by Lowry, Chris
Anna fed me a whole can, and then another despite my protests to save it. I ate it all.
Maybe it was the rage.
Hannah was right. The madman was going to keep chasing me. We had to stop him. I had to stop him.
And I wasn't about to go down in some noble gesture just to save some strangers. I was going to do what Hannah asked, and live to see my kids. Maybe it wouldn't be Spam, maybe it would be vienna sausage or even potted meat on crackers, two other items always in my grandfather's possession. I didn't enjoy those as much as a kid, but could appreciate the convenience now, if not the flavor. And any canned meat was now a delicacy.
Brian and Peg returned and they had Byron and his squad inside the truck. They had found four hunting rifles with ammunition, food enough for two dozen people for several days, and medicine.
Anna took it from them and she and Brian took turns playing doctor, rubbing salve, and monkey blood and an expired bottle of bactine onto the sores. Anna packed the cuts with petroleum jelly after a good dousing with water, then hydrogen peroxide, then alcohol which hurt more than the burn ever did. She stitched the gashes closed and wrapped them in gauze.
I looked at my shirts, and was glad I had on a couple of layers when the grenade went off. It probably saved me from worse even though the backs were ripped, torn, and gone from most of them.
Byron passed me two work shirts, big rather than small and I was glad they weren't on my skin tight. The kid was thinking ahead.
After our breakfast, I sent the children away and gathered the others around me again.
“You did good,” I told them.
We were fed, and fueled, with supplies to last until we found the next town, and a couple of weapons to keep us safe.
“Now for the bad.”
And I told them.
I told them the madman was coming. I told them he wanted me, and just me, and that he wasn't going to give up. I told them about moving ahead, and sticking to a set route, and about staying behind to buy them time.
“How will we get away?” Anna asked.
We. Not you. Her mind made up.
I showed her the car keys on the key ring I forgot to give her.
“You're the getaway driver.”
“It will be better if more of us stay,” said Byron. “More bullets.”
But I shook my head and told them about the rest of the plan.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
We planned on them coming from the east, the direction of the school and they didn't disappoint. They followed the same route we had, learned by checking for tipped cans on a branch.
I would have set Tyler to scout further out, but didn't want to double back to pick him up after it was all over. I might not even be able to double back.
Brian loaded all the kids in the bus, and offered again to stay.
“Keep everyone safe,” I told him, standing straighter on my own now.
He nodded.
“Catch up fast.”
We didn't shake hands this time, some little gesture that meant more in the past than it did now, and he didn't punch me in the shoulder or clap my back because he knew it would hurt too much.
He just stepped up into the door and Peg drove off.
“What if this doesn't work?” Anna stood next to the sedan.
“It will,” I told her, but I wondered myself.
The hardest part would be getting away.
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
Tyler or another scout could have given us a heads up and we could set up in the time we had remaining, but without the advance notice, it was a waiting game. Once we saw or heard the trucks, it might be too late to get into position.
“It's going to take me time to get in place,” I told her.
She put a hand on my cheek, and leaned in to kiss me. My lips were dry, but hers were soft and moist and tender. She lingered for just a moment, and then pulled away. Sometime during the kiss my hand had grabbed hers and I held it a second longer before letting her go.
She climbed in the car, started it up and moved to the end of the intersection two blocks away. I watched her do a k turn so she was facing out, parked in the middle of the road and remembered I forgot to remind her to keep the windows rolled up. The car would get stuffy but better some stale hot air, than fetid Z breath sneaking up on you.
But we hadn't seen any Z besides the bodies in the street, not this morning.
As if the town were empty and only the ghosts remained.
I waved, waited for her to wave back and went over to the courthouse.
Cuthbert was the county seat and the structure befitted it. Three stories tall, it towered over the landscape only just larger than the second Baptist church across the street from the first, and only then because of a cupola and bell tower. Up here I could see the bells had been removed and replaced by tornado sirens, a necessity in tornado alley of mid Georgia.
I moved to the solid balustrade that circled around the second level roof.
Byron's boys had gathered ladders for me once I asked, a long aluminum extension one that shook and threatened to teeter as I tediously pulled up rung by rung. The second, a six foot step ladder that led to my perch behind the stone wall.
From here I could see the yellow church and the white one, and the road beyond and I set up two rifles.
I went over how it would play out in my head and thought I should have asked for someone to stay and reload for me. Then thoughts of the Alamo and how rickety the ladder would be with two of us trying to slide down at the same time, and worrying about them running the two blocks to the car.
Too much to worry about.
This was simpler, cleaner, and the two rifles gave me twenty six shots. I wasn't sure how many were in his platoon, but two trucks and three Humvees meant more than that. I'd have to rely on confusion and distraction while I reloaded.
It wouldn't be hard for them to pick out the nest. I wouldn't be surprised if they watched it as they rolled in, looking for some sort of ambush..
