by Logan Keys
He went on, “They expected loyalty unquestioningly, and for what? For nine hundred square feet with a shared wall, and one parking space. Living check to check. Who felt that?” People shouted. “And if you do what’s right. If you kill yourself. Maybe… just maybe…you retire a few years before they put you in a pine box. But I had questions. I wondered and thought about all that was told to me, all of their rules…laws. Who says what’s right? You?” He pointed to a man. Then another. “You?”
They each shook their heads.
“Who writes history?”
“Historians,” one man yelled and Dusty laughed.
“Yes. That is true. And the victors. That’s us.” He pounded his chest. “We will rewrite history as we see fit. There are no rules, my friends. There are no commandments. No more nine to five jobs. Rat races.” He shook his head with disgust. “Poor man and rich will both decide their own future by means of might!”
The crowd shouted their agreement, and Brittany stared at them in shock. How had they become so low, so quickly? How had they bought into this ridiculousness and lawlessness with such ease? Staring into each face, she saw a desperation, a hunger, an emptiness about them all. They needed to be led, and Dusty was doing the leading. They didn’t want to make decisions for themselves; they’d just followed for so long.
Brittany glared at Dusty’s back. Chuck was a leader, too. He’d led them this far with goodness, with kindness, with giving his shirt from his back type leadership.
No, Dusty was wrong. Rules could help build a civilized society. There was no more room for monsters in the new world. Anger grew deep inside of her, and it was a struggle not to push him from the stage.
A memory came hard and fast. It was another man, a man like Dusty, who was forcing her to walk through Chicago. Another city. Another person who terrorized while the people were weak and coping with disaster. And she had…she had what? She couldn’t remember. But somehow, she’d gotten rid of him.
She knew that much.
When Dusty was finished with his speech, he led her through the street again as a prize. He was prideful. And that always came before a fall, didn’t it? It wasn’t just sexual, though, she knew that was part of it. It was about him, showing he’d won. She was proof that…as he put it…might would win.
But was that true? Another man had believed that…his face was a shadow, but she was certain that he’d been just as sure of himself, too. All the way up until he was screaming and scared for his life. She’d made him afraid… Somehow.
That thought made her feel better. She lifted her chin and walked with purpose. She would not cower at the lewd grins. She wouldn’t be afraid of the open stares.
Dusty grinned at her nevertheless. He was dauntless in the face of her bravery. He underestimated her and every other person he thought was “weak”.
“You don’t approve of my speech?” he asked, like a cat toying with a mouse before they flung it around to death.
“Which part?” she asked, feigning disinterest.
Dusty snorted. “The part where I said it’s new world. The part about us being the writers of history.”
Ever the clever zealot, Brittany had seen so many of them cropping up all over the place and she wasn’t impressed. People who promised a lot, often did little. “You talk a lot for someone planning to write. It seems to me you’ll make someone else do the writing. Maybe…force them to work. Give them a wage. Probably scheduled hours nine to five.”
Dusty’s eyes sparkled, but his mouth turned down.
“Sounds to me like writing history is going to be more like a job. But that’s none of my business.”
He pushed his face close to hers. “You think that’s funny, huh? Pointing out the irony of a place without rules, but with a ruler? Jokes are useless. Sarcasm? Useless when a person can gut you like a pig for your disrespect.”
She blanched, and he smiled again.
“As it should be. Back when we could duel…now that was the time. The ways when you put your money where your mouth was. You talk a good game, but would you back it up?”
Brittany wasn’t sure that she could.
A light glowed behind his expression as he seemed to come up with an idea. “Why not find out?”
Dusty turned to her before a building and said, “After you, my sweet.” The door opened, and Brittany walked inside, followed by Dusty. She expected this to be the part where he took her to a bedroom, where he…she expected the worst. Instead, Brittany gasped as she realized who was inside. Chuck and his group were tied up in the room.
Chuck closed his eyes as she walked in, upset to see her there, knowing it meant Paige was there, too.
