by D. J. Molles
“You know we’re out of medications, don’t you?” Angela asked quietly.
Greg gave her a sidelong glance. “Alright.”
“I only mention it because you are the one we’re supposed to be requesting items from.”
“Isn’t that Jenny’s field?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll talk to Jenny about what she needs.”
“Okay.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Anything you need?” Greg tossed a small wave to a friend as they walked by. “Me and the guys’ll be heading out tomorrow, so if you need something, now’s the time to request it.”
Angela looked at him, wondered what was going on in his head. Her first instinct was to tell him she didn’t need or want anything from him. But what would that gain her? He seemed neutral towards her at this point, and being rude to him would only push him away. An enemy was something she seemed to have a surplus of at this moment, and didn’t want to add any names to the list.
“Warm clothing for my girl,” she said quietly as they stepped out of the sunshine and into the shade of the Camp Ryder building. “She’s small, only about four feet. She needs a good jacket. Some warm pants. Gloves. A winter hat. Things like that.”
Greg ascended the cement steps to the Camp Ryder building ahead of her and pulled the door open, allowing her through. “I’m sure we can find something. All this shit went down in the summer, so most everybody that packed up and hit the road left behind all their winter clothes.”
She stopped at the stairs, unsure how to feel about Greg at this point in time, but positive that she shouldn’t let her guard down. Reservedly, she gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”
He didn’t respond, but instead, pointed to the top of the stairs where the Camp Ryder office was located. “Jerry’s up there waiting on you.”
She took the stairs, forcing one foot in front of the other as she pushed away thoughts and images of the last time she had taken these steps, the last time she had been in this office, kneeling next to Bus, his chest hitching and spurting. Then being dragged down kicking and screaming, to be locked away in the dark for a few days.
By the time she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she was angry again. Fuck Greg. Fuck Jerry and all of his friends. But for right now, you play the game. You play the game and you make them think you are cooperating, that you’re no danger to them. You make them think that you’re just a little lady and you’re terrified of them.
And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t scared. It would be unreasonable for her not to be. Jerry and his people could hurt her. They could hurt Abby, and Sam, and anyone that she loved and cared for. There was no doubt in her mind about that.
But she would not let the fear paralyze her.
She would not let it control her.
Angela stepped into the office, found Jerry sitting at his desk, staring up at the map on the wall. The map that Lee had once used, the marks that he’d made still evident on the paper. The danger zones shaded in red. The state split into three sectors—Camp Ryder in the middle. Like a puzzle that would never be pieced together.
Had he really abandoned them? She couldn’t believe that he had. But then, why hadn’t he returned? Was he hurt? Was he incapacitated? Was he trapped somewhere, hoping people would come looking for him?
Was he dead?
You can’t think about that now.
Think about Jerry.
Think about the game.
She looked down from the map, found Jerry staring at her.
“Angela,” he said, standing. “Please come in. Shut the door.”
Angela hesitated, but turned and shut the door behind her. She kept her hands clasped in front of her because she knew they would ball into fists if she let them. She focused on trying not to let her bald hatred of the man show on her face. Tried only to show compliance. Subservience.
“You wanted to see me?”
Jerry stepped around his desk. Leaned back onto it. “I know that you have no inclination to cooperate with me, given the…” he searched for the right word. “…combative nature of our relationship. However there are other people involved now, so we’re going to have to put our little differences aside to help each other out.”
Angela felt her stomach flutter. “What do you mean?”
Jerry looked at her for a long time, as though assessing her. Finally, he took a deep breath and said it: “When’s the last time you saw Keith Jenkins?”
For a moment she felt like she was on a pitching boat. “Just this morning. Like, a few hours ago. Why? What’s wrong?”
Jerry looked grave. “He seems to have gone missing.”
***
Kyle jogged up to Greg as he walked around the back of Shantytown, between the shacks and the fence. The younger man pointed behind him in the direction of Angela’s place. “They’re in the house. Both of the kids—the little girl and the Arab kid.”
“Is Arnie watching the house?” Greg asked, but then answered his own question as he turned onto the row of shanties and could see Arnie standing discreetly, a few doors down from Angela’s. Greg motioned him over. “You two get lost,” he mumbled. “The kids are gonna be scared shitless of you two right now. I’ll talk to them. In the meantime, go walk around the back of the building and make sure there’s nothing—nothing—that can implicate you. No blood spatter. No shoe prints. Nothing.”
Kyle and Arnie both nodded hastily and then disappeared. Greg took off his dirty old ball cap, rubbed an itch on his receding hairline, then replaced it. He walked calmly down the row. These little huts built of scrap were becoming little more than hollowed-out piles of trash. As the original structure began to deteriorate in the steady wetness of a North Carolina winter, people were simply adding more crap on top of the old crap, sealing leaks, increasing the insulation, propping up boards that propped up other boards that propped up sheets of corrugated siding.
Pretty soon it’ll just look like a giant fucking junkyard, and we’ll burrow into the trash at night like fucking moles. He wrinkled his nose. Develop our own fucking language. Start fucking our relatives. Fifty years and we’ll be deformed and inbred. Gibbering nonsense when they find us.
