I put my hand on her shoulder, my peripheral vision scanning around for the slightest movement of the followers. There’s none. They’re as well-trained as an army. That scares me more than anything else.
Abby shrugs off my hand. “We got places to be,” she says. “Don’t really have time to break bread. And seeing as how you shot at us and you’re currently blinding us with floodlights, you’re not coming off as a gracious host.”
Bruce puts one hand behind his back and turns with his other hand up in a wave. Soon after, the floodlights click off with a hum, and now I can’t see where the followers are or where the weapons are pointed. That’s worse.
“There, is that better?” he asks. “I have no ulterior motives here, my friends.”
“We’re not your—” Abby begins.
“Friends, yes. You’re not my friends, but I would like to change that,” Bruce says.
“Seems like you have enough friends as it is,” I say. “Don’t need anymore.”
Bruce puts his skinny arms out. The suit jacket’s sleeves hang baggily. “One can never have too many friends! Especially in trying times such as these.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “Can’t trust anyone. So you understand why we’re skeptical about breaking bread with you, right?”
“Oh, yes, yes! And you understand why I have decided to greet you the way I have. It is only safe. As for the shot that had been fired in your direction, I can’t be blamed for that. Believe me, the one who fired that round will pay dearly. I promise. Now, please, you all look like you could use a good meal.”
Abby, Lilly, and I share glances. Understanding on all of our faces. We know that no matter what, we have no choice. This man won’t take no for an answer.
Though he has an army, followers or whatever, I can practically smell the desperation on him. He’s as lonely as we all are.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ll break bread with you, but then we’re on our way, understand?”
Bruce nods vigorously. Bobbing his head like he has a spring loose in his neck. “Of course, of course.”
He walks up to Lilly and sticks his arm out for her to take it. She doesn’t. “Shall we go?”
Fourteen
Bruce leads us into the back of a large clothing store. His followers have stayed behind, and the lights have clicked off, leaving the neighborhood in darkness, but I don’t think they are far.
“Here we are,” Bruce says. “Please, have a seat.”
None of us sit down.
Bruce waves a hand. “Fine, fine, I’ll sit down first.” He does so, moving slowly like a man his age is supposed to move. He takes a seat on the left and pulls out the chair next to him.
Sighing, Abby says, “Let’s just get this over with.” She crosses the room and sits down next to Bruce, who looks like he’s just won the lottery.
Lilly and me go around to the other side, sit down.
The food on the table is pretty sparse, as it usually is in the apocalypse. Fresh carrots and tomatoes in a basket. Some old bread that looks as hard as brick, and canned beans—unopened, so we’d know of their freshness. It’s really not much, but it is much more than we’ve had in a long time. My stomach grumbles just looking at it.
“Please,” Bruce says, grinning, “help yourself. There’s plenty more.”
So I take the old guy up on his offer and plunge my hand into the vegetable basket. Take a plump tomato in my hand and bite straight into it. The juices flood my mouth. My tastebuds scream with joy. How long has it been since I’ve had a fresh vegetable? I don’t know, but I’m glad I’m having one now. It’s even better than sleeping.
“So, tell me about yourselves,” Bruce says. He watches us eat. We must look like savages to him in his suit coat and prim and properness. Abby is dipping a chunk of bread into hard butter, completely avoiding the knife at the side of her plate.
Lilly starts talking with her mouth full of beans. “I’m Lilly,” she says.
“Jack,” I say.
“Abby.”
“Great to meet all of you,” Bruce says. “Truly. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an outsider, let alone three.”
“Just passing through,” I say. “Then we’re on our way.”
“But you’ve come through my town. What are the odds?” Bruce says. He looks at me with his hard eyes. “Tell me, Jack, do you believe in fate?”
I chew my food and swallow, but I don’t answer. I look at him.
“You strike me as a man who believes in fate,” he says when it’s clear I intend to stay silent. “You all strike me as people who believe in fate.”
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask.
