Prepper's Sacrifice

by John Lundin

  The valuable items they’d received from bartering were stored in a safe in her closet. That closet was in her bedroom and she was also in her bedroom. Of course, they didn’t know this, which meant that when they were done tearing apart the other sections of her home to no avail, they’d come storming in. She had to leave. She had to get out of that house before she was tortured for a combination she wasn’t willing to give up, especially not to the people who had murdered her husband.

  Again, her hand latched onto the doorknob, and she pulled, harder than before. Once on her feet, pressed both palms against the door, stabilizing herself as best as she could. She wasn’t hurt, but she was weak. The entire situation had taken toll on her body, on her strength, in a way that she never thought possibly. Quietly, Anne turned the key in the bedroom door and then proceeded to open it just a few inches, enough to allow her to see that the hallway was clear. She tiptoed outside of her bedroom, placing her hands against the wall for support. Past the stairs and on the opposite side of the corridor, she could hear pulling and struggling and was certain that the men were trying to move something heavy, perhaps her husband, This thought prompted more than a few tears to come streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Quietly… quietly…’ she said to herself. She wanted to scream, to shout, to break down and cry, but if she was going to get out of her home without the intruders noticing, then her only option was to keep it all in. Finally, her hand landed on the door to the quarantine room. One push and it was opened. Again, trying to move as quietly as possible, she mustered up all her strength the pull the ladder from the corner where it was kept and to the window. She swung the window open and crash, it connected with the ladder, knocking it down.

  ‘Anne?’ came a voice from downstairs.

  Now it was time for her to really hurry. She could feel the adrenaline pumping as he arms gathered enough strength to hoist the ladder in the air and throw it down the window. She shook at its ends, ensuring that it was stable enough to carry her weight. Now there were footsteps in the hallway. She needed to move faster. One foot out the window, stabilized. Another foot out the window, stabilized. The footsteps got even closer and then came her name again.

  ‘Anne, where on earth are you going?’

  She froze then looked up to see a tall figure hovered over the ladder.

  ‘Stewy!’ Anne exclaimed.

  ‘You’re not… But I…’

  ‘Anne, where are you going?’ Stewart repeated.

  Anne started climb her way up the ladder and within a few seconds, had one foot in the room. Stewart reached his hand out; she took it and he pulled her back inside.

  ‘I heard a shot. Someone fired a shot. I wasn’t just imagining this, was I?’

  ‘Anne. I’m okay. That’s all that matters. Get back in the bedroom and lock the door.’

  Ecstatic to see her husband, she wrapped her arms around him before making her way back to their bedroom. Of course, there were a million and one things running through her mind. Had Stewart killed one of the guys? What was the purpose of the shot she heard? The thought that Stewart had killed someone else made her stomach turn. Though she did understand that in the event that he felt threatened, it may have been the best decision to make, she couldn’t help but think that somehow, that sweet man she called her husband would be tainted. She hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger on the first guy who fell to his feet. His body lying in the entrance of her home was an image that she would never be able to forget. What if the same thing happened to Stewy? She couldn’t help but think about the great deal of counselling they’d need to get through everything, provided Fort Lauderdale and the rest of the world ever managed to return to normalcy.

  ***

  Downstairs, Stewart contemplated his next move.

  ‘Just shut up and let me think,’ he barked at one of the intruders.

  ‘Joseph, just hang in there man. It’s not that bad. You’ll be alright.’

  ‘None of you will be alright if you don’t just shut the hell up. Joseph’s your name, right?’ Stewart turned to the guy crouched over in a pool of blood.

  ‘Yeah. I’m Joseph,’ the guy replied.

  ‘Okay Joseph. So I know that your leg is probably hurting like hell.’

  ‘Of course it hurts—you fucking shot me!’

