The Last City (Book 1): Last City

by Partner, Kevin

  Her face lunar-white, Amanda looked across at the other man. He was shorter, younger and darker than his comrade, and his face lacked the cunning cruelty of the man holding the shotgun.

  "And don't you think of tryin' nothin'. Lem was doin' ten for slicin' up a cop and he don't care much for old ladies."

  "Oh, that ain't true Bobby Joe," the short man said, leering at Amanda. "I like 'em right enough. Prefer a little meat on the bones, but if all's you got is lemons, you best make hay."

  Bobby Joe roared with laughter, the barrel of the gun waving around but out of reach of Richie who was nearest. "You're a jackass, Lem. Now go get us some food while I introduce myself to this perty young lady here."

  Sam shrank away from him as he sat on the couch beside her, his weapon pointing directly at Richie. He stank like he hadn't washed in weeks.

  "So, what's your name?" he said.

  She told him and he squinted at her. "Now, ain't that a surprise. I'd have bet good money you was Latino, but Samantha's a good old-fashioned 'merican name. You sure are dark, though. Or is it the light?"

  She felt like an amoeba on a microscope slide. "My dad's family came from Greece."

  He slapped his knee. "Hot damn, I knew it! So, where is your pa, little lady?"

  "He's coming for me."

  Bobby Joe's face contorted into an expression of mock fear. "Oh deary me, I must run away! Daddy's coming for his little princess!"

  Sam treated the criminal to a look of utter disgust, as her fear of him was overcome by utter loathing.

  "Lem! Come out here, we gotta make a break for it!" he sang in a mock-girly voice.

  There was no response from the kitchen, just the sounds of metal on metal that might have been saucepans.

  "Lem!" Bobby Joe called again.

  The shorter man appeared at the kitchen door. "What you want?"

  And, as Bobby Joe turned to speak to him, something swung through the air from behind and he crumpled as a hollow thunk echoed around the living room.

  Margie stood there, saucepan raised in one hand, Elsa doll in the other. "No one hurts my mommy!"

  Richie leaped at Bobby Joe, grabbing for the shotgun as it began to swing back toward him. They fell to the floor, rolling from side to side as they struggled. Sam scrambled over to where they were tussling, but they were moving too quickly for her to grab at Bobby Joe.

  The shotgun swept upwards, as both pairs of hands pulled and pushed.

  Bang.

  It came free and clattered to the floor beside Sam. She swooped to pick it up before pumping the action as she'd seen in the movies and pointing it at Bobby Joe, who was lying on top of Richie.

  "Get off him, you scum!"

  Bobby Joe raised his hands and twisted away from Richie. "Now then, little lady. Don't do nothin' hasty."

  Richie was dead. She could see it instantly. The side of his face had disappeared, blood and brains oozing onto the carpet. In her repulsed shock, she couldn't help feeling his head reminded her of a cracked eggshell. All the king's horses, all the king's men couldn't put Richie together again.

  "No!!" she screamed, her finger closing on the trigger as the barrel shook. "You killed my friend, you b—"

  "Careful, Sam." It was Jerry's voice. Not with the snarky, curmudgeonly tone she'd thought was natural to him, but with firm, gentle emotion. "Don't do something you'll always regret. You're not a killer."

  "It was a accident," Bobby Joe said. "I didn't shoot at him, honest I didn't."

  He looked up at her imploringly, begging for his life.

  Sam Hickman liked to think she was a good person who believed in due process and forgiveness. Having seen what had happened after her mother died in that hit-and-run, she'd always fought to prove she was better than her dad; that she could rise above her base instincts and do the right thing, whatever the provocation.

  But there was no denying it. She was her father's daughter and this filth had shot her only friend in the world.

  She pulled the trigger, wincing at the sudden pain in her shoulder and the physical force of the bang. Bobby Joe fell sideways with a cry, red staining his prison uniform. He moaned as he lay there, his feet kicking feebly as he pressed both hands against the wound in his chest.

  Jerry stood and stared at Sam before scampering off to the kitchen.