Bruce slides his chair back. “Of course! I’m here for a reason, and you’re here for a reason. We’re all here for a reason!”
Abby ignores all of this. She’s stuffing her face.
Lilly is enraptured. “I believe that, yeah,” she says around another mouthful of beans.
I decide to change the conversation. If fate is a real thing, I’m not sure I believe in it. Maybe once upon a time I did, but not so much anymore. Why would fate take my family away from me? Why would fate end the world? Why would fate turn the bulk of the population into zombies?
Maybe it wasn’t fate. Maybe it was God. But why would God do this to us, to the very people He created in His image?
I don’t know. It’s all a rabbit hole I’m not prepared to get lost in. Some questions, the biggest ones, should be left unanswered.
“What do you do here?” I ask him.
“Oh, not much. A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Bruce answers. Always smiling. Reminds me of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.
We finish eating.
I stand and say, “Thank you, but I think we’ll be on our way now.”
Abby and Lilly get up with me. Push their chairs in.
“Aw, are you so sure?” Bruce asks. He gets up, too. His posture is bad, he’s hunched over, looking more and more like an old man. “Why don’t you stay the night? There are only a few more hours left before sunrise. It would be to your benefit, I think.”
Abby frowns. “Do I have to remind you that that’s exactly what we were doing before you blinded us with your floodlights, and held us hostage, coming at us with a hundred armed soldiers?”
“But that was to your benefit as well,” Bruce says. The smile fades. “I was only looking out for your best interest. This is my town, friends, and it is up to me to treat guests well. I would hate to have travelers go out of their way to avoid my little place because of bad reviews.”
What is this guy on? I wonder. This isn’t a time where people give good or bad reviews about megalomaniacs and their inherited towns.
It’s not worth the argument, though. We need to get out of here while we can. I’m getting a bad feeling about this. It worsens every minute.
This guy is off his rocker.
“Now, please sit back down, friends,” Bruce says. “When the sun comes up, then I think it will be okay for you to leave.”
“Do we have a choice?” Lilly asks. She doesn’t look as enraptured as before. She looks a little defiant. Her hands are clenched into fists, and there’s a blossom of color on her face.
“You always have a choice, dear,” Bruce says. “Well…usually.”
It happens in a flash. He pulls a blur of silver out from his pocket. A nice handgun, powerful enough to blow a hole the size of a window through us.
We’re unarmed.
“However, I know who you are. You’re highly wanted people, and highly wanted people will fetch a pretty price. The District pays quite well; enough to help keep my quaint town afloat for a little longer. And that, my friends, is the name of the game, isn’t it?” Bruce says. He’s smiling again. Flicks the gun back toward the seats. “Now sit down, please. This doesn’t have to get messy.”
“Messy?” I say. “Like you have the balls to let it.”
“No, maybe not. But you saw my s
oldiers. They’re stone-cold killers. They love when things get messy. And the District is paying for you all, dead or alive. A little more if you’re alive, yes, but the price is still quite good if I bring your head to the Overlord.”
“If you think you’re gonna get our heads, you’re crazier than I thought, old man,” I say. “We’re wanted for a reason.”
Bruce’s smile falters. I sense fear, but he quickly stamps it down. Then he snaps his fingers, and bright lights click on outside, drowning out the dusky complexion of the sky. Through the windows we see more figures. Backlit and holding guns. There’s half a dozen of them, varying in size and posture. Same goes for their guns.
“Should’ve seen this coming,” Abby says to me.
Yeah, we really should’ve.
So I look at Bruce and sit down. Abby and Lilly follow my lead. I lace my fingers together and sigh, like a weary teacher before a conference.
“So, Bruce,” I say, “how did you know about us?”
Bruce takes a seat. He doesn’t let go of his gun, though. Just rests it on the table, still holding it in his hands. Pointed at us.
