Deadlocked 6 (12 page)

"So then, no," I said dismissively. "If you won't do it, then give me a minute alone with him. I'll get him to tell us everything."

"That's not how we do things around here, Ben." She was annoyed by my request, and ready to leave. Then she stopped and looked back at me again to add, "We're the good guys."

I heard Harrison chuckle, but wasn't sure if he was conscious and laughing at Laura or asleep and dreaming of his own bellicose stomach sergeants.

Laura, Clyde, and Annie left. I was alone with Harrison again, and I wondered if he was still unconscious.

"You alive?" I asked.

The sunlight danced through the tarp above as I laid back and stared at it. The sight was actually quite beautiful, although the drugs might've bolstered my appreciation.

"Sort of," the old man replied, but didn't move to look at me. "Wish I weren't."

I chuckled, ignoring the sadness he'd imparted with his tone. "Don't say that, Harry. What would I do without you?"

He found that funny, and started to laugh, but he stopped when his body ached too much. He coughed, and then groaned from the pain that the spasm caused. "I can't say this emphatically enough, kid: I should've killed you when I had the chance. You're gonna be the death of me."

"Nah," I said as I stared at our tarp ceiling. "At least not anytime soon. We've got some time left before the Devil gets his due."

He adjusted his position so that he could lie on his back and look to his left. The movement pained him, and he groaned through the entire process, but he was eventually able to look at me. His face was scarred badly, and the bandage on his head also covered his right eye, which made me wonder if he'd been hit by shrapnel when the helicopter crashed. I hadn’t noticed that his eye was damaged the last time I'd seen him.

"The Devil's got me by the tail." He pointed at a small red dot in the crook of his arm. "He snuck back in, kid. He won."

"What are you talking about?"

He relaxed and stared up as he sighed. He tried to say something, but his voice cracked with sorrow. I hadn't realized he was so emotional until I saw a tear fall down the left side of his face.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"We've all got our demons, but I've got a God damned high-rise full of them in my head."

"What's going on? What's got you so worked up?" I was still acting flippant, as if waiting for a humorous story from the old man. It was an act, because I was tremulous of the topic. Something about his mannerisms unnerved me.

He took a deep breath before saying, "I'm a heroin addict. I was high the day the apocalypse started, and I did some things I'm not too proud of." He wiped away his tear and took another deep breath. "I met the Devil, and been fighting him ever since. I did good, too. I did my best. You know? But that fucker snuck back in. He snuck right in and now I'm dead. I lost. He won. You know?"

"Harry, you didn't do anything wrong."

He guffawed, and I noticed that his lips were quivering. It was as if he were altering from the friendly old coot I'd come to know into a violent, manic monster. I felt like I was witnessing the transformation of Jekyll into Hyde.

"I'm serious," I said earnestly. "The doctor gave you morphine, or some medicine. You didn't choose to use it. Fuck, man, you were unconscious for crying out loud."

He shook his head as he continued to stare up. "Doesn't work like that, pal. Lots of months, fuck - right down the drain. And you know what? You know what's the worst part? It ain't even that fucking good." He snorted and laughed. "It ain't even that good. All the juice is busy numbing the pain. I didn't get none of the good shit. It's a wasted trip down the Devil's highway, kid. I'm tooling around on fumes, not hitting the gas and not going nowhere. Doesn't matter though."

I couldn't get a word in as he rambled.

"Doesn't matter one little bit. Fucker invited me in, and I am in. Big time." He swiped his arm through the air and made a swooshing noise. "Leave me here, kid, if you know what's good for you. You don't want a seat on this trip. No way, no how."

"Harry…"

He shook his head and said, "No. No. Don't even try it. You don't fucking get it, kid. This train derailed a long time ago. Off the tracks and burning up. Cowboys and Indians ain't got shit on this." He slapped his hand against his mouth as he made stereotypical Native American sounds. "Custer's last stand was a cakewalk in Candyland compared to this shitstorm."

His manic episode was frightening. Despite my better judgment, I'd come to care for the old man, even though everyone else seemed to write him off. Kim, Annie, Stitch, and the others all seemed to have a negative opinion of Harrison, but I'd befriended him none-the-less. Now I was witnessing his darker side, and it genuinely scared me.

His one good eye was wide and darted back and forth, dilated and wet with tears. His nose twitched, and he was shaking slightly, as if something within him was about to explode. He continued his rant about the Devil, and what hell looked like, and I watched in horror. I'd never witnessed anything like it before, and I became suddenly familiar with his demons.

"You know, kid?" he asked and his wild eye settled on me. I hadn't been able to make sense of what he'd been asking so I didn't answer. He asked again, "You know?"

"Sure," I lied.

He scowled. "Bullshit. You don't know a God damned thing. You're a fucking piece of shit, yellow slant mother fucker. You Chinese cunt. You piece of shit. You get the fuck out of here or I'll burn you alive. I'll burn you." His glare intensified. "You hear me? I'm not bullshitting you. I will burn you alive. I've done it before, and I'll do it again."

"Harry, come on," I pleaded.

"That's not even my real name." He spoke with vicious pleasure at his deception. "I never even told you my real name, because I fucking hate you. You know that?"

"Harry…"

"I fucking hate you."

"Harry…"

He screamed this time, annunciating each word with malice, "I fucking hate you."

Then, every time I tried to speak to him, he repeated his curse, until he finally added, "Everyone here hates you."

He could see that I was hurt by that, and he seized upon my weakness. "Yeah, that's right," he said with a wicked grin. "You heard how they talked to you. You're the enemy. You come around here, with your slant eyes, and suddenly a whole town gets killed by a guy that looks just like you. You're the reason they're all dead, and we all know it. I should fucking burn you right here, right now, just to save everyone else the trouble."

