Chuck lowered his eyes as he pictured the river.
He pushed back from the shot of whisky as he remembered the countless bodies he carried in the bed of his truck. He remembered the woman who committed suicide in the garage. After her husband and daughter died, she climbed into her car, closed the garage door, started it up, and went to sleep. And he would never forget the painful shock of finding the little boy curled up on his side in the backyard tree house. The mother and father were dead in the house. His only prayer was that the parents didn’t die first and leave the little boy to die alone—scared and crying.
Chuck looked back at his reflection in the mirror. There were so many who suffered so much. He glanced at the amber colored liquid in the glass and slowly started shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”
The shot glass was still full and sitting on the counter after Chuck walked out the door.
Chapter 21
Jason’s people had their fun. After spending the night in the Holiday Inn, they ransacked the place and set it on fire. Actually it was an injustice to his influence in saying they were just his people. Under his charge, they had turned into a warring tribe hell-bent on hunting down every last survivor in Indianapolis. Captures were given the choice of joining the tribe or burning to death in the ritual cleansing.
Jason draped the duster over his arm as he stared toward the thick column of black smoke billowing up from the hotel into the morning sky. But it wasn’t the foul stench of burning plastic and polyester that held his thoughts. It was something much deeper and darker that he was just beginning to struggle with. He sat down on the curb.
“Anything wrong sir?” Mark asked, as he walked over and took a seat next to him.
Jason stared at the decaying remains of a body across the street as he voiced his concern in a soft whisper. “Are we doing the right thing?”
“Burning the hotel…that’s no big deal.”
Jason turned toward the big redhead. “No…not the hotel. I mean what we’re doing…killing all these people.” He turned back toward the apocalyptic imagery of the street before him. “It was what I wanted at first, but now I don’t know. It seems that no matter how many people I kill, or how much I make them suffer, it does nothing for the pain I feel.”
Mark put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “You’ve been chosen to bare the pain of the people. That’s what God put you here for. And that’s a fact.”
Jason started shaking his head. “How do you know?”
“I knew it as soon as those niggers unloaded everything they had on you.” Mark paused as he shook his head, “and you didn’t even get a scratch. Then the shotgun exploded in that son-of-a-bitch’s face. That wasn’t natural…none of it was. Only God can grace someone with that kind of power—and only God can take it away.”
Jason shrugged Mark’s hand off his shoulder. “That’s what I thought at first too, but this just can’t be right.”
“If it wasn’t God’s work then at least one of those bullets would have hit you. But none did. So for the time being—you’re just going to have to face up to the responsibility of bearing that pain. Maybe down the road when you’ve done His Will, He’ll send someone to put an end to it for you.”
Jason reached over to the big redhead’s shoulder. “What if He already has? Maybe that’s why these men and women follow me. They’re supposed to help me find him.”
Mark stared at Jason long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. It was like the big redhead was disappointed with what Jason said. “Perhaps,” Mark said to the morning breeze as he pumped his chin and gazed out to the street.
“Sir.”
Jason looked over his shoulder as his best scout walked up. “Yeah Mike.”
“Do you want me to search anywhere in particular today?”
Mark covered his mouth and mumbled, “There’s talk of a couple kids scavenging for food just inside the loop on the south side.”
Jason looked past Mike at the rest of the tribe collecting along the sidewalk. He could tell that some of them lacked the heart for what they were doing. Others had a hunger for more death and destruction. Somewhere between the two was his original intention. He thought about the kids Mark mentioned and then about the old man the tribe cleansed the other night. “I want you to take a car and look around Lebanon.”
Mark grabbed Jason’s arm, but before he could disagree with the directive that would send Mike in the opposite direction, a man broke from the rest of the tribe. “No more hunting, Jason!”
The man pushed Mike aside and stopped a few feet from them.
Mark climbed to his feet and clenched his fists. “You better watch that shit you’re spitting out!”
“Hold on,” Jason said, as he pushed off the curb and grabbed Mark by the arm. “Let the man speak his mind.” Jason walked over to him. “You joined us a few weeks ago didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” the man answered, as he took a step backwards and crossed his arms over his chest.
“If I remember right, you had the chance to voice your opposition and you had nothing to say.”
“Nothing to say! Are you kidding me? I know who you are. I know what happens to anyone who has an opinion that’s different from yours. You burn ’em!” The man shook his head as his determination grew. He walked right up next to Jason. “I watched you burn that old man the other night.” His chest started heaving as he stared at the ground with his hands on his hips. “This is a new day and we’re going to start fresh.” Then anger overtook logic and he grabbed Jason by the collar. “This madness has got to stop!”
Mark was on him in an instant. He yanked the man’s hands off of Jason and backhanded him across the jaw. The man sailed off the curb and tumbled halfway across the street. But that didn’t stop him. He scrambled up to his hands and knees, and after a pause to shake the cobwebs out he pushed back up to his feet. His mouth and nose were bleeding as he spit out, “You’re not God. And this isn’t God’s work.” He pointed at Mark. “The only reason the others do what you say is because they’re afraid of him” He barely got it out before Mark stepped off the curb and sent the man cowering back with both arms in front of his face.