  ‘Yes, Joseph. I did shoot you. But that’s because you refused to sit the fuck down when I asked you to. That’s because you broke into my house, threatened my wife. That’s because you’re the bad guy here. Now, I’m fully capable of bandaging your wound and preventing you from bleeding out and ruining my floor even more than you’ve ruined it already. But what needs to happen is that the both of you sit tight and allow me to think. Allow me to decide what the hell to do with your friend over there.’ Stewart pointed at the dead guy who now acted as the barrier to his home. ‘And what’s your name?’ Stewart turned to the other intruder. ‘Derrick, I’m Derrick.’

  ‘Derrick, I’m going to remove those handcuffs from your wrists and you’re going to help me to lift your friend and carry him outside.’

  Stewart carefully observed the look on Derrick’s face. He was an edgy looking man with a beard that did a very good job of muffling his speech. Stewart wondered if behind the beard and the baseball bat wielding, Derrick was a man who could be respected. Perhaps he had a wife, and maybe even a child. Maybe he had turned to violence as a means of providing for his family. Or even worse, maybe he’d lost his family to this tragic illness and was now fending for himself; maybe he had nothing to lose and nothing to give. Stewart had never thought about the repercussions of turning away those who couldn’t afford his supplies. Initially, he didn’t have the courage to look all those people in the eyes and tell them that what they were willing to trade was of no use to him.

  However, this task was handed over to Tim, who wasn’t afraid to do the letting down. ‘We’re not doing charity work here, we’re running a business,’ he had heard Tim say time and time again. His eyes wandered from Derrick to Joseph and from Joseph to Derrick, trying to figure out if he’d seen their faces before; trying to determine whether or not they were one of the guys who had received Tim’s ‘dog eat dog world’ speech. Joseph was considerably more slender than Derrick. His eyes were sad and droopy; his face young but weary. The more he looked, the more he was certain that he’d never seen their faces before.

  ‘Are you planning on removing the handcuffs now or in a million years? Derrick interrupted his thoughts.

  Stewart shot him a look that was enough to make him discontinue his speech.

  ‘And you’. He pointed to Joseph, his fingers shaking profusely. ‘Don’t you even think about trying to wiggle your way out of here.’

  Joseph’s eyes met Stewarts, ‘even if I did, how far do you think I’d get with a freaking hole in my leg.’

  Stewart reached for the handcuff keys which he had placed in a pocket on his hazmat suit. With the gun in one hand and the keys in the other, it took him longer than it should have to get the handcuffs open.

  ‘Ah,’ Derrick sighed once one cuff was removed. ‘Ah,’ he said again, when Stewart freed his other hand.

  ‘If you try to run, you’ll have a bigger problem that you ever thought possible,’ Stewart warned. ‘Now, you take him by the arms and I’ll take the feet region. Stewart decided that this was the best way to go as lifting the upper body of the dead guy-whose name he refused to retrieve from Derrick or Joseph- would mean that he’d have to see his face. This was something that Stewart didn’t want to do. He’d never killed a man before and now that he had, he thought it was best that he strayed away from putting a face to his victim. That way, if his dreams were to be haunted, it would be done by a faceless man rather than one who showed the emotions of a man Stewart knew he would eventually start to feel connected to.

  Stewart bent his knees, extended his arms and took hold of the legs on the dead guy. ‘One… Two… Three, and lift,’ he said, packing all his power into lifting. The bo
dy was a lot heavier than Stewart had imagined. ‘Through that door and a bit to the right, I’ll lead the way.’

  He could see the look of confusion whisk across Derricks face. ‘I’ve got some holes dug outside.’

  ‘I noticed those. Just didn’t think that you’d dug ‘em to keep bodies in. God if I’d known…’

  ‘You wouldn’t have come here.’ Stewart finished his sentence. ‘Well, they’re not for bodies, they’re for trash...but seeing as I’m not about to tuck him into my freezer, this is the best route to go.’

  Outside, the sky was filled with stars. Stewart remembered when his grandmother had passed away. He was just nine years old. When he’d asked his mother where she was, she told him that when people tie, their spirits become little balls of fire that reside in the sky. He wondered if perhaps the guy he was struggling to lift was now twinkling down on them. Of course, he knew how stars were formed and he knew they had nothing to do with a part of a human that most probably didn’t exist transcending into the sky.

