Fire From the Sky: Friendly Fire

by N. C. Reed

  “Yes, oh Great One,” Jose made a swirling motion before him from forehead to chin.

  “Have you guys been planning that?”

  ***

  “Just so you know,” Corey Raynard reported in person after returning Leighton to the Hill with the child. “The Georges, two of the women from the Orphanage, Carlene Goodrum and John Webb are all heading this way in a group.”

  “Are you shitting me?” Clay groaned.

  “Sorry Boss,” Corey shook his head.

  “Thanks,” he told Corey. “Do me a favor and find Newell and Ledford, and get them down here. Take the ATV and pick up Tully while you're at it. Hustle.”

  “On it,” Corey promised, running back out the door. Clay stepped inside the radio room.

  “Roust the response unit and have them standing by outside,” he told JJ.

  “On it,” the teen nodded, reaching for the radio. Clay walked back outside, wishing he could go back to Africa. Things were so much simpler there. Harder maybe, but so much simpler.

  “Problems?” he heard Greg Holloway's voice and almost smiled.

  “I have a miniature mob on the way down the Hill,” he told his friend.

  “Let me guess,” Greg snorted. “Led by the Georges no doubt?”

  “You really are incredibly bright for a Marine,” Clay affected a look of surprise.

  “What's going on?” Gordy asked, stepping inside already geared up. Clay explained quickly, finishing it with; “Probably nothing to worry about, but this day has not been kind to me from about four o'clock on.”

  “I hear ya,” Gordy nodded. “I’ll be outside. Mitchell is on a circuit but Titus will be down shortly.”

  “Good to know,” Clay slapped Gordy's shoulder. “Go ahead and I’ll be out in a second. You guys just stay around the edge with Sienna, Vicki and Kandi. They may not be coming here, you know. Might be going to see your grandmother.”

  “More like to enlist her aid,” Gordy snorted before walking back outside.

  “Man, I thought things were coming together pretty good, too,” Greg sighed.

  “So did I,” Clay agreed. “I have no idea where this is going to end, but I do know we can't back down. If we give in, then the next time there's something someone doesn't like, like an interracial marriage for instance, then we’ll have to go through this again.”

  “What's wrong with interracial marriages?” Beverly Jackson asked from behind them. Clay almost groaned but caught it in time.

  “Nothing,” he turned to smile at her. “I was just using it as an example of how people see things they don't like. Right now it's a certain same-sex couple. I was saying if I give in to mob attitude on that, then I’ll be expected to the next time when something different came up. Which was when I used interracial marriage as an example,” he explained, or hoped he did.

  “Hm,” she nodded, clearly thinking. “I don't understand the issue about Trudy and Gwen,” she said after a moment. “I mean, this is the twenty-first century. People should be accustomed to these issues. And legally, all of this has been hammered out in court. I realize the courts are adjourned at the moment, but still.”

  “I know,” Clay sighed. “And we’ll abide by it regardless. But in the meantime, I have a small mob descending on me, led by Franklin and Malitha George. Oh, and John Webb is among them apparently, just FYI.”

  “Is he now?” that caught Beverly's attention. “Excuse me. I need to make a call.” She ducked into the radio room, leaving Clay and Greg exchanging looks.

  ***

  Clay had been right partially correct. The small 'mob' had not come directly to see him but had instead stopped at his boyhood home to enlist his mother in their effort. Thus it was that she was stalking right alongside the Georges when the group came into view. Apparently they had gotten two for the price of one, as Marla Jones was also among their number. Clay let them come to him, Greg Holloway and Jose Juarez standing with him. Beverly Jackson was also with them, having quietly joined them outside after making her call.

  “Where are the torches and pitchforks?” Clay asked as the group descended on him.

  “You think this is a joke?” his mother asked angrily.

  “I think it's hilarious,” Clay nodded. “I had just finished laughing when you got to where you could hear me. The psychic in me pretty much knows why you're here, but go ahead,” he waved a hand. “Lay it on me.”

  “We will not stay here so long as that woman is allowed to interact with those children,” Franklin George declared and every head nodded.