“Hold on Mark!” Jason commanded with a raise of his hand. “You don’t think we’re doing God’s work here?”
The man lowered his arms and looked at the others watching from the sidewalk. “We know about your fiancée and how you accidentally shot her. Everybody knows that you’re on some kind of vendetta.” He glanced at his feet and swallowed. “I know how you feel. We all know how you feel. We’ve all lost loved ones. But that animal,” he huffed as he pointed back at Mark, “has you mistaking blind luck as heavenly intervention. You’re just like the rest of us. You can be shot. You can be killed.”
Jason lowered his head and dropped his shoulders.
“Don’t listen to his bullshit!” Mark snorted from the side.
The man took a step closer and opened his arms. “Did you ever think that it was just time for your fiancée to die?”
Jason’s chin jerked up off his chest as his right arm pulled back and his jaws clamped down tight.
“You should be thankful that she didn’t have to suffer like everyone—”
The scream of a madman cut him off as Jason tackled him in an explosion of violence.
Jason cried out as he ripped handfuls of hair from the man’s head. What was happening could never be considered a fight. It was an erupting fury of clawing, biting, punching and kicking. Mark backed off in shock as Jason ripped the man’s ear off and ground it against his face. He clawed through the man’s shirt and dug gouges across his chest. Then he started punching the man in the mouth, breaking teeth and plowing his fist in farther with each blow. He yanked his fist back out and grabbed the man by the throat with both hands. But before he could crush all life, he saw the desperation in the man’s eyes. Suddenly the attack ended. Jason stopped and let go of the man’s throat. His chest began to quiver. A second later he rolled off the man�
� waist and started crying.
Mark stepped over and cautiously helped their leader to his feet while the man clutched his throat and gasped for air. “You want me to kill him?”
Jason snatched the Colt 45 out of Mark’s jeans and shoved the big redhead back. Tears were flowing and his arm was shaking as he pointed the gun at the man rolling on the ground. “It wasn’t her turn to die! And she wouldn’t have if any…” he closed his eyes and started sobbing again, “…if any of those ungracious mother-fuckers would have stopped me.” He opened his eyes and looked down at the stark, bloody face staring up at him.
For a few seconds neither moved. The man winced in pain but didn’t try to get up. Jason stood over him with the pistol aimed at his head, but didn’t pull the trigger.
After a tense moment, Jason dropped the gun on the man’s chest and stepped back. “If what you say is true…then shoot me dead right here and now.”
“What are you doing?” Mark gasped as he jumped over to shield their leader with his own body.
“Out of my way!” Jason screamed as he tried to push Mark out of the way. “If I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing then this man can’t kill me. If I’m not then he’s the one to end my pain.” He grabbed Mark by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I know you’re trying to look out for me…but I need you to step back.”
Mark shook his head a couple of times and then reluctantly gave up his position.
Jason pointed at the man. “Pick up the gun and get up!”
The man raised his head but refused to go any further.
“Do it!” Jason screamed.
The man left the gun lying on the asphalt and slowly stood empty handed. Before he said anything, he took a few seconds to spit out blood and teeth. After he wiped his mouth, he gently reached up and tried to stop the blood that was streaming from the gouge in the side of his head where his ear used to be. “There’s been enough killing. It ends today.”
Jason huffed and walked over to within five feet of the man. “It’s only going to end today if you kill me. Now pick up the gun!”
The man hobbled as he fought to keep his balance, but didn’t move for the gun.
“Do you know how many women and children I’m going to burn alive if you don’t stop me?”
The man shook his head in defiance as he painfully bent over and picked up the gun. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Desire has nothing to do with it. If you believe in what you said then you’ll kill me.”
The man gasped, “I can’t.”
“You can!” Jason screamed at the top of his lungs.
In a defensive reflex, the man jerked the gun up and pointed it at Jason’s head.
“Do it,” Jason said softly while the others cleared out of harm’s way behind him.
The man started crying. “You’re crazy.”
“Are you the one I’ve been searching for? Are you the one who will stop me? Think of the lives you can save.”
Tears were cutting clear channels through the blood on the man’s face as his trembling hand finally found a steady pulse. “I am!”
A shot rang out at the same time a glass window shattered across the street in the Holiday Inn. Jason flinched and rocked back on his heels, but never lost sight of the man holding the gun.
The man gasped in shock. “It can’t be!” The tremble returned to his arm and a second later the gun fell like dead weight to his side.
Mark immediately stepped over, grabbed the gun and yelled out for everyone to hear, “I told you we’re doing God’s work. Jason IS the Hand of God.”
Jason dropped his head and closed his eyes. Anyone else would have been on an adrenaline high after a moment like that—but not him. His pulse was slow and steady. The only thing he felt was disappointment. It would have been nice if the man had ended his pain. After a moment of contemplation, he pulled himself up and began to scan the solemn faces of the men, women and children standing in front of the burning hotel. They were all scared. But now he understood what he had to do. He would keep pushing until fear turned to anger. He would force someone else to step up and try. That would be his day of absolution.
