The Fall of Polite

by Sam Kench

  ‘Is my eye going to heal?’ Maisey began to reach for the gauze pad again, but stopped herself.

  ‘It will heal to an extent, but to be truthful with you, it would be a miracle if you are ever able to see out of it again. The damage was extensive.’

  Maisey’s fingers absentmindedly closed around the spot where her hair would have hung over her shoulder. She used to hold onto her hair and wrap it around her fingers whenever she was scared or anxious. Now all she got was a handful of air. 'What chance do I have of this eye healing enough to... you know?'

  He shook his head and tightened his jaw, not wanting to be truthful. He fought his urge to lie. 'Sub one percent.'

  The knowledge sunk into Maisey like a chest full of treasures into a pit of quick sand. She stared through the doctor into the nothingness beyond.

  ‘Hey what gives, doc?’ A slightly annoyed voice yelled out as its owner approached him. The voice was vaguely familiar to Maisey. She wore camouflage cargo pants with bulging pockets and a black hoodie with the logo and name of “Dirty Jay's auto and bike repair” across the front and back. A laminate badge was clipped onto one of her hood strings that designated her as someone to listen to. ‘You were supposed to grab me as soon as she woke up?’

  The doctor spun on his heels to face her, looking slightly intimidated. ‘I- I was going to. She only just woke up.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, sure.’ The woman stepped between Maisey and the doctor and squatted in front of her chair. Her skin was darker than most residents of New Hampshire and she had the slightest hint of a Hispanic accent. She sounded as though she had tried to lose the accent entirely, and almost succeeded. ‘Are you lucid?’

  Maisey nodded her head and leaned away from the 30 year old woman.

  ‘My name’s Charli. Me and Lucas are the two who brought you here. He’s out looking for supplies at the moment.’

  ‘I- Thank you.’

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘Maisey.’

  With the ey sound still leaving Maisey’s mouth, Charli continued, ‘Do you know what happened to your kid?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were mumbling about your kid when we found you and in your sleep over the last couple of days. Is your kid dead? Were they stolen?’ Charli made no attempt to soften her words.

  ‘Not my kid. I was trying to take care of him. His mother left him in a dumpster.’

  ‘Fuckin’ people.’ Charli said with disgust. She almost spit on the floor, but fought the urge.

  ‘She showed back up. Fucking addict. The kid’s name’s Tommy… I need to get him away from her.’ Maisey made an effort to stand, forcing her hands down hard against the wooden arms of the chair. Charli and the doctor joined forces to sit her back down.

  ‘Whoa now. What you need to do is relax.’

  ‘That kid isn't safe.’

  ‘You’re in no state to go on some wild rescue mission.’

  Maisey groaned. Charli studied the chaotic gym ceiling as if an answer were lodged between the rafters and the ventilation.

  ‘You said the mother’s an addict? You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Of course I’m fucking sure.’

  ‘I’m just asking questions here. Calm down.’ Charli’s tone was stern but not threatening. She returned to her squat by Maisey’s knees. ‘Could you tell what drug?’

  ‘Meth? Crack? Maybe both. I don’t know. Why the fuck does that matter? An addict’s an addict.’ Maisey’s swearing wasn’t born out of anger or even purely out of frustration, though that feeling surely had a hand in her diction. Ever since elementary school, she had found a high volume of curse words slipping into her vocabulary and they had become second nature, much to the chagrin of her parents and every teacher she ever had. College teachers probably wouldn’t have minded as much, but neither of Maisey’s attempts at higher education had lasted long enough for her to truly find out. She had planned on enrolling for attempt number three but had run out of time with the changing of the world.

  ‘When Lucas gets back, me and him’ll go out and try to find the kid. If the mother’s an addict, then she won’t go long without getting another fix. So we’ll try to figure out who’s still selling and take it from there. Likely not too many people. You just take it easy. You’ve got a lot of healing to do.’ Charli stood up and pulled a breakfast bar from one of her bulging pockets. ‘Take this. I’m sure you’re starving. The soldiers give out food at eight-o-clock. Not sure how much longer they’ll be able to keep doing that with the numbers we got, but get it while it lasts.’

