by Schow, Ryan
He was puttering around the front of the building when he saw someone running toward him with a crazed look in his eyes. Colt’s body tensed, his guard instantly up. The lunatic got close enough that Colt wasn’t sure if he was about to be attacked, or just given a good scare. He wasn’t taking chances. Without hesitation, he kicked the guy in the face, knocking him on his back.
The motorcycle wobbled hard, and he nearly crashed into a parked car. Fortunately, he kept his balance, righted the bike as he pulled to a stop. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the man laid out on his back. He wasn’t moving. Good.
Colt stashed the bike around the back of the station, excused himself audibly, then started moving through the gaggle of people. There was chatter and some cursing, but when he got inside the building and to the front of the line, he saw Lance’s deputy, Marilyn something or other, speaking with an older woman who was saying her husband froze to death last night.
Colt caught Marilyn’s eye. “Is Garrity here?”
“If you find that draft dodger,” she grumbled, “you tell him to get his butt down here.”
Colt nodded, turned around, then got on his bike and headed to Garrity’s house. When he arrived, he cop-knocked, but no one answered. He walked around back, saw the heavily damaged cruiser smashed into the wooden deck, and frowned. He went to the back door, cop-knocked again, really pounding this time. When no one answered, he reared back and kicked the door in.
Garrity was there a moment later, a shotgun leveled on him. When he saw it was Colt, the lawman lowered his weapon and said, “Are you kidding me? That’s my door!”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?”
Garrity looked away.
Colt shook his head and said, “Keaton beat the hell out of his girlfriend. He was well on his way to doing permanent damage.”
“And?” he asked, setting the shotgun on the kitchen table. He sniffed a coffee cup, took a sip of whatever was in there, then winced.
“Half his head is splattered all over his driveway,” Colt said. “I shot another one as well. I let the third go because he wasn’t harming anyone.”
“You let him go?” Garrity asked.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you. You killed him. Good. That’s what I said you should have done. Isn’t that what I told you to do?”
“It’s crazy hearing you say this, not because of who you are, but because of the position you hold. You’re the sheriff, Lance.”
“I serve the people,” he said indifferently, clearly hungover, “and sometimes I let the people serve themselves.”
“Well, I served myself,” Colt said. “But I saved her life, so I served her, too.”
“I don’t care what you have to tell yourself,” Garrity said. “You did the right thing.”
“Get off your ass, put on your uniform, and get to work. Or this will get a lot worse.”
“I think I’m still a little bit drunk.”
“No one cares,” Colt said. “You’ll burn it off when you see what’s going on out there.”
He sat down, stared out the window at the rain.
“I can’t go out there.”
“Do you remember when the cops ran from the rioters in Philadelphia and everyone decided the cops didn’t matter anymore?”
He turned and glared at Colt. “Don’t bring that up with me.”
“You don’t even need anyone to chase you, Lance. You’re just sitting here like a coward. My brother would kick your butt right back into the streets over this.”
“I murdered those guys,” he said from a faraway place.
“You had every right to do that, so stop this crybaby bullshit, it’s embarrassing.”
“I know it’s not good,” he said, unmoved.
Colt found himself pacing around the small room. “Some people have to die, Lance. It was them or you, the classic definition of self-defense.”
He looked up at Colt, held his gaze, his eyes clearing. “I liked the old you better. The nice, respectable you.”
“Well, that version of me is asleep now, so get dressed.” Garrity didn’t move, so Colt stepped forward and struck the sheriff.
He held his face and looked up. “What the hell, Colt?”
“I said get dressed!”
Garrity shook off the strike, stood, then tried to stand straight. Colt grabbed the shotgun off the table and tossed it to him. He caught it, instantly stabilizing.
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
“We’ve been hit with an EMP,” Colt said.
“It’s just a power outage.”
“The grid’s smoked,” Colt said. “Which is why your electronics are smoked.”
“Are you sure?” Garrity asked.
“I’m tired of asking, man. Get dressed!” Garrity finally started moving. “I’m taking you into the station on the back of my bike.”
“You really killed those guys?” he asked.
“Yes,” Colt said.
“Then you need to use this distraction to get rid of the bodies.”
“That’s your recommendation?”
“Yes.”
“Alright then.”
When Colt dropped Garrity off at the station, he went back home, steering clear of the many pockets of chaos breaking out all around the city.
Back at the house, he got his pickaxe and shovel and walked down to Vitaliy’s rental home. Faith and Trixie came down a few minutes later.
“You don’t want to see this, Faith,” he turned and said. “I don’t want you seeing this.”
She came down anyway, which was not really a surprise to him. He watched her appraising the scene. When she saw Keaton’s head pretty much blown off, she stood still, looking at it. Trixie started to cry, but then she bent down and picked up the shovel. Colt suspected the ex-dancer never held a spade in her life, but she started to dig anyway.
“Can you head up to the house and get me two gallons of gasoline and a lighter?” he asked Faith. She didn’t say anything, she just nodded and went. “I need a tarp, too!”
She just kept walking.
