by Bryan Way
It occurs to me that I’m on tape right now, ambling around where I shouldn’t be. What else do we have on tape? Surely we still have Tracy and Jimmy arriving outside the school, and the attempted raid. Would reviewing those tapes prove useful at all? I start back toward the school without a decision made one way or another on that topic, but as I review the idea, I have to wonder if Karen had the count right just before we were attacked. If there was even one more person joining in the raid, it might severely affect how we’d review an attempt to return to the community college.
By the time I’ve made it inside, I’ve determined that a return trip in the near future is a necessity; there might be food, weapons, or another potential hostile lying in wait. Conveniently, Helen is not in the security office, but I quickly realize I have no idea what is wired into what, and though I used to pride myself in networking cables between TVs, DVD players, and cable boxes, I decide to put a call in to Anderson to avoid screwing something up.
I’m not surprised that he’s awake and only too willing to assist, but my call over the PA attracts Rich as well. For some reason I expect the two of them to bicker, but the situation seems to find both of them in their element. As they work through getting the connections right, I realize that the situation gives me enough time to bring up a matter of less pressing concern.
“Jake talk to you guys about his, uh…”
“Dirges?” Rich asks.
“Uh… yeah… that’s the word…”
“He did… When the Music’s Over… by The Doors.”
“What’s a dirge?” Anderson asks.
“Like a… funeral song.” I say.
“Oh. Easy. Hero of the Day. Metallica.”
“Kar’s got hers too.” Rich states. “Dramamine… Modest Mouse, I think. Got yours?”
“Yeah… I think… Cirrus Minor, by the Floyd.”
“Don’t know that one…” Anderson mutters.
“That on one of their soundtracks?” Rich asks.
“Yeah.”
“Deep tracks, man…”
I don’t know what that means. They doggedly continue their work, and after a brief argument about having a gap on today’s tape while we review previous footage, they locate Friday’s tape with the combined feeds and rewind until a few moments before the first shot was fired on the night we were invaded. The M35 is seen slowing to a stop on three cameras; on one it comes in from the edge of the fence on the left, on another it pulls up to a stop in the middle of the street, and on the master, perched on the second floor and facing down, most of the affair can be seen in a long shot, but no sound accompanies the visuals. The footage immediately confirms that Karen’s count of eight was correct, so I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Anderson holds his hand out, apparently objecting to a desire to stop the tape that no one voiced.
The group yields on the front lawn as one of them fires a shot into the second floor window, but another one grabs the muzzle of his rifle and points it toward the ground. The three of us lean forward as the one who fired the shot seems to be getting an earful from the person who grabbed his rifle. After a moment, they continue toward the building, but not before a third person smacks the head of the fellow with the itchy trigger finger. By the time they’ve walked past the edge of the bus, the three of us are silent. “Uh…” Rich offers. Anderson and I can’t say anything.
“So…” Rich continues. “Do we have audio?”
“Did you hook up all the RCA cables?” I ask.
“Yellow, red, and white.” Anderson replies.
“Did you disable audio on the cameras? Unless you turned the mics off, they’re hot…”
“Why does it matter?”
“You don’t want to know what they said?”
Without responding, Anderson grabs a box off the floor and rifles through an assortment of loose tapes.
“That should really be organized…” I offer.
“Thanks for that…”
“Just sayin’…”
He locates the correct tape, ejects the master, and puts on the feed from the first floor camera closest to the gate. Anderson cranks the volume, introducing us to a loud hiss before a gunshot blows out the second floor window. The conversation that follows comes through as a mumble, so the three of us lean in toward the speakers. “Rewind, and max out the volume…” I instruct. Anderson complies, and now I can make out the conversation that follows the gunshot.
“What’d I say?!”
“What the hell was that… what does ‘six’ mean!?”
“What did I say?! We don’t shoot unless someone else shoots first!”
“Sorry…”
“You expect them to trust us now?!”
“I’m sorry!”
“…if we go in there and get shot at, it’s your fault.”
“Look, I’ll go first, alright?! I’ll just explain…”
“And I’m sure they’ll listen, you fuckin’ wet blanket… if we get shot, it’s all on you.”
Anderson asks to play it again. Though I might have misunderstood a word or two, I’m quite certain I’ve got the spirit of the discussion: one guy made a mistake that resulted in us killing a dozen people. They apologized when they came in. The guy whose throat I slashed insisted they made a mistake. The sniper told us the girls wanted to go with them. I assumed they were lying, but if they weren’t lying about the first shot being an accident, how much of what they said was the truth?
What would have happened if we’d just driven up to the M35 parked at the edge of the DC cubed lot? Would we have negotiated with them? What if Anderson wasn’t drunk? What if we’d left them alive? What happened between Mel and the man she shot? Was our conflict the natural synthesis of two aggressing forces, or were they just our victims? Did we kill a dozen innocent people? Anderson plays the tape again. “We did the right thing.” Rich says finally. I suspect this statement is more to convince himself than alleviate my guilt.
