“Let’s deal with this house-burning, murdering bastard,” Trey said. It was both comical and sobering.
They drove by the same wrecks that Zephyr had come upon the first morning of the event. A stalled truck across the intersection into town. A pole leaning forever to one side. The snowy streets were peppered in animal tracks — likely deer, no longer afraid of men.
He still feared Ross, though. And as much as he told himself otherwise, he knew that when they finally encountered the old man, he’d be afraid. But also angry. And he was counting on the latter emotion to drive him through the day.
They parked behind an old comic book store about five blocks away from the house. There was no direct line of sight to the place, which was good because it meant that Ross couldn’t see them, either. They’d trek the rest of the way on foot. Take it slow, careful, and smart. They didn’t need to speed into it.
Zephyr was double-checking the ammo in his gun when Jordan said, “You promised you’d never leave me again, remember?”
“Jord,” he started before she cut him off.
“You promised. And I’m a better shot than Trey, anyway.”
“I know, but this is dangerous. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”
“I’ll stay back a little ways if you want. I just don’t want to be apart from everyone.”
Zephyr considered it and then nodded. “OK,” he said. “But no matter what happens, you hold your position. Got it?”
“Got it.”
When they were close enough to see the house, he stopped them. It looked the same, the only difference a thick layer of snow covering the roof and curtains of it falling before them. He squinted against the storm, struggling to see anything resembling motion, fire, smoke, and couldn’t.
“What’s the plan, Zeph?” Trey asked.
The best idea he could come up with was borrowed from their days as Alpha scouters, and when he explained it, Trey and Aurora understood at once.
“Flank attack,” she said and nodded.
Zephyr nodded back. “So I’ll take center. Trey, you’ll want to skirt around this shop and go at his place from over there.” He pointed toward an old laundry mat a block away. “And Rory, you’ll come at him from there.” More ramshackle houses that bled into the same neighborhood where Ross lived.
“What about me?” Jordan asked.
“You’ll stay right here. You’ve got a clear view of everything, including his house. So if you see anything suspicious, your job will be to signal us. Got it?”
She nodded.
“But I don’t want you to move unless you see something suspicious, Jord. And if you do, you fire off three rounds.” He put his hands on her shoulders and faced her. “Three rounds. And then get to cover. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
Zephyr’s heart thumped in his chest as he prowled down the street in direct view of the house. He held his scope to his eye and studied the scene for anything that might confirm the old man’s existence. Nothing revealed itself.
Snow fell all around him and ice crunched under his boots with each step, but he never looked away. Any movement. Any motion at all, and he’d be ready. Even amidst the downpour, he was certain his aim would hold true and the bullet would find its target.
Trey was the first to appear within the radius of Zephyr’s sight. He sneaked to the side of the house and hunkered down against a medley of bushes. Then he flashed Zephyr a hearty thumbs up. Aurora appeared on the opposite side of the structure and waited, the shotgun huge in her arms.
Still no other movement in his scope.
He walked on, visions of his mom and dad in his head. He was a killer now. He had allowed people to be killed. He had killed people. Aurora too. His parents could never have imagined this fate for him, and certainly wouldn’t have condoned it. But then, they were gone, their house and everything they owned burned to ash. He was still here, still living, still fighting for survival.
This, though, was not survival. This was deliberate. This was straight up murder. And the more he thought about it, the less he liked the idea of it. Even if the victim in this case was a murderer himself. Even if he deserved to die.
The screen door was closed, but Zephyr could see through it into the living room beyond, which meant the front door was wide open. On a freezing day, no less. And with no sign of electricity or fire. No heat. What the hell was the old man up to? Had he abandoned the place? Zephyr had never considered the possibility. Ross was, if nothing else, he figured, a creature of habit.
He pulled away from the scope and surveyed the house before him. He was close enough now that he could sprint to that entrance and smash into the dingy interior it protected in a matter of seconds. He glanced back, hoping for a glimpse of Jordan before he committed himself, but the snow came down too thick and he couldn’t see her.