“Well, you’re not the only visitors I’ve had lately. A few District soldiers came up. No—it was more than a few. Whole darn convoy. You three are hot commodities, that’s for sure. They came up and tore this place apart looking for you. Left behind pictures of you three and even some of what you’d done in Chicago, said it was more than likely that you were traveling this way. Then they said what they were offering as a reward.” Bruce pulls the pictures out of the inside pocket of his suit coat. They’re folded and creased and stained, like they’ve spent a lot of time in the old man’s hands.
“What’s the reward?” Lilly asks.
Now Bruce is smiling wide. It makes him look fifteen years younger. “Oh, the reward. The sweet reward. A decade of supplies, my pick of the litter.” He licks his lips. The gesture is almost nauseating.
“The District lies,” Abby says. “Believe me.”
“No, they don’t. They’re great. They’re going to bring civilization back. Already they are building an army, an air force, a navy,” Bruce says. “A government.”
“Yeah, because that worked out so well the first time,” I say. “The government is the reason the world is like this.”
“Well, Mr. Jupiter, sometimes, when you want to create something better, you have to eradicate the old ways. That’s all they did. Call it an accident. Call it a mistake. Call it whatever the hell you want. But I call it a godsend,” Bruce says. He levels the gun at us. “And I’m not about to let you ruin my godsend. I may be an old man, but I’ve got a lot of life left in me yet. I’ll see this once great nation become greater still.”
“You’re crazy,” Lilly says.
“I knew that when we first met him,” Abby says.
“Call me crazy. Call me whatever you like. But remember, I’m the one with the gun. And the army.” Bruce tilts his head back at the window to the backlit figures.
They’re still standing like statues. Doesn’t even look like they’re breathing. This is about when I look around the back of the clothing store. In a bin off to the right, there is a pile of arms and legs and torsos and heads. Not real, of course—we are in a clothing store. They’re mannequins. Discombobulated mannequins, yes, but it gives me an idea and, hopefully, an answer.
Since we’ve been here, we haven’t come into contact with anyone else. Sure, we’ve seen Bruce’s soldiers at a distance, but that doesn’t mean anything. They don’t seem to move. Not even the slightest twinge or twitch. It’s like they’re…mannequins.
I get Abby’s attention and, with my eyes, I glance over at the box of plastic body parts, then out toward the windows beyond Bruce’s head, to the stock-still soldiers. Abby’s brow furrows. She doesn’t get it.
Then her face relaxes, and she smiles.
“What is so amusing?” Bruce asks. There is anger in his eyes. His finger on the trigger makes me uneasy.
The District is still paying a price for our dead bodies, so it’s not really that big of a loss for Bruce if he pulls the trigger, is it? Sitting here with the gun in my face, I have to make a choice. I have to draw a conclusion. Is Bruce a killer? Is he capable of murder?
I’m leaning toward no. Why would he want to get blood all over his nice suit? Why would he want to be stuck cleaning our brains out of this setup he’s got for himself?
But I also know that, if he’s made it this far, he has to be a killer. You can’t survive without pulling the trigger a few times, without spilling some blood.
“Nothing is amusing,” Abby answers him.
Lilly is looking at us like she’s lost. We haven’t been on the road together long, so our chemistry isn’t as great as it will become. That is, if we live long enough for our chemistry to blossom. Abby and I—well, we are like Batman and Robin when it comes to this stuff. We’ve got that telepathic understanding you only get with your closest friends.
She coughs, and I know this is a signal. I know she’s about to do something.
Her hand up, she asks, “Can I have some more food?”
Bruce is wary, but he nods as if to say ‘Go ahead’.
“The least you could do is make us comfortable before you turn us over to the District, right? Before we die,” Abby says. She reaches for the spoon sitting in the beans. “Because that’s what’s gonna happen. They’re gonna kill us.”
Bruce waves his gun again. He doesn’t care. Not truly.
I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t care, either.
“What they do with you is none of my concern, I’m afraid, my dear,” Bruce says, and then Abby snaps.
