Afraid

by Jack Kilborn

  “Cover the door,” Wiley said. “They’re coming, and they’re coming armed. Duncan! Where’s that monkey?”

  Duncan was too surprised to speak. He pointed to the sofa. Mathison sat on the armrest, looking agitated.

  “Duncan, you need to grab his collar. It’s really a special kind of bomb. It has a button. You press it and it will kill the bad guys.”

  “How?” Duncan managed.

  “They have microchips in their heads. This sends a signal, breaks the chips.”

  “Mathison has a chip in his head. Will it hurt him, too?”

  Wiley stared at him, and Duncan could tell by his expression that it would hurt Mathison.

  “He’s my friend,” Duncan said.

  “Duncan, we’re all going to die if we don’t press that button.”

  Duncan nodded and swallowed. He walked slowly over to Mathison, the tears making it hard to see.

  “I’m sorry, little guy,” Duncan said. “It’s the only way to save everyone.”

  Mathison put his tiny paws on his scarred head and screeched. Duncan wondered if he understood what Wiley had said. Duncan held out his hand, trying not to cry too much, and the monkey leapt off the sofa and darted across the room.

  Shooting, from the hallway. Duncan turned and saw the door begin to shake. He ran after Mathison, but the monkey screeched at him again and tugged at his collar.

  He did understand, Duncan thought. And he doesn’t want to die.

  “They’re here!” Wiley yelled.

  Duncan looked over at the doorway just as everyone began to fire their guns. The room sounded like bombs were going off, so loud that it hurt Duncan’s head. He knew he should fire back, try to help, but it was so noisy and he was so scared and he was just a kid and what could he do anyway?

  The shooting went on and on, and Duncan crouched down with hands pressed to his ears and started to cry, wishing it would end.

  Finally Wiley yelled, “Conserve your ammo!” and everyone stopped.

  All the gunfire had made the room smoky, and Duncan waved his palm to clear the air and see. Mathison was gone. Josh and Mom were behind the table. Wiley and Sheriff Streng were behind the sofa. Duncan realized he’d dropped his gun somewhere. He scanned the floor but didn’t see it.

  “I’m out of bullets!” Josh said. His voice sounded far away. “So is Fran!”

  “Where’s the ammo bag?” Wiley called.

  “I left it in the kitchen,” Fran said. “Where’s Duncan? Duncan!”

  “I’m here, Mom!”

  Fran crawled over, hugging him.

  “Where’s your gun, baby?”

  Duncan was sobbing now, full blown. “I … I dropped it. I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t want us all to die.”

  “It’s not your fault, baby,” she was crying, too, and she smoothed his hair and touched his cheek and looked so sad. “It’s not your fault.”

  Josh scooted over, putting his arms around both of them.

  More gunshots, from Wiley. Then he yelled, “I can’t hold them! They’re coming in!”

  Duncan closed his eyes. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt too bad when they killed him.

  And then he heard someone cooing.

  Mathison.

  The monkey walked up, walked up on two legs just like a little person. He had his collar in his tiny hand and was holding it out for Duncan. He looked so sad.

  Duncan took the collar, which was thick and heavy. He ran his fingers over it and found the button under the buckle.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to Mathison.

  He patted the monkey on the head, right on his scar. Instead of flinching away, Mathison closed his eyes and opened his arms to be held. Duncan embraced him, hugging hard.

  “Bye-bye, Mathison.” Duncan told him, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

  Then he pressed the button and threw the collar at the door.

  There was a loud crackling sound, a flash, and the lights went off. The room became darker, but not totally black, because of the candles he and Mom had lit earlier.

  “They’re down!” Josh yelled. “The Red-ops are down!”

  Everyone cheered but Duncan. He cried, softly stroking the belly of his friend, Mathison, limp in his lap.

  He did it,” Wiley said. “Duncan did it.” The words came out more like a rasp, and then he fell to his knees and onto his side.

  “Josh!” Ace yelled. “Something happened to my brother!”

  Wiley heard people walk over, saw them bringing candles. Josh crouched next to him, pressed his fingers to his carotid.

