THE COLLAPSE: Seeking Refuge

by Frank Kaminski

  “No, probably not,” Bryan agreed.

  Fish explained, “My buddy, Stevo, says that I sometimes get ‘overly passionate’ about stuff. I’m not totally sure what that means, but I need to learn how to control it.”

  Just then, Fish and Bryan turned around as they were interrupted by Clay emerging from the darkness up the road. He was jogging. Upon reaching the Probsts’ site, he gave the radio back to Fish, and then put his hands on his knees to catch his breath, for he had just ran the equivalent of around two miles, some of it over rough terrain. He notified Fish that none of the beachers had been hurt during the gun battle with the third boat, and that he had already radioed Carrie with the information. Fish was relieved to hear that, and thanked Clay for his efforts. Clay nodded, but he was more interested in what was going on with the two men they had captured.

  “Well?” Clay asked loudly, still huffing away with his hands on his knees.

  “Well, what?” Fish asked, almost laughing.

  “What’s going on with the prisoners? Who are they?” Clay asked.

  Bryan answered, “We don’t know yet. They told us to stay outside.”

  Clay stood up straight and put his hands on his hips as he finished up catching his breath. He chuckled as he said to Bryan, “Do you think they are doing the ‘good cop, bad cop’ thing in there?”

  “Ha-ha, maybe,” Bryan laughed.

  They got their answer, not more a few seconds later. There was commotion and yelling from inside the Probsts’ RV, then the door burst open.

  A panicked Claudine screamed through the open doorway, “They got William’s gun! They ran out the back door! Shoot them, shoot them now! Before they get away!”

  The three beachers looked at each other for a split second, then scurried around the RV, readying their weapons along the way.

  Fish spotted the prisoners dashing into the forest behind the Probsts’ site, dodging trees as they flew into the darkness. If they got too far into the deep woods, they would be lost. It would take the security teams too long to form up a search party and find them. There was simply too much territory back there for them to cover before night’s end.

  Clay bolted ahead of Fish, surprisingly, since he had just finished running such a long distance. Fish watched as Clay raised his pistol and fired a volley of semi-automatic fire at the runners.

  One of them went down!

  The other runner turned to his fallen comrade and for a moment debated an attempt to pick him up and carry him along. It was normal human instinct to help a friend in need. Most people are inherently good Samaritans, sometimes to a fault. In this case, there was nothing the runner could do for his buddy without sacrificing himself.

  The fallen runner was the one with the gun, and after being hit in the back of the neck by one of Clay’s bullets it had flown from his hand, landing somewhere yards ahead of him in the brush and thick layer of pine needles. The other runner decided that it would be pointless to look for it, especially in the dark, since the three men pursuing him would easily catch up within moments and gun him down. He needed to disappear into the deep woods…and fast.

  Fish wasn’t a faster runner than Clay on normal terrain, but once inside the tree line he was much quicker. The forest was his friend, even in the dark. Clay and Bryan had been weekend outdoorsmen before The Collapse, but Fish was the undisputed trail king of the three. He naturally bent and folded under low-hanging branches, twisted around short trees and leapt over deadfall as he pushed forward. The escaping convict ahead of him didn’t stand a chance. Once upon the man, Fish put a short burst of automatic fire directly into his back.

  “Got him!” Fish hooted to his fellow beachers as the runner went down flat onto his stomach. Bryan and Clay were still negotiating through the rough foliage behind him.

  “Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Clay cheered as he slowed to a walk.

  Bryan shouted toward Fish, “Good lord, you’re fast!”

  Fish laughed as he caught his breath. But then, he noticed movement ahead of him.

  “Shit, he’s still alive!” Fish announced. He had figured with the amount of M-4 ammunition he had blasted into the guy’s back, at least one of them would have pierced his heart, but he was wrong. The man had flipped himself onto his back and was rasping heavily from multiple sucking-chest wounds.

  Bryan and Clay caught up with Fish, and they approached the runner cautiously. It appeared as if the bullet-ridden man was attempting to speak. Last words, maybe?

