The Breadwinner Trilogy (Book 3): All Good Things

by Stevie Kopas

  “Fuck her, dude! We gotta go!” Ben said his last sentence a bit too loudly as it elicited another angry shout from the skinheads and more gunshots whizzed by, shattering the rear windows of the car nearest them.

  Unbeknownst to the remainder of the group, Michelle was already nearing the front row of cars closest to the building. She snaked between vehicles of different makes and models, strategically making her way toward the largest building in the lot. Atop the staircase stood the steroid-induced frame of a sinister looking man. She saw this as her chance.

  I’ve done much worse, she thought as she slid her pistol into her waistband and ripped the front of her shirt slightly, exposing a good amount of her ample cleavage.

  “My name is Michelle!” she called out to the men. “I’m going to come out now if I have your word that you won’t shoot!”

  “What the fuck is she doing?” Andrew resumed his position of peering over the hood of the car they were all hiding behind in the center of the lot.

  “Nothing good for us.” Gary shook his head. “Clever girl.” He sucked his teeth, the hurtful pangs of her betrayal like a spear in his side.

  Catherine’s nostrils flared. “Should have left her back at Emerald Park.”

  “We can leave her now, let’s go.” Ben turned on his heels and started off back toward the hole in the fence.

  “Ben!” Veronica cried out as the first tattooed skinny man grabbed her by her hair, pulling her off the ground.

  “Where you think you’re goin’, motherfucker?” One of the other skinheads cracked Ben across the face with the butt of his rifle, breaking his nose. Clyde started to react and was met with a hard kick to his back. He doubled over in pain. Enemy weapons were trained on the group, rendering them completely helpless.

  “This one’s real cute.” The skinny man leered at Veronica. “Drake’s gonna like her.”

  “Fuck you!” Veronica spat.

  “Oh yeah,” the skinny man said, sneering. He leaned in and breathed her scent in deeply. “He’s gonna like her a lot.”

  The man atop the steps sauntered down toward Michelle’s voice. “Come on out, darlin’! I don’t bite nearly as hard as the dead!” He laughed at his own pathetic joke and Michelle emerged from her cover, hands above her head, wild curls framing her face. If there was anything Michelle used to her advantage, it was her sexuality.

  “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?” The man sized her up; tall, legs for days, busty, unafraid. Just how he liked ‘em. “The name’s Drake. You mind tellin’ me why it is you and your friends thought it was a good idea to trespass on private property?” He raised an eyebrow at her and took a long, hard drag from his fat cigar.

  “They’re not my friends.”

  “I see.” He exhaled callous tendrils of white smoke through his nostrils, appearing even more menacing than before. “So, tell me, Michelle, what can I do you for?” He laughed again as he awaited her answer.

  “Oh, I’m sure you have more than a few uses for someone like me around here.”

  Drake raised his left eyebrow again, turning his attention toward the rag-tag team of survivors his men were ushering toward the building. He clutched his chest and cackled. “Faggy white boys, niggers, and fine-ass women! Damn girl, ‘tis the season, indeed.” He winked at Michelle. “Hey Freeman, take the bitches inside. I’ll deal with the rest of these losers.”

  The skinny man who had Veronica by the hair nodded, and another man grabbed Catherine.

  “No!” Ben protested and was met with a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Blood poured down his face from his broken nose and he gasped for air.

  Catherine cried out, tears streaming down her face as she was taken to the building before them. Veronica kicked and punched at her kidnapper. She caught Freeman in the shin with a hard kick and followed it up with a punch to his jaw. Freeman ripped out a chunk of her hair, causing her to yelp in pain. He gave her a strong backhanded slap that threw her to the pavement. He kicked her in her side and she let out another pain-filled cry.

  “That’s enough, Goddamnit.” Drake shook his head, “Jesus Christ, just get ‘em inside, already!”

  Freeman pulled Veronica to her feet by her hair. “Get up, bitch,” he barked at her.

