Desperate Times 2 Gun Control

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  “Doc?” cried Jimmy, as he scrambled up the empty hill. “Doc, can you hear me?”

  “Jimmy?” croaked the big man. “Am I dead?”

  “No,” Jimmy said, with tears of joy running down his cheeks. “I think Ken got the wolves. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll probably catch my death of rabies, but I think I’m in one piece.”

  A moment later, Ken roared up on his Polaris followed by Wart, who held the giant rifle pointed up in the air. “What the hell is going on?” demanded Ken. “That damn fool Huggins is up at the house screaming bloody murder. Pardon me, Cindy,” he added. “Can you guys manage to stay out of trouble for five minutes? For crying out loud!”

  “Look,” said Wart, “right between the eyes and in near blackness.”

  Doc looked down at himself in the fading firelight. His jacket and snow pants were torn to ribbons, and his gloves were dark with blood. “Thank you,” he said to Wart. “You saved my life.”

  “You should be thanking God, isn’t that right, Ken?” Wart asked. “I’m only His humble servant. Let’s all thank God together, shall we?”

  “Why don’t we hold off until we get home for that,” said Ken, clapping Wart on the back. “These people are probably freezing.”

  “Right,” said Wart. “We can celebrate with some Old Testament fire and brimstone!”

  “Sure,” said Ken, giving Jimmy a sidelong glance. “Where is Burt? You didn’t leave him behind, did you?”

  Jimmy opened his mouth and tried to speak, but his tongue was completely tied and all he could do was moan.

  And out there in the bitter cold, their tears fell like rain.

  Jimmy, despite everything that had happened, found that he could barely thank Bill for saving their lives. He had been reliving those fatal last moments before Burt and Venus had been killed, and there was no denying that if Bill hadn’t acted in such a foolhardy manner that both of them would still be alive. Bill was fat and out of shape, had no training, and was the last person that should’ve tried to take Mars down.

  Doc treated his own wounds in the privacy of the little bathroom while Ken kindled a hot fire that bathed the living room in orange light. They were thankful for the warmth and settled down on the second-hand furniture as Patty and Rita cooked dinner. The reunion was quiet as most eyes were drawn to the fireplace. Jimmy knew each of them was thinking about Burt. He should be with them, and they knew it.

  “I remembered this tree,” said Bill, taking full advantage of the silence. “And I said to myself, ‘Bill, we turned at that tree. Why isn’t Jimmy turning?’ I’m part Sioux on my mother’s side, and I knew we were supposed to turn there.”

  “Lucky for everyone that you remembered that,” Ken said, smiling at Bill.

  “God told him to remember it. Isn’t that right, Mr. D?”

  Wart had taken to calling Ken that and Jimmy wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Wart had sure found religion in a hurry, and it made Jimmy slightly uncomfortable. He always thought it should be a gradual thing, getting that much religion.

  “That’s right,” agreed Ken. “God has a master plan, and we are all part of it.”

  “I then asked myself, I said, ‘Bill, Jimmy is never going to believe you that he’s going the wrong way.’ I decided that I was going to have to make a break for it. The snow was so deep that there were times when I just wanted to give up. But I knew that a lot of lives were depending on me, and I kept on going.”

  “God told you that,” said Wart enthusiastically. “I know He did.”

  Jimmy and Ken exchanged an uncomfortable look.

  “Then, of course the gate was locked,” continued Bill who was now facing Wart, the only person who seemed interested in his story. “I could feel the Lord working inside of me and filling me up with strength.”

  “Amen,” exclaimed Wart with his lopsided grin. “What happened then?”

  “I’m going to go help in the kitchen,” said Julie, standing up from the couch.

  “Me too,” said Cindy, getting up from her wingchair.

  Jimmy watched as they left the room and wished that he could join them. Bill also stood, standing between the men of their group and the fireplace where he began to act out his story as if he were on stage. “I said ‘Thank you, Jesus!’” Bill said, raising his hands over his head with his fingers splayed.”

  Wart raised his hands too. “Thank you, Lord!”

  “I said to myself, ‘Bill, that gate is locked, and it has five feet of snow drifted up next to it. But, it’s the only way inside. You’ve got to put your shoulder into it and push that gate open.’”

  Jimmy hadn’t heard this part before, and he shot Ken a confused look. Ken shrugged his shoulders and returned the look with one of complete stupefaction.

  “I took three steps back and then I charged the gate. I know it was crazy, but there was nothing else to be done. I hit that gate so hard that I snapped the log that locked it. That’s the God’s honest truth. I think I had the strength of ten men, maybe twelve.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Doc. “Does anyone believe this load of malarkey?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Doc,” said Ken. “He broke the bolt log on the gate. He’s not making that up. He was also responsible for us finding all of you, when we did. Another minute and you would’ve been wolf shit.”

  “Wolf scat,” corrected Doc.

  “That’s impossible,” Jimmy said. “I’ve opened that gate dozens of times. He couldn’t have done that. The bolt must’ve already been broken.”

