by Urban, Tony
Alexander had also set him up with an AK47 of his own and even though he’d never fired such an impressive and intimidating weapon before, he supposed he could manage. Besides, Alexander had promised him there’d be no trouble and that carrying the weaponry was akin to tossing a spare tire into your trunk. The odds you’d ever need it were slim, but it was good to have, just in case. For further back up, he’d been supplied with a pistol and two full magazines.
As the gate came open and he stared into the unending desert ahead, he realized it felt good to hold the rifle against his body. It made him feel secure that he could handle anything that might come their way.
Alexander nudged him. “You ready for this?”
It surprised Wyatt to realize he wasn’t sure. Even after just a few days inside he’d reacclimated to a life where he didn’t have to listen for every branch snap or footfall. Where he didn’t have to keep alert to what was at his sides and behind him. Where he didn’t need to live in a state of constant fear. It felt like a whole lifetime ago that they were on the road, trying to find a better life for themselves. Was he ready to go back out there?
“I guess we’ll find out,” Wyatt said with a grin.
They walked and no one said much. That part was familiar and the silence of life on the road came back to him like a tidal wave. Soon he was back in the pattern of putting one foot in front of the other and not thinking about when, or if, the journey would end.
“Want a bite?” a man said.
His voice startled Wyatt who’d been sitting apart from the group and gulping water to hydrate his parched mouth and throat. They’d been on the road for five hours, maybe six, and broke for lunch. Only Wyatt hadn’t thought ahead and packed anything for himself.
While the group seemed to accept him into their party, he hadn’t felt comfortable enough with them to beg some food. It wasn’t like he’d spent much longer periods of time hungry, after all.
When he glanced at the man who’d spoken, he saw a face covered in stubble and his own reflection in mirrored sunglasses. Then he saw the man’s hand was extended and in it he held a candy bar. He looked to be in his thirties with a round face and his right cheek bulged with enough tobacco to give the impression that he was smuggling a golf ball inside his mouth.
Wyatt half-smiled. Something inside him was always ready for pushback, yet here this man was, offering him a bite of his Snickers. He really needed to stop worrying so much.
“Nah, I’m good. But thanks,” he glanced at the nameplate on the man’s uniform. “Weston.”
The man shrugged and shoved the remainder of the candy bar into his mouth. “Name’s actually Clark,” he said through a mouthful of nougat. “Uni came with the name and I’m too lazy to cut it off. Anyway, fuck it, I don’t got a nickname so go with Weston if it’s easier to remember.” He folded the candy wrapped into a triangle and flicked it Wyatt’s way, then snorted out something akin to a chuckle when it ricocheted off his cheek.
Wyatt watched the man and thought he seemed a little off. Socially awkward, or maybe even on the autism scale. But who was he to judge?
“Don’t stand too close to Clark. He thinks it’s amusing to mark his new friends by pissing on their boots,” Alexander said.
Wyatt glanced his way and laughed. But when Clark only shrugged Wyatt stopped laughing. “You’re serious?” he asked Alexander.
“Sure am.”
Clark flipped Alexander the bird. “You're just jealous because I didn’t water your flowers, pussy.”
Alexander extended his hand to Wyatt who took it and let himself be pulled to his feet, suddenly eager to put some distance between himself and Clark. “I’m real glad you took the initiative to come with us. Some people are meant to be kept behind the walls. They’d never make it more than a day out here.” They walked west, ahead of the others. “Not guys like you and me though. I can already tell you’re one of us.”
“I’m glad you asked me. Don’t get me wrong, life at the casino’s pretty damned terrific. But I don’t want to get a free ride either. I’m willing to do whatever I can to help.”
“That means a lot to me. To all of us.” Alexander turned back to the others. “Break’s over. Get to stepping.”
They rose and followed. It felt odd to be in the lead again, but Wyatt knew he really wasn’t. This was Alexander’s show and he was along for the ride. Nothing more, nothing less.
