by Ryan Schow
“At this distance, with only air and opportunity between us,” his voice thundered, “I pull this trigger and your beautiful face is ground beef.”
She stopped. He was right. Was this her end? This kid with the shotgun? It couldn’t be, not with her being who she was.
The kid hustled past the older man, a black haired waif with a pistol on the silver haired warriors’ head. Now the kid with the shotgun stood beside him, eyes cruel, grinning as he stuffed the barrel of his shotgun in Marcus’s eye. If he he’d put the smoking barrel of that handheld weapon of mass destruction on anyone else, he’d already be dead. Maria would have already killed and gutted him.
But it was Marcus.
The kid shoved aside the older man, a man with features similar to the boy. The man was a bit taller, his hair jet black and unkempt, eyes so dead she was surprised there weren’t tombstones already tattooed above his eyebrows. He had ink up to his jaw and a cold, gaunt expression. Like he wasn’t sure what was going to play out. Like he was not even the slightest bit nervous. The man had a death wish and she saw it.
She saw it right then.
“I want to show you something,” Maria said calmly to the boy, leaning over and setting the knives down in the blood pooling around her feet. When she stood back up, she put her hand behind her back and said, “It’s okay. You’ll want to see this.”
The kid she assumed was Lisandro said, “Stop moving or he dies!”
“It’s okay,” she said softly, her eyes on his eyes, her movements slow but consistent. When she got her hand around the grip of her .45, she slowly brought it out and said, “This is a .45 and I have three rounds left.”
“Put it down!” he screamed.
As he was screaming, she swung the weapon around, shot a woozy looking kid in the corner with a line of red already trailing down his forehead. Before he could even swallow that giant lump in his throat, Maria rocked the pistol back around and aimed it at the older man next to her.
“You get Marcus, I get him. And by the time he’s figuring out how he got that hole in his head, you’ll have one in yours.”
“The hell with him,” the kid growled.
The second he started to raise his shotgun, an arrow cut past Maria’s ear and split the kid’s Adam’s apple in half. His eyes shot wide open and he stood in a silence so thick and so palpable, you’d practically need a chainsaw to cut through it.
His big eyes blinked and he gagged, a big, horking, strangled sound that flooded his eyes with pain, and then tears. He somehow managed to lift his gun, but not before a gunshot cracked off behind Maria. A small hole opened up in the center of Lisandro’s head. He staggered back a half step then fell to the floor in a heap. Maria turned and looked at Macy, the blonde girl standing there with a smoking pistol. Maria felt the smile form, then gave the girl a wink.
“Not the weakest link,” Macy said.
“Gunderson?” the good looking, silver haired man said, slowly getting to his feet. He had well developed muscles, hard eyes and lumps and bruises all over his body. Half his face was cut open and bleeding, and a few of his fingers looked broken, but his concern was not for himself. Rather it was for Gunderson.
“Rider, he’s…he’s…” was all Gunderson could say. He was still holding a pistol, but Maria doubted he was even aware of it. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dead boy, an arrow standing out of his throat, the floor pooling red under his head.
“Gunderson,” Rider said again, walking toward him on unsteady legs.
The former enforcer pulled his eyes off his boy, dragged them around and looked at Rider. He eyes seemed to be looking at another world, another time, perhaps all the times he could have been a better father, or a better man.
“I’m so sorry, Gunderson.”
“He didn’t want to be my son,” Gunderson said, shell shocked, heartbroken.
Putting his hand out, Rider said, “Give me the gun. It’s all over.”
“You going to keep your word, Rider?” he asked, things in his eyes clearing, his presence returning.
“Yes,” Rider said. He kept his hand out. Gunderson didn’t hesitate; he turned his pistol over and everyone relaxed.
The other five men were being helped up off their knees. Macy was helping her father up, and Rex; Indigo wrapped her arms around Nick and that thing inside Maria—the emotions—they flared at the sight of Nick’s happiness. Jagger was on his feet, but still a bit wobbly. He sat back down. Marcus was the only one not standing.
Maria went to him, but he was stuck on his knees, prepared to die there like a man. Now he wasn’t moving. He remained there without the strength to move, his eyes locked on the dead kid.
“Marcus?” Maria said.
His eyes worked their way up to meet hers.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
She could see the physical damage on his head and to his face. No, he was most certainly not okay. She bent down, pulled him up. He was heavy, but nothing she couldn’t manage. He stood on shaky legs, bracing her arm for support, his eyes looking down on her.
“You have…inhuman strength,” he said without an ounce of expression.
“Your brains still working?” she asked.
“Need to see Sarah,” he replied, weary from overexertion, or maybe a concussion. Inside, her heart sagged a bit. Maria wanted him to be her king, but there was already another claim on him, one he loved and respected: his queen.
She lifted up his shirt, saw gashes and nicks everywhere. He needed more than a few sets of stitches.
“Who else is cut and needing attention right now?” Maria turned and asked the group.
They all raised their hands.
“Okay,” she said. “We need water and medical supplies, so fan out and let’s find what we can.”
