Desperate Times

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  Each side had just paired three of their own in a top five contest. The air was thick with the subtle knowledge that everything hadn’t really changed. There would be animosity for a long, long time. And it was quite likely that bygones would never be bygones. Jimmy was sure of it.

  Fifteen

  Gun owners beware; it is quite likely that you will be asked to voluntarily turn in your weapons. Failure to do so could well result in a search of your home and confiscation of said weapons. You will have to decide for yourself if this in your best interests.

  “I’ll take Rita,” said Jon, pointing to Rita Lopez. They’d decided to choose their teams in the old-fashioned way. Glen chose Ruth Schmidt, the eldest of all of them, a woman rumored to be in her mid-eighties. She was sharp as a tack and had the spunk of a woman in her sixties. There were two left of the group, anxiously waiting to be chosen.

  A sullen-looking Bill was chosen by default after Jon chose Dan Kwapik’s fifteen year-old son Zak. After a heated discussion the boy had been cleared to stand guard. Zak played quarterback at Crown Middle School and also held a firearms certificate. “Shouldn’t that qualify him to stand guard with a loaded weapon? His father argued. Jimmy didn’t think it did. Zak joined in with Jon’s team, looking relieved not to be the last chosen. Jon didn’t like Bill, and he made no bones about it. Bill slunk over to Donnelly’s team, sneering at Jon as he passed. Jimmy groaned to himself.

  “Okay people,” Ken said from his wheelchair. “Here’s the drill. You team leaders are responsible for having your groups ready. We’ll run a rotating schedule, but I want that wall guarded twenty four hours a day. Trouble is coming. We have to be able to turn it away. I don’t need to tell you that. Team leaders, I want to see you in the basement. Jimmy, will you wheel me in through the garage?”

  “Sure,” said Jimmy, who quickly moved behind and began to push Ken across the lawn. Julie nudged him aside and began to help push, and they accelerated through the grass.

  “Slow down.” said Ken. “I’m not in that big of a hurry.”

  “I picked these up at a gun show last February. It was sort of an under-the-table transaction,” Ken said, pointing to a dusty case on the floor of the workshop. “Pete, Glen, would the two of you mind lifting that case down there, up on the bench… There, that’s it… Careful, it’s heavy… Go ahead, open it.”

  Pete snapped the latches and opened the case. Inside were six black assault rifles. Jimmy whistled. They looked new and smelled of gun oil.

  “If those boys from next door want to play again, they’d better bring some new toys,” Ken said. “These are government issue M-16s, and they’re fully automatic.”

  “Nice,” said Jon, hefting one out of the crate.

  “One more thing,” continued Ken. “If any of you says a word to my wife about these, she’ll shoot me. She doesn’t know much about guns, only that they weren’t in our budget. We’ve been flat broke for a while now. The plant was bankrupt. No, if she knew what I did, she’d pick up one of these and blast me right between the eyes, scout’s honor.”

  Julie laughed. They all did. Jimmy thought about what Ken had said. The plant was pulling the Dahlgrens along with it into bankruptcy. He felt foolish for having believed that Ken and Patty had money somewhere. They were no different than the rest of them. Given that fact, Jimmy knew that Ken’s comment wasn’t too much of a stretch. Patty would never understand Ken’s decision to buy weapons. Jimmy didn’t think Patty would actually kill him over that, but he’d certainly be in her doghouse. And from what he knew about Patty, that would be a lonely place indeed.

  “What about ammo?” asked Jon, changing the subject and replacing the gun inside the wooden crate. “These things eat up a lot of rounds.”

  Ken smiled. “So I heard,” he said. “We’re covered. I’ve got ten cases of ammunition. That set me back almost as much as the rifles did. They’re there, under the tarp, behind the bench.”

  Jimmy pulled back the battered workbench, the wooden legs scraping dully across the concrete. He then peeled back the green tarp. Jon helped him drag the heavy cases across the floor. The cases were stenciled Property of the United States Army. Jimmy wondered about this. Ken had always been as straight as an arrow. This was very unlike him. He must’ve seen this coming a long time ago and decided to pull out all the stops. Jimmy was happy he’d felt that way. Somehow, seeing the rifles made him feel instantly safer. He only wished that he knew how to use one.

