Shane gave a primal scream of rage and charged back down the trail toward Jack.
Jack stumbled to his feet and ran, ignoring the pain in his legs. He put one foot in front of the other and forced his legs to move faster. He ran deeper into the forest, leading Shane away from Kenny and his family.
"He was a weakling. He didn't deserve to live, Shane. That's what you're really mad about," Jack yelled.
Shane grunted and fumed, blowing air through his clenched teeth as he ran, hot on Jack's heels.
The trail split in two. One track led up a steep incline and the other headed back toward the river. With his knee about to give out from the beating he'd received, there was no way he could climb the steep hill and stay ahead of Shane. He veered down the left-hand trail leading to the river and poured on the speed as he got his second wind.
Shane fell further behind in the footrace. Jack turned his head to look over his shoulder, concerned that Shane might give up and turn back towards Wheeler. The whole point was to lead him deeper into the woods after all, not to escape from him completely. If he could buy Amy and the boys time, even at the cost of his own life, it would be worth it.
His attention on what Shane might be doing somewhere behind him, Jack barely noticed the tree roots growing across the path that entangled his feet He came to an abrupt stop, his body slammed against the ground, knocking the wind out of him. His spear went flying into the underbrush, lost amongst the leaves.
Jack struggled for air, his chest heaving. He finally got back to his feet and started down the trail. All he could manage was a stumbling job. The beaten path of the woods gave way to gravel, sharp rocks, and boulders as he reached the banks of the river.
Shane raced down the path, his feet drumming on the trail. He slowed to a walk.
"You're going to take back what you said, Jack. Take it back, or I'll kill you and then I'll kill both of your sons. I'll put an end to your whole family. Is that what you want?"
Jack reached the river's edge and his legs went out from beneath him, sending him to his knees. Try as he might, he couldn't muster the strength to rise again. His knee throbbed in protest, his jaw and chest shooting pain. On his knees, he turned to face Shane.
"Let this end with me. Don't take this out on my family. I'm the one who killed your son. I'm sorry--"
"You're sorry? No, you're not sorry yet. But I'm going to make you sorry," Shane said.
Shane grabbed Jack by the hair and slammed him face down into the rocky gravel, then sat astride his back.
Jack’s mouth lit up with pain as his jaw full of empty sockets and broken teeth was pressed into the hard gravel. A surge of adrenaline fueled him, and his instinct kicked in with one message. Do something to stop the pain. Jack pushed up with all of his might, attempting to throw Shane off of his back.
Shane wouldn't budge, though. His grip was secure on the clump of Jack's hair. He pushed Jack's face back into the gravel, grunting and cursing.
In a blind panic, Jack felt his hand close around a large rock. He twisted his body underneath Shane's weight, ripping the clump of hair out of his own scalp in the process. He drew back his arm and struck Shane across the temple with the rock, then pulled back and struck him again.
Shane's eyes went glassy and he rolled off of Jack, slumping down onto the river bank.
Jack got to his feet. He grabbed Shane by the hair and dragged him into the river. In the waist deep water Jack took hold of his head and pushed Shane underneath the ice cold water.
In an instant Shane came back to life, struggling against Jack's grip. He clawed at Jack's face and shirt, trying to get his head above the water. Shane switched tactics and pulled Jack down toward him. He head-butted Jack and came out of the water gasping for breath. Shane grabbed two handfuls of Jack's hair and pulled his face up to the side of Jack's head. He bit down hard, ripping half of Jack's ear away between his teeth.
Jack screamed in agony. He took a deep breath, and used all of his weight to shove Shane all the way down to the bottom of the river. Jack stayed right on top of him, pushing his legs against a large boulder in the river, he used it as leverage to keep Shane on the bottom. Jack was forced to keep his own head underwater at times to maintain the leverage.
Shane clawed at him and his hands grabbed at his wounded ear. Bright red blood flowed freely from the wound, tinting the clear water red. Jack ignored the pain and kept his body weight on top of Shane.