Zephyr signaled for Trey and Aurora to stay their positions as he mounted the stairs to the porch, each step a careful exercise less he give them all away. One of the floorboards squeaked under his weight and he stopped, his breath visible before him. He could reach that screen door now. This could be over in seconds. It’s now or never, Zeph, he thought, and gave the signal.
They all pounced. Zephyr, through the front entryway, Aurora through a window on the far side and Trey through another. It felt louder, slower and clumsier than it really was. Although the entire semi-coordinated assault played out in seconds, for Zephyr, it was eons, more than enough time for Ross to react and shoot them all.
Only one gun fired, however, and it belonged to Trey, not Ross. For once, his aim was accurate. As he fell from the windowsill into the old man’s living room, he shot him dead on. Right in the chest. It would’ve been fatal for sure.
The old man, however, was already dead.
The armchair held only a badly decomposed corpse, half man and half skeleton, a chunk of skull missing. A dusty blanket covered most of the body. The old man had shot himself, and by the looks of it, he’d done it a long time ago.
Aurora hugged Zephyr with one arm.
“I’m glad,” he told her, finally able to breathe again. He felt as though a great, invisible weight had been lifted from him. “I didn’t want to kill him. It’s bad enough, the things we have to do to survive. But I don’t want to be like him.”
She nodded, and then kissed him, as she always did. “I love you.”
“Maybe you could have let us in on this epiphany of yours before we ran guns blazing into this shithole,” Trey said as he shook glass from his jacket.
“Sorry about that. But hey, man. Nice shot.”
It was finally over.
They were about to turn away from the grizzly scene when Zephyr stopped dead in his tracks. It was the corpse before them. There was something wrong with it. At first, he couldn’t figure out what, and then the anomaly sucker punched him. It was the skull. Its front teeth were missing. Had been blown clean out, in fact.
“Oh, no,” he said as the tiny hairs on his nape stood erect and his pace galloped.
“What?” Aurora asked.
He motioned them all down and surveyed the living room as he fought to steady his nerves. Where was the gun? His eyes darted to and from as they hunted the floorboards for some rusty pistol, but none presented itself. As much as he wanted and needed it to appear, to be made visible as proof that everything was all right, there was no weapon in sight. This was no suicide.
“Zephyr,” Aurora whispered, “what’s going on?”
“It’s not good.”
He knew what he’d find waiting for him beneath the corpse’s blanket before he tugged it away, and still the outcome rattled him. Not a hunter’s flannel and jeans, or an old pair of overalls, but a black suit and tie. Shredded and stained a faded crimson in parts, undoubtedly the aftermath of the hungry animals which had torn meat from bone in the months it had sat here. And yet, old and rotted as it was, unmistakable. This wasn’t Ross. It was Jerry. And cradled in Jerry’s bony hands was a
black walkie-talkie, its red power indicator presently aglow.
“No,” Zephyr whispered.
“How is that walkie-talkie on?” Trey asked. “Dude, how is that fucking thing on?”
“Oh my God,” Aurora said.
Zephyr shook his head. “The asshole’s alive. This body isn’t him — it’s the guy he killed. This whole elaborate thing is for me.” He nodded in the direction of the walkie-talkie. “He wants me to take it.”
“Tell me you’re fucking kidding,” Trey said. “Obviously, no. I mean, no. Screw him. That’s the solution. Leave it and let’s get out of here.”
Zephyr unleashed a series of expletives. “It’s no good. He’ll be watching for us now. He obviously knows we’re here. The walkie didn’t just turn itself on. Somehow, he knew we were coming.”
He wondered if Ross was clever and crafty enough to rig a mechanism like a trip wire designed to reveal trespassers. If so, they could’ve driven right through and triggered it on their way into town. Such an obstacle had never even occurred to them. Even if Ross was capable, though, and he wasn’t so sure, there was more here. The body. Jerry. He had to move the corpse, and from the looks of it, he did it a long time ago. Maybe he set it up as a decoy after Zephyr threatened to attack him on his home turf so long ago. But how did he know Zephyr would come to his house?
