Desperate Times

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  “Are you okay?” Ken asked with the relief evident in his eyes.

  “I’m fine,” answered Jimmy, turning his head. “The blood’s his,” he added, repeating himself.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Jimmy could make out four dark shapes emerging from the gloom. Even from this distance he could see who they were. His heart lightened considerably.

  “Turns out he’s Special Forces,” Ken said with disbelief. “Did three tours in Iraq. He took out both of those creeps by himself. Some hairdresser, huh? Boy, do I ever feel like an ass.”

  Bill appeared from behind the truck. “Oh, my God! We need a doctor,” he said.

  Jimmy wasn’t listening; he was on his feet and unbuttoned his shirt. He didn’t feel like explaining the blood again.

  “The blood’s from the other guy,” Ken said to Bill.

  Jimmy took off his shirt and removed his cell phone, placing the bloody shirt over Lonnie’s face. He felt bad for the dead man as he’d merely been a pawn in a deadly game of chess. He then tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans. He didn’t know it then, but from that moment on, a gun would become as much of his daily attire as shoes and socks.

  Julie sprinted to Jimmy and nearly tackled him where he stood. She held him tightly as if she never intended to let go. She was crying, tears falling from her cheeks onto the bare skin of his back.

  “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  “Oh, Jimmy,” she whispered in his ear. “I was terrified that something would happen to you. I don’t know what I would’ve done. I just couldn’t lose you now.”

  Jimmy closed his eyes and hugged her back.

  He opened his eyes to see Bill hugging Cindy. He was fighting back tears, and from what Jimmy could see wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He caught Cindy’s eye, and she smiled sheepishly. She then gave Jimmy a stern look as if she was watching him. She’d watched someone come between her own parents, and she wasn’t going to watch that happen to someone else.

  “How long do you suppose it’ll take the police to get here?” Ken asked Jon.

  Jon laughed dryly. “They won’t be coming here. Not tonight, anyhow. I’ve got a satellite radio, and before they jammed the signal, I got some bad news. We’re on our own; they’re calling it a transitional period. Basically it means that we have to fend for ourselves until the military takes over. Right now they’ve got their hands full on the east coast and southern California. My guess is that northern Minnesota won’t have any sort of law enforcement for at least a week, maybe more. Maybe a lot more.”

  “So we’ve got to get moving,” said Ken.

  “The sooner the better,” agreed Jon.

  Bill fished around in the back of his car and produced a sweatshirt. He handed it to Jimmy who stood bare-chested in the cool night air. Jimmy accepted it gratefully and carefully slid it on over the ugly crease on his shoulder blade. Thankfully, it appeared to have quit bleeding.

  Three more men joined the small circle, each holding a rifle, all wearing the same pained expression on their faces.

  “Bob’s dead,” said the stodgy voice of Glen Putnam. “Tom Bauer got it, too. Somebody has to go tell Sharon. I can’t. Damn those dirty bastards to hell. They just got married!”

  Jimmy knew both men, Bob Campbell worked in the shipping department. He was divorced and lived on the other side of the trailer court. He’d caught a ride to work from Bob more than once when his pickup was in for repairs. He was a decent, quiet man who loved the outdoors and was looking forward to retirement. Tom Bauer had been a good friend, a year behind Jimmy in school. Tom had started working at Dahlgren Industries the year after Jimmy had. Tom and Sharon were married in February. Jimmy had been one of the last to leave the wedding reception.

  Jimmy also knew that both men had died coming back here to save him. He would never forget that.

  “Dear God,” said Ken, shaking his head. “I’ll do it.”

  “Where are they?” asked Jon, leaning his gun against the front of the Mack.

  “On the other side of the building,” said Putnam. “But they’re dead all right. Trust me.”

  “I do,” said Jon. “But we’re not leaving them behind. Open up the back of the truck and make some room. We’ll bury them when we get up to Ken’s.”

  “Right,” answered Putnam. “Come on. I’ll show you where they are.”

