by Meyer, Tim
“Not good,” he answered, cranking the engine to life. “Internal Affairs is all over this thing. They're coming tomorrow to do full interviews with me, the Chief, everyone. Probably you, too, I'd imagine.”
Tina buried her face in her hands. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Yeah, that's what I said,” Bernhardt said, merging the cruiser into highway traffic.
“Did they suspend you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not yet. Probably only a matter of time. Can't imagine that it would make for good publicity that the police force is letting one of their own carry while being investigated for fucking murder, or manslaughter if I'm lucky.”
“I'm surprised the Chief didn't kick you to the curb right then and there.”
Bernhardt smiled. “Me, too. Wasn't my biggest fan from the start.”
Tina turned and stared out the window, wondering how she dragged herself into this mess and what she could've done to avoid it. “No, I don't think he cared for you.”
They drove for several miles in silence, awkward tension building as the minutes passed. Eventually, Bernhardt found his way to the Parkway entrance and followed it South. Besides the occasional chatter over the radio from dispatch, they remained quiet the entire ride. Thousands of questions went running through Tina's mind, but she didn't have the mental strength answer any of them.
Finally, Bernhardt broke the silence. “There's an indictment pending.”
Tina's head spun around like a whirling top. “What?”
“The D.A.'s looking to indict me within the next week or two,” he said, his gaze fixated on the road.
“How's that possible? Any other indictment takes two to three months to get through a grand jury. What the fuck is going on, Louis?”
“I don't know! The D.A. probably pushed it to the top of the list. I'm sure it's only for appearance purposes. If they let this case sit, it will bring nothing but bad publicity to the whole county. They're just trying to save face.”
Tina smashed her fist against the dashboard. “That's not my fucking concern, Louis!”
“I know! I know!”
“No, I don't think you do! I don't think you have a fucking clue!”
Bernhardt pulled the car onto the shoulder and cut the engine.
“Listen to me,” he said, turning to her. “I'll do everything I can to keep you out of this. I'll protect you. As far as I'm concerned, you weren't even there. You aren't involved.”
Tears fell from Tina's eyes like droplets of rain from a leaky gutter. “I fucking killed her, Lou. I fucking stabbed her! I fucking shot her! It's my fault!”
He pulled her close. “No, it's not. It's my fault. I fucked up and you got in the middle of it. You did nothing wrong. You saved our lives. And if anyone's got to go away on this, it will be me. It's my problem now, Tina. Not yours. Mine.”
“I can't let you do that.”
“You really don't have a choice. When the trial comes, I'll testify that it was all me. I'll tell the jury you weren't even there.”
“But the neighbors. Christ, my fingerprints—”
“Tina, relax! It's all taken care of. I'll drop you off back at your place so you can rest up and try to forget you were there that day.”
Forget? She'd never forget. It wasn't a moment she could simply pluck from her memory and discard. No, it would remain with her as long as her lungs still carried air in them.
She started to object, opening her mouth to tell Bernhardt that she was in the shit, too, that she wouldn't abandon him like that, when a Jeep sped past them, weaving in and out of traffic at dangerous speeds.
“Did you see that?” Bernhardt asked.
“Yeah, the guy was flying. What's the radar say?”
“89. Little fast, even for the Parkway.”
“It's been a while since I've done a routine traffic stop.”
Bernhardt laughed. “What do you say? My days of being a cop are nearing the end. This could be my last ride here.”
Tina reached for the radio. “I'll call it in.”
“No,” Bernhardt said. “Don't bother. We'll be quick.”
He threw the car into gear and peeled back onto the Parkway. When they caught up to the Jeep he threw on the lights and sirens. The driver swerved into another lane and around several other cars.
“So much for being quick,” Tina said.
“Did you catch how fast he was going?”
“Topped out at 96.”
Bernhardt snorted through his nose. “Son of a bitch. Wonder what he's running from?”
