Absolution

by Mark Campbell

  The officer manning the gun turret on the vehicle’s roof had been practically eviscerated by the machinegun’s barrage. His gory remains lay slouched over the .50 CAL and the weapon’s smoking barrel pointed up towards the sky.

  Parham, face bloodied and his left eye swollen shut, sat in cover on the opposite side of the vehicle holding a pistol in his hands.

  One of the surviving officers from the Humvee, a young man who looked fresh out of high school and well past the verge of panic, sat next to him holding a rifle. His whole body trembled -his blue eyes stared ahead unblinking and unseeing.

  Two other officers lay sprawled out in pools of blood on the asphalt pavement with their spent weapons nearby.

  Parham’s gaze met Teddy’s.

  The sergeant pointed his weapon at him.

  “Stay back!” Parham growled.

  Stunned, Teddy realized that the goddamn fool was more concerned about a wounded civilian than he was about the demented rednecks who were shooting at them. “Relax!” he shouted back. “I’m not after you and I’m not trying to escape! I’m shot!” He held up his blood-stained hand from his thigh. “See?”

  Parham hesitated a moment before lowering the pistol against his chest once more. “Back-up is on the way,” he announced with uncertainty. “Just got to hold them off a little longer!”

  The young officer next to the sergeant anxiously fidgeted and started to hyperventilate. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the rifle harder.

  “Stay calm, corporal!” Parham ordered as he looked over at the man. “Stay low! Blow their goddamn head off if they break our cover!”

  The corporal nodded with a blanched face.

  One of the militiamen keyed a megaphone and feedback squawked from across the field: Attention tyrants! Y’all trespassing on sovereign land! Quit yer hidin and come on out! We done caught ya!

  The frightened corporal’s pupils danced around as if he were considering it.

  “They’ll kill you the second you do,” Parham said coldly as he looked over at the young man and read his face.

  After a few tense seconds, the militia’s gunner let loose another volley of gunfire.

  Bullets peppered the side of the overturned bus and punched holes through it as if it were made out of cheesecloth.

  Sparks flew wildly as lead scraped against iron.

  The diesel fumes finally caught.

  With a loud WOOOOSH, flames engulfed the bus and leapt high into the sky. The fiery fulmination sent a forceful wave of heat outwards in all directions.

  The gunner stopped firing and the militiamen cackled and cheered at the sight of the fireball.

  Teddy was shoved out of cover as the blast struck him in the back. He landed on his hands and knees on the asphalt between the bulldozer and the disabled Humvee.

  It took less than a second before a terrifying thought struck him: I’m exposed.

  The militiamen stopped their hooting and hollering and fired in his direction.

  Bullets whistled past Teddy as he dragged himself towards the cover of the Humvee. His maimed right leg dragged across the ground and left a bloody streak, but he didn’t slow—fear blocked out the persistent pain of his wound.

  A burst of scattered buckshot ricocheted off of the ground a few feet away and some of the pellets struck the side of his body and cut through his skin.

  Teddy howled out in pain, but kept pushing onward.

  Before the fat gunner could join in on the impromptu target shooting, Teddy rolled over and took cover between Sgt. Parham and the young corporal.

  Teddy pressed his back against the vehicle and squeezed his injured thigh with both hands, wheezing in pain.

  The gunfire stopped and the megaphone was keyed once more: I’ll make y’all a deal… Whoever throws down their weapon and comes on out can live to see ’morrow!

  “Fuck you!” Parham shouted from behind cover. “If you want our weapons—come and try to take them!”

  Teddy heard the group of militiamen laugh.

  The man holding the megaphone continued: Offer still stands for the others! You has five seconds to think!

  The corporal looked over at Teddy and then at the sergeant. His mouth hung open and his bottom lip quivered.

  “Don’t,” Parham said sternly as he stared back.