  “What about these guys?” asked Jimmy, motioning to Lonnie’s body.

  “We’ll leave them to the wolves. Drag them off the lot, over the hill. There’ll be others through here. We can at least take out the trash.”

  Fifteen minutes later the caravan was moving again. They didn’t stop until they reached the driveway leading onto Ken’s property.

  Jimmy continued to replay the scene over in his head. He’d killed a man, and his name had been Lonnie.

  Six

  What do you actually know about the Federal Emergency Management Agency? What you find out may shock you. The Agency has sweeping powers, even the muscle to suspend the Constitution of the United States.

  Ken fired up the generator, and the house began to glow in the darkness. Patty ushered Jimmy into the house and tended to his wound. Julie tried to tag along, but Brenda intervened, and they busied themselves in the kitchen. Jimmy had been quite fortunate that the bullet had just grazed his left shoulder. While Jimmy was inside, the other men set about the grim task of burying their dead. He was glad to have missed out on that detail. He and Patty talked about the day’s events, sidestepping what had happened at the rest area. She carefully disinfected the wound and taped a bandage onto his shoulder. He felt tired, and even as he pulled on a clean shirt, he began to have trouble keeping his eyes open. The day was catching up to him.

  “I’m wiped out,” he said to Patty. “I might go catch a nap in the truck.”

  “Nonsense,” said Patty. “Follow me.”

  Jimmy followed her up the creaky stairs of the old familiar house. They were greeted by a familiar, musty smell that lingered even when the windows were opened. At the top of the stairs was a hallway which led to the main room; it contained four beds—three queens and a single. The empty beds sat at the four corners of the room, and all were covered with quilts that Patty had stitched herself. They’d been there for as long as he could remember. The ceiling was peaked and dropped sharply along the roofline. Those sleeping on the inside of the beds at those ends had to be careful getting up. There wasn’t much head room. Tall windows occupied the walls at either end, their sashes painted white. A similar but smaller room to the left held another pair of beds. This room was usually reserved for children as the tallest point was six feet, and the ceiling dropped considerably the farther inside it went. The wooden floor had been covered with carpet samples stitched together to make a colorful rug, and the old flooring creaked beneath their feet as they walked to the back of the main room. At the end of the large room was another door, and on the other side was a small bedroom. Patty flipped a switch and pointed to the bed.

  “There you go,” she said, turning the bedding and fluffing the pillow. “Get some sleep.”

  “No, I’ll sleep in the other room with the kids. I don’t need this big bed to myself,” Jimmy protested.

  “You can and you will,” Patty said. “I insist.”

  Jimmy looked at the bed and decided against arguing any further. The bed was the most comfortable guest bed they had and besides Ken and Patty’s room downstairs, it was the only private bedroom in the house. Jimmy turned to thank Patty, but she had already begun padding away across the carpet squares. Jimmy stretched, closed the door and shut off the light. He quickly undressed and crawled into bed. With the light out he could see the shadows of the tall white pines out the window, standing sentry at the side of the house. He thought about his day and how much things had changed. He wondered if he’d changed and supposed that he had. They all had. He thought about Paula and
prayed that she was safe. He was soon fast asleep.

  He woke just as dawn was beginning to break with that strange sensation of waking up in a different bed in a different house. He lay there for a minute, gathering his thoughts. The day before had been unlike any he’d ever experienced; with it had come new realities. His world had been turned upside down—everyone’s had—and he fought to come to terms with it.

  Paula was gone; she’d left him to stay with her folks. He wondered about that. He really couldn’t blame her. He also thought that if he’d had a daughter of his own, he’d want her alongside him right now. He knew that if his own parents were still alive, he’d be there with them. The thought made him sad because he knew they’d likely be here. The Dahlgrens had been their best friends; he was sure they’d have come here. Perhaps sleeping in the very bed he occupied right now. He pushed the thought aside and thought about Paula and her family. How were they getting through this? Was she safe? Jimmy thought so; her father could afford to employ a small army of his own to protect them and his property. Still, he missed her and felt abandoned by her leaving the way she had. He wondered if he’d ever see her again.