An hour later, after discovering a wealth of food, water and medical supplies (and eliminating the clan’s remaining holdouts), Maria was working on patching up the last of the men’s wounds. Four of the guys were asleep on the floor, snoring, only one of them having a hard time of it—Rex. He woke himself up twice, crying out, his hands flailing out before him, like he was being attacked.
Macy was there to comfort him.
Maria finished stitching up Stanton, who had a few puncture wounds but nothing life-threatening. Nick was awake, sitting next to Indigo, holding her hand. Maria took in her expression in a heartbeat, realizing she was on the edge of an emotional upheaval. Was it from the adrenaline dump of battle, or was it from thinking her father had been dead and then he just showed up? She would never know, but Maria was starting to understand their emotions, how they worked and why they worked.
It was nice. Indigo was a good kid.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They got home well after daybreak. They headed to their respective homes, crawled into their respective beds, then woke only when Sarah came to check on them. Indigo took Nick to see Bailey, who made a big deal of his face being beat to hell.
“We’ve survived worse,” he said.
“And I’ve looked worse than you, and you didn’t leave. Which means you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I never thought you’d leave me,” he said, grinning.
“I won’t. It’s you and me,” she said, taking his cheeks into her hands, kissing him gently on the lips. “Ah, the taste of fresh blood in the morning…”
He laughed, but it hurt. Indigo smiled.
She liked Bailey, and it was clear that Bailey was smitten with her father. That somewhere along the way, they’d fallen in love. She wondered how it happened, and when, but then she realized she’d fallen in love with Rex, who was okay with her giving her father most of her attention, for now. He’d said, “I’m fine. Go see him, catch up.”
“You’re the best,” she said.
“Just remember you’ve got my baby in that belly, so don’t leave me hanging all day.”
She laughed.
“I love that you love me so much,” she said.
“I love that you almost love me more,” he replied with a tired grin.
“Go to bed,” she said, kissing him. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” he said. “Remind me which house it is again?”
The morning came and went and everyone started getting up around two in the afternoon. Rider took a head count, telling people there was going to be a gathering out in the street in an hour. Everyone met in the street as instructed.
Indigo introduced Marcus, Nick and Bailey to the group, and asked that everyone greet them individually. Next she brought Maria up and asked her to have the kids introduce themselves. When One introduced herself as One, Maria said, “Your real names.”
One turned and gave the woman a startled look, then upon getting a second approval said, “My name is Sally, and Miss Maria saved our lives.”
When all the kids were done introducing themselves (each of them telling how Miss Maria was practically an angel), Rider asked Gunderson to come up. The ex-enforcer looked surprised at first, but did a good job of concealing the emotion. He had a hard time holding his head up as he walked forward, for he’d already been kicked out of the group once.
This was a man who—on this side of the apocalypse—was accustomed to rejection. He’d been rejected by every group he’d tried to be a part of, including this group (when they’d learned who he was), and by his own flesh and blood in the most crucial of times.
Rider understood the man’s posture, and his hesitation.
“Many of you know we asked Gunderson to leave recently,” Rider said, “but I want to stand up here and tell you I was wrong. We were wrong.”
He looked over at the man, eye to eye and he patted him on the shoulder. Gunderson’s head lifted a bit, almost like he was pleased to see he wasn’t going to be chastised or exiled a second time.
“None of us are without our own batch of sins, our own past, our own traumas,” Rider continued. “Some of us have lived lives we would not share with others, but we are not those people anymore. We are not our pasts. So I would like to formally welcome Gunderson to our community, and to a new life.”
He looked at Gunderson and the man had tears in his eyes. This was a hardcore, brutal enforcer for one of the worst gangs in San Francisco’s history and there he was, finally a part of something he wanted, something he never expected.
“We are no longer family by blood relation,” Rider continued. “We are family by virtue of community, and in the spirit of community, I’ve taken time to talk to Marcus and he has something he wants to ask you.”
Rider looked over at Marcus and nodded.
Marcus slowly walked to where Rider stood, cleared his throat and said, “On our way here, in Sacramento, Nick, Bailey and myself were shot and taken hostage. We were stuffed in separate metal boxes and left to starve to death. In other words, we should not be here today, we should not have lived. But we did. There is a community outside Sacramento, in the rural town of Loomis. This community is generous, friendly and looking to build something special. People from this community saved us from certain death. I’ve also left people I care about behind. They’re at the same community, which is why I need to head back there.” Taking a breath, he said, “I would like to invite all of you to come with me. It’s beautiful with lots of trees and streams and meadows, and it has a sense of peace San Francisco in its current state can never offer. Moreover, it is a place we can make our own homestead with neighbors who will look after us rather than threaten us. It’s a place we can raise families.”
When he stopped talking, he stood looking at the sea of faces around him, hopeful, nervous, breathless, almost like he’d never asked anything of anyone before.
“Yes,” Nick said.
Indigo said, “Yes,” as well, followed by Rex, Stanton, Cincinnati and Macy.
Lenna Justus said, “Yes,” as did Jagger, their two boys and Elizabeth.
