by Roger Hayden
They walked into the next room through a swinging lobby door. What Mila saw next surprised her. Vacant desks and chairs were aligned in a spotless work area that looked like something out of a museum. The room was still and quiet. In the back was a single office with a glass door and a name engraved on it: Sheriff David F. Dawson.
“Dawson?” Mila said out loud.
“That’s right,” Jordan chimed in. “They’re brothers. Him and Bill.”
Jordan knocked on the door lightly. “Come in!” the sheriff’s voice bellowed. Jordan opened the door and stood aside for Mila and Carlos to enter. The sheriff was leaning back in a leather swivel chair with his leather cowboy boots propped up across his dark-stained mahogany desk. There was a bookshelf behind him filled with various plaques and awards, a bald eagle statue, and a folded American flag in a glass case. He took a sip of coffee and pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk.
“Have a seat.”
Mila and Carlos walked over and sat down.
“Take your coats off or something. You’re making me sweat just looking at you.”
They both hesitated.
“Don’t worry, this building is old and insulated for the next century.” He looked up. “You too, Jordan. Make yourselves at home.”
Jordan leaned forward to take Mila’s coat, when suddenly a full rifle magazine fell out of her pocket and hit the carpet.
The sheriff leaned forward, intrigued.
Mila could feel everyone’s eyes on her. “What can I say? Never leave home without them.”
The sheriff slapped his desk. “Looks like our friends are stocked up on ammo, that’s for sure.”
Jordan felt along her jacket, pulling out more magazines.
“Not much those would do me without a weapon, right?” Mila said.
“You’re right there,” the sheriff said, sipping from his coffee mug. “I get it. Don’t worry. You’d have to be a fool to travel around these parts without taking the proper precautions.”
“Thanks for understanding,” Mila said.
The sheriff removed his feet from the desk and sat upright as his leather chair squeaked. “So I told you folks that I’d give you five minutes. Go ahead and lay it on me. What can we do for you?”
“You’re familiar with Arthur?” Mila asked.
Jordan shut the door and put Mila’s coat on a nearby rack.
“Yes, I am,” the sheriff said. “He’s a convict. As in a prison escapee from the ol’ Rockland Correctional Institute. A whole lot of them came through here and tore things up. We fought them off and drove them out, but it didn’t come easy. Lost a lot of good people. Town pretty much cleared out after that. People moved on to find greener pastures.” The sheriff leaned back and put his boots back on the desk. “You see, Clarkson used to be a fairly affluent area. Lots of folks with money came out here with their families. I’ve been sheriff for ten years, come up here from Tennessee. It’s been a good run, then that damn EMP turned everything to shit.” He took another sip of his coffee. “I don’t know if this town will ever recover.”
Carlos looked at Mila, signaling her to speak. She leaned forward and took the chance. “Honestly, Sheriff. Your town is doing a hell of a lot better than ours. Arthur and his men have completely taken it over. He calls himself a mayor. He abuses the people, killing on a whim. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. It’s complete anarchy.”
“You lost, and he won,” the sheriff said. “We faced the same thing. What do you want me to do about it?”
“We want your help!” Mila said, in a tone too loud. Her emotions had gotten the better of her.
The sheriff fidgeted with a model police car on his desk. “Help doesn’t come easy nowadays, little lady.”
“They kidnapped my husband. They shot his son,” she said, pointing at Carlos. “We’ve been hiding out in the mountains for almost three months, and things just keep getting worse and worse.”
The sheriff waved his hands over each other as if cutting her off. “Cut your losses, and get as far away from Nyack as possible. That’s my advice.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Mila said with startling conviction in her eyes. “My husband is out there now.”
Carlos cut in. “Mr. Sheriff, if I find out that these bastards killed my son, I’m going to go into town with or without her. I’m going to kill as many of them as I can. I don’t care. In the end, I know that I’ll be dead, but that doesn’t matter. Like Mila, I don’t have a choice either.”
The sheriff sat up straight again, peering at them through his aviator sunglasses. He picked up a pen on his desk and started to tap it. “I understand where you’re coming from. I know about loss. My wife… well, let’s just say I miss her. And sometimes I wake up at night not knowing where I’ve been. I’ve had the same dream over and over again where I’m a sheriff of another town, fending off maniacs from getting inside our walls.”
“He’s built a wall around Nyack,” Mila said. “At least fifteen feet tall. And he’s not going to stop there. He’s going to come for this town too.” She vaulted up from her chair, startling the men in the room. “Now’s the time to fight them. We can’t do it without you. I know the weak points in town, places we can enter, undetected. I’d do it myself if I could, but I can’t.”
“I don’t know,” the sheriff said. He looked up. “What do you think, Jordan?”
Jordan stepped forward, pondering the decision before them. “The question is, should we get involved?”
“You think that you’re safe here?” Mila said. “If he attacked you before, I can guarantee he’ll be back. That’s how he operates. His ego is larger than the size of both our towns.”
“We don’t know that,” Jordan said.
“You don’t know that he won’t,” Carlos added. “Are you willing to take that chance?”