Shane struggled but couldn't break his grip, and after a moment of clawing and kicking his movements became less violent. Then, all at once, the fight went out of him. Bubbles erupted from his mouth and nose as he expelled his last breath and sucked in a lungful of water. Shane kicked and flailed just for a moment and then finally went still.
His lungs near bursting, Jack lifted himself out of the river and gulped air. When he caught his breath, he leaned down again under the water, keeping Shane pinned down to the bottom until he was sure the man was dead. Shane stared off into the distance, his unblinking eyes wide and lifeless.
Truly exhausted and wracked with pain, Jack dragged Shane's body to the shore and collapsed alongside him. His chest heaved as he struggled for air. His hands and feet were numb from the ice cold water. In some minimal level of awareness that was barely Jack, he got to his feet and plodded upstream toward the campfire and warmth. He was too cold and filled with pain to do anything but think of warmth and sleep.
Chapter 23
Chief Howell pulled the motorcycle off of the rural highway and stopped in the gravel driveway of a disheveled old home. He sat on the bike, just watching the abandoned home for several minutes before killing the motor and putting the kick stand down. Paint peeled from the sun dried wooden slats on the sides of the home, and the rusted tin roof was full of rips and holes. A small tree grew out of the broken window next to the front porch, one more sign that the home had been long unoccupied. His emotions in turmoil, he stepped off the bike and gave himself no chance to back out.
He took a bottle of moonshine out of the bike's saddlebags. One more gift, along with the motorcycle, from his unlikely new allies in the motorcycle club. After many years of an adversarial relationship, they had worked together to push back the armed intruders supporting Shane. Only time would tell if the marriage of convenience would hold or if old grudges and bad blood would renew their bitter conflict.
For his own part, he was ready to let go of the past and move forward. He was ready to become the man Wheeler needed him to be. He could not remain the weak and indulgent drunk he was now. He had to grow, to change, to become something else.
He stared longingly at the clear fluid as it splashed around inside the bottle, wondering how many such bottles of liquor he'd drank over the years trying to hide from his pain. It had never really worked, though. The raw emotions and memories that bubbled up to the surface when he pulled into the driveway of the long abandoned drug house were a testament of that fact. He felt the loss of Bud Jr. just as heavily as he did so many years ago.
He walked up the decayed front porch steps and burst in the front door with a sturdy kick. The rusted lock gave way easily, and as he stepped through the doorway he was transported back in time.
So much had changed, and yet so little had changed. This little house was the start of it all for him, the beginning of his long decline. Back then he had been Sheriff Howell. He had his entire life in front of him, his wife, his son, and his health. He was invincible. And then came that fateful day that his son was taken from him. Shot and killed by his best friend's son during a drug raid.
Wyatt lost a son that day forever. He lost a son that day forever. Roy's son was sent to prison, but was presumably still alive. No one had heard from him since the EMP. Had he died in the prison in the aftermath? Had he escaped, but decided Wheeler was too small for him? Was he afraid of returning to the same dark path that led him to prison? Or was it something else? In a way, he understood the rage and hurt Roy felt. What must it be like to not know wha
t happened, to constantly wonder what became of your child?
At least he had finality.
So much death and none of it meant anything now. That world was gone. Good guys versus bad guys. The world they were left with was full of grey areas. He had to learn to live with it and follow the rules of the new game. He had to compromise with the people he hated to protect his town. To deal with the devil, as it were.
Wyatt was dead and he never had a chance to truly reconcile with him, to let go of the past. The town lost a good man in Wyatt. Wyatt was a much better man than himself. Chuck was gone, too. He could almost hear Chuck's ghostly footsteps echoing through the small house. Or maybe it was just his memories leaking through, amplified by the painful emotions in his heart.
