“Why are you doing this?” Gracine called out, as though the silence caused a boiling point she could no longer withstand.
No one answered.
“We don’t have to shoot one another,” Jillian added, seeing that Sutton and Driscoll were acting too macho to request a truce.
Hearing the squawk of a radio, Jillian listened intently, knowing none of her allies carried any kind of portable radio or phone device that worked. A woman’s voice said something, but she couldn’t make out the words. If the man listening on their end answered, he did so in a murmur so no one else heard. Jillian suspected her nemesis was coming their way, and she wondered if blood would be spilled, or she could still talk some sense into Dark Lady. Jillian hadn’t changed her mind about killing an alleged child molester, or his backers, but getting revenge for Vazquez meant staying alive long enough to formulate a plan.
Minutes felt like forever as everyone gave edgy glances in every direction, with no one opening fire again. Jillian felt certain the radio message caused the ceasefire on the other end, though she didn’t like waiting to see what came next. Her options felt limited, but Gracine managed to crawl behind the disabled vehicles to join her.
“We can’t wait around like this,” Gracine said.
“I know, but they’re all around us. If we run, they’re going to shoot us in the back.”
Jillian thought incorrectly about Dark Lady’s group having insufficient firepower once, but they had obviously ransacked the main house and stolen plenty of firearms and ammunition. Running might be a more viable option if the group could coordinate a plan without their adversaries overhearing it, but Jillian wasn’t sure the male members of their group wanted to flee in the first place.
“I say we pick a direction and go for it,” Gracine said, thinking along the same lines.
“Not without the guys,” Jillian said, waiting for Sutton to make eye contact with her when she looked in his direction.
He monitored the area around him like a hawk momentarily, with Driscoll pinned down just a few feet away from him. Buster also hunkered down, respecting the commands of his master, but audibly arguing that he wanted action because the canine wasn’t accustomed to lying still for very long.
When Sutton finally looked over, Jillian pointed behind her, indicating with two fingers in a running motion that they could make a dash for safety. He contemplated her proposal momentarily, looking from the mostly open area behind her to the spots where their adversaries likely hid, and finally shook his head negatively. He obviously believed at least one of Dark Lady’s associates was positioned in an area dangerous to their group.
Jillian liked their current odds at the moment better than if more circus types showed up with a variety of weapons.
“They’re keeping us here for a reason,” Gracine noted. “I don’t like this one bit.”
“Me either. Got anything to create a distraction?”
Gracine looked at her as though Jillian had lost her mind.
“Do I look like a magician?”
“You drove a truck. Can’t you blow up a fuel tank or something?”
“Girl, this isn’t the movies. Gas tanks don’t blow up when you shoot them, and I don’t have any fire arrows on me.”
Jillian knew she should have felt nervous, or feared death far more intensely, but the culmination of her experiences, combined with surviving numerous harrowing situations, left her numbed to the prospect of death. Not until she heard the sound of an incoming vehicle did Jillian detect any emotion, and when she did, she felt pure hatred.
“That bitch,” she muttered, knowing Dark Lady was about to show up once more and impose her will upon others.
“We need to find you a shrink if we survive this,” Gracine said, motioning to Sutton that he needed to do something fast, causing him to respond with a shrug.
Momentarily, the car pulled to a stop and the sound of three doors shutting as people stepped out reached Jillian’s ears. She couldn’t see their new visitors, because the car parked behind the large circus truck.
“Cunt, what have you done with my Audie?” Dark Lady’s voice beckoned from her unseen position.
“Bitch, I haven’t done a thing with your child predator,” Jillian answered, knowing only she could be the target of such verbal abuse. “Maybe someone finally put him out of his misery.”
“I’m saving you for last,” Dark Lady announced. “Your friends will all die in front of you, and you can watch. Then I’ll do you nice and slow, maybe with a dull blade, or a few bullets in your stomach so you can bleed out.”
“What’s this bitch have against you?” Gracine asked just above a whisper.
“Long story.”
Jillian heard footsteps around the car Dark Lady brought to the skirmish, sensing the violence was about to begin anew.
“Boys, surround them and open fire,” Dark Lady yelled so all of her people could hear.
Jillian and Gracine heard more footsteps crunch in the untended grass, each looking in slightly varying directions to defend themselves against the incoming invasion. Feeling relieved that Luke and Samantha had escaped such a horrific ordeal, Jillian took aim at the rear corner of the large vehicle the first group arrived in, prepared to fire at whatever person emerged first.
Outnumbered, Jillian knew their group was capable of taking down several enemies before they fell, but such bloodshed wasn’t necessary in a town the size of South Hill. Negotiations might have avoided any violence in the first place, but Dark Lady and her carnival employees sealed their fate when they murdered Vazquez. Jillian wasn’t about to let his death go without some form of retaliation.
