by Mike Kilroy
Bray only got a glance at what was on the inside of that room, but that was all he needed. There were weapons—lots of them—in a closet that once housed a myriad of free drug samples.
There’s probably a shit load of little blue pills in there, too.
He was focused on the guns. Revenge required firepower and Bray would get it here.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Halle placed her hand on his shoulder. It startled Bray, but he hid it well.
There was a sparkle in her eyes as he spoke. “Looking for you.”
“Jay’s back. He’s gonna want to meet you.”
And Bray wanted to meet him. He needed to size him up, assess the threat. An army is only as good as its leader.
“Lead the way.”
Halle led him up the five flights of steps to the top floor of the building. As they climbed, Halle turned to look at Bray who struggled at times with the stairs. “The elevator takes too much juice,” Halle said and winked. “But you look tough.”
The top floor looked remarkably like the ground floor. There were fog doors that led to the offices of other doctors; some still had the nameplates fastened to the glass. Halle led him to the back office where two men stood on each side of the door frame. Like just about everyone here, they were unassuming, average, unremarkable. This Jay has surrounded himself with sheep. Smart.
Halle nodded to the men and they let her pass.
A man with stark, long and thick blond hair sat at a desk, his eyes rolling over the lines scratched on a piece of paper.
He looked up and Bray immediately recognized him, scar above his eye and all.
Coe. Motherfucking Justus Coe
Coe’s skin was still fair and his blue eyes still gleamed, even though Bray knew the duplicity that lay inside them. Bray felt his heart pound in his chest like a turbine and began mulling his next move.
I’m still weak, but maybe I can take him. At least I’ll go down with a measure of vengeance.
Coe stood and held his hand out over the desk. “I’m Jay. I hear Halle has been taking good care of you. Welcome. You are among friends here.”
Bray smiled slyly. He doesn’t recognize me. Of course, I look scarcely like myself these days.
Bray held up his bandaged hand and Coe chuckled. “How stupid of me. I guess we can pass on the handshake. Halle says your name is Blackburn. I knew a Blackburn once—looked kind of like you do now. Poor fellow.”
Bray bit his tongue so hard he thought it would begin to bleed all over this plush office. Coe that at a desk that was polished into such a shine, Bray could see Coe’s reflection in it. The walls were bare, but a clean off-white, and the window overlooked the parking lot below, which was teaming with people selling and buying and pretending their lives were normal and this world wasn’t a sick hell.
They’d know soon enough that there are no safe havens now.
“I want to thank you for your hospitality,” Bray said softly, couching his voice in a raspiness that was half real and half pretend. “This is quite a place you built here.”
Coe looked around proudly, flashing that shit-eating grin that Bray had come to hate. “Well, it wasn’t easy. Eggs had to be broken. But we got it running well, didn’t we, Halle?”
Halle nodded as a frown had creased her face.
Interesting.
Bray forced his lips, mostly obscured by his thick beard, into a smile. “If it wasn’t for Halle, I’d be dead now.”
Coe chuckled. “She is a humanitarian. Keeps me honest.”
“Well, I should probably rest,” Bray said, adding a bit of a stumble to his gait as he backed away from the desk. Halle reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder to steady him. “Still kinda weak from my ordeal.”
“We’ll talk later about what contributions you can make. No handouts here. Everything comes with a price.”
Bray snickered and shared a look with Halle. He glanced back at Coe over his shoulder and said, “I promise to pay you back—for everything” as he tottered toward the door, all the while trying to hide the rage in his eyes.
***
Halle checked his wound and smiled. “It’s healing nicely.”
Bray wiggled his fingers and grimaced. His digits felt stiff and it only took a few bends for them to fatigue. “It still feels weird, like I have no strength in it.”
“That’s going to be permanent, I’m afraid.” Halle began dressing the wound again, wrapping the gauze tightly around the healing, red holes on his palm and on the back of his hand. “The arrow damaged some nerves and muscle.”
“Guess it could be worse.”
“It can always be worse.”
Halle finished wrapping his hand and sighed as she stood.
“You don’t seem happy here.”
Bray’s question startled Halle, who stammered a bit before she answered.
“It’s not so bad.”
“It’s not so good, either, is it?”
Halle sat back down in the chair. The silence said it all to Bray as the doctor searched for words. Such delicate things they must have been to her. Bray figured she had to use the right vocabulary; she had to be exact and precise in her speech; she didn’t want to utter a wrong one to this stranger who she only knew as Blackburn.
Little did she know he was a most dangerous man.
“We’ve had to do some bad things,” Halle said, picking at her fingers.
“I know about bad things.”
“Jay is a good man.”
“There’s no such thing anymore.”
“Well,” she said, staring down at her hands which she had clasped on her lap. “He’s better than most.”
“You’re afraid of him.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes met his with disagreement. “No, I’m not. I trust him implicitly. It’s others I fear. He did what he had to do to keep us safe. No one disobeys him and we have a semblance of a society now because of it.”
Bray allowed himself to be impressed with Coe. He’d give him that much. Bray never thought he had the balls to be the bad cop, but it appeared The Ejection had changed everyone—some for the better, some for the worst.
