by J L Aarne
“Be careful,” Mercy said.
“I’ll be…” He held up the AR-15 and shrugged. “I’ll be as careful as I can be.”
“Don’t get shot,” she said.
“I’ll do my best. Baby, I gotta go,” he said.
He was grinning as he caught up with Isaac outside the boys’ locker room. Isaac snorted in amusement and went ahead of him inside.
“What?” Ezra said.
“Nothing. You,” Isaac said.
“Shut up,” Ezra said.
They stopped talking then and listened as they entered the locker room. It was empty, but they checked the showers and the toilet stalls anyway on their way through to the back. As they drew near to the door, they heard voices on the other side. Ezra gestured Isaac back and moved along the wall toward the door.
The gun went off in the gym. Just once: Pop!
“Fuck! That was another shot,” said a man’s voice muffled through the door. “Jerry, get that goddamn door open.”
Ezra and Isaac looked at each other and Isaac made a gun of his fingers and pointed it at the door. Ezra nodded, lifted the AR-15 to his shoulder and fired once.
“Holy shit!” shouted someone. Presumably Jerry. He was closer to the door than the other voice had been. “Holy shit, gunfire! Get down!”
“Where’s it coming from?!”
“It’s inside! Get away from there!”
Ezra fired a few more times in quick succession: Pop, pop, pop!
Little holes appeared in the door, but they didn’t go all the way through.
“Hello in there?! Don’t shoot! We’re pulling back!”
Ezra glanced at Isaac questioningly. Isaac shrugged. Ezra retreated back down the wall toward him again and around the corner. They waited, but no one shot back at them.
“Should we still check the other one?” Isaac asked in a whisper.
“Yeah,” Ezra said.
“They didn’t cut into this one yet?”
“Not yet. They better not. We’re gonna have to talk to these assholes.”
“Why?”
“Make them reconsider the situation.”
Isaac frowned at him but didn’t ask for him to explain.
They left the boys’ locker room and went into the girls’. It was empty, too and this time there was no one trying to get in through the door. They had indeed pulled back.
When they returned to the gym, the phone in the coach’s office was ringing again. Ezra walked straight over to the bleachers and grabbed the first person he came to, a girl with mousy brown hair and freckles that he didn’t know. He seized her by the arm and hauled her up and she immediately started to scream in terror.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ezra snarled at her. He gave her a little shake for emphasis and she choked back her fear and stopped screaming.
“What’s up?” Mercy asked.
“Nothing. Keep going, I’ll handle this,” Ezra said. He gestured Molina over. “I need you to talk to the cops again. Think you can do that?”
Molina hurried over. “Um… Sure,” she said. “Yeah, I mean… I guess. What do I say?”
“I’ll tell you in the office,” Ezra said.
He pulled the crying girl along with them and Molina fell into step behind them. Isaac stayed behind with Corey and Mercy without being asked and filled them in on what had happened in the locker rooms.
The phone had stopped ringing by the time they reached the office, but it started again a few seconds later. Ezra pushed the crying freckle-faced girl down into the swivel chair behind the desk.
“You tell them that they’re going to back off,” Ezra told Molina. “They try coming in through those doors out there again and someone’s going to get hurt. Like this girl here. Okay?”
“O… kay,” Molina said slowly. She looked between Ezra and the terrified girl in the chair and frowned. The phone rang incessantly. “You want me to answer it?”
“Yeah, answer it,” Ezra said. He caught himself gesturing at her with the gun he was holding and stopped. “Sorry. Answer the phone. Tell them what I said.”
Molina picked up the receiver, then remembered and hit the button to put it on speaker instead. “He… Hello?”
“Is this Miss Molina Allsberg?” demanded a clipped male voice.
“Yes,” Molina said. “Who… um… Who is this?”
“My name is Carl Marley,” he said. “Miss Allsberg, I would like to speak with one of the individuals holding you hostage. Would you please put them on the phone for me?”
