by A. J. Powers
“Barry, it’s been, what, eight… nine years since we last saw each other? Nine years since you threw me and my boy to the wolves…exiling us from this little ‘utopia’ of yours,” Arlo said with disdain.
In all the years Shelton had known Arlo, he never once remembered the man being offended or hurt by anyone. In fact, he had been dubbed ‘The Thing’ by many of his professional acquaintances—both attorney and criminal alike—for his ice-cold demeanor and ferocity in the courtroom. Nothing seemed to get under his skin. But Shelton knew, as Arlo sat there in front of him nearly a decade later, he had gotten to him. He had shaken the unshakeable and despite everything they had been through over the past few days, the realization filled Shelton with remorse.
“I’ll admit,” Arlo continued, “it was touch and go there for a little while. Being out there was far worse than either of us ever imagined.” He paused for a moment as he dabbed at the cut on his lip with the handkerchief. His eyes narrowed on Shelton as the memories snapped to the front of his mind. “It was so, so much worse.”
Shelton’s mind was suddenly plagued with images of the victims of Arlo’s attack, causing him to shrug off the guilt trip Arlo had been attempting to generate. Under different circumstances, he might have offered a heart-felt apology for the tough choice that he and the rest of the council made ten years ago, but the chance of an apology had washed away with the blood of the town. “We did what we had to do, Arlo.”
“Ah, yes. The mighty and noble Barry Shelton…Mayor of Liberty Township. The last bastion of hope for humanity,” Arlo said mockingly. “Do tell me, Barry, is it noble to sentence a nine-year-old to death for the sins of his father?”
“I did no such thing, Arlo. I gave you every opportunity to leave the boy here; we would’ve cared for him.”
Arlo let out a scathing laugh. “So, I was supposed to just abandon my only son, then? Let some other man raise him while his father wandered off to die in the frozen hell out there?”
“Yes,” Shelton responded immediately. “If you loved him, that’s exactly what you should have done. Instead, you dragged him into hell right alongside you.”
Arlo shot him a glare. His jaw tightened and he took a deep breath through his nose. Shelton got under his skin again. “You have no idea what it’s like to have to make that choice, Barry,” he said through gritted teeth. His pursed lips softened, briefly flashing a menacing grin before he continued, “But, I must say, it wasn’t all bad. Being out there, I mean.” He gestured out the window toward the fence. “I always thought of myself as a strong man—a leader—but being cast out into that world with just a hunting rifle and a week’s worth of food will quickly humble a man.”
Shelton suppressed a laugh at the thought of Arlo being humbled by anything.
“And over the years,” Arlo continued, “I was refined by fire and became every bit of the leader I always thought myself to be. And it’s why I, my son, and countless others are alive to tell that tale today. I realized that a good leader must act, not speak.”
“And a good leader must think before he acts,” Shelton interjected.
“Oh, I always think before I act,” Arlo responded immediately, his eyes piercing like two daggers into Shelton’s soul. “You and I are two very different people, Barry. You follow a sort of ‘code’ that dictates every decision you make, but I…well, I am far less rigid. Every day is different and some days our choices are easy. Other days, however, they are life and death.” Arlo leaned back into the chair and relaxed his body. “I already know that you are willing to die for the people of this town, Barry, but the real question is, are you willing to kill—or even murder—for them?”
“You’re right, Arlo,” Barry said, nodding along. “We are two very different people.”
Arlo laughed. “Yes, that’s right, old friend, we are. You know, Barry, you and I complement each other quite well. It’s a shame we couldn’t have given things more time to balance out. This town could have been great.”
“It is great,” Shelton shot back.
“We’ll see,” Arlo replied with a twisted grin.
Arlo’s response sent chills down Shelton’s spine. One thing he knew well about Arlo Paxton was how to read between the lines. Shelton attempted to mask his concern by shifting in his seat and placing his hands down on the desk, interlocking his fingers. He sat up straight and asked, “So, give me a reason why I shouldn’t throw you into a cell next to your boy and put you both on trial for terrorism?”
“Oh, come on, Barry, you ought to know me better than that. Did you really think I would just walk into the lion’s den without some leverage?”
Shelton immediately knew he was talking about the missing children. “A prisoner exchange?”
Arlo smiled. “I do believe that would be the wise move on both of our parts, yes.”
Shelton slowly slouched back into the chair. He couldn’t risk playing hardball with Arlo, using innocent children as pawns. The man was a sociopath—a Screamer with a more sophisticated wardrobe—and couldn’t be reasoned with. Shelton had no other choice.
After a long, deflating sigh, Shelton looked at Arlo. “When and where?”
“St. Clair Park, tomorrow at noon. You may bring no more than six men and we will do the same. You have my word.”
After a moment of silence between the two, Shelton replied, “Noon it is.”
Chapter 20
Shelton led the pack on his horse. About twenty yards behind him Stevens and Horton guided the wagon full of prisoners. Clay, along with Adams and Blair, brought up the rear.
