“Don’t be stupid,” the commander hollered back. “Now what will it be, are you going to disperse peacefully or is someone going to get hurt? Do you want that on your consciences?”
“This is our conscience! Live deep, live real. Stand steady, no deal!”
The commander lowered his megaphone and turned to his second in command. “What are they talking about?”
The other shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
“What do you want?” the commander called out.
“A chance!”
“A chance for what?”
The youths answered with a riddle. They answered not at all.
“You hear that?” Fitch said, lowering his binoculars. “These kids are nuts. They don’t know what they want.”
“That’s what happens,” Mason Kohl said, “when you give kids too much freedom. They become lazy and stupid. They need discipline. They need a stern finger pointing in one direction, and a swift kick in the ass to get them there.”
“If that’s the case,” Gary Webber said, “why are you here and they out there?”
“Yeah, Mr. Disciplinarian,” Jack Austin said. “They’re supposed to be in school.”
“My mistake,” Kohl said, “was underestimating Max Stormer. I should have gotten rid of him a long time ago.” He turned a cold eye on the mayor. “But, of course, a championship football team was more important than the integrity of our school, wasn’t it, Mr. Mayor?”
“Listen here, Kohl, I’ve had enough of your self-righteous bullcrap. However this ends up, you’re history. So just get the hell out of here.”
“You can’t fire me,” Kohl retorted. “You don’t have the authority.”
“We’ll see about that,” the mayor said, lifting the binoculars and turning coolly back to the window. “Now get out of my office.”
“I will not lose my school without a fight. If I go, I’m taking you all with me. I know whose backs were scratched and whose palms were greased.”
Fitch said, “Your threats don’t work with us, Kohl. Now get out!”
Mason Kohl smirked and walked to the door. He paused, hand on the knob. He wanted the last word. He heard a commotion behind the door, a throng of zealous reporters. Kohl had a better idea. He opened the door. “Come in, gentlemen,” he said congenially. “The mayor has something important to announce…” The reporters poured past him into the room.
Fitch groaned. “Aw, crap.”
“Is it true, Mr. Mayor?” a reporter shouted. “Do you have Max Stormer?”
“Ask him,” the mayor said, pointing at Gary Webber.
“All right,” the commander said to his second in command, “tell these press creeps they’d better clear out if they don’t want to start coughing up a lung. We’re going in with the gas.”
“Yes, Sir.”
A trooper rushed to the commander’s side. “Sir!”
“What is it?”
“Just in, Sir. Max Stormer is dead.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sir. He was cornered on a cliff last night during the storm. He went over resisting arrest. They’ve been searching all morning for the body.”
“They find it?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then how do you know he’s dead?”
“It was a hell of a drop, Sir. They found his beret.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No, Sir. Still, they’re certain he drowned, Sir.”
“Well,” the commander said to the others. “Nothing’s changed. Get those reporters out of there. Clear the area. We’re going in.” He lifted the megaphone. “You have three minutes to clear the area before we launch the tear gas. This is your last warning.”
The journalists protested indignantly as the guardsmen herded them back to a safe distance.
Steve shouted, “Where’s Max Stormer?”
“Stormer is dead,” the commander said. He checked his watch. “You have two and a half minutes!”
Steve pointed towards the mayor’s window. “He said you had him!”
“Max Stormer went over a cliff resisting arrest.”
“Liars!” Regina cried. “You’re all a bunch of liars!”
67
You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet
Katie Austin burst into the mayor’s office. She was out of breath and tears streamed from her eyes. “Daddy, is it true? Where’s Max?”
“Katie!” said her astonished father. “What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”
“Daddy, is it true? Did they…kill Max?”
“Honey, why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
“Daddy!” she pleaded. “Tell me!”
“Honey, I don’t know. Yes, I suppose it’s true—but it was his own fault.”
“Oh, God,” she cried, burying her face in her hands.