“How far away is this place? Where we’re going to trade, I mean.” Wyatt asked.
“It’s another eight or so miles. We could get there and back in a day but there’s no sense running ourselves into the ground,” Alexander said. “We can camp there and head back in the--”
Woosh.
Wyatt felt a cool wind blast past his cheek. It happened so fast he didn’t realize what was going on until he heard one of Alexander’s men scream. His head snapped toward the miserable cries and saw a four feet long spear embedded in the man’s chest.
The man fell to his knees, but the spear kept him propped upright. His hands clawed at the weapon, desperate as blood turned his tan camo red and ran down the weapon, pudding in the dirt.
The guy, with whom Wyatt hadn’t even exchanged a simple ‘Hello,’ went limp less than five seconds later. Probably not even enough time to comprehend what was happening to him. Wyatt could barely understand it himself.
It was the second spear that hammered it in.
A man further back in the group caught it in his throat. It jutted from his neck, two feet of wood on either side. The man tried to speak, or scream, but all that came out was a mouthful of blood and incomprehensible gurgles as he collapsed to the ground.
Wyatt’s hands fumbled for the AK that was slung over his shoulder but, before he could get a grip on it, he saw another man impaled through his face and the sight made him remember a time his parents had taken him and Seth to a fancy restaurant where he skewed grapes with plastic swords.
“Where the fuck are they coming from?” Clark screamed.
Wyatt saw him spinning around, rifle ready to go off at any second and he finally got a grip on his own weapon. His hands were slick with sweat as he clutched it, unsure where to aim.
“There,” Alexander yelled. “Get into formation, they don’t have guns. Take them out.”
Wyatt saw Alexander pointing at an embankment to their left and he could make out a small group of men using a dilapidated shack for cover. Meanwhile, Wyatt’s group was exposed with nowhere to hide. To prove that point another spear flew through the group, missing Clark by inches.
“Motherfuckers!” Clark shouted.
The gunfire erupted. Wyatt watched two of the assailants fall. One careened off the building and rolled down the hill.
More spears flew their way, but none of them landed their target. As his group returned fire Wyatt remained frozen, thinking about that first spear and how close it had come to impaling him.
He stood, frozen, with his heartbeat sounding like claps of thunder in his ears. He realized he wasn’t breathing, that he was shaking all over, and that he couldn’t make his body do anything but stand there and be a sitting duck.
Before he could die on his feet like a fool, Alexander grabbed hold of his shirt and forced him onto his knees. Wyatt realized everyone else was on the ground and shooting but he still couldn’t clear the fog in his head and make himself join in the fray.
Then Alexander bellowed into his ear. Wyatt wasn’t sure if it was to make himself heard over the gunfire or because he was pissed off. Either way, the message was the same. “Get your head on straight and shoot those fuckers!”
That harsh check was exactly what Wyatt needed. He raised his rifle, aimed, fired. The first bullet went wide but the second found its mark. It punched through the man’s cheek which exploded in a spray of blood and bone as he collapsed.
The other soldiers rained hell on the attackers who screamed and bled as they died. Wyatt found a young man aiming a spear, seconds from throwing it, and sent two
rounds into his abdomen. His eyes grew wide and shocked and Wyatt realized he was still a boy. Younger than himself, maybe by five years. He tried not to think about that as the fight dwindled and soon all the attackers were dead.
Wyatt’s ears were ringing from the gunfire but through it he heard Clark’s big mouth. “Those cocksuckers killed Pat and Benny,” Clark said, spitting to the side as he looked at his dead buddies.
“And Ramon,” one of the women said, staring at the guy who’d had the bad luck of getting impaled through the face,
“Everyone else okay?” Alexander asked.
Wyatt looked to them as they nodded, affirmative. He couldn’t believe how fast it had all gone down, and that it was really over. It was yet another reminder how horrible life was out here, and he wished he’d have stayed at the casino after all.
