Our War with Molly Nayfack

by Chris Capps

  "Clayton," Rind said, his voice descending to a whisper, "We're having a personnel crisis. You just keep your mouth shut and I'll handle it."

  "I'm sorry?" Sugarhill said, an uncertain smile of disbelief crossing his face.

  "I said shut up," Rind said, "I'm talking to Jessica."

  "You can't just-" Sugarhill was cut off.

  "Deputy Myers it's been a long time since I told you how important you are to this force. I'm not saying that to make you feel good about yourself. Today you have nothing to feel good about. You attacked and detained me and ran off with a man suspected of collusion with the enemy. That's something I cannot abide."

  "You were going to kill him," Jessica said levelly, staring into the coals Rind had for eyes, "Senseless. In cold blood."

  "That's my business," Rind said, "Ordinarily I'd have you jailed. Since we're at war, I could have you shot. You know that, right?"

  Jessica was silent.

  "But we're not going to do that, right Sherriff?" Sugarhill said, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. His eyes were crossing between Myers and Rind, watching something unfold that was no longer in his control, "Sherriff?"

  "No," Rind said, "We're not going to do that. Deputy Myers is an important asset, and we need her. And you're not going to sit out this thing in a jail cell waiting for us to take care of it all for you either. Tomorrow at high noon we're taking you out front of the police station. We'll put names in a hat and draw one. The name on the paper drawn out is going to get a whip. And after that, you're going to be tied up and flogged a dozen times."

  "Sherriff," Sugarhill said, his jaw hanging open and his brow crumpled, "No."

  "S'the only way," Rind said coldly, "Next man that steps out of line needs to be afraid. I need everyone on my side."

  "This isn't how to do it!" Sugarhill said rising to his feet, "Deputy Myers has been working for us for years. She's proven her loyalty time and time again. Clayton, when you were gone she thought you were dead. She stepped up and tried to keep things going as Sherriff when you were gone!"

  "Don't think that thought isn't in my head, Sugarhill," Rind said leaning forward and narrowing his eyes into Jessica's, "Don't think I'm not putting my name in the hat too."

  "You just go right ahead," Deputy Myers said, the last bit of fear leaving her right then. Rind had lost control. This was the behavior of a desperate man trying to cope with a world that had moved on without him, "Go ahead and put that name in the hat. But that's not your name, you bulldog. That's the name of a man that died a while back. Maybe he would have gone crazy like you, but he's dead and we'll never know. You're just the body he left behind."

  Sugarhill looked over at her, his shock palpable. There were words in his eyes. Formless, they watched, bleeding meaning into the room. What have you done? Why did you say that? Rind was very quiet. Jessica reached in her shirt pocket, dropping something on the table,

  "It's not as shiny as the one you have. It's burned and dirty. But this is Rind's Sherriff star. This is the one I followed. I don't know what you're wearing."

  Mayor Sugarhill stood then, and crept out the door, clicking it and letting it whine as he walked out. Jessica snorted, the word coward echoing in her head.

  Rind and Myers stared at each other across the desk with a dirty and partially melted silver star rolling on its smooth edge between them. Rind blinked a few times during their long shared silence, and then he leaned forward,

  "You follow the star you've got. You'll understand after tomorrow. I'm the same son of a bitch that made you somebody. I'm the same one that can take that away."

  "You go ahead and take it," Jessica said.

  The door opened and Sugarhill had arrived with Frankie in tow. Sugarhill placed a hand on Jessica's shoulder, one which caused her to look up at him. The mayor had his other hand up to his face, pressing thumb and forefinger up against his eyes.

  "Jessica," he said, "You can hate me forever now. This is gonna follow you until the day you die. God bless you."

  Jessica sat in stony silence as Mayor Sugarhill pulled his hand down from his eyes, and unplugged the tears that had been swelling in them. They poured down his cheek, tracing long lines down the corpulent slopes he had built on his face in the luxurious role of leader. He pointed across the desk at the other second best bowling champion Cairo had ever had. His finger was like a loaded gun, pointed directly at the Sherriff's face.