She snaps earlier than I’d like her to. I was hoping we could prolong this situation a little further, because there’s a chance that Bruce’s “soldiers” aren’t mannequins at all, that they’re actually cold-blooded killers waiting for a chance to blow our heads off, itching for that chance.
But it’s too late. I can’t do anything about it.
Abby flings a spoonful of beans right at Bruce’s face. She aims for the eyes, and she rarely ever misses—even when it comes to flinging food, apparently.
Brown mush slaps his flesh, and he cries out. Can’t be a cry of pain; I doubt beans to the face hurt, even if they do get in your eyes. Then again, what do I know? I’ve never had beans in my eyes. At least not any time that I can remember.
As the beans hit Bruce, he falls backward in his chair, and thank God for that, because his gun points to the ceiling. Maybe he pulls the trigger on purpose, maybe it’s an accident. All I know is that the sound of the gun being shot in the vast back room of the clothing store is deafening. The acoustics in the place are really great.
Reflexively, I slap my hands to my ears. Another shot goes off, and the ceiling plaster cascades down upon us and our food.
Then Abby throws her left elbow out and knocks Bruce backward even farther. He flips over his chair, this long and gangly old man, and cracks the side of his head against the concrete.
Lilly is quickly on him, kicking the gun out of his reach, though he lies unmoving. Out cold with cold beans on his face.
I flip the table over, create a barrier between us and the windows.
No shots come.
Lilly now has Bruce’s gun. He’s on the opposite side of the table we’re all huddled behind. It’s a thick wood. It may hold up to a few rounds, but if the half dozen or so men and women out there start plugging us with a barrage, we’re pretty much screwed.
But nothing happens. Still.
Abby and I exchange a look. “You’re a genius, Jack,” she says.
I grin. That’s a pretty big compliment coming from Abby.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Lilly demands. Her face is pale, and her short hair is tousled. “You just signed our death certificate.”
“Mannequins,” Abby says, and Lilly cocks her head to the side. She looks like she’s just poked a hornet’s nest and is waiting to be s
tung. “That’s what his ‘soldiers’ are,” Abby continues. “The dude is as alone as anyone.”
I nod. “We would’ve at least heard one of them, wouldn’t we? He came to the house by himself and walked us here by himself. None of his people came to meet him, none came to escort us. None, Lilly.”
“They were watching from the shadows,” she responds.
“Bullshit,” Abby says. “Why are we still alive, then? Go ahead and look up. You’ll see the shadows still in the windows. They haven’t moved. I guarantee it.”
Lilly is not one to back down from a challenge. Despite the fear on her face, she peers over the edge of the flipped table. “Shit,” she says. “You’re right.”
I’m feeling pretty smug, pretty good about myself, when I hear Bruce’s small voice from the other side of the room.
“Yep, you’ve got me,” he says.
I stand up. So do Lilly and Abby. Lilly trains the pistol on Bruce. Her hand shakes slightly, messing with her aim, but at this close of range, she wouldn’t miss.
Bruce knows that. After he wipes his face off, smearing thick, sugary bean sauce away from his eyes, he puts his arms up. His nice suit jacket is splotchy, dripping with brown muck. He doesn’t seem to care much.
I don’t blame him here, either. If I had a gun pointed in my face—which was the case only moments ago—the last thing I’d care about is whether my nice suit is messed up; especially when suits are all over the place these days. Sure, they might be a little musty, have some moth-eaten holes in the armpits, but one has to look good in the apocalypse, right?
“I’m alone. I’m a lonely old man. This town is me. I am the town,” Bruce says. His eyes are watery. “The mannequins are my only company. Not many people pass through here anymore. Not even zombies. It seems everyone avoids Bruce.”
“Spare us,” Abby says.
“Are you going to kill me?” he asks.
Lilly meets my eyes as if it’s up to me to give the order of pulling the trigger. Like this man’s life is in my hands. I don’t say or do anything. Pretty soon Lilly turns back to Bruce.
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