  “I’m—I’m—I’m not a soldier,” the corporal explained in a shaky voice. “When the flu came, I, uh, was just a cadet in the police academy before the feds picked me up… I never wanted any of this.” He slowly got to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  The corporal picked up his rifle and limped out of cover into the open. He waved a hand in the air, staggering as he walked.

  “You goddamn coward! Get back here!” Parham shouted at the man’s back, but the corporal ignored him.

  “Don’t shoot!” the corporal plead as he tossed his rifle on the ground at his feet. “I surrender!”

  The corporal’s body danced a sordid jig as a barrage of bullets ripped through him.

  After a few seconds, the gunfire ceased and the corporal collapsed in a bloody heap.

  Uproarious laughter erupted from the band of militiamen.

  Parham and Teddy exchanged an uneasy glance—they both knew what was coming.

  Teddy could hear the dead corn stalks rustling as the militiaman made their slow advance.

  “Back-up is on the way,” Parham assured.

  “Yeah? Well so are those rednecks,” Teddy said. “We need to go.”

  Parham gave a heavy sigh and glanced down at his ankle.

  Teddy followed his gaze and noticed for the first time that the sergeant’s right foot was twisted and bone protruded out of his pants.

  Dark blood pooled around the sergeant and Teddy could tell that he was close to passing out.

  “I’m pretty busted up,” Parham said woozily as he turned his attention back towards Teddy. “If you’re going to run, I won’t stop you. Hide behind that silo across the street and you’ll probably be safe until back-up arrives.”

  “And you?” Teddy asked.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” the sergeant responded flatly. He stared down at the gun in his hands. “I’ll hold them off.”

  “You’ll die.”

  “I’m dead either way,” he said as he motioned at his fractured leg. “Either by their bullets or by bleeding out.”

  “But you—”

  “Go!” Parham growled. “Hide!”

  Teddy looked at the silo.

  Escape was tempting, but he had to get back to the camp; Ein was still stuck inside.

  Besides, Teddy thought, he had never run from a fight before and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let a bunch of fucking militant farmers make him turn tail and run.

  Teddy looked up at the Humvee.

  It was his only chance.

  He reached up and grabbed the driver-side door handle and pulled himself up, crying out in pain.

  “The engine’s shot to hell,” the sergeant said in a disheartened tone. “You’re wasting your time.”

  Teddy ignored him and pushed himself to keep moving through the pain. He peered through the door’s broken window.

  A bullet-riddled officer sat back in the driver’s seat with his head hung out of the window. His dead eyes were rolled up in their sockets and stared vacantly up towards the sky. Two more corpses sat slumped over in the back of the vehicle. Legs dangled in the middle of the Humvee from the rooftop turret nest—the gunner had attempted to crawl out but was too slow.

  The sound of the militiamen’s trudge through the corn grew closer.

  Teddy opened the driver-side door, pulled the officer out, and let him flop to the ground.

  The corpse made a meaty smack as it landed next to the sergeant.

  Parham winced and tried to edge away. “What are you doing? Are you trying to get shot? The motor’s shot! It’s not moving!”

  Teddy ignored both the sergeant and his body’s painful protest. He crawled inside the vehicle and t
owards the center. He grabbed the gunner by his legs and yanked him down.

  The gunner’s corpse slunk inside through the hole and landed hard. Gore splattered from his emboweled body.

  Teddy wiped the blood off of his face and climbed up the steel rungs into the turret nest.

  He had to keep going.

  He had to keep moving.

  Up in the turret’s nest, Teddy grabbed the .50 CAL’s handle grips and pointed it down at the field.

  A row of six militiamen were only fifteen yards away from the road and every last of them stopped at the sight of Teddy as he aimed his weapon towards them.

  Fear washed across the men’s faces. They had not thought anybody was still in fighting condition and certainly had not figured that anyone would be dumb enough to come out of cover after what they did to the officer who had tried surrendering.

  The militiamen brought their hunting rifles and shotguns up to their shoulders, but Teddy was faster.