  “Talk to me, Warren,” Josh said. “What happened? Were you shot?”

  “No,” Wiley said. It was tough to breathe. And it hurt. He forgot how much it hurt.

  “Help me look for wounds. Let’s get his shirt off.”

  Josh and Fran tugged at his clothes and Josh said, “Oh … Warren.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me, you old bastard?” Streng asked.

  “We weren’t … we weren’t exactly on speaking terms, Ace.”

  “How long ago?”

  Wiley touched the scar on his breastbone. “Ten years. Went to the ER in Madison. They put in the pacemaker.” He winked at his brother. “Runs on a microchip.”

  “Fran told me about the film,” Ace said. “That’s why you didn’t stay in touch.”

  “People after me. Too dangerous. Didn’t want them to go after you or our parents.”

  Someone grabbed his hand. He stared, saw it was Fran. She squeezed it tight, and he tried to squeeze it back.

  “Wiley!” Duncan ran over, knelt next to him. He was still holding the monkey, and he set its dead body down on the sofa. “What’s wrong, Wiley?”

  Wiley coughed. “Bad heart, son. Couldn’t take all the excitement.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  Wiley shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Duncan. I really would have liked to go fishing with you.”

  Duncan hugged him, and for the second time in far too long, Wiley smiled.

  “Do you like apples?” he asked his grandson.

  “Yeah, Grandpa. I like apples.”

  Wiley cleared his throat, and then he felt his heart beat for the last time.

  “I like apples, too.”

  • • •

  Streng closed his eyes. An hour ago, he’d wanted to kick Wiley’s ass. But now he felt a loss even greater than his missing leg.

  Though Streng hadn’t followed his brother’s footsteps into seclusion, he did live alone. He had a job, yes, and buddies, and even a small circle of lady friends to help keep warm on chilly winter nights. But Streng had never married, never had children. Wiley was the last of his family. And just as they were rebuilding their relationship after half a lifetime apart, he was taken away.

  “How are you doing?” Josh placed his hand on Streng’s shoulder. “Your leg, I mean.”

  “I’m managing.”

  “The front entrance won’t open. It runs on electricity. But there’s a secret exit. It’s going to be hard on you. We’ll have to pull you up with rope.”

  Streng shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here a while. I’ve got food, medicine. Even if you get me out, we can’t get to a hospital.”

  “I’ve got a plan for that. And we won’t leave you behind.”

  Streng saw the seriousness in Josh’s expression and gave in.

  “Okay. Wiley’s desk chair has wheels on it. Let’s roll that bad boy over here and get me mobile.”

  Streng tucked the Taurus into his belt and allowed Fran and Josh to manhandle him into the chair. It took every speck of effort he had left not to scream when they set him down too fast and three of the clamps knocked against the floor, but he managed to contain it.

  “What about Grandpa and Mathison?” Duncan said. “Are we leaving them here?”

  “We’ll come back for them, Duncan. We have to get the sheriff to a hospital first.”

  Duncan patted Mathison on the head and reluctantly
followed.

  “Come, Woof.”

  Woof sat next to Wiley and didn’t move.

  “Woof, come!” Duncan said again.

  Woof licked Wiley’s face, then howled. Then he moved to Mathison and nudged the monkey with his nose.

  “Woof!” Fran yelled. “Come, now!”

  Woof picked up Mathison in his mouth, ever so gently, and trotted after them.

  “Woof! Put that down!”

  “It’s okay, Fran,” Streng said. “Woof just isn’t ready to say good-bye yet.”

  Duncan joined Josh behind Streng’s chair, helping him push. They moved slowly, no hurry, no speaking, everyone holding candles. It reminded Streng of a funeral vigil.

  They gave a wide berth to the dead bodies of Santiago and Taylor and rolled Streng into the dark hallway, maintaining silence. Streng remembered how angry he’d been with Wiley when he shipped all of his black-market stolen goods to their parents’ house after the war, telling their father to hide it all, implicating them in his crimes. Then he remembered a time many years earlier, when he’d twisted an ankle playing in the woods, and Wiley carried him home on his back.