So many people gone. Only survivors remained. Roy was a survivor. Jack Miller, if he was still alive, was a survivor. He was a survivor. But what kind of survivor? He wasn't smarter, or faster, or better than anyone else. It felt like it was mostly dumb luck on his part. A washed up, drunken small town Police Chief who used to be the county Sheriff.
Either way, this new world was harsh and unforgiving. Even if dumb luck was all that kept him alive and saw him through, the town still needed him. As hard as times had been over the last year, there were even harder times ahead. This was just the beginning of a whole new world. The winter had weeded out the last of those clinging to the old way of life. That winter was now nearly over.
A new world was about to dawn. It would take them back to the time of his grandparents. They would have to figure out how to do things in the old ways. Grocery stores and commercial farming were gone forever, or at least for the foreseeable future. Small scale farming would make a comeback, along with a whole range of cottage industries. It would be a return to the old barter and trade economy. He could see a new monetary system developing again in place of the digital ones and zeroes stored on a computer chip at a corporate bank’s headquarters somewhere. Real goods, bartered for other real goods.
What did a backwater town like this have to offer the world? The coal mines were all further north. There was only one thing Wheeler was ever known for and that had been during the Prohibition era. Distilling moonshine and running liquor over the country back roads had kept more than a few families in the area well fed. Maybe that was something they were uniquely qualified to produce. It was hard to think of producing something more Appalachian than moonshine. Heck, the MC had already admitted to smuggling goods through the area. Maybe they could put that to good use for the whole town: a moonshine export business, trading liquor for other necessities.
It felt ironic to be thinking of a local economy built on moonshine when his purpose in coming to this small house was so far in the other direction. Chief Howell opened the moonshine and poured a steady stream of it out of the bottle, spilling it on walls and doorways as he walked through the abandoned house. He stopped just inside the doorway of the room his son was killed, and then dumped the remainder of the bottle onto the floor.
Hands shaking, he took a lighter from his pocket kneeled down, lighting the pool of moonshine on fire.
He was done pickling his mind, drowning the details of his past. He would strive to become more sober, if not quit drinking altogether. There was too much hard work to be done to allow himself to continue like this, too much to live for. Other people relied on him and he needed to take up that banner and treat the vows he gave as a city Police Chief seriously.
He left the house and stood next to the motorcycle in the driveway, watching the flames grow with intensity as the little house caught fire. The fire traveled along the eaves and soon the whole house was ablaze, grey and black clouds of smoke billowing out of the broken windows.
With this final symbolic act, he had taken the first steps on the path to change. The past was gone, and he would move on. A rough road lay ahead but when he met with Judge Ramsey to determine the future of their two towns he would have a clear mind for the first time in decades. He would fight for what rightfully belonged to his town and press for their due. He would also help the man who he despised the most, the man who felt the same pain in his heart as he did. Wyatt was at rest now, but he could still help Roy. Maybe he could help Roy track down his son and bring peace to the man's troubled mind. It might not be enough, but it was something. Something that he could build on.
Chapter 24
A large bonfire burned brightly on the bank of the river, sending tiny, glowing embers up into the night sky. The fiery dots danced on the icy breeze for a short ways and then went out. The heat and the light they produced were beautiful but temporary. Pine sap from one of the burning logs crackled and popped, but otherwise the night was quiet, the only sound coming from the gentle rush of river water flowing over stones as it moved downstream.
Jack left the blazing heat of the fire behind and picked up a large flat stone, stacking it atop of many others just like it that made up the walls of the cairn. The pile of rocks covering Shane's body was tall enough, but Jack wasn't quite ready to call the task complete. Something still felt wrong to him. Something was missing.
A horse whinnied nearby, protesting some unfamiliar and frightening nighttime noise. Jack glanced over at the two horses that were tied to a tree, and watched them for a moment until the animals quieted down. It was likely nothing. The animals had been spooked ever since their owners were shot the previous day. Gunfire and a wild romp through the woods was much more than these mares had ever experienced. It had taken him hours earlier in the day to track the horses and calm them enough for him to take their reins again. Keeping them still while he loaded the two dead bodies onto them had been a challenge as well.
