Smith shot the Judge’s man a second time, this one in the face because, fuck it, you could never be too sure these days.
Four
Footsteps around him, along with the echoing clop-clop-clop of shod horse hooves. Most of it was concentrated in the roads to his right even as Smith moved deeper into the darker parts of Gaffney. It was a good thing there were no lights along most of the buildings; the town concentrated most of their limited solar-powered LED light sources along the streets.
…a good thing there were no lights…
In another place, another time, Smith might have felt some trepidation about that little fact. Except he didn’t tonight, because the Judge’s men didn’t seem to have any concerns about moving around loudly—very, very loudly—as they hunted for him.
And that was exactly what they were doing: hunting. He was their prey.
Find me if you can, boys.
Smith thought about his brief conversation with Amy just before Dunham poked his nose into the clinic. Then, after Dunham was down for the count:
“You have to go,” Amy had said.
No kidding, he had thought but had answered her with, “This ranch. Give me a direction,” instead.
“South from here. You can’t miss it. It’s the only thing out there for miles.”
“How far?”
“Half a mile, maybe?”
“You’ve been there?”
“A few times, when they needed a doctor. But they wouldn’t let me see everything.”
“And that’s where they take people for reeducation?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Amy had shaken her head. “I don’t know. We’re not allowed out there without guards.” Then, quickly, as they heard the clop-clop-clop of approaching horse hooves, “You have to go.”
He didn’t go right away. First, he stared at her. “Are you going to tell them I was here?”
“I have to. But I won’t tell them what we talked about.”
“What will you tell them?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out.”
“Painkillers.”
“Painkillers?”
“Tell them I came here looking for painkillers, but Dunham interrupted me first.”
“Okay.” Then, as Smith turned to leave, “You used to be Black Tide too, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Smith said, looking back at her.
“What happened to you?”
“Same as you, I’m guessing. I lost faith in the cause.”
Amy had nodded in reply but hadn’t said anything. She didn’t have to, either. Smith could read it on her face.
Then he left.
Mary and Aaron.
He was partially (Just partially? Okay, maybe more than partially.) responsible for them being here. And now, in danger. The Judge had put them in his crosshairs, and after what had transpired with Travis and the others, no doubt mother and son weren’t going to be allowed to just assimilate into Gaffney.
That was on Smith. He’d crossed the Judge, hoping he could end the man’s tyranny with a bullet. That hadn’t worked out, mostly because the Judge had had his own plans. One that didn’t include Smith returning to town alive.
You fucked up, fat man. You fucked up real good.
It was up to Smith to make the man pay, but not yet.
Not yet.
So Smith was headed toward the south end of town. To this ranch, wherever it was. He couldn’t remember seeing anything that would indicate there was a ranch out there. Then again, he didn’t even know Gaffney existed until he had his run-in with the Judge’s posse. When he’d scouted the town earlier, looking for a way in, he hadn’t ventured out far enough south to see everything. There hadn’t been any need to.
“The ranch,” Amy had said. “Where they take people for what the Judge calls reeducation.”
What was that Blake had told him about the Judge’s idea of reeducation?
“The Judge reeducates them,” she had said.
“‘Reeducates them’ how?” he had asked.
“It’s basically brainwashing. By the time he’s through with them, they think the Judge is the greatest person in the world.”
“How, exactly?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve seen the results. They’re not the same afterwards.”
Smith didn’t like the sound of that. His mind flashed through images of concentration camps and barbed wires. Was that what he would find once he reached this ranch? Anything was possible these days.
He listened to sounds of movements coming from his right. As long as they were on the other side of the buildings, he was in good shape. A part of him was hoping they’d confront him so he could thin their numbers some more. According to Amy, he was now dealing with ten.
Well, nine now, minus Dunham.
Nine was still a lot, but not as many as it had been just a few minutes ago. Smith wasn’t a math whiz by any means, but even he knew that nine was better than ten.
Now, if he could knock that number down some more…
Voices!
Smith stopped on a dime and all but lunged into a dark corner between two brick buildings, his right hand immediately stabbing down toward the holstered SIG Sauer. He didn’t draw the weapon, but he let it hover, waiting as he listened to the voices get closer.
They were approaching his position and making a hell of a lot of noises doing it, too. Either they wanted him to know they were coming, or they were just really bad at sneaking up on a target.
“Here?” someone said. Male. Young-sounding.
“Around here,” another voice said. Also male, also young-sounding.
“Where, exactly?”
“Nearby.”
“Be more specific.”
“I can’t.”
“You sure you even heard something?”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“You’re the asshole.”
“Really? I call you an asshole, and you call me an asshole back? That’s mature.”
“You’re mature.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Huh?”
“Exactly.”