They were a few miles from St. Clair Park, an area Clay knew fairly well. In fact, with a halfway decent pair of binoculars, he could see it from his old room in the tower. There was never much reason to visit when Clay and Megan resided in the office building, but on occasion, he found himself stopping there to take a rest during his trips to Liberty. There were several smaller buildings with few points of entry that Clay would shelter in when such a need would arise. It had been years since he last visited, but he imagined it looked the same as it did back then. As with most places in the world, it quickly reached a deep level of decay and then became frozen in time.
Clay clicked his tongue and squeezed his legs around the horse, causing her to quicken her trot. When he caught up with the wagon, Clay saw Brendan out of the corner of his eye, a smirk on his face that Clay was more than eager to wipe off. It was as if he knew what was coming next. He probably did, Clay surmised, which added to the angst.
Clay’s horse overtook the wagon and crept up on Shelton. Shelton turned around to see Clay approaching.
“How you holding up?” Clay asked.
After a lengthy sigh, Shelton spoke. “I’ve been better, but I’m hanging in there the best I can,” Shelton said with a weak voice as he kept his eyes forward. “Thanks again for coming along.”
“No problem.”
“Folks are still pretty shaken up from the attack. Some people are afraid to leave their homes, but others are out for blood,” he said, Barnes coming to mind. “We’re already so shorthanded on security detail back home and the last thing we need is someone flying off their hinges during this exchange. So, you being here is very appreciated.”
Clay nodded. “Like I said, not a problem, Barry.”
Shelton felt comforted with Clay’s response. Clay had become a good friend—a loyal friend—over the years. After what he and his family had been through the past few days, tagging along for a risky prisoner swap was a slightly bigger favor to ask than borrowing a cup of sugar. Shelton’s face went grim as he spoke, “For several years, I feared this day would come,” he spoke quietly, as if to make sure he wasn’t heard by those behind him. “I even sent people out to look for them.”
“I’m sorry?” Clay replied.
Shelton realized his out-loud thinking would be confusing to anyone who didn’t know the story.
“So you know these people?” Clay asked.
After a mome
nt, Shelton nodded. “I do,” he said. “Well, Arlo and Brendan, anyway.”
Clay glanced over his shoulder at the wagon, the sneer still on Brendan’s face. “What happened?” Clay asked as he returned his focus to the path ahead.
“Arlo and Brendan used to live in Liberty, even back before the eruptions,” Shelton replied.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say their departure from town was not of their own volition,” Clay said.
“That’s a pretty accurate assessment,” Shelton said before briefly getting lost in his thoughts, replaying history in fast forward to come up with an appropriate summary of the past. “It was about three months after Yellowstone. Things weren’t totally upside down just yet, but everyone knew those days were ahead. Food and supplies were already slowing, and first responders sometimes took up to twelve hours to arrive, if they came at all.”
Clay nodded along. “I still remember those days. Even though I didn’t believe it, I was hopeful that things would eventually return to normal,” Clay said, followed by a dry laugh.
“Some folks back in town held out hope, too, but those of us on the town’s security council had to plan for the worst-case scenario—we were on our own. For good.”
“It’s a good thing you did, because obviously, you were on your own,” Clay responded. “But how do Arlo and Brendan play into this?”
“As I mentioned before, we formed a town security council shortly after the eruptions. We had several other men and women involved—including Arlo. Arlo had been a district attorney in the next county over. The man was a brilliant attorney but as shrewd as they came. Our paths didn’t cross much before the collapse—I probably knew more about him from newspapers and internet headlines than personal conversations—but once things started to go south, we all knew he would be a valuable member to our community,” Shelton said.
“How so?” Clay responded.
“He made significant contributions to our town’s defensive measures. He had an insight into criminal behavior that most of us couldn’t comprehend and that intuition saved the people of Liberty a lot of grief on more than a few occasions.
“Arlo was a rising star and had made many friends with local police and government officials over the years. Those connections gave us access to some critical resources, while there were some left, anyway.”
“Wow,” Clay said, annoyed with the hint of admiration in his voice.
“I can’t say that I really ever cared for Arlo all that much as a person, but his contributions to the foundation of our town’s self-reliant state were invaluable. To be perfectly honest, if it weren’t for him, we might not have made it through that first winter.”
Clay’s natural response was to have respect for the man who played such a crucial role in Liberty’s establishment, but after personally digging a half-dozen graves the other day, Clay still visualized a bloody death for the man. “So, what happened?” Clay asked.
“It was greed!” Shelton said, his words wrought with anger. His body stiffened and his hands shook. There was a twitch in his cheek as he clenched his jaw. He took a deep breath before continuing. “That first winter had been rough. Food and supplies were already stretched thin and we had no choice but to get creative on how to make the remaining supplies go even further. We had established a community food bank, which we heavily regulated—only so much food per person per week. And, if you were able-bodied, you were expected to work for those rations.”
“That seems fair,” Clay said. “I assume Arlo disagreed?”
“No, he was fine with it, but what he wasn’t okay with was people keeping their own food and supplies from before the eruptions. He didn’t agree that the citizens should have undistributed food caches in their home. So, he proposed we go door to door and confiscate all food and medical supplies that had not been issued by the town.” Shelton took another deep breath to try and calm himself. He had had maybe twelve hours of restless sleep since the attacks and many more still to come. Finally, he continued, “What’s worse, Clay, is that most of the people that already had food stored in their house rarely took food from the community pool. Only some perishables, like milk and eggs. And they often donated some of their own stock to the community as supplies dipped. It was more than reasonable that they hang on to what was theirs from before.”