“Um. No,” Molina said. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”
“Miss Allsberg, I have to insist—”
“I can’t do that,” Molina said. “It’s not up to me, okay? And I don’t want to die or get shot or anything, so I can’t. I’m supposed to tell you something though.”
“Miss Allsberg, I’m a hostage negotiator with the Iowa state police,” Marley said. “I need to speak with one of the people responsible for what’s happening here. It’s very important. We want to find a way to resolve this situation. We want everyone to get home safely. I’m in a position to negotiate here. I’m sure—”
“I’m not,” Molina said.
Ezra nodded at her encouragingly. She was doing fine.
“Miss Allsberg, we’ve got your mother here. She’s very worried about you,” Marley said.
“I’m supposed to tell you that if you don’t back off, you’ll be sorry,” Molina said. “There’s a girl here with me. She’s… um…”
Molina nudged the girl gently. She let out a sobbing breath and flinched away from her.
“What’s your name?” Molina asked.
“Cindy,” the girl said. She swallowed and wiped at her snotty nose. “Cindy Edwards. I want to go home!”
“Okay,” Molina said. “Mr. Marley, you’re going to agree to pull your men back or Cindy Edwards is going to be shot. Right now. While I’m on the phone with you.”
“Oh God!” Cindy cried. She clapped her hands over her mouth and looked between Ezra and Molina with wide, watery eyes. “Oh God, no, please. Please don’t kill me. Please. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t—”
“That’s not how this works, Miss Allsberg,” Marley said. His voice was a little strained now. “We’ve been hearing gunfire out here. What assurance do we have that they won’t kill that girl and others even if I promise to pull my men back?”
“I don’t know,” Molina said softly. “If you don’t, they’re going to shoot her though.”
“Oh no,” Cindy gasped. “Oh please. Please no. Don’t let them! Please, don’t let them!”
“Wait!” Marley said. He sounded agitated now, but he was still trying to keep calm, to convince them all that he was still in control. “Wait. Okay. Okay, we’re calling everyone back. This is about the doors out back, isn’t it?”
Molina glanced at Ezra for confirmation. He nodded.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“We just want to end this without any significant loss of life, Miss Allsberg,” Marley said. “That means them, too. The longer this goes on, the less likely that is though.”
“I’m sorry,” Molina said. “It’s not up to me. I just want to go home, too.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” he said. “Your mother’s been talking to us. She wanted me to tell you that she loves you.”
Molina rolled her eyes, but her voice was sincere as she replied, “I love her, too.”
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” Marley said. “My men are falling back. For now. But we’ve all got to come to some agreement here. This can’t go on indefinitely. What do these people want?”
“I… I don’t know, sir,” Molina said.
“How many people are injured in there?”
“Um. A few.”
“How seriously?”
“I don’t think very. Coach Kapinski got shot in the leg. He was trying… He jumped one of them. He’s okay though. Just… it’s mostly stuff like that. I can’t… I�
��m not supposed to talk about it, sir.”
“I want to go home!” Cindy cried.
Ezra reached over and smacked her across the back of the head. It wasn’t hard, but she yelped like it was and cringed.
“I’m going to agree to this for now,” Marley said. “I don’t like it, but I don’t want anyone else shot. I mean that. I don’t want to hear any more gunfire in there. I hear it and we’re coming in. People will probably die, but that becomes an acceptable risk if we keep hearing gunfire. I don’t want that to happen, so I’m willing to try working this out, but I keep hearing shots and all bets are off. Tell them that they need to start discussing how we’re going to end this. I want those hostages. I’ll call back in an hour and I want them ready to deal with me. Is there someone there who can tell you they understand what I’m saying?”
Molina looked to Ezra. He didn’t like it, but he nodded. It was never going to happen the way Carl Marley was describing it, but this did mean they were going to have to put away the guns and finish this thing.
“Okay,” Molina said.
Hang up, Ezra mouthed at her, making a cutting gesture with his fingers across his throat.
“I have to hang up now, sir,” Molina said.
“Wait, Miss Alls—”
Molina disconnected the call.
“Shit,” Ezra muttered.
