Early Release

by Jason Michelsen

  He stood steadily, finally shaking off the last of the weakness of his former self. Walking through the wreckage, he noticed the whispers of angels guiding him toward the exit. It was good to know he wouldn't have to be alone in his mission. With the confidence of great purpose, he set off to take advantage of his newfound freedom.

  After so long shackled by the system, he was finally free to kill.

  30

  Set a good distance from the nearest town, the area surrounding the prison was understandably quiet. Across the desert, the town of Santa Maria suffered scattered infernos still burning, throwing a translucent black veil between its sparse buildings and the escapees. David surveyed the landscape, imagining that the more distant columns of smoke were towns much like this. The scale of this disaster was unprecedented. He glanced at Lisa with concern; most prison employees lived in that quaint collection of homes, family owned shops, and diners.

  Tears filled her eyes as she gazed into the distance. "It probably just looks worse from this distance, right?" she asked, still entranced by the scene. "When I get home everything will be mostly normal."

  David lifted a hand to comfort her, but dropped it quickly. It had been so long since he had consoled a crying woman he was convinced that he would just make it worse. Better to hope for a happy ending when they made it to her place, whatever the odds. He said a quick prayer, then tried to project confidence as he strode past her and down the hill toward the road.

  "The diffusing smoke is probably adding some theatrical effects to the appearance. Let's go check out the area and get you home." David directed his most convincing and optimistic smile back to the nurse. He turned away quickly before it faltered and betrayed his true expectations.

  Sold on his lie, Lisa quickly caught up and passed him, setting a pace that only adrenaline could sustain all the way to Santa Maria. Let her use the energy on the walk, he thought as he lengthened his stride to keep up, that's less that she can spend on worrying.

  The fast pace of their trek left little air for conversation, allowing the analytical side of David to break down the situation in peace. It was safe to assume that the Prophet and his men came out of the prison the same way. Unfortunately, their most likely path once outside the wall would have been toward the same small town, especially if it was still reeling from the disaster that had befallen it. Indeed, there were scattered signs of a large group passing through recently. He had seen more than one khaki shirt trampled into the dirt a little ways off to their right, and ruts in the dry earth indicated more foot traffic than this area should have known. It was a safe bet that closer inspection of the clothes would have revealed an inmate name and register number stamped on them.

  Now, it was a question of timing. If the gang had come through last night, they may have looted and moved on already. If they camped inside the prison walls, however, they would have arrived in town not too long ago, and would likely still be there. That would mean we have major trouble.

  "Miss Brittsen, wait." David pulled up, slightly favoring his right leg. "I think I tweaked my knee stepping in a hole, can we rest for a minute?"

  "We're only a mile or two from my house, can you make it that far?"

  He needed to get her to approach this situation with a clear head, which meant distracting her from this obsessive drive for home. Flexing the knee, he feigned discomfort. "I just need a minute, can you take a look at it for me?"

  Lisa glanced from him to the town and back, clearly debating whether or not to go on without him. For a moment, he was certain he had lost the debate as she gave another yearning look at the smoke, hoping it wasn't her home fire burning. Finally she sighed and directed him to a larger rock.

  "How long until we get to your house?" he asked, sitting on the small boulder as directed.

  "Well, since we'll probably have to slow down a bit if your knee is going out, I'd say thirty minutes."

  As she bent his knee in every imaginable direction, gently probing for the source of his imaginary pain, David looked around and tried to appear as if it was the first time he examined their surroundings. Grunting curiously, he returned his attention to the examination of his knee.

  Lisa looked up expectantly. "What is it?"

  "Oh, nothing. Just weird to see a town so still and quiet as it burns." Still not letting on that this had all occurred to him earlier, the prodigious actor worked to bring his audience to a slow realization that caution was required. And the award for best lead performance goes to...

  Suddenly, the fake pain in his knee turned excruciatingly real as she twisted the leg hard.

  "So how about," she began with a deceptively sweet smile, "you tell me why we really stopped, and what you have to say?"

  31

  Lisa listened with a growing sense of trepidation as David recounted his suspicions about what waited for them in Santa Maria. She wished she didn't believe him, but the same thoughts had run through her own mind since shortly after they came over the wall. While the military mind pushed on, seemingly unconcerned, she was able to attribute those thoughts to baseless paranoia. Now that they were confirmed by a man who ought to know, they had to deal with a very real possibility of danger in her own backyard--literally.

  In what she imagined was a very professional military manner, David outlined the threat, the enemies' most likely and most dangerous courses of action, and his recommendations for how they should proceed. Although half of his analysis went directly over her head, his very manner inspired confidence in her for the prospect of living beyond the next twenty-four hours. When he reiterated his key points and finished his briefing, Lisa wasn't sure whether she should applaud the delivery, cry at the information, or laugh at the idea of being a general in charge of making such decisions like this herself. She settled for staring blankly at him.

  Despite the fancy talking and deep thoughts that went into proceeding, their options were not exactly mind-blowing. They could continue into town, or they could go back to the prison and wait a few days, hoping any stragglers from the mob would move on quickly. Given her desire to verify the safety of her friends and neighbors, and his deep seated desire to verify the safety of--well, everyone, it seemed--the decision was quickly made.