“You okay doing this?” Colt asked Trixie.
She kept digging, not even acknowledging him. Faith returned half an hour later with the gas, the lighter, and the tarp. Without a word, she went into the side door of the garage, rooted around, then came back out with a spade of her own and started to dig alongside them.
When they dug an acceptable hole that Colt estimated to be about five or six feet deep, he and Trixie dragged Keaton’s corpse through the mud and loose gravel, then rolled him into the pit.
“Gas,” he said to Faith.
She handed the can to him; he doused the body. He then pulled his wallet out of the back of his pants, withdrew a business card, lit it, and dropped it into the pit. The whoosh of flames was bigger than any of them expected.
He draped the tarp over three-quarters of the pit to keep the rain from dousing the flames. Meanwhile, Faith returned to the garage, then came back out with a big bag of charcoal briquettes. Colt pulled back the tarp, clearing the way for Faith to empty out the entire bag.
The flames curled around the briquettes, dimming a bit before catching fire. When the flames were high enough, Faith dumped splashes of gasoline on the parts of Keaton’s body not yet burning hot enough.
Turning around, pointing at the other guy he shot earlier, he asked Trixie, “Who’s that guy?”
“That’s Remington, although Keaton called him Remy.”
“What about the third guy?”
“Booger.”
“Did you say Booger?” Faith asked.
“His name was Lewis, for real, but everyone called him Booger because of a…well, it doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you shoot him, too?”
“He didn’t do anything.”
“That was a big mistake,” she said.
He didn’t say anything. He just looked over at Faith, who was looking back at him with raised eyebrows.
/> He dragged Remy’s body to the edge of the pit, doused him with gas as well, then kicked his body over the edge. He crashed into Keaton’s roasted corpse, then slowly caught fire.
The rain simmered down as the flames licked up the front of the tarp. Colt finally pulled it away and threw dirt on the smoldering parts of the mostly flame-retardant tarp.
“Is there any more charcoal in the garage?” he asked Faith.
She shook her head. “I didn’t see any.”
“I’m going to head up to the house, get some more gas, and maybe our bag of briquettes.”
He walked up to the house, decided he didn’t want to waste more gas on those two clowns, and instead grabbed a bottle of tequila, some hot dogs, and Roscoe. He and the pup walked down to the fire pit. He set the hot dogs and the tequila down, then grabbed a nearby stick.
“Weiner, anyone?” he asked when the flames were just right.
Faith fixed him with a frown. “I was speechless when you brought those down here, but now I’m wondering what the hell is wrong with you.”
“You pushed me to this,” he said.
Trixie grabbed the package of hot dogs, then used her teeth to tear back the plastic casing.
“I said kill him,” Faith whispered closer to him, “not cook a freaking meal over him.”
He handed her the alcohol. “Take a drink, see if that calms your nerves.”
Pushing the bottle aside, she asked, “What did Lance say?”
“He said to do this.”
Trixie grabbed a couple more sticks from a nearby deadfall. Faith watched her do this, then looked at Colt like he was right. His beautiful, once innocent wife, took the bottle back, spun the lid free, then took a double shot to ease her nerves. Trixie handed Faith one of the sticks. She held up her hand, shook her head, and said, “No, thank you.”
“You sure you’re not hungry for wieners?” he teased.
“There is so much wrong with this,” Faith replied. She was definitely pissed off about the hot dogs but didn’t say a word. Meanwhile, Trixie had threaded her hot dog onto the stick.
“It’s a symbol of victory,” Colt said, thinking back to his days in the sand. “We roast wieners over the burning bodies of our enemies.”
“It’s not healthy,” Faith said.
Trixie let her dog hover over the flames. Colt fed a raw hot dog to Roscoe, who was on his second big bite when Faith snatched him up and said, “Are you kidding?”
“I like his thinking,” Trixie said.
Colt put his own hot dog on a stick and held it over the fire. When Trixie’s hot dog was done, she started to eat it. She was quietly crying, but eating it anyway.
Colt got that nice, black shell around his dog. Satisfied, he blew on it until he was sure he wouldn’t burn the roof of his mouth on the first and second bites. The dog was cooked perfectly. Sitting back, he enjoyed the meal and the victory.
But deep down, he knew Faith was right. This was all wrong. Still, he was satiating his body and culling the beast’s appetite. Inside of him, the cage was open, the monster was out, and it had the biggest, shittiest smile on its face.
When he and Trixie were done eating, Colt poured the few remaining drops of gas on the bodies, which flared up but didn’t do much beyond that. “I’m going to come back later, burn what’s left.”
“We want you to stay with us,” Faith said to Trixie.
“I can’t,” she replied. “I mean I want to, but…”
“You can stay in the barn,” Colt said. She looked at him funny, forcing him to explain. “I converted the barn into a man-cave, meaning it’s got a bed, it’s insulated, and it’s safe.”
She looked at him, held his eye, and then she slowly nodded in assent. Colt looked into her eyes and there was an emptiness he recognized. It was the look of a person who had done things they were ashamed of.