  Clay had to work to hide his surprise. He had expected an ultimatum, especially with his mother joining in, but not this. It was like an early Christmas gift. Well, a gift card anyway.

  “Well, we’ll miss you, but you gotta do what you gotta do,” he said calmly. “Where will you go?”

  “What?” more than one voice asked.

  “Were you planning on going to Jordan?” Clay asked as if the decision were already made. “That's where I would go if I were you. We can probably give you a ride in. Can we manage that tonight?” he looked at Jose.

  “Morning would be better, but we can if we have to,” Jose answered. “Want me to get a team together?”

  “Now wait just a damn minute!” Franklin George finally caught up. “We ain't leaving, she is!”

  “No, she's not,” Clay declared flatly. “No one is going to be run out of here over a damn lie,” he looked dead at Malitha George who at least had the shame to look away.

  “You saying she ain't a homosexual?” John Webb demanded. Clay ignored him as beneath his time.

  “So, you folks want to go tonight or not?” Clay asked. “Mom, I assume you don't really aim to leave, do you?”

  “Clayton Sanders, this is going to stop right now!” Angela made her demand known. “They have the right to not have-,”

  “Are you going with them or not?” Clay cut her off smoothly. “I've been round and round the mulberry bush about this and I'm not doing it again. Miss Malitha made a demonstrably false statement this afternoon, falsely accusing Trudy Leighton of molesting a child. Before the Storm, that would be enough to get you sued for all you own, and a jail sentence. Could have resulted in some hothead attacking Miss Leighton, believing the information to be accurate, when it wasn't. Your credibility with me is pretty thin after that. Same goes for the rest of you.” He saw Trisha Bonham and Joselyn Moore, two of the women from the orphanage, mixed into the crowd.

  “You two decide to go as well?” he asked.

  “We don't feel comfortable with that woman working around our children,” Bonham said coldly. “She has to go.”

  “So you are leaving, then,” Clay nodded, pretending not to have heard.

  “That ain't what she said!” John Webb shouted.

  “You're going anyway,” Clay turned his head to look directly at the younger man. “You were already on your last, last chance as I recall. This would be it. Gather your things because your time here has ended.”

  “You can't do that!” John, Malitha and at least two more exclaimed.

  “I can and I am,” Clay informed them. “I told you this afternoon I was sick of hearing about this. The world has damn near stopped turning, people are starving, children dying and you bunch are up in arms about something as ridiculous as this? We can end this problem here and we will. Those of you who simply cannot stand to stay here so long as the couple in question are here, raise your hands.” Surprisingly, most of the hands still went up.

  “Marla, you aim to leave too?” he asked Lainie's grandmother. The older woman just glowered at him. Clay looked to another face in the crowd.

  “Mrs. Goodrum, is you whole family going, or is it just you? I need to know how many seats we’ll need.”

  “Angela, fix this!” Franklin all but hissed. Angela looked at him, but then back to Malitha. Clearly she had not been told the entire story.

  “I . . . I hadn't planned on actually leaving,” Carlene Goodrum stammered.
“Darrell doesn't . . . he's not even . . . ”

  “Doesn't know you're here?” Clay helped her and she nodded.

  “Then you probably ought to go on home and forget all this, hadn't you?” he asked, kindly though a bit condescending. She nodded jerkily even as the others tried to convince her to stay.

  “Corey!” Clay called and the younger man was there in an instant.

  “Make sure Mrs. Goodrum gets home safely, please.”

  “Yes sir,” Corey almost stood at attention and then showed Carlene Goodrum to the golf cart nearby.

  “Carlene are you going . . . are you not gonna stick up for what's right?” Malitha all but demanded.

  “You . . . you said this would work and we'd be home in a few minutes,” Carlene stammered back. “I can't leave here and if Darrell finds out I was threatening for us to leave . . . he’ll be furious!” Without waiting to see what happened or was said next, she followed Corey to the cart and was soon on her way home.