  High desert terrain does not lend itself to concealment, which severely limited their approaches into the town. David directed a move several hundred yards to their left, into the shadow of the mountains she once enjoyed running through, which he said would cover them more effectively. Lisa took his word for it.

  Despite their fears--or maybe because of their precautions--the next mile of the trip was uninterrupted. They crept up to an old wooden farmhouse on the edge of town as the sun peaked in the sky. She had not seen any signs of life yet, and judging by the grim look on her partner's face, neither had he. Trying not to dwell on this, she quietly joined David at the corner of the building, where he attentively scanned the front of the house. Glancing back he held a finger up to his lips to silence her, then returned to his observation.

  Not wanting to feel useless, the nurse moved to the other corner to try out her own lookout skills. Quiet as a mouse, she watched the shed in back for any indication of visitors. Seeing none, her focus moved to the stable farther back into the property. Some of the gates hung open, but any horses that may have been here were gone now. Proud of herself for gathering useful information and not giving them away, she turned back to pass it along.

  Between them, a shotgun barrel extended from a window and pointed directly at David's back.

  32

  "David!"

  The scream shattered the early afternoon silence from behind, driving Saul into an instinctive shoulder roll to his left, away from the building just as a deafening blast tore through the air. Hard packed earth jarred his bones, but a familiar focus took over his body, reacting without thought or tolerance for pain and weakness. He was dimly aware of the shotgun following him across the brown grass. With nowhere to hide, David threw himself into another roll,
desperately trying to provide a harder target. This time the roar of the shotgun was not a surprise, but the burst of pain in his right leg was. Lying on the dry, dying grass, he looked toward the window and waited for the killshot.

  In the distance he could hear rockets firing, Apaches turning it all loose on a pocket of insurgents. The crackle of his own radio sounded closer, but with Private First Class Water's massively dead weight pinning him, there was no hope of calling for his own rescue. He couldn't even wipe his own face as the young man's blood dripped onto his forehead; a sadistic variation of the mythical Chinese water torture.

  An amateur war cry brought him back to this moment, as Lisa hurled a fist-sized rock in the window from close range. A surprised grunt was followed by a thud, almost drowning out the clatter of the shotgun hitting the floor. David stood gingerly and limped to the window, unwilling to waste any advantage they might have. Sweat trickled down his brow and his heart raced, whether from being shot ten seconds ago or five years ago, he couldn't discern. He peered in cautiously and saw a white-haired man unconscious on the floor of a small country bedroom.

  Jumping off his left leg, Saul rolled through the window with all the grace of Christopher Reeve on horseback. He snatched up the gun and used the other hand to feel for a pulse at the elderly man's neck, all the while listening for activity anywhere else in the house.

  Satisfied with the silence and assured of the shooter's survival, he turned and helped a struggling Lisa as she clambered through the window behind him.

  "Thanks for the save," he whispered, "I think I owe you my life."

  With an awkward tremor in her voice, she ignored the credit and instead asked him about her victim. "Did I kill him?"

  "No, his pulse is still pretty strong. We'll secure him while we check the rest of the house for hostile folks, then you can treat his head wound."

  "And what about your leg?"

  "Birdshot. Stings pretty bad, but won't slow me down too much, or for too long." He shifted his weight to the bleeding leg to prove his point, and only winced a little.

  Lisa relaxed visibly, probably more from knowing she wasn't a killer than from knowing he was alright. She set to work quickly binding the wiry old man with the cord of an impeccably dusted lamp. While she worked, David searched the small room for more ammunition, but the antique furniture held nothing of interest. When both had completed their tasks, they left the room and began their search of the quaint little farmhouse.

  33

  Thoroughly searching the house revealed that their attacker lived alone, and his property seemed to be in better condition than most of the town. Lisa briefly wondered how much the shotgun defense plan had to do with that, then quickly shook the thought out of her head as she decided she would rather not know. Returning to the room where he was bound, the two intruders found the old timer starting to come around. David rechecked his restraints before allowing her to approach and check his injuries.

  "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" Lisa asked loudly as her patient's eyes fluttered open.

  She ran her fingers over his rapidly balding head to check for bleeding, but found nothing. There was a generously sized lump over his left eye, but it didn't appear there were any further external injuries.

  Sitting back on her heels, she continued to look for signs of serious head trauma. "Sir, can you tell me your name?"

  "Why do you keep calling me 'Sir'? You lost congeniality points when you hit me in the face with a rock!" His verbal skills seemed fine, with his voice strong and clear as he berated his nurse. "Y'all got a lot of nerve to break into my house, knock me out, and tie me up! And now you play doctor? Honey, you ain't foolin' nobody, you can't be more than twenty years old!"

  "I'm almost thirty years old," the petite nurse began defensively, "and I have been a Registered Nurse for over seven of those years!"

  "Ooh, an RN, huh?" was the crotchety reply. "So I guess you really do know how to treat someone whose face you just smashed with a rock!"