With the pedal to the floor, he moved to the left-hand lane and zipped past a tractor trailer and several other speeding vehicles before sliding back behind the Jeep. Bernhardt always viewed himself as a shark stalking a small fish during the days when pulling people over was an everyday occurrence. A cop usually only saw a few high-speed chases in their career, and Bernhardt had seen less than that. He fixed his eyes on the back of the Jeep, squinting like Clint Eastwood in those old westerns.
“You see what I see?”
Tina nodded. “There's other people with him. They look like kids.”
“What do you think? Possible kidnapping?”
“I don't know. But whatever it is, I think we should call it in.”
Bernhardt shook his head. “We got this. Trust me.”
Trust me. He had said those words several times before, but now, finally, she was beginning to think she shouldn't.
They followed the Jeep to the exit ramp for Pleasure Plains. Immediately, the Jeep darted out into oncoming traffic, forcing Bernhardt to slam on the brakes.
“Come on, assholes!” he shouted, slamming on the horn. “Get out of the fucking way!”
“I ran his plates,” Tina said, once back in pursuit. “Vehicle belongs to Samuel Wright. Lives in Brightwood.”
“What's his abstract look like?”
She shrugged. “Pretty dull. DUI back in '92; speeding in '03; nothing since.”
Bernhardt cut around two more sedans. “He's about to add a hell of a lot to that list. If I can find him that is.”
Tina stared out the windshield. “There!” she said, pointing towards the shopping center. “He pulled into the Costbusters' parking lot.”
They sped through the parking lot, dodging pedestrians and shopping carts. Stomping on the brakes, Bernhardt stopped the cruiser several yards from the store's entrance.
“Stay here,” he said, stepping out of the cruiser.
“What? No way!”
“Stay here!” he shouted. “You'll know if I need you.”
Fighting the urge to ignore her lover's request and exit the vehicle, Tina sat back and watched Bernhardt draw his gun, approaching the man with the towel over his head. She found the woman who had been in the front seat running down the street, back toward the highway. Rolling down the window, Tina listened to the scene unfold.
“Officer, you need to listen to me. You need to—”
“Get down! Now!”
“If you'll just listen to me, I can expl—”
“Do it! Do it now!”
“It's not safe out there. You need to come inside, out of the sun.”
Bernhardt looked weak, as if the heat had sucked the life right out of him. Tina eyed the digital thermometer on the dashboard. 109, it read. A fucking scorcher. She couldn't remember a time it had ever been that hot in New Jersey. Sweat dripped from Bernhardt's hairline. Each one of his steps were heavy and labored, like he had shoes made out of cinder block. Tina cranked the air-conditioning to its highest setting.
“ALL UNITS PLEASE BE ADVISED—THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST.”
Startled, Tina turned the volume knob to the right.
“ALL OFFICERS ARE INSTRUCTED TO RETURN TO THEIR VEHICLES AND REPORT BACK TO POLICE HEADQUARTERS. AVOID DIRECT CONTACT WITH SUNLIGHT. REPEAT. AVOID DIRECT CONTACT WITH SUNLIGHT. RETURN TO HEADQUARTERS IMMEDIATELY.
The message played over and over again. For a moment, Tina just
stared out of the window, watching Bernhardt's condition worsen as the seconds ticked. She couldn't understand what was happening. Sure it was hot, one of the hottest she had ever experienced, but so hot they were ordered to stay out of the sun? What the hell is going on? Things didn't add up. But the longer she watched Bernhardt, the quicker her questions were answered.
“Get back to the car!” she shouted to him, but by then, it was much too late.
-14-
As soon as Tina wheeled Sam into the foyer, they converged on them, asking questions, pointing fingers, wanting to know exactly what the hell was going on and why someone put an arrow through his leg.
“What happened?”
“Who the hell is that girl?”
“Is she one of those cannibals we keep hearing about?”
“Are they even human?”
“What are we dealing with here?”
Each question came like a bullet, too quickly for Sam to react.
“Told you this would be fun,” Tina said, leaning into his ear while bringing the wheelchair to a halt.
“Let me handle it,” Sam said, raising his arms to quiet the crowd. “I'll answer everyone's questions and tell everyone exactly what happened, but I need everyone to settle down.”
