Fireworks

by James A. Moore

  "Ladies, we have orders to shoot anyone on the streets on sight. Technically, you should be dead." The buzzing tones of his voice could not hide a certain amount of amusement that crept out with his words. "Would you like to tell us what you're doing out here?"

  "We were on our way to see the Colonel." Karen had always believed in telling the truth. She saw no reason to change that philosophy now.

  "Well, that works out nicely. That exactly who we're taking you to see." He stepped behind Karen and grasped her right arm. "Please don't struggle, and you won't get hurt." In a matter of seconds, he had both of her hands behind her back. Something thin and cold held them in place when he removed his own hands. A moment later, he hauled Laurie's hands behind her back and used what looked like an oversized plastic garbage tie to lock her wrists together. "Now then, please walk carefully and quickly. I don't want you falling and hurting yourselves." She was reminded of that TV show, Cops, where the officers were always so polite after they'd managed to force the bad guys into cuffs.

  The trip was uneventful. After walking for fifteen more minutes, the two of them were led into the canvas headquarters of Colonel Mark Anderson. The man did not look amused. "What is it with people in this town?"

  "Huh?" Laurie scowled at the man, but her pale skin and shaky voice betrayed her false bravado. "What do you mean?"

  "It seems simple enough. I say 'Don't go out after dark, or we'll be forced to shoot you.' What do you suppose that means?"

  "That you're gonna kill us?" Karen didn't even try to hide her nervousness. Her voice was shaking and her knees felt like they were made from Jell-O.

  "No. It means that I should have told my men to kill you on sight. Unfortunately, I'm a bit of a softy." Anderson was not wearing his mask. His strong face was set in a scowl, and his bruises from the day before had transformed themselves into ugly greenish-yellow blotches. "Would you please tell me what the hell you ladies are doing out after curfew?"

  "Well, sir. We came here to try and make a deal with you." Karen was pleased with herself. She managed not to stammer as she spoke.

  "A deal?" The man's face stiffened, and an almost smile came to his features. "What sort of 'deal' were you planning on offering me, Ms. Donovan?"

  "How did you know my name?"

  "I have a dossier on every person in this town, Ms. Donovan. I know names and faces in most cases. Sometimes I know a lot more." He shrugged. "Now please answer my question."

  "I wanted to try helping you with finding the killers of your men," she stammered. "I… in exchange for your promise not to kill everyone in town." The tears started then. She didn't want them, but they came anyway. The idea that the man in front of her might know everything about her changed the stakes considerably. What if he decided she didn't deserve to live? What if he decided she should be with Peter, no matter what? True, it wasn't something he was likely to make her do, but he could if he wanted. His authority over her life was complete and his knowledge of her life worried Karen deeply. One little bit of knowledge had changed everything. He wasn't a stranger anymore. He had too much knowledge, and the information in his possession suddenly made him appear as a parent appears to a toddler: powerful and unstoppable. She blinked hard and sucked in a deep breath. No good, the waterworks wouldn't stop.

  The Colonel looked at her for several seconds, confusion obvious on his face. Then his emotions disappeared behind a hard, expressionless surface, and he held out a tissue for her. She shook her head. "Can't."

  "Can't what?"

  "Can't move my arms. They're stuck."

  "Sergeant, remove the restraints from these women, please."

  One of the two soldiers stepped forward, pulling a knife from his belt as he came. He faded from her blurry view, and a moment later her hands were free. A wave of pins and needles moved into fingers that she had not realized were suffering from lack of blood. She took the offered tissue in her numb right hand and nodded her thanks.

  "Get seats for these two ladies, Sergeant. And something for each of them to drink." The man disappeared, returning a moment later with two fold out chairs. After he'd set them down he left again, returning the second time with metal cups filled with cold water. The Colonel promptly dumped the water out of each and produced a bottle of bourbon. He poured a few ounces into the bottom of each cup. "Now then, sip on that and tell me what you had in mind."

