The sheriff finally pulled his eyes from the crow. “No need to do that, deputy. You’ll just get yourself killed.”
“Then don’t shoot me.”
“Gotta be done. We need this, Contrisha. The city needs us out here. They need us to have the respect of these folks, so we can keep the peace.”
“No, Balon. They don’t need us. J.D. did just fine.”
The sheriff’s expression grew grave. “He didn’t. He never would have cracked that milk conspiracy. You said yourself he wasn’t even going to go after the murderer. Didn’t even think it was a murder.”
“He would have figured it out.”
“Maybe.”
“He would.” She didn’t sound so sure.
The crow flexed its wings again. I was beginning to suspect that the bird knew the rules to our little arrangement and was just toying with us. The line of spinning windmills was close now, only a couple hundred meters from the edge of the field. I managed to pull in another breath, but I felt like my face was fixing to turn purple. My heart still felt like a little molten ball of fire. Seconds passed.
Far afield I saw another line in the windmills. Slowly, starting with the windmills farther upwind, they were shutting down. The arms stopped and folded themselves downward. They only did that when hurricane-force winds were about to hit.
The sheriff shook his head. “I have to do it,” he said as he turned back to stare at the bird. “The people need to see strength. They need to see what we’re willing to do to maintain the peace. It has to be this way or there’s going to be another civil war.”
Trish nodded. “That why you killed Sam? Is that why you rounded up Cinco Armas whether or not they were guilty of anything?”
“I do what needs to be done.”
“So do I.”
The stubborn crow took off like a shot into the air.
There was a single gunshot. I looked to see Trish standing with steel in her eyes and smoke rising from her gun. Swayle dropped.
With my fumbling fingers, I finally gripped one of the e-cuffs and slammed it onto my metal arm. The familiar jolt racked my body and I convulsed hard.
The first blast of wind hit hard. People stumbled where they stood. Cinco Armas and Jenkins all started to have trouble controlling their vehicles. A half-dozen Cinco Armas landed. The rest flew away. Jenkins parked his freighter next to the house and started trying to pull the young Sharpe out.
Reverend Sharpe somehow pulled free of Trish’s cruiser and bolted for the house. Others from his flock followed.
Ma Brown sat up straight.
She quickly grabbed the Browning.
Her eyes were filled with a rage that I didn’t share. With the nannies in my blood disabled by the e-cuff, my emotions were once again my own. They were far from calm.
She raised her weapon.
Francis was shouting. Fear covered his face. He pulled at her, even grabbed the weapon for a second before she forced him back.
My muscles still screamed but I rolled myself to one side and drew my weapon.
“He got what he had comin’!” Ma Brown pointed the Browning at me. “The good lord struck him down and ain’t no way you going to take my family!”
I saw madness in her eyes—madness and hatred and fear. In that split-second, I saw she would do it. She would kill me, Trish, and Sheriff Swayle if she needed.
I shot her.
I don’t know if I still thought I had regular bullets loaded. Maybe I didn’t think about it. Maybe I didn’t care. It might have happened so fast that it just wouldn’t have mattered. Thinking back on it, I can’t say I’d have acted any different if I’d been thinking more clearly. It was her or me.
Lightning flashed across the sky as I pulled the trigger. Everything lit up and the image of Ma Brown’s exploding neck was burned into my eyes.
She dropped.
Francis stood. He stared at me and his face twisted into a mask of rage.
Then he ran.
Near the house, chaos had taken over. The Sharpes had both freed themselves. Jenkins was on the ground with Billy Sharpe’s boot on his neck and a gun to his head. A dozen onlookers, Cinco Armas and otherwise, were crushing their way into the house. These were people who understood the danger of a true megastorm.
Wind tore at me as I stood, but I knew that wasn’t going to be the worst of it. The windmills at the edge of the field shut down. The worst was seconds away.
“I guess you’re the sheriff again, boss.” Trish was next to me. Behind her I saw Swayle in a heap on the ground. The upper half of the man’s cranium was conspicuously missing.
I looked at the chaos around the house. There was shouting but I couldn’t make out the words. Billy Sharpe was waving a gun around like a madman, threatening punks and regular folk alike. Reverend sharp ducked into the house. Some of the skidders farther afield hadn’t been properly locked down, and the wind picked up one of them, sending it straight for the mass of people. Something had to be done fast.
Francis was still running for the barn, but he wasn’t going to make it.
My first thought was to take charge, shout orders, and be the line of justice that I had been for so long. I could command these people. With a gun and a booming voice, I could bring order in the face of chaos.
The dentist made a running tackle at Billy, knocking the weapon free and somehow managing to bite the sleazy merchant in the process. Blood gushed from the man’s arm and covered the dentist in a grisly image that I believed would keep me from my regular dental cleaning for a good long while.
Bea, the old lady who’d been harassing poor Johnson just the day before, yanked a spiked gangster down to the ground just as an errant skidder blasted past. The flare from its burner sent black smoke trailing from her Sunday best, but she saved the kid from almost certain injury.
Court was using my cruiser to block the wind and create a narrow path for people to make their way into the house.
