to deal with a few hard cases.”

  Trent said something in response to this, but Pike was too far down the hall now. No matter how hard he concentrated, James couldn’t make out a word. He was sick to his stomach, and not just because of the drying puddle of vomit on the floor behind him.

  I really messed up, he thought, gripping his stomach. What do I do? How do I fix this?

  He grabbed the bars and rattled the cell door, though he knew it was a futile gesture. Pike had gone quiet, and a terrible stillness filled the sheriff’s office. James rattled the door again, and it echoed down the hallway for long seconds before fading into the quiet. Wracked with despair, he leaned his forehead against the bars.

  A single footstep on the hard floor caused him to look up. Pike stood in the open hall doorway, the handgun dangling from his right hand, a crooked smile on his face. He was still speckled with vomit, and it made him appear like a lunatic.

  This is when he shoots me, the sheriff thought.

  He glanced over his shoulder, but the small cell provided no cover. His only hope was to somehow reason with the man, but he found he had no more words. What could he possibly say? He turned back around to see Pike staring at him.

  “It’s a lot of fun,” Pike said. “You’ll enjoy it. Sitting there in the cell with no air conditioner, no visitors, nothing but the heat and quiet. By the third or fourth day, you start to lose your mind. You’ll see.”

  “Pike, wait…”

  Pike saluted him with the handgun, turned, and left. James heard him running down the outer hallway. Then he heard the whoosh of the front door, and the criminal was gone. The front door shut with a barely audible click, and then the awful stillness inside the dead building took over. James was surprised that he was still alive. The only reason Pike hadn’t shot him was because he wanted the sheriff to languish in a cell for a while, and it was already a miserable experience. The stench of Pike’s regurgitated lunch was giving him a headache, and the walls felt like they were closing in.

  Finally, James sat down on the edge of the cot. He considered shouting for help, but who would hear him? Eventually, Mike would show up for his afternoon shift. Until then, he just had to wait and wallow in his catastrophic failure. Would Pike go straight to Beth’s? James didn’t think so. He would go to some inconspicuous location to meet up with this Trent person, but since James had no idea how far away Trent was, he had no idea how long it would take. Whatever the case, time seemed to pass like a caterpillar through warm glue, and what was taking Mike so long?

  Finally, after what felt like hours, James heard the distant whoosh of the front door, and he rose from the cot.

  “Sheriff?” Mike’s voice. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. What’s on the agenda this afternoon?”

  “I’m back here, Mike,” James replied, shouting through the bars.

  “Back where?” Mike asked. His footsteps moved down the hall.

  “Back…” James sighed as shame washed over him. “In a holding cell.”

  Mike appeared in the doorway, but for a few seconds he just stood there, no readable expression on his face.

  “Oh, gosh, Sheriff, what did you do?” he said, after a moment.

  “Fell for just about the oldest trick in the book,” James replied. “Go to my desk. In the bottom drawer, you’ll find a spare set of keys. Bring them here.”

  “It stinks in here.” Mike pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose. “Did he punch you in the stomach or something?”

  “Just go get the keys,” James said. “We’re in a hurry. Pike is loose, and he’s planning on meeting with someone.”

  With a retching sound, Mike turned and walked away. James heard him moving around in the office, heard the desk drawer being opened, the rustle of papers. Finally, Mike returned bearing the fat cell key.

  “We should’ve just shot him when we first captured him,” he said, unlocking the jail cell.

  “I won’t make the same mistake twice,” James said, pushing the door open. He took the key ring from Mike and went to his office.

  “We have to get to my house right away,” Mike said. “If he wants revenge, that’s where he’ll go.”

  “I don’t think he’ll go there first,” James said. He went to a closet door behind his desk and unlocked it. As he pulled it open, he saw a set of shelves in the dim light. He reached into the darkness until he felt a row of small metal boxes. “He knows the family is armed. I think he’ll go somewhere public to meet with his buddy. They’ll take a more cautious approach.”

  “We can’t be sure of that,” Mike said. “The whole family is home right now. If Pike is angry enough, he could hurt someone before they’re able to stop him.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know.”

  James pulled out three boxes and set them on his desk. The closet was the closest thing his office had to an arms room. The first box contained an old SIG Sauer P228. It had been his trusty sidearm for many years, but he hadn’t pulled the thing out in a long time. For all he knew, it didn’t even work. Still, he dropped the magazine, loaded it with a handful of bullets rolling around in the box, and pulled the old holster out of a desk drawer.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You head back to Beth’s house. Take the riot gun out of my car. Do what you can.”

  He clipped the holster to his belt and looked at Mike. Seeing fear in his deputy’s eyes made him sick with shame.

  What have I done? he thought, for the thousandth time.

  The second and third boxes contained a pair a .357 Magnums. James checked to make sure they were loaded, put them both in a single box, and shut the lid.

  “I’m sorry about this, Mike. It never should’ve happened. Did you drive here?”

  Mike nodded. “The pimp-mobile.”

  “Okay, head to Beth’s. Take these with you as well.” He handed Mike the box. “A couple more guns could only help. I’m going to check around town.”

  Mike nodded again, tucked the metal box under his arm, and hurried down the hall. James pulled his c
ar keys out of his pocket and headed after him. Pike would go for Violet first. James hadn’t wanted to say it in front of Mike, but Violet was the one who’d killed his friend, Gunner, and spoiled their attack. Pike had made it very clear that he wanted revenge.

  On his way out of the building, he spotted his shortwave radio. Pike had dumped it on the floor in the reception area, as if he hadn’t wanted to lug it around. Perhaps he’d been in a hurry, rushing to his intended target. It was a troubling thought. James stooped down and grabbed the radio in passing, then hurried outside to his waiting cruiser. Mike was already speeding away in the big LTD, the engine growling as if in anger.

  She’ll be at the park, James thought, slipping behind the wheel of his cruiser. They’ve been working on the garden. Pike won’t know that, but it’s a public area. He might walk by and see her there.

  A terrible prospect, especially since the criminal was armed. The guilt and sense of responsibility was so intense, the sheriff had to pause and collect himself. Then he reached over and turned on the radio. As he drove to the park, he broadcast a town-wide alert on every frequency.

  “We’ve got a dangerous criminal on the loose east of Macon,” he said. “A white male, roughly six feet tall, with a prominent nose and pockmarked face. If you see him, do not engage. He is a violent offender, and he is armed. His name is Pike. If possible, retreat to a locked interior, arm yourself, and be prepared to fight for your life.”

  He tried to get ahold of Beth directly, but she didn’t respond on their usual frequency. It would have to do. The word would get out. Hopefully, neighbor would warn neighbor. James peered frantically in all directions as he drove through town. Pike had had plenty of time to get far on foot, but James jumped at every little movement. He could be anywhere.