  Wiley had known there was a chip in his pacemaker. He told Duncan to press the EMP anyway, to save their lives. That was the Wiley that Streng swore he would remember.

  Their procession moved into the kitchen, quiet and solemn. Streng almost felt it sacrilegious to speak.

  “Josh, there should be rope in the storage room. Fran will go up first, then Duncan, then you, and the three of you can pull me up.”

  “What about Woof?” Duncan asked.

  Streng turned to Josh. “Is it too steep for Woof?”

  “It’s a plastic pipe. His paws will slip.”

  “Then he can go up before me.”

  “What if you get stuck?” Fran said. “One of us should go up behind you, if we have to push.”

  Streng sighed. “Okay, I’ll go up third, then Josh.”

  “Josh can’t use his hand,” Fran said. “He can’t push. I’ll go up last.”

  “Fran—” Streng and Josh said it at the same time.

  “It will be okay. Let’s find some rope.”

  Josh went off to the storage room. Streng stared at Fran and Duncan, and the realization hit him. Wiley hadn’t been the last of his family. Fran was his niece, and Duncan his great-nephew. The thought warmed him.

  “I found rope,” Josh said. “And some Demoral, Fran, for your toes.”

  “How about your fingers?” she said.

  “Are you kidding? I’m so numb I could play tennis.”

  Josh attended to Fran, giving her a shot in the foot. Then Fran tied one end of the rope under Streng’s armpits and the other to Josh’s belt.

  “Be careful,” she said to Josh.

  “I will.”

  They looked deep into each other’s eyes for so long that Streng finally said, “You going to kiss, or stare at each other all day?”

  Josh kissed her. Duncan giggled. Then Josh went into the closet and up the hole.

  They waited, listening to Josh’s progress, every grunt and wheeze getting farther. After two minutes he yelled down, “I made it!”

  “Can you do this, Duncan?” Streng asked.

  “No problem. I bet I’m faster than Josh.”

  “I bet you are, too.”

  And then something chirped. Streng looked around, wondering where the sound came from. Another chirp, and Streng determined the sound was coming from Woof.

  The dog gingerly set Mathison onto the floor.

  The monkey chirped again.

  “Mathison!” Duncan exclaimed. He scooped the primate up and rubbed his belly. “Josh! Mathison’s alive!”

  Streng’s smile died on his face.

  “Fran, you and Duncan up the pipe, now.”

  “Sheriff—”

  “If Mathison didn’t die, the others might still be alive, too.”

  Fran nodded, hurrying Duncan to the hole. He began to climb, Mathison perched on his shoulder. Fran got in after him.

  “We’ll pull you up as soon as we get to the top.”

  Streng nodded and said, “Go!” Then he undid the knot on his chest and tied the rope around Woof’s chest.

  “Take care of them, boy,” he said.

  Woof licked his face and then yelped as he got jerked off his feet and up the pipe.

  Streng took the Taurus out of his pants and looked in the cylinder. No bullets. He checked his man purse and found two left.

  One for Santiago. One for Taylor.

  He’d be damned if he let those creatures touch his family.

  Streng set the gun in his lap and waited.

  Santiago came in first.

  “Hello, Sheriff. You’re not looking very well.”

  Santiago held a large-caliber semiauto in one hand and a knife in the other.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that the EMP didn’t kill you,” Streng said.

  “Kill me?” Santiago smiled. “It liberated me. I’m a free man now, Sheriff. I don’t have to follow orders anymore.”

  “Good. Then you can leave us alone.”

  Santiago laughed.

  “This isn’t about finishing the mission. This is about revenge. Your brother hurt me, Sheriff. The body armor stopped the bullets, but I’m all broken inside. And you broke my cheekbone.”

  “I hope it’s painful,” Streng said.

  “It’s very painful. And the only thing that helps when I’m feeling this way is to take out my pain on someone else. Like you and your friends. Your suffering will go on for days. I’ll make you scream so much your throat will go raw. You’ll beg me for—”

  In one smooth motion Streng picked up the Taurus and shot Santiago above the nose. The Magnum round blew the entire back of his head off, shutting the son of a bitch up for good.