  Veronica turned to look at Ben, she was losing everything all over again. They held each other’s stare for what seemed like an eternity. Veronica flicked her eyes toward Clyde’s feet and then back up at him. She held strong, her lip quivering and her eyes watering, but she did not cry. She would not cry. She could feel the rage bubbling up inside as Freeman shoved her up the steps and into the confines of the large office building. Veronica looked back once more as the heavy glass doors closed behind her, to see Ben nod.

  Ben coughed and spat blood, peering to his left, noticing the knife handle poking out of Clyde’s right boot that Veronica had so discreetly pointed out to him. He watched as the only women he cared about in this world were taken from him. His eyes bore into Veronica’s as the doors shut, he stared until he could no longer see her. He clenched his fist and looked over at Clyde. He made eye contact with his friend and nodded. In a last-ditch effort to right some of the wrong that had come from a plan that he wanted no part of to begin with, Ben grabbed the knife from Clyde’s boot and swung it upward quickly, slicing the throat of the skinhead behind him. The man dropped his rifle and grasped at his gaping wound, attempting to stop the gushing blood.

  “Go!” Andrew yelled out, dropping to the floor and scooping up the rifle. He braced himself and fired two rounds into the skinhead behind Gary. “I said go!”

  Gary turned and fled.

  Clyde retrieved one of his guns from the downed body before him and stood up.

  “Shit.” Six more men filed out of the building, armed to the teeth. “We gotta get out of here, man!” he yelled to Andrew, firing at the men and backpedaling after Gary. Two shots hit their mark and a heavy-set skinhead rolled down the cement staircase, lying motionless in the parking lot.

  Andrew turned to grab Ben, weapon at the ready, but it was too late. Drake had him by the throat. Bullets zipped by Andrew’s head as he tore off after his brother. A searing, hot pain spread through his back and he collapsed. He gasped, bringing a hand up to the right side of his chest, the bullet had gone clean through. He looked up in time to see his brother slip through the hole in the fence, and with his last bit of strength, returned to his feet and hauled ass out of the lot.

  “Let ‘em go boys. They’re no longer our problem, let the dead take care of ‘em.” Drake called to his men.

  They lowered their weapons and surveyed the scene. The bodies of their fallen comrades lay strewn about.

  “Well, don’t just stand around!” Drake broke the silence. “Somebody patch that fuckin’ hole in my fence!”

  His men scrambled and he laughed. Drake stood beside Michelle, who had finally put her arms down. He stared intently at the man whose neck his fingers were wrapped around. “So darlin’, what should we do with this one?”

  Ben barely moved in Drake’s grasp; he sipped for air, his fists clenched. The knot in his stomach was finally gone. He knew what came next.

  Michelle stepped up to Ben until her face was centimeters from his. She leaned in toward his ear and whispered, “If you could go back and start things over again, with me,” she said, pulling back and looking into his piercing blue eyes, “would you?”

  “Yeah.” He choked out and smiled at her, almost sweetly. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  Drake sensed that her decision had been made. He raised his other arm and Ben was lifted off the ground momentarily as the hulking man placed both hands on his head, and in an effortless act, snapped Ben’s neck.

  Part II

  Inevitably

  I

  Gary tore through the hole in the fence like a bat out of hell. He could hear his fellow survivors’ footfalls behind him. In the midst of the firefight, he had been unable to retrieve his weapons and up
ahead he spied a few straggling eaters headed his way. He darted right, taking yet another detour. His chest burned and his head swam.

  How could things have gone so wrong?

  Gary looked back only once to see Clyde and Andrew in hot pursuit; he waved an arm, motioning for them to follow him into one of the abandoned homes.

  He rushed the door of a 1980’s-style brick home and prayed that it was unlocked. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the knob and let himself in, the strong scent of rot and decay hitting him instantly. He brought his hand up to cover his nose and mouth.

  “Of course I’d choose this house,” he complained.

  Clyde was the first to the door. Out of breath, he recoiled at the smell emanating from the foyer. “Oh, God.” He brought his shirt up to his face. “This your idea of safe?” He glared at Gary as he holstered his gun and looked around the entryway for something that could be used as a more silent weapon. Andrew finally joined them, his chest heaving.

  “Give me your golf club.” Clyde held his hand out to his brother.

