Reckoning ~ Indian Hill 2 ~ A Michael Talbot Adventure (20 page)

“Did you say something, Hon? I’m sorry I couldn’t quite hear you. You’re moaning so loud, it’s difficult to hear anything else.” Gary was beginning to breathe heavy. He had never been able to perform quite right unless some form of violence was involved, and this was the ultimate high for him. So it was lucky for all concerned that he didn’t hear the wet “pop” sound as Beth pulled the axe out of Jimmy’s face. Nor did he hear her as she crunched over the shattered glass. Gary was just about to enter Deb when recognition dawned on Deb’s face.

“Beth?” she creaked.

“It’s not Beth, you little whore, it’s me, Gary.” You recall that Gary wasn’t the brightest bulb on the block. By the time he realized that Deb was looking over his shoulder, it was too late. Gary turned to the right and the axe lodged into the right side of his face, just above the cheek. Beth’s grip had been much more solid than Deb’s.

The thwack of the axe and the splintering of the check bone launched his right eye completely out of his skull. Death for the bastard would, unfortunately, be swift. Beth held on to the axe as Gary fell over to the side and she didn’t let it go until she was sure he wasn’t moving. She rolled his dead mass off Deb’s body. Deb had lapsed into unconsciousness.

Beth stayed busy while Deb slept. She threw the bodies down into the basement and bathed and clothed Deb after she brought her into the storm shelter. She had virtually chewed down all of her nails while she waited for her friend to awaken. Hope coursed through her veins when Deb began to stir but it turned icy cold when she awoke screaming and shrieking, wildly throwing punches in the air.

“Deb, it’s me, Beth. You’re safe,” Beth chanted repeatedly. It was around the eighth or ninth time before Deb began to calm down and then she went from uncontrolled shrieking to hysterical crying. Beth knew this was the cry of loss, the cry of mourning, and all she could do now for her friend was be there for her.

Beth had long ago fallen asleep when Deb’s sobs quieted to mini convulsions and finally, blissful, forgetful sleep. It was the following evening before the girls awoke. Beth was stiff and sore from her extended stay in the fold up chair.

“What do we do now, Deb?” Beth asked as she stretched her arms over her head.

“We go East.” Deb said as she arose from her bed and began to put her shoes on.

***

“We go West,” Paul said to the three men huddled next to him behind a small rise. They were mostly below Indian Hill but they could clearly see the supermarket complex from their vantage point.

“Are you sure you want to go straight through the Stop and Shop parking lot?” Dennis sounded off, a little anxiously. “I can see at least three armed men from here and I’m sure there are more in the front.”

“You heard me, didn’t you?” Paul sounded a little more than annoyed.

“Dude!” Dennis was about to continue when Paul glared over at him. “Colonel Ginson,” Dennis stated more meekly; “there are only three of us. Even if we get in, how are we going to haul all this off without being detected?”

“Ah, my dear friend, in this world of ours there are some things that even you don’t know. When the time is right, I’ll let you know,” Paul said as he put his arm around Dennis’ shoulder. Dennis had been half tempted to shrug it off, but the mad glint in Paul’s eyes struck a chord that hinted that might not be the best course of action at this time.

“Corporal Jackson, I want you on point,” Paul stated matter-of-factly, as if they were out on nothing more than a Sunday stroll. In reality, this had been their first venture out of the super bunker since the whole mess began. Dennis didn’t understand why Paul hadn’t just sent a scout. “The world was far too dangerous a place right now,” Paul’s response had been. ‘If it’s my time, then I want to be out, under the sun instead of hiding in a cave.” Dennis couldn’t argue with that but he would have felt a whole lot better if Paul hadn’t been there, all the same.

“Right away, sir,” Corporal Jackson snapped. Paul thought that Dewey had made great strides fitting into this new playing field. And that’s how Paul thought of it sometimes; that this was just one big game of chess. Unfortunately, there could only be one king but there were a lot of pawns to go around. And if Dennis didn’t get with the program soon, he would become one of those pawns. He would bring him down from his mighty loft as a rook in a heartbeat. Paul loved Dennis but he was getting really tired of having his judgment constantly challenged. Well, there it was, Paul thought to himself, that’s probably the first sign of becoming a tyrant. An unwillingness to have his “rule” questioned. “Screw it! I’m the one keeping them alive,” Paul mumbled.