  "Deputy Frankie," Sugarhill said, "Arrest that man."

  Frankie pulled his handcuffs and wrapped them around Rind's wrists as he rose, eyes never leaving his old friend's face. He smiled in malicious shock, nodding as he watched Sugarhill avoid his gaze.

  "You gonna look at me when I tell you this?" Rind asked, the cold smile curling up his face. The mayor forced himself to watch as Frankie timidly clipped the cuffs shut behind Rind's back. Paul Rind continued, "You just killed everybody in this town. And when she comes here and wipes out the police station I'm gonna get out and find you, Clayton. I'm gonna find you and kill you."

  Rind went quietly after that, not saying a word. When Jessica and Clayton Sugarhill were the only ones in the room left, the mayor looked down at her and said,

  "Now it's your problem. I'm sorry"

  Chapter 16

  "That's how it was," Molly said as she and Felix moved down the tracks, "Everything you do, everything that happens, stays with you. Eventually it comes back. I think Willard knew that too."

  Felix held up his hand, looking into the fog's edge where crows watched from threadbare trees. Molly's eyes were darting around nervously. She didn't like it here. Something about this place was intoxicating to her, desirable even. It was like a dream she had once had, and had been missing ever since. Without a word, both of them stepped off the tracks and down the slope into the forest.

  "Someone's out here," Felix said, "They're not talking, though. They're alone."

  "How do you know?" Molly asked. Felix shook his head. They sat at the edge of the woods listening as it crunched sticks and rocks up the tracks. Molly tried to stop herself from shaking, dropping to a crouch and holding herself against one of the trees.

  Felix wrapped the shoulder strap of his rifle around his hand. The sound of the shot would travel far, cling to the ears of whoever listened. If he just fired once, they might not be able to tell where it was coming from, but they would most certainly check the rail line if they were in earshot.

  It was a shadow, shuffling against the fog, dragging itself, stopping occasionally to sniff the air. Something was wrong with it, as though its legs had been broken long ago and didn't quite heal right. It kicked bare feet over the tracks and knelt down, sniffing and sickly. Its naked head and ragged bare chest swayed as it moved from side to side, swaying like an ape before pressing its ear to the tracks. It waited, looked out at Felix standing, holding the rifle, and it froze. Felix froze too.

  Sad gold eyes stared out. They were human, or else something that had once been human. It breathed through its tiny nose, opening its lipless mouth once to bleat at them. It was a shrill alcoholic sound, a tragedy of vocal chords that pierced the air between them. It stared, shivering and spasmodically sounding its unnatural voice, and slapped its thin fingered hand onto the tracks. It slapped again.

  "Make it stop!" Molly cried, her hands shutting out her ears.

  The thing rose on its skeleton thin broken legs and shuffled up the tracks, bleating once again before looking back at Felix and pointing down the tracks, back toward town, screaming in its goat voice. More sounds were running down the tracks now. More voices.

  "It's telling them we're here," Molly whispered, pulling Felix's arm behind the tree trunk, "We've got to leave now."

  Up the tracks they could hear the chattering voices talking over one another,

  "Mr. Hades!"

  "We've found you!"

  "Come home with us!"

  The thing bleated once more, slapping the tracks and screaming, before loping off into the woods - into
the distance. It was taking long deep breaths and calling out, its meaningless words echoing across the trees. The small group of Mollys moving down the track stopped for a moment, carrying themselves on swift loping legs. The thing descended into the fog away from where Felix and the vagrant Molly watched, concealed by the tree.

  "So strange," one of the voices from the track said, then as if interrupting itself called out, "This way!"

  The group ran after the thing silently now, muting their footsteps and vanishing into the fog. Felix and Molly sat at the base of the tree, still holding their breaths for several seconds before finally getting up.

  "What did it look like?" she asked, "That voice. Was it human?"

  Felix didn't say anything, but shuddered and pulled his rifle back onto his shoulder. He leaned down and took Molly's hand, pulling her up. She was still looking at him, searching him for an answer. After a moment, he started walking.