  “It’s back at the lot, I couldn’t grab it in time.” Andrew shook his head, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Fucking fantastic.” Clyde stormed off into the living room, alert and ready for anything. His adrenaline pumped and he spotted a heavy-duty fire poker next to the fireplace. The three men heard a thump and the creak of a door toward the back of the house. “You two, stay here.”

  Andrew began to protest but Clyde shot his hand up, palm facing Andrew, and raised an eyebrow. Andrew kept his mouth shut.

  Clyde glanced past his brother toward the open door, wondering why Ben hadn’t caught up with them yet.

  The lazy shuffling of footsteps and a low moan caught his attention and he turned, stalking through the out-of-date home. Brown doors with bright gold knobs adorned the entryway to each room, and the majority of the walls were done in a dark wood paneling. A dead man stepped into the hallway and cocked his head in Clyde’s direction. He opened his mouth wide, revealing a set of cracked and blackened teeth. He hissed, raising an arm and slowly started toward Clyde. The dead man had a missing eye and several missing fingers. Dried blood crusted over the left side of his face and as he got closer, Clyde noticed a missing ear, as well.

  Clyde charged toward the eater and swung the iron poker, cracking the dead thing across the right side of its head. The man toppled into the wall in the narrow hallway and struggled to get back to his feet with a growl. Another moan came from farther back in the depths of the house, but no more eaters emerged. Clyde kicked the dead man in the face, just under his chin, shattering his teeth and knocking him back to the grimy floor. Clyde drove the fire poker deep into the eater’s forehead, his one remaining eye rolling to the back of his head, and he finally lie quiet and still.

  The poker came back easily from the decayed head with a sickening slurp, black fluids dripping from the edges.

  “Disgusting.” Clyde turned his nose up at the corpse as he wiped the poker off on the dead man’s tattered clothes. He crept toward the sounds of the other eater in the home and found himself in the doorway to the master bedroom.

  Blood, feces, urine, and God knows what other substances covered the bedspread. A woman was tied to the bedposts by her wrists, her feet free and her legs thrashing wildly when her eyes met Clyde’s. She’d been gagged, but the rag did little to subdue the eater’s hungry cries.

  He felt the air stir and looked up as Gary and Andrew entered the hallway. The dead woman on the bed howled, her mouth opening and closing rapidly. The sides of her mouth were raw, the skin peeling and tearing around the bloodstained rag in her mouth. Her thin, decaying lips exposed rotted teeth and her whole body shook as she screeched. He entered the bedroom, followed by his brother and Gary. Despite the fact that two other people were in the bedroom with him, the eater never took her cloudy eyes off Clyde, making his skin crawl. He gripped his weapon in his right hand and drove it through her skull, putting her out of her misery. Her head fell to the side as Clyde removed the poker and rested it on the filthy bedspread.

  Clyde looked toward the bedroom door and frowned. Ben had still not joined them.

  He exhaled with a whoosh and brought his hands to face, suddenly feeling lightheaded. He grabbed hold of the bedside table and slid down the wall, taking deep breaths.

  “You alright?” Andrew moved toward his brother.

  “Where’s Ben?” Clyde looked up at Andrew, narrowing his eyes.

  “It was too late.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Clyde’s voice grew louder.

  “He… that big motherfucker… he had him by the throat, there was nothing I could do.” Andrew said with remorse.

  “So you fucking left him?” Clyde shouted at his brother.

  Gary looked at Andrew in disbelief.

  “I had to! Believe me, I didn’t want to, but I had to! I fuckin’ got shot because of it! You gotta believe me, I would have never left him otherwise.”

  Clyde sprang up and shoved his brother back. “Fuck you.” He said in a low voice, venom in each word. His eyes burned a hole into his brother. “He didn’t even want to be out here today. Hell, I didn’t even want to be out here today, but there’s no way I would let you take on your suicide mission alone! Selfish fuckin’ idiot!” He shoved his brother back again, tears welling up in his eyes as he thought of his fallen friend. “Ben, Goddamnit!” he cried into his hands before storming out of the room.