  “Let’s get them up to the back yard,” said Jon.

  “Wait a minute,” said Ken. “These only come out if we need them.”

  “How many of us can handle a fully automatic weapon?” Jon asked with his face set. “I’ve used these in combat; how many of us can say that?”

  Ken looked expectantly as if someone else in the room would speak up. “Damn,” he said. “You’re right. Would you mind instructing the rest of us?”

  “Not a problem,” said Jon. “But, let’s get started now. We can’t put it off any longer.”

  “Patty’s going to kill me,” moaned Ken. “I told her we lost the money I spent on these in the stock market; I’m going to have to come clean.”

  Glen laughed. Pete joined him. They laughed as if they understood Ken’s pain. Jimmy looked at them in the dim light of the workshop. He found that he still didn’t trust the pair, and he hoped that the feeling would pass.

  “What you got, there?” asked Bill from the doorway. “Holy smokes!” he exclaimed. “Holy smokes!”

  “Bill,” Jimmy said, turning. “Just keep it to yourself… please?”

  Bill was already gone, his heavy footsteps plodding quickly up the stairs.

  “Oh shit,” said Ken.

  Jon began training everyone soon after. He taught two classes. First were the men to whom he taught the basics about firing an automatic weapon. He urged the men to use the automatic feature only in cases of dire emergency. The M-16s could exhaust a magazine in a couple of seconds on fully automatic. That would leave the shooter vulnerable when reloading and would waste valuable rounds. He gave a detailed lesson on breaking the rifles down and cleaning them. He timed the men as they put them back together. At the end of the class, each man took a turn firing the weapon.

  Jimmy was no better with the rifle than he had been with the handgun.

  Jon gave an abbreviated lesson to the women. He taught them how to reload magazines and the bare basics of how to fire the rifles. Those who expressed an interest were able to shoot a couple of rounds. Julie shot five times, hitting the target with each attempt. Jon stood behind her, one hand over her trigger hand, the other under her outstretched arm. He looked impressed, and they both laughed as each shot struck home. It’s a good thing he’s gay, thought Jimmy, or I’d be jealous.

  Ken spent the afternoon inside the house with Patty. She wasn’t talking. Bill spent the afternoon getting under everyone’s skin. Jimmy wished he would quit badgering everyone. One word to Bill meant you were instantly obligated to listen to him for half an hour or more. Jimmy watched the others go to great lengths in avoiding him. Jimmy heard Bill spouting off about the same, tired old subjects, blabbering on like a broken record. He blamed the government for their situation. He went on and on about how the country had been taken over by big business. When he discussed these subjects, his eyes would nearly bug out of his head. Jimmy wondered if Bill was losing his grip on reality. Why didn’t he understand that the time for finger-pointing was over? They had to deal with the situation, not dwell over how they’d arrived here. There just wasn’t time.

  Dinner was canned stew. The entire group had come to terms with their great loss. There would be no more chips, cookies, soda, candies, and snack crackers. Gone were all the little goodies that one buys when preparing for an extended camping trip. What they’d been left with were the bare essentials—canned foods and frozen meat bought in bulk along with what spices Patty had on hand. Jimmy wondered if those who’d recently returned from the other side of the fenc
e felt at all responsible for that. He found that he didn’t much care. What was done was done.

  The party next door began softly in the late afternoon sun and grew louder with each passing drink. Voices shouted obscenities through the wall that were followed by fits of howling laughter. Jon’s crew was at the wall, and Jimmy found himself standing over one of these groups. They stood in the fading daylight, hurling insults against him and his group until his face was flush with anger. At his feet was one of the M-16s, and he imagined himself opening up on the spewing filth below.

  The abuse continued until Pete’s shift relieved them at eleven. The partiers burned whatever was at hand and fires blazed from all around the lodge area. Before surrendering his post to Bill, Jimmy surmised that Sally’s generator must’ve gone down. Every night up until now the floodlights out back had blazed away until dawn.

  “Be careful Bill,” Jimmy whispered, as the two ducked behind the wall. “I think they lost their power. They’ve been at the wall all night, taunting me. Just let it go. Understand me, Bill? Just let it go.”