They would have to remain brave, for they still had one last role to play. Jack had tied the two dead escorts from Long Branch across their saddles. Once he was done burying Shane he would lead the horses and their riders on one last ride to Wheeler.
From there they could then be turned over to Long Branch when the situation calmed down. Even with Shane gone, Jack would take no chances riding back into Long Branch with two corpses and his side of the story. He'd escaped with his neck once. It wasn't something he wanted to try to repeat twice. He was done with all of this nonsense and wanted nothing more than to be home with his family. Somebody else could deal with the horses and the bodies.
He kept asking himself why was he doing this for Shane. Why build a cairn for a man who had wrought so much destruction? His best friend, Wyatt, was dead, the man who was responsible for keeping Jack alive during his long trip home to his family after the EMP. The two men sent to escort him back to Wheeler were dead by Shane's hand. He tried to kill Kenny and threatened to kill Jack's entire family.
Shane's blind rage had cost at least three men's lives. Did the two men sent to escort Jack safely back to Wheeler have family? Friends? It was hard to believe there wouldn't be someone to feel their absence.
Maybe he was doing this as a way to bury his own emotions. He still felt conflicted about killing Shane's son, even though he knew it was necessary. Just as he knew that killing Shane had been necessary. That wasn't what bothered him, though. Maybe the reason was because he felt like he understood Shane and understood how he came to be the way he was, fueled by his rage that was created by the loss of his son.
Before the EMP Shane might have been anybody. Just another average Joe, a nobody. He went to work, paid his taxes, raised his son, and did what he was supposed to. But when everything had been stripped away from him, what did he have left to live for?
That wasn't to say Shane was innocent or blameless. Clearly he went too far and killed innocent people in pursuit of his revenge. But who could say what a man would do after living through something like that?
Look at how far he had gone in order to protect his family. Just to get back to his family in Baltimore he'd killed several men with his own hands. If he lost Amy and both of his boys, who could say if he would hold it together or not. Would the burden of loss prove to be too m
uch for his mind and soul?
Pointing the finger at Shane and holding a grudge wouldn't bring the dead back, nor would it provide him any comfort.
Was Shane an evil man? Or was he was a man pushed beyond the limits of sanity by the loss of his son and everything else he knew. A man with nothing to live for. Had events caused something to snap inside of him, his rage blinding him to the harm he was causing others?
It wasn't a question he had an answer to. He only knew that if a man killed Amy, Danny, or Kenny, he would hunt that person down and make them face justice. How far would he go? It was a question he hoped he would never have to answer. He just couldn't imagine killing an innocent person, but then again he still had his wife and sons.
Maybe he hadn't built the cairn for Shane, but for his son, Todd. Jack did feel remorseful over twisting the truth about the incident on the train to keep Shane's anger focused on him. The lie had been a necessary evil, a moral grey area.
Jack did what he thought was right. He pitied Shane more than anything. He was sad but he didn't feel guilty at his part in the story. There was nothing he could have done differently, and he would do nothing different in the future. He had his own family to raise, and if it happened again he would do the same things to protect them.
Wyatt was dead, the two escorts from Long Branch were dead, Todd Fowler was dead, and Shane Fowler was dead. Amy, Danny, Kenny, and he, himself, were all alive. In the end that was the whole story and the rest was meaningless.
There were a lot of grey areas between right and wrong. What shade you chose to see things in depended on a whole lot of things. The survivors always got to choose how things were interpreted.
Jack picked up one last river stone, set it atop the cairn, and then sat down by the bonfire waiting for a new dawn to break. Tomorrow he would lead the horses home and be together with his family again. Whatever challenges came their way, whatever hardships lay in store, he would see his family through. His head and jaw pained him terribly. He had asked for none of this, but he would pick himself up and move on.
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 2): Desperate Measures Page 15