Stiffening, prepared to take a human life, Jillian waited and watched for her first target when a flash of orange shot down from behind her, causing an explosion to the large vehicle. White smoke mixed with orange flames mushroomed from the decimated vehicle after the quick boom pierced the air. Shrapnel flew in every direction, but Jillian avoided injury because Dark Lady’s people hadn’t parked incredibly close to their location. Yelps of pain and several screams pierced the air as everyone looked up the hill behind Jillian and her group, seeing a man standing there with a rocket launcher that billowed smoke out the front port.
“Thought you could use a hand,” Gabe Keppler called down from above them, openly posing no threat to the group, though he addressed Sutton directly. “This’ll be the last favor I do for you.”
“You call that a favor?” Sutton retorted. “You almost got us killed.”
Keppler scoffed, still holding the launcher firmly.
In the background, Dark Lady and her group bid a hasty retreat down the road. Some of them crammed into their car, but others took off on foot. Jillian glanced, unable to tell if the explosion actually killed any of them, or not. A small fire began to consume the synthetic materials within the vehicle, even running along the metal frame where leftover fuel droplets coaxed the flames.
Jillian saw complete confusion on the face of Driscoll, while Buster retreated several steps from the explosion, eyeballing the strange sight without making a sound. Gracine continued to glance behind them at the hill and the man standing above them, still wearing a military uniform so no one mistook his name, or underestimated his skills.
“How is that motherfucker still alive?” Gracine muttered.
“That’s what I was wondering,” Jillian replied, under the impression Sutton at least took care of that problem when he sent the group ahead once before.
“I’ve got your box truck,” Keppler said, not bragging, but making certain Sutton knew he’d prevailed in the end.
Sutton scowled, openly unhappy about losing his truck, and seeing Keppler once again, but he refrained from saying anything, as though he didn’t want the group to hear more open discussion between him and the disgraced lieutenant.
“What’s wrong?” Kepp
ler asked as though the silence offended him. “No thanks for saving your lives?”
“We had this,” Sutton replied.
“Yeah. You sure looked like you had a handle on things until I came and fucked up your victory celebration.”
“Maybe you should come down here and celebrate with us,” Sutton provided an insincere offer.
“I’ll pass. From the looks of this truck, I’ll be days and days just organizing all the cool shit in the back of it.”
Jillian noticed Sutton didn’t take aim at Keppler, though he probably could’ve taken a shot before the man pulled a weapon on him, Buster, or anyone else below. Keppler possessed the high ground, and he stood in a spot where he could eyeball all of them at once and step back if anyone aimed a firearm his way.
“It’s good seeing the rest of you again,” Keppler said with a nod. “Sorry the military didn’t let y’all stay, but I’ve learned they’re kinda assholes.”
“They sure are,” Gracine commented, lifting her head to look at the uniform he still donned to make sure Keppler received her meaning.
He gave a grin in response.
“I’m going to get moving,” Keppler said, thumbing almost casually towards the truck behind him. “Good luck fighting the crazy carnival folk.”
Sutton said nothing, simply hanging his head in defeat momentarily as Jillian walked over to him, staring at the carnage around them once more. The large truck continued to burn, though the fire dwindled as it ran out of materials to consume. She didn’t spot any bodies around the wreckage, assuming everyone ran, or limped, their way away from the blast. From the sound of their screams, some of them weren’t faring too well after being burned or impaled with shrapnel.
“You left us,” Jillian said as she approached Sutton, addressing him directly. “When we finally saw you again, you said you’d taken care of everything.”
“I-”
Jillian cut loose with a hard slap across his right cheek before he could verbally manufacture an excuse. The sound of her hand against his skin sounded deafening compared to the nearby fire, and everyone froze, staring with wide eyes.
“You got my father killed, you let that maniac back into our lives, and you lied to us.”
“I left him for dead,” Sutton said firmly, trying to get a word in before Jillian laid into him further.
“You’ve become a liability, leading us into dangerous situations against dangerous people because of your ego and your precious box truck,” Jillian said.
A car had managed to approach during the past few minutes, and only now did everyone look over to see Luke and Samantha emerge from the vehicle. Stunned expressions crossed their faces as they stared at the wreckage, obviously unsure of what transpired with any trace of Keppler and the box truck now gone.
“You need to go,” Jillian said, blurting the words before she allowed herself to ponder her decision further, and possibly change her mind.
Sutton looked around, but no one said a word in his defense, including Gracine, who owed her life to Sutton according to his side of the story. A few awkward seconds passed before Sutton looked down to Buster, who’d settled down after the initial scare the explosion provided. He wagged his tail, looking up to his master with wide, dark eyes, wondering what came next in his canine life.
“Come on,” Sutton said, calling Buster over to him with a defeated tone.
Jillian almost held back her next statement, but her blood boiled with infuriation over what Sutton had put her through.
“You should probably leave Buster with us,” she said. “He’d be better off, because you’ll probably do something reckless to get him killed.”
Sutton flushed red, turned to her, and started to say something, hesitated a few thoughtful seconds, and held back his original statement.