  Numbness spread over Sam like an icepick to the heart as she watched Bobby Joe die. She wondered if she would ever feel emotion again, because she sure as hell felt nothing at that moment, except a dizzying sensation like falling backwards into a black hole. He rolled onto his side and she kicked him further over so she could get to Richie.

  Kissing the ends of her fingers, she pressed them against Richie's remaining closed eyelid and whispered, "Thank you," as, after a final heave, Bobby Joe went still.

  11: Judas

  As the convoy rolled back into Hope, it seemed little had changed. Paul Hickman glanced at Martha Bowie as she stood outside her store, arms crossed. Her wimp of a husband stood in the doorway, a cloth in his hand—no doubt from wiping down the empty shelves. Hick smiled at her as they approached the intersection and thought about the two trucks full of supplies he was returning with. She scowled in response and went on brushing the sidewalk. She knew when she was outmaneuvered.

  "Head down to the community center," he said to Ned Birkett. "Let's show the good old mayor what we've come back with."

  Birkett gave a grunt and turned off Main Street and onto Avenue K.

  Hickman had made a mental note to watch his driver. Birkett had been almost entirely silent since they'd left the Walmart. He'd gone as white as a sheet when Hickman had gunned down that idiot old man. He'd said nothing when it happened and nothing since, but Hickman knew he'd been stewing like a racoon in a trashcan on a hot day. He was, after all, a cop. Just not a very good one. It seemed that Hick had finally found the level of illegality that would trip Birkett's conscience. Interesting.

  He glanced in the sideview mirror to see Marlin's boyish face in the truck behind. Cook had also said nothing since the killing, but he'd clearly had no problem with what Hickman had done. He'd simply gone about the business of disposing of the body—and he'd done it with decency and apparent compassion, as if it had been an unfortunate accident—and then helped search for untainted supplies.

  Brain, who was out of sight in the mirror as the truck, was now too close behind them, but Hickman knew he'd be wearing the dumb expression he thought made him look intelligent and that, despite this, his tongue would occasionally poke out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on driving.

  As for Hickman himself, he'd had no reaction to the killing. He didn't think of himself as a murderer—he'd given the old man plenty of chances to do the right thing. It was the law of the jungle now. Dog eat dog. He intended to be alpha male around here, and that began with showing his followers how far he was prepared to go. Soon, the whole town would know. Still, he wasn’t looking forward to going to bed tonight—if the past was any guide to the future, he'd be seeing Sergeant Cribbins in his dreams.

  Gil Summers was walking out of the community center to see what was causing the noise. Hickman could see the relief on his face as the trucks rolled to a halt and Summers recognized them.

  "Mr. Mayor, I'm glad to report mission successful. We have returned with supplies, including insulin for Rudi Vandyke and anyone else who needs it."

  Summers looked up at him as he got out of the cab and rubbed his numb backside.

  "I'm glad to see you back, Paul. We need to talk."

  "Sure, I'll just get my boys to unload the trucks."

  Summers shook his head. "No, Paul. We need to talk now."

  Hickman felt his cheeks warm, but had no option other than to follow the mayor up the stairs of the community center and into his office, leaving Ned standing beside the truck to keep away onlookers.

  "What's this all about, Gil? I got everything the town needs and there's more where that came from."

  Summe
rs poured coffee into two mugs and handed one to Hickman before gesturing him into a seat on the other side of his desk. "Well, firstly, you went against my orders. I told you to find out who had broken into the drugstore so Rudi would get her insulin quickly."

  "Yeah, but I got her insulin—quicker than I could have found the burglar."

  "Really? In a city of two thousand souls out in the middle of nowhere? Instead of tracking down the thief, you go off on a road trip with two-thirds of the police force of the town. Rusty's had enough to deal with keeping Martha's place and the drug store guarded."

  Gil Summers ran his hands down over his face and drew in a deep breath. The man was exhausted. He'd always been weak, and Hickman reckoned he was just about ready to be toppled.

  Gently does it.

  "I apologize if I went against your orders, Mr. Mayor. It won't happen again. Shall I unload the trucks or are we gonna leave the supplies to rot?"

  Summers swallowed a mouthful of coffee and shivered a little. "Of course. There's the old warehouse opposite the church on Main. I've had it cleaned out and secured, so you can take it there."