  “You don’t believe in much, do you Jimmy?” asked Wart. “Would it kill you to have a little faith in your brother man? God is speaking through Bill. Can we at least hear him out?”

  Jimmy gritted his teeth and motioned to Bill that the floor was his. When Bill began again, Jimmy could feel the bile rising from the gorge of his stomach. With Wart urging him on, Bill finished his story in just under five minutes.

  “I’ll be going after Mars tomorrow,” announced Ken. “I’ve thought about it and prayed on it. He has to be held accountable.”

  “He’s probably hiding somewhere inside Bailey’s,” Jimmy said. “He might not even be hiding anymore. I’ll bet they welcomed him back with open arms.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Ken agreed. “If he’s there, we have to find him. I won’t rest until he’s got what’s coming to him.”

  “What’s that?” asked Bill. “Are you going to shoot him?”

  “That’s my business,” answered Ken.

  “Time to eat,” Patty called from the kitchen. “Come and get it!”

  Bill raced Wart to the door while Ken held his hands up to Jimmy and Doc. “Kid, you’re coming with me. We leave in the morning. Doc, I’m sorry. I can’t let this pass.”

  Doc locked eyes with Ken. “I want his head on a platter—do you hear me? Just bring me back some proof that he’s dead.”

  Jimmy had never heard Doc speak like that and found that it shook him. “I’ll be ready to go,” he said to Ken after a long pause. “I don’t have to tell you how I feel on this subject.”

  “Not this time,” agreed Ken. “I should hope not.”

  They ate their dinner of freeze-dried meat and instant mashed potatoes in relative silence. Jimmy wondered how he should go about telling Julie about what he and Ken planned to do. He also wondered how they would ever find Mars if his group had actually welcomed him back into their fold. They were a strange bunch, and nothing they did would surprise Jimmy.

  What troubled Jimmy the most about the rest of that evening was something in Julie’s manner. She began to distance herself from him and the other men. She still said all the right things, but she did so from the opposite side of the room. She had the look of a scared rabbit, and Jimmy’s heart nearly broke because of it. That night she shared the big bed with Cindy and Rita after giving him a peck on the cheek and wishing him good night. Thankfully, sleep overtook Jimmy only a few moments after he crawled under the co
vers. He didn’t stir until sunrise the following morning.

  Ken made a big show of pretending that he and Jimmy were going out to hunt. The temperature had fallen to thirty below zero overnight, but it bounced back up to a balmy, negative five by ten that morning. They bundled up, armed themselves, and left Wart in charge of protecting the camp.

  “You can count on me, Mr. D,” Wart had said.

  Patches of blue sky appeared from behind gray-streaked clouds, and there was no wind to speak of. Now that it was daylight, Jimmy could see how much the snow had drifted and finally understood how lucky they all were to be alive. Ken led the way, either by design or because Ken no longer trusted Jimmy’s sense of direction. Jimmy’s Polaris glided across the fresh snow, and had they not been out for blood, he knew he would’ve been enjoying himself. He hated Mars; there was no doubting that. He also wanted him dead. He just wasn’t sure how all of this would play out once they got back to Bailey’s. Mars was one of their own, and Jimmy thought that they might try to protect him despite what he had done. The uneasiness crept inside his head and refused to leave.

  Jimmy saw Bill’s tree and wondered how he had missed it himself. The gnarled pine grew in a corkscrew shape as if had been crippled at a young age and stood out like a sore thumb. Ken rode slowly, barely traveling at more than an idle. Jimmy supposed that he didn’t want to give anyone any extra notice that they were on their way.

  Two miles from the camp, Jimmy unslung his M-16 and held it by the barrel, resting it on his knee. Fear replaced the uneasiness, and once again he tried to shake the feeling. Something was wrong. Jimmy could feel it in his bones. Ken suddenly braked and waved for Jimmy to ride up next to him.

  “Can you smell that?” Ken asked, sniffing at the air.

  Jimmy shook his head, but then he did smell something. “Smells like burning tires,” he said. “Is that what you smell?”

  “Something like that,” Ken said, nodding his head. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”

  At roughly one mile from the camp, they found themselves riding through a haze of smoke that only grew thicker as they went. Jimmy’s eyes began to sting, and soon they began to water. Ken slowed even further as he fought to remain on what was left of the road. Jimmy followed closely, never letting the red taillight disappear in the murk. Jimmy began to choke as they passed the gate leading into the compound. The road twisted and turned and suddenly they were out of the smoke. A slight breeze was stirring the air and was carrying most of the smoke to the east.

  They passed the burning embers of what had once been the main house. The steel skeleton of a burned-out doublewide trailer stood behind the house. The garage that Jimmy had coveted was now nothing more than a memory. Ken looked back at Jimmy with apprehension. They continued up the road and rounded the last sweeping corner.

