Safety (One Eighteen: Migration Book 1)

by Christopher Wiig

  Well, that was lovely.

  Almost lost the door there. I've got my back against the tub now, and I'm bracing my feet against the bottom of the door which seems to work pretty well.

  I can hear him out there, wandering around in the house. Every now and then he tests me. He hits the door and if he feels any give he hits it over and over again. But if it's solid, he gives up. For a while.

  It sounds like he's wandering off again.

  Ah, yes. Sarah. She was smart about it. Lucy Matthews, and Gabriela Stern, and even Caroline hovered around Sgt. Franks, laughing at his every joke, hanging on his every word.

  Sarah didn't. She kept aloof, flirting with everyone BUT Franks. He spent the beginning of the evening basking in the affections of the others, but eventually he came to me and asked about her; the only one ignoring him.

  "That girl... the one in-" he started. I cut him off.

  "Sarah. You don't have to say anything but 'that girl' and I'll know who you mean."

  I was about to tell him my honest opinions about her, but she caught my eye and frowned prettily, touching her finger to her lips as her other hand flashed a small, brown pill bottle.

  I bit my tongue. I like Franks, and didn't feel like feeding him to that succubus. But as long as the control of my pain rested with her, I couldn't be honest about her. So instead, when he asked if she was "with" anyone I shrugged and told him "Not seriously."

  I'm such a sissy.

  Bah... the digressions. The pills... they keep me from being able to focus. I'm sorry if I ramble or jump around. Sometimes I just drift a little. Like my hand is going where it wants to go and my dopey little brain is just going to have to figure out what it means later.

  Back on topic.

  He agreed that he couldn't go over the wall with me, but he came back with a valid point.

  "You can't go over the wall either,” Franks said. “Not with that hand. Or anything else that takes a partner. You'll need help my help one way or another."

  He was right. My hand is almost black in places now, the fingers barely able to move. The smell emanating from it is sickening. I keep it well hidden under the dressings. It's got to be gangrene. Maybe not.

  Does gangrene set in that fast?

  Maybe just an infection? Just swelling I can dream. You have no idea how badly I'm missing the internet right now, or even a good Library.

  If I get antibiotics soon enough... maybe. Those fucking kids. If I survive this... Mr. Hurley's going to have to chop it off.

  Maybe not... maybe just an infection.

  Off topic again.

  Franks, escape. In terms of getting out, we had three options. The front gate, the back gate, and the towers.

  The front gate I dismissed immediately. Not only is it always guarded by at least two Deputies, it slides open on rollers instead of swinging open like a door. Upkeep had not been a consideration in The Barricades creation, so it's tracks are lubricated by a half inch of corrosion.

  Even if we could get past the Deputies, it takes two people to pull it open, and sounds like God running his nails across a chalkboard when you do so the front gate was a nonstarter.

  The back gate is little better. It opens inward, and we've been piling snow up against it all season. It's got about five feet of snow in front of it. Since it's not really a door at all anymore, it's rarely guarded, but it would also take hours to clear enough snow and ice away to even slip out a gap.

  And even if we did, the snow on the other side of the wall might avalanche into the gap and make the gate impossible to close; the end result being still no exit, plus a new problem.

  We decided our best option was to go over using the watchtowers. There are six of them, one on each corner of the Barricade, two on the outside to the east and west.

  The four corner towers are on the inside of The Barricade, and the east and west towers were built outside as lookouts and quick escapes if the Deputies got into a pinch, so they're on the outside. That means if by covering the razor wire and being clever enough to avoid being noticed, I could get in and out... theoretically.

  We chose the south-east tower for my exit, and the east tower for my return. We'd have to be careful, and quiet. The towers were forbidden to anyone but the Deputies.

  We climbed the ladder, (which took forever for me with one good hand.) When we got to the top, Franks secured rope to the corner post of the tower. A thick rubber "Welcome" mat thrown over the top took the bite out of the coils of razor wire.

  “Your security is for shit,” Franks said. I chuckled.