  "We shouldn't be seeing them like this," Felix quietly said over his shoulder, "They're using the tracks to guide them to town."

  "I didn't see tracks when I was there," Molly said.

  "I know," Felix said, nodding, "We're getting pretty close to the wood rig."

  As they walked the last stretch, Molly reached out and clasped her hand around Felix's. It startled him at first, and he pulled away before he could stop himself.

  "Sorry," he said, gesturing with the rifle up in front of him, "I need my hands."

  "The island," she said, "I keep thinking about this poem I read when I was a kid. Joyce Kilmer, I think. Poems are made by fools like me, but only god can make a tree."

  "Yeah," Felix said leaning down and staring at the tracks, "Do you think that thing we saw could hear them coming from the tracks? Feel the vibrations?"

  "That's been sticking in my mind all morning. The island had trees on it. And other things." Felix had his head pressed to the tracks, his ear resting on the cool steel. He listened hard, stared out down the straight rail ahead of him.

  "I don't hear anything," he said, "I wonder if that means no one's coming."

  "This island made me. Did it make a soul too?"

  "Shh," Felix said, "There's something." It was faint, but he could hear it nonetheless. It wasn't the sound of footsteps. It was a faint rhythmic ping. A signal. Felix said, "a message."

  "What do you mean?" Molly said as Felix tore the bag from his back. He dropped it down, pulling a small blank book and a pen from it and handing it over to Molly.

  "Write down what I say," Felix said, "You don't know Morse code, do you?"

  "No," she said.

  "Then it's not you doing the communicating. Write this down. Dee-dee-dot, dee-dee-dee."

  As Felix translated, he strained his ears, trying to get a picture in his head of what was happening at the other end of the tracks. Was it someone he knew? Was it another one of the Mollys who had defected? No. Neither of those. Somehow he knew the truth. It was that thing. It had rounded about, losing its pursuers in the woods, and had dragged itself back to the tracks to type out a message to them.

  "It's repeating now," Molly said finally, lowering the paper in her hand, "Same dots and dashes twice now."

  Felix tapped the butt of his rifle down on the tracks twice to acknowledge he had received the message. The tapping stopped instantly. He imagined that sickly thing craning its neck up now, looking up the tracks to where they had stopped before galloping off into the fog. He rose and took the paper from Molly's hand.

  Felix and Mike had taught each other Morse code as children when they played spy games, and then later to help them translate the various Morse code messages broadcast across the CB network in the dead of night. He looked down at the paper, writing letters under the various dots and dashes. He read aloud as he wrote.

  "No. Go. Factory."

  "What does that mean?" Molly said, peering over the top of the notepad.

  "The island," Felix said, "The Island must be near here."

  "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "The words are here," Felix said, "I don't know anything you don't. He could also mean the lumber mill. Both are a sort of factory."

  "Either one would seem unambiguous to whoever sent them," Molly said furrowing her brow, "Why factory?" Felix turned, putting the notepad away,

  "Let's hope he meant the island. We're already next to the lumber mill. That thing you were talking about earlier. Asking if you had a soul. Is it still bothering you?"

  "It's okay," Molly said, "I was just making conversation."

  Felix held out his hand behind him as a tall rectangular building emerged from the thick fog ahead. Molly took it and he squeezed it with a warm smile,

  "If it's any consolation, I don't know if I have a soul either. But if you're asking - if you want one - I'd say that's a good sign."

  Hand in hand they walked the last few paces to the front door of the old lumber mill's office. They had made it. The lumber mill beyond was quiet. All they could hear was the constant billowing of wind. It smelled like mildew here. It was the thick damp smell of rotting felled trees. They walked to the main office building. It was locked, of course. Felix looked around before raising his boot and kicking it just below the doorknob. The door swung open easily.

  The light inside the room was spilling from the window next to the front desk. Thick cobwebs were clinging to everything, wrapping around every corner of the room and traveling down the seams at its edges. There was a desk covered in dust sitting against the wall, and an old CB radio plugged next to it.

