ALL IS SILENCE

by Robert L. Slater

  Her father held her for a moment. Then he pulled back and placed his hands on the sides of her face. His eyes showed more sadness than Lizzie thought she had ever seen. He kissed her forehead.

  She watched him as the sadness clicked out and anger replaced it.

  “Okay,” he said. “We want to get those guys that did it?”

  Lizzie nodded.

  “Okay. Focus. Tell me what you saw. How many people? Which sides?”

  Lizzie closed her eyes, picturing the scene in her head. “Independents: three snowmobiles, four men. New truck, three men, five or six dogs.” She gritted her teeth as she recited everything else she had seen. She surprised herself in the detail she remembered. But it was seared into her brain by the death of her friend. Because he had been her friend.

  “Fits what I saw.” Her father nodded, his hand brushed the hair away from her face.

  “What’s the plan, Cap’n?” Lizzie saluted him half-heartedly and wiped away the tears.

  “Lieutenant. Not exactly a plan. I want to tell you to run thataway. Fast.”

  Lizzie bared her teeth. “My friends—no, my family is up there. You say we need a plan. What. Is. It?”

  Her father sighed. “You move ahead of me that way, stay close to the road, but not too close. Keep your eyes peeled. Stay quiet. I’m sticking closer to the edge of the trees. I’ll take them out if they follow you.”

  “Okay.” She wrapped her arms around him awkwardly, the shotgun in her arms. “Daddy, I always loved you.” His arms held her; the butt of his gun pressed against her back. “Always.”

  It looked to Lizzie like he wanted to tell her that everything was going to be fine. But he kept his mouth shut. No guarantees. She appreciated the honesty.

  A pop-pop of gunfire set them both in motion. Lizzie slipped from tree to tree as quiet as she could be. She winced as a twig snapped under foot. Everything was surreal, like she was in a first-person-shooter, but there were no saves or resets. Despite the cold, her fingers were sweaty on the trigger. She wasn’t sure she would be able to squeeze the trigger again, even if she had to. CJ’s face bloomed, ashen and blood-spattered in her mind. It’s a game. Double points for shooting Independents.

  Lizzie stepped forward and angled toward the road. She couldn’t see anything but trees. Everybody was here because of her. Why hadn’t she let her father come up to Bellingham? But would he and Jess have ever have made it? At least this way she had seen him and told him she loved him. The others hadn’t needed to come though. They could be kicking it back with the Hippies right now if it wasn’t for her. She had to help them.

  She picked her steps carefully, certain that she couldn’t sneak up on an animal, but maybe on some redneck hunters. She leaned her back against a tree. The bark on the tree was thick and rough as she rested against it. Slowly she stuck her head around, staring at the ground ahead, planning her next step.

  “Pssstt.”

  Lizzie spun. The shotgun rose. Her pulse raced.

  It was Carter. A smirk graced his rugged face. His gun pointed skyward. He wasn’t her enemy, right now.

  She pointed her shotgun at his kneecaps.

  “Nice. Where’s your dad?” He stepped toward her and leaned his back against her tree.

  Lizzie shrugged.

  “You got a plan?” Carter asked softly.

  “You got one?”

  Carter shook his head. “Travis and Jim are trying to get behind ‘em, so we can get them to surrender. Near as I can figure there are seven of them. We should be able to take ‘em. That’s about the extent of it.”

  “Okay.” Lizzie motioned him forward with her shotgun. “My dad’s behind me. If I stay between you and him, he probably won’t shoot you.”

  “Good plan.” Carter gave her an exhausted sigh. “Good luck, Lizzie.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Carter walked ahead. No twigs cracked under his feet.

  Lizzie slid around the tree, trying hard to see a sign of her father. Voices came from the road. She slipped forward and stopped with her back to another tree. She breathed, trying to be silent. When her heart stopped sounding like it would come out her ears she repeated the procedure on the next tree. Then the next.

  As the voices got louder she heard arguing. No voices she recognized, but they were arguing about leaving with the people they had, her friends. She sped up the pace, until she was close enough to see the vehicles and the people.

  She stopped and waited.

  The waiting is the hardest part. She listened, intent for anything other than the wind. Mama, if you can help me, now would be good.

  She glanced right. No sign of her dad. Then left. None of Carter either. What should she do now?