  "You were shooting at my friend! David, tell him!"

  Lisa looked at her partner with pleading eyes, needing to have her violence justified. But he just sat there, looking stunned for no apparent reason.

  "Yeah, appeal to the escaped convict for help, lady, that'll earn my trust. What could I possibly have been thinking when I defended my homestead against the guy in the prison uniform?"

  "Defending it by shooting innocent inmates in the back, you crazy old coot?"

  "How is an inmate innocent, sweetheart? And how am I the crazy one when I'm probably the only one in town who didn't lose everything to the rest of your gang?"

  "Well he may not be innocent, but at least he's not a maniac with a shotgun!"

  "Enough." David's voice was as quiet and sharp as a razor across flesh, and hinted at being as dangerous. Both Lisa and her verbal sparring partner were silenced in an instant.

  Fixing his suddenly icy eyes on the man who shot him, he continued. "Tell me about the 'rest of our gang.'"

  Just like that, it clicked in Lisa's head. She had been so flustered by the ornery attitude, the mention of the gang had slid right past her. Well, I guess he did have to defend his home against escaped convicts.

  The man stared back at David defiantly, but small beads of sweat were dripping down his temples. One look at the Soldier's face and she could see why.

  34

  David's leg hurt. He was tired, and he was hungry. All things considered, he felt he was showing a remarkable amount of kindness to this man. The fearful eyes looking back at him said otherwise, despite his outwardly tough behavior. Although never formally trained as an interrogator, he had assisted with enough sessions to know the proper tone of voice and facial expression were nearly as effective as most torture techniques. Not nearly as cathartic, but effective.

  As the Soldier's soul within him stared unblinking into the old man's eyes, the resistance withered, then was gone.

  "They were all from the prison," he began, licking his cracked lips nervously. "It was dark when they arrived, and most of the town was already dead or injured from whatever act of God tore the world apart. We thought maybe they were refugees needing help; they were so quiet and calm coming down the street. Then the big one came forward. He just looked around like he was passing judgment, but he didn't like what he saw. Oh God, he must have hated what he saw to do what he did!"

  As the man broke down, David's stare softened. Lisa had begun to clean and bandage his leg wound with a first aid kit she found under the sink in the master bath. Now she took their hostage a box of tissue and gave Saul a questioning look.

  "Untie him, he's been through more than enough."

  Lisa worked the knots loose, then returned to her partner's side of the room as the old man rubbed his wrists. While still not trusting, he no longer had the hostile appearance he began with.

  David looked at the man with compassionate eyes. "If you hadn't noticed, we're not with them. We both spent a good portion of yesterday trying to avoid them in the prison. But I do need to know everything you can tell me about them; numbers, location, plans.... Whatever you can tell me."

  Controlling his emotions now, the man seemed to accept the difference between inmates. "I don't know much. That monster turned all his demons loose on Santa Maria like we were nothing. They swarmed on the residents and stores like locusts. We weren't prepared to defend ourselves. Much of our town were staff up the hill, but they never had a chance on even terms without bars between them. By midnight the screams died down, and I haven't heard anything since. Until you two crept up on my property."

  "Why did they leave you alone?" Lisa asked.

  David thought he already knew the answer, and regretted that this man would have to live with it.

  "They didn't leave me alone," he said with new tears forming in old, tired eyes. "I was scared, and I hid in my cellar. All my friends were tortured and killed, and I hid."

  "Were there any survivors?" Saul inquired.

  "I
have no idea. Like I said, I hadn't heard anything from the last screams until you two got near my house. I only came out of the cellar an hour or so ago, and I hadn't worked up the nerve to go outside yet."

  "And what about the gang, which way did they go?"

  The old man dropped his head in shame as he answered. "I don't know. I saw from the window that my horses are missing, so they're probably riding, but they could have gone anywhere."

  David nodded somberly. In an impossibly difficult situation, the man had chosen to live rather than die with everyone else. Not a shameful choice by any means, but one he would be ashamed of for the rest of his life. Guilt over decisions like that was what drove Saul to prison in the first place.

  Standing, he made a decision he hoped would not lead to more guilt. "We need to get moving. Can I convince you to come with us?"

  "No," he replied sadly, "I was born in this house, and I expect I'll die here." His voice was not as strong as it had been--as if the confessions had taken a toll more physical than psychological--before, it was now vaguely ominous as he stood and extended his hand.

  "You kids be careful out there. If the Good Lord has judged this world, as it seems, I pray He has mercy on you both."

  David shook the man's hand without a word, and with his head down moved toward the front door. Lisa clasped the man in a tearful hug, then followed.

  As they walked resolutely down the front drive toward the long dirt road leading into the town proper, their host called out one last time. "Watch out for all the crazy old guys with shotguns, we don't always shoot the right people!"

  Saul waved as he walked away, watching as the old man bowed his head and ducked back into the only home he would ever know. They were a quarter mile down the street when the solitary shot rang out. David's stride never changed, but tears welled up in his eyes. The guilt he knew was not to be borne by everyone.