When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  “Fuckin’ little bitch,” Juan yelled, but maintained his iron grip.

  “Stop right now,” screamed the Trooper to no avail.

  Ethan was helpless, trapped in the arms of the lunatic, he watched his daughter’s attempted rescue efforts with pride and terror. Time stood still. He thought he was screaming for her to get away but he wasn’t sure. He focused for an instant on the eyes of Trooper Oaxa as the trooper loosed a 125grain Gold Dot Jacketed Hollow Point bullet from the chamber. The bullet pierced Amber’s shoulder above her clavicle, exiting her flesh in a rush to get to the heart of Ethan.

  Juan, unscathed, continued running, caring the dead man and his wounded daughter several more yards forward until a well placed bullet from the barrel of Deputy Simmons’ 9 MM put a larger hole in his right ear bringing the dead duo to a bloody halt on top of Amber.

  “Oh my God. ” Katie bolted from the back door. “Stop shooting. Oh my god you shot Amber. You shot Amber you bastard son of a bitch.”

  Trooper Oaxa was stunned. He had shot the kid. He had no choice. Did he? “Call for an ambulance,” he screamed in the direction of the Deputies.

  “Yes sir, already did that,” Deputy Gonzales said. He rushed forward and attempted to put handcuffs on Juan’s motionless body.

  Deputy Johnson snickered at him. “He’s dead you fool. Can’t you see that new hole in his head? Damn dude, you think he could survive that?

  Gonzales sheepishly removed the cuffs and turned his attention to Ethan. You think he’s dead, too?”

  “Hell yes he’s dead. Just ask him.” he nodded in the direction of Trooper Oaxa.

  Trooper Oaxa pulled Amber from the pile of bloody bodies. She held tightly to on of her father’s limp hands. He reached over and separated their hands, placing Ethan’s carefully on his chest near the fatal entry wound. He was shaking as he checked her vital signs, ignoring the Deputy’s comment. “She’s going into shock.”

  “Oh please don’t let her die,” Katie pleaded.

  “She’ll be fine Mam. Don’t you worry. Is that your husband?” He said, pointing at Ethan’s body.

  “No, he’s...was my neighbor. This is his daughter. Her name is Amber.

  She suddenly remembered John. “Oh my God. Where is my husband? Where is John? Is John shot, too?” She jumped to her feet and scanned the yard. John was slumped against a fence post, head bowed to his chest. Deputy Johnson was with him, now.

  “No Mam,” Deputy Johnson called out. “He’s done passed out.”

  Katie raced across the yard to her husband’s side and without hesitation began to scream at him. “You stupid bastard! Look what you’ve done, now. You stupid bastard!” John lay motionless, the stench of alcohol filled the air around him. Katie sank to her knees, buried her face in John’s filthy hair and convulsed, sobbing loudly.

  Trooper Oaxa continued to monitor Amber’s condition. He could hear a distant siren now. “Just a few more minutes, honey,” he whispered into Amber’s ear. Shame filled his heart. He tried to still his shaking hands and calm his nerves. This was bad. The Commander would be pissed. He had shot an innocent child and killed an innocent man. He completely missed his target. He rose to his feet, straightened his uniform, and retreated to the rear of his car. He opened the trunk and reached for the Crime-Scene Investigation Case. He stopped. A cramp doubled him over and he broke down and cried then vomited. He tried in vain to stop the tears but could not until several minutes later when the ambulance pulled into the yard. The First Responders quickly confirmed that both Ethan and Juan were deceased and turned their attention to Amber.

  “Who does she belong to?” one of them asked.

  Katie spoke up. “She’s our neighbors kid. That’s her father right there on the stretcher. Her mom is...” Alarms went off in her head. How could she have forgotten Jade.

  “Jade is her mom’s name. She lives down the street. Oh my God. What am I going to tell Jade.”

  “I’m afraid, Mam, that someone will have to tell her that her husband is dead and here daughter is in the hospital.”

  “Wait. Wait. I’ll get her. You can’t take her husband and daughter away.”