  Bryan was the first to kneel down in the moist, earthy pine needles next to the agonized man.

  Clay asked, “What’s he trying to say?”

  Fish knelt on the other side of the man, and everyone was silent as they listened to the doomed man struggle for breath. Fish figured that even your worst enemy deserved a chance at some last words. I mean, why not, right? What’s the worst that could happen?

  “They’re….not…” the runner started, gasping for breath.

  Fish asked, “They’re not….what?”

  “They’re…..not,” the runner said once more, then coughed, spraying Bryan in the face with a bit of blood spatter. Bryan wiped his cheek with his jacket sleeve and looked up at his buddy, Clay.

  Clay looked uneasy. It was hard to watch a man die like that right in front of you, enemy or not. It was heart-wrenching. What was the man trying to say?

  Fish tried to calm the guy down, saying, “It’s okay, buddy, you’re gonna be alright.”

  Bryan scrunched up his face while he cocked his head at Fish, as if to say, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  But Fish didn’t know what else to say to comfort the dying turd. He really wanted to know what the hell the man was trying to say.

  “They’re….not….” the man coughed out once again, then closed his eyes. They were losing him.

  “C’mon buddy, stay with us!” Fish gently slapped the man’s face repeatedly, then stopped as he felt something wet on his fingers. It was either blood or saliva from the man’s mouth, or both. Either way, it was gross. He wiped his hand on the back of his pants, just as the man finally finished up the last sentence he would ever utter in this world.

  “They’re not…..good people.”

  Fish, Bryan and Clay took turns looking at each other as the runner expired. Fish was the first to break the silence.

  “Well, duh. We already knew that!” he exclaimed, almost laughing in the process.

  Bryan stood up and challenged the comment by asking, “But who was he talking about?”

  “His people, of course, the Bowmen,” Fish said. “He was trying to use his last words to warn us. But we already knew they were all pieces of shit, anyway.”

  Bryan didn’t look convinced that the runner’s last words were directed at the Bowmen. He quickly checked the distance between where they were in the forest and the Probsts’ campsite. They were far enough into the woods that they wouldn’t be heard. Regardless of that, he spoke quietly.

  “Look, this guy’s hands aren’t bound. Neither was the other one’s. How did they get loose that quick?”

  Fish was thrown a curveball, but rationalized the situation with, “That plastic cord was kind of stretchy, ya know? Maybe they wiggled out of it.”

  Bryan shook his head, “Nah, no way. We tied that shit way too tight, stretchy or not.”

  Clay suggested, “What if they were playing ‘bad cop, good cop’ like I said…and one of them untied their hands as a good faith gesture? That would make sense then, wouldn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” Bryan said, “but what if they let these guys go, purposely, knowing damn well that we would blow them apart?”

  “But why?” Fish asked. He wasn’t convinced of the sinister suggestions that Bryan was making. He felt as if they were betraying their bosses with the current discussion. There was no way that Claudine and William would have done anything like that. What purpose would that have served, anyway? Having two men killed for no reason? Didn’t make sens
e.

  “I don’t know,” Bryan answered, shaking his head in deep thought.

  The beachers’ discussion ended abruptly as they heard a person crunching through the woods toward them. It had to be either William or Claudine. Bryan put his finger to his mouth in a soundless “Shhhh” warning. Both Fish and Clay silently concurred by nodding back to him.

  “You guys got him, eh?” William inquired as he approached, almost jovially. “I saw the other one back there, dead as a doornail! Way to go fellas!”

  “Thank you, sir!” Fish said, accepting the praise with fake enthusiasm. Bryan and Clay said nothing.

  William looked at the body on the forest floor and said with a hint of disgust, “Did he go down right away? I mean, he didn’t give you any problems, did he?”

  Bryan silently thought to himself, “Don’t you mean: ‘did he say anything to you before he died?’ – but that’s a clever way to change it up. You’re a real pro, ain’t ya?”