  Then there was Bill. How long would it be before he got under everyone’s skin? He had a knack for that, and Jimmy knew that there wasn’t much he could do to stop it. Soon Bill would be complaining about his aches and pains, Tina, and whatever else he happened to dwell on. That was who he was. Jimmy had known that when he’d invited him along; yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Deep down he knew that Bill was a good man, and he couldn’t leave him behind to fend for himself. Bill and Cindy would be much better off where they were; Jimmy was sure of that. Jimmy smiled to himself when he thought of Cindy and how protective she’d been of him. Had Paula asked her to keep an eye on him? He knew that was impossible, yet it was obvious that Cindy was doing just that.

  Julie had made it very clear what her intentions were, even if she hadn’t spoken them aloud. The way she had looked at him said it in a way that needed no words. She was very attractive. The years since high school had done nothing to diminish her good looks. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, the kind that most men could only dream about. Bill would give his left arm to have Julie feel that way about him. He was obviously smitten with her. That thought brought another smile to Jimmy’s face.

  Yes, his life had changed in the blink of an eye. Yesterday at this time he’d been getting up for work, blissfully unaware that everything was about to drastically change. He wondered what was going on in the outside world. How long would it take for things to get back to normal? Would they ever? Jimmy doubted it. Not normal, as in going back to the way they’d been yesterday morning or the week before. No, Jimmy thought, some sort of evolution was going to have to take place, although he didn’t have any idea of what that might be.

  He felt warm under the quilt and felt fortunate to be where he was. The Dahlgrens were good people, gracious hosts and obviously had prepared for this day. Still, Jimmy knew that they weren’t on vacation, not by any stretch of the imagination. There would be work to do. They would need leadership, and there would have to be some sort of structure to their lives. None of them knew what was going on in the outside world, and they might have to defend themselves against it. For every person that had planned for this scenario, there would be ten, even twenty, that hadn’t. They would want what the Dahlgrens had provided. Without a police force to provide protection, they’d be vulnerable to any group who saw a weakness in their defenses. Soon these north woods would be teeming with people in search of food and shelter. Jimmy knew that most would be armed and desperate. That thought gave him a chill.

  He had to talk to Ken. They had to come up with some sort of plan. Jimmy got out of bed and stretched, the floor groaning softly under his weight. Outside green branches swayed in the early morning breeze, shrouding the house from the approaching daylight. Jimmy quickly dressed and opened the door. With boots in hand, he tiptoed across the main room which was full of sleeping families. Two of the Larson kids were awake, lying in sleeping bags on the floor next to their slumbering parents. The boys were young, perhaps in the first and third grades, and Jimmy smiled at them. He hooked a thumb at the empty bedroom behind them and then held a finger to his lips. The boys understood immediately; they rose together, sneaking into the bedroom, their movements exaggerated in a way that only young boys are capable of. Jimmy smiled, watching as they climbed into the warm bed, leaving the door open.

  The stairs creaked, as they always had, no matter how softly he stepped. If anyone behind him woke, Jimmy didn’t hear them. Halfway downstairs, Jimmy could smell strong coffee and made out muffled voices. The voices belonged to Ken and Patty. Jimmy slowly opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and emerged into the freshly painted blue and white kitchen.

  “Good morning,” said Patty, who stood at the sink looking out the window. She quickly turned and gave Jimmy a motherly hug. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a rock,” admitted Jimmy. “That coffee sure smells good.”

  “Help yourself,” said Patty. “You know where everything is.”