  Maisey reached for the breakfast bar, but the doctor snatched it away. ‘You can’t eat that. Nothing solid until your sutures dissolve. Should be another 2-to-5 days.’ The doctor reached into a cardboard box on the floor and pulled out a few chocolate flavored meal-replacement shakes. ‘Just water and these for now. Soup broth is fine too if they end up serving it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Charli patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see if I can find you a sleeping bag. For now, you can sit on the floor or stretch your legs, but that chair needs to stay free for the doc’s patients.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Maisey rose from the chair.

  ‘One of our scavengers caught a bullet in the hip this morning.’

  Charli’s mom was one of the doc’s frequent patients. She was getting up there in years and her latest ailment was proving far worse than anything she had dealt with before. The doc was struggling to treat it, or to even make a conclusive diagnosis. She was struggling to breath and in constant pain, and that was about all the doctor knew at this point.

  Charli’s mom had her well past the age others thought her capable of giving birth. Growing up, people often mistook her mom from her grandmother. She hardly spoke any English and she absolutely hated living in New Hampshire. She only put up with the New England weather because it was either move in with Chari, or move into an old folks home.

  Since her ailment wasn’t immediately life threatening, Charli’s mom had to wait until more dire patients were treated. She was about to finally receive proper treatment when they found a bloody mess that answered to the name Maisey.

  The doctor made a twirling motion with his fingers in front of Maisey. 'It's a good idea to move around a bit. Stretch yourself out. Just take it slow and be sure to stop if you feel lightheaded or have any troubles with your equilibrium.'

  Maisey stood eye-to-eye with Charli. A handshake transpired, and then she was off. Maisey looked around and asked the doctor, ‘Do you have a mirror?’

  The doctor looked to dodge the question and Maisey read him like a book. ‘I don’t know if that’s-’

  She took off down one of the aisles of sleeping bags and cots and entered the girl’s locker room. The cement walls were painted pink. There were a few people sleeping on the benches, but no one awake. She walked up to a large mirror above a sink and gazed upon a stranger. Maisey looked into the glass and saw someone she felt bad for in its reflection: a poor woman that she pitied. Maisey felt like crying, but feared the way tears would affect her split eye.

  ACROSS THE GYM, a 22-year-old skinhead found himself being forced out of the shelter. ‘I have nowhere else to go!’ He shouted at the angry five-person-cluster that shoved him toward the double doors.

  Two of the armed guards watched over the situation closely.

  The small crowd threatened the bigot with violence in a way they never would have before the fall of polite. A middle aged woman, who hadn’t been violent a day in her life, gave him a hard shove that knocked him off his feet. None of the protestors were individually threatening, but, when part of this ragtag group, they had power. One of the guards stepped in and became a secondary target of hate by the cluster for defending the skin-head.

  The guard, a cop of 30 years, helped the bigot to his feet and whispered into his ear the address of a neo-Nazi camp that would take him in; a camp the guard planned on going to himself if the gym was compromised for one reason or another. This wasn'
t the first young believer he had sent there.

  The skinhead flipped off the angry crowd and took his leave. After some chatter, the cluster dispersed and the guards returned to their posts.

  Maisey watched Charli jog across the gym to a young man who had just entered. As she stepped up to their conversation it was clear they had been talking about her.

  ‘Oh hey, there you are.’ Said Lucas. Maisey recognized his voice. He was young, clear-eyed, and looked like all he wanted to do was help people. He wore a dark green hoodie. Stubble was starting to grow on his cheeks and chin.

  ‘Are you going to look for the kid now?’ Maisey interjected.

  ‘Yeah we’re going to head out soon.’

  ‘I’m going with you.’ Maisey said sternly.

  Charli shook her head. ‘Honestly, try to take it easy. You smile too hard, you’re liable to pop your stitches.’

  ‘I ain’t got no reason to smile. I’m going with you,’ she repeated her declaration of intent.