  And everything—the mess hall, the cabins, the fish shacks, anything with a frame that served a purpose—was gone. Eighty years of history ended in one last savage chapter. Jimmy couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Ken slowly came to a stop and killed the ignition on his snowmobile. Jimmy pulled up next to him and did the same. The camp was eerily silent, save for the sounds of burning wood and the distant wind in the trees. They stood there for a long moment, taking it in. Finally, Ken pointed Jimmy down towards the lake. “We’ve got to check for survivors,” he said. “You look down by the lake and keep your eyes open. This is bad.”

  Jimmy didn’t need to be reminded of that. “What the hell happened here?” he asked. “Who would have done such a thing?”

  Ken shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “And where is everyone? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  They searched the burned-out remnants of the Bailey camp for nearly an hour. There was no sign of anyone; not even a footprint remained in the snow. When they met back up by the snowmobiles, Jimmy wanted nothing more than to ride out of there at top speed. This was all wrong, and there seemed to be something evil at work.

  “Find anything?” Ken asked, straddling his Polaris and slowly sitting down.

  Jimmy shook his head. “Nothing,” he said with a long sigh.

  “Roanoke,” Ken said slowly, looking over his shoulder.

  “What?”

  “A thriving village of pilgrims back in the colonial times. They simply vanished, and it was never explained. Roanoke. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m with you.”

  They returned the same way they had arrived, through the gloom and fighting uncertainty. What did this mean? Jimmy wondered what had happened to everyone. Were they hiding inside the woods? Had the National Guard swooped down and flown them away? Were they even alive?

  And, Jimmy thought, what about Mars? Was he somehow responsible for all of this? Was that even possible?

  “Roanoke,” Jimmy said to himself as he rode behind Ken. “Roanoke

  .”

  Chapter 32

  A long month of dreadful routine passed, and they found themselves back where they started, bored and listless.

  The pair returned to them like cancer; a pair of hardened lumps that suddenly reappeared from out of the blue. They seemed oblivious to the fact that they were unwanted, yet like a returning cancer, they seemed perfectly content moving back in with their host and picking up where they left off.

  Glen Putnam had lost at least fifty pounds since he’d left them that summer. Jimmy hardly recognized him as he staggered through the gate. Glen had been one of Ken’s right-hand men at the Plant, and his stock with them had plummeted after betraying their group, not once, but twice. His companion Jimmy would’ve recognized anywhere. Paula Peterson looked much the same to him as she kicked snow off her boots in the bright sunlight of Patty’s warm kitchen. She may have needed a haircut and her clothes were dirty, but this was definitely the same woman he had been prepared to marry before the crash. So much had happened since then that to Jimmy it seemed like a lifetime ago. He didn’t know her anymore—if he had ever really known her in the first place.

  Jimmy couldn’t imagine a more awkward homecoming, if that was what it was. Ken invited them inside, and Patty directed them to the table and poured them each a cup of hot coffee. Julie had taken one look at Paula and turned on her heels and went out to her porch. She held her paperback novel in shaking hands, and Jimmy knew better than to ask her what was wrong. He thought about sitting with her, but he wanted to hear their story. Had they escaped from one of the relocation camps? What had happened to Carl and to Glen’s wife, Shirley? And what would Glen have to say for himself? Glen had sided with Sister Margaret during the hostile takeover of their camp. Jimmy had a hard time believing that Ken had actually allowed him back on his property.

  The clock had yet to strike eight, and half of the camp was still in bed. Jimmy fell to one knee next to Julie and took her hand, gently pulling the book away from her face. “I want to hear what they have to say,” he said. “I hope you understand.”

  Julie rolled her eyes and shook her head. A tear slid down her cheek, still pink with the healing process. “I know,” she said in a broken voice. “I can’t take it, anymore. This isn’t fair, Jimmy… This isn’t fair.”

  “I am going to ask Ken to make them leave,” Jimmy said, reassuringly. “I don’t trust either of them. They’re both liars.”

  “You had better not trust them,” Julie agreed. “You had better not ever let me catch you speaking to her. Do you understand me?”

  “I do. I promise I do.”

  A minute later, in a moment that seemed completely surreal, Jimmy was seated across the table from the treacherous Glen Putnam and his own ex-fiancé, Paula Peterson. The room was dead quiet, save for the hiss of the LP gas burner on the kitchen stove. Patty stood at the sink and washed dishes as Ken stood eyeballing his former friend.

  “Let’s hear it, Putnam,” Ken said, choosing to call him by his last name. “Don’t leave anything out. I want you to give me a reason to allow ei
ther of you two the right to be here. I’m giving you one chance. You’d better make it count. What happened out there and where do you get the guts to come crawling back here?”

  Jimmy turned and stared back at the gaunt-faced Putnam. Glen had lost a couple of teeth; he had also grown a long white beard, and his white hair fell nearly down to his shoulders. This, along with his weight loss, made him look a hobo who had been on the tracks for too long. Glen’s eyes were full of fear. “Shirley is dead,” Glen said, burying his head into his hands.

  “Carl is, too,” Paula chimed in. And just like Putnam, Paula buried her face in her hands.

  Patty spun from the sink and rushed to the table. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Glen. “Shirley was a good and decent woman. She was also a dear friend.”