by Schow, Ryan
But while he stood there in his hesitation, while he fought to collect his thoughts, the mob had tossed the old man’s wife into the street. Between her crying and the rifleman’s wailing, Hudson’s nerves were scratched raw.
These people did nothing to the mob, nothing! he thought to himself.
He didn’t realize it, but he’d taken out his weapon. People were now running toward the old woman, gathering around her, yipping and cheering. Hudson started walking toward the scene. No one saw him because he looked like them, dressed like them, moved like them. They only saw a pair of eyes hidden between a black balaclava and a dark hood.
Pelle’s Tax Service was officially ablaze, as was Joni’s Hair. Smoke was billowing into the night sky, stinking up the air. He squinted against the haze, smelled burning wood, and melting plastic.
The same man who kicked the husband in the mouth was now standing over the woman. He kicked her in the shoulder as she begged for him to stop. He didn’t stop. Others cheered him on. This monster kicked her again and everyone laughed, yelled at her, cursed her weight, her skin color, the fact that she was now theirs.
When exactly he’d aimed his weapon at the man, he didn’t know, but he knew the feeling of helplessness in a fight and he knew the old man lying unconscious on the street was either brain dead or dead altogether.
If he didn’t intervene, this man’s wife would be dead, too.
Hudson stopped, aimed, exhaled, and took the shot. The rioter’s head rocked sideways, a spray of red fanning out the other side. He dropped dead where he stood. Three others involved in beating the old man stood there uncertain, paralyzed by what had just happened. Hudson shot all three of them as well. A girl picked up the rifleman’s semi-auto, pointed it at him. He put her down, too. After her, he opened up on the murderous crowd as they scattered in fits of panic.
When the gun fired dry, he popped the empty mag, fed the weapon another, resumed shooting. When that mag was empty, he changed magazines again, then picked up the dropped mag and slid them both in the mag pouch on his side. He left the brass behind. Normally this was a big no-no, but Hudson had used a Maglula speed loader to keep from touching the brass. If the cops ever conducted a thorough investigation, they wouldn’t find prints on any of the casings. This was but one thing he’d thought about. Lately, he’d been thinking of everything.
With so much tension between him and Emily, though, Hudson couldn’t have the police showing up at his front door with an arrest warrant. He slid the weapon into his holster, then fell back into the shadows.
Hudson had taken some major blows to the head in his years in boxing, and even though the next solid shot to his noggin could cost him his life, he was thrilled to be back in the fight. Emily had told him over and over again that he couldn’t get involved. He was glad he finally stopped listening to her.
“How can you be a good American and NOT get involved?” he had argued. “It’s our country, Em. This is our country!”
Now that he had just put some of those rabid dogs down, he felt better, like some of the tension he’d been carrying around for forever had dissipated.
But then the question popped into his head—a question that stopped him flat in his tracks: What would he tell Emily? She said he was stupid going out there. He told her not to confuse bravery and patriotism with stupidity.
“If you love me, you won’t get involved,” she had said.
He loved her, and he got involved. So the honest answer about telling her what he did was that he just wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d tell her, but maybe he wouldn’t.
With the cops under assault and the “defund the police” movement seeing a resurgence, people like Hudson knew the citizens must protect themselves and their community. They couldn’t count on the cops to get involved, not at the rate they were being prosecuted for doing their jobs the way they were trained to do them.
“When law enforcement can no longer protect us, Emily,” he’d said, “we’ll have to learn to protect ourselves.”
That’s exactly what he told her and he stood behind it to that day. She had her own ideas for them. Her solution had been to move back to Utah with her parents. According to them, Southern Utah was the safest place in America. He didn’t disagree, but he wasn’t excited about the conversation either. There was no way a bunch of violent anarchists was going to run him out of his own town.
When he got home, he told Emily what he did. She asked about the XD9 again. This time, he told her the truth.
“I was with Pete in Cincinnati at one of the protests. I took it off a dead cop.”
“That’s a dead cop’s gun?”
“It’s clean, untraceable back to us.”
“I don’t care whose it was, I only care that you…you…killed people with it!”
“I saved lives with it, Emily!”
“You’re a murderer.”
“It’s a lot better than being a coward,” he spat. “There are too many jelly-spined cowards in this country, otherwise we wouldn’t be in this position!”
For Emily, that was the final straw.
He didn’t blame her.
So now he watched her drive off, knowing he’d never see her again. Inside the house, caught in the silence of a powerless world, he longed for white noise, a turned-on television, Spotify on the sound system. Unfortunately, he was left with only his thoughts.
Of all the blows he’d taken in his life, surprisingly, Emily leaving was the one that hurt the most.
He mixed some bottled water with his coffee concentrate, then walked out back, and glanced up at the sky. They dodged a bullet last night, but the storm wasn’t over. Not yet. Before the power went out, meteorologists were talking about an F2 or maybe even an F3 tornado.
