by Schow, Ryan
He hugged her, but he didn’t cry. Rather, he looked numb. Leighton turned from the two of them, unable to witness any more loss. But the sadness was quickly turning to anger. She felt herself getting really, really pissed off.
She turned back around, saw Hudson staring at her. He said, How would you feel about me coming with you?
Leighton nodded. “I’d feel good about that.”
From there, they set a new course for NKU. If they walked fast enough, they might reach her dorm by nightfall. The only thing that nagged at her was the state of her body. Her mind would make her move, but would her injuries force her to stop? She didn’t know. Either way, the Gold Bond powder on her legs and patted over her hoo-hah was working great so far. But it would only last for so long. She knew that.
Buck took her hand again, no longer agitated, which was good. There would be a point in time when they would walk past the truck he’d been stuck in. They might even see the dead girls lying in and around it.
Later, however, when they reached the truck, Buck looked at it but he didn’t stop and he never made mention of it.
About an hour from nightfall, Buck shook her pant leg. She looked down at him. He tapped his ear and said, Motorcycle.
She looked up, saw both Hudson and Kenley pulling out their guns. She met Hudson’s eyes; he looked like he was ready to roll. Kenley looked nervous.
When the motorcycle appeared, it slowed down, then came to a complete stop. Her heart all but stopped beating. Sitting on the flashy motorcycle was the last person she ever wanted to see: Aaron. She walked up to him with all that anger on tap.
“What did I tell you?” she barked, Glock in hand.
He held his hands up and said, There was a guy waiting for you in your dorm room.
“Is he the one who beat you up?”
He nodded his head.
“Did you eat him?” she asked, making a motion around his face where there was dried blood.
Just his nose, but I didn’t swallow it. That would be gross.
She didn’t know what to do with him or that information. When Aaron looked past her to Kenley and Hudson, and then to Buck, she glanced over her shoulder, too. Kenley and Hudson had their guns out.
One becomes four, huh? he said, looking over her new group.
“Yeah,” she said.
The guy beat the crap out of Chandra, he’s dead. I saved her, for what it’s worth.
“Is she hurt?”
I don’t know what he was trying to do with her, but it looked like… he started to say—but this was where Aaron looked down at Buck before continuing.
“Whatever you have to say can be said in front of him.”
It looked like he was trying to do something of a…sexual nature, to her.
She felt her stomach drop.
“And did he succeed?”
He shook his head, which was the biggest relief ever.
“You said he’s dead?”
Aaron nodded his head. Then he said something that shook Leighton to her core. The guy was there for something specific.
“Specific how?” Leighton asked, swallowing hard.
A gun.
Her uncle Walker had warned her. In his note, he’d said, “If anyone asks about the gun, don’t think about it, just shoot them.”
“What kind of gun?” she asked.
Something old, like…I don’t know…he said a Billy the Kid gun, but I’m not sure what he meant by that. What do you know about that?
She shrugged off her backpack, fished out the gun, then showed it to him and said, “I think this is what he was looking for.”
Can I hold it? he asked.
There was something in his eyes, that same thing she’d seen before—a need. She lifted the gun, aimed it at his head, and pulled the trigger. Aaron’s head bucked backward, blood and eviscerated brains flashing out of the back of his skull.
The recoil was harsh, jamming her wrist so hard the gun fell from her grip. She watched the guy she had only recently met fall off the bike and land dead on the ground.
A noise fell from her mouth but she couldn’t be sure what it was. She felt it, but she didn’t hear it. She only knew that she’d done what her uncle asked her to do. She killed the person asking about the gun.
Looking down at Aaron, she wished she hadn’t pulled the trigger, but Walker was the most badass person she knew and if he said shoot, she’d shoot.
So she shot.
Kenley went to him, kneeled down, then turned and looked up at her. What did you do that for? she asked.
Breathless, she turned to Hudson. He was in shock. Looking down at Buck, he hadn’t let go of her pants. He looked up at her and there was nothing in his expression—no shock, no horror, no tears in those little eyes of his.
Hudson walked up to the scene, looked at the gun on the ground, then at the fallen bike.
He picked the bike up, kicked out the stand, then said to Leighton, At least we have a mode of transportation now.
Kenley moved away from Aaron, then looked at Leighton like she wasn’t sure what to think. Aaron’s leg was still resting on the bike’s front wheel. Buck went and pulled it off.
How far is your dorm? Hudson turned and asked her.
“A few minute’s ride,” she said.
To the others, he said, I’ll take Leighton to her dorm room, find out where it’s at, then come back for you and Buck.
Why her? Kenley asked.
“Do you know where her dorm room is? he asked, astounded. She made a face, then took Buck’s free hand. The boy shrugged his hand out of hers then stepped away.
I’m not sure he likes me, she said, looking at Leighton.
My mother had red hair, Buck said. At least that’s what Leighton thought he’d said. His lips were not as easy to read as an adult’s lips.
Where is your mother? Kenley asked.
“Knock it off,” Leighton said. To Hudson, she said, “Can Buck ride on my lap?”