  Karen took a very large sip of the bourbon, feeling the liquid burn down her throat and blossom into a warm furnace in the pit of her stomach. The sensation was comforting. "Colonel, what is going to happen to the people in this town?"

  The man hesitated, apparently trying to compose his answer. "That's hard to say at this point. If the murders of my men continue, the results will not be good."

  "If I can help you stop the people responsible, can you guarantee the safety of the people here?"

  "I cannot make promises at this point. A lot depends on the level of cooperation we receive." He paused for a moment, staring Karen in the eyes and then looking intensely at Laurie. "For what it's worth, it has never been my intention to kill everyone in town. I need to ensure privacy, and I need to make certain that the national interests are protected, but I do not plan on killing everyone."

  "But you will if you have to, isn't that right?" Laurie's voice was soft and low, but her words were clear just the same.

  The man looked back at her, his mouth set and his eyes unwavering. "Yes, Ms. Johnson. That is absolutely correct."

  Laurie shrugged, reached for the bottle of bourbon and poured herself another shot. "At least you're honest about it."

  "I see no reason to lie."

  "I've got a list of names. Some even have addresses." Karen spoke up, sensing a building tension between her friend and the man in charge of Collier. "If you promise to do your best to avoid killing anyone, that list is yours."

  "This list pertains to the killings?"

  "It's a list of the people I think are probably responsible. Not all of them, just the ones most likely."

  "Why should I trust your list, Ms. Donovan?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said, why should I trust your list?" The Colonel stood up, walking a few paces to a small cooler and pulling a Pepsi from inside. "How do I know that your list is nothing more than a selection of people you don't like for whatever reason?"

  "Well, I guess you'd just have to trust me."

  "You ask a lot under the circumstances."

  Laurie spoke then, her voice filled with venom. "So did you when you came into this town. You asked for everyone to trust you and obey you." Laurie smiled tightly, holding up a hand to prevent Karen from interrupting her. "You say the government's gonna pay all the bills for everyone who's out or work right now, and you say that what you're after is for the good of the country. Mister, I have yet to see anything on the armor you're wearing or even anything on your Jeeps that says you're with the U.S. For all we know, you're a goddamn Commie."

  "I can assure you that I was born here in the U.S. and that I'm a citizen."

  "I'm sure you can. I'm also sure you won't, just in case we remember something, like part of your Social Security Number. I don't think you work for the military. I think you work for the part of the government that doesn't exist on paper."

  "You might be right."

  "Kari here, she thinks there's a good chance you'll just bury all of us. Or lock us away in a prison that shouldn't be there. One that the taxpayers don't know nothin' about. Me? I'm an optimist. I think we'll get to live for as long as we don't sing." Laurie smiled again, a broad grin that had nothing at all to do with happiness. Karen desperately wanted her to just shut up, but knew that it was too late for that. "I figure we'll maybe get new names and new jobs set up somewhere else. Which one of us is right, Colonel?"

  Karen turned to look at the Colonel. He wasn't smiling. "Maybe you're both right. Maybe the ones I like will get to live, and the ones who annoy me will end up in a shallow grave. Or maybe we brought a bomb w
ith us for when we leave. One that will vaporize everyone in town, and be attributed to a terrorist who doesn't really exist." The man leaned in closer, locking eyes with Laurie and returning her feral grimace. "Maybe it'll be done with a short-lived killer virus, one that was custom-built by the U.S. of A. to take care of problems of civil unrest. Maybe we'll just line up the whole damned town and thank them for their cooperation before we pull the triggers."

  Karen reached into her purse and pulled free the three sheets of paper with names written on them. She set them on the desk and stood up. "I think we should leave now, Laurie. I think we're bothering this man." Oooh, she added to herself. With a line like that I might even make it to the door before they shoot. Her heart was making unpleasant motions in her chest as she started walking.