“Nobody was on security?” Anderson asks.
“Karen was, but there was no sound, remember?” Rich replies.
“She didn’t see them talkin’ to the… guy?”
“I don’t know… what was she gonna say?”
“Something!”
“All the same, she was watching the monitors… who knows which one she was looking at when that happened?”
“Jesus… we coulda talked this out…”
“You don’t know that…” I add. “They took the girls.”
I realize the moment I say this that Helen might not have shared this fact with Anderson.
“Yeah… they might not have if they didn’t have their backs to the wall. Besides, Melody told ‘em…”
“Well what were we supposed to do?” I interject. “Just let ‘em go?”
“No, but you might’ve been able to negotiate…”
“How?! For all we knew they were dead, and you too. Christ dude, I know how pissed you get… if we switched places, you would’ve done the exact same thing…”
“There’s a lot I woulda done different…” Anderson starts.
“Knock it off!” Rich shouts, shutting me up before I can explode at Anderson. “It’s done. Done. There’s nothing we can change about it. And that’s it.”
Though Rich has silenced us, the tension is chunky enough to poison the air. “…what did Mel tell them?” I ask. Anderson takes a moment to respond.
“She wanted out.”
“…what?” I ask.
“I dunno… Helen heard her say she wanted to go with them.”
“Guys, I’m not gonna say it again…” Rich sighs.
“Oh shut up.” I spit. “I get it. It’s done… but we’re not done dealing with it. We’ve gotta go back. If they were holing up there, they’ve got weapons, ammunition, food, supplies… and if we left anyone behind, we’d better know for sure.”
“Seconded.” Anderson adds.
“Fine.” Rich mutters. “We done here?”
“Yeah.”
Rich switches the security tape as Anderson stands up and starts for the door. “Wait, hold it…” I add. They both stop. “Mursak and I took a look at the community center the other day… I didn’t tell you about it… we think Rob might’ve killed that girl.” This is enough for Anderson to sit down and Rich to stop what he’s doing. “You picked up the gun… you checked it…” I say to Anderson, prompting him to nod.
“It’s gone.” I continue. “We found her purse upstairs full of loose bullets, and her agenda said she had a boyfriend. Doesn’t add up.”
“You think Rob shot her?” Rich asks.
“Without CSI Broomall we don’t have enough to pin it on him… but the details are compelling.”
“Such as?”
“We know Rob was with her beforehand… he lied about it… and the place wasn’t crawling when we got there, which makes me wonder why she’d shoot herself. And we can’t figure why she’d shoot herself while she was standing. Doesn’t make sense.”
In a reverential silence, Rich and Anderson consider my statement.
“So what do we do?” Anderson asks.
“I don’t know.” I say, shaking my head.
“He tried to shoot you.”
“Yeah. But now he says he’s ready to contribute.”
“I heard about that…” Anderson nods. “And that’s about the shittiest Christmas present I ever got.”
Rich takes a deep breath. “I suppose we’ll have to deal with him.” He intones, more out of exhaustion than anything else. I know he meant ‘kill him’. Seeing an opportunity to pin him with the same logic he applied to me after I killed Don, I seize it.
“I know you had your disagreements with him…”
“It’s got nothing to do with that.”
“Then what?”
“My mom was a user.” Rich offers, taking a moment before he continues. “She left my father to die, and me to deal with it. Rob tried to shoot you… probably succeeded with this girl… I don’t want to wait for strike three.”
I shudder at the eerie accuracy with which he echoes my very real threat to kill Rob just a week ago.
“Does Sak think he did it?” Anderson asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’m with Rich.”
“Your brother was a user, right?” I ask. “You don’t think that clouds your judgment?”
“No. I think it clears it.”
“Look, all three of you knew someone who used…” I say firmly. “I didn’t.”
“I’d be interested to hear what Colin has to say…” Rich states. “But if this junkie is using supplies and preying on our hospitality, he has to go.”
“Maybe he’s wandering the halls stockpiling his rage… fixing to finish what he started with me… is that the case for killing him?”
“I’m sure the Nazis who used the Nuremberg defense didn’t think they deserved what was coming to them…”
“You’re suggesting… what? I don’t even know.”
“We watch him. And our supplies.”
“Sak’s all over that…” Anderson offers. “Food, ammo, drugs… he’s making sure we don’t have any breakage.”
“Say we do this…” I start. “The rest of the group is gonna tear us apart, especially now that he’s sober and… pledging to help…”
“Jeff…” Rich sighs. “Ever heard the saying ‘beware of Greeks bearing gifts’? You know where it comes from?”
“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
“In Greek mythology, Sinon brought the Grecian wooden horse to the Trojans. When they asked him about it, he said nothing. The Trojans got angry, began to threaten Sinon… torture him… but he said the horse was a gift to the gods. A Trojan priest, Laocoön, didn’t believe him… he attacked the horse and wanted to set it alight. In response, the gods blinded him… but he didn’t give up. When he was attacked by serpents for his insolence, the Trojans began to believe Sinon and brought the horse through the gate. He got them to drop their guard, and Laocoön’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Then… Troy fell.”