“Wyatt, Clark, Laurie, come with me and let’s make sure we got ‘em all,” Alexander said.
Wyatt walked with them to the bodies. Clark trekked up the hill. Alexander kept a watch on the road ahead and behind while the others began to kick at the bodies piled up at the base of the hill.
“All clear up here,” Clark said.
“Good, let’s get--”
“Holy fuck, this one is still alive,” Laurie, a middle-aged woman who wore her black and gray hair in a loose ponytail, said.
Wyatt and Alexander jogged to her. She stood over the boy Wyatt had shot. One of the bullets had shattered his collar bone. He clutched at the right side of his chest with his hand, blood oozing between his fingers. Alexander kicked the boy’s arm and his hand fell away, revealing a gunshot wound just north of his nipple.
“Who shot this one?” Alexander asked.
“I did,” Wyatt said.
Alexander turned to him and Wyatt thought he saw something like pity in his eyes. He realized Alexander wasn’t the super soldier he’d envisioned him to be. That he hated death as much as any normal man. That made Wyatt feel relieved, to know that he wasn’t the only one who felt this way, until--
“Then finish him off,” Alexander said.
Wyatt shifted his gaze from Alexander to the boy who stared up at him with pained, bloodshot eyes. “What?”
“These fuckers killed our own. They were going to eat us, the sick fucks,” Clark said.
Wyatt glanced around the group. He wasn’t going to find any backers here unless he came up with a damned good reason.
Or maybe he should just kill him and be done with it. He let the barrel of the rifle drift toward the boy’s face and saw his eyes grow wide with fear and panic. Wyatt’s finger caressed the trigger.
Just do it, he thought. Clark’s right. They’re cannibals. This kid would have killed him without a second thought if they switched places.
But they were supposed to be better than the cannibals. What was the point in surviving if it meant you had to become a savage? This boy was unarmed and no threat. This wasn’t shooting someone in the heat of battle or self-defense. This would be murder. Surely the others had to see that too.
“We need to take him back,” Wyatt said. “You can question him. You and Papa. Find out if there are more. Where they’re living. If they know about the casino. Information is every bit as important as food.”
That sounded so good. Wyatt almost believed it himself and he was sure it was going to work.
“Fucking pansy ass pussy,” Wyatt heard one of the men mutter.
He was losing hope, but he knew the only opinion that mattered was Alexander’s. He looked to him, pleading.
Alexander turned away, but not before Wyatt saw a look of disgust in his eyes. “Get the wagon and load him up.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Laurie said.
Alexander grabbed Wyatt’s arm and dragged him away from the others. His grip was a vise and Wyatt couldn’t believe how strong, and how furious, the man he already thought of as a friend, was.
When they were out of earshot Alexander shifted his grip from Wyatt’s arm to his chin, his nails digging into the soft flesh under his jaw. “Don’t you ever undermine my authority again. Out here, I am Papa, you got it? He chose me to be the protector and that means I make the decisions.”
He pushed Wyatt away, collecting himself and some of the anger either faded, or he made an effort at concealing it.
“Do you understand?”
Wyatt nodded. There were no words to say. Alexander had made it very clear already.
Chapter 15
Petulance came easy to Seth. Always had. Ending up in the chair only made it easier to fall into the frame of mind that the world was against him and that pouting was the best option.
His pity party for one was taking place in the parking lot at the rear of the casino. He stared at the windmills and solar panels and played the earlier meeting on repeat inside his head and with each recantation he only became more pissed off.
What else did he have to do to prove himself? He’d fought off cannibals. He’s survived gunfights. He’s killed men with his teeth. When were these assholes going to understand that he was as good as the rest of them? Maybe even better.
Wyatt hadn’t come to his defense. That annoyed him, but he wasn’t surprised. His big brother had a habit of treating him like a China doll, something delicate and easily broken. Seth supposed that went with the territory of being the elder sibling. But it was Papa who had denied him the chance to go out there and show the men what he could do.