  Fish proudly said to William, “He went down pretty quick. The dumbass said some shit that we already knew, though.”

  Bryan grimaced, he wanted to tell Fish to shut the fuck up, or at least gesture to him not to say anything else, but William would notice him doing it, and would figure that something was awry. The boss was too smart. So, Bryan was forced to play along.

  William’s eyebrows went up as he asked, “Really? What did he say?”

  Fish shrugged his shoulders and quoted the dying man, “They’re not good people.”

  Bryan blurted before William could think about it, “But we already knew that! Of course the Bowmen aren’t good people! The poor bastard was just trying to warn us before he died.” Bryan tossed out a quick fake laugh and added, “Maybe he thought it would save his soul or something!”

  Clay laughed, “Yeah, fat chance of that, though! This mug is goin’ straight to hell!”

  Fish caught on to what his beachers were doing, and began laughing too, hoping it didn’t sound forced.

  William laughed right along with everyone else. He appeared very relieved. He ended his laugh with a deep sigh, asking, “Would you guys mind giving me a hand to find my gun?”

  Fish replied, “No problem at all, sir.”

  *****

  Claudine had lit a fire in the steel ring behind the Probsts’ RV while the beachers helped William find his gun. Clay had found the weapon and wiped the wet soil and pine needles off of it before handing it to William, who thankfully accepted the weapon and stated that it had been a wedding gift from his brother-in-law when he was first married to Claudine many years ago.

  The Probsts’ offered the beachers a seat next to the fire in some comfortable camp chairs, and in lieu of acting suspicious, the three men took them up on their offer.

  William disappeared into the RV for a moment and returned with a six-pack of cans. Fish instantly knew what they were by observing the shiny silver labels in the firelight. Coor’s Light.

  Beer!

  William divulged to the victorious beachers relaxing near the fire, “I’ve been saving a few of these for a special occasion, and I believe that now’s the time.”

  He offered each of them a can. Fish willingly accepted his, but Clay and Bryan refused, citing that they were “still on duty.”

  Fish guffawed and said, “C’mon guys, it’s okay. Go ahead and have a damn beer. When was the last time you had one?”

  Bryan said, “I don’t really drink. Not even before The Collapse.”

  Clay repeated the same thing. Fish didn’t know if they were being truthful or not. After all, they were sailors. But maybe they were part of that pansy-ass “new navy” that discouraged having any fun whatsoever. Were they goody-goodies?

  Or…were they purposely not drinking to keep their wits about themselves around the bosses? It didn’t matter to Fish, he knew that he could handle his own shit after a few beers, rather well in his own opinion, so he popped his can open and took in a huge, glorious slug of brew. It had been a long time since he had a beer, and it tasted incredible, even though it wasn’t ice cold as he normally preferred it. Then Fish had a thought. Wait…were Bryan and Clay not drinking because they thought that Claudine and William were trying to poison them? Oh, shit, I already drank some! I don’t wanna die! Hold on, not possible, the cans were sealed. Never mind.

  William watched Fish strangely shrug his shoulders to himself for some reason and then slam down half a can of Coor’s Light in a few chugs. A quick belch later and William was offering Fish the beers that Bryan and Clay had refused.

  Fish grinned at his beachers and said, “Last chance, fellas. If you don’t take it, I’m gonna!”

  “It’s okay, you go ahead,” Bryan said, politely waving off the offer.

  William continued to watch Fish drink his beer with satisfaction. Claudine joined the group sitting at the fire and sighed as she sat down.

  “I want to thank you gentlemen, once again,” she paused for a moment, and then continued, “I’m so sorry that we lost control of the prisoners and that you had to do what you did. We had no idea that they were going to be so deceptive. At least now we know better, and won’t make that same mistake twice.”

  Clay wholeheartedly proclaimed, “It was all in a day’s work, ma’am.”

  Bryan said, “I just have a quick question,” as he shifted himself in his chair to face Claudine head-on. Fish stopped himself mid-drink, as he thought that Bryan was about to begin the counter-interrogation process with the bosses.