  “Her husbands no good to her and her daughter needs immediate medical attention; she’s losing a lot of blood, Mam.”

  “I’ll get here. Wait. Please wait.”

  Trooper Oaxa stepped up. “I’ll go talk to Mrs.....what’s her name?”

  “Kirby. Jade Kirby,” Katie said with relief. She was thankful that she would not have to be the bearer of such terrible news.

  “I’ll talk to Mrs. Kirby and transport her to the hospital. Ya’ll be over to Athens Medical Center, right?

  The first responders replied with nods while they loaded Amber into the ambulance. “We can’t wait for her mother. We gots’ to go.”

  “I’ll get her mother. We’ll be along shortly,” Trooper Oaxa said.

  The ambulance departed, siren blaring. Deputies Johnson and Fastenall arrested John and Emilo, transporting them separately to the office for further questioning.

  Katie and Trooper stood still in the silence of dawn. The devastation caused by the three men was astounding.

  Trooper Oaxa broke the silence. “There will be an investigation into what went on here, Mam. We’ll have to determine who did what and when. Find out how this all started and why.”

  “It started the day they started building that damn fence,” replied Katie.

  “We’ll need your statement at some point, Mam. Right now, I think I should go talk to Mrs. Kirby.”

  “I’ll go with you if that’s all right. Jade will need some comforting after all this.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Mam. Which way to the house?”

  “Follow me,” Katie said. Most of the neighbors had been awakened by the ambulance’s siren and were assembled on the other side of the street. “What happened, Katie,” someone called from the crowd. Katie shook her head and walked on for several yards, avoiding eye contact. She looked up in time to see Jade walking quickly toward her.

  “Have you seen Ethan and Amber,” Jade called out. Her question lingered like a lasso in the wind.

  Trooper Oaxa replied. “We have to talk to you about something, Ms. Kirby.”

  Jade fixed her eyes on Katie’s. She sensed that something was terribly wrong. She pleaded, “Where are they?”

  CHAPTER - JAN 10 2047 - WATER POLICE

  Milton sat close to the wood stove at the rear of the machine shed reading the last chapter of ‘Endurance — Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage.’ He felt akin to the crew of The Endurance, all whom survived their horrific experience in the Antarctic deep freeze. He wiggled his toes inside his white bunny boots to keep them warm. The undersized stove had to burn wide open in order to heat the living space. The blisters on the soft soles of his boots evidenced his penchant for warm feet. He pulled another romance novel from the cardboard box at his feet, opened the door to the small wood stove and flipped it in. He was reminded of the wood cutter's triumvirate: It warms you when you cut it. It warms you when you split it. It warms you when you burn it. In the case of the pulp romances, they warmed him when he read them and again when he burned them; repurposed romance. He couldn’t think of a better use for them. He latched the cast iron door, drawing his chair still closer to the heat.

  “Damn this weather. Aren't you cold, Harold? How can you sit in that office without any heat? You got electric long underwear on or something?”

  Harold removed his headphones. “The cold doesn't really bother me. I grew up here, remember? In fact, I like it. It slows the pace of living. Animals and humans hibernate; the world becomes a more peaceful in which to live."

  “World peace, huh? Is that how it happens? Everyone goes to sleep? Little late for that ain’t it?” Milton mumbled.

  “I didn’t say that. I said when it’s more peaceful when humans and animals are hibernating. That’s all.”

  "I'm not hibernating,” Leland said as he burst through the door ac
companied by a blast of arctic air. A .22 caliber rifle was slung over his right shoulder. He held two squirrels and a small rabbit field dressed and ready for the stew pot.

  “Let’s just say most rational people are hibernating. There's no explanation for your behavior.” Harold laughed. “I see you’ve got breakfast in hand.

  “I know I shouldn't complain,” Milton interrupted, “but squirrel stew doesn't get me or my stomach very excited.”

  “It’s meat, Milton, don’t complain.” Leland admonished.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It don’t taste much like bacon, though.” Milton stood up and stretched. He bent over in an attempt to touch the floor. He wasn’t able to touch his toes, but he was getting closer, he had lost thirty more pounds in the past two years. He was aware of his improving self esteem. He felt good and looked good.