  Bill nodded. Jimmy patted him on the shoulder and climbed down the ladder next to the walkway. He had a bad feeling about what was happening next door. Even after spending four hours on the wall, he didn’t want to give up his post to Bill. The feeling was so strong that he stayed in the shadows, sitting on a patio chair and watching Bill in the glow from the fires on the other side of the wall. Light danced through the slats between the pine trunks.

  Jimmy stayed there for a while and soon found himself nodding off. The crowd from the other side of the wall had left, and things had grown relatively quiet. Night sounds returned, and Jimmy fell fast asleep.

  “Wake up,” said Jon, poking him in the ribs. “We’ve got trouble at the gate.”

  Jimmy rubbed his eyes. He had no idea what time it was, and he was slightly disoriented. Jon motioned to him with a flashlight. “Let’s go,” he said in a harsh whisper.

  Jimmy stood, swatting blindly at a pine branch. “Give me some light, will ya?” he asked. I can’t see a damn thing.”

  Jon waved the light in his direction, and he followed it out. Jon was moving alongside the house, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

  The house was dark, and what little light there was came from the stars. Jimmy followed Jon to the front of the house, down the concrete stairs, and quickly down the driveway to the gate. They were met there by Pete Donnelly.

  “I don’t know what they’re doing out there; it’s too dark to tell. They’re out there, though. You can hear them sneaking around.”

  “Why don’t you just shine a flashlight down on them?” Jon asked.

  “And get shot?” Donnelly asked, as if Jon were a fool. “Listen, they’re not bothering anyone. I just wanted you to know that something was going on, just in case. You two can go back to bed.”

  Jon switched on his flashlight and pushed Pete Donnelly aside. “I’m going up. Tell your men to get down if they’re afraid. We need to know what they’re doing out there.”

  “Hey, it’s your funeral,” snapped Donnelly. “He’s coming up, boys. Take cover.”

  Jimmy followed Jon. They trundled up the steep ramp to the walkway, the logs creaking beneath their combined weight. Jimmy wished that he had a gun or a flashlight and promised himself that he’d carry both from now on.

  Jon shone the beam down over the wall, and they could see that a crowd had assembled. Jimmy gasped. It looked as if everyone from Sally’s was there. Many of the men were armed and looked as if they were ready to attack. Jimmy swallowed hard.

  “Hey, neighbor!” sang a stringy voice from below. “We got something of yours.”

  “Go sleep it off!” Jon replied.

  “Sleep this off,” retorted the voice.

  A pair of car headlamps was switched on, bathing the lawn outside the wall in yellow light. The lights were pointed toward the tree that Bill had been tied to. Brenda was now bound to the same tree. There was a small crowd milling around her, laughing as she squirmed and fought to get free of her bonds. Over her mouth was a fat chunk of tape. Someone reached for it and pulled it free with a ripping sound that carried all the way to the wall.

  “Help me!” she screamed, her voice racked with sobs. “Oh, please. Help me!”

  “You’ve got to hand it to them for originality,” quipped Jon.

  “Think they’ll do it?” asked Jimmy.

  “I don’t know,” said Jon. “We have to believe they will. Get me one of those M-16s. I’ll cover her.”

  Jimmy reached down to Donnelly who stood at the wall trying to peek through the slats.

  “Give me your gun,” Jimmy ordered.

  Jimmy expected an argument, but Donnelly willingly handed up the assault rifle. Zak Kwapik and Joe Hanson stood open-mouthed at their positions on the corners, their guns pointing uselessly at the twinkling stars in the black sky.

  “Help me! Please!” screamed Brenda.

  Jimmy traded rifles with Jon. Jimmy looked at the rifle in the darkness.

  “You want her back?” asked the reedy voice from the shadows below. “All you have to do is open the gate. Nobody will get hurt. That’s our promise to you. If the gate isn’t opened in one minute, we’ll light her up. That’s another promise. Your choice. The clock is ticking!”

  The crowd below laughed at this as if it were very funny. Some cheered, and Brenda’s screams were drowned out by their wickedness.

  “Donnelly, tell your men to stay at their posts,” ordered Jon. “This could be a trick. Tell them to be ready for an attack.”

