The Time of the Stripes

by Amanda Bridgeman

  Abbie pulled away from Richard, her face wet and flushed pink with emotion.

  “What happened, Abbie?” Richard asked, one hand still resting on her shoulder.

  “They threatened me.”

  “Who?” Richard asked.

  “All of them,” she said, wiping her face. “They want Kaitlyn out. Austin said that if I didn’t get rid of her, they’d take us both out.”

  “Was it just talk, or did he mean it?” Richard asked.

  “He meant it,” Abbie said, rubbing her arm, which was red and beginning to bruise.

  “He did that to you?” Richard asked, eyeing her arm. “Austin?”

  She nodded, wiping her cheek with the paper towel again. “He spat in my face after pushing me to the ground.”

  Dr. Pellan sighed loudly and shook his head.

  Abbie gave a cough, wheezing a little, then fished through her bag for something. She brought out a Ventolin spray and inhaled.

  “Are you okay?” Richard asked, realizing that must be the reason for her welt.

  She nodded, inhaling another spray.

  “What about the group? Did you learn anything from them?” Richard asked, feeling concern brewing within.

  “They have boys as young as twelve down there with rifles slung over their shoulders. And they’ve got the deputy.”

  “The deputy is helping them?” Pellan asked, astounded.

  Abbie shook her head, wiping her face again. “No. They’re keeping him locked up in a storeroom.”

  “Hostage then,” Pellan said.

  Abbie nodded. “His face was bleeding bad. They’d beaten him.”

  “Jesus,” Richard exhaled.

  “Something happened just as I left,” Abbie told them. “Roy ran into the office with Magnus and they closed the blinds and door. Josh and I thought it was a good idea that I leave. I saw the chief at the barrier gate. It looked like he was going in.”

  “Things are getting serious, now.” Pellan shook his head in disbelief.

  Richard nodded in agreement, then looked back at Abbie. She returned his glance, as more tears brimmed in her eyes.

  “I’m really worried for Kaitlyn,” she said. “She’s only fourteen, for God’s sake. She can’t defend herself.”

  “Why?” Kaitlyn’s voice sounded from behind Dr. Pellan.

  They all turned.

  “Why are you worried?” she asked, staring at them. “Why do I need to defend myself?” Her face paled. “Are they coming for me?”

  “Kaitlyn . . .” Abbie stepped forward, but Dr. Pellan cut her off, turning to the girl and wrapping his arm around her.

  “It is alright, Kaitlyn. We won’t let anything happen to you. As long as you stay here with us, you will be fine.”

  Kaitlyn looked at Abbie, questioning, pleading.

  “We won’t let them take you, I promise.” Abbie said, determined to keep Kaitlyn and her baby safe.

  Charlie’s cries rang out from upstairs then, a timely interruption.

  “Come,” Dr. Pellan gave a warm smile and ushered Kaitlyn toward the stairs. “Introduce to me to your son.”

  Richard and Abbie watched them disappear, then turned to face each other again.

  “Don’t go to any more of those meetings,” he told her gently.

  She shook her head, “I won’t.” The emotion seemed to twitch at her mouth, and she moved past him into the living room to slump on the couch. He followed, sitting down beside her.

  Richard watched as Abbie closed her eyes. “How did this all happen? How did everything turn so bad so quickly?”

  He sighed. “Fear . . . fear of whatever did this. Fear of what will happen next. Desperation. It makes people do stupid things.”

  “They’re saying the aliens will come for the Clean Skins next,” she told him sadly, dejectedly.

  “I know,” he nodded, absentmindedly massaging his stubbled chin and jaw.

  “Then they say the aliens will come for me, because I’m a single stripe.”

  He stared at her, at the red welt running down her soft, smooth skin.

  She gave a short, sharp laugh. “I’m the lowest of the low. Single stripes aren’t worth much in the SZ apparently.”

  “They’re worth more than a Clean Skin,” he told her.

  She looked at him and smiled, but her face quickly scrunched up with emotion. “What’s happening to us?” she gasped, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why would the aliens do this? If they wanted to kill us, then why didn’t they just do it when they were here the first time?”