I had Byron set up a tripped can beside end of the general store, not too obvious but not easy to miss either. I hoped they would zero in on it and keep rolling until the bullets started flying.
Then we waited.
I could be wrong. They could have sustained huge losses in the gas filled tunnel and never made it back. They could have given up, held a revolt and thought the mission their General had set them to was too costly.
But I doubted it.
Then I saw them. The glint of sunlight off metal through the trees. The roar of the engines reached me next. I tossed a red bandana back over the side of the courthouse in Anna's direction and hoped she was watching for the signal.
Either way it was all going to go down in less than a minute.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
I let the lead Hummer drive past the church and roll forward, then started counting. The second was fifteen feet behind, then the third, followed by the two transport trucks. I watched through the scope and counted the soldiers as quick as I could. Nine in the last one, each seated facing in, bored waiting, and one man standing by the tailgate, rifle ready.
I zeroed in on him, lined up center mess and let fly.
He flipped out of the back of the truck and flopped on the ground.
I moved to the first in line as the last noticed his missing buddy started shouting. I got the first with a head shot, missed the next on the bench and dropped the screamer as he stood.
They were shouting, pointing in a couple of different directions and the driver stood on his brakes.
The lead Humvee was almost even with the first green space at the Courthouse.
I swung the scope to the driver's window and sent two rounds through. It careened toward the building and I felt it shudder as it crashed into the brick.
“Damn,” I muttered. I didn't plan for it to leave the road and that put whoever was in the first car out of my line of fire.
I moved to the second Hu
mvee as it stopped and sent another double tap through the driver's window.
The men in the back of the first troop transport began to open fire on the courthouse, aiming at the second story. Granite chips zinged off the wall that blocked me, and I aimed back for three more shots until they had me lined up and opened up.
It was like listening to a jackhammer chip away at the stone wall I was hiding behind. Bullets ricocheted like angry hornets, bouncing up, down, left right but none of them came through the thick stone.
It was a good spot.
I crawled on my elbows and knees further back, popped up and quick shot too more.
They found me faster this time and poured it on again.
I dropped the rifle in that spot and crawled back, dragging the fresh weapon with me further to the corner.
I wished for a peephole or something to look through because my distraction should have been starting any minute.
It was announced with a scream.
The rapid fire barrage turned off the stone wall blocking me, but kept going down on the street. I popped up in a new location and squeezed off two more rounds, dropping two more men.
The rest were fighting Z.
Byron gave me the idea. His tripwire could tip a can to indicate direction, so I wondered if it could pull open shut doors. I had them hunt for fishing line as they searched for ladders, and directed them to unchain the doors to the first Baptist Church and the Second Baptist church, then string the line through the handles and stretch it across the road.
The lead Humvee popped the line and opened the doors. The smell of fresh blood and noise of gunfire drew them out, and my shooting distracted the soldiers long enough for the forty plus parishioners the pastor had locked up to shamble out and attack from the rear.
It wasn't quite a rout.
The soldiers were heavily armed and well trained. They didn't panic as they lost the four live guys from the second truck. The driver locked himself in and backed over a bunch of Z.
They didn't break rank and run when they lost three more to Z attacks as they realized what was happening.
The soldiers didn't even run away when I popped up one last time and took out three of them in a row, one after the other, and as the last one fell, his finger locked on the trigger and he mowed down the rest of the squad from the other transport.
That broke them.
Or convinced them that survival was the better part of valor.
One of the Humvees raced for the damaged one I couldn't see and that was two out of sight. The third began backing away with the transport trucks.
I sent shots through the windshield until I clicked dry, and turned to crawl back to the ammo.
A shot cracked the brick where my head just was and I rolled away. Rocks, grit, tiny chunks of granite dug and ground through the bandages and I screamed. The General was glaring over the parapet, pistol waving in a shaky hand as he perched on the shorter ladder.
I swung the gun in his direction and turned loose. It flipped and spun in the air, and he ducked away, overbalanced and fell, taking the ladder with him.
I was stuck on the roof.
It was agonizing to crawl all the way to the far end to retrieve the last rifle, and then crawl back to refill the ammunition. The sounds of gunfire below were dying out.
Either the soldiers were gone or the Z.
I suspected it was the Z.
Time for me to set some bait.
I pulled myself over the edge of the wall and aimed carefully. There were eight soldiers I could see, none looking at me.
I winged three in the leg before the others turned, and got one more center mass before two turned toward me and sent me back into hiding, the other two mopping up over their screaming bodies.
There couldn't be many Z left unless these guys were just spraying and praying.
I crawled to where the ladder had been and took a quick look over and ducked back. The General was sprawled on the rooftop below but coming around.
He could set the ladder back up, or call for other soldiers to join him and overpower me.
“Nobody lives,” I said and hoisted myself over the wall. “Everybody dies.”
I aimed my boots at his chest and let go.
He rolled out of the way, and I landed hard, sprawled back on top of him and got a satisfied crunch and grunt. I think it was a rib. I hoped it was splintered.