  A single gunshot echoed. Lizzie gripped the rifle tight.

  “We’ve got you surrounded,” Travis yelled. “Two of you are hostages now.”

  Lizzie looked out from behind the tree. She could see the van, and the Independents with her friends, but no one else was visible.

  “Carter,” he hollered. “Demonstrate.”

  Lizzie heard a burst of gunfire to her left. Carter. Then more shots across the way and some to her right. Dad? She aimed her shotgun at the sky and fired. That she could do.

  “We’re coming in with your people as shields,” Travis yelled. “Stand up, drop your weapons and raise your hands in the air. If you do not, we will shoot you immediately.”

  Lizzie saw people standing, their hands in the air. She walked toward the vehicles, her rifle out in front of her. By the time she got there, the Independents were disarmed.

  Carter glanced smugly at Lizzie. “Nice work, Travis.” He had his gun pointed at the circle of Independents.

  “Thanks.” Travis held two guns, a rifle jabbing one Independent in the side and the other, a pistol held at another’s ear. Jim had two covered by his shotgun.

  Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief. It was over.

  A single shot rang out. Carter fell. Lizzie dropped her shotgun and dove toward him. His gun fell; blood, pouring from a ragged hole in his side, turned the white snow red. Lizzie stared helplessly. There was too much blood. She spun. Who had shot him?

  34

  TRAVIS SMILED AT LIZZIE. His smile chilled her to her core. Carter was dead by Travis’ gun.

  Travis was yelling. She barely registered the words. Something about him being in control now.

  He tossed his rifle to the Independent he had been guarding. The man caught it and spun on the circle of Independents. He shot the one with the handlebar moustache. The body flew backwards; the head tilting at a crazy angle as more blood spewed into the snow.

  Carter’s eyes focused on her face. “Guess I get to see my daughter now.” He chuckled and blood spit from his lips. “Hold onto your dad. He’s lucky. So are you.”

  “Carter. You bastard.” She pressed hard against the oozing hole in his side. She couldn’t believe he was picking now to reveal he was a human being.

  His left arm grabbed her hand and squeezed. Then his grip went limp.

  The rest of the world returned. Travis screamed at someone to drop his gun and choose a side. Lizzie slid her hand onto Carter’s rifle. Her breath froze; not daring to move, she twisted her head. Travis pointed his rifle at a kid, probably 15, one of his former partners in the Collectors. The remaining Independents stared, waiting. Jim and the Independents he’d come forward with were now all re-armed.

  Lizzie realized she was watching a coup. Travis and the Independents had taken out their own leaders. Now they needed to control the rest or kill them.

  The kid wasn’t backing down. Neither he nor Travis. Too much testosterone. The young kid’s gun bucked. Travis’s fired. The kid went down; his rifle fired as he fell.

  Lizzie aimed Carter’s gun and shot at Travis. Lizzie heard more shots. People dove for cover. Snow flew in her face, exploding up from the ground.

  She fired again. Something struck her in the arm. Travis spun. I’m shot. Slippery warmth ooz
ed from her upper arm under her jacket. But it didn’t hurt. Travis dove for the dirt. Lizzie propped the gun one-handed on Carter’s body and squinted through the sight. She took another shot. Dirt spewed up from the snow like lava from a volcano. Another miss.

  She wiped the sweat from her eyes, and searched for a target. Her right hand was numb. Blood flowed free from a wound on her arm where her oldest scars had once bled.

  A cold piece of metal poked at her neck. “Toss the rifle away from you.”

  Lizzie froze. Cold metal pressed into her exposed skin. It felt like the size of a cannon, must be a shotgun barrel. The bathroom at home and the blood splattered over the white walls flashed in her head.

  “Everybody else drop your weapons,” Travis threatened behind her, “unless you want to see this little girl’s brains blown out in the snow.”

  She tossed her gun out of reach. A hand grasped her and flipped her onto her back. A grim-faced man held the shotgun pointed straight at her torso, his sweaty hair plastered against his forehead. His face looked nervous, but his hands were rock steady. Travis stepped into her field of vision and his goon moved aside. Travis had blood soaking a through a rip in his shirt on the outside of his left arm. “You tried to kill me.”