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT

  Four of the militiamen were flung backwards as the large caliber rounds tore baseball-sized holes through their bodies.

  The other two scuttled on all fours and took cover in the crushed corn as Teddy kept firing relentlessly.

  Chunks of earth flew up in the air along with broken corn stalks as the rounds pummeled all around them.

  One man’s head shattered open like a rotten pumpkin as one of Teddy’s rounds found its mark.

  The final militiaman lost his resolve. He dropped his weapon and made a mad dash back towards the trucks.

  Back at the center truck, the fat man climbed out of the cab and crawled back up into the elevated bed where the machinegun was welded down.

  Teddy pointed his .50 CAL towards the gunner before the man had a chance to fire.

  The pick-up truck bucked and rocked as rounds punched through it. The driver splattered onto the dashboard and spurted out the windshield.

  The fat gunner seemed taken by surprise as rounds socked him in the gut and caved in his chest. His plump lips formed an “O” as blood gushed out of him.

  Teddy kept firing at the truck, fearful that one of the others would climb up into the bed and take the fat gunner’s place.

  After several rounds into the engine block, something caught and the entire truck erupted into a massive fireball.

  Teddy palms were bleeding and his arms were numb. The .50 CAL’s kickback was overwhelming despite being attached to the Humvee. Spent brass casings flew everywhere and cordite blew back in his face. He wanted to turn the weapon and fire towards the other two trucks, but his vison grew blurry and his legs gave way.

  Teddy let go of the guns and sat back against the turret rail, trying to steady himself.

  He knew that he lost too much blood and he knew that he was about to pass out.

  As his blurry vision started to fade to white, he saw the remaining two militia pick-up trucks speeding away in a frenzy. They left the burning husk of the gunner’s rig behind along with their dead sprawled out in the ravaged cornfield.

  The last sensation Teddy felt was falling before he lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER 12

  Hours later, Teddy awoke in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.

  The windowless walls were painted a pale blue, and harsh white fluorescents washed everything in cold, clinical light. A strong smell of chemical disinfectant hung in the air, and seemed to stick inside his nostrils.

  On one of the walls a framed poster hung prominently next to a medical chart of the human skeletal system.

  His eyes lingered on the poster as his vison went in-and-out of focus. The poster’s background image showed a pallid man wearing a surgical mask and the superimposed text in front read:

  KNOW THE SIGNS – STAY ALIVE!

  Cough? Fever? Body Aches? Report it!

  Early Treatment and Medical Intervention Can Save Your Life!

  Teddy scoffed—he knew exactly how far early treatment and intervention got folks. He groaned and tried to raise his head, but doing so took herculean effort. His head felt unusually heavy. There was a strange metallic taste in his mouth. He felt lightheaded as if he had been drinking. The pulsing, gut-wrenching pain that he had experienced earlier had been reduced to a minor, insignificant throb.

  I’ve been drugged, he thought through a thick mental haze.

  Teddy’s clothes had been replaced with a flimsy white gown—he was lying on a gurney that had its steel rails pulled up to keep him from rolling over. An IV fed into his left forearm. Wires and probes were attached to his skin and were connected to monitors situated on a cart nearby.

  No, not drugged—sedated, he realized.

  His eyes found a door located on the wall at his feet.

  He had to get out of there.

  Teddy tried to move, but the drugs had left his body quite inert. He squirmed weakly on the bed. After struggling against the sedatives for a few minutes, he grew exhausted, closed his eyes, and lay still.

  “I was wondering when you’d wake up,” a voice said from the corner of the room. “I wasn’t sure how much shit they pumped into your system.”

  Teddy’s eyes opened swiftly, and he turned his head toward the voice.

  Lt. Hock sat slouched in a recliner positioned next to a small side-table over in the corner. He still wore his dress uniform, but his face looked troubled—his mind elsewhere. An unlit cigar hung out the corner of his mouth and he idly flicked open his lighter’s lid and then thumbed it closed again.

  “I remember you from the train,” Teddy said in a dry voice.