A brief silence came over the room as the sheriff leaned forward and crossed his arms over his desk. “It’s going to take my people some convincing. Survival is hard enough as it is without stirring up more trouble. What exactly do you need from me?”
“Anyone who can handle themselves,” Mila said. “Anyone who can give us a chance against these monsters. I can get you into the town. I can help you fight. And after we win, I’ll be forever in your debt.”
The sheriff nodded and studied Mila with what looked like admiration. “I appreciate your tenacity… but it’s not entirely up to me.” He laid his hands flat on the surface of his desk. “Here’s what I can do. We get some of our best people together for the job and ask them.”
“What can you give us in return?” Jordan interrupted.
Mila and Carlos thought to themselves. “We brought supplies,” Mila said.
“Keep going,” Jordan said.
“Our weapons?” Carlos said.
“That’s a start.”
“The Buick,” Mila said outwardly. All eyes went to her.
“No,” Carlos said. “The Buick is off the table. Hell, Mila. It’s not even ours.”
The sheriff, however, seemed to take keen interest in the offer. “You hand over your car, and then we can talk. That’s for starters.”
Mila and Carlos looked at each other with little to say.
“Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve had to barter?” the sheriff asked.
Mila turned to him. “We’ll give you a car. The Buick doesn’t belong to us.”
The sheriff’s eyes widened. “You mean you have more cars that run?” He smacked his desk with his palm and laughed. “Jordan, you know what we have here? A couple of doomsday preppers!”
Mila and Carlos awkwardly smiled as the sheriff’s laughter died and his face went serious. “You get me in that town, little lady, and my people will do what we can. But first, I need to rile them up.”
Outside the police station, the sheriff had called his strongest and most resourceful team to help Mila and Carlos in their fight against the criminal forces of Nyack. Around fifty no-nonsense men and wome
n showed up just after hearing the name Arthur.
“We remember the man,” the sheriff said from his soapbox. “He terrorized this town, but we pushed him back. Now it’s come to my attention that he’s taken over another town—our neighbor, Nyack. In a few short months, he’s built a wall around the town and changed its name to Tartarus.”
Laughter emitted from the crowd as Mila and Carlos stood close to the sheriff, hoping they would garner the support needed for their cause.
“It’s no laughing matter, ladies and gentlemen,” the sheriff continued. “We’ve been down this road before. I believe it’s time that we helped our neighbors and took out this cancer once and for all.”
The crowd listened attentively without clear indication of where their emotions were. Apparently, riling them up was going to take some work.
“Arthur has deemed himself mayor and terrorized the good people you see before you,” the sheriff continued. “Mila and Carlos here have come to us asking for our help. Many of you will ask yourselves why you’d risk your life for complete strangers. I know because I asked myself the same question. Jordan here too.”
He paused and looked to Jordan, who stood to the side, observing.
“But after talking about it, I’m convinced that Arthur poses every bit of a threat to our town as he does to our friends here. That’s why it’s important to take him out before he comes back with more people. More firepower. And more determination than ever.”
The townspeople followed along with stern expressions that matched their apprehensions. They weren’t warriors, by any measure. Their faces were tired and dirty. They wore layers of tattered clothing like vagrants. But there was anger in their eyes. Anger that Mila believed Arthur could ignite.
“Who will join them to fight back? Who will say, ‘Enough’?” The sheriff stopped to catch his breath and then pointed into the crowd. “Bill Howell. You remember what Arthur and his men did to your home. The home you worked decades restoring.”
“They tore it to pieces!” Bill, a pale, disheveled man, shouted from the crowd.
“That’s right,” the sheriff said, pacing the stage. “Susan Miller. Those sons of bitches raided your house, beat you and your husband, and left you for dead.”
“They did,” she said from deep within the crowd. Her face was scarred, and her eyes welled with tears. “And we’ll never be the same again. There’s no going back from that.”
“Care to even the score?” the sheriff said, leaning forward. He took a step back and bellowed out in his loudest voice yet. “It’s time to help our neighbors! It’s time to reclaim a town that has suffered a fate worse than our own. It’s time to take the fight to the people who wronged us. I ask again, who’s with me?”
The crowd responded with wild enthusiasm, whistling and shouting. Mila looked at them, somewhat surprised. They looked angry and impassioned. The cheering continued, filling Mila with hope. She moved near the sheriff and put her hand on his shoulder, thanking him.
He leaned close to her and tried to speak over the crowd. “We’re still good on that Buick, right?”
Mila hesitated. “Anything for your help.” She didn’t like the idea of offering up Peter’s car, but there was no going back. The sheriff had done his part. So far.
He cut in. “I don’t plan to take it now. It’ll be perfect as a lead back to Nyack,” he said, putting his hand out.
Mila handed him the keys as Carlos shook his head.
“You won’t regret it,” the sheriff said with a smile. “We beat these scumbags before; we’ll do it again.”
She didn’t know how she was going to explain it to Peter. They could work something out. There could be some compensation. He would have to understand. She would have traded twenty Buicks if there was hope of getting Rob back. Nothing was more important.