  Had she hit him? She shrugged, playing it cool. “Well, you tried to kill me.” She was glad she’d hit him. If it was even her shot that got him.

  He shoved his pistol in a side holster and offered her his hand. “Looks like somebody got you.”

  Lizzie glanced down. Blood seeped from a small wound in her arm. She twisted it, wincing as pain shot to her elbow up her arm to her heart. There was an exit hole on the other side. But there was more blood on her shirt. Had she gotten shot twice? She looked away as her body threatened to spin. Carter’s body lay next to her. She saw the edge of something hard and black tucked under his belt. They had been so focused on taking weapons from the living, they had forgotten about the dead. Carter’s jacket obscured it from their view, but it was within her reach. The only question was: Could she get it fast enough?

  “I am in control now, things are gonna go my way.” Travis bent closer. “Take my hand.”

  She took his hand with her injured left arm, pain screamed along the ravaged muscle fibers and her mind sharpened to a razor focus. As he yanked her upward, she screamed in pain. She swung her good hand down and whipped the snub-nosed revolver from Carter’s body.

  In an instant of cold clarity, she stood with Carter’s handgun in Travis’ face.

  His eyes darted from hers to the gun and back.

  “Travis, don’t even fucking think about it. People are dead from not taking me seriously. You wanna be next?” Stars sparkled at the edge of her vision. “Put your hands up.”

  He did.

  Lizzie kept the gun pointed at the middle of his face. She regretted shooting CJ. But she had learned a valuable lesson. She knew the truth. If I need to, I will pull the trigger. She wouldn’t miss, not at this range.

  Travis knew it, too; his Adam’s apple bobbed as he shook.

  She shoved the gun in the hollow of his throat. “Anybody want to follow this dipshit?”

  The Independents in her field of vision glanced from one to the other. A rumbling rose behind them. Another snowmobile. Reinforcements?

  Her father appeared beside her. He pulled Travis’s handgun from the holster.

  Her vision contracted. Stay standing, Lizzie.

  Jess appeared with a rifle.

  Lizzie saw Zach slip over to where the kid’s body lay. He knelt with one knee up and picked up his rifle.

  Mannie spoke, his voice loud and commanding. “Anybody else want to die tonight? I don’t.” His eyes searched the crowd, begging for a calm, reasonable response.

  Their guns were not going down. “Shit.” Lizzie knew that everybody’s trigger fingers were itchy. It would only take one, and then they would all die.

  The rumble grew closer. Lights bounced across the snow. A huge man bulky in some sort of military armor rode the snowmobile standing up. He slid to a stop at the edge of the standoff, throwing snow. He jerked a large gun from the snowmobile. He pulled off his helmet and a giant braid fell. “Drop ‘em.” His big gun swept the Independents. The giant native man bellowed. “Drop the fucking guns. Now!” Their guns fell.

  Then his gun pointed toward Lizzie and the rest as he backed up to a good vantage point. “I mean everybody!”

  Lizzie heard guns fall, but she held hers to Travis’s throat.

  A squeal rose behind Lizzie until it became a word. “Randeeee!”

  “BeeGee? Where are you?” The big man held his gun on Lizzie.

  Lizzie felt the cold breeze. She stared back at him.

  BeeGee came running out from behind the broken down truck, grabbing the rifle on the ground by Jess as she ran. “Randy Blackhawk. I knew you’d come.”

  “Which ones are the bad guys?” Randy asked.

  BeeGee shrugged and pointed at Travis. “Him mostly. But them too.” She hooked her head toward the Independents and continued to collect guns.

  Blackhawk pulled his gun from Lizzie and grinned at her. “Pretty gutsy, girl.”

  “I’m Crazy Lizzie.” Lizzie scrutinized him. “You’re not an Independent?”

  Blackhawk chuckled. “Always thought of myself as an Independent, but not one of them.” His eyes swept the crowd. “I want everyone where I can see them.”

  “Move it,” Lizzie ordered Travis. “Forward.” He walked toward Blackhawk.

  She searched for her father. He was standing funny with his fist pressed into his chest. She noticed there was blood on his shirt. Dizziness was coming. “Daddy?” You can’t die. Her stomach contracted and she vomited bile into the snow and sank to her knees. Stars dotted the edge of her vision. She closed her eyes.