  Richard moved closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently to rest against him.

  “I wish I knew, Abbie,” he whispered. “I really wish I knew.”

  *

  Chief Blackstone walked slowly, carefully, toward Roy’s Hardware. The soldiers at the gate had reported seeing people coming and going from there. As Blackstone approached, he saw a couple of striped teens standing guard by the door. Armed.

  It didn’t surprise him that Roy’s Hardware was their hub of operations. If it could be called that: hub of operations. Indeed, he doubted a bunch of angry, armed civilians would have much organization about them. But that’s also what made them dangerous. Their foolishness. Add to that Roy’s paranoia and conspiracy theorising, and on top of that put Magnus’ hate for the mayor and what he represented . . . it added up to a whole load of trouble.

  He breathed out measuredly and sharpened his focus.

  As soon as he’d appeared at the gate, one of the guard teenagers had run inside. Magnus knew he was coming. As he neared the door, he held his arms up in the air peacefully. The two young guys on the door, one white, one black, were ready and suspicious. They raised their guns in Blackstone’s direction.

  “Trent, Lewis,” Blackstone said calmly, recognizing them. “How y’all doing?” If there was a time for Blackstone to lean on his laid-back southern style, now was it.

  Trent and Lewis glanced at each other, then returned their eyes to Blackstone.

  “What do you want?” Trent barked defensively.

  “Wondered if Magnus was around. I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to speak with him. You think that’s possible?”

  Again, they glanced at each other.

  “I’m alone, boys,” Blackstone told them. “I just want to talk.”

  “Why you armed then?” Trent questioned.

  Blackstone looked down at the SIG Sauer sitting in his holster, then looked back to Trent. “I’m a police officer,” he said mildly. “It kinda comes with the job.”

  Trent eyed him with a scowl, then motioned for Lewis to go pass the word. All the while Trent aimed his shotgun at Blackstone.

  “That yours?” he asked Trent, motioning to the gun he held.

  Trent didn’t answer, scowl still in place.

  “You know how to fire that thing?” Blackstone continued.

  Again Trent didn’t answer, but the furrow in his brow grew.

  “They’re pretty dangerous things in the wrong hands, you know,” Blackstone said conversationally. “You fire one of those things and kill a man, that ain’t ever going to leave you. It’s bit like gunpowder residue. It sticks where you least expect it.” Blackstone pointed to his own temple. “Right up here.”

  Trent sniffed and glanced around the streets angrily. His square jaw clenched, his stocky body tensed.

  “Still,” Blackstone continued, “there’re worse things. Like prison. Now there’s a nightmare you can’t erase.”

  “SHUT UP, CLEAN SKIN!” Trent shouted and aimed his weapon more firmly in Blackstone’s direction.

  “Whoa, now!” the chief said, raising his hands higher. “Just making conversation, Trent. I used to play baseball with your old man, you know. I’m sorry he’s gone now.”

  “I said SHUT UP!”

  “What’s going on here?” Roy Kenny appeared at the door with Lewis by his side.

&n
bsp; “Roy,” Blackstone gave a nod. “I was just wondering if I can have a word with Magnus.”

  “Why’s that?” Roy asked chin out defiantly, face twitching like it did.

  “Well, now, I think you know why. But either way, I think it’s best discussed in private.” Blackstone motioned to Trent and Lewis.

  “Anything you wanna say to Magnus, can be said to me,” Roy told him.

  “Okay, that’s fine,” Blackstone nodded. “Can I lower my hands and step inside?”

  Roy examined him for a bit, then said, “Let him through.”

  Trent threw Roy a questioning look, but lowered his gun. Blackstone lowered his hands and went to step forward, but Roy raised his weapon.

  “Uh-uh,” he said. “You keep your hands high, chief. You can step inside, but you keep your goddamn hands high.”

  Blackstone paused, but raised his hands again to step inside the hardware store. He found it dimly lit; only one of the store lights was on, the one shining over the cabinet where the guns were usually kept. It looked empty, however, which made Blackstone nervous. He briefly wondered how many guns it had held and how many guns were now out there in people’s hands.