“Maybe he comes and charges the batteries every other day, man. He might not even know we’re her—”
The device in the skeleton’s hands crackled and beeped.
“Well, well, would you look at ya’ll,” a voice said. Zephyr recognized it right away.
“Welcome to my humble home. Sorry about the mess, but I ain’t lived there for some time now. I mighta’ cleaned up a little if I knew ya’ll was coming for dinner, but nobody saw fit to tell me.”
Aurora caught Zephyr’s eyes and mouthed, how?
“Go ahead now, smile for the camera. You’re on Rossy TV,” the voice continued and laughed itself into a coughing fit.
Trey pointed to one corner of the room and there, perched on a shelf, was a wireless camera. The man plucked and examined it.
He whispered, “Analog, battery powered. These don’t have long ranges. You go too far away and the connection will be shit. He’s close, man. Probably in one of the nearby houses.”
Then he hurled the camera against the wall and it broke into several pieces before tumbling to the ground again.
“Well, that’s just rude,” Ross said and cackled. “I sure did like looking at your purty lady friend. If I had a swing like that, I’d ride it every night, know what I mean?”
Zephyr withdrew the walkie from the bony clutches of the corpse’s hands and pressed the talk button.
“Old man, I missed you.”
“Well now, that you, boy? Was beginning to wonder if you had the ball sack to make a peep. Woulda’ figured against it based on the way you done tuck tail and run last time you saw me.”
“It’s been too long,” Zephyr said, ignoring the insult.
“Looked like you sprouted a bit. Don’t matter. Still spineless, or you’d have come at me like a man.”
Aurora took hold of the walkie. “Why don’t you show yourself then if you’re such a big man, you fat piece of shit?”
“Whoo-whee, this one’s got a mouth on her, don’t she?” Ross said in unmistakable amusement. “I sure know what to do with girls like her. I sure do, yes sir.”
Zephyr motioned his companions into a huddle and started into a whisper. “He’s goading us. He wants us to get angry and sloppy now, so don’t fall for it. I’ll do the talking from now on, Rory.” He focused his attention on Trey. “My man, I love you, but you’re a shitty shot. I wasn’t comfortable with you coming when I thought we had the jump on Ross, and now, you gotta go.”
“Shove it as far as it’ll fit, you cocky son of—”
“Trey, Jordan’s out there.”
That’s all he had to say. He saw the words strike their target as intended and Trey’s features softened before he looked away.
“Fine,” he hissed. “Fine. But how the hell am I supposed to get out without getting my ass shot off?”
The walkie squeaked and popped in Zephyr’s hand. “Boy, you ever get tired of being outsmarted by your old pal? ’Bout now, you gotta be thinking to yourself, ‘Why didn’t I just leave Ross alone? I should’ve known I’d be no match for the likes of him.’ And you’d be right in thinking that because…”
The boy let him drone on, the words fading from focus, as he locked eyes with his friend. “You said he’s close. This is a corner house and there’s nothing but a snowy field behind us. There’s a full block of houses to our right and more across the street. But you should be fine if you take the field.”
“He’s probably next door, man. The shit-eating clown thinks he’s a genius, but the camera is a giveaway. Like I said, it’s analog. The range is crap. He might not know that, but I do. I don’t even think it’d work if he was in one of the houses across the street. You ask me, he’s right there,” Trey said and pointed in the direction of the house adjacent their own. “We could bum rush the place and take him.”
“No,” Zephyr said. “Jordan is your priority. Circle around to her, get the hell out of here. The last gas station we stopped at before Firefly Valley, do you remember where it is?”
Trey considered his question and then nodded.
“Good. That’s where we’ll meet. If Aurora and I don’t show up by nightfall, you take Jordan and you get as far away as possible.”
“Just come with me now. Fuck this asshole.”
“Can’t. Ross is no dummy. I’m going to need to stay behind and create a distraction for you, just in case.”
“How?”
“Leave that to me. I’ve got an idea.”