  This was unexpected. Hickman had anticipated handing over the supplies directly to Martha Bowie at the general store with as much public attention as possible. If Summers had his way, the trucks would be unloaded inside a warehouse and barely anyone would know.

  "Oh, and Paul, I've appointed Rusty as sheriff."

  "You've what??!!" Hickman leaped to his feet, spilling hot coffee down his Levis.

  Summers shrugged. "A sheriff doesn't leave his post."

  "Devon Myers did."

  "Which is why he's no longer sheriff either. I've appointed Rusty to the position permanently."

  "But he's … he's …"

  "A decorated veteran and an honest man."

  Hickman slammed a fist down on the table, ignoring the sensation of liquid flowing down his leg. "Now you listen to me, Summers. I got dirt on you that'd see you out of that chair quicker than a jackrabbit at a dog race, and don't you think I wouldn't use it."

  Gil Summers smiled. "You see, that's your problem, Paul. Oh, you're clever enough, and I reckon you got leverage on just about everyone in this town. I don't know what you've got on Devon or my daughter, but it must be pretty strong to get them to go across the country looking for your Sam.

  "But I don't reckon you know people as well as you think you do. Sure, I did some things in the past I bitterly regret. You and me both lost our wives and I guess neither of us is particularly proud of how we handled what happened after. And yeah, I would prefer that my sins remained a secret. But our world ended last week, Paul—the world where crap like that really matters—and there's only one person I really wouldn't want to know what I did. And you just sent her a thousand miles away.

  "So, be my guest. Tell the world and see where it gets you."

  Summers stood up and gestured to the door.

  "Rusty and his fellas will escort you to the warehouse and help unload. They'll provide security. Now, I got work to do."

  Paul Hickman, who'd remained dumbstruck as Gil Summers revealed a previously unsuspected spine was about to fire off two barrels when footsteps thunked up the stairs outside and the door flew open.

  A breathless woman stood there heaving in lungfuls of air. "An RV … Mr. Mayor … There's an RV just come up Main Street!"

  Rusty Kaminski was standing at the driver's window of the ancient vehicle as Gil Summers and Paul Hickman rounded the intersection. Two newly appointed deputies covered the sheriff as he talked to the driver.

  "Mr. Mayor," Kaminski said. "I don't think we got anythin' to worry about. It's just an old Hymer full of kids. Come on down, Mr. Lacey."

  Summers watched as a young man climbed nervously out of the cab and brushed himself down.

  "This here's Mayor Summers. He'll be the one to decide."

  The newcomer took Gil's hand. "I'm glad to meet you Mr. Mayor. I'm Jordan Lacey and I was told to come here by Devon Myers, and by your daughter."

  Summers froze. "Jessica? Where was this? Is she okay?"

  "She was when we left them. Just south of West Wycombe. They sent us on our way, told us to ask for you. Said to say they're okay and are heading east to Salt Lake City."

  "When did you see them?"

  "Yesterday. Mr. Mayor, I got a group of frightened kids on board who could do with something to eat and a bath each. Are we welcome here, like Jessie said? We ain't got nowhere else to go."

  Gil Summers put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Of course. Let's get them unloaded."

  "Now, hold on just a minute, Mr. Mayor. Shouldn't the whole council decide on whether we accept newcomers into our community? Especially when we know nothing about them." Paul Hickman, who'd been observing the exchange now stepped out of the shadow of the RV, raising his voice so the gathering crowd could hear.

  "Are you suggesting we send these children away, Paul?" Summers responded icily.

  "I just think everyone should get their say. That we should follow due process."

  This was too much for Gil Summers. "Are you serious? You just ignored my orders and took off, leaving the people of Hope without a sheriff!"

  "Yeah, and I came back with two trucks full of supplies, didn't I?" Hickman yelled back. He turned to the people who'd come to see who was in the RV and were staying for the entertainment. "Did you hear, good people of Hope? Me and my boys, we got all the supplies this town needs for a while, and there's more to come. If our honorable mayor agrees, of course, we'll send the trucks back for the rest. We'll empty that place and make sure we got food in our bellies and drugs for the sick."