“Did you say something Paul?” Dennis asked. He was bringing up the rear, making sure some super zealous Stop and Shop guard wasn’t on patrol this far out.

“No, nothing, my friend,” Paul said as he slowly shook his head.

Whoa, Dennis thought, he almost looked like the old Paul I used to know, for a second anyway. Albeit a tired one, but my old friend nonetheless.

By the time they hit the banks of the Walpole Stream, any chance of surprise had been crushed; not that that had been the plan, anyway. A guard on the roof spotted them, on their old stomping grounds. A sharp pang of longing for the old times almost made Paul’s steps falter. The guard appeared to be speaking into a walkie-talkie, most likely warning the guards ahead of their advance. The three crossed the stream in silence. As they started through the dense undergrowth, a voice, amplified through a megaphone, began to speak.

“Go away! Don’t bother coming this way! All intruders will be shot!” The voice stopped, as if in anticipation of a response. Dennis had been about to tell Paul that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea when Paul finally did respond.

“Don’t shoot!” Paul yelled through the bush. “We came here to trade.”

“Trade? What do we have to trade?” Dennis mumbled to himself.

“You have nothing we want! Go away!” the voice boomed.

“I think you’ll be mighty interested in this,” Paul yelled but not so loudly because they had walked a lot closer to where the dense brush stopped and the back alley of the supermarket began.

“If you come through those bushes, we’ll shoot!” the voice threatened, although it also quavered with a little doubt.

“If you shoot us, then you will surely miss out on what I have to offer,” Paul said as he stepped out of the brush with both of his hands raised up in the air.

“Get the rest of them out here with you,” the supermarket leader said as he leveled his weapon at Paul’s chest. Dennis and Dewey stepped out of the undergrowth almost at the same time. Dennis took quick note and noticed at least eight well-armed men with all of their weapons pointed directly at them. Even if they were crappy shots, their numbers and positioning were far superior.

“We’re dead men,” Dennis said sideways to Dewey. Paul walked directly up to the leader with his right hand outstretched. Dennis wasn’t sure if the man would shake his hand or just blow it off. Most of the guns were now trained directly on Paul, as if it were some sort of elaborate trap.

“Don’t bother with the handshake, son. They don’t mean much these days,” the leader said. Paul stopped short, the smile rapidly fading from his face. More guards came, hauling ass from around the corner. There had to have been at least fifteen of them now and they all looked pissed off; probably because they had to run to get there.

Old National Guardsmen, Dennis figured. They had some idea of what to do with the weapons but no discipline when it came to personal management. Most of them looked like they were trying their best to clean the store out before the weekend.

“Alright, if you won’t take my hand, at least take my deal,” Paul said.

“I’m listening, son, but it doesn’t look like you have much to offer.”

“What I’m offering is beyond value, sir. I’m offering you your lives,” Paul said matter-of-factly.

“Our lives!?” the leader laughed. The rest of the posse followed suit. “What are you? Some kind of religious fruit? Are you one of those born-again fucks? Did you come here to spread the word of God? Have you looked around, you dumb ass? God’s nowhere to be found!” the man angrily shouted.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Paul said as he put his hands up. “I mean your physical lives.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sonny. So you had better get to the point real quick. From where I stand, I have eighteen or more fully automated weapons pointing at you and your little party. The only reason you’re not dead yet is that it’s been a little slow around here lately, and we were looking for a little change of pace. So if you want to breathe a little while longer, and keep your body in its present condition, you know, free from bullets and all, then you had better go right back to the bowl you were smoking, or tell me what you want before I say no!” As the man yelled, veins began to form along his brow and his cheeks blazed red. A few more armed guards ran around to see what all the ruckus was about.