“Whatever, man.”
Smith smirked to himself. Just what he needed tonight: A shitty comedy routine by two assholes.
“Where?” the first asshole said. He sounded much closer than the last time Smith heard his voice. “Here?”
“I already said nearby,” Asshole #2 said. “Now shut up. He might hear us.”
“If he’s here. You probably just saw a cat.”
“When was the last time you saw a cat in town?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Behind the courthouse. Ask Tom.”
“I will.”
“You do that.”
Scintillating conversation, Smith thought. Simply scintillating.
He wanted to step out of hiding and put them both out of his misery out of pure spite, for forcing him to listen to them, but he didn’t. He could hear the clop-clop-clop of multiple horses nearby, on the other side of the approaching duo. That meant more men—more heavily-armed men—within earshot. He was eager to knock down the Judge’s numbers by a few more guns, but not if it meant having to outrun horses.
Of course, if he stuck to the back alleys, horses wouldn’t necessarily be that much of an advantage…
“Come on,” Asshole #1 was saying. “There’s nothing back there.”
“I heard something,” Asshole #2 insisted.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t. Or else there’d be something here. But there’s nothing here.”
“We should look some more.”
“We already have.”
“I mean, some more.”
“I’m bored.”
“You’re always bored.”
“I’m also sleepy.”
“You’re always sleepy.”
&n
bsp; “Exactly. So why are you making me walk around back here when I’m bored and sleepy?”
The duo were standing about a dozen yards from where Smith hid in the shadows, but he could hear their breathing as well as their chatter as if they were right next to him. He could also see the shadowed barrels of their rifles across the dirty cement floor, the images elongated by the moon casting above them. He was reasonably certain he could take both out before they got off a shot, but it would have been pretty noisy.
Mary and Aaron. Find Mary and Aaron.
As much as he wanted to dispatch both assholes, Smith didn’t move. Right now, getting to Mary and Aaron was more important. As far as he knew, Amy hadn’t given him away. But that was just Smith having faith that she was on his side rather than the Judge’s. What if he was wrong?
He wasn’t.
Probably.
Footsteps again as the duo headed back in the direction they’d come from earlier. Back to the streets. Smith remained where he was, listening to them go. They were just as loud leaving as they had been coming.
Be a little louder why dontcha, boys.
When he couldn’t hear them anymore, Smith continued on his way, slipping through a series of back alleys and sticking to the rear of buildings. Stores, apartments, a VFW hall. Most of them were empty, like the majority of Gaffney. There was simply too much space and not enough people to occupy them. That was another reason he was confident he could avoid the Judge’s men as he made his way south.
A part of Smith wanted to turn back, to find the Judge instead of going after Mary and Aaron. After all, if he could take out the fat man, then all of this would be over. He could simply walk to the ranch and take Mary and her son. (Or he thought he could, anyway. It would probably not be that easy.)
But he didn’t.
Right now, he had to concentrate on getting Mary and Aaron back. He had to make sure they were safe. Even if he didn’t feel completely responsible for them being here, (Still trying to convince yourself, huh?) he had some culpability. That was all the reminder Smith needed to keep his nose out of other people’s business. How different would his last few days have been if he had stayed hidden when Peoples and his two pals showed up on the road?
But that was a moot point now. He was here, in Gaffney, and everything that had happened the last few days—Mary, Gaffney, Blake, and—
Blake.
Shit. He’d forgotten all about Blake.
Smith stopped and glanced north.
Toward the police station.
Blake was probably still inside it even now.
It took him about thirty seconds to decide what to do. Mary was south, but Blake was north. And Blake was closer…
Smith turned around and headed north. He told himself it wasn’t the blonde hair, the beautiful green eyes, or the amazing body, but who was he kidding? It was all those things. He was, after all, only human.
Five
Finding the police station was easy. Smith remembered it was in the center of town, which made it easy to locate even with just the moonlight to navigate with. He could have found it easier if he had access to the streets, but that was out of the question with the Judge’s men roaming around looking for him. Having decided to avoid conflict until it was absolutely necessary, Smith had to stay in the shadows.
There were no guards outside the station, but as Smith approached it, he glimpsed a figure on the rooftop. Smith quickly slid behind cover and watched as a man with a rifle appeared near the edge of the rooftop, looked around for a bit, before vanishing again.
The man was too far away and there was too much darkness for Smith to make out a face, but it was clearly a man. A lone guard. That was expected, given that the rest of the Judge’s guns were searching the town for Smith. Even now, he could hear them moving about the streets and the occasional doors opening and closing. What mattered was that they were behind him and not in front.
Smith waited for the guard to appear a second time, then didn’t move until the man had vanished once more. He hurried out from behind cover and made his way toward the police station, skirting around the corners of buildings until he was at the rear.