Jack Austin moved to embrace his daughter but she stepped back and looked pleadingly into his eyes, her own red and swollen in grief.
“Daddy, do something. Stop those men. My friends are out there!”
“Honey,” he said, reaching to stroke her head, “there’s nothing I can do. They have orders from the governor.”
“I don’t care about any governor,” she said, swatting his hand away. “They’re my friends!”
“But they won’t leave. They’ve been given every chance.”
“That’s no reason to hurt them. They haven’t done anything bad.”
“You’re upset. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If I was out there, would you let them hurt me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Katie. You would never do something so stupid. You have more sense than to—”
“Gary,” she said desperately, “do something. Stop them!”
“Katie,” Gary Webber said, “your friends won’t listen to reason.”
The voice of the commander bellowed below: “You have one minute!”
“Mayor Fitch,” she begged. “You’re the mayor—do something!”
“We’ve done all we can,” he insisted. “Gary’s right. Your friends won’t listen to reason.”
“Reason? Cowardice is your reason!”
“Katie,” her father said. “Calm down. You’re being hysterical.”
“Am I? Well you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” she said, and darted out the door.
“Katie! Come back here! Where are you—?” Mr. Austin ran after her but she had already disappeared down the stairs. He flung open the door to the stairwell. “Katie, come back here. Don’t you dare—dammit!”
Mr. Austin ran back into the mayor’s office and over to the window just in time to see Katie fly out of the building. He watched in shock as Katie dashed towards the line of soldiers where the commander stood, his gas mask over his face, arm in the air, about to give the signal to advance.
“You can’t do this!” Katie cried, swatting away the commander’s raised arm.
“The hell—” He spun, and out of reflex, nearly shoved her to the ground. His eyes blazed behind his mask and he looked like a monstrous insect.
Beowulf snarled and dropped into attack position, the other dogs taking his cue.
Katie lurched for the commander’s gas mask and tore it from his face. She threw the mask to the ground. “This is insane!”
A guardsman grabbed Katie and pinned her arms behind her back.
Beowulf sprang. He sank his teeth into the guardsman’s bicep, and growling, dragged the man to the ground. The soldier screamed and kicked, unable to get away. The commander reached for his pistol, but before he could get a shot off, two hounds bounded and tackled him. Immediately, the remaining dogs threw themselves into battle, hauling down more guardsmen with their teeth. The troopers withdrew their batons and took to the dogs. Others spun in circles, guns pointing, looking for clean shots among the mayhem. The scene turned quickly from brutal to savage. The soldiers thrashed the canines mercilessly. The dogs responded by ripping at anyth
ing they could sink their teeth into.
Yelps and cries of agony filled the air, both man and beast. Twenty youths led by Steve and Brandon, broke from the ranks and charged into battle. “Stop it!” they hollered.
A guardsman swung his baton at Steve. He caught it with one hand, and with the other, walloped the soldier in the jaw, sending the man sprawling to the ground unconscious. Side by side, Steve and Brandon fought like Titans. Not a soldier there measured up in size to the two brawny youths. The boys bashed senseless every trooper who got in their way. The thought of their best friend dead enraged the Herculean youths to a fury neither had ever known. Together they struck out at the troopers as if each soldier were responsible, as if each one had to pay.
The mayor yelled through his megaphone, begging for order. Cameramen and photographers darted about for footage. More youths joined in, and more troopers. The sky darkened, the wind kicked up, and thunder boomed overhead. A gunshot rang out, and a dog collapsed to the ground. A second shot followed—another yelp, and another fallen dog.
A third shot rang out. Everybody froze. All attention turned to the flagpole. It was Jake’s gunshot. He had fired into the air.
“Stop it!” he screamed. His hand shook and tears streamed down his face. “Stop it!” He pointed the gun at his head. “Everyone back!”
“Steve!” Regina cried. “No more!”