“So, the people who had the good sense to prepare ahead of time were told to donate their food…or else?”
“Pretty much, although Arlo felt it was only fair to take a quarter of the confiscated items and distribute it amongst the newly formed town government—of which he was part of.”
The true motives were revealed. It wasn’t about the greater good of the town; it was an opportunity to proliferate his own personal fortune. Once the ash fell, a man’s true character surfaced.
“I assume that idea didn’t fly with the rest of you?” Clay said.
“It didn’t, but just barely. The vote shouldn’t have even been close, yet it was seven to six. I had a good mind to smack each one of the ‘yes’ votes upside the head. When I vented about it to Sarah, she reminded me that everyone is just scared and that it’s easier to rationalize questionable decision under such pressure. I still detested their votes, but her words helped me to see things from their view.
“Fortunately, the idea quickly faded away for everyone who voted in favor of the motion. Except for one person.”
The pieces started to fit together now.
“Almost immediately following the vote, Arlo started swindling people out of their personal reserves. He told them that if they didn’t cooperate, he would personally see to it they never got food from the community pool.”
“That’s sick!” Clay commented.
“It was. But what were the people to do? Everyone in town was already terrified about the unknown and having their names scratched off the supply list was threatening enough to get most people to cave.”
“How long did he get away with it?”
“It went on for about six months. He walked around from house to house in the middle of the night, demanding payment like he was part of the mafia or something. But once we found out about his little racket, he was kicked off the council and warned of the steep consequences that would occur if he continued harassing people.
“About a week later, Jasper, the man who first came to us about Arlo’s scheme, was found beaten half to death in a field just outside town. That was strike three for Arlo.”
“Good Lord,” Clay gasped. Ever since finding Liberty years ago, he just assumed that the town’s bright, optimistic manner had always been, as if they jumped into the apocalypse head first, ready to be a beacon of hope in the world. But, as is all too familiar to Clay, most stories of hope are peppered with darkness. “Were you sure it was him before you kicked them out?”
Shelton sighed again. “Not entirely, no. And I’ll be the first to admit that we should have been certain before coming to such a serious conclusion. However, we were vindicated when Jasper finally regained consciousness and confirmed our suspicions.”
Clay shook his head. “I had no idea,” he said, stunned from it all.
Shelton pressed his lips together and nodded. It was obvious that, regardless of the justification behind the decision, banishing the man and his son from the community still gnawed at the mayor’s conscience. Sending a man out into the wild was not far off from signing his death warrant.
“For years, I expected him to retaliate, but after five years had gone by, I figured if they hadn’t already died, that they were settled in well enough elsewhere to just let sleeping dogs lie.” Shelton released his grasp on the reins and cleaned his glasses with the cuff of his shirt. “Guess I was wrong.”
Shelton battled a myriad of emotions and with the group closing in on the park, Clay stopped prodding so they could be prepared for the exchange.
The roads became more chaotic as they got closer to the park, making it difficult for the convoy to traverse. While the others
helped maneuver the wagon around obstacles, or push decaying car husks off to the side of the road, Clay kept his eyes peeled in every direction. Distractions, such as clearing a path on a road, made for an opportunistic ambush. With one hand on the reins and the other firmly attached to his LaRue, Clay covered the group as they plowed through the last mile.
The park was in even worse shape than Clay expected. Nature had once again reclaimed what it felt entitled to. As the group closed in on the meeting location, they saw a body hanging from a tree. The ominous sight of rotting flesh and exposed bone suggested it had been there for weeks, if not months. The body hung like a puppet, swaying ever so slightly in the gentle breeze that was persuading the last of the leaves to let go of the branches. The corpse was an appropriate decoration for the mood in the air.
Shelton held up his hand and the party came to a stop. Both Clay and Shelton climbed off their horses and walked about thirty yards over to a pavilion next to a kid’s water playground. Shortly after reaching the decaying structure, Arlo and another man rounded the corner of the park’s rec center. Good to his word, it was just Arlo and one other man approaching. As the men advanced, Clay felt a familiar spike of adrenaline and anxiety. It was a feeling he never got used to; he hated the tightness in his chest that came with it, but the heightened senses kept his focus razor sharp.
Clay heard a waver in his breath that was in sync with the thump in his chest. He looked over at Shelton for some words of encouragement, but felt like he was looking into a magic mirror that projected the future—Shelton was as apprehensive as he was.
“Barry, so glad you could make it,” Arlo said as he stepped onto the poured concrete platform. “I do hope your travels were smooth.”
“Where are they?” Shelton asked gruffly, brushing past Arlo’s greeting.
“Come on, Barry, there’s no reason why we can’t keep this civil,” Arlo replied. The look on Shelton’s face suggested otherwise. “But, I suppose in the interest of time we can get right down to business.” Arlo looked past Clay and Shelton to the wagon of prisoners. “I assume my boys are all in good health, yes?”