  The killer crumpled, and Streng used his remaining foot to push himself over to the body, anxious to reach the dropped gun.

  “Sheriff!” Fran called down from the pipe.

  Streng ignored her, concentrating on the semiautomatic. If he got it in time, he might be able to end this once and for—

  The first bullet hit Streng in the stomach. The next two punched into his chest.

  Streng fell off the chair, onto his back, the Taurus flying across the room. Streng couldn’t breathe, and he began to shiver even though it wasn’t cold.

  Taylor walked over and stared down at Streng. He was smiling. Streng reached up behind him, searching for Santiago’s gun. His fingers touched something else instead.

  “You …” Streng said.

  “Yes, Sheriff. It’s me.”

  “You … have … got …”

  Taylor leaned down, grabbed Streng by his shirt. It didn’t hurt; Streng was past the point of feeling pain. But he knew he had only seconds before he died, and he really needed to get this in.

  “You’ve …” Streng whispered, “… got … something …”

  “Speak up, old man.”

  Streng smiled, blood bubbling up from his lips, but he managed to say, “In … your … eye …”

  Then he brought up the knife he’d taken from Santiago’s hand and stabbed Taylor in the face.

  • • •

  Taylor flinched in time, and the knife missed his eye socket and glanced off his cheekbone. He brought up a hand to feel for damage and found he could touch his teeth through the new hole in his cheek.

  Taylor screamed in pain and rage and began to stomp on the sheriff, which did nothing, because the man had already died. He stormed over to the sink, pressed a towel to his face, and began to tremble. Then he set his gun on the countertop and automatically reached for the Charge capsules. Taylor broke one under his nose and—

  —nothing. It didn’t relieve the pain. Didn’t calm his mind. Didn’t focus his thoughts. Taylor threw the capsules onto the floor, made a fist, and punched a cabinet, splitting the wooden door in half. His brain was a mess of signals, each one telling him to do
something different. It used to get like that sometimes, before Dr. Stubin put the Chip in. He couldn’t figure out what to do next, but then the answer appeared in his head and blinked like a beacon.

  Kill them. Kill them all.

  Taylor picked up the gun and raced for the closet. He shoved his upper body into the PVC pipe and began to crawl. His cheek continued to bleed, making his hands slip on the plastic, and that only fueled his rage. He’d kill that fucker Josh first. Or maybe he’d just break his knees, so he could watch what Taylor did to the woman and the boy. From now on, his only mission objective, for the rest of his life, was Have Fun.

  The outdoors smell hit Taylor, and he saw he was close to the exit. He stuck his head out of the hole and looked around, squinting at the darkness, seeking out his prey.

  “Hey!”

  Taylor craned his neck up and saw Fran standing above the opening, holding a very large rock.

  Then everything went black.

  Fran followed Josh’s directions and made a left, turning the Bronco onto Pine Glen Way. She had never been so tired in her life.

  In the back seat, Duncan, Woof, and Mathison all slept in a big pile. To her right, Josh held her hand between turns.

  “This is a dumb question,” Josh said, “But how are you doing?”

  Fran pictured it happening once again—Taylor’s head coming out of the hole, her raising up the rock, smashing it onto his face. She hadn’t intended to get his attention first, but it seemed proper that he saw it coming. And it had to be her doing it. Not only because Josh couldn’t lift anything with his broken fingers, but because killing Taylor herself was the only way she’d ever be able to sleep again.

  “I’m okay,” she answered.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She felt Josh hold her hand a little bit tighter.

  “Adam’s house is at the next clearing. Right here.”

  Fran turned and put the truck into park. Josh took the keys, and Fran carried Duncan around the house, down the pier, to Adam Pepper’s pontoon boat. Woof and Mathison tagged along. They boarded the boat, and Josh used the keys to start it while Fran untied the mooring lines.

  Big Lake McDonald was still, quiet. A huge orange hunter’s moon reflected on the surface, and Fran felt herself get a little sleepy. She snuggled up to Duncan in the back seat while Josh guided them to the inlets, made his way into the river, and took it downstream.