In the bedroom, in his dresser drawer under his socks, Hudson removed the small velvet pouch, took out the ring he bought Emily last month. He’d been waiting for the right time to propose to her, but there had been no right time. Not for him, not for her. Now she was gone. Soon it would all be gone, for the good old days were no longer, just fading memories of what used to be. He didn’t want to believe that, but if Americans could so brazenly, so willingly kill other Americans over a different ideology, or misplaced rage—if they could bring him to do the same—then the country wasn’t about to fall, it was already falling.
At that point, all he could do was make another cup of coffee and prepare himself for the many storms headed his way.
It started with him getting out a fresh box of ammo.
Chapter Five
Aaron Westfield
After formally meeting Leighton McDaniel and botching it because his temper got the best of him, Aaron took his Accounting test, went for breakfast, then skipped the next class and went back to his dorm room to call his mother. He may have been twenty-one years old, technically a man, but he was still a kid in that he never really let go of his mother. Not even when she kicked him out of the proverbial nest.
The phone rang through, went to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message. He checked the clock on his cell phone, saw the time, knew she was already awake. He called again; this time she answered.
“What?” she asked, her voice like broken gravel.
“Ma, it’s me,” he said.
“I got caller ID, dummy, I know it’s you.”
“I talked to her today,” he said, half a smile twisting his face.
He was sitting at his desk, reveling in the fact that Leighton McDaniel knew his name. He couldn’t help but stare at his favorite picture of her inside his photo journal. He’d taken the picture of her from behind, but off to the side enough for him to capture her butt and the side view of her face. The way the sun was cutting through her blond hair, giving it a golden glow, touched him deep inside. His mother said he’d fall in love one day, and that it would be the worst thing that ever happened to him, but he was pretty sure he was in love with Leighton, and so far it wasn’t the worst thing ever.
“You got your daddy’s courage,
” she said, an insult. His father was a coward, except for when he started drinking.
“More’n that,” he said. “Proof’s in the pudding.”
“I was gonna put him down myself ‘fore you even thought of it,” she said, coughing. He heard her light a cigarette, draw as much smoke into her lungs as possible, then blow it out the side of her mouth in a long, labored exhale.
“But you didn’t kill him, Ma. I did.”
“Why you calling me?” she barked. “Ain’t you s’posed to be in class?”
“Ma,” he said. “I talked to her.”
“Heard you the first time,” she groused. In the background, the television came to life, the noise of a daily soap opera making it hard to hear her.
“I think maybe she likes me.”
He was going through his journal, seeing all the pictures he’d taken of her this year. He stopped on the one from outside her dorm-room window. That was his second favorite. She was in a long t-shirt, bare legs, hair down, and smiling. He’d heard her listening to music, and then he watched her dance, thinking she was alone. It was a beautiful night, one he’d never forgotten.
“‘Course she likes you, dummy,” she said. “Yet yer callin’ me, chatting me up like I got nothin’ going on. You realize you got issues, right?”
“I know.”
“Well git ‘em figured out, then go ask that broad out and try not to ruin her life the way yer useless, crap daddy ruined mine.”
Something in him stirred to life a bit too fast. He slammed the journal shut and screamed into the phone. “YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!”
When he hit the end button and slammed his phone on the desk, it was with a puffed-out chest, burning cheeks, and a rattling of his heart that felt more like the clutch of a heart attack than pent-up rage. When he finally managed to step away from that ledge, he opened the journal, found that picture of Leighton he loved so much. Leaning forward, he kissed it. First, he kissed her butt, then he kissed her face. And then he started to cry.
He stopped himself, shook his head like a dog who ran through a sprinkler, then cleaned the photo and said, “You don’t listen either.”
Chapter Six
Chandra Reed
Chandra spent the night shifting in and out of sleep. When she finally woke up to daylight cutting through the blinds, she yawned hard, sat up slowly, then reached for her phone. It was still dead. She looked over at their microwave, saw that the digital clock was dead, too. She walked into the bathroom, flipped the light switch. Its only response was darkness. She flipped it again a few more times to no avail. Leaving the door open, she sat down and peed, then she flushed the toilet. The water left the bowl and the tank drained into the toilet, but there was no re-filling of the tank.
“Unbelievable backwoods school,” she muttered. Blackouts happened in California, but at least you could schedule them, and at least the power came back on in a reasonable period of time. This was ridiculous.
She put a dry dress on, dry boots, heavy sunglasses, and a floppy hat. When she left the room, Leighton was still asleep. Hopefully, she stayed asleep. The short walk through campus to the cafeteria was enlightening. She asked a couple of girls who had gathered in a group if there were classes.
“Everything’s canceled until the power is back on,” one of the girls said.
“Freak,” another whispered under her breath.
“Really?” Chandra asked.
The mouthy girl crossed her arms, set her jaw, and threw shade Chandra’s way.
“Knock it off, Casey,” the first girl said. She turned back to Chandra and smiled. “I’m sorry about that. She’s PMSing.”
“Am not,” the girl said.
“What about the cafeteria?” Chandra asked.
“They’re serving dry goods, taking down your dorm number by hand for billing.”
“Thanks,” she said. Before leaving, she turned to Casey. “Twat says what?”
“What?” she said.
“Exactly.”