  “The great couch potato is welcome to join me anytime in the hunt." Leland replied as he butchered the game then tossed the pieces into a large stainless steel pot. He reached for the water jug and shook it. “This jug is almost empty. Who's turn is it to get water?"

  “I guess it's mine," Milton said. "I need to stretch my legs, anyhow. I'll be back shortly, unless I run into the African American Women’s Dogsled Team while I'm out there.”

  "Yeah, dream on, Milt," Leland said as he took Milton's chair by the fire. "But, if you do meet them, Invite them for dinner. Alright?

  "You got it. And you’re sittin’ in my chair. I want it when I return, kid"

  "I'll flip you for it."

  "I'll flip you out of it." Milton laughed as he pulled on a second pair of overalls, and zipped his orange parka to his neck. He tugged the string on the hood, pulling the faux fur tightly around his face.

  “Hey Milt, you look like a Sherpa." Harold called from his desk inside the tiny office. "Good luck on your expedition.”

  “It’ll be the shortest expedition on record. Believe it.” Milton exited the warm living quarters and stood still for a moment outside the shed draining his bladder into the barrel placed there for that purpose. They used to pee on the ground, but it got to smelling so bad near the shed that they decided to use a urine barrel so they could dispose of it when the stink was too much to handle.

  Smoke from the wood stove swirled under the eaves of the machine shed causing his eyes to water. The tears froze on his face as he hurriedly fastened two five gallon jugs on the wagon and began the 3/4 mile trek to quarry two.

  He followed their trail to the low side of the quarry where he took his mittens off and strapped on the safety harness, a rope tied to a tree, before proceeding onto the slick, frozen surface. Ten feet from shore he used a small hatchet to chop a hole in the ice. The ice was about eighteen inches thick and getting thicker by the day which made the chore of filling the water jugs so unpleasant. Fifteen minutes worth of chopping opened a whole the size of a softball, just large enough for the soup ladle used to transfer water to the jugs. It was a slow process filling the jugs one scoop at a time. He stood and stretched occasionally flapping his arms to generate some warmth. This was taking too long. There had to be a better way. But there wasn’t, they had tried several mechanical methods of filling the jugs before settling on this simple procedure. Mechanical devices froze. The soup ladle didn’t.

  He had the second jug half-way filled when the still air was disturbed by a change in pressure that caused the fir on his hood to flutter. As the disturbance intensified he scanned the horizon, wary. In the distance he could see two black specs like a pair of dragon flies approaching from the east, just above the tree crowns, coming straight toward him. Helicopters! The vibrations grew stronger. The ice began to shudder. He struggled to his feet, hurriedly screwing the cap on the half filled jug he placed it into the wagon next to the full one, grabbed the wagon handle and shuffled to the edge of the quarry stopping to discard the safety harness.

  He could clearly see the helicopters, now. The small one in the lead had a large round device attached to the top of it. The second helicopter was larger and longer. He had seen pictures of similar helicopters in a book. He couldn't remember what kind they were, but they were military for sure. He thought about trying to hide, but decided against it; he was likely the only moving object in the area wearing a blaze-orange parka. He instinctively ducked, pressing the hood fabric against his ears as the two flat black, unmarked choppers came in low over his head, slowing as they criss-crossed quarries one, two, and three before circling again to the east toward the machine shed, landing in the parking lot.

  Milton rose. Maybe it was nothing to worry about. Maybe they were bringing some good news. He decided to act nonchalant, as if he saw helicopters everyday. He struggled to remain calm as he pulled the wagon in the direction of the shed. His heart rate slowed considerably when he saw Harold's and Leland's blue and green parkas in the midst of the cluster of black figures whom had disembarked from the larger of the two aircraft. The smaller helicopter remained idling on the ground about one hundred yards away from its companion. As he neared, Milton could see the distinctive red noses of what he imagined were missiles mounted in pods beneath the short wings. Milton thought it was an Apache or Cobra helicopter he wasn't sure which. In any case he now knew the visitors weren't on a peace mission.