  “What are we going to do with the bodies?” Bryan asked.

  Fish continued with his drink, relieved.

  Claudine looked at William, then back at Bryan and said, “Don’t worry about the bodies. We will have Walter round up some volunteers for a burial tomorrow morning.”

  “Walter Pullman?” Fish asked, “the bible dude?”

  He had remembered what Tara had told him about the derogatory term “Jesus-thumper” and was proud of himself for not using it.

  William laughed into his beer at Fish’s description of Walter, and then said, “Yes, the ‘bible dude’. He manages our cemetery at the north beach.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Fish said to William, “stumbled across it earlier this evening. That guy gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  Claudine laughed, “You’re not the only one, Fish.” She then earnestly mentioned, “But, keep in mind, Walter diligently performs many of the less-than-desirable chores around The Park. We’re actually quite grateful to have him.”

  Bryan listened to Claudine, but inside his mind he only heard, “We appreciate Walter because he quietly buries all of the people we murder without asking any questions.”

  Clay wanted to get some questions out of the way so they could leave. He was watching his team leader chug beer after beer, and wished to get out of there before Fish got wasted and said something that he probably shouldn’t.

  “I’m curious, because Bryan and Fish said that they had tied the prisoners’ hands together, how did they manage to get themselves loose?” Clay asked, directing his question to either of the bosses.

  Claudine looked at her husband briefly, and then sheepishly explained, “That would be my fault. One of them had complained that his bindings were cutting off the circulation in his hands. I took a look at his fingers, and sure enough, they were purple! I felt as though the men were cooperating enough to remove the cords. After all, we had armed sentries standing by outside the door, right? What could go wrong?”

  “That makes sense,” Bryan said, remembering back to how tight that he and Fish had wrapped the cords around the prisoners’ wrists. “But, how did they get William’s gun?”

  William took charge of responding to that particular question by explaining, “One of them must have noticed my pistol on the counter next to the stove. I should have secured it before letting the prisoners into the RV.” William chortled and then continued, “We had so many things going on and thoughts running through our heads that I guess we just forgot abo
ut the gun! A damn shame, too, because one of them punched me in the mouth as the other pushed Claudine down to the floor next to the bathroom and picked it up. I thought they were going to shoot us…but, thank the Lord, they fled out the back door instead.”

  “Must have been a hell of a punch,” Bryan said, examining William’s face in the firelight for any sign of injury. He didn’t notice anything. No swelling, bruising, or blood. Nothing.

  William replied, “Yeah, the guy basically sucker-punched me. A good one, too. Look, it’s still bleeding.” He put two fingers inside the corner of his cheek near his lips and then held them out in front of himself.

  Sure enough, even in the firelight it was easy enough to distinguish that some faint red streaks were smeared across his fingertips.

  Fish and Clay were beginning to think that the bosses weren’t sinister at all. Their stories made complete sense, and William even had a fresh injury to back it up. Why would these people lie, anyway? What ulterior motive could there possibly be?

  Bryan still wasn’t convinced, however.

  He asked, “So, did the men provide us with any valuable intel? Stuff we can use?”

  Claudine answered, “We acquired a few tidbits of information, but not as much as we had wished. Maybe if we would have had more time? But, anyway, they told us some things that we already knew. Things like, ‘they had boats’, but wouldn’t disclose how many. They had weapons, food and water, but wouldn’t say how many weapons or what types. One of them had let it slip that they were planning to take over the bridge, which reminds me, I need to inform Ox about that so he can be ready for it. We’ll move some people from the gate to the bridge if we have to, but we need to double up security on the bridge at all costs. We absolutely cannot lose that bridge!”

  Claudine was quite convincing. Even Bryan was beginning to think that he was being paranoid! There were absolutely zero discrepancies with any of their explanations. Either Claudine and William were telling the truth, or they each deserved an Oscar for best actress and supporting actor.