Murmurs found their way around the crowd before falling silent. Once everyone was quiet, Sam, with the help of Tina and Brian, stood on his feet. Shondra voiced her concerns quietly, asking Sam to remain in the chair, saying it wasn't necessary to stand while addressing the crowd, but Sam ignored her. Mouth whispered loudly that he was a “stubborn son of a bitch,” but Sam ignored him, too. Sherry pointed to her leg, reminding Sam of how delicate the stitches were. Sam smiled at her, mouthing the words, “Thank you.”
In the back, Soren stood with his arms folded across his chest. Next to him, Chris Atkins leaned against the wall in a similar pose. Becky was missing in action, and Sam figured she had turned in early. Good thing, because that was the last thing Sam wanted to see: his oldest daughter standing next to Soren's sock puppet. On the other side of the tall man whose mere visage angered Sam beyond reasonable measure, was Kyle, another byproduct of too much marijuana and violent video games. Kyle and Chris had been chirpy at the last town hall, and Sam hoped that Soren planned on keeping his two pups on their leashes.
Sam scanned the crowd, wondering how many other ears Soren had whispered in behind his back. How many others were willing to follow him out into the sun? How many people were willing to die for his irrational cause? How many people had he manipulated, spouted lies to? The better question was, how many more he needed to unleash his little plan (whatever it was) and render Costbusters uninhabitable.
Sam reminded himself that he was being paranoid. It could've been the drugs that Shondra had given him that made him think that way. His mind felt like an old television set, fuzzy and unclear. He needed someone to smack him, to break the cobwebs clinging to his thoughts. Shaking his head, he ignored the paranoid notions that invaded his mind. Instead, he focused on the rest of the crowd and their eager faces. They were hungry for answers and although Sam wasn't in the mood, he decided he would feed them.
“A lot of you are wondering why we need to venture out into the surrounding towns,” Sam said. “Truth is, especially in last night's case, we need supplies. We were running out of gasoline and we're gonna need as much as we can to keep the generators running. It's going to be important especially if we're due for a harsh winter like everyone's been predicting.”
The crowd's faces ranged from disbelieving to fairly receptive. Some nodded, agreeing that all of this made perfectly good sense, that keeping from freezing come winter was important. Others shook their heads somewhat angrily, sensing their leader was hiding something, or covering up the truth. They were the same people who thought 9/11 being an inside job was possible and that there was proof that alligators or other reptilian beasts roamed the sewers beneath the streets of New Jersey.
Sam continued, ignoring those people's sour expressions.
“The convenience store we came across had plenty of gas. Brian and Noah filled two giant barrels, which are right over there, in case some of you don't believe me.” Eyes drifted to the corner of the store, where the two said barrels stood unattended. “The rest of us headed into the store, looking for food or anything that we could bring back for the rest of the group. That's when things got... interesting.”
He told them about the pristine condition of the counters, shelves, and stockroom, leaving out the part about the crazed cannibal and the corpse he was feasting on.
“It was clean, not picked through, and you found no one there?” someone asked, suspecting something odd about Sam's story.
“No, nothing clued us in to what we found inside the pizzeria.”
Tina looked at Noah, who stared back, his mouth tightening. Mouth, miraculously, kept all of his comments inside his head, using the filter he had been born with, but seldom used.
“What did happen in the pizzeria?” a woman asked.
“We heard screaming from the strip mall's parking lot. We rushed inside, not knowing exactly what to expect. There was three of them, hovering over the girl we came back with. We don't know what they intended to do, because they scattered when we entered.”
Brian swallowed, biting his tongue hard. He wanted to step forward and divulge the truth. He knew it was the wrong move, that Sam was right—starting a panic would make things worse on all of them—but he hated the lies. He felt each one burn away a piece of his soul, tormenting him, keeping him awake most nights. He almost walked away so he wouldn't have to partake in another lie. But as much of a liar and politician Sam Wright had become, he had always been there for Brian, way before The Burn happened. He had always treated Brian right and never let him down. Gave him days off when something came up like free Yankees tickets or a hot date; even let him skip out early on the painfully slow weekdays when he wasn't truly needed. Those were the things that kept him there, standing beside Sam, while the man told fibs that would later come back to haunt him.