And our conversation ended. He stared at me, and seemed pleased with himself for finally hitting a nerve. He'd succeeded, and I gave up trying to speak with him. I turned away, and he chuckled when he said, "That's right. Look away, Chinaman. Look away."

I don't know how long I waited before speaking to him again, but it was at least an hour. He continued a quiet verbal assault, and wept several times, but we didn't communicate. I waited until he calmed down before trying to say anything.

"I know what you're doing," I said as I stayed turned away.

"Oh yeah?" he asked. The mania had subsided and he just sounded tired now.

"Yeah. I've been doing the same thing for years. You're trying to push me away - trying to push away anyone that cares for you. If people stop caring about you, there'll be no one to stop you from hurting yourself."

"Bullshit. Don't try and psychoanalyze me, kid. I'm way past gone already."

"That's fine," I said as I reached my hand out behind me. My back was to him, and I blindly searched for his hand. He bristled when I touched him, but didn't pull away. I found his hand, and held it. "I'm not giving up on you yet."

He chuckled, but I ignored him.

"We'll get through this, together. I'm not ready to leave you yet."

Another chuckle, but then I heard him start to cry. I'd only recently met the old man, and I still can't explain why I cared for him the way I did. Perhaps it was because I'd avoided friendships until I met him, or maybe he reminded me of my father - either way, I wasn't ready to give up on him yet. To tell the truth, it felt good to know that he needed me too.

I held his hand and he didn't try to pull away.

Billy Hendrix

I was sitting at a table in my truck when Laura showed up. She pounded on the back door, but didn't wait for me to answer before opening it.

Most of the trucks that the High Rollers traveled with were fuel tankers that had been converted into homes, but mine was a small moving truck that had easy access from the back due to my injury, to make it easier for me to get in. The mechanics had also installed a ceiling hatch, but when we were camped I always extended the rear ramp to make getting in and out as easy as possible. To accommodate my needs, my truck was usually placed beside the entrance of the camp, which meant that there didn't need to be another parked immediately behind mine in the circle.

Laura was alone, and I squinted as the blazing mid-day sun glared in. There was a sunroof in the truck that provided light, but the plastic window was yellowed with age and shaded the sun's intensity.

"Billy," she said with her trademark, disappointed tone, "we need to talk."

I groaned and dropped my pencil into the center of the binder before closing my journal. "Sounds like you're in a good mood."

She pulled the back door shut behind her and then walked in, past my hanging clothes, and came to stand beside my desk. She crossed her arms and breathed heavily, which I knew meant she was pissed. It wasn't the first time we'd had an encounter like this, and I leaned back, ready to launch into another of our famous arguments.

"I don't know where to begin." She was befuddled, which surprised me.

"Why don't you tell me what you're pissed off about this time? That's as good a place to start as any."

"My own daughters," she said with her arms still crossed. "You got my own daughters to lie to me. How about we start there, huh? Is that a good place?"

I tongued the inside of my cheek, unsure of how to continue. This had the possibility of being our most contentious debate ever, and I needed to assess just how angry she'd become. Laura was always careful to co
mpose herself around the other lieutenants, but we'd known each other for long enough that she was comfortable screaming at me when we were alone.

"Lied to you about what?"

She pointed down at me and her fury was evident in her scowl. "Don't do that. Don't play coy with me."

"I'm not." I held my arms out and looked left and right as if appealing to an invisible congregation. "What did I make them lie to you about?"

"Operation Slugger."

I nodded and rolled my eyes, caught in the lie I was afraid she was referring to. "What can I say, Laura? No one agrees with you."

"That's not true, and you know it."

"It is true! You won the election, sure, but that doesn't mean you're right. Even your own daughters think you're wrong."

She slapped me hard, and it surprised me. In all our years of bickering, she'd never struck me before. I was angry at first, but then I saw the pain in her eyes. "What the fuck, Laura?"

"Listen to me." She was crying, and I didn't know how to react. We'd been on opposite sides of the political spectrum in the High Rollers, with her wanting to permanently settle somewhere and me pushing for continued assaults against the military, but our arguments had never evolved into this sort of attack. There were more emotions on the line here than I'd anticipated. I sat in stunned silence as she spoke. "I won the God damned election. The Rollers voted, and I won, not you. They've had enough of your war. I'm not sending my children on your foolhardy missions anymore. I'm not sending anyone on them anymore. For fuck's sake, Billy, all I wanted was to keep our friends and family safe."

"That's all I wanted too."

"No. No, it's not. You want revenge. That's what this has always been about for you."

"We're never going to be safe. Not with those fuckers still out there. Jesus, Laura, how can you not see that?"

She paced and I stayed seated as she moved around me. When she didn't respond, I continued, "You can call it revenge if you want, but if we don't find them and stop them then we're never going to be safe. They tried to wipe us out, and we fought back. That's the only reason we're alive. The second we try and settle down, we're dead. It's a miracle the towns around here have lasted as long as they have, and I guarantee if it weren't for us they wouldn't have. Damn near every trader I talk to says that this is one of the last areas in the whole country that still has settlements. That's because of us, Laura. It's because we didn't lie down. We fought back, and we saved people's lives because of it."

She was facing away from me when she finally responded. "No one's told you yet?"

"No one's told me what?"

She sat down on my bed, a small cot that was secured to the wall, and looked at me for several seconds before continuing. "They attacked again."

"What do you mean?" I pivoted in my seat. The slipped disc in my back caught an awkward angle and a shot of pain caused me to grimace and clench the table's edge. I pushed against the table to force my entire chair to move and the metal legs cried out as they scraped against the floor. "Who got attacked?"