“Um, Ezra?” Molina said. “You should probably let them know. You know, before they shoot someone else.”
Which they were probably about to do again soon.
Ezra left Molina with Cindy and hurried out of the office.
Mercy had handed her gun to a boy, Thomas Blakely. He was a junior and he helped his mother take care of his autistic sister. Ezra knew him a little. His sister, Claire, was constantly being bullied and Tom could only fend off some of it. He had a girl about Claire’s age seated in the chair, so it was a pretty safe bet that was why.
Tom stood there staring at the gun in his hand. Ezra was still on the other side of the gym, still too far away, when Tom raised the gun and pointed it at Mercy.
He didn’t think, he just reacted. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and shot Tom. At the very last second, as he was pulling the trigger, he turned it slightly and shot Tom in the shoulder rather than center mass. Tom fell back, his right arm dead, dropped the gun and sat down hard on the first step of the bleachers.
Corey and Isaac both pointed their guns at Tom and advanced toward him.
“No!” Ezra shouted, breaking into a run. “Don’t shoot him!”
They turned confused eyes his way.
“Why the hell not?” Corey demanded. “He tried to kill my sister.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t,” Ezra said.
He stood over Tom, glaring down at him, panting. He wanted to kill him, too. He had tried to kill Mercy. Any other time, that would have meant a bullet between his eyes. Except that wasn’t why they were doing this. Tom had done a stupid thing, but he still deserved his vengeance and killing people like him was not the point.
“There’s got to be a fucking hero,” Ezra muttered.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, holding up his left hand to ward him off. His right arm hung useless at his side, the sleeve of his shirt already maroon with blood and dripping on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I’m fucking scared. You gotta understand. My sister—”
“Oh, I don’t care,” Ezra snapped.
He did care and he even understood where Tom was coming from, but Tom had nearly killed his girlfriend and Ezra was pissed. They took a great risk by allowing them the option of taking their own revenge, but Tom was the first to take advantage of that and point the gun in the wrong direction. If Ezra hadn’t cared though, he would have let Corey or Isaac kill him and he wouldn’t have shot him in the shoulder. Right now, he wanted Tom to shut the hell up.
The phone in the office started ringing again.
“Answer the damn phone!” Ezra called back to Molina. “Tell him no one was hurt! It was an accident! A warning shot! Something!”
“What the hell’s going on?” Mercy demanded.
Ezra told them about Carl Marley and the latest phone call. He spoke softly and had them gather around so they wouldn’t be overheard. If everyone knew they couldn’t use their guns anymore, there might be another rush for the doors. At the very least, people would become less cooperative. When he was finished, they all tucked their guns away.
“Well, shit. We’ve got to take care of this girl still,” Mercy said.
“We’ve got knives,” Isaac said. “Me and Ezra, we brought knives.”
“You want to cut her throat?” Mercy asked him.
Isaac shrugged. “Not really. Kinda messy.”
Molina returned, shoving Cindy ahead of her. “Sit down and shut up,” she told the girl. “I mean it. Shut up.”
Cindy nodded and went to sit down.
“So, what did he say this time?” Ezra asked.
“He said that’s it,” Molina said. “One more and they’re done hanging back and negotiating. That he’s giving you the benefit of the doubt here, but if they hear a gun go off again, they’re coming in.”
“Coming in how?” Mercy asked.
“Gas probably,” Corey said.
They looked at him.
He shrugged and pointed to the doors, to the black painted windows. “Those have wire in them. They’re safety glass, right?” he said. “But they can still break them out, throw in some gas, just to get enough time to cut the locks without getting shot at. Or there’s vents in the ceiling. They’ll apologize to the families of the hostages for gassing them too later. Whatever, they’ll still be alive so probably no one will be that pissed about it. Point is, they do that and this is over with. We’re done.”
“We’re almost done anyway,” Mercy said. She looked around at each of them. “Right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Corey said.
“I want to do something first,” Isaac said.
“Do what?” Mercy asked.