Luckily, Jerry’s plan for complete isolation wouldn’t last.
But it suited Greg for now.
He stood at the flap of blue tarpaulin, rapped his knuckles on a piece of wood. “Hello?”
From inside there was shuffling and whispering.
“Are you kids alright in there?” Greg asked, his voice concerned.
A little girl’s voice: “Sam, I’m scared. What’s going on?”
Then a slightly older, boy’s voice: “Who’s there?”
“Hey, it’s Greg,” he leaned on the shanty. “I don’t really think you know me, but I saw you running across the field and…well, it looked like you might be in trouble. Is everything okay?”
“Go away.”
Greg clenched his jaw. Not the reaction he hoped for. Clearly, the caring adult tactic was not going to work. Either this kid was a suspicious little fuck, or he’d seen Kyle and Arnie with Greg and assumed they were all part of Keith Jenkins’ murder.
Time to change tactics.
“Buddy, you know this is just a tarp between us, right? If I wanted to barge in and hurt you, I would have done it already. I’m just trying to talk to you, see what the problem is. But if you don’t come out and talk to me…”
The tarp shifted. Then pulled aside.
The kid’s brown face looked up at Greg with a combination of fear and contempt. “What do you want?” he said, almost a harsh whisper.
“It’s Sam, right?” Greg asked. He considered smiling, but decided against it. Faking it wasn’t going to fly. It was time for plain, old honesty. It seemed to be what this kid would react best to.
“What do you want?” Sam repeated, more insistent this time. “If you try to come in, I’ll scream. Don
’t try to touch me. And take a few steps back.”
Greg’s eyes tracked quickly down to the tarpaulin, noticed the slight poke of something touching the blue plastic, and realized the kid was holding a gun on him. Greg almost wanted to laugh at the little shit, but his requests were fair enough. And he had to give him props for being on point. He held up his hands and took a single step back. “How’s that? That make you more comfortable?”
Sam stared, lips tightening.
“How about you lower that gun you got pointed at me,” Greg said quietly. “I already told you, if I was here to hurt you, I’d’ve done it already.”
Sam looked a little unsure, but lowered whatever he held behind the tarp. “Fine. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
Greg sighed. “Sam, you seem like a straight-up kid, so I’m not gonna bullshit you. I’m gonna talk to you like I’d talk to any other man, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What were you running away from earlier?”
“Nothing.”
“Sam…”
“Nothing.”
“Okay, maybe you thought you saw something bad…”
“I know what I saw,” Sam spat. “And I know you’re with them.”
Greg looked left and right, then leaned forward slightly. “You didn’t see shit. You thought you saw something, but you in fact did not see a goddamned thing. You know how I know you didn’t see anything? Because there’s nothing there to see. Because if you go behind the building, there’s nothing there. You can feel free to go look yourself. Nothing.”
Sam’s eyes had abandoned the contempt and now only showed fear.
Greg leaned farther forward, lowered his voice. “You know how else I know that you didn’t see anything? Because if you ever told anyone what you think you saw, then we’d be forced to kill Angela. We’d have to kill her with a fucking iron pipe. Hit her across the head until her brains started leaking out of her ears. And then we’d have to do the same thing to Abby, but she’d be easier because little kid’s skulls are soft. Hell,” Greg held up his hands. “I could probably just crush her skull between my hands. I don’t know. Maybe I’d use a rock.”
Tears in Sam’s eyes now. He shook violently.
Greg straightened, checked left and right again. There was no one there. “You understand what I’m saying, Sam? You know you’re not safe. You know there’s no one in this camp that’s on your side. You know that no one would believe one little kid over three adults. Especially since you’ve got no way to prove it.” Greg held a finger to his lips, tapped them twice. “You stay real quiet, Sam. Real quiet.”
***
“I don’t understand,” Angela said, finding herself in a chair, bewildered. “You’re not letting anyone out of the gates.” She didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, but it did.
Jerry tilted his head back. “We’re not gonna use this as a sounding board to air your grievances, Angela.” He put a finger to his chest. “I know that I’ve butted heads with Keith, and don’t even get me started on you, but at the end of the day Keith is a part of this group, and no one seems to know where he is. Can we focus on that for now?” Jerry shook his head in apparent disgust. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Uh…” Angela thought about it. “Breakfast, I think. We ate breakfast together.”
Jerry nodded. “Yeah, not many people saw him after that.”
Angela’s eyes narrowed. “Wait…who brought this up?”
Jerry blinked twice, a shadow of something passing over his eyes, then he seemed to right himself, and he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “No one brought it up, Angela. In fact, to be completely honest, I had Greg and the guys looking for him. Wanted to touch base with him. Maybe see if you’d been running your mouth, despite our conversation.” Jerry smiled, a thin, cold-blooded thing, like a lizard. “So imagine my surprise when Keith…” Jerry feigned shock “…is suddenly missing!”