This bike wasn’t built for three.
Shaking her head, she picked up the gun and stuffed it in her backpack. “Alright, let’s go.” To Buck, she said, “Hudson will be back to pick you up in twenty minutes. Kenley is safe. Do what she says.”
Why?
“Because she saved my life and I trust her. She might save yours too, if you’re nice.”
He frowned, then said, I want to go with you.
“I know, honey. Twenty minutes and you’ll be next.”
Hudson kick-started the motorcycle; Leighton climbed on back, circled her arms around Hudson’s waist. He dropped the bike in gear, worked the throttle and the clutch like he knew what he was doing, then took off.
She held on tight, pulling her body into his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sheriff Lance Garrity
Sheriff Garrity and the two fellas whose car he was riding in drove through town quietly, navigating through and around the graveyard of cars on their way to the church. Garrity was worried about what they’d see when he got there, who he’d run into, and if he had to kill anyone. He wasn’t liking the idea that this level of violence might now be a prerequisite of survival.
When they turned up Keene Road, they cautiously approached the small church on the hill. He was afraid he would see a war brewing between parishioners and thugs, but there was nothing of the sort. He saw people mingling, for sure, but nothing heated or aggressive.
“Are you sure about this?” Garrity asked the driver.
“Maybe they ran them off or something,” he said. “We should check it out, but if things get hot and we help you, don’t throw us under the bus, okay?”
“I won’t,” Garrity assured them.
“Do we have your word?” the passenger asked.
“You have my word,” he said, sincere.
“Maybe something’s going on inside,” the passenger guessed. He had his eyes on the hillside church like he was worried.
They drove up a packed dirt road, then parked. People
looked at the car with wonder in their eyes. Most of them had probably walked there.
“Give me a second,” Garrity said.
He saw the pastor, waved him down, then said, “Pastor?”
“Sheriff,” the man with bright eyes replied.
“I heard you had some issues here earlier, is that right?”
He frowned, his brows knitting together. “Not that I know of. It’s just all the nice folks of Nicholasville wanting to come together in prayer. Tough times are a burden to even the steadfast among us, and prayer—no matter who you are—can lighten that load.”
“We need as much prayer as we can get,” Garrity said. He looked over his shoulder at the guys in the car. The passenger opened his hands as if to say, What’s up?
“Aren’t we out of your jurisdiction?” the pastor asked.
Turning back to him, leaning in, he asked, “How is everyone?”
“Scared,” the pastor replied.
He nodded.
“Consider me emergency services,” Garrity said.
“Well, we’re okay. Perhaps you’d like to come in for the opening prayer?”
“You have an opening prayer?” he asked.
“We do today,” the pastor said. “Come gather strength from the Lord’s prayer, then stay or go, it’s up to you, and fine by me.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“It really would be nice to have you there,” he pressed. “It would be even nicer to say a blessing for you and all those like you who are looking over us. Surely none of this can be easy.”
“It isn’t,” he said.
“If it won’t take long, Pastor,” he said, not sure what else to say. Garrity needed to get back to the school, and then the station.
“Everyone inside, please,” the pastor said.
Garrity went back to the car. “I think we’re okay here.” The passenger started to speak, but Garrity said, “They want to pray for me, for us, so if you’re okay waiting for a few minutes, maybe keep an eye on things out here.”
“They’re having a ceremony?” the driver asked.
He nodded. “Prayer.”
“Okay,” the driver said, “we’ll stand watch.”
Garrity saw the guys’ guns, grateful to have them as backup. He smelled strong gasoline fumes and thought of telling them the fuel mixture was off, or that they had a leak in their fuel line or something. But it wasn’t his problem, not now.
He jogged up the hill and joined the others inside. At first glance, it looked like there were maybe fifty or sixty people—a solid turn-out considering the storm and the power outage. On closer inspection, it seemed that there might even be more people than that. Many of the men, women, and children present looked like they’d seen much better days. Then again, after a few days of no power, no running water, and no heat, it was plain to see the circumstances were taking a toll.
The pastor opened with a prayer, everyone bowing their heads. But then the prayer was interrupted by the sounds of breaking glass. Garrity opened his eyes even as people started to scream. Someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail through one of the windows, causing two of the pews and several people to erupt in flames. He turned and saw smoke rolling in under the doors and in between the seams.
Is the building being burned? Are we on fire?
More Molotov cocktails flew into the quaint, wooden building. Garrity ran to check the back door, hoping to find a hose, or get the guys to help him put out the flames. But the doors were locked. Panicked, he stepped back, dipped his shoulder, then barreled toward the set of doors, ramming them with all his might. They didn’t even budge.
Not only was the fire spreading inside, smoke was now wafting in through the cracks of the door. Despite the screaming for help, the horrifying screeches of pain coming from those on fire, and the shouts for him to open the doors, he pressed his palms to the wood and felt the radiant heat upon it.
Someone pushed him, then several people pushed them. He turned and saw the crush of bodies stacking up behind him. Everything was all white noise now. The screaming, the crackling fire, the absolute panic. And yet he was powerless to do anything about it. The door simply wouldn’t budge.