  ‘Right here’s good.’ Stewart said once they’d come to the spot with an empty hole slightly to the right. ‘Be careful now, you wouldn’t want to fall in. Stewart counted, ‘One… Two… Three… and drop.’ His closed his eyes as he let go of the body, not wanting to face his actions with eyes wide open. A part of him felt as though if he didn’t look, then he’d be able to erase this simple detail from his memory. In the darkness, there wasn’t much to be seen. However, by the time morning rolled over, the last thing Stewart needed was to have a boat load of people show up to see a dead guy sprawled out in his front yard.

  ‘I’m gonna get the shovel and you’re gonna cover him up.’ Stewart said to Derrick.

  ‘Man…’

  ‘Don’t man me. This isn’t my fault. You think I wanted to have to do this? Y’all need to start thinking before you act.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Derrick answered in an excessively harsh tone.

  Stewart made his way behind Derrick, pointing the gun at him and instructing him to walk to the left of the yard and thus, to the shed where Stewart had stashed the shovel. ‘Go over there, and wait. If you make a run for it...’

  ‘I’m not gonna run, man. You’ve got my brother inside your house with a bullet wound in his leg and my other brother in your front yard. We were just trying to…’

  ‘Stop talking. Stop talking now,’ Stewart demanded.

  Stewart tried to unhear what Derrick had said. He’d much prefer to see them as a group of criminals who just went around robbing every home they came across rather than actually people with actual families.

  Stewart reached into his pocket and pulled out another set of keys. ‘Should have brought the darn flashlight,’ he mumbled to himself before feeling around, trying to figure out which key belonged to the shed.

  Once his fingers had landed on the right key, he opened the shed, retrieved the shovel which was standing right at the front and handed it to Derrick. ‘Back to the body,’ he said.

  This time, Stewart stood a considerable distance away from Derrick. With a shovel in hand, he wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t become Derrick’s victim. One knock in the head and he knew he would be down and out. ‘Alright, get to work and make sure he’s covered up good,’ Stewart commanded.

  Derrick did as he was told. He heard sniffling in between the shoveling and came to the conclusion that maybe the reality of it all had struck Derrick. He understood that this would be a less than ideal situation and of course, a traumatizing one for any human being. Standing there and watching a man be buried in his front yard took its toll on him so he could imagine the way that Derrick felt having to bury his own brother. Just as he was about to give in, grab the shovel out of Derrick's hand and tell them to run and never look back, he remembered that he had to put his safety first. Derrick and Joseph weren’t his friends but they also weren’t his worst nightmare; in the event that he did let them go, they could very well become just that. People are vengeful and he wouldn’t want to have to deal with the wrath he’d face if Derrick and Joseph were to come back in full force, seeking revenge for the death of their brother.

  It took Stewart and Derrick a half an hour to make their way back inside.

  ‘Oh my god, he’s dead, isn’t he? Both my brothers are dead. We just wanted to get some medicine for our mom and now they’re both dead.’ Derrick bawled, seeing his brother curled up in a ball on the floor.

  Stewart’s heart sunk. He couldn’t imagine that a gunshot wound to the leg could have caused that much damage. He walked over to Joseph—trying to tune out Derricks cries—and pushed him with his feet.

  ‘Huh,’ Joseph mumbled.

  Stewart let out a sigh of relief. He knew that once the night came to an end, he’d have more than a difficult time dealing with the death of one person being on his hands, but two? That would be more than too much.

  ‘Let’s get this wound dressed, shall we,’ Stewart said.

  Joseph nodded.

  ‘I’m gonna have to put these handcuffs back on you,’ Stewart turned to Derrick. Seeing as his intentions now, were to prevent Derrick from running away, he secured the handcuffs around his ankles.

  In the pantry, Stewart retrieved all the supplies that he would need to remove the bullet and dress the wound. Quite a few screams later, he’d plopped out the bullet, dressed and bandaged Joseph’s leg.