“We grabbed the girl,” Sam continued, “and boogied out of there. When we reached the parking lot, the kids had gotten to the roof. One of them fired an arrow at me, and as most of you saw, hit me in the ankle. Lucky for me, whoever shot me had terrible aim. Anyone with real skill would've killed me from that distance.”
“So they're kids?” someone asked.
Sam shrugged. “Nothing but a couple of rowdy teenagers. No one that poses any real threat. These rumors of an army of cannibals are just plain crazy. We have no evidence to support that wild accusation. As far as the body we discovered when Clay was... with us—well, that seems to have been an isolated incident. I believe we have nothing to worry about.”
A young man pardoned himself from the crowd and raised his hand. Peter, Sam thought his name was. Before Sam could call on him, the kid opened his mouth. “So lemme get this straight—you're outside the convenience store, about to head home, when you hear the screams of a helpless girl coming from across the street. You guys decide you're gonna be the fucking Regulators and go save the day?”
“Not exactly how I put it,” Sam said, addressing Soren, as if he were the one verifying the facts.
“No, no, I just want to iron out the details. So you bust into the pizza parlor, virtually weaponless, without anything to show that you mean business. And these cannibal fucks scatter like a bunch of roaches? Did they all have bow and arrows or were some of them armed with other weapons? Bats? Knives? What?”
Sam gritted his teeth. “I don't know. It was dark. Couldn't see.”
“I just think it's kind of weird that at least one of these people were armed. Yet they were running away from you. Is that what we are to believe?”
“Yup. That's what happened.”
“Then where did Tina get that gun from?” Peter asked. “The one she fired when you guys came running in here?”
Sam felt his head bead with sweat. Shit. He hadn't remem
bered that happening. At that point he was out of it, slipping in and out of consciousness. He couldn't remember every single detail, and honestly, he was surprised someone from the crowd was grilling him as hard as this Peter character was. He glanced over to Soren, watching the bastard's smile split his face in half.
“I used to be a cop,” Tina said, stepping forward. “I carried my weapon unbeknownst to the rest of the group.” She turned to Sam. “Sorry, Sam. I should've informed you that I was carrying.”
Sam nodded. “It's okay. Thank you.”
“So, wait,” Peter said, his forehead wrinkling. “You had a gun this whole time and didn't think to use it when someone was firing arrows at you?”
“I'm no murderer,” Tina said, the image of Alice Bernhardt's slashed throat immediately entering her mind. “Just because I carry a gun, doesn't mean I should use it every chance I get.”
“This whole story is suspect,” Peter said, throwing his hands in the air. “All I hear are lies on top of lies. Stop covering for each other and tell the truth!”
A few other members of the congregation stood, their eyebrows slanted, and their bullshit detectors ringing in their ears.
“Noah?” one woman holding her daughter's hand spoke up. “Is this what actually happened?”
Noah shook his head. “It was dark, Yvonne. It was hard to see exactly what was going on.”
“But it was light enough to see the girl on the counter and rescue her?” Peter asked, throwing his arms across his chest like a bouncer.
Sam nodded, perspiration building on his upper lip.
“Mouth?” Peter asked. “Why don't I believe a single word this guy is saying and why don't you tell us what really happened?”
Sam glanced over at Mouth, feeling the pigment in his skin lose its color. It was a miracle he had kept quiet that long, and now that he was asked to speak, Sam could feel the scale tipping its way to Soren's side.
There are no sides, Sam reminded himself. Everyone's in this together.
Then why doesn't it feel that way?
Sam lied to protect the group. Mouth had to see it that way. He had to see that Sam wanted to downplay everything, make it seem like the danger outside was nothing they couldn't handle, nothing that threatened the safety Costbusters provided. If these people outside—kids as Sam presented them—were no threat, then they would all sleep a lot better. They could feel safe again. Safe from the world and safe from the misguided souls no longer living under the law of the old world.