  “Thanks,” said Jimmy. He set his boots down by the back door and opened the old cupboard to the left of the sink. The shelves were full of mismatched plates, bowls, cups and saucers. He had a favorite cup, and he found it behind a chipped black mug. Jimmy removed the crystal coffee cup, gave it a quick rinse, and fixed himself a cup of steaming coffee and added a teaspoon of sugar. He took a seat across from Ken and smiled, sipping from his cup. This was his favorite part of the day up here. He admitted to himself, though, it felt odd not to be heading out on the lake. He and Ken would normally head out in the little runabout, trolling for northern pike at this time of day. That was a given. They’d fish, keeping a close eye on the time. At just before nine they’d troll back to the dock, reel in their lines and head inside to one of Patty’s breakfasts—another given. Were those days over, as well?

  “Where is everyone?” Jimmy asked.

  “All over the place,” said Ken. There are tents out back, and people are sacked out all over the house. We’re the only ones up as far as I know.”

  Jimmy nodded, watching Patty dump an entire box of pancake mix into a huge bowl. His stomach growled. He hadn’t realized that he was so hungry.

  “I’ve seen a few cars head down toward the Birkland place. I didn’t recognize them, but I’m sure Sally has quite a few of her own staying there.”

  Jimmy nodded. Sally Birkland lived in what had used to be a resort which bordered Ken’s property to the east. When her husband died Sally had run the resort for nearly another decade, but as she’d approached her eighties she’d closed it down. She lived here year-round and kept the Dahlgrens informed of any goings on while they were away. She was a wiry, snoopy old woman and as much of a fixture up here as the lake itself.

  The old resort had been mothballed, and Sally lived comfortably in the main lodge a quarter mile down the dead-end road. She didn’t entertain as much as she used to, thankfully, but when she did, her crowd didn’t mix well with the atmosphere. They were people of the night, armed with fireworks and booze. They spent their weekends drinking around the fire pit until the early hours of the morning, playing their music loud and carrying on as drunken people tend to do. Sally would be right out there with them. Jimmy had always found that odd, as if she were breaking some sort of rule for a person of her advanced age. What he’d thought was even more strange was the way Patty urged everyone to keep quiet until Sally’s crew stumbled out of bed which was never before noon. Ken wasn’t too chipper on these mornings. His usual reaction was to head down to the dock, untether the big Crestliner, and tear across the lake. On most of these mornings he’d circle the bay, the throaty Mercury outboard echoing across the water. He’d tell them that the engine needed to have the carbon blown out of it. Jimmy knew better.

  “So what’s the plan?” Jimmy asked, sipping his coffee.

  “I was thinking about
that,” said Ken. “There’s a lot to do. I thought we’d all have some breakfast, and when everyone’s ready we could have a meeting in the back yard. There’s a lot to talk about. Patty and I have been discussing that; stayed up half the night. We’ve got enough food to last a long, long time. I’ve got cases of canned stuff in the basement, and Patty has the shed stocked with all sorts of shit.”

  “Kenneth,” reprimanded Patty.

  “Sorry, dear. Stuff,” Ken said sheepishly, correcting himself. “Like I said, we’ve got plenty to eat. There’s always fish, and worse comes to worse, we can always hunt. Even with all of these people, I don’t see food as being a problem. I’ve got two hundred and fifty gallons of gas for the generator which should last for quite a while if we’re careful. We should be pretty comfortable here; we’ve got enough for everyone in our group.”

  “I was wondering about that,” said Jimmy. “That’s good to know.”

  “No, the trouble is going to come from the outside. A lot of people are going to want what we have. You know what I mean?”

  “I do,” said Jimmy. “I was thinking the same thing, myself.”

  “We can’t feed the world,” said Ken.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have any problems today, maybe not even for a week or more. Most people will be able to ride this out, at least for a while, in their own homes. With any luck the government will step in and who knows? Maybe we won’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Maybe we’ll all be back home in a week,” said Patty, whipping the batter with a practiced hand.

  “Maybe,” agreed Ken, without much optimism. “Maybe not. What I’m saying is we have to be prepared for the worst. We have to be ready if the government doesn’t get its act together and help out. We’ve got to be ready to defend what we have here.”