“Buster comes with me,” he said, walking in the direction of one of the nearby driveways, looking to secure a ride out of town. “We have a little business to take care of,” Sutton added without turning around.
No one spoke a word until Sutton walked to the third house down the road with Buster by his side. Odors of burned seats, metal from the frame and engine block, and the pungent rubber of the tires wafted over to the group, reminding them of how a rocket could have easily incinerated them instead.
“What the hell did I miss?” Luke asked, openly stupefied about what he’d just witnessed.
“That asshole soldier came back and blew up this here vehicle,” Gracine said, nodding at the smoldering circus truck.
“I thought Sutton took care of that guy.”
“So did we,” Jillian said coldly before turning her attention to Driscoll. “You’re welcome to stay with us, if you want, or you can tag along with him.”
Driscoll contemplated his future momentarily, but ultimately didn’t take a step to leave his current group.
Gracine gave Jillian a knowing look before addressing her.
“We aren’t leaving, are we?”
“No,” Jillian answered. “We have to finish this.”
“They’re wounded,” Driscoll noted. “There might not be a better chance.”
“All this because one of them touched a kid?” Gracine asked without judgment in her eyes.
“All this because he laid his grubby hands on a family friend,” Jillian said.
Luke cleared his throat.
“If it helps, they’re down one carnie. The goofy guy who wore the skin and animal fur is no longer with us.”
He looked uneasily at Samantha, indicating they had been through hell with the man up close and personal.
“That was him,” Jillian said, openly relieved. “He was most of the threat, but if you want to kill a snake, you cut off the head.”
“What are you proposing?” Luke asked as the sound of a car starting nearby caught their attention.
Everyone watched as Sutton backed the car out of the driveway, heading down the road and out of their lives.
In the distance, Jillian spotted a few undead staggering down the street, likely attracted by the noise of gunfire, vehicles, and the explosion. They remained a safe distance away, but more than likely, reinforcements of their kind weren’t far behind.
“I’m not a coldblooded killer,” Jillian replied. “I think I know a way to take care of our problem and keep our hands reasonably clean in the process. It’ll also mean we can’t stay here once we’re finished, but at this point I don’t give a shit.”
Twenty-Three
During much of the return trip to Virginia, Metzger didn’t dwell heavily on his brother’s impending death because he kept envisioning ways to inform his sister-in-law of the tragic events in Buffalo.
None of the Marines went through the paperwork they confiscated during the mission, but they did talk on headsets after making certain Metzger’s was muted, or on a different channel. His headset prevented the overwhelming volume of the plane’s engines from reaching his ears for the most part, but he couldn’t tell what the men were saying.
Metzger hadn’t felt so alone in a long time, after losing his brother and being separated from Molly. When the plane finally landed, he was escorted by one of the Marines to a docked ship where a doctor had him strip down before examining him from head to toe for injuries. Metzger didn’t feel like talking, much less asking questions, so he went along with whatever they said, his body and mind numbed from the gut-wrenching experience at the airport.
“You’re lucky to have come through all of that unscathed,” the doctor said as he drew samples of Metzger’s blood.
During the checkup, he didn’t think much about having his blood drawn once again, but that evening and the following morning he contemplated why no one else returning from Buffalo received immediate medical checkups.
Part of him wanted to talk to Isabella and Nathan to tell them in his own words how his brother sacrific
ed his life to save others, but Metzger figured the military had already made the notification to his sister-in-law. He didn’t see much reason to stay at the base, but Metzger wouldn’t leave the installation without saying farewell to the remainder of his family.
After a virtually sleepless overnight, Metzger got up from his bunk, got dressed, and grabbed a few belongings before heading outside. Civilians weren’t allowed to possess weapons on the base, and his privileges were revoked when the plane landed as the Marines took his sword and firearms elsewhere for safe keeping. Feeling groggy, he stepped outside, seeing two soldiers immediately perk up when they spotted him. Not until he began walking around the base did he take notice that they followed him from a safe distance, never engaging him or speaking to him at any time.
He decided to forego causing any trouble, or asking questions, though he inquired where he might find Commander Mark Dascher from an enlisted sailor. The man didn’t know, but he directed Metzger to an officer who respectfully walked with him to the commander on the USS Ross. Dascher shook Metzger’s hand with a pained look on his face when the two finally met inside the commander’s private quarters.
When the enlisted man opened the door, Metzger found the commander tidying up a few things inside his living space.
“I’m so sorry to hear about Bryce,” Dascher said when he turned to face his guest, shaking his hand.
“Thank you,” Metzger said, standing momentarily at the doorway.
“Please, have a seat,” Dascher said, offering Metzger the chair across from his personal desk within the room. “I heard he drew the herd away from the rest of you.”
“He did. We were getting overrun by the dead.”
Dascher looked him in the eye before speaking again.
“Your brother was the best XO I ever had, and he made my job a hell of a lot easier,” he confessed. “I can’t tell my men that, because we officers aren’t supposed to show cracks in the façade, if you get my drift.”
“I do, sir.”
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 30