He smiled a little. “I want a turn,” he said. “Don’t worry. No guns.”
“And me,” Molina said. “I think… Yes. I want a turn, too.”
Mercy spread her hands. “Of course. That’s what we’re here for.”
“You go first,” Molina said to Isaac.
“Cool,” Isaac said. He pointed at the girl in the chair. She had stopped crying and was watching them with hopeful interest. “First, someone’s got to take care of her.”
Ezra sighed. “I’ll do it,” he said.
He didn’t wait for them to agree or protest. He went to get his knife.
Isaac
Let the Dogs Out
A cut throat made a much bigger mess than a bullet in the head. Isaac knew that it would. He was glad he had let Ezra take care of that and silently patted himself on the back about it while he watched his brother dispatch the girl and drag her body away. He followed the smeared trail of her blood with his eyes and wondered if he might be taking this all a little too well. Inappropriately too well, perhaps.
There were times throughout the day when he had caught himself enjoying it. That was wrong, but knowing it was wrong did not make it untrue.
Molina and Corey had looked away when Ezra put the knife to the girl’s throat. Mercy looked nearly as grim as Ezra himself when he cut it and blood bubbled and sprayed from the red smile beneath her chin. Isaac watched and tried to feel the dismay that he saw on the faces of everyone else, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened to him.
What was her name? He was sure Tom had said her name, but he couldn’t remember it. This bothered him more than her death did.
Isaac wasn’t too worried that it didn’t upset him like it should have. He knew that he was supposed to be, but he thought about Dragon Lady and her kittens and it wasn’t very important.
He remembered the dogs in the dumpster and it wasn’t important at all.
He had heard about the dog f
ighting that happened out at the local dump before he ever saw the dogs in the dumpster. Duane Cobb was in charge of the dump—the official sign as you drove up said “waste disposal site”—and he lived in a trailer home close enough to the place that he could stand on his front stoop and watch the trucks pick up the containers to take them away to the landfill. He had a lot of dogs that he kept in kennels around the back of his trailer, but the few times he had been investigated for dog fighting, he claimed they were hunting dogs. For hunting cougars, he said. Everyone knew Duane and his pal Frank Tavish and their two eldest sons held dog fights out there on weekends and during the summer. No one could prove it, but everyone knew.
The previous summer, Isaac had loaded up the trunk of his car with their trash and drove out to the dump, trying to help his mom out a little around the house. He couldn’t do anything about how tired she looked when she came home from the bar or how sad she was most of the time or the awful things the townsfolk said behind her back, but he could take out the trash.
The dogs were in thick black 33 gallon trash bags at the bottom of the big dumpster on top of an old mildewed twin mattress and some flattened cardboard boxes. At first, Isaac thought the head sticking out through a hole in one bag belonged to a big stuffed animal. The sort of oversized stuffed animal some guy might win for his girl at the fair. Sometimes people threw away things like that; stuffed animals, chairs, tables, lamps, books, doll houses. He had seen things in the dump before that didn’t look like they belonged there, things that should have been donated to charity, put out in a yard sale or given away. He wasn’t surprised to find a stuffed dog in the dumpster, but out of curiosity he boosted himself over the side and pulled back the plastic.
He saw blood and filmy dead eyes and smelled it and knew it wasn’t a toy at all. Disgusted and horrified, he drew back and turned his face away as the stench of decay wafted up from the bag, hot and swampy, crawling down his throat like maggots. The bodies had bloated and started to rot in the heat, bellies distended and boiling with a soup of fermenting organs. The stink of it made him gag.
He almost left then, revolted and thinking the poor dog was someone’s pet that had died. Pets died all the time of old age or illness or got hit on the road while chasing cars, and some people didn’t bury them in their yard. Some people threw them away. They held goldfish funerals over toilet bowls before they flushed or tried to replace Fluffy with an exact lookalike before the kids noticed, but a lot of pets had their last resting place at the bottom of a landfill with old pizza boxes and broken furniture. Isaac would never do that, but people did it and it wasn’t considered abnormal.