  No one else seemed to be about. Down at the far end, though, he saw light shining beneath the doors leading to the warehouse out back.

  “What you wanna say?” Roy demanded.

  Blackstone turned to him, saw the weapon pointed at his gut. “I want this madness to end, Roy. People are getting hurt, people are dying. This ain’t going to end well for anyone.”

  “No, it ain’t,” Roy agreed. “Those goddamn aliens will make sure of that.”

  “This is my point. We don’t know what the hell we’re dealing with here. We’ve got enough going on, we don’t need to turn on each other.”

  “You Clean Skins already did that when you kicked us out!”

  “We’re dealing with an alien life-form here, Roy. They didn’t know if you were contagious—”

  “Not at first, but when they found out, you left that goddamn wall in place to keep us penned up!”

  “No, Roy, I didn’t,” Blackstone stared at him. “We found out the same time you did when we saw that reporter’s story on the TV. This was way out of our control. This was in the hands of the government and the military. Now, me and the mayor want to bring the wall down and reunite Victoryville. But we can’t do that with y’all threatening violence against the Clean Skins and the outsiders.”

  “Fuck the Clean Skins, chief! Fuck the outsiders! And fuck you!”

  “Roy,” Blackstone said, retaining his calm, but noticing a pleading tone sliding into his voice. “I’ve known you a long time. Magnus, too. This is madness—”

  “Of course it’s madness, Earl!” Roy used his first name. “Aliens have come and they have taken our healthy. They have come and raped the Earth, and they will come again. For you!” he pointed. “It doesn’t matter how far we go back. It’s about survival now. You Clean Skins have a death warrant on your heads. And just like when this first happened and you Clean Skins didn’t want anything to do with us, well, now we don’t want anything to do with you! So stay the hell away!”

  “Goddamn it, Roy!” Blackstone hissed. “If you don’t let us drop that wall, if you don’t end this madness, they will send the military in and you will lose. Trust me, no matter what you think you got going on over here with this little group of yours, you will lose.”

  “Is that a threat? You threatening me on striped soil, chief?”

  “No, Roy, it’s not a threat. I am trying to talk some common sense here. You want to survive, then this is how you do it. Drop your weapons and stand down before you get everyone in here killed.”

  “I am not handing the SZ over to Russo.” Magnus’ wet voice wheezed from a darkened aisle. Blackstone turned to see Magnus roll out in his electric wheelchair. He’d been sitting there listening the whole time. Magnus sucked in a breath from his oxygen mask, staring at him, while Langdon Swan moved up behind him, rifle in hand. “So you make sure and tell the mayor that.”

  “Magnus,” Blackstone shook his head helplessly, “what do you think you’re going to achieve?”

  “Sovereignty of the Victoryville SZ in the wake of this new apocalyptic age. Security. Making sure we’re nowhere near you when those aliens come back.”

  “Do you think that will really matter? What they did, we had no control over, Magnus. Our weapons were useless. Our radars didn’t pick them up! If they come back here, there ain’t nothing anyone can do.”

  “It does matter,” Magnus wheezed. “If we don’t have much time left, then we’re going to live it the way we want to. Away from you Clean Skins.”

  Blackstone sighed, scratching his face as he looked at the ground.

  “You can’t declare the Victoryville SZ as yours, Magnus. No one in the history of the United States has been able to do that, so what makes you think, with the military lined up outside your door, that you can be the first?”

  “When the aliens come back, there won’t be any military left,” Magnus said plainly. “They’re a healthy bunch who passed their physicals. So we just need to hold it until then.”

  Blackstone gazed at the man before him, sick in more ways than one . . . or, rather, seven.

  “Is that all, chief?” Magnus asked. “Is there anything else Russo wanted you to ask because he was too chickenshit to leave the Clean Zone himself?”

  “He didn’t ask me. I volunteered.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “I want to know where my deputy is.” Blackstone stared hard, locking eyes with the man, despite the dim lighting.