  Lucas turned to Charli. ‘Let her come. You can’t expect her to sit here while her kid’s missing.’

  ‘It’s not her kid.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lucas said, slightly disarmed. He looked Maisey over. ‘This place is safe. You really want to go back out there for someone else’s kid?’

  Maisey gave a small nod and made strong eye contact with Lucas through her remaining optic window. Her resolve was firm.

  He flushed with respect for her and stepped closer. ‘You ever kill anyone? Would you be able to if it came down to it? Situation’s tough out there. I didn’t know if I could until I had to.’ Lucas had only taken one life so far, and if he hadn’t pulled the trigger, then a defenseless woman and her daughter would have been murdered. At present, they sat on the bleachers at the other side of the gym, the daughter showing her mom a picture she made with the few broken crayons she could scrounge up.

  ‘I- I could do it.’ Maisey said, convincing herself as much as the others.

  'Really think about it if you haven't had to already. It took me a week to pull myself together afterwards. It's not a natural thing to do. It's okay if-'

  Charli interrupted, 'It is natural. We haven't evolved out of bloodshed yet.'

  Maisey had been thinking about it constantly, what it would feel like to kill someone if her hand were forced. She closed her eye and imagined taking a life. It was difficult to anticipate the feelings such an act would bring up, but Maisey was pretty sure ending that drug addict mother's life would bring up some form of catharsis, if not outright happiness. ‘I could do it,' she said. 'Fuckin’ people, right?’

  A chuckle slipped out of Charli’s lips and a smirk landed on her face. ‘Fuckin’ people.’

  Charli looked from Maisey to Lucas and back again. A shrug precluded any verbal affirmation of her decision.

  Maisey watched Charli march up to one of the guards in soldier dress and demand his sidearm. The soldier would have protested if it had been someone other than Charli asking. Maisey wondered how she had come to be so respected around here. She must have proven herself somehow for these soldiers to be taking orders from her.

  ‘Ever fire a gun?’ Charli asked as she returned.

  ‘No, but I know how.’

  ‘Well not to doubt your natural ability, but I’d like to make sure of that before we head out into the great unknown. Especially given you'll be aiming with one eye and all.’

  Charli informed the guards that they would be commencing firing practice in the parking lot outside the school and to ignore the ensuing gunfire they heard. One of the guards stepped up onto the bleachers and made an announcement to the residents of the shelter.

  Before Maisey left, the doctor gave her pain killers, gauze, and a red bandana to tie around her eye over the bandage; he didn’t have an eyepatch. He made another half-hearted attempt to dissuade her from leaving, but knew it would do no good.

  9. A STREET FEELING MORE LIKE AN ALLEY

  THE POSSE HAD CIRCLED back around toward the center of the state. Probey felt the most comfortable operating in this county, partly because it was where he worked as a police officer for a decade, but also because it had the highest white population in an already predominantly white state. New Hampshire had a Caucasian population over 90% and since bigots seemed to gravitate toward the state’s center for whatever reason, the white count in Probey’s neck of the woods was closer to 98%.

  The gang was on the prowl for new members. Probey wouldn’t be satisfied until the posse was at least 30 men strong.

  Eamon hadn’t said a word since leaving the retirement home. His chest heaved and angry breath escaped his respiratory system. He sat in the back of Buella, staring into the middle distance, both hands on the shotgun that stood against the floor between his feet. Despite Eamon’s silence, Probey and Lance made several passes at conversation.

  Peter and Georgie followed in the car behind as the posse made their way into a mid-size town. The choice of hunting grounds seemed entirely random to Eamon, who didn't much care where his earthly body ended up, as long as he was given an outlet for his rage.

  Michael spoke quietly to Eamon in the backseat. ‘You all right, man?’

  Eamon was silent. Michael couldn’t be sure if he had heard him, but he didn’t wish to repeat his inquiry after he had seen the rage Eamon harbored inside.

  Eamon was consumed by an internal fire, burning sadly. He was being cooked from the inside and found himself wanting to cause harm to anyone and everyone. Being Probey’s attack dog would surely provide plenty of opportunity for that, he figured.

