Fire Birds (33 page)

I roared and scrambled to my feet. I tried to hit him, but my arms flailed in a windmill. I fell again, sobbing. He got a big laugh out of it.

“I’m going to kill you,” I said.

“You are not,” he said. “You’re just being a pussy. Okay, boys, hold him for me.”

He turned his back to me and slashed a zombie in half at the waist. The two men moved in, each grabbing one of my arms, and lifted me to my feet. Bruce returned his attention to me and sniffed.

“I don’t know, brother. I don’t think the two of us can be friends anymore if you’re going to keep acting like this.”

Thunder rumbled. The sky was taking on a yellowish-green cast.

“I saw you with that group at the shopping center,” he said. “I noticed you got a woman. Where is she? Do you have other women I don’t know about?”

“There are no women,” I said.

One of the men punched me in the kidney.

“I can make him tell us where she is,” he said.

“Shut the fuck up, Brad!” Bruce yelled. “Nobody asked you…Brad!”

Bruce stepped back and extended the sword so that the tip of it touched the tip of my nose. The stench of the juices dripping from the blade was sickening.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll put the katana away, and the two of us can settle this like gentlemen. If you win, you can keep the Warbird. If I win, you have to return it, and I’m going to want an apology.”

“What about the women?” the other man said. “You said there was women here.”

“For the love of God,” Bruce yelled. “I’ve got this!”

A gust of wind pushed through and whipped at our clothes and hair.

He walked over to the fire truck on the courthouse lawn and put his sword on the hood. Then he did the same with the AA-12.

“Let him go,” he said, bobbing from side to side and hopping in place. “Then watch me work.”

The men stepped away. Bruce and I were about twenty feet apart. I didn’t know how to fight, not like him. I knew enough from watching TV that I should not make the first move. Those martial arts classes were for self-defense. He’d be trained to counter my attack. Maybe he wasn’t as skilled at offence. Maybe I would grab his leg when he kicked and push him down. Maybe I could see it coming and dodge. I wondered if martial arts training even mattered in a real fight. It was probably just something that looked pretty in the movies.

It mattered.

I saw a blur coming at my face. When I moved to protect it, he punched me in the crotch. I went straight to my knees. Then I saw stars when his fist connected to my jaw. The toe of his boot found my solar plexus, and the pain was blinding. I lay there on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse in the bones and ash trying to catch my breath, and Bruce seemed completely relaxed.

“What happened here?” he said. “Why’d you burn the town?”

The wind threw ash in my face and eyes.

“What’s up with all the cars?” he said, standing over me and looking around. “Why are you lining them up like that?”

I didn’t answer him.

“You trying to copy me?” he grinned. “You know, I was lining my yellow cars up for a reason. They were vamp bait.”

I rolled onto my back, gasped for air, then rolled over again and tried to crawl away through the bones and charred bodies.

“Stay put,” he said and kicked me in the side.

He took a few steps away from me and kicked an approaching zombie in the face. Then he looked at the line of cars again.

“Why don’t you just go away?” I said, feeling empty inside. “You got what you came for. You got your revenge. Sara’s dead.”

“She is that.”

I rolled onto my back and kicked out at him. He laughed when I missed.

“You are such a pussy,” he grinned. “What about my Warbird? Where is it?”

I tried to kick him again, and he dodged, then stomped me in the crotch. I curled up in a ball as the pain crept into my belly.

“If you get me the Warbird, I won’t let Brad and Oz anywhere near your woman. How’s that for a deal?”

I took a breath. Bruce looked to the east and stepped away from me. I rolled onto my side. Nicholas Somerville had pulled up in his truck next to the remains of the drugstore. Then there was gunfire.

“Pull the truck around!” Bruce yelled.

Then the first fat drop of rain hit me in the face.

Another drop of rain fell and hit the ground in front of me, then another. I watched Somerville get out of his truck and take a shot at Bruce. Then he ran for cover behind a partial wall of one of the collapsed buildings. The sky flickered and thunder rumbled again. The rain got a little harder. It dotted the ground and punched small holes in areas of deeper ash, causing a hiss when it touched the hot embers beneath.

Near my head, not more than a foot away, the water streaked through the ash on a warped, metal plate that had once been a historical marker. The wooden base to which it had been attached was burned up, but the plaque itself remained, partially covered by a human ribcage. The words were difficult to read, but I didn’t need to read them. I knew what it said. I knew where I was.

On that very spot where I lay, there had once been a tree. On and around that tree, more than two hundred men and women had lost their lives. During the Civil War, executions of Confederate soldiers and Confederate sympathizers took place there daily for more than a month after Union soldiers took the town. Some of the killings were hangings, others were from gunfire, but they all died in or around that tree. After the war, executions, both legal capital punishment and illegal lynchings, were not unheard of. The tree had been cut down before I was born, but whenever I visited the spot, I could feel it there. The space felt heavy as if the ghosts of all those tortured souls remained.

I thought I could feel them there then. They were waiting for me to join them. I would haunt this spot with those spirits that had died violent, fear-filled deaths. In that moment, I felt that it was fitting that I should die there. It seemed poetic. Jen was gone. Sara was gone. Everything that gave me hope was gone. There was something freeing about that moment. I didn’t feel the need to struggle anymore.

Then I was yanked from my musings by the rapid blasts of the AA-12.

I didn’t see Mr. Somerville, but the automatic shotgun chiseled away at his cover. I rolled and looked toward the fire truck. Bruce strode toward the rubble on 6th Street firing the weapon with one hand. The empty shell casings flew out of the side of it in a red blur. He stopped a moment and changed out the magazine canister.