  “And I remember you.”

  “What do you want?” Teddy asked, frowning. “Where am I?”

  Hock rose from the recliner and stretched. He slowly started to walk towards the bed while continuing to flick his lighter. He stared down at Teddy—as if mulling this over in his mind. “They said that you took quite a blow,” he said, ignoring both of Teddy’s questions. “You lost a lot of blood.”

  The lieutenant walked around Teddy’s bed and then stopped next to his bandaged leg.

  Teddy’s eyes followed him.

  “What do you want?” Teddy asked again.

  Hock flicked open his lighter, spun the spark wheel, and held the flame just below his cigar. He methodically rolled the cigar between his fingers until the tip glowed orange. As he took the initial puffs and put the lighter away, he stared down at Teddy once more.

  Teddy was starting to get irritated by the man’s deliberate slowness and his lack of answers.

  Hock took his first drag and held onto the flavor like a wine connoisseur enjoying a vintage bottle. As he blew the smoke up towards the ceiling, he smiled.

  The cloying smell of the cigar filled the room and made Teddy cough.

  Teddy had had enough. “Tell me what you want!”

  “Do you think they’re making anymore Churchills?” Hock asked.

  Teddy was taken aback by the nonsensical question. “What?”

  “Churchills,” Hock repeated. He took the cigar out of his mouth and held it out towards Teddy. He rolled it between his fingers. “If you get the right brand, then they have a woody flavor that hits the pallet just right.” He paused and put the cigar back in his mouth. “Do you smoke, Mr. Sanders?”

  “No.”

  “Pity,” the lieutenant said. He blew another puff of smoke up at the ceiling. “I’d wager that it’s too late for you to enjoy one of life’s most heavenly vices. The unfortunate truth is that I don’t believe that anybody is making Churchills anymore, do you?”

  “I reckon not,” he answered rather flatly, waving a hand in front of his face to try and get away from the smoke.

  “I reckon not,” Hock repeated. “Fine cigars are in very short supply… I only have three left. Can you believe that? Only three left…”

  Teddy’s vision was starting to float in and out of focus as he stared up at the lieutenant. “Is there a point to your rambling?” He cupped a hand over his strained eyes.

/>   “My point, Mr. Sanders, is that I’d trade most of my paltry army of meritless milksops for one more box of cigars,” Hock said irritably.

  Teddy remained silent with his hand over his eyes, listening.

  “You see, Mr. Sanders, the majority of the men and women under my command are inexperienced cowards, but there are a few who stand out… Despite the horrible hand God has dealt me, there are a few cards worth holding onto. Parham, as obnoxious as he can be, is one of my better sergeants. He’s admittedly crass in his methods, but he keeps the slobs under him in line.”

  Teddy lowered his hand and looked up at him.

  Hock took another drag of his cigar and then looked down at Teddy.

  “When the bus was attacked two civilians from your detail escaped, but you stayed behind and did what you didn’t have to do,” Hock continued somberly.

  “What happened to them?”

  “To whom?”

  “The two civilians who escaped.”

  “They were chipped so we tracked them down and executed them, but they’re of no consequence,” he waved his hand dismissively. “What matters is that thanks to your actions, I still have one of my best men.”

  “I didn’t do anything for him,” Teddy curtly replied. “I was just protecting my own ass.”

  Hock gave a passive smile. “Perhaps, but I don’t think that matters. The thing that matters is that you have grit.”

  “Grit?”

  “Courage, mettle, fortitude,” the lieutenant elaborated. “Whatever you want to call it, you have it—you displayed it. Blood is a precious resource and I would have never given you so many liters of it if I didn’t see your true potential. Any other civilian would’ve been one more body for the pit, but you have grit.”

  “I was just doing what needed to be done.”

  “Exactly.” Hock blew another puff of smoke towards the ceiling and then knowingly waved a finger at him. “It appears that I misjudged you on the train, Mr. Sanders.”