  There in the tower he explained the the basics of repelling, and of falling. He expected I'd need to know both, which was a little unsettling.

  "First of all, you're gonna fall at some point," Sgt Franks said, as he mimed pushing off the wall with one raised foot while holding the rope on either side of his body in his hands.

  "Without a solid left hand, you're only going to buy yourself a few feet by trying to repel. You can do it with your hand in that condition good enough, but don't go expecting to land gracefully.”

  “You could lower me with a rope,” I asked hopefully.

  “We'd have to tie it too tight. You do remember there might be AOs and worse out there, right? If there's a problem, and you have to run, you'll have a twenty foot tail behind you for the AO's and crazies to grab.”

  A thought about as confidence inspiring as “you're going to fall.”

  “OK. I think I get the general idea of it,” I said

  “Remember, you don't have to be an expert. We're just trying to keep you from hurting yourself too bad. Keep the rope loose in your bad hand. The gloves will keep you from getting rope burn. When you fall-"

  "If I fall," I corrected. He laughed.

  "Oh, you're gonna fall. Snow looks pretty deep though. If it's not packed too solid, you'll have an OK landing,” Sgt Franks said.

  I nodded.

  “When you fall, tuck your head tight. Keep your arms in so they don't get caught under you. Land on the fleshy parts. Ass, hips. And don't let your momentum take you straight down. Roll as you hit, and go where your body makes you.”

  He thought for a moment, then poked his finger into my chest.

  “Don't leave it up to gravity, gravity breaks bones. That's what killed Mac. He only fell two stories but he tried to land flat on his feet. His legs just shattered and and he bled out.” He poked my chest again.

  “If you break bones, you're done. Bring it back around the wall and give up. If things go to shit, move away from the wall. I can't shoot what I can't see."

  "Lucky for me, I can see both of you clear as day," Deputy Willie Fetch said and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I have to give the kid points for stealth, neither of us heard a thing as he'd crept up that tower.

  I had no idea he was that quiet.

  Franks had set his AK against the wall while he was explaining repelling, and he casually moved towards it. Fetch pushed the barrel of his rifle into his back.

  "It's semi-auto, so don't bother," Fetch said, "I can drop you both before you even get the safety off. Don't turn around soldier boy, you may impress the rest of the rubes, but to me... you ain't shit." The last statement Fetch dug in as deep as he could.

  Franks gritted his teeth and locked eyes with me, raising an eyebrow. He started to inch his hand toward the pistol holstered at his side. I shook my head no.

  “I don't like having guns pointed at me,” Franks said, “In basic they told us not to point a weapon at anything you don't plan to destroy. You got the cajones, kid?" Fetch laughed.

  "Let's just say you won't be the first notch on my stock," Fetch said, again jabbing Sgt Franks with the gun. "You're both under arrest. You know these towers are off limits, Jonas. Right to remain silent, blah blah blah, move and I'll blow you both away."

  He stuck Franks with the barrel a third time and I saw Franks' eyes grow dark. Close to losing it. He was gritting his teeth, and very slowly moving for the pistol.
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  "I'm a guest here, kid," Franks said, "I'm not under your authority."

  "Maybe, maybe not. I know I've got a gun and you don't. Seems like ties go to the guy with his finger on the trigger," Fetch said; a cocky, if cold, grin on his face.

  I saw what was coming, but had no idea how to stop it. My mind played the scene over and over in my head, in a variety of ways. Franks and Fetch in a gunfight.

  One dead?

  Two dead?

  Maybe all three dead. Things were moving too fast, the two practically daring each other to make a move. Franks reached for his pistol and

  God-dammit.

  It's like he's listening at the door. Every time I move my feet just a fraction of an inch, just enough to get the blood flowing back to them, he smashes into it with his shoulder.

  I pulled down the shower rod and I've got that braced up against the door now. It's flimsy and won't help much, but it gives me a little time to work the circulation back into my legs, while keeping something braced against the door.

  The Smith J-Frame still has one bullet in it, but I'm following Franks advice, and saving it for myself. I could always shoot through the door... but what if I miss?

  Where was I?