  “All right,” Clay once more clapped his hands, an action he had picked up from Leon he supposed. “I would imagine all of you need time to pack so . . . we’ll call it eight in the morning?” he looked at Jose who nodded in agreement. “Okay, then,” he turned back to the rest. “Eight it is. We’ll have a truck that can carry belongings and another vehicle for you to ride in. I'm sure you’ll be welcome in Jordan, especially since they’ll still be planting after getting most of the ground around town plowed for a garden today. I miss anything?” he looked around him.

  “So you just aim to kick us all out?” Marla found her voice.

  “That's not what's happening,” Clay shook his head. “You all said you were leaving unless I kicked someone else out. Since I'm not going to do that, and no one else is either now that I think on it, I guess that means you are all going. I have to assume you will make good on your threat. I mean, you did it intending to pressure me into doing something wrong, didn't you? So if you don't follow through then your great stand for what's right, your demonstration of power, will all be for naught.” He would admit later that he was enjoying this much more than he should have been.

  “Gregory, are you really going along with this?” Angela asked.

  “Mrs. Sanders, a crime was committed this afternoon, but it wasn't by Trudy Leighton,” Greg replied respectfully. “The accusation was a complete and total lie, and that's been proven. Miss Leighton did nothing wrong. She was the victim of a heinous accusation. One that would have been considered a hate crime before the Storm. If you're asking me if I'm going along with the innocent not being punished over a lie, then yes ma'am. I am.”

  “Malitha, did you really lie about this?” Angela asked. She had been caught by surprise at that. She had followed assuming her presence might help. It hadn't.

  “I did what needed to be done,” Malitha actually had the audacity to look proud. “I took action when no one else would!”

  “You mean you lied,” Clay said flatly, robbing her sails of any wind. “And the rest of you followed her, even knowing it was a lie. Well, Mom and Marla excepted I suppose. I know the two of you knew it, because I told you,” he added to Bonham and Moore.

  “I didn't know it!” John Webb protested.

  “Tough shit,” Clay told him with a snort. “You knew this little lynch mob was wrong, didn't you? Should have stayed at home.”

  “You can't punish him for trying to do what's right!” Franklin George protested.

  “You mean by railroading someone?” Clay scoffed. “Please. There's nothing right about this, Franklin George. And to make it worse, it had to come from two of the people I respected the most,” he added sadly. “If someone had accused you two of something like this to me, I would have flat out called them a liar. I guess that would have made me wrong, wouldn't it?”

  “So then. One, two, three, four, five, six . . . and . . . five kids,” he finished. “So eleven seats in all. We’ll have to carry at least two rigs for that,” he told Jose. “We need to get Kandi Ledford down here, too. We’ll have to gather supplies for them to take with them. We can't send them to Jordan and have them be a burden.”

  “Wait until we tell everyone in Jordan all about how you're sitting on all that food way out here,” John Webb sneered. Before he could blink, Clay was in his face, pistol point blank between John's eyes.

  “Are you threatening me?” Clay's voice was like ice. “I've killed men for less than that,” he added. It almost sounded as if he were singing a lullaby. It made those who had never heard it before shiver.

  “W-w-w-what?” Webb stammered, all his bravado gone.

  “I think I need to get rid of you permanent like, don't I, John Boy?” Clay's voice was a loud whisper. “You've been a pain in my ass for far too long as it is. This gives me an excellent excuse to just end you, right here. Don't it?”

  “Clay,” Jose said gently, moving slowly to his friend's side. He recognized the warning signs no one else knew.

  “You think you're so tough, don't you,” Clay continued as if Jose hadn't spoken. “All that mouth, but,” he looked behind John quickly, “no ass. Nothing to back those big, bad words up with, huh?” The pistol barrel trailed down John Webb's nose to rest on his lips. Without warning Clay shoved the pistol barrel into his mouth, Webb almost gagging on the barrel. He felt liquid run down his legs as he lost control of his bladder.

  “Clay,” Jose spoke again. He reached very slowly and took Clay's left arm. “Let’s just send him off, Clay. To Jordan I mean,” he hastily corrected to avoid a misunderstanding.

  “Clay, c'mon man,” Greg tried next. “I know he's a bitch-boy but he ain't worth the effort here, brother. Let it ride and let him go run his mouth. He ain't nothin'.”