  Hickman smiled as a cheer went up. He let it continue for a few seconds, then raised his hand. "Now, I ain't got no objection to these kids coming and living here among us—though heaven only knows we don't need no more mouths to feed—I'm just sayin' we got to look to ourselves first and foremost. And I'm sayin' the mayor shouldn't be making decisions without consulting the representatives of the people. We demand to be heard!"

  He paused again as the crowd cheered. A child who'd been coming down the steps of the RV froze in the hostile atmosphere. Hickman gestured to her. "Come on, darlin'. We ain't gonna bite. We're just havin' a family discussion. Come here."

  Nervously, the girl glanced at her coach, who was standing beside the RV. Lacey nodded and she reluctantly approached Hickman, who wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "What's your name, sweetheart? Brooke? A lovely name. You know, you're welcome here." His gaze swept the crowd, and he raised his voice again. "Ain't she welcome here?"

  Again the people cheered. It was remarkable. He had them dancing like puppets on a string. One minute, willing to send the kids on their way to nowhere, then cheering when he welcomes them into the community. Paul Hickman was enjoying this. He raised his arms again, and they went quiet. Out of the corner of his left eye he could see Gil Summers standing still as a porcelain figurine waiting to see what would happen next.

  "Now here's what I think," Hickman called out. "I think this new world calls for a new way of going about things. For all we know, Hope is on its own and we can't look for nobody to come and rescue us. We got to make our own rules and we gotta have strong leadership that makes decisions in our best interests; decisions that take into account what the people think."

  Applause again. He decided to go for the jugular.

  "But you ain't seen what it's like out there, folks. Me, Ned and the others only went a few miles south, but even so close to home it's clear that the world as we knew it has gone. Now, near enough all of us has family outside of Hope, but what's bein' done to trace them? What's bein' done to find out what's goin' on outside? What's bein' done to protect Hope when the survivors come lookin' for us? Sure, these here kids are harmless enough and we should welcome them in, but the first we knew of them was when they rolled up Main Street. Not everyone who comes calling is going to be friendly. Someone's gonna want everything we got.

  "Peopl
e of Hope, ain't it time we took control of our own future? Ain't it time we put ourselves first, second and third? Ain't it time for a new dawn? I call for an election to decide who should lead us and I promise, if you choose me, that I will keep us fed, warm and safe. If you choose me, I will keep the wolves from the door. And Hope will be a light in the darkness! What do you say?"

  The fuse had been lit. Time to retreat ten paces and see whether the fireworks would ignite or whether, after all, the people of Hope were nothing more than a damp squib.

  "Hick! Hick! Hick!" the crowd chanted. "Hick! Hick! Hick!"

  Paul Hickman lifted his palms to the heavens and turned in circles, bathing in the adulation. All his life had been leading to this moment. Sure, it had taken the end of the world for him to receive the recognition he'd always deserved, but perhaps that had been a price worth paying. Now he would have control. Now he would build a safe haven for Sam. Now he would make people pay.

  A shot rang out and Hick froze. Martha Bowie stood beside the RV, shotgun pointing at the sky. Beside her stood Dorothy Vandyke.

  "You folks know me," Bowie called out. She was a big woman with a big voice and people listened to her, even if they didn't like what they heard. "I say what I mean and I mean what I say. You know Dorothy and her daughter, too. Well, Rudi's pretty sick right now on account of the insulin she needs being stolen from the pharmacy."

  Hickman took his chance. "Well, Martha, you'll be pleased to know that I got a crate full of it in the back of one of my trucks. Just as soon as we're finished here, I'll be unloading it and restocking the pharmacy."

  Cries of "Yeah!" and "Hick!" circulated through the crowd and Hickman relaxed a little.

  Bowie raised her shotgun again. "That's all fine and dandy, Paul, but she needed the insulin yesterday while you and your buddies were on that road trip."

  "Hey, don't you go callin' out Hick for that," someone in the crowd shouted. "He was doin' his best!"

  "You know, Ike, until about ten minutes ago I'd have been inclined to agree with you. But then as luck would have it, we found some insulin right here in town." She lowered the shotgun and lifted her other hand, shaking the white box it contained. "Guess where it was found?"