  When Franks went for his pistol I reached out and grabbed his hand. I dug down into myself and found my authoritative teacher voice. My "Mr. Waight" voice.

  I said "STOP." There was a moment of silence, without a sound but the wind blowing through the tower, and Fetch took half a step back. Franks relaxed.

  "Fetch, you'd like nothing better than to see me dead, right?" I said, putting my hands up slowly and taking a step out from behind Franks. He just grinned at me.

  "What are you doing?" Franks whispered through his gritted teeth. Franks kept his hand near the gun barrel, but didn't go for it.

  "Abso-fuckin'-lututely," he said.

  "I'm not escaping. I'm going to Em's place, to get his medicine. Franks isn't even going with me, he's just helping me over the wall, and maybe giving me some covering fire," I said, as I took off the heavy work glove and began to unwrap my hand.

  Fetch watched me, confused. He didn't know who to point the rifle at, so he let it slowly move from one of us to the other.

  "So what are my chances, Fetch?" I asked as I pulled the last of the dressing off, showing him the black spotted, broken hand.

  "You try to arrest us, one of us probably ends up shooting you." He scowled and started to say something, but I cut him off.

  "AFTER you shoot us both, granted. Then the three of us bleed out in this miserable fuckin' tower because none of us are going to get down that ladder gun-shot.” Fetch's expression didn't change, but he was listening.

  “I'm going to get Em his meds, and I've resolved to die if I've got to because honestly, fuck this world. All of it. This town, this world, your evil little girlfiend... you. Especially you. You do the job for me and it saves me the trouble of doing it myself."

  He snickered, and I saw in his eyes that he wouldn't mind pulling that trigger. Fetch is hot and cold, but never tepid. Or stupid.

  I kept that in mind.

  "But no one want's to die alone, and I'll do my damnedest to bring you over the river Styxx with me. What you may not know is that I've been on pain meds since that little blanket party your friends threw for me," I said as I reached up and took my useless pinkie in my hand, bending it backwards till it dislocated with a sickening POP.

  I barely winced. Sarah had loaded me up with three Vicodin for being a good boy and not telling Franks about her, and I didn't feel a thing.

  I almost laughed the way Frank's jaw dropped. He didn't know the stakes we were playing for. They'd banish Franks for sure for this, and probably me as well, without any of our gear.

  Everything that might keep us alive would be kept for "the greater good." It was as good as an execution.

  I'd already pushed Horace too far. I was on Fetch's list. And sooner or later with Franks around, people would start to get ideas about leaving, just like before Paradise Falls. All Horace needed was an excuse.

  "Now these meds, they're the good stuff," I told him, as I snapped my pinkie back into the socket, broken and half dead. “Sarah gave them to me, so you know they're good. You probably fetched them for her.”

  "So your bullets are going to feel like mosquito bites; no matter where they hit me. I'll get to my gun, and when I do, I'll plug you. I won't stop dropping lead in your general direction till I walk through those pearly gates." I watched him considering this, and I knew we had a shot. I was getting in his head.

  "Don't be stupid, Franks," I begged silently inside my head. "Don't be stupid and get us both shot."

  "And then there's Sargent Franks," I said, gesturing to the soldier, making sure to add enough flair to keep Fetch listening, but not so much that he'd have to come to a decision. I had to slow things down. "He's not going to go down without a fight. Not to a piss-ant little kid like you. He's a full soldier, and you're half a mall cop."

  "He immune to bullets now, is he?" Fetch said, jabbing him again in the back with the rifle.

  "No, he's not immune to bullets. But if you shoot him first, you give me time to shoot you,” I said with a shrug. And vice versa, granted. But I'm looking right now at an automatic that his hand is about an inch away from.”

  Fetch glanced and chewed on his lower lip. He wasn't scared, but he was listening. If he was listening he wasn't shooting and if he wasn't shooting then we could work something out.

  “And he's looking for an excuse. He's aching for an it. He's been in the belly of the beast for the last five months. He's already planning to die out here, those were basically his orders.” I caught Franks' eye and raised an eyebrow.