  “Deputy Cann?” Magnus asked, tilting his head to the side as though in contemplation.

  “You know of any other deputy I have left?” Blackstone couldn’t help the condescension in his voice.

  “I can’t say I’ve seen the deputy for some time.” Magnus sucked in another breath of oxygen.

  “Yeah,” Roy agreed quickly. “Some seem to think he hightailed it out of here a couple days back.”

  “And made it past the military blockade around the town?” The condescension remained in Blackstone’s voice.

  “Maybe he got lucky, found a gap,” Roy shrugged.

  “He hasn’t been returning my calls.”

  Roy stared back. “Guess he don’t want to be found then.”

  “If he’d left his post, I don’t imagine he would answer, chief,” Magnus told him.

  “I know my deputy, Magnus. He’s a good man. He wouldn’t abandon his post.”

  “So?”

  “So that means y’all have killed him, or y’all are holding him somewhere, keeping him out of the way.”

  “That’s quite an accusation, chief,” Magnus said.

  “It is, but I’ve been working this job long enough to know when I’m right and when I’m wrong. And this feels right.”

  “Feelings won’t stand up in court now, will they?” Magnus said, a slight smile on his face. “You make sure and tell Russo that, you hear?”

  Blackstone continued to stare at Bracks for a moment. “I want my deputy back. You need to give him back, or they will storm this place.”

  “Wouldn’t that be dangerous for your deputy, though?” Roy asked lightly. “I mean, if you feel that he is here somewhere. I mean, he could get hurt. Shot or something. Caught in the crossfire.”

  Blackstone stared narrowly at Roy Kenny, his eyes filling with hate. “If he was here, that is.” The chief’s voice dripped with contempt and a seriousness that seemed to increase the intensity in the room.

  “I guess that leaves you in a quandary, doesn’t it, chief,” Magnus said. “You got a choice to make. Send in the big guns and risk your deputy’s life. Or stay the hell away and see if he lives.”

  “This won’t be my decision to make,” Blackstone told him. “Time is running out before the military will step in and take over Victoryville. You can’t
control this, Magnus.”

  “I’m doing alright so far.”

  “Goddamn it, be smart!” Blackstone yelled in frustration. “They will crush you, Magnus! This is the United States military we’re talking about. They will annihilate you!”

  Magnus wheeled his chair as close to the chief as he could, and stared up. “I told Russo that if I go down, I’m taking him with me. He will be known as the mayor who stood by and watched Victoryville destroyed. Now, you can send those forces in and it’ll be just like you say. Everyone will get killed. But know this, chief: I will start with your deputy and any other hostages I may or may not have. You want to protect the innocent? Then stay the hell away and I’ll let them live. Clean Skin or not.”

  “Magnus—”

  “I’m done, chief,” Magnus said. He waved his pudgy arm in the air, turning his chair around and rolling away.

  “Magnus!” Blackstone barked after him. Langdon and Roy quickly stepped forward and grabbed Blackstone by the arms and dragged him toward the front door. They pushed him through, and he stumbled forward a few steps before steadying himself. He turned to face them.

  “You got thirty seconds, chief,” Roy said, “to get out of the SZ before I start shooting.”

  Blackstone stared at Roy and the three young men who lined up, weapons raised: Trent, Lewis, Langdon. A row of ignorance, the stripes running down their chins like smears of angry blood beside the weapons held up to their eyes. Their hatred was pointed at him, but it was ultimately flowing in an aimless direction. Regardless, he knew they were done talking.

  Blackstone began to step backward, aiming for the interzone gate, refusing to turn his back on them immediately.

  “Twenty seconds!” Roy called, and Blackstone picked up his pace.

  “Open the gates!” he called over his shoulder to the soldiers manning it. “Open the gates!”

  “Ten seconds!”

  Blackstone looked over his shoulder to see the gates beginning to open.

  “Five seconds!”

  He spun around and raced for the gates, sliding through just in time to hear shots being fired, and laughter ringing out.

  In safety, behind the wall, he bent over panting, catching his breath. He glanced up to see one of the soldiers looking down at him.