  Andrew and Gary stood in silence. Gary had been the first to flee, it was a fight or flight situation and fighting was not an option. Had they stayed, none of them would be standing there in that moment. He clapped Andrew on the back, startling him. “Aren’t we all selfish fuckin’ idiots? That was the whole point of coming out here, yeah? Ben was a good man. Let’s remember him as such. There’s no point in dwelling, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  Andrew wiped tears from his eyes and nodded. “Veronica, Catherine.” He spoke their names solemnly.

  “Aye, I’m afraid there are worse fates than death that await our lady friends.” He ran his hands over his face, smoothing out his thick beard.

  Andrew nodded. “I know. We’ve gotta get back to the tower and get some firepower.”

  “Now that sounds like my kind of party.” Gary clapped him on the back once more. “We’ve got to rest up here for a bit, the dead know we’re around here somewhere, those gunshots back there were like a homing beacon. It’ll give us time to plan, time for Clyde to cool off. We’ll get everything sorted. Don’t worry, Ben won’t have died for nothing.”

  Gary left the room, venturing back into the silent home to search for a source of nourishment.

  Andrew stood before the soiled bed with the dead woman tied to it and cried.

  II

  The three men sat together at the brown dining room table. Clyde took immediate notice of the lack of color variety in the home. “These motherfuckers sure liked brown,” he said, shoving a handful of stale cereal into his mouth.

  The house had been raided, most likely by the skinheads. The only sustenance left in the home was six month old Cheerios. Gary and Andrew wouldn’t touch it when they found it, so Clyde happily snatched it for himself. Their bags had been taken from them back at the dealership, leaving them with no water or food.

  Gary found a first aid kit along with some other useful medical items in an overlooked linen closet. He tended to Andrew’s wounds and put to good use what Catherine had taught him. He let out an accomplished sigh when he was finished. “You’re all set; I’ve even impressed myself.”

  “Thanks, man.” Andrew said as he pulled a clean shirt on over his head. Seems that whoever had raided the house hadn’t had any use for extra clothing. They’d left every article hanging untouched in the closets.

  “I don’t know how much daylight we have left. We can’t stay here, we’ve got nothing.” Gary ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the table as he spoke.


  Andrew agreed. “We gotta get back to the truck. If we can’t make it back to the resort tonight, we can at least stay in the truck. It’s safe and we’ve got some emergency supplies in there we can use for the night.”

  Both men looked to Clyde for his input, but he was a million miles away, staring at the dreary cabinets, watching a cockroach as it scurried up the wall. Clyde frowned and pushed the box of Cheerios away.

  “Clyde,” Andrew started. “We’re all upset. But we’ve got to get past this and rescue the others.”

  Clyde’s frown remained on his face. He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “Get past this?” He looked up at Andrew. “Look at the pot callin’ the kettle black.” He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and looked at it. “Fuck.” He shook the cigarette pack at his brother.

  He pulled one out anyway and fished through the drawers, slamming them as he did, punctuating his words with the closing drawers. “Ben. Has. My. Lighter.”

  He found a long grill lighter and made a silent wish it would work as he pushed the button down. A small flame appeared and he happily lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as he exhaled. He thought of Ben’s goofy grin and smiled, “This one’s for you, my friend.”

  Gary stood up and grabbed himself a smoke, joining Clyde at the counter. He lit up and coughed, holding out the cancer stick in front of him. “For Ben.”

  Clyde and Gary touched their cigarettes together as they would have done mugs of beer.

  Andrew said a silent prayer for his fallen comrade and for everyone else they’d lost along the way, including his beloved Juliette. He realized he was responsible for this. Though he hadn’t asked any of the others to come with him, he knew they wouldn’t have been out here had it not been for his temporary lapse in judgment.

  He’d felt God was punishing him when Juliette took her own life. But he realized today that he was punishing himself, and in turn, punishing the others. Andrew and Clyde had dealt with mental illness for years with their mother. It was only in death that Andrew knew his mother was finally at peace. He hoped that that was the case with Juliette, and that God could forgive her of her transgression. Suicide was a sin.