In Steve’s hands he clutched a badly throttled guardsman. The soldier’s feet dangled two feet off the ground. Steve tossed the soldier like a sack of popcorn and turned to the other youths, many of whom were moaning and squirming on the ground. “Pull back,” he shouted. He waved to his friends to retreat. The youths withdrew, the dogs limping pathetically by their sides.
Stupefied, the soldiers did not pursue the youths. Instead, they tended to their own writhing numbers, including the commander who was on the ground holding his blood-drenched leg.
During the entire fight Beowulf never left Katie’s side. His mouth foamed red with human blood. Katie bent down to calm the anxious dog, stroking and whispering to him.
Reporters and photographers swooped upon the wounded like vultures. They snapped pictures and scrounged for comments and interviews. One of the photographers, a dumpy man with gray hair drawn back into a fist-sized ponytail and a pleased smirk on his face, hustled over to Steve.
“Hey, hotshot,” the reporter said, sticking his camera in Steve’s face. “Hell of a show!” He snapped a picture. Steve squinted at the man in incredulity. He wiped the blood from his lip, smeared it over the man’s camera lens, turned, and walked away.
“Hey, ya big oaf,” the reporter shouted. “Who do you think you are?”
Steve stopped and turned slowly around. “A Pinecrest Panther,” he answered. He turned again and walked over to give one of his buddies a hand.
68
Pinebomb
It was a ceasefire, nothing more. Nobody thought for a moment that the crisis had been defused. The troopers awaited orders, and the youths, having nothing else to wait for, waited for rain. The teens carried their wounded to the flagpole where Regina, Katie, Dawn and the others tended to them as best they could. Dispersing was out of the question; the youths were too addled and angry to go anywhere now. With Max dead, and wounded all around them, all they wanted to do now was be together, comfort one another, and defy the world.
Parents ran over and frantically begged for their sons and daughters to return to their senses and come home, but the kids would not hear of it. Their fighting spirit had been aroused. They were determined. They were not afraid of the consequences. All they wanted to do now was to defy! defy! defy! Up went the signs and placards. Out went the chants. There was to be no mistaking them:
We Reject Your Rejection!
Accept No Substitutes!
Stuff Your Stuff
No One Asked Us but We Say, No!
We Came. We Saw. We Lingered.
Exact Change Only
Aidos Lives!
Mayor Fitch, frazzled and frightened, sipped cold coffee with a quivering hand as he observed three youngsters, led by Timmy Duncan, hoist themselves upon one another’s shoulders and yank out the twenty-foot long flagpole that hung out over the courthouse entrance. With dismay, Fitch watched as the boys lowered the flag like a lance, and then charged toward the mountain of discarded consumerism, now nearly two stories high. Like the heroes of Iwo Jima, they trudged up its jagged side and crammed the flagpole upright into its peak. The Stars and Stripes flapped wildly in the stiff wind. The army of youths looked on cheering and applauding as the three threw their fists to the heavens.
Dusk crept across the town and the sky darkened into an ominous display of indigo-laced black and gray. Thunderbolts, like electric javelins, speared the horizon.
“Katie,” Regina asked, “are you okay?”
“Oh, Regina,” she said, looking up from the wounded boy she was attending. He had a bloody nose and a broken hand. Tears leaked from Katie’s eyes. “Max can’t be dead. Not Max…”
“Oh, honey,” Regina said, snatching her friend to her chest. “We can’t be sure. These people lie. All they know is lying.”
“Katie,” Steve said, “did you get the girls off?”
She smiled through her tears. “Yeah, my friend Gretchen has them. She’s one of us.”
“Great,” he said. “Max would have been proud…” The warble in his voice stopped him from finishing. “You know…” he added.
“Jake,” Sinbad said. “You can put that gun down now, you maniac. Everything is okay.”
“I want them to know I mean what I say.”
“They know, they know,” Alex said. “Put it down. You’re making me more nervous than they are.”
“Yeah,” Sid said, “I about pissed my pants when you fired that shot.”