Bray wasn’t sure if he should applaud Coe for the way he adapted, or kill him even more slowly.
“Then what’s wrong?” The question cut to the very heart of the matter and Bray could tell it stung Halle deeply.
“It won’t last. Nothing lasts now.”
She’s got that right.
“What am I gonna have to do to stay fed here?”
“We’re not animals. Just chores. Solid, honest work.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Jay will kick you out. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Not exactly.”
There it was. The truth. It can hide for a little while, but not forever. “What then?”
“He won’t kill you. Not directly. He’ll strip you of everything you own—and I mean everything. You will be out there with no clothes, no food, nothing, and no matter how much you beg, he’ll never let you back in. It has to be that way. Everything has a price.”
“Fair enough,” Bray said, wiggling his fingers again. “I’m not afraid to work for things.”
“Good. Then you have nothing to worry about.”
Coe certainly did, however.
***
Bray ate dinner with the rest of the community in a grand mess hall that once was a waiting room in one of the biggest doctor offices on the ground floor. Mismatched tables were lined up in rows, with folding chairs made of metal and plastic placed along each side of the tables.
Set off in the back of the room was another table where Coe and his closest confidants sat and dined. Halle was at the head table, too, seated to the right of Coe. She ate her food slowly, poking the prongs of her fork into her vegetables and eggs with resignation.
The eggs were runny and watery to Bray’s taste, but he couldn’t be picky. The vegetables were cooked perfectly again
and he could get used to this kind of diet.
A fat man—Bray wondered how there could be any obese people like him left anymore—puffed his way to the table and sat in the chair to the right of him. He had scruffs of a beard near on the sides of his face and on his chin, but where his skin was bare, it was a blotchy red. His breath was horrible, too, and he stared through the slits of his eyes at Bray.
“What?” Bray barked. The fat man pulled his head back a bit.
“I’m Walter.”
“Good for you. I’m eating.”
“You’re new here.”
“Brilliant observation.”
“I’ve been here almost from the start.”
“And by the looks of it you’ve eaten more than a fair share of the food.”
The fat man lowered his head and pouted. “I have a slow metabolism.”
Bray scoffed and went back to his meal.
“I can help you,” Walter said.
“Help me with what?”
“With what you’re planning.”
Bray stared at Walter. Perhaps I have underestimated this oaf. “And what am I planning?”
“I’ve seen your type before. You’re planning something. And I wanna help.”
“Why the fuck would you wanna help me do anything? More likely, you’re trying to get me to reveal to you my insidious plot of death and destruction so you can blab to Jay and get me tossed out so you have more fucking food. Get lost, fatty.”
Walter was not amused. He grabbed a butter knife and placed it onto Bray’s left thigh.
“They count the utensils after every meal, so you won’t have long. All I ask is you give me some of the weapons you steal and we’ll go our separate ways. This place is not what it seems. Everything has a price. That food we’re eating, it don’t come cheap.”
Nothing ever did.
The mantra of this place seems to be “everything has a price” and Bray was getting sick of hearing it. He was painfully aware of the law of human nature. No one ever does something without expecting something back in return. That was only amplified after The Ejection.
“What is this place then?”
“People who have guns and people who don’t. They offer us safe haven, but really they want slaves. They figure as long as they feed us and keep us safe, we’ll do anything for them. And most of us do. We do the work around here, tend to the crops and the livestock and trade in the square with those who come in from the outside. If people aren’t willing to pay our prices, the ‘patrols’ are sent out to take what they got anyway. That’s how we stay in business.”
Bray figured as much. There were no walls because Coe wanted people to come in, to feel warm and safe and comfortable, to pay the price for the goods they had with even better merchandise and then be on their way. If they said “no thank you” and went on their merry way, he got a good look at what they had and if it was worth enough to him, he’d take it later in ambush.
He was a despicable man. He deserved what he was gonna get.
“Why me? Why do you think I’d be able to do what you obviously can’t?”
“I’m no killer. Don’t have the stomach for it. Never did. Kinda why I’m stuck here as a slave. And you look desperate and angry. I’m kind of an expert in human psychology and you, sir, look like you have a bone to pick with someone.”
Bray smiled. I certainly do have a bone to pick.
He was beginning to like this fat, slovenly man. “Okay. You got a deal.”
“Great. Jay has begun to get soft since he started hitting that piece of ass up there. There are fewer patrols at night and the building itself is relatively unguarded, even the room where all the guns are stashed. All we need is a key to get inside. Problem is there aren’t many keys. Jay has one and I think the doctor bitch has another. And maybe a guard or two, but it’s random. I think they keep it that way to prevent what we’re thinking of doing. I’ve seen you talking to the doc. She likes you. I bet you can get the key from her, no problem.”
“Well, you got this all figured out, don’t you, fat boy.”
Walter frowned and his slit eyes became even more slit. “Don’t call me that.”
“Okay, chill. Sorry. I’m just funnin’ ya.” Bray slipped the butter knife into the pocket of his pants. “What am I supposed to do with this dull-ass knife?”
Walter stood and wiped his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. When it’s done, I’ll find you.” He tottered away, peering over his shoulder at Bray as he did.