Angela felt chilly and hot at the same time. She knew where this was going and didn’t like it one bit. She held up her hands. “Jerry, I didn’t say anything, I swear to God…”
Jerry heaved himself off the desk, was close to her in a single step, seemed like he towered over her. His voice was severe, but frighteningly controlled at once. “Don’t you fucking lie to me, Angela. I’m so sick and tired of your fucking lies, and you going behind my goddamned back. Where the hell is Keith? Where the hell did he go? Are you planning to go next? Who else? Who else have you talked to? Who else are you spreading your fucking lies to?”
Angela bolted out of her chair, knocking it over. She moved backwards, putting an arm’s length of distance between her and Jerry. “You stay the fuck away from me!” She pointed at him. “And you stay the fuck away from my kids!”
“Where’s Keith, Angela?” Jerry advanced on her.
“I don’t know!”
“Who else have you been talking to?”
“I haven’t said anything!”
Jerry kicked the chair she’d knocked over. “Then why don’t I fucking believe you?”
Angela’s chin trembled as her lips clamped together. She was still afraid, but she refused to show it. She refused to let this creature think that he could get the best of her. She gathered every bit of her steam and took a step towards him again, putting her pointed finger right in his face.
“Fuck you! Fuck you, Jerry!” She shook her head violently. “Fuck you for accusing me of this shit! You’re just looking for a goddamned reason to send Greg and his cronies after me! You wanna take me out? Be a fucking man and stand me up in front of everyone and do what you think needs to be done. But don’t play these games with me! Just stop!”
She’d spoken without truly considering her words, and as they left her mouth, she tried hard not to show apprehension that he might call her bluff, might just drag her out into The Square, execute her on the spot, and deal with the consequences. And honestly, she had to ask herself, would there be any consequences? Would any of these people in this camp stand up for me?
But Jerry just nodded, smiled, then retreated back to his desk.
Someone sniffed, loudly.
Angela turned, found Greg standing in the doorway, behind her.
“Were you able to find Keith?” Jerry asked, once again the picture of calm composure. “Did you look everywhere?”
Greg’s eyes flitted between Angela and Jerry, as though he were trying to piece something together on the fly, but he nodded. “Uh, yes. We looked everywhere.”
“I was just asking Angela here if she had any idea where he might have gotten off to.” Jerry sat down in his chair. “But she claims not to know anything.”
Greg just nodded.
Jerry waved his hand at Angela. “I’m done with you.”
I’m done with you? I’m fucking DONE WITH YOU?
Angela seethed, her anger causing her vision to blur and her hands and feet to tingle as her body prepared her for what it saw as an imminent physical conflict between them. In her mind, she was across the room, clawing his eyes out of his sockets, ripping that shotgun from him, putting both barrels into his chest, just like he did to Bus, watching his insides hit the back wall…
Jesus!
Angela looked at the floor, shocked at herself.
And something else.
She bit her tongue. Turned and exited the office, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, and in those pockets, balled so tightly that her nails dug into her palms and her knuckles ached. Was she shocked that she was capable of thinking these things? Maybe…
But there was that other feeling.
Something like gratification.
It glowed in her belly like imagined vengeance, made her thoughts dark, turned her mouth down at the edges, and gave her pleasant features a hardness that she could feel settling onto her like an exoskeleton, like it was encasing her inside of herself. Perfectly form-fitting. Almost the same person. But just slightly different. Changed, in some
very small, but very important ways.
She kept her head down as she walked down the stairs and out of the building into the cold winter air. It slapped her face, bit at her nose, made her teeth ache. She didn’t want to look up, didn’t want others to see this strange expression on her face and wonder—or worse—ask questions. She didn’t want to speak to a single goddamned soul, just wanted to stare up at the ceiling of her little hovel. And if she were being straightforward with herself, she wanted to cry. But it was like that thing inside of her that was capable of producing that type of emotion had somehow shriveled up and died.
Her thoughts flew, like debris caught in a tornado.
This has got to end. I have to end this.
And where is Keith? What happened to Keith? Is he alright? Did he get hurt out past the fence? How did he get out past the fence? What if they find him? What if he tells them about what I said to him? What if Jerry comes after me? What if Jerry comes after Abby or Sam?
I have to end this.
I have to end this.
She slipped into her shanty and found Abby and Sam on the bed, crying.
CHAPTER 17: THE FATHER
They followed the dwindling smoke trails in the sky to find the settlement. An old gravel easement led them back through acres of abandoned crops and a decrepit mobile home to a spread of land rimmed in a giant square by trees. In the northwestern corner stood what could only have been the settlement.
The three columns of smoke had died to a single, black streak, and this lifted from the rubble of what had once been a farm house. The husk of a front porch faced LaRouche and his convoy of vehicles as they navigated the pitted drive. Bits of gravel pinged their tire wells, the chassis swaying back and forth through deep potholes that a bad storm season had washed out of the ground. Overgrown weeds and small brush scraped the undercarriage.
Splayed out in front of the smoldering farm house was a collection of slap-dash shelters of every type. LaRouche could see tents, cars, a Winnebago, several structures constructed of tarp and scrap wood, much like the shanties at Camp Ryder. All of them were destroyed in some way. The tents trampled, the shanties and the Winnebago little more than charred husks.