  “No, he's a problem,” Clay's voice was distant. “I got too many problems. Far too many problems. What's that song again? Ninety-nine problems, but you,” he eared back the hammer on his pistol suddenly, “you ain't one. At least you won't be here in a minute.”

  “Clay for fuck's sake, stop!” Jose's voice grew louder, more desperate. “You don't want to do this!”

  “I really do,” Clay didn't look at him. Never took his eyes from John Webb's.

  “He already pissed his pants, man,” Greg added. Strangely, no one else had anything to say. The pall of fear hung heavily in the air around them.

  “Smells like more than that,” Beverly Jackson of all people spoke up. “Clayton, I don't know what's going through your mind right now, but you need to remember where you are. This isn't Africa, or the Philippines. It's not Argentina or Venezuela, either. You're at home. This is your home, Clay, not somewhere out in the middle of nowhere in a war zone. You need to come home. You need to come home and you need to do it right now.”

  Greg was amazed at how her voice sounded. Even Jose had hesitated as she spoke. It was almost hypnotic. Whatever it was affected Clay as well because he ever so slowly removed his pistol from John Webb's mouth, stopping as the muzzle cleared his lips and pressing it to his nose.

  “If I ever have to do this again, I’ll kill you,” he spoke so soft only John Webb, Jose, Greg and Beverly could hear him. “You ever threaten my home again, I’ll kill you. I may decide to kill you just for looking at me. I've done that before, you know. So maybe it's better that you're leaving, huh?”

  Quick as a flash he pulled the pistol back, then fired a shot up in the air, angled to land in the field across the road. John Webb cried out and fell to the ground, making some of the people think he'd actually been shot.

  “Damn,” Greg looked down at John Webb, his pants wet and now soiled. “How about you let me hold that for you for a bit?” he said to Clay, taking hold of the pistol. Clay released it without a fight, then looked at the others as if the last few seconds hadn't happened.

  “So eight o'clock in the morning then, right?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I see what you meant about Clay.”

  Beverly spoke softly as she stood with Mitchell Nolan in front o
f Building Two. Clay was gone, leaving Jose in charge with Greg Holloway to support him. Gordon and Robert Sanders had both shown up, surprising everyone by throwing their whole hearted support behind Clay's decision. Franklin had at once started arguing with Gordon, who stayed calm despite the language flowing. Gary Meecham had also shown up, having been called by Beverly once she realized John Webb was part of the problem. He had immediately endorsed getting rid of John, even at the expense of alienating the remaining members of the Webb family.

  “How so?” Mitchell asked. He had missed what was happening because he had been making the rounds on patrol. The pistol shot had drawn him in.

  “He is fucking terrifying,” Beverly declared bluntly as she shuddered at the memory. “On an entirely different level than Xavier Adair or Byron House. I almost peed myself listening to him and he wasn't even mad at me.”

  “Now you know what keeps X in check,” Mitchell chuckled darkly. “It seems sometimes like Clay has developed a kind of camouflage. Like he has an entirely different person he . . . he wears, most of the time. The real Clay only comes out when things are getting serious. If he did all that tonight, John Webb was as close to being dead as you can come and still have a pulse.”

  “And if she hadn't been here, he would be dead,” Greg Holloway said from behind them. “That was very well done, Miss Jackson,” he offered his hand, and she took it.

  “Please, call me Beverly,” she told him. “After that, I feel like we've been to war together, Deputy Holloway.”

  “Please call me Greg, then,” he told her. “I've seen people do that kind of thing, with their voice I mean,” he clarified, “but . . . not in real life. Just on training films. It takes on a whole new look when you see it first-hand.”

  “He always was a hot-tempered little shit,” he continued, looking back to where Clay had disappeared into the growing dark. “Me, him and Jake Sidell all used to run around together when we were kids. Clay didn't know how to say no to a fight. Never had an ounce of backup in him. I blamed it on Jake always being there. Jake said it was my fault for enabling him,” he laughed. “Then Jake got a girlfriend, Clay disappeared into the Army five days after graduation and now . . . here we are again.”