  "Not so fast, Ms. Donovan." Anderson's voice was a steel whip cracking in the air. She turned slowly to look at him, conscious of the sweat dotting her skin.

  The Colonel looked at her for a moment, and then gestured for her to sit again. Walking on legs that refused to move without making odd jerking motions, she did so. The Colonel looked at the sheets of paper she'd left behind, scanning the names and occasionally looking over in her direction.

  "What made you decide to write this up?"

  "I don't want to die, and I don't want my friends to die. I figured if we cooperate, maybe things will go better."

  "Peter Donovan is on this list. Your ex-husband, if I remember correctly."

  "That's right."

  "Is he on this list because he's your ex-husband?"

  "No. He's on that list 'cause I've seen him hunt and I've heard tales of what he did while he was in the Special Forces."

  Anderson looked at her for a long while, and Karen wanted to scream at him. She wanted to yell and hit and throw things. Mostly, she wanted to go home and hide beneath the comfort of her covers. And never get out of bed again. Coming here had been a mistake. She should have known better. In one simple action she'd turned her back on a hundred people that she knew, that she'd known for years, for her whole life. Every part of her body wanted desperately to grab up the three green pages and run as fast as she could from the man sitting across the desk from her. His eyes were cold and menacing, even when he was trying to smile, and she just knew that before it was all said and done at least a few of those people would likely be behind bars or far, far worse. Oh, God, what have I done?

  "Thank you for your help, Ms. Donovan." He smiled thinly. "And thank you as well, Ms. Johnson. I'll keep you posted of any events that come from this." He turned to the two soldiers still waiting in the background. "Escort these ladies home. Be discreet. They don't need any added grief."

  Ten minutes later, Karen was at her home, wondering if she'd made a deal with her own devil, and wondering how Frank Osborn was dealing with his. She went directly to her room and, for once, did not scold Roughie when he came in. She held him tightly and cried silent tears for the sins she had certainly just committed.

  CHAPTER 7

  1

  The following morning the situation in Collier went from bad to worse. By the time Karen had finished her morning rituals of kicking Roughie off the bed and showering, the town was in an uproar.

  Karen came down to find that neither Joan nor Maurice had cooked breakfast that morning. Soon after she finished preparing herself a bowl of Special K, she found out why. Maurice and Joan came in from their bedroom, and let her know all the details.

  The Colonel had wasted no time in trying to gather as many of the people on Karen's list as possible. Maurice Dansky had gone to the Piggly Wiggly to purchase coffee, and heard about everything going on. The Thomerson family was gone, gathered together by ten of the armored men and dragged from their home. Even the children were taken. Arlo Walton and Sam Chastain had been taken from their homes as well.

  "I was just hearing about Sam Chastain when the soldiers came into the store." Maurice was still pale and shaken, but he was calm and speaking with the voice of a natural storyteller. "I've never seen anything like it in all my days, as God is my witness. They just came through the doors, marching in unison and carrying their rifles at the ready. My father used to tell me tales of how the stormtroopers in Germany looked when they came searching for someone. I used to think he was exaggerating about how big they seemed when they were on the hunt. He'd say, 'Maury, those soldiers were men I'd known all my life. They were just people, and many of them had come into my bakery every day for as long as I could remember. But when they came in looking for Ute Goldberg, they were strangers. I didn't even recognize them at first. They were like giants.' I know what he meant now. I don't doubt him anymore.

  "At first I thought they were just going to start shooting, and all I could think about was how I didn't want to die in that store, looking for coffee that wasn't there anymore. I didn't want to die without at least a cup of coffee in my stomach. I know that sounds stupid, but that's all I could think. But they didn't shoot. They just came down the aisle and went straight towards the offices behind that big two-way mirror. I turned and watched them go. I don't think I've ever been that afraid in my entire life."