  “You don't think getting it from the barrel of a rifle would be a blessing, compared to getting torn apart by the Dead Things?" Franks smiled, just a bit, as he started to catch on to my game. And he was a better storyteller than I was.

  "He's right," Sgt. Franks said, "I almost want you to shoot me. The shit I've seen... things would make you piss your pants. You think I want to go back out into that? You're doin' me a favor either way. I get to shoot you, or I don't die getting chewed on."

  Fetch was listening.

  "Now let’s add the fact that you're about a foot away from a ten to fifteen foot drop," I continued, maneuvering slowly away from Franks, increasing the distance between us. If he started shooting, I wanted the maximum amount of time between him shooting one of us, and him shooting the other.

  "Maybe the rifle kicks a little too hard. Maybe one of us plows into you in our death throws. Maybe you just slip in our blood. Do the math. Any way this goes, it goes bad for you.” Fetch widened his footing a little, and I knew he was listening for sure now.

  “I don't think the Deputies are an equal opportunity employer. You think little Sarah will want you when you roll up to her house in your shiny new wheelchair? Any way this goes, it goes bad for you." I watched his expression turn. His finger moved away from the trigger, just a fraction, but it moved.

  I offered him an alternative in all our best interests.

  "Or, you can let me go over this wall, and watch me try to get to Em's place and back alive. I'm an out of shape professor with a bad hand, and bad luck. I'm all fucked up on pain meds.”

  “I barely know the area, especially in these snow drifts. I'm from here, but I'm not. Roads are covered. Land marks are covered. I'll barely be able to walk, let alone run.

  I'm a dead man if I go over this wall, and you're fat and happy and rid of me forever. My way seems a lot easier on all of us, especially you." I shrugged.

  The defense rests... now please don't shoot him.

  The adrenaline pumped through me, making my hand throb along with my heartbeat. I didn't feel the pain, but I felt the throb. A little vein on Frank's forehead was popped out and his fingers were twitching like a gunfighter's. Fetch kept a poker face, the gun playing back and forth between us.

  "Eeny, me
anie, miny... mo," Fetch said, the rifle bouncing between us, then stopping. Aimed at my forehead. The barrel was deep, and dark and even though I know I couldn't possibly have seen it, I swear I saw the bullet.

  My bullet.

  I wondered what it would feel like, ripping through my head. Would I really get him on the way down? Would Franks? Then Willie laughed and whispered "Bang."

  He lowered the rifle.

  "Goddamn Jonas, you missed your calling," he said, letting the rifle drop, "You shoulda' been a fuckin' lawyer."

  Then, like a wild-west outlaw, Franks turned in tight circle and Fetch was looking down the barrel of a cocked, government issued .45. He was so damned quick. Franks was quick the way Fetch was quiet, and I was impressed by both of them.

  "Bang," Franks said. "I woulda fuckin' had you." He uncocked the automatic, and Fetch looked just a touch impressed.

  But unconvinced.

  "Maybe, maybe not," Fetch said. He nodded at the wall. "Proceed. Hope ya break your neck."

  I nodded without smiling, and we watched him as he climbed down the ladder, the rifle strapped to his back. When he got to the ground he headed towards Sarah's and not Horace's, but there was no telling if he'd tattle. Fetch isn't easy to read.

  One life gone.

  We moved quickly, no more time for lessons. I didn't want Franks caught by anyone else in the watchtower, and the more time that passed, the more certain I was Willie was going for reinforcements.

  If Franks got down quickly, there would be no one to back up Fetch's story. I'd still be in trouble, but Franks couldn't be dragged into it.

  Ties go to the hero.

  I didn't have time, or the supplies to re-bandage my hand, so I simply gloved it and slipped out onto the top of the wall.

  I tried to move slowly and brace myself, but the welcome mat started to slip under my feet and I had a vision of going face-first into the razor wire.

  I fell backwards, trying my best to repel as he'd taught me, but I couldn't find footing before my dead hand slipped and without it the rope just became a good way to spin me like a top on the way down.