Suddenly the air was filled with the word yes and it was decided right then and there: they were going with Marcus, going with him to join the people he missed, the people he needed.
Bailey walked up to Marcus, took his hand, knowing what this meant for him, and said, “Thank you for all you’ve done for us.”
He turned and looked down at her and there were tears standing in his eyes, new emotions on his face she hadn’t seen before.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said to just him, “but I love you. Nick and I love you. And the only reason we’re alive is because of you.”
He nodded his head, a tear spilling over, his eyes on her, then up on Nick, who was smiling at him and giving him that nod of appreciation. Nick knew what Bailey was saying. He knew what it would mean coming from her.
They left that afternoon, heading to Lone Mountain as a group. There they loaded up on food, water and medical supplies. There was more than enough of all of these things, considering the clan was eating for nearly two hundred and had scattered out across the city looting every house and business they could. A few of the guys from the clan came back, one of them holding a beaten girl hostage. The first kid ran when he saw the group. The second let go of the girl and stood there as if he couldn’t figure out what to do.
Indigo walked down to where he was standing, his pistol now out and about ten guns on him. With her bow and arrows slung over her back, she said, “You go,” to the guy, and to the girl she said, “Are you okay?”
“He killed my grandmother and my friends.”
The kid broke into a sprint.
No one shot him.
Too bad.
Indigo pulled the girl into a hug as she broke down right then and there.
“It’s okay,” Indigo said.
“It’s not,” she said, sniffling, still crying. When she pulled away, the stranger saw two cute blonde girls approaching.
“Hi,” one of them said, “I’m Atlanta.”
“And I’m Macy.”
“Tessa,” she said, wiping her eyes but looking not the least bit better.
“And I’m Indigo.”
“What are you guys doing?” she asked, looking up at the school where dozens of people were gathered.
“We’re heading out of town, going someplace safe.”
“You’re lucky,” she said, looking down.
“Would you like to come with us?” Atlanta asked. “There’s no size restrictions on this caravan of lost souls.”
The girl looked up, her eyes saying “Really?” Then: “I don’t have anything or anyone to go back to after him.”
“Then you should come with us,” Indigo urged.
“We’re starting something new,” Macy offered with a smile. “Which means there’s room for one more.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Five days later…
Marcus, Nick and Bailey asked everyone to hang back a bit while they headed into camp. The three of them strolled into the Loomis community to lots of friendly faces, some remembering them, others asking if there was someone they needed to see.
Corrine was first to see Marcus. She squealed with delight and bolted for him, practically tackling him with a hug which he let himself enjoy. Hot on her heels was Abigail who grabbed both of them and held on like her life depended on it.
Amber was walking up to the three of them with a huge, breathless smile on her face. Bailey met her with a hug.
“I didn’t think you’d come back,” she said, her eyes wet, her voice shaky.
“Why not?”
“A lot of people didn’t come home to their loved ones,” she said, looking at Marcus.
“Is he okay?” she asked. “His face…”
“We went through hell and then some to get back here. The man is cut from granite. And he missed you.”
“He said that?”
“Look at him,” she said, taking Amber’s hand, walking her to him. “It’s all over his face.”
The girls stepped away from Marcus so Amber could say hello. She didn’t say hello, though. Ins
tead, she saw something in Marcus she’d been wanting to see in someone for a very long time, so she said hello with a long kiss that had the girls giggling.
“What did I do to deserve that?” he said, swallowing hard, trying to catch his breath.
“You came back to me.”
He looked at her, smiled, his battered face filled with emotion, the same as it had been ever since he realized he was coming back to her, Abigail and Corrine.
“I did. You and the girls.”
“But mostly her,” Corrine said, smiling, knowing what she was seeing.
“Because you love her,” Abigail teased.
She looked at him now with so many questions in her eyes. The woman was so beautiful, the kind of woman he never dreamt he’d let himself love.
“I think that’s what this is,” he forced himself to say. It was not a lie, it was just a truth he was afraid to admit. But he wasn’t afraid of anything, was he? He was. He was afraid of this, but those days were past.
He wasn’t his mother, and he wasn’t his father.
“I think it’s like that for me, too,” Amber said, sliding into his hug, pulling him tight against her. “I missed you.”
When Amber looked up at him, he knew. He knew he was in love, and he knew he was not his father. That he was a good man, a decent man, a man whose past no longer defined him.
The trio was met by more friendly faces, including Jill’s face. Bailey explained what had happened, what they’d been through and they all had decided to come out and hopefully be a part of something bigger than just themselves.
Naturally they were welcomed into the community where they spent the night. The next morning, after breakfast and introductions, they were taken to a large plot of land about a half mile down the road.
“This was going to be our next ‘development’ if you will,” Jill told them. “We didn’t know who would come, but this was where we were planning on expanding to next. So now it’s yours, if that’s okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” Marcus said.
That night they made a bonfire and circled the sleeping bags around the blaze knowing this was no home they were ever used to, but this was going to be the home they would make for themselves. There wasn’t a sour face among them. In fact, this was the start of something new, something safe and something fulfilling, and everyone felt it.