“Someone locked it from the outside!” he shouted.
The spreading fire divided the congregation into two. He moved out of the way, let others have a chance at the door. Behind a wall of fire, on the other side of the burning pews, other people were scrambling to find a way out, to not get burned, to not panic to the point of paralysis.
But bodies were burning, cocooned in flame, a few of them running frantically.
Through the slightly open center of flames, down the aisle, closer to the pastor’s podium, he saw several families huddled together and crying. Then he saw the pastor. The man ducked low enough and bravely ran fast enough through the small opening to make it to Garrity. He was in bad shape, though. His skin was blacked with soot, and his voice was raspy from the heat and smoke.
“Is there a back way out?” Garrity asked as he pushed through the masses.
“Someone locked it,” the pastor said, scared.
He glanced around, as did everyone else. The panic was palpable, but the frenetic masses were slowing down, breaking into tears, beginning to accept their fate. Corralled by the flames, Garrity couldn’t see a way out.
“Do you have a fire extinguisher?” he asked.
“Someone took them both,” he said, pale-faced and going into shock. “They were here just yesterday.”
“Did anyone bother you this morning? Any Hayseed Rebellion, or someone like them?”
“No, it was just those guys you came with. They’re new to town. They asked about our services.”
“The guys who brought me here,” he asked, aghast, “you talked to them?”
The pastor nodded.
Garrity started to cough, his eyes now stinging. Looking around, everyone was coughing and squinting their eyes. The smoke was billowing and black, like aerosolized soot. He pulled his shirt over his mouth and said, “We have to get out of here, or we’re all going to die.”
The flames were now licking up the sides of the walls, climbing fast toward the ceiling. His skin was slicked with sweat, the back of his shirt soaked through and sticking to his skin.
A wall of smoke pushed down from the ceiling, forcing people to get low.
“Everyone back up,” he shouted. “Clear a path.”
He scanned the parishioners, his eyes landing on a big guy with scared, alert eyes and ham hocks for hands.
“You,” he shouted over the crackling flames. “Come here now!”
The big guy hurried over to him.
“I need you to be my linebacker,” Garrity said.
“I don’t play football,” he said.
“Can you hit hard?” Garrity asked. The man said he could. “Good, then I need you to run at the door, hit it as hard as you can. If you get through, you save all these people and become the hero. But if you fail, we’ll all burn to death in here.”
Without another word, the big guy moved back into the church, aware of the flames. Turning around, coughing, waving smoke from his face, he zeroed in on the doors. He started coughing some more, the flames and the smoke like an opened mouth above them all.
“GO!” Garrity screamed, the rafters now burning, fire eating up the rest of the oxygen in the chapel.
The big guy charged the door, barreling down the gap created for him by people. Those same people had risked being burned to step out of the way and give the kid a chance. The second he hammered the door, the impact shook the entire wall, but the door didn’t budge. Like a tree falling in the forest, the brute fell backward and landed hard. One look and everyone could see he’d knocked himself out cold.
The collective sigh, the communal surge of fear, was audible. That’s when everyone saw the big guy’s feet catch fire.
Garrity and the pastor ran toward him, shirts pulled over their mouths, both of them coughing. They tried to put the fl
ames out, but they were now spreading up his legs too quickly. Even worse, the entire outside wall was burning through, the heat unbearable.
Garrity was sweating, hacking, officially panicking.
One of the guys ran straight for the weakest point in the fiery wall. He charged into the most damaged part, hit it with his shoulder. Was he thinking the flames had weakened the studs enough for him to break through? That must have been it. Unfortunately, he didn’t break through anything. The two-by-fours were still solid.
What happened to this man was worse than what was happening to the big guy. This man’s head and lead shoulder had broken through the burned drywall, but they’d also lodged him into an inferno. Everyone started to scream as he burned to death.
And the big guy on the ground? He was waking up only to realize his legs and torso were on fire. Shrieking, he frantically tried patting himself out, but his hands caught fire and in moments, the flames enveloped him entirely. He scrambled to his feet, a huge, howling fireball. Garrity pulled out his pistol, shot the man in the forehead. He dropped dead, the mercy-killing a shock to everyone around.
Looking this way and that, his mind like a vice, he started walking in tight circles, searching for something, anything that might get everyone out! But there was nowhere to go, no way to escape the all-consuming flames.
The roar inside was deafening, the heat doubling yet again. Every labored breath was like sucking down a fiery drink. Outwardly, the veil of unbearable heat squeezed his neck and hands, like a creature trying to eat him from the outside while at the same time trying to suffocate him from the inside.
He shed his Country Sheriff’s jacket, then tore off his government-issued button-up. Even though he was lighter and felt less constricted, the heat and pressure continued to mount, and his lungs began to seize.
Where was the rain when he needed it? A tornado had touched down just yesterday, and now he was about to burn to death with these people?
Behind him, a mother and her three children were huddled together. They were all burning as one screaming, huddling mass.
The horror, the tension, was enough to make him scream.