“No, Ma’am,” I said to Trish, holstering my weapon. “I believe the law puts you in charge. I’m just a well-meaning citizen. You’re the only deputy on the scene.”
She didn’t pause for a second. “Then get your ass in gear, citizen.” She pointed at Francis, who was only about half of the way to the barn. “Save that kid. I’ll take care of the Sharpes.”
I ran.
I thumbed the e-cuff as I went, letting it drop to the ground. Ma Brown’s transmitting days were over, so I figured I was safe. We were running straight into the wind, so I lowered my head and fought hard to catch up. Strength came back to the metal fast, and I put on a burst of speed by grabbing the ground and launching myself forward.
The second wall of wind hit the boy before it hit me. It lifted him into the air and he tumbled back several meters.
As he sat up, I caught him, grabbing his leg with my metal hand, and flung him over my shoulder.
He fought, kicking and hitting and screaming. He bit my ear, but I didn’t let go.
It was all I could do to fight the storm. Grit and water blasted my skin and nearly pushed me back. Running toward the barn felt like climbing a mountain. My body was leaned so hard into the wind that when the wind shifted I almost toppled right over.
The windmills were no longer visible. The air was full of rain and dirt and chickens. A skidder crashed past me. The wall of wind was rotating. I could just barely make out the looming shape of the barn in front of me.
I squinted my eyes against the storm.
The kid was shouting at me, but I ignored it. He stopped hitting. I remember trying to hold onto him as hard as I could. No way was I going to let the kid go. I was the only one who could stop that storm from carrying him away.
With a renewed determination, I forced myself forward. I ran on two feet and one hand now, keeping low so the wind wouldn’t sweep me away. I was nearly blind from the dust and debris and mud.
Twenty meters from the barn another strong gust hit. It lifted us up and dropped us a couple meters to t
he left. I kept going.
Ten meters away, the wind changed drastically. The barn was acting like a breaker, slowing the wind and causing it to whip around seemingly at random. When I reached the barn I turned to see the rotating twister between the house and us. The funnel bounced across the ground, tearing the earth wherever it went.
I wrenched the door open and slipped inside.
I tossed the kid to the floor.
The air in the barn was oddly still. It was heavy with the musk of the beasts inside, filled with their nervousness. Despite the rapidly dropping temperature outside, it was hot inside the barn.
There was a noise from the floor, a sort of whimper.
I couldn’t see anything.
“You all right, kid?” I spoke quietly in a voice that I hoped hid my sense of guilt. I had killed the kid’s mother.
Still, he cried.
“Look, Francis.” I closed my eyes. They were still full of grit from outside. “Frank, I mean. Your ma. I didn’t have a choice.”
The crying stopped. I started to think that what I’d said had maybe made a difference, but something told me I was wrong. Like an idiot, I kept talking.
“She didn’t kill your pa. It was that Sharpe guy. He was using her like a weapon. She knew it but she couldn’t help it any more than you can help hating me right now. You’ll understand some day.”
My vision was starting to adjust. Black shapes started to form in the dark barn. The wind still screamed outside, but there was no evidence of it inside. The boy was still sitting curled up against the wall.
“I wish it hadn’t gone down like that, son,” I said.
I saw his eyes flash in the darkness. They were red and angry. I turned my back to him, letting my eyes focus on the hulking shapes of the longhorns. I started to walk. My muscles still ached, but the run had stretched most of the pain out of them.
“We just gotta wait out this storm here. Trish will take care of what needs to be done at the house, and those Sharpe fellas will find some justice. Just you wait, kid. The world needs strong people to bring justice into it and there ain’t nobody stronger than Trish.”
More silence from Francis. It seemed strange. For some reason I’d expected more. I turned back to him. My eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness.
That’s when I noticed his leg.
Francis was glaring up at me with eyes that sparked red. His leg was twisted under him, crushed where I’d been holding him in the storm.
I had held him too hard. I had tried to keep him safe and in doing it I had hurt him. I had crushed him. I looked down at my hideous metal hand.
It was a tool of war. I was a tool of war, all sharp edges and blunt force.
I slumped down next to the kid and buried my face in my one good hand.
“I’m sorry, kid,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter 20
In a way, I’m responsible for everything that kid ever did. That day, despite my best intentions, I taught him that those who love you aren’t always good people. I taught him that they don’t always stick around when you need them. I taught him that even lawmen don’t always keep their word and there’s nobody in the world that you can trust. I taught him that life is hard, and when it’s hardest, killing is the solution.
I’ll never forget that day, and I’ll always regret it.
For the life of me, I have never been able to figure out what I could have done better.
Maybe the kid was already a monster. He had always been strange, emotionless, and distant. What he went on to do made me think that he could have been saved. There was a good kid in there. He could have been a good man.
Once the storm had passed, we got some medical help for the kid. With the help of an increasingly heroic Ben, Trish managed to subdue the Sharpes. I never doubted that she would. Jenkins survived, which actually did surprise me a little. The following day, Trish, Jenkins, and I met up at the Dry Goat to discuss the events over some strong drink.
“We’ve cleared your name, J.D.” Trish always liked to start with business. I preferred to start with drink. “You could come back as sheriff now, if that’s what you’d like.”