The General punched me in a bandage in the back and it hurt so bad I couldn't howl.
He shoved away and up on the narrow rooftop used for air conditioner maintenance. His pistol and my rifle were gone, somewhere behind one of the silent metal units. The soldier grinned and spat blood through red stained teeth.
He reached to his side and pulled out my knife. His knife. The one I took from him last time.
“You dropped something,” he grinned.
He was bats in the belfry crazy. I could see it now, sun full up in the sky, broken rib making his breathing sound wet.
I took a step to the side, faltered and went down on one knee, just catching myself with one hand. He moved in, but I jumped up, ignored the stars, and waves of pain, pawed at the small of my back and pulled out my fingers and pointed at him like a pistol.
“Bang!” I screamed.
It slowed him. He thought I was going for a gun, thought maybe I had the draw on him and hesitated. Just a second, not more than a microsecond, long enough for his grin to go wide and ignore his gleaming wet eyes, because now he had me.
He lunged.
I threw the handful of rooftop pea gravel I'd pawned in his eyes. It was dust, and dirt and gravel and pigeon shit, a little puffy cloud of grit. He jerked up his arm, and I jumped forward and kicked him in the chest.
He windmilled backwards, hit the small wall at knee level and flipped off the roof.
Onto the ladder.
I could hear his feet clawing for purchase as I leaned over the side. He was hanging on a few rungs down by one hand, the other swinging empty. As I watched, he got a grip with it, set his feet and took one step up.
I put the sole of my hiking boot against the ladder and shoved. Hard.
He screamed as it arced backwards, and only thought at the last minute to try and bounce his weight so it fell back into the building. By then it was too late. The ladder reached the peak of the zenith and fell with him screaming. He slammed into the branches of a large tree and kept going down through them with loud snaps and crashes. I couldn't tell which were bones and which were limbs.
Now I was stuck on the roof.
Again.
I turned around as his soldiers ran to him. I should have waited to see what they would find, but I was too exposed on the edge like that.
I may have been stuck, but I had a plan. Another one Byron thought of, a just in case scenario.
I also had my knife, though it cost me to pick it up. I bent over to grab it, saw the universe as it was meant to be seen through a kaleidoscope of colors and shimmering pain, and woke up a few seconds later with roof gravel road rash on my cheek.
I really wanted a shower. And a cup of coffee. Or a beer.
Yep, beer one. Hot shower and cold beer.
I pushed up again, crawled to the far corner of the roof, grabbing the military .45 and sticking it in my waist, and forgoing the rifle. I couldn't handle the strap on my back.
Georgia had a lot of hunters. We'd find another.
In the far corner of the roof was Byron's brainchild.
He was madder than a hatter, and maybe brilliant but certainly on the verge of insane. He had sent his boys hunting for rope and they brought back laundry line instead. He doubled it up, declared it would hold and strung a zip line from the edge of the room to a tree two blocks up.
All I had to do was hold the PVC pipe he had passed the rope through and try to slow down before I crashed into the tree. It wouldn't look good to survive another gun battle only to end up smeared into an oak.
Not that I looked good now, I giggled.
The fever was still there, my back throbbed, my cheek burned and my ankle pounded in time with my pulsing heart.
I giggled again, wrapped my arms around the PVC and kicked off the roof.
The soldiers took shots at me as I zoomed across their heads, but I only heard the angry buzz of bullets and a tug on the oversized shirt as it flapped behind me, like wings. I got over a group of trees and they stopped shooting and then I was down between them with the oak looming up fast.
Did I say Byron was smart? A mad genius?
The stupid kid tied the rope across a branch instead of a trunk. The PVC hit the wood, I flipped, went ass over tea kettle and had just enough time to flop over to my stomach and land six feet from the ground.
It knocked the wind out of me and I was going to have a bruise where the gun dug into my stomach. I tried to breath, but my stomach wasn't having any of it and just left me there trying to gasp.
Then I heard them. The General screaming. The soldiers running toward me. I don't know how many survived, but it sounded like a squad, boots pounding on the ground, heart pounding in my ears.
I pushed up and tried to crawl, made it six feet and collapsed. No wind, no energy and out of hope.
Anna popped out of the bushes and rained hellfire.
At least that's how I described it to the others when we caught up. She was a vision, like a pixie Valkyrie striding through the well manicured courtyard forest, planted both feet on either side of me and lay waste with her twelve gauge.
She took out three soldiers in rapid succession, just pop, pop, pop. Fire belched from the end of her shotgun or it might have been my imagination and stars exploding in my eyes.
Two more tried to return fire, but she removed their heads and then no more followed. She reached down and tried to lift me, and couldn't. I pushed up again, the two of us fighting for it, working to get my feet and busted ankle under me and the wind came back in one huge long gasp that ended in a sob.
She ignored it, ignored the tears and led me back to our car, folded me inside the back seat from the driver's side and raced off in our getaway car.