That hurt.
Because Papa had pretended to understand him. The man had blown up his ego like a hot air balloon and Seth believed every word of it. Now he felt not only fooled, but betrayed.
“Tell me, son. Did you put on sunscreen before coming out here?”
Seth looked over his shoulder and found Papa rolling up on his scooter. “No. Why?”
“Long as you’ve been out here, you’re due for a nasty sunburn.”
Seth looked up at the bland, gray sky. The sun was nowhere to be seen. “I really don’t think--”
Papa rattled off a laugh and Seth fought the urge not to spit in his general direction.
“That was a joke,” Seth said.
“Not my best material. Apologies.”
Papa stopped his ride beside Seth. “I read your face clear as a newspaper headline.”
“Yeah? What’s the story?”
“You’re upset. Disappointed”
Seth rolled his eyes. “Didn’t exactly have to be psychic to figure that out.”
“It’s more than that though,” Papa said. “Your ego has been wounded. And, hell, I don’t blame you.”
“I’m really tired of people saying that to me. They don’t blame me. Why the hell would they? It wasn’t my fucking fault that this happened to me. But now every decision that is made, is made with my disability in mind, isn’t it?”
Papa sat patiently, listening to Seth.
“You told me things were going to be different here. But when it comes time to put some action behind those words you end up treating me like a cripple who isn’t worth shit. You won’t even give me a chance to prove that I can help and show the people here that I’m capable of contributing.”
“There’s the rub,” Papa said. “You don’t need to prove yourself. The community knows you’re capable because I’ve told them about you.
“That talk we had yesterday, I meant all of it. You are meant for great things. Your purpose is far more meaningful than a food run that could be handled by a group of adequately trained chimpanzees.” Papa adjusted himself in his seat, the vinyl making an awkward farting sound in the process. Seth held back a smirk.
“Franklin and Alexander are integral cogs in the machine. They’re loyal and trustworthy. They’re one hundred percent committed to the cause. And they follow commands without protest.” Papa pointed a thick finger at Seth. “But you, Seth, you think about things. You question the reason behind why I make decisions. That is a worthwhile attribute. One that cannot be taught.”
Seth sat a little ta
ller in his chair. He had felt like a child throwing a fit only moments ago, but Papa’s words calmed his temper. “So, what are you saying?”
“I have no need for another Yes Man, or a mouthpiece. What I need, my son, is a free thinker. Someone worthy and capable of carrying on and leading after I’m gone. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I ain’t the picture of health these days.” As if to prove his point, he coughed up a mouthful of phlegm which he spat into his palm. He examined the mass before shaking it off onto the ground. Seth noticed that blood was intermixed with the mucus.
“But I thought--”
“You thought it was all in Yahweh’s plan, right?” Papa cast a wink. “I wasn’t always the man you see before you. I was healthier than your brother even. I suppose, back then, we all were. But things change. Sometimes for the worse, and sometimes for the better.”
Seth watched the man’s gaze drift into the desert as he told his story.
Chapter 16
“I wasn’t always so fat I could barely walk. Didn’t have these…” He gestured lazily to the sores and scars on his face. “Malformities. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t movie star handsome, but I was married. Had two kids. If you can believe that.”
Seth wouldn’t have guessed it, but he supposed that’s why Papa said he was a different man before all of this.
“I wasn’t a leader back then, but I had a knack for connecting with people. My mother, Yahweh rest her soul, said I was born with the gift of gab and that got me through some lean years.”
“You weren’t always a preacher?”
Papa chuckled. “No. I worked in customer service which, all things considered, isn’t all that different. It’s all about listening, you see. Making people know you’re hearing them. Good or bad. The key to people is making them believe you care. That you’re on their side. And I was. It wasn’t God’s work, necessarily, but it was honest.”