  THE TWO-CAR-CONVEY rolled slowly through a suburb, eyes watching windows for any signs of life.

  ‘There!’ Probey shouted as he pointed to a set of cornea’s peering out at the jeep from beyond the edge of a curtain. The vehicles stopped, the engines shut off, and the eyes disappeared. Probey exited the jeep and marched up to the door of the house with his rifle pointed toward the sky.

  He hammered on the door and made it clear to those inside that he had seen them. He spoke with plurals even though he had only seen one pair of eyes.

  His assumptions were proven correct when the door opened to reveal a father and son.

  The father had the look of a drunk factory worker. One who had gone longer than he would’ve liked since his last drink. The slack-jawed son was college age but looked like he probably couldn’t graduate high school, even if he really applied himself. Both were white, male, and appeared physically capable, so they met Probey’s short list of pre-requisites.

  Probey anticipated a time in the near future where he would need to throw bodies at problems. He needed to stock up on manpower so he could afford casualties when they inevitably came. Quantity over quality at this point in time.

  The father and son were wary of Probey’s demeanor, but after some convincing safety-in-numbers type talk, they agreed to join the posse. They disappeared inside the house and returned with one bag each.

  On the walk back to the vehicles, a neighboring house spat out a baseball bat wielding geriatric in a bathrobe, ‘No! Don’t go with them!’ the old man screamed. Walking on a bad hip, he swung the bat wildly at the air despite being several feet away. The geriatric spoke with a severe slur to his words, a by-product of more than one stroke. ‘Don’t go with them!’

  The father grabbed onto his son. Probey let out a laugh. ‘He run out of his meds or what?’

  Eamon burst out of the jeep and stomped onto the snowy lawn. Probey cocked his head and watched Eamon rack his shotgun. The old man in pajamas stepped toward Eamon swinging his bat left and right. Eamon fired into the old man’s shoulder. The geriatric was blasted off his feet. His bat rolled crookedly through the snow. Eamon pumped and fired a second blast to finish him off in case he wasn’t dead already.

  ‘Ha ha, whoa.’ Probey chirped happily.

  Eamon turned toward the two-person-family, fire in his eyes. He racked his gun and cast a smoking shotgun shell into the snow bank lining the stree
t. A wisp of steam rose into the air.

  ‘Wait, wait, we’re already going with you!’ The father said, forcing his pimply son to stand behind him.

  Eamon stomped back toward the jeep.

  Probey wiped his sunglasses off on his shirt. ‘You’re a real dog on a chain, ain’t ya, Eamon?’

  Eamon’s internal fire had been briefly quelled by this act of violence. It was clear to him that his rage needed constant outlet to uncloud his mind. Being part of Probey’s posse was starting to seem like an effective way of tending to this visceral need.

  THEY STOLE INTO an empty house on the edge of the suburb and slept the night in shifts as per usual. At sunrise they were back on the road.

  The new posse members rode with Peter and Georgie. ‘We’ll need a third car for this convoy soon.’ Said Peter to Georgie, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t expect a response. He was glad to have new people in the car. Driving for hours in silence was boring him to sleep at the wheel, and Georgie never took a turn in the driver’s seat.

  Peter was a DMV worker before the fall of polite. He also happened to be Probey’s neighbor. Peter ran to the cop next door for help once the gunshots from up the road became as constant as the screams and sirens. Probey let him inside, but Peter was caught off guard when he felt a gun thrust into his hand. He quickly grew to relish the sense of power it gave him, though he had never so much as taken the safety off. He never even checked to see if it was loaded. He figured it probably was, and that was good enough for him. It was heavier than he expected.

  Probey laid it all out for him; told him the truth that wasn’t broadcast on Peter’s go-to news source. Probey told him his plans, filled him in on why things went down the way they did, explained the way things would go, let him know what would be necessary to survive…. Peter thought Probey was just about the smartest man he had ever met, and sticking by his side practically guaranteed his safety in a time when safety was in short supply. He was lucky to find the future ruler of the region living next door.