  Stewarts next move took him to the pantry where he tied the guys up, secured their mouths with duct tape, to prevent them from attracting attention in the morning when more people would undoubtedly return in search of supplies.

  Now it was time to face his wife.

  ***

  Upstairs, Anne sat with her back pressed against the bedroom door. She’d contemplated trying to get some rest but decided that in such a situation, sleep was the last thing she’d be able to accomplish. It had been over an hour since Stewart went downstairs after having prevented her from making a run for it. The minutes, and even the seconds past by really slowly and that one hour felt more like three. She couldn’t imagine what would be taking him so long. Even more than that, she couldn’t figure out what it was that he was doing with the guys. At some point, she’s snuck her way into the hallways and tried to listen to the conversation that was going on but she heard nothing, not even a squeak. Too afraid to look, she’d headed back to the bedroom within under a minute.

  The more she waited, the more impatient she grew. This was a serious situation and she thought that Stewart would at least keep her updated, though she’s not sure that would have made things better. But, at the very least, she expected him to ask her opinion.

  Her thoughts came to a pause when she heard footsteps quickening toward the bedroom door. She peeked underneath the door to see if she could make out the shoes. Stewart should be easy to recognize not only because Anne had been the one to handpick all of his shoes, but also because he was wearing the hazmat suit.

  ‘Anne,’ the person said after coming to a stop by the door.

  ‘Yeah?’ she answered with her back still pressed against the door.

  The handle turned but the door stayed put.

  ‘Oh, It’s locked, Stewy,’ she said.

  Now on her feet, Anne unlocked the door, slowly pulling it open. Behind Stewart, she could see a trail of dirty footprints. If it had been any other day, she would have scolded him for bringing in so much dreck into her home. However, there were more important matters at hand.

  ‘How you feeling?’ Stewart asked.

  ‘I’m not quite sure how to feel,’ she replied, taking his hand into hers.

  ‘I know, honey. I know. This is all just so confusing. So sad. So… I don’t even know the word for it.’

  ‘What happened to the other guy?’ The words left her mouth before she had time to think. However, that last gunshot she heard bothered her.

  ‘I shot him.’

  Anne’s knees weakened and she grabbed on to her husband for support. ‘Stewy, no.’

&nbs
p; ‘No, sorry, no. I didn’t kill him. He was trying to charge at me and I shot him in the leg. I had to. I didn’t have another option.’

  ‘And the other guy?’

  ‘He’s fine. I put them both in the shed. Couldn’t figure out what else to do with them and that seemed like the safest option. Wouldn’t want them coming back fully equipped and trying to heard us.’

  ‘And the body,’ Anne’s voice was almost inaudible.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘What did you do with the body?’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s outside, Anne.’

  ‘Oh my god. All these people are gonna show up and see a body in front of our house.’

  ‘No, I buried it.’

  ‘You what?’ Her knees felt as though they were going to give out again.

  ‘I buried it Anne. It was either that or keep him in the house. We’ve got to figure out what to do. I just couldn’t think of anything else.’

  ‘Maybe we should call the police,’ Anne suggested, though she knew the option was one that would prove to be ineffective.

  ‘The cops that aren’t sick are at home trying to live. No one’s gonna come out here, not until all this is over.’

  ‘So you’re saying we’ve got to keep him buried in our yard until everything’s over. No, that can’t be.’ And then something else floated into her mind, ‘Will you let the others go eventually.’

  ‘Like I said Anne, I don’t know if it’s a risk we can take.’

  ‘If you let them off with a warning, then maybe that should be good enough. Let them know that the next time, things won’t go over that easily.’

  ‘Nothing went over easy, honey.’

  ‘I know that. I just mean, show them how tough you are. Show them that you’re not playing. I doubt they’ll return.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that but I…’

  Stewart’s long pause told Anne that there was something he was holding back. She waited for a few more seconds before asking, ‘but you what?’