  Maurice paused for a moment, sipping at the hot coffee that Joan kept refilling. The two sometimes argued-even in less than a week Karen had grown accustomed to the sounds of them yelling-but right then it was obvious how much they loved each other. The man's voice grew more animated as he spoke, but there was an underlying note of fear that would not leave him.

  "The manager came out of his office, and he looked terrified, not that I could blame him. One of the soldiers, he grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. I swear to you, I thought that man was going to die then and there. But the soldier just asked him a question, and he answered, pointing his finger towards the back room, the one that says 'Employees Only.'

  "As soon as the manager pointed, Joe Ditweiller and Herb came flying out of the back room. I've never seen two men look so scared in all my years. The tall one, Herb Cambridge is his name, I think. He came out of the storage area with his hands held high and his eyes as wide as plates. Joe Ditweiller came out behind him, with his shirt unbuttoned and his hands crossed over his chest. He looked like he wanted a fight, as God is my witness.

  "The soldiers moved in and grabbed the both of them, demanding to know if they'd committed the murders. Cambridge, he made a sound like a teapot getting ready to start whistling, and the other one, he reached for the back of his pants and pulled out a gun."

  "He must have been crazy, that's all I can say. Cambridge shoved the gun up against one of the soldiers holding him, and he pulled the trigger. Right up against his side, I tell you. Cambridge got him where the armor doesn't cover him up. He fired the gun and all I could think was 'He's just going to make them angry.' Then the man's side exploded. What do I know from guns? I've never owned one and I never will. But I didn't think a little pistol like he had could make such a hole. The soldier never even screamed. He just hit the ground and started bleeding all over the magazine racks.

  "Then the soldiers returned the favor. Those two men. They may have done something wrong, but nobody should die that way. When the shooting was over, I couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other one began. I never knew a man could bleed so much. Even the wall behind them is gone. The doors were destroyed by the bullets, and the wall where the doors were hanging looks like Swiss cheese. Holes as big as my fist, and some even bigger." He made a fist to illustrate the size of the holes, and Karen blanched.

  Karen listened in silence. She heard Maurice's words, but could not respond to them. A deep chill penetrated her soul as she thought of Joe and Herb. Despite being the sort of trashy men Pete found to be good company, she did not feel they had deserved to die.

  As she poured herself another cup of coffee, Karen couldn't help thinking about the list she'd written at this very table. The list in Colonel Anderson's hands. The list that bore the names of both the men.

  And for
the briefest moment, she felt she understood the actions of Judas Iscariot and Benedict Arnold.

  For a time she went upstairs, back to her room, where she watched a dozen different shows about nothing in particular, paying them not the least bit of attention. She stared at the images on the screen, thinking only of the list. Despite her feelings of guilt, she hoped Pete would put up as much resistance as his friends had.

  2

  The day kept growing worse from there. When Karen went to see her father at the high school, she arrived ten minutes too late. Aside from herself and her two companions, no one was anywhere around, except for the nearly motionless guards. Dutch and Becka were with her. Dutch had decided that she needed protection from Pete, and had appointed himself as her bodyguard. She'd managed to give him the slip the day before, but he'd caught up with her, and apparently had no intention of letting her slip away a second time.

  The three of them went over to the diner, and were surprised to find that the place was almost empty. Laurie was sitting at the counter, reading Cosmopolitan Magazine. She smiled when she saw them and immediately grabbed menus. "Hey, everyone! Come on in and make yourselves at home."

  "Laurie, did you do something to the food yesterday? I've just about never seen this place so empty." Karen had trouble grasping the idea that the booths and tables in the diner were not overrun by customers. It was just barely ten thirty in the morning, and with the hours most people in town were used to after the last week, the Hav-A-Feast should have been standing room only.

  Laurie grinned, a smile that was partially a scowl on her narrow face. "I blame Lucas Brightman." She pointed to the distant area of town where Brightman's factory sat. "He decided everyone was getting too lazy, so he reopened the textile mill and called everyone in. Had ten of his guys running across town yesterday to let everyone know."