“You can’t hide from this thing, my brother!” he yelled.

Then the sky opened up with wind and water. It got dark. The temperature dropped ten degrees. The AA-12 came to life again. Slowly, I got to my feet and looked around.

There was the Klingon with his war machine. Over there were five walking corpses disoriented by the noise and heavy downpour. I noticed a charred, leafless tree waving its blackened branches. To my right, where Mr. Somerville hid, were flying chips of brick and stone. Behind me, stumbling up the street, was another corpse, and behind it, another. None of it seemed to have anything to do with me.

My eyes found the yellow Firebird. I got a shiver. I moved toward it, marching into the wind and driving rain. Bruce paused and looked over at me.

“Where are you going?” he yelled.

I ignored him. Somerville took the opportunity to slip his gun over the wall and fire off two rounds. Thunder crashed. Somerville fired again. Then Bruce, with an annoyed look on his face, resumed his volley. I plodded forward toward the Firebird. The sounds of the gunfire and weather faded from my awareness. The cold rain stung my face and soaked my clothes. A tattered piece of cloth, perhaps the remnants of an awning from one of the local businesses, caught up in the wind, sailed by. I crossed the courthouse lawn and onto 7th Street.

I stepped in front of the Firebird and looked down into Sara’s face. Her wet hair was plastered to her forehead and cheeks. Rain dripped from the end of her nose. Her eyes were shut, and her lips were parted. She looked like she was asleep. Beneath the soaked hair, I noticed scratches in her forehead. Hesitantly, I reached out and pushed the hair aside. The scratches were actually a word that had been carved there.

My mouth formed the word, but I couldn’t speak.

Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered and opened. Gray, milky orbs had replaced her beautiful eyes. I took a step back.

“Oh, Sara, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

I reached for my pistol, but my holster was empty. I’d dropped my guns during my altercation with Bruce Lee. The wind increased and pea-sized hail pecked against the car and bounced in the road. A branch cracked and fell from one of the burned trees on the courthouse lawn. Ahead and to the north, near the next cross street, a frail zombie toppled over and rolled in the wind.

Then vehicles arrived from the south.

Behind me, coming to a stop more than a block away on South 7th Street were four cars. I turned to see them, and their bright headlights hit me in the face. I stood there and waited. I was unarmed and lacked any motivation to fight. They parked two abreast in the street. Doors opened. Still I waited. The hailstones beat me and gathered around my feet in the crevasses between the zombie bones. They fell and piled until it looked like snow. I didn’t hear anything but my own breathing. I sat down in the bones and the tiny balls of ice.

Time passed. It felt like hours, but it was only a few seconds. The hail changed back to rain.

Dark, blurry shapes approached me in the downpour, moving in and out of the high beams. They might have been running, but I couldn’t tell. They might have been zombies; I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

Thunder crashed again. There were faces in front of me. Hands gripped my shoulder.

“Is he injured?” one said.

“Where is the councilman?” said another.

“Sara,” was my reply.

“That’s the yellow car he told us about,” another said. “The man must be in the area!”

Then everything sort of came into focus again. I could smell the wet and the ash. I could hear the wind and the patter of the rain. I could see Cheryl in front of me with Dan, Gail, and Andrew.

“Are you hurt?” she said.

I didn’t know how to describe how hurt I was. The rain slowed.

“We heard machine guns when we were coming in,” Cheryl said. “Are you okay?”

I looked toward 6th Street. Somerville’s truck was gone. Bruce was gone. Had any of it even happened? I turned to see if the Firebird was still behind me. Maybe…no, the yellow car was still there with all of its trophies. Sara’s head gazed down at me. She blinked. Her tongue slid out then went back in.

“Are you okay?” Cheryl asked again, squatting next to me.

I couldn’t answer her. Behind Andrew’s vehicle, more headlights. It was Nicholas in his truck.

“Councilman!” Andrew shouted. “Are you hurt?”

He made his way toward us with is pistol in his hand. He was limping. I stood on wobbly legs, and Cheryl stood with me. The others went out to meet him, but he pushed past them and came straight to me.

“What the hell happened to you, son?” he said in an angry tone. “I thought you were dead then I saw you get up and walk away. I thought you’d turned or something. I almost shot you.”

I reached over and stroked Sara’s wet head. Her mouth opened and shut trying to bite me.

“I found her,” I said.

They escorted me to a car and put me in the back seat. Cheryl got behind the wheel and cranked it. When the wiper blades raked away the muddy ash from the windows, I could see Andrew, Somerville, and Gail in front of the yellow Firebird. Dan was walking up the street toward the hotel.

Cheryl put her arm up on the seat and turned so she could see to back out. Her eyes found mine. She was crying, but she didn’t say anything. We backed away. I watched the others through the windshield. Somerville put his pistol to Sara’s head. I looked down at my lap. The report of the gun startled me. Then we pulled away.

I spent the rest of the day in my bedroom on the bed staring at the ceiling. At some point, I fell asleep. The next morning, Cheryl came in with a tray of food and set it on the dresser.

“Do you think you could eat something?” she said.

I shook my head.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Does Grant know?” I asked. “I should talk to him.”

“I told him last night,” she said. “He’s sleeping now. Tim gave him some pain killers.”

I nodded and continued to stare at the ceiling. Cheryl came over and sat on the bed. She took my hand and held it with both of hers.

“There ain’t nothing I can say,” she said.

“I know.”

We sat there quietly a while. Then there was a knock, and Somerville pushed the door open. They exchanged a nod then Cheryl patted my hand and left the room. Nicholas came in and leaned against the dresser.

“You going to eat?” he said.

“Not hungry,” I replied.