Who was she before all of this? He knew she was a former dancer, but what got her there? Who were her parents? What was her childhood like? He didn’t know. Then again, he really didn’t care. All he knew was that she was safe now, and so was he.
“Let’s go,” Faith said, grabbing the bottle. Looking down, she said, “Roscoe, come.” The hound looked up at her, then walked to Trixie and licked her hand.
The former dancer stood and picked up the dog, then handed him to Faith. “Thank you for your kindness and your hospitality.”
The three trudged through the mud and rain, heading up to the house. Faith got her set up in the man-cave while Colt fed the pup the kibble he should have given him earlier.
When Colt came back inside, he said, “Do you think it’s safe to leave her there?”
“I kind of think so unless you want to bring her inside.”
“No,” he said quickly.
“What now?”
“I need you to look at our food stores while I go back down to Vitaliy’s place and take an inventory of the place.”
“What do you mean?”
Colt said, “I want to see what they have, and if it’s good, we’re taking it.”
“Like stealing?”
“It’s a few notches down from killing, so if you have your misgivings, save it, seriously.”
“I just wanted to be clear,” she said.
“Where’s your gun?”
She went and got it, along with her belt holster. He affixed the holster to his belt, checked the mag, then slid the weapon in place.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
He walked back down through the rain, irritated that he was having to deal with this. He wanted to be angry, but really, he wasn’t sure how to feel. He killed two citizens in cold blood. Did they deserve it? Keaton did for sure.
The beast, however, took the second shot, killing Remy.
That had been for him.
This was the kill Colt felt bad about. Did the man deserve it? He wasn’t sure. Part of him wondered if he should talk to Trixie about Remy—see who he was—but the other part of him said not to. The beast didn’t want him to know, because what if he wasn’t a bad guy? Could Colt live with that? He wasn’t sure. In truth, he didn’t want to. The new and improved Colt would be eaten up if he’d killed a decent person, but the beast knew that if Colt stuffed it back down in that cage, it would never get out again.
Inside the house, he found food, clothing, an expired bottle of Vicodin and some Amoxicillin, and ammo. Lots of ammo to go with a pretty decent weapon stash.
“Holy cow,” he said, looking everything over.
There were shotguns, a couple of handguns, and three hunting rifles. Even better, however, were the night vision goggles (NVGs), a bulletproof vest, and a cache of tactical blades. Nothing there was really high end, but he liked the knife. It looked sharp enough to slice through a soda can.
In the garage, he found stores of gasoline and some old police-issue riot gear. He released the garage door lever, manually pushed it up, let a little daylight inside. He examined the riot gear, his attention drawn to the dried blood and bullet holes.
“Good God,” he whispered.
Outside, he walked over to the pit he and the women had dug for the dead guys. He looked inside, saw the ash, the embers, the bones that weren’t disintegrating.
He took a can of gas from in the garage, poured a little on the skulls, the spines, the exposed pelvic bones. The flames jumped, the fire burning hot again. He warmed his hands over the pit, but the fire died down too quickly.
He heard movement, then he looked up and saw Faith walking down Vitaliy’s driveway. When she joined him, she didn’t say a word, she just put her arm around him.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “You did the right thing.”
“It feels pretty nasty.”
“You shouldn’t have roasted the hot dogs.”
“I actually enjoyed them, but I kind of wish I hadn’t done that.”
“You are who you are,” she said.
“I am what they made me,” he replied, “what I made myse
lf.”
“I’ve been thinking, if this EMP thing is real, it’s going to get worse.”
“A lot worse.”
“We need to do something,” she said. “We need to maybe go after the kids.”
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”
“I want to think maybe this will end, that they’ll be okay, but we can’t even reach them. We don’t even know if they’re alright.”
“Marley should be fine, she’s at the White House—”
“Unless it’s under attack,” she said.
“Don’t say that.”
“I can’t help it,” she replied. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”
“Rowan will be fine—”
“Did you forget about Constanza?” she asked with raised brows.
He had. “Yeah…how far along is she again?”
“Eight months.”
He shook his head, then said, “I worry about Leighton.”
“Do you think the EMP affected her hearing aids?” she asked. “Because, if they’re…like, if the pulse ruined them, then she’s completely deaf.”
He felt his heart sink. Where had he even been in all of this? How come he hadn’t thought of that? You let the beast loose…
“What about town?” he asked. “Do you think it’s going to be safe here?”
“Nicholasville can fend for itself,” Faith said. “And Garrity will restore whatever peace needs restoring in the surrounding county. Let those guys do their jobs.”
“You didn’t see him this morning. He may need our help.”
“Family first,” Faith said.
“I know.”
“Did you try starting that hunk of crap?” she asked, looking at Keaton’s Jeep. He shook his head. “Find the keys and fire it up.”
“And if it works?”
“We fortify our house tonight, maybe get Gator over here to keep an eye on things, then we gas up this pig and head north to see about Leighton.”
“I’m pretty sure I like your thinking.”
Inside they found the keys to the Jeep. It started with no problems, other than the interior stunk and everything felt really old and run down.