  Donnelly nodded, turned on his flashlight, and followed its beam around the perimeter of the wall. Jimmy watched as the beam of light bobbed up and down, disappearing behind the far side of the darkened house.

  “What do we do?” asked Jimmy, holding the unfamiliar hunting rifle in his left hand.

  “We can’t let them in,” said Jon. “We’ve got to bargain with them. If they don’t want to bargain, be ready to shoot. Shoot to kill.”

  “How do you even shoot this thing?” Jimmy asked. Is there a safety or something?”

  Jon looked as if he thought Jimmy was joking. “There,” he pointed. “That’s a lever action, just like John Wayne used. You know who he was, right?”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. Of course he knew who John Wayne was.

  “Just pull the hammer back, after you fire, rack the lever open and closed. It’ll be ready to shoot again.”

  Jimmy thought of the Duke and remembered the mechanics. He could fire the gun. He doubted if he could hit anything. He prayed that he didn’t have to find out. He suddenly remembered Lonnie, and the empty feeling returned.

  “Thirty seconds!” shrieked the voice with delight.

  “I’ll shoot anyone within twenty feet of her!” shouted Jon.

  Jimmy watched with horror as a dark shadow raced up to Brenda with a bucket. Whoever it was dumped its contents over Brenda’s head and quickly scampered back into the shadows.

  Brenda wailed unintelligibly. The sweet vapors of gasoline perfumed the air.

  “Ten seconds!”

  “Hold it!” We need to wake the Dahlgrens,” Jon shouted. “This is their place. We’ll let them decide what to do. Let’s not get carried away here!”

  “Five seconds!” retorted the voice.

  “I’ll shoot!” screamed Jon.

  “Help me!” pleaded Brenda. “Don’t let them do this!”

  There was a long pause. The headlamps died, and Brenda disappeared into the darkness. Ten, twenty seconds passed. Jimmy could feel his heart in his throat. He pointed the rifle into the shadows and thumbed back the hammer.

  “Time’s up!” cackled the voice. “This is on your heads!”

  “Wait!” screamed Jon.

  The shadows seemed to move together down below. They scrambled away from the gate, heading into the relative safety of the trees that lined the property. Sweat beaded on Jimmy’s forehead and rolled down into his eyes. He bru
shed his hand at it and it came away wet. “What are they doing?” he asked Jon.

  “I don’t know,” Jon replied. “I don’t like this. Be ready, Jimmy. Be ready…”

  Another car’s high-beam headlights were switched on below, shining up directly into their eyes. Jimmy held his hand over his eyes. Another pair came to life from the opposite side of the lawn. The effect was blinding and the crowd below cheered again.

  “No!” shrieked Brenda. “Nooo!”

  And suddenly she was burning like a candle. Jimmy moaned. Jon screamed and raked the trees with automatic fire. Jimmy popped off a shot, careful to aim away from the writhing shape in the fire.

  “You bastards!” shrieked Jon, his magazine exhausted. “Get me some more ammo. Now!” he ordered Jimmy, pulling the lever action out of his hands.

  Jimmy ran blindly down the ramp and into the darkness. There were fresh magazines in the garage. He heard automatic fire from the two guards in the corners. Jimmy nearly ran headlong into Julie who was running from the house.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes wild with fear.

  “Don’t go down there!” barked Jimmy. “Get in the basement!”

  “I won’t!”

  Jimmy kept on running; he didn’t have time to explain. He reached the dark outline of the garage door and heaved it open. It crashed into place, and he frantically crawled on the floor until he came across a milk crate full of loaded magazines. He picked it up and scrambled back toward the wall and the pleading screams of a dying woman. Jimmy’s stomach rolled.

  “Hurry, Jimmy!” shouted Jon from above. “They’re coming with ladders. It’s an attack!”

  Others had gathered at the wall, awakened by the gunfire and Brenda’s terrible screaming. The lights from the outside provided an eerie glow behind the wall. Julie stood there, holding her hands over her ears. Tears ran down her cheeks. Jimmy knew she understood what was happening. He wanted to hold her in his arms, but he didn’t have time. He raced past the others standing huddled together in their sleeping clothes at the gate. Jimmy ran up the narrow ramp at full speed, carrying the heavy milk crate before him as if it were empty.