Mark asked, “Do you want me to kill him?”
Jason walked over to the duster he left lying on the curb, and as he picked it up and slipped it on, he said, “No…I have something else in mind for him.”
Chapter 22
Chuck had been staring at the ceiling for hours when the alarm finally went off at six. He kept picturing the mothers and fathers and children that he set adrift in the river. Their faces came to him in the tavern yesterday—and stayed with him all through the night. They consumed his thoughts to such an extent that even the cool morning breeze that was blowing through the drapes and raising goose bumps across his arms and shoulders had no effect. Any other time the draft would have been enough to drive him under the warmth of the blanket. That wasn’t going to happen today. Finally at seven minutes past the hour, he reached over and shut off the alarm.
He lethargically made his way to the shower, slipped his boxers off and climbed in before the propane water heater in the garage had a chance to do its job. It didn’t matter. Hot or cold, it all felt the same to him. As the shower beat against his back, he remembered moving the coffee table off the man on the floor. The man’s wife was positioned on the sofa with her hands clasped together over her lap. He must have set her there as he waited for his turn to die. Chuck remembered looking over and seeing the stuffed toy in the hallway as he bent down to scoop the man up. It was a monkey with long yellow hair and a pink face. That’s when he realized that a child had gotten scared and hidden somewhere in the house. He spotted the green frog next to the hallway closet and reluctantly walked over. It was homemade, old, probably passed down from the mother. It had green felt for skin and two brown buttons sewn on for eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he pushed it to the side with his boot. With a heavy thumping in his chest, he slid his fingers around the door knob. He didn’t want to open the closet, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her in there.
He leaned forward against the tiled wall and lowered his head into the warm spray of the shower. The water soaked his hair, ran down his face and trickled off in streams from his nose, chin, ears and lips. He stood there watching it splash on the porcelain around his feet, wishing that it could take the memories of what he had seen down the drain with it.
After getting dressed, he doused a large bowl of Cheerios in clumpy instant milk and sat down at the kitchen table—more out of habit than anything else, because his appetite sure wasn’t there. No matter where he looked he kept seeing the blanket nailed to the stairs in Stan’s basement. Why did he have to pull it open? He slipped a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, but the image of his best friend slumped against the cinder block wall kept him from chewing. It looked like Stan had pulled Margery’s lifeless body over to his lap before he went into convulsions. Chuck opened his mouth and let the milk and cereal spill out into the bowl as he slowly set the spoon down on the table. All he could manage was a sip of Tang.
He had scheduled a search for supplies in the neighborhood across the street from the north entrance to Clifty Falls State Park. But he just couldn’t get up for it. Instead, he spent the morning in the garage tinkering with his tools. He wasn’t building anything and he wasn’t cleaning anything. He would simply pick up a tool, look at it for a bit, then put it down and pick up another one. Eventually he wound up in the corner on a folding metal chair next to the acetylene torch. He turned on the gas and sparked the tip. He sat staring at the white and blue tip of the flame as he thought about the man he found shot downtown across from his store. He swiped the torch once, flame down, a foot and a half over his knees as he remembered leaning against the parking meter across the street from the man. He stared into the flame and saw his hunting rifle. He swiped the torch over his knees again—this time close enough that he felt the heat press against his jeans like a hot poker. But like a para
plegic with no feelings in his legs, he didn’t flinch. He brought the torch up in front of his face and held his breath. Just like he remembered doing before squeezing the trigger. As he stared into the flame he remembered sighting the man’s head in the crosshairs of his rifle. “Dear God…” He nearly choked on his own swallow as he dropped the torch and jumped up. After a quick pace back and forth, he took a few long strides into the kitchen and grabbed a cold soda from the refrigerator.
He fell back onto the sofa as his thoughts shifted to Becky. When he looked up, he saw her in the rearview mirror, standing in the dust on the shoulder of the road. It was two years ago in the middle of an argument. He told her to get out and walk home. He gasped and muttered, “How could I have done that?” His emotions were already beginning to swell when he remembered the hurtful things he said to her the night before the world ended. A tear ran down his cheek, as he relived her sitting down on the coffee table the following morning and saying that she was sorry. He remembered the look on her face as she sat there with her hands in her lap, waiting for him to say something. Chuck let the pop slip through his fingers as he jerked around to the kitchen just like he did that morning. “I’m so sorry, baby!”
It took a second for the spill to register, but when it did, his emotions came un-bottled. There was a quick gasp, like someone yanked a dagger from his heart. He jumped up and cried, “Oh my God!” as he ran into the kitchen for a paper towel. A second later, his knees thudded against the carpet as he dropped down and started dabbing up the spilt soda. “I’m so sorry!” he panted, “I can get it all up!” As his frantic dabbing continued, it became less and less controlled until he was eventually punching the floor with the paper towel. “Everything will be alright!” When the soaked paper towel shredded against the carpet, he jumped up and ran back into the kitchen for more. He yanked the last sheet so hard the entire roll flew off the holder and hit the wall. “Goddamn it!” he cried out. He grabbed the roll off the floor, ran back into the living room and dropped down on the mushy carpet.
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