The girls snickered as Chandra left them for the cafeteria. She walked into an otherwise dark refectory. There were tables near the windows with the cafeteria ladies serving up granola bars, pastries, room-temperature bottled juices.
“Good morning,” one of them said. It was anything but a good morning and it showed on the women’s faces.
“Is it?” Chandra challenged, flicking one black fingernail with another. She took a couple of pastries and two room-temperature bottles of apple juice. When one of the women asked for her name and room number, Chandra gave her both.
“Well I hope things get better,” the friendliest of the women said.
“I have a sneaking suspicion it won’t if you want my educated opinion,” she said, deadpan.
Their smiles fell as they locked their eyes on Chandra’s dark glasses.
If they could see her eyes, they’d see a snotty west coast washout. It was fair to say she didn’t play well with others. She didn’t mind, though. Best to be making decisions as a wolf than taking orders with all the other sheep.
She waltzed out into the cool morning air. There seemed to be fewer students wandering around. But the parking lot? It was like none of the cars had moved.
Instead of heading back to her room, she went to check on her car. Other people were in their cars, too, trying to start them. One girl kept looking at her cell phone like it was about to turn on at any minute.
“Is your phone dead?” Chandra asked.
“Yeah.
“Mine, too.”
“Does your car start?” the girl asked. She looked desperate. “Because my house isn’t far from here.”
“We’re about to find out.”
“If it starts?”
“I’ll take you home if it does,” she said. The girl smiled, put her phone in her backpack, and hurried over. Chandra tried her remote, but it didn’t work. She slid out the key, put it in the door, opened it manually. “Not a good sign, I’m afraid.”
The glimmer of hope in the girl’s eye began to dim with defeat. She looked like she was about to cry. Crossing her arms, she glanced up into the sky, willing any wayward tears to stop. Chandra slid the key in the ignition, tried to start the car. Nothing. The dam behind the girl’s eyes finally broke. Huge tears spilled over, twin streams skipping off of her cheeks.
“What in God’s name is going on?” she all but cried.
“I don’t know.”
“EMP,” a boy said from a few parking spots down. Chandra looked out her window, saw a thick kid with a big cowboy hat, a big belt buckle, and designer boots.
Chandra and this country bumpkin couldn’t be more opposite in the way they dressed. She got out of the car and faced him. When he saw her, he grinned and said, “Then I looked and saw a pale horse. It’s rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed close behind.” Looking at the crying girl, who was now wiping her eyes, he said, “Are you Hades?”
“Cute,” Chandra said.
“So are you, California,” he said. “My parents wouldn’t understand though, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass.”
She didn’t know what to say, how hard she should be offended, if she should flip him the bird. She wished she had worn her black lipstick heavier, maybe gave her nails a fresh coat of polish. Slowly, she let a grin slide on her face. In that smile, she focused all of her disdain.
He held up his hands and said, “Easy girl, pump them brakes. I think you’re hot, but these aren’t those times. Not now.”
“Because of the EMT?” the crying girl asked.
“EMP.”
“It’s a nuclear detonation in the atmosphere that knocks out the power grid,” Chandra explained to the girl. “That’s why nothing works. All your precious things are fried.”
“Not all of them,” the cowboy said. “Who needs a ride?”
“You have a car?” the girl asked.
“Old truck,” he said. He looked at Chandra and grinned back. “Ironically I named her Precious.”
“For real?”
“Real as rain, sugar.”
She stepped away from her car, looked down the line of vehicles at his truck. The big rusted beast was older than all of them combined. She said, “Ew.”
“Ew to you, California,” he quipped. “Hades and I are going for a ride.”
The girl started his way, saying nothing to Chandra or the cowboy. He climbed into his truck, started it up, gave the big engine a stomp of gas to get her rumbling. The girl climbed into the passenger side, her eyes no longer wet-looking. The cowboy backed up, the tranny dropping hard, the exhaust fumes old and stinky, like most of L.A. For a second, she was nostalgic for her past, but then he drove by, his window rolled down low enough for him to hang his elbow out. “Maybe another time, sugar.”
“See you in the next life,” she said, blowing him a kiss.
Closing her car, locking the door, she took her food and returned to the dorms. Leighton was still asleep. She gave the girl’s shoulder a slight nudge, eliciting movement.
“Get up fat head,” she said.
That’s when she saw the hearing aids on the nightstand and frowned. She tapped the girl’s back again, this time with the apple juice container.
Leighton rolled over, her back arched, her eyes practically swollen shut from getting what Chandra imagined was her first real sleep since they started the semester.
“What are you doing?” she asked, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t hear.
Chandra handed her a packaged pastry and an apple juice, then she smiled and plopped down on her bed.
Leighton reached for her hearing aids, then paused and looked up at Chandra. She shook her head, letting her roommate know the power was still out.
“Bad news,” she said, speaking slowly, accentuating her words. “The power isn’t coming back on.”
“What?” she asked.
“EMP.”
The three letters had more of an effect on the Kentucky native than she expected. Leighton was smart, though, so Chandra wasn’t sure why she was surprised.