Coalition
Rob was back in his cell, alone with his thoughts. If Arthur had meant anything he had said, the opportunity was there. The townspeople needed help. Rob wanted to help them, but any kind of alliance with Arthur was out of the question. Perhaps there was another angle. He knew that Arthur regularly mistreated the residents, taking prisoners and punishing them with forced labor. Yet now Arthur was masquerading as a legitimate official, one who was concerned for the well-being of the residents. Rob didn’t believe any of it.
Arthur wanted power above all, and the more Rob thought about it, the more Arthur’s proposal made sense. Arthur’s power relied heavily on controlling all the town’s resources. Rob’s self-sufficiency knowledge, outdoors survival skills, and prepper know-how was a resource in itself.
Of course, Rob thought. The bastard has no intention of letting me leave.
He examined his darkened cell. The tiny window was much too high up and small to even consider escaping through. There was no escape from his cell. The key, Rob believed, was to get himself in a position where escape was possible. He burned with determination and wondered how many others had been taken from their families and locked in this very same room.
He was startled out of his daydream when he heard the sound of keys jingling and the door unlocking. His body ached from Larry’s cheap blows. He figured that before the day was over, more beatings were in order. An armed guard stepped inside, one Rob hadn’t seen before. He was older than most and had gray hair and a bushy beard. Tattoos ran up both arms, and his face looked as though he had seen plenty of things in his lifetime. He said nothing as he glared at Rob with contempt.
Before Rob could ask him what he wanted, he simply stepped aside as a man in a suit walked in. Rob had seen him before. He was the supposed pastor, who had declared Arthur some kind of divine being in front of the townspeople. Another man with glasses walked in, wearing slacks and a button-down dress shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up, and a pair of purple latex gloves. They were both well-groomed and far different from the usual convicts Rob was used to seeing.
“Hello, Mr. Parker. I’m—”
“I know who you are, Phelps. Arthur send you here?” Rob asked. He didn’t get up, just stayed there sitting on his mattress.
“Yes. He wanted me to talk with you, but that’s not the only reason I’m here.”
The two men looked at the guard as he stood watching by the open door.
“Think we could have a moment here?” Phelps asked.
The guard flashed a look of incredulity. “You wanna be alone with that guy?” he asked, pointing. “You got some kind of death wish?”
“It’s quite all right,” the man with the rolled-up sleeves said. He then turned to Rob. “My name is Dr. Layish, and I’ve been sent here to check you out.”
Rob shook his head in amazement and laughed. “This is one hell of a place.”
“So if you would, please,” Phelps said to the guard, gesturing toward the door.
The guard fidgeted with the door handle, slowly moving the door back and forth on its hinges. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. After that kid got shot, we’re supposed to be a lot stricter ’round here.”
Rob perked up. “What kid?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” the guard said.
“Sir, please,” Phelps said to the guard. “Can’t you see that you’re already upsetting this man?”
“What kid?” Rob asked. “I want to know.”
The guard looked at Phelps, backed away, and started to leave the room. “You got five minutes. Anything happens, that’s on you.” He slowly closed the door behind him.
Layish and Phelps looked at Rob with concern.
“What kid was he talking about?” Rob asked.
“An unfortunate tragedy involving a young prisoner being shot trying to escape,” Phelps said. “But I don’t know the details.”
Rob swung his head to Layish. “What about you?”
“This is the first I’ve heard about it. Now, can you stand up, please?”
“This is stupid,” Rob said. “I don’t need a doctor, and I don’t need a pastor. Tell your boss that he
’s won. Tell him that I don’t need any more convincing.”
Layish stepped closer. “Please stand. I want to have a look at you.”
Rob groaned and stood up. Layish walked over to him, examining him through oval-shaped spectacles. “Are you feeling any pain or discomfort?”
“No,” Rob said.
“Can you lift your shirt, please?”
Rob grudgingly raised his shirt, exposing a bruised back and side. Layish immediately zeroed in on the marks.
“What happened here? Where did you get the bruises?” He lightly touched Rob’s side with a gloved hand.
“Where do you think?” Rob said. “One of Arthur’s goons took a couple of cheap shots at me earlier. I’ll live.”
Layish seemed less than satisfied. “You need to let Arthur know. His guards can’t be doing this to prisoners.”
“I’m sure he’ll make it a top priority,” Rob said, lowering his shirt. Layish had him open his mouth and stick out his tongue. He took his blood pressure with a Velcro arm band and small pump he pulled from his pocket. As the examination continued, Phelps at first watched quietly then began speaking in a raised voice.
“I used to be like you, Rob. I was a man of my convictions. And I’m still that man today. But what I came to realize is that Arthur’s methods, though questionable at times, have held this town together. I heard that things were pretty bad at the beginning, but he’s changed. I truly think he cares about this community now. If you spend some more time with him, you’ll see that.”
“I told you I don’t need any more convincing. I said that I’ll help. But don’t for one second try to convince me that he’s nothing more than a degenerate psychopath.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Phelps said. “Layish can vouch for that too.”
Layish nodded. “That’s true. Arthur has changed. He wants this community to work.”
“He wants power, and he’s afraid to lose it,” Rob said. “Without heat, half the people in town will freeze to death. He doesn’t care if they die. He only cares if they try to leave. That’s why he’s pushing this insane wall project.”