  "That's right," Felix said shaking his head as his eyes lit up, "I forgot that there's power running out here."

  Molly was standing by the door watching the fog, fearful that shapes might emerge from it at any moment. Either it would be a crowd of forms identical to her, or else it would be that monster of a man jerking and jostling over the tracks down toward them. Felix flipped the switch over on the CB, but it remained dead. The power had been turned off.

  "We'll head to the power station to get this place switched on," Felix said, "A little bit at a time. We don't want to make a commotion."

  Molly was glad to get out of that office. The two of them rounded the building and walked deeper into the facility. Trailers and small long-abandoned houses lined the side of the dirt path they walked on with the heavy smell of mildew and sawdust hanging heavy in the air. A crow perched in one of the house's gutters, glaring down at them as they encroached further in.

  "So this is it," Felix said ascending one of the steps to a nearby streamline trailer and checking the door. It was fastened shut, and he continued, "It's down right now, since no one needs more wood just yet. We're still running through the stockpile from four years ago. But if you need it, here it always is."

  "We could stay here a long time assuming we could find food," Molly said.

  They continued on quietly, their footsteps muffled by the howling wind. The crow they had passed now leapt from its perch and soared overhead, cawing angrily. Then Molly stopped and grabbed Felix by the elbow,

  "Over there."

  The wind was kicking up dead leaves now, howling in their ears with all the might of a hurricane, but they didn't feel a thing. It was an illusion. The buildings were hollow, resonating with the wind like tremendous horns and flutes, playing all around them like a city of rusted instruments.

  The crow landed on a nearby roof, leering down at them as they came to a small picket fence with clothes hanging from it. Molly knelt down, picking up a blouse identical to the one she now wore. Blood was smeared down its front, swirling in long fingerprints. Her hands were shaking when she dropped it back onto the post where it hung billowing in a line next to a hundred others, disappearing into the fog ahead.

  Shoes were tied together and tossed over electrical lines. Glasses were glittering the dirt road, many trampled and broken. It was all around them. This was where they separated the wheat from the chaff. She turned away, pulling Felix by the arm, her voice trembling,

&n
bsp; "This is where they take us."

  She knew, of course. Somewhere in her mind she had glimpsed something that would do this, and she knew how. They're brought here. This is where they get prepared. Out of sight. But there was more.

  She limped, favoring the leg that hadn't been slashed, past a small pile of orange pill bottles. Beyond it was the tail section of a helicopter. And beyond that, piled up near a dune of woodchips, Felix saw a sea of white masks, all of them staring without black eyes and gentle smiles. He finally caught up to her in time to hear singing back by the picket fence of clothes they had left behind.

  "Don't scream," Felix whispered, "No matter what, keep quiet."

  Molly nodded, eyes big and wet as she peered into the fog. Were those voices weighed down by something? Felix got a strong impression that they were. They were loaded down with a bundle, singing as they each carried it between them. He pulled her by the sleeve into the fog,

  "We can't stay here."

  ***

  Crows watched Mike McCarthy as he hunched his back against the swelling canvas sack over his shoulder.

  "Three days," he muttered under his breath, "Yeah."

  He knew he wouldn't last that long in town, and it wasn't his paranoia telling him that. He had assessed the situation in town the previous night. He even considered visiting his parents.

  The fortress they had built in town had a small private army patrolling it. Untrained, and scared. He knew the approach of his truck had a good chance of snapping somebody's good sense. And once the first bullet strayed, he'd soon enough be sitting in the Bonnie and Clyde death car, with bullets whizzing all around and through him.

  He knew it was a bad idea, and he knew even calling ahead wouldn't make it okay. That probably was his paranoia, but he wasn't taking any chances today. After spending the night in a culvert, listening to every footstep as it ran past, he was bound to leave.

  The helicopter, the smell of smoke by the warehouse, and then that horrible explosion up by the Novak house - it was all falling down like a card castle. Time to leave.