  “You,” Blackhawk growled.

  Lizzie eyes shot open as her equilibrium left her. The last thing she saw as she fell into darkness was the deadly anger Blackhawk aimed at her father, along with his gun.

  Zach took in the carnage on the ground. Carter lay in a bloody circle of snow. The kid who’d taken on Travis lay face up. Lizzie teetered as her eyes darted from her father to Blackhawk.

  “You,” Blackhawk said, staring an accusation at Mannie.

  Then Lizzie fell. Zach ran to her, but stopped short as he saw Blackhawk’s shotgun point toward Mannie. He froze. Wanting to scream. No. Enough. Nothing worked. If Lizzie survives I’m going to have to tell her about her dead father.

  Mannie stumbled toward Lizzie. Blackhawk tracked him with the gun.

  Zach stepped toward the gun and in between Mannie and Blackhawk. He saw BeeGee move.

  Travis had stopped walking. Zach could see him gauging his chances. The surreality of the situation stole all sound. Zach couldn’t get his mouth to say words.

  BeeGee’s hand touched Blackhawk’s arm and the gun came down. “No,” she said. “Not him.”

  Zach saw a curtain of darkness fall across Blackhawk’s eyes and disappear as he nodded. Mannie was falling to his knees by Lizzie, holding his fist against his chest above his heart. Zach moved swiftly to help him down.

  Mannie kissed Lizzie’s cheek and then rolled to his back with a groan. His hand slipped from his wound as his eyes rolled into his head.

  Zach applied pressure as blood began to flow through the hole in Mannie’s shirt. He took the pistol from Lizzie’s hand and pointed it at Travis. “Travis, don’t move. Blackhawk?” His eyes found the big native’s eyes, now calm. “Are we on the same side?” Zach saw Duke slipping around behind Blackhawk, a rifle ready in his hands.

  Blackhawk glanced at BeeGee and she nodded. He looked back to Zach. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

  Duke’s rifle moved to cover the Independents.

  “Nev?” Zach hollered. “Jess?” The girls came out from behind the van with Charley and Saj. “First-aid training? Nev? Jess, grab a gun. Help Blackhawk and BeeGee. Rachael? I need you here. Your hand.” Everybody moved.r />
  Rachael knelt, Saj wide-eyed on her hip, and placed her hand next to Zach’s. Zach moved it into place. “Press this hard.” When Rachael was in place, Zach sidled over by the kid Travis had shot. He checked to see if there was any pulse. Nothing. There was a round hole in the middle of his chest. Zach felt like puking, but pulled away after closing the boy’s eyelids. He picked the kid’s rifle up again and turned his attention to the enemy.

  Blackhawk, BeeGee, Jess and Duke had the Independents and the turncoat Collectors in a tight circle.

  “The Collectors should have some handcuffs.” Zach shoved the pistol in his jacket pocket and strode to the van. He pulled it open and found two pairs of handcuffs. He took them and put them on Travis, making sure they were tight enough to hurt. Then he handcuffed Jim through Travis’ arms.

  Blackhawk pulled a long knife from a sheath on his leg.

  Oh, shit. Zach waited as Blackhawk approached the other prisoners. He pulled the man’s shirt out as his knife moved in, cutting their shirts open and tearing them down to limit their mobility.

  Zach was wet, but unwounded. He had dived behind the van, hauling Nev, Rachael and Saj with him. He knelt by Lizzie. Nev had tears on her cheeks.

  “Lizzie’s pulse is strong,” Nev said through tight lips. “She’s not losing a lot of blood.”

  Zach nodded, his eyes searching both Lizzie and her dad for any other wounds. Saj sobbed and wiggled. Zach replaced Rachael’s hand with his on Mannie’s chest. She stood and cooed at Saj, trying to keep him calm.

  Mannie’s shirt was soaked with blood. His breath sounded ragged, but steady. Zach released the pressure; blood did not flow. Zach didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  Jess knelt beside him, sobbing softly. “Are they going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know. Way past my level of nursing.” Giving Gramps shots was all the experience he had. “We need to get them to a hospital.”

  A howl pulled his attention from the wounded. Where the hell had Charley gone? “Jess, keep an eye on Mannie. I’m going to get the RAV and check on Charley.”