***
Bray wasn’t sure if the butter knife would do the job; the edge was dull and smooth and the point rounded, but he figured that didn’t matter much if he used it properly.
Location. Location. Location.
Bray was shocked at how easily he was able to reach Coe’s room. He had no guards, no patrols inside the building at night, only outside on the perimeter of this settlement. Bray was able to move about freely, even at this ungodly hour.
Coe had let himself get lulled into a false sense of security.
He was always a pansy.
It would be his undoing.
Bray was dismayed to see Halle sleeping with Coe on a mattresses pressed against the wall. She seemed content, her legs wrapped around his legs, her left arm slung over his chest and her head nestled on his shoulder. He thought she was smarter than that, but he supposed everyone needed someone, especially now.
Bray clutched the butter knife firmly in his left hand—his right was still too weak and throbbed with pain when he tried to squeeze his fingers around anything—and jammed it as hard as he could into the hollow of Coe’s neck and into his trachea. Coe woke as the blood gurgled up and through his lips. He tried to scream, but nothing but a wheezing air escaped.
Bray watched as Coe drowned in his own blood as it drained into his windpipe and into his lungs. He didn’t even flail and Halle had only barely stirred, rolling over away from Coe with a grunt.
Coe looked up at Bray and his eyes grew wide. He tried to speak again, but couldn’t. Bray smiled broadly. Coe had finally recognized him and it made Bray feel an even bigger sense of accomplishment. Coe would die knowing that it was Bray who had ended him.
Bray slipped his hand under Coe’s pillow and felt the grip of the pistol. He snickered quietly at the cliché that was Coe—sleeping with a gun under your pillow, how gangster of you.
Piled in the corner was clothing and Bray picked through it. He found a coat, long and army green with ample pockets. He slipped into it and felt around in the pockets, hoping to find Coe’s keys, but came up empty.
He shook Halle and she groaned restlessly. Bray rolled his eyes and shook her again, forcefully, and pointed the pistol at her head. She turned to look at Coe, who had his head cocked back and his eyes open wide, his face still frozen in that moment of recognition of Bray, the shock, the terror, the realization that he had been bested by someone he once called a friend.
Halle felt Coe’s neck for a pulse. It was futile and Bray supposed it was a force of habit. She knew he was dead.
She turned her head and looked coldly at Bray. “Why?”
“I told you I wasn’t a good guy. Come on. Get dressed. We have a stop to make.”
Halle didn’t budge, but Bray pressed the muzzle of the pistol between her eyes. “I will kill you.”
Halle begrudgingly rolled over Coe’s corpse and got out of bed. She was naked and Bray admired her form. Her breasts were amazingly perky and her stomach was flat and defined. Her hips were wide and her legs thin, but muscular.
No wonder Coe took a shine to her.
She didn’t seem shy, either. She stood there, glaring at Bray as he eyed her, tracing her body with his eyes. Bray waved the gun at her and she quickly dressed.
“Where are we going?” Halle asked.
“To get what’s mine.”
They passed through the halls and the stairwell unnoticed and reached the front of the door to the storage room where Bray had seen the stockpile
of weapons. “Open it,” he whispered.
“What makes you think I have the key?” She asked, defiantly.
“You had Coe’s cock. That means you have the key, too.”
Halle reached into her pocket and pulled out a key ring. She fumbled with it loudly.
“Stop it,” Bray barked, pressing her head against the door and jamming the muzzle of the gun to her temple. “You know which key it is. No one is going to save you.”
Halle peeled herself away from the door, pinched the proper key in her fingers and slipped it into the lock. Bray quickly pushed her inside.
The room was stocked with weapons: pistols and rifles and shotguns and serrated knives and even a TASER gun. Probably the one Coe used on me. Motherfucker.
There were also boxes of ammunition stacked on shelves. Bray was also delighted to see a crate full of grenades.
Halle stood with her arms crossed on her chest and a scowl on her face. “If you wanted a weapon, I would have given one to you. You didn’t have to kill him.”
“I didn’t kill him for the weapons. I killed him because he stole from me. He set off a chain of events that ended up with me wounded and my wife dead.”
“You knew him?”
“Apparently you didn’t. He was my partner, but when everything went to shit, he came into my home and stole my weapons to set up this little kingdom of his. He deserved what he got and you know it.”
“He was a good man.”
Bray stomped toward Halle and pushed her against the wall, his face mere inches from hers. “He was a bad man, worse than me. He pretended to be good. He pretended to be something he wasn’t. I don’t pretend. I am what I am and everyone knows it. Everything has a price and he just done paid it.”
Bray collected weapons: a rifle slung over his shoulder, a knife holstered in a belt, grenades and ammunition stuffed into every pocket of his coat. When he was done grabbing what he could, a shotgun caught his eyes.
It was a magnificent weapon. He smiled as he grabbed it.
Halle stood and fumed in the corner. Bray peered at her contemplatively, which obviously disquieted her.
“What should I do with you?”
The question seemed to take Halle by surprise and made her even more fretful. Her jaw slacked open and her eyes got big and round.