Ross really didn’t need an audience. He could, as it turned out, entertain himself with a one-sided conversation. He blathered on about how Zephyr lacked the “testicular fortitude” to do anything but remain stupid prey, and that this world was about the survival of the fittest, and that the weak would be weeded out until only the strong were left, and on and on and on. It was all some warped, psychopathic justification for the old man to behave in whatever wicked fashion he desired, and it was easy to ignore. Only the occasional reply from the Zephyr was necessary and the old man was on to a new diatribe.
As he scoured through the garage, Aurora ransacked the kitchen and together they found the items they needed. The boy wasn’t sure the old house still held possession of the integral ingredients, but his luck struck true and he felt confident that the plan, however sketchy, might just work.
Visibility was worse than ever, which also proved fortuitous. Zephyr didn’t think Trey would be seen when he scrambled away to safety. And not because the old man wouldn’t be looking for them — he would be; despite all of his talk, he was certain the bastard was still searching for any opportunity. To him, it was all part of the hunt.
“You know what’s sad, Ross?” Zephyr asked.
“Your aim’d be my guess.”
“Funny, but no. You know where I’ve been for the last… what? It’s gotta be pushing two years, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure you’ve been counting the days. You could probably tell me exactly.”
No reply from Ross.
“What’s sad is that in all of that time, I’ve barely thought about you. I explored the country. I met all of these great people. I swam in the oceans of California. I fell in love with a beautiful woman,” he said, and looked at his girlfriend. “And I have a family. I have friends.”
“You,” he continued. “In all of this time, what have you done? Sat here with a dead man as your only companion. A man you murdered. Sat here on your fat ass and plotted. Waited, and plotted, and hoped that one day I might return to your miserable existence.”
With Aurora in tow, Zephyr drew closer to the den, the only room in the house with a window out to their nearest neighbor, and presumably Ross.
“Is that supposed to irk me, boy?” the old man asked. “You gonna need to try a little harder than that. Fact of the matter is, you came back, so I guess that makes you every bit as pathetic, don’t it? Sheeoot, I musta’ really left an impression on ya if you did all those things and still came back to see your ol—”
“Now!” Zephyr hissed, Trey ran, and Aurora’s shotgun erupted.
It was a direct hit, and two windows exploded: theirs, and an identical one in the home only fifteen feet away. Zephyr sprinted toward the opening and hurled the explosive cocktail — a canister of old gasoline topped with a lit paper fuse — across the short divide between the houses. His aim was true, and in slow motion he watched the bomb soar through the air and into the gaping wound on the other side before a heavy blast shook both houses and glass and wood shattered and splintered. The force of it knocked him to his ass with a heavy thud and he sat there dazed before Aurora came to his rescue.
“The asshole shot you!” she shouted.
“What? Where?” For that matter, when? And how? He didn’t feel injured.
“Here,” she said and palmed his shoulder. There was a bullet wound all right, and yes, now that he’d regained his senses, it hurt like hell. Ross must’ve been waiting for them, and had just enough time to squeeze off a good round before the blaze came at him.
Aurora examined the rest of him. “It’s gone through the other side. I think you’ll be all right. You’ve definitely seen worse.”
“Let’s get the motherfucker then,” Zephyr said, the ringing in his ears robust, and rose. At first, his balance resisted, but powered by nerves and hate and determination, his steadiness rebounded, and they were off.
The house across the way wasn’t just on fire — it was already an inferno, and it was spreading. The flames licked at their own house, which was in the process of catching. Good, Zephyr thought. This is right. This is the way it ought to be. Let him watch his own house burn to the ground now. But when they peeked through the frame for Ross, he was nowhere to be found.
“He’s running,” Zephyr said, and they both knew it was true.
Except, it wasn’t. Not exactly, anyway. They hurried out the front door and spotted the old man, his back to them, at the snowy sidewalk. He wasn’t running, though. He was limping, and even that was an exaggeration. His once-meaty scalp was bloodied and crisped, the hair burned away, along with most of his shirt. Even amidst the snowfall, Zephyr could see the blistered skin across his back and neck. The fire had done its work.
Dead Weight Page 31