I finished my drink and signaled for another. The aggressive nannies were extremely efficient at purging poisons from blood, so I wanted to keep ahead of them. I had resisted the urge to disable them completely. “Someone ought to teach you how to properly hog-tie an outlaw.” I turned to Jenkins. “You too, city boy.”
He smiled. “I suppose there’s quite a bit someone of your advanced years could teach a person.”
I began by demonstrating my best scowl.
“So, are you back?” Trish asked.
“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway,” I remembered something that had been bothering me. “How is Johnson?”
“Not good.” Trish paused for a while, considering what to say next. “You messed him up pretty good. I think he’ll heal, but it’s pretty painful.”
Lucifer delivered the next drink, which I drained quickly. By the time I slammed down the glass, he had poured another. It seemed a pretty sad state of affairs, when the guy who knows you best is a bartender named Lucifer.
Another change in topic was in order. “What about the Browns? What’s going to happen there?”
“Well,” Jenkins said, “we’re going to look into reinstating their license to sell through Goodwin—once their milk is clear of nannies, that is.”
“Ben has contacted an older brother named Jason,” said Trish. “Say’s they’re going to run the farm together, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Jason went and sold it.”
“Francis?”
“The kid won’t speak to anyone. They’ll get his leg fixed up, mostly.”
“Kid’s not right in the head,” I said. “When he was in the barn he was in pain, but he just shut it off. He shut down his feelings like a switch. Kid shouldn’t be able to do that.”
“Neural boosters,” said Jenkins. “They let people enhance some kinds of mental processing, but sometimes people can use them to completely shut down other parts of their brains. It must have been something he learned to do to protect himself against the emo nannies.”
“Sounds bad.”
“Well, it’s good and bad. It means he didn’t feel as much pain. I’ve never heard of someone putting them in a kid that young.”
Trish bit her lip. “I think things had been hard for the Browns for a long time before Daniel was murdered.”
She shifted in her chair and took a tiny sip of her drink. It was strong stuff. Texas whisky burned as it went down, and I could tell she wasn’t used to it. She turned to me. “How long are you going to be gone?”
I indicated the pack that I had brought with me and was now sitting in a lump on the floor. “Maybe a year. Got some traveling to do. I’m going to live with a friend for a while, maybe pick up a few more tricks.”
Trish smiled, “You have a friend?”
Jenkins smiled too. I couldn’t figure what exactly was amusing about the idea of me having a friend.
“Let’s just call her an acquaintance.”
“A lady acquaintance?” Trish’s smile broadened.
“Yes. A lady acquaintance.” The alcohol seemed like it was finally winning the fight against those nannies. Despite myself I broke into a genuine grin. “Maybe a lady friend, but just in the friend sort of way.”
“Of course,” Trish said.
Just then, Mina walked in. I waved her over to our table and she nervously accepted.
“Mina,” I said, “this is Jenkins and Trish.”
Trish stood and shook Mina’s hand.
I nodded. “Mina is Hopi. She agreed to take me on and teach me their ways.”
Mina said, “They’ve agreed to have you, but it’s not an easy life.”
“Don’t expect it to be.”
“We live off of the land. Subsistence farming, hunting, that sort of thing. Most of the old ways are forgotten but we do our best.”
Jen
kins said, “Sounds like less work than running an enormous ranch like the Browns.”
“It’s not. And if we have a bad year, people can starve.”
“That’s why you wanted out?”
“It was a hard year. Next will be harder.”
“Maybe I can help.”
Mina scanned around the tavern. She bit her lip. The place must have been uncomfortable for her, with the bad memories and the recent storm. I was grateful to her for coming to get me here.
I took a deep breath. “All right,” I said. “Let’s get going, then.”
She smiled and stood. I bid my farewells to Trish and Jenkins. Trish even hugged me before I left, which at first I thought seemed unprofessional. Later, I realized our professional relationship was over. I also discovered that I had grown to care about her.
Outside, the sky was starting to get dark. A group of people was there, many of whom I recognized from being in the Dry Goat before the storm. These were the Hopi—what was left of them, anyway. Many no longer bore tan skin or dark hair of their heritage, but some did. I supposed most of them were about as pureblooded as myself.
An old man, hunched with age and carrying a twisted walking stick, approached from the crowd. I recognized him as the old man who had been smoking in the lobby of the station a couple days previously.
“This is the crow, then?” He reached out and touched my human arm with calloused fingers. His eyes sparkled in the setting sun, but it was the sparkle of intelligence and humor, not technology. “Welcome.”
I tipped my hat to him.
With that, I left behind my mistakes and failures, as well as my successes. After everything that had happened, Trish had gained the respect of the people. She even had the grudging respect of the Cinco Armas and their strange leader, Court. The Brown children were arguably better off than they had been in years, and the town of Dead Oak would do about as good as could be expected. Its people would fight on.
The boy, Francis, who could turn off his pain and sadness, would grow to the notorious Francis William Brown. He would turn the world on itself. The man would end peace and tear apart any balance still left, throwing it into chaos. That is a story for another day.
Justice in an Age of Metal and Men Page 17