There was a back door, but it was locked. Smith took out his knife and waited.
There, the guard somewhere above him, crunching gravel under his boots as he neared Smith’s part of the building. After a while, the boots moved away, and when Smith couldn’t hear it anymore, he went to work on the lock.
It didn’t take long. There was just a simple tumbler lock that Smith was able to pry open with the point of the knife. He pushed the door open and stepped into a dark hallway on the other side.
He remembered the layout of the building from when he was last inside it, before Hobson came to fetch him to see the Judge. Smith fully expected a second guard—maybe even a third, but that was unlikely given the lack of manpower—inside. He got silence instead. Still, he made his way through the first corridor cautiously, listening for sounds of a presence other than his own.
It took him a good half hour just to traverse the first couple of hallways, but it couldn’t be avoided. Besides, he had plenty of time on his side. His watch had barely ticked past midnight, which still left him with a good six or so hours before sunrise. That was more than enough time to do everything he needed.
Easy does it.
Easy does it…
He wasn’t sure if it was surprise or relief on Blake’s face when Smith finally showed himself. The doors between the hallways were unlocked, so he hadn’t had any difficulty finding his way to the holding cells.
Blake jumped off the bench and ran over to the cell bars. “Jesus, you’re back!”
Smith quickly put a forefinger to his lips to shush her.
Blake understood and mouthed, “Oops. Sorry.” Then, in a lower voice, “I thought you were dead. Or being reeducated.”
Smith shook his head as he stared at her. Even locked behind bars as she had been for the last two days, she was…quite the sight. They hadn’t given her anything new to wear, and he could still smell lingering vomit on her clothes, and yet…
“What?” Blake said, squinting through the bars at him. There was just a small light hanging off the wall down the hallway, which was more than enough for him to make her out and vice versa.
“Nothing,” Smith said.
“No, there was something. What was it?”
“Just glad you’re okay, that’s all.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Have you seen where you are right now?”
“Good point.” Then, leaning even further against the bars until her cheeks were pressing against them, she peered down the hallway. Or tried to, anyway. “You snuck back in here?”
“Pretty much.”
“How’d you get away?”
“I made a deal with the Judge.”
“What kind of deal?”
The kind that got Mandy killed, Smith thought but didn’t say. Blake wouldn’t have reacted positively to the news of Mandy’s death and may even blame him for it.
Oh, who was he kidding? She would definitely blame him for it.
“Smith?” Blake asked. “What kind of deal did you make with that blob of a man?”
“The kind that got me out of town. But I’m back now.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why? If you got out, why are you back?” She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on the gun in its holster. Then, squinting at his face, “What’s going on? What are you doing back here?”
“I came back to make sure you were okay.”
“That’s all?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“I’m looking for my friend, Mary. I was told she was taken to be reeducated at the ranch.”
“The ranch?”
She knows about it, Smith thought, watching her carefully.
“Yeah, the ranch,” Smith said. “She’s at the ranch wit
h her son right now. I’m going there to look for her. But I could use some help.”
“Me?”
“Why not?”
Blake didn’t take very long to think about it. “You have to get me out of here first.”
“I can do that.”
“How?”
“There should be a key.”
“It’s probably inside the lobby.”
Smith nodded. He’d thought the same thing. It didn’t make any sense for Hobson or the lone guard on the rooftop to carry the keys on him.
He was about to turn to go in search of those keys when Blake said, “Smith.” Then, when he stopped and turned back around, “I heard shooting earlier. Was that you?”
“Yeah.”
“So how many of the Judge’s men are we dealing with now?”
“Ten.”
“Did one of your victims happen to be Clarence?”
“He’s still alive, as far as I know.”
“As far as you know? What does that mean?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Later,” Smith said, and hurried down the hallway before she could ask him any more questions.
The less he told her about Travis and yesterday’s ambush, the better. Because if he told her everything, he might have to reveal Mandy’s death, too. And right now, Smith wasn’t sure about how to do that quite yet. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would never have to.
Yeah, right. As if he’d been that lucky so far.
He made his way through the corridors and out into the lobby, but like before, not until he’d made damn sure he was the only one moving around inside the police station. He’d closed the door into the holding cells so he didn’t have to separate Blake’s movements from the rest of the building’s. Or his own. He could still hear the lone guard moving around on the rooftop above him, the man’s circular path crossing Smith’s twice as Smith made his way to the door that separated him from the lobby. If the guard had noticed anything going on below him, there was nothing about his steady movements that Smith could detect. Certainly, the guy didn’t sound very excited to be up there. The phrase going through the motions came to mind.
After The Purge, AKA John Smith (Book 3): Shoot Last Page 3