“…does this have anything to do with Rob?”
“You just told us what we brought in here with Rob… and you’re worried about the serpents. I don’t blame you. But it doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” Rich states.
“Correct me if I’m mistaken… but weren’t the Greeks the good guys?”
“Not to the Trojans.”
Taking advantage of the silence, Rich stands up, steadying his hand on my shoulder as he exits. “Talk to Mel.” Anderson follows shortly thereafter, leaving me alone to feel awful. Talk to Mel? Is he suggesting that she was trying to get out, or that she somehow attracted our attackers? That she was playing two sides of a power struggle and waiting to see who came out on top? Thankfully no one is around to see me slap myself. Am I dreaming, or am I under the false impression that the end of that conversation was insane? The more I try to sort it out, the more I imagine that Rich’s mythological parable was intended to apply to both Rob and Mel. What was the disadvantage of speaking plainly that saw him bring up mythology in the first place?
“This sucks.” I say aloud. I now have to be wary of two people who apparently cannot be held responsible for themselves while keeping an eye out for the undead, considering the logistics of Alan’s group joining ours, and worrying if there will come a day when I’m hungry and have nothing to eat. Will there be a point where I can eliminate even one of those stresses? The thought burns me up to the point of apathy: what’s the point of continuing? The pursuit of happiness seems worthwhile only because of the chase. You love it only if you don’t realize you’re never going to catch up.
I glance at the monitor to see if there are any shuffling corpses waiting to be loosed from the sub-mortal coil; seeing an empty front yard, I stand and open the door to find Jimmy standing outside. I forgot he was here, and I have no idea what to say to him. He puts his finger in his mouth and bites down, wiggling back and forth as he starts to smile, keeping his blue eyes trained on me. Feeling overcome by an overwhelming urge to hug him, I don’t restrain myself.
“Why’d you do that?” He asks.
“I just… ah… just wanted to.”
“Okay!”
“How are you holding up, bud?”
“I miss dad and Tracy.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, choking back tears. “I miss my mom and dad.”
“Am I ever gonna see them again?”
Why did this have to happen to him? And me? I don’t think there’s a worse person he could’ve asked this question. Karen and Ally stressed the importance of being honest with the kids, but what kind of damage control can I do after telling him the truth? What if he starts crying? If he tells Karen or Ally what I say, they’re sure to rip me a new one, and despite never having the conversation at length, I’m sure my argument won’t stand up to their child rearing philosophies. Since I’ve already had a shitty day, I go for broke. “No… Jimmy… you’re not.” His face freezes halfway through scrunching, and he looks at me with a lack of understanding so profound it looses a tear from my eye.
“Well who’s gonna sit with me when I fall asleep?” He asks.
“Does Karen sit with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Does anyone else?”
“Sometimes the other guy.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Ellie’s brother.”
“Oh, Mur-ah… Colin.”
“Yeah…”
“Well… I want you to know… if you ever want someone to sit with you when you go to sleep, all you have to do is ask.”
“Is Karen gonna die?”
“No, no Jimmy… not for a very long time.”
“She said Tracy died ‘cause she was sick… am I gonna get sick?”
“No Jimmy… not like that… what happened to… what happened to Tracy is something… there are bad people out there, Jimmy. I don’t know if you’ve seen them… they walk around like they’re lost. And they make people sick by hurt
ing them. That’s why we stay inside.”
“Daddy said we stayed inside because we do what we’re told.”
“You know… it’s just safer in here. We keep each other safe. And no matter what happens… I promise there will always be someone to keep you safe. Okay?”
“Okay!”
“You gonna be alright?”
“I ain’t no fream!”
“…alright then!”
Jimmy skips off down the hall, effectively ending the most uncomfortable five minutes of my life. I take my time returning to my room, trying to make sense of what I just said and how he responded. Someday he’ll be an adult and he’ll look back on this conversation as deception; I may not have been actively dishonest, but the coat of sugar I put on these hard realities wouldn’t withstand even a drizzle of deliberation. What’s Karen going to say? Or Ally? Or Rich? What would Jimmy’s parents have said if they saw me having that conversation with him? Was any of my misdirection serious enough to alter his conception of the world? If I can’t make good on my promise to keep him safe, will he live long enough to make me regret it?
I can’t stop myself from imbibing a huge drink while I sweat through the details. Soon enough, I invite thoughts about Rob’s fate; Rich seemed pretty cavalier about killing him, but I can’t decide whether the issue requires more thought. In light of Anderson’s revelations about Mel being confirmed by my brief conversations with our intruders not a week ago, I must now contend with the notion that I may be literally sleeping with the enemy. And I’m supposed to talk to her? What am I to say?