“Jake,” Regina assured, “it’s okay.”
Jake dropped the gun to his side. “All right,” he said, as if nothing had ever happened. “Now what?”
“All we can do is wait,” Steve said. “They’ll try to gas us again.”
Regina said, “It’s going to storm hard soon. I doubt they’ll wait long. They’ll want to clean us up fast.”
The same smug reporter who had accosted Steve earlier approached them. This time his camera hung down around his neck. “So, heroes,” he said, “what do you got to say for yourselves now? Was it worth it?” He gestured towards the dozen youths moaning on the ground around them.
One of the wounded, a blond, handsome kid from the town of Morning Creek sat up and pulled his bandanna back around his face in a show of stubborn defiance. Blood trickled from a deep cut above his eye. “We’re still not talking,” he said.
“Lie down, Charlie,” Dawn said, dabbing at his cut with a damp washcloth.
“Right,” the reporter smirked. He hoisted his drooping pants. “‘Not talking till Stormer’s walking. Sure.” He chuckled. “Well, seems your pal’s walking days are over, so you might as well talk while there’s still someone to listen. Once this farce is over, no one is going to care.”
“You heard him,” Steve said, rising to his feet. He glared down at the stubby man in intimidation. Beside Steve’s hulking frame, the reporter looked like a fat dwarf. “We don’t have anything to say to you, so get lost.”
“Steve,” Regina cautioned.
“Yeah, Stevey-boy, cool your jets. I’m leaving.”
“Just leave, please,” Katie said.
The reporter gave Katie the once over, and whistled. “How about you, sweet thing? Got a name?”
“Listen, moron,” Cheeks said. “This isn’t anything a pin-brained rodent like you could ever understand, so just crawl back into the sewer you squirmed out of.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Sinbad,” Randy said. “He’s just trying to get our goat. Ignore him.”
“Sinbad! Ho, ho!” The reporter laughed. He shook his head and jotted notes into a pad. “That’s a good one. Your pal’s right, just ignore me,
folks, and go about your business.” He whistled through pursed lips as he scribbled.
Brandon stepped up behind the reporter, snatched the pen out of his hand, and flung it over his shoulder. The reporter cranked his head around and up, not bothering to turn.
“Tough guy number two,” he said. “What’s your name, big fella?”
Brandon didn’t answer. He grabbed the camera strap behind the reporter’s neck and yanked the camera smashing into the man’s jaw. The journalist dropped his pad and gagged as Brandon led him away like a dog on a leash. He sent the man off with a kick in the ass.
Regina said, “Bad publicity, Brandon.”
Brandon shrugged. “I’m hungry,” he said. His lack of concern set off a round of laughter.
“Spam?” Regina said, pulling a can out of one of the packs and offering it up to him.
“Is that the best your dad could do?” Alex whined.
“Dad likes the stuff,” she explained.
Randy said, “Where we’re going, it’s bread and water.”
“Prison,” Cheeks muttered. “What a bummer. Think of all those cute coeds I was going to meet next year. They’ll be so disappointed.”
“Yeah,” Brandon chuckled, “but think of all those lonely inmates who won’t be—if you know what I mean.”
Cheek’s jaw unhinged. He gulped.
“Hey, Jake,” Alex said. “Maybe you and me can be cellmates?”
“Screw prison,” Jake said. “Live free or die.”
“Forget it, you guys,” Steve said. “Nobody is going to jail and nobody is going to die. So just get a grip.”
“How do you know?” Randy said. “We’re in big trouble.”
“We just aren’t, okay?” Steve still couldn’t believe that Max was dead. It just wouldn’t be like him to die at a time like this. Not Max. He always came through in the clutch. That was half the reason he was the best damn quarterback in the state, dammit. Max never cracked under pressure, and he never gave up. The team could always count on him. Jeezus, Max…
“It’s amazing, though, isn’t it?” Katie wondered aloud.
Stormer’s Pass Page 35