  “These guys ain't fucking around," he said aloud. When he was about fifty yards distant he could make out details that betrayed the nature of the group. They were all men, dressed in swat-style uniforms, each holding an assault weapon at the ready. Two of the men split from the group and began jogging in his direction. Twenty yards distant, one of them barked an order.

  "Stop right were you are sir." The barrel of his weapon was pointed squarely at Milton’s midsection.

  Milton was not about to challenge the command. He dropped the handle of the wagon and stood motionless, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself, he looked skyward, exhaling vapor like a pressure relief valve.

  "Take your coat off and throw it on the ground in front of you, sir."

  Milton slowly unzipped his parka. The freezing air hit him in the chest like the Titanic against the glacier. He tossed it to the ground about five feet in front of him.

  "Raise your arms and turn around. Slowly sir."

  Milton did as he was told, carefully.

  "Get down on your knees, sir." barked the soldier.

  Milton did not hesitate.

  "Don't move. I'm going to and search you and your jacket. If you move, my partner will shoot you. Got it sir?

  Milton nodded and froze in position. What the hell, was all he could think. What the hell are these guys doing here? What the hell had he done? What the hell did they want from him? What the hell were they going to do? What the hell?

  "Go right ahead...” Milton blurted, anxious to have his parka back in his possession.

  "No talking sir."

  Milton could hear the familiar rustling of his polyester parka as the soldier manipulated it between his gloved hands. Milton knew that the only thing he would find was a frozen, soiled handkerchief.

  "OK sir. I'm going to ask you to stand up so I can frisk you. Remain quiet and don’t move.” Milton did as he was told, repelled by the man's touch as he methodically frisked him, starting at the ankles, moving along his calfs, up his thighs into his crotch. He pissed himself as gloved hands moved between his ball sac and his thighs. Around his waist, under his arms, across his chest, the soldier was methodical and thorough. His parka was returned.

  “What the fuck is this all about?" Milton demanded as he zipped himself into his parka. “You guys looking for someone in particular?”

  “Let’s proceed back to the LZ, sir. The captain will answer any questions you may have. Follow me.”

  "Can I bring the water?"

  "Leave the water here sir."

  Milton fell in behind the soldier as they marched back to the helicopter. The second, silent soldier followed Milton, his weapon remained at ready.

  Milton joined Harold and Leland where th
ey stood near the shed, closely observed by the half dozen soldiers. As they exchanged questioning glances, a formidable giant of a man stepped forward. He was a reincarnation of the hulk, six and a half feet tall, head shaped like a rugby ball partially covered with a black helmet that looked like it had been borrowed from a little leaguer. Mirrored navigator sunglasses clung to bridge of his narrow, oily nose. He habitually pushed them up with his leather gloved hand. He wore a bullet-proof vest which belied the smile formed by his pencil-thin lips. His bulk indicated a diet rich in saturated fats. He was huge and intimidating. He pulled on a chain beneath his vest and extracted a ID card. The letters and insignia were not legible from where the threesome stood.

  #

  “Gentleman, my name is Captain Roland Hanson. I represent the Department of Homeland Security. I have orders from the Secretary of Interior to secure and hold those three reservoirs...” He motioned in the direction of quarries one, two and three, “...in the interest of national security. They are now government property and as such are under my jurisdiction.”

  Hanson studied the dirty, unkempt men. “Gentleman, I need to see your Federal ID Cards.”

  Milton, Leland and Harold glanced at each other with questioning expressions. Harold spoke first. “I’m afraid I don't know where mine is."

  "You do know it is a Federal offense to be without your Federal ID Card on your person, don't you?"

  “I had no idea, guy.” Harold was baffled. “I got my card in 2029. Wasn’t that when they were first issued?” He looked at Harold and Leland. “Heck, we all got them at the same time. What's that...eighteen years ago?”

  "Nevertheless; it's the law, sir. Let's start with your names, then."