“I want the store,” Paul stated as if he were asking for fries with his hamburger. The leader began to laugh almost uncontrollably. Dennis figured when he stopped laughing, the bullets would begin flying.

“Well, I’ve got to thank you, son. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while,” the man said as he wiped some laughter tears from his eyes. “Whaddya think, boys? Should we give him the store?”

One of the guards on the roof yelled down, “Sure, why the hell not? They seem like nice enough kids. Our families don’t really need the food and shelter anyway.” That got the leader going again. When he stopped, his face became much more grievous.

“See, son? Therein lies our dilemma; our families and friends are in that store. That store is our lives. If we were to just hand it over to you, we’d be sealing our fates and it’s not really the type of fate we’re looking for. So I’m going to tell you one last time, take your two little friends and go back to the wacky-tabacky you’ve been smoking and maybe we’ll throw you a box of Twinkies.”

The same man who spoke earlier stood up and grabbed his belly. “Ah, I’m sorry, sir, I finished those off Monday.” That earned another round of chuckles from the men, but the leader was through. Something in this kid’s eyes made him nervous and he just wanted him out of here.

“Sir, before I leave,” Paul said, “could you tell me how many men guard this fine establishment?” Sweat started to form under the leader’s arms; something was wrong but he wasn’t quite sure.

“Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but we have around fifty armed guards.” That was an embellishment, times two, but he wanted to make this punk kid as nervous as he was.

“Oh! So you have about twenty to twenty-five men back here, which means that you have another twenty-five men up front. Sounds like you’ve got the situation well in hand.” For the first time, the leader took visual inventory of all of his men. Then it dawned on him, this was ALL of his men.

“Lenny, who is guarding the store?” Cold panic settled in the pit of the leader’s stomach.

“I-I-I thought Burt was?” Lenny stammered.

“Burt’s right next to you! Go check on the store, NOW!!!” the leader screamed. He didn’t need a bullhorn anymore.

“Don’t worry, sir, they’re being well taken care of,” Paul chimed in. Ice formed in the leader’s stomach as he slowly turned back towards his adversary.

“What do you want?” the leader asked slowly and softly, anger and fear coursing through his veins.

“I told you. I want the store,” Paul said matter-of-factly.

“If you harm anybody in there, I’ll kill you. If this is some kind of joke, I’ll kill you, if…”

“Calm down, Mister. Nobody’s hurt and this isn’t a joke. Right now, I have about sixty armed militia in your store as we speak. Now, I’m going to only ask you once. If I don’t get the right answer, I’m going to press this little button and people in the store will start dying.” Paul produced a little, hand-held device, no bigger than an old Atari joystick. It had a large red button on the top with Paul’s thumb poised right over it.

“This is a radio-controlled device. Don’t worry; it’s not attached to a bomb, the receiver is attached to one of my men in the store. You see, he has a little box with a light on it, if the light goes red, he knows it means something went down out here, and he’s to take the store by force. If it doesn’t light up, everything’s cool. Are you with me so far? Good! So put down your weapons, now!” Paul yelled.

The leader was in shock. He had been in command for so long, he had no clue how to take an order.

“Now! Mister! Or a whole lot of people are going to die, us included,” Paul yelled again. That seemed to get the man going. He could tell by looking in Paul’s eyes, this was no idle threat. Paul’s thumb began to move millimeter-by-millimeter towards its goal.

Katy, I’m sorry I let you down, the man thought to himself. For an instant, Paul thought the man might be suicidal, but the moment passed with no lead flying.

“Put your weapons down!” The man shouted as he bent over to place his M-16 on the ground gingerly. “Sonny, if this is some kind of bluff, then you sure are some kind of poker player.”

“Sir,” Paul said with calmness overtaking his previous anger, “this is no card game, and I’m not bluffing. Now tell those two men on the roof to lower their weapons because I am beginning to lose my patience.”

The leader couldn’t figure it out. Paul’s eyes never left his own, yet he was still able to ascertain that the détente wasn’t over yet. This kid was dangerous and he had no desire to test him anymore.