“These are the few I’ve chosen to be an example,” Dusty said. “So, I am going to let you do the honors. You get to pick who goes first.”
Brittany felt the world spin. “What…what do you mean?”
“For execution.” He smiled as if he’d said something cheery like it was a prize.
“Never.” Brittany backed away. “I won’t choose. No matter what you do to me.”
Dusty rubbed his chin. “No matter what, huh? You sure about that?”
Brittany nodded slowly but felt like she’d just dropped a gauntlet to a mad man. He wanted the challenge. Chuck tried to send her strength when their gazes met. He sported a black eye, and his cowboy hat was missing. He looked vulnerable and tired, Brittany was glad Paige couldn’t see it.
“Harold,” Dusty called. “Bring one of them over here.”
A burly biker grabbed one of the girls whose name Brittany could not recall, and towed her over to where Brittany stood.
“Cut off her ear,” Dusty said.
“No!” Brittany cried the same time the girl screamed in horror.
“What?” Dusty asked. “Did you decide who to choose finally?”
“I won’t do it,” Brittany said but then pleaded, “Please don’t make me.”
Dusty walked over and tugged her close to him so she wouldn’t miss a word. “These people are either going to die slow or fast. But they will be dead either way. You choose the order, or I start taking them apart, piece by piece.”
Brittany bit her lip so hard it bled. She wasn’t going to choose, but she didn’t want to watch anyone get hurt. She was so torn that she started to shake.
“Tick tock,” Dusty said. “I’ll give you to the count of ten, then she loses an ear. Next an eye. A nose…well, you get the picture.”
Brittany started to sob. She hated herself for appearing weak, but she was terrified that the torture would be her fault. The woman was crying loudly, begging her to do something.
“One,” Dusty started. “Two, five….”
Brittany screamed, “Stop it! Please, just stop! I can’t choose, all right? I’m not like you!”
“Like me? What am I like?” Dusty was smiling.
“I’ll go.”
Brittany squeezed her eyes shut with a shuddering breath. She knew who had spoken. Chuck. He was offering to go so she wouldn’t have to pick somebody. That was just like him, too. To be what she wasn’t.
“I will,” Chuck said. “I’ll go. Leave them alone.”
“You,” Dusty said, pointing. “Will wait your turn hero.”
Dusty seemed angry that Chuck had offered. Like it ruined his fun. Stole his thunder. The two stared one another down, and Brittany realized they’d probably gone rounds already when they’d first met.
Chuck simply glared at the man hard until Dusty folded like a house of cards. He wasn’t brave. Deep down inside, he was a man in a suit who was taking out on them because he’d hated his own life. “You want to try to prove something, big man?” he asked, but the bravado was missing. “Well, all right. Let’s see if you don’t piss yourself before this is through. Harold, bring him.”
Dusty marched them back outside, Chuck too. He pulled them up onto the stage and started his speeches again, getting everyone riled up for the big execution. Brittany glanced at Chuck and
mouthed, “I’m sorry,” but he only shook his head.
“Wait. I forgot,” Dusty said. “Bring his sister out here. I wouldn’t want her to miss this.”
Harold rushed to the trailer and it was a struggle, Brittany could tell, because it rocked back and forth a few times while they were trying to bring Paige. Brittany could hear Paige cussing every word in the book as she came flying out of the trailer ahead of Harold, spitting like a cat. Then she turned and saw Chuck for the first time.
Her eyes went round, and she turned white as a sheet. She fell to her knees, face contorted in pain when she noticed her brother was up on the makeshift stage, gun pointed at his forehead.
“No,” she said softly, as if she knew what was happening before they’d even told her. “No,” Paige said more firmly, and she climbed to her feet, hands still behind her back, and lunged towards Chuck. She ran full speed until her leash to her hands caught and she fell backwards onto he ground with a hard thud.
Then, she did it all over again.
Harold started kicking her as she fought him. She howled like a crazed animal and shouted promises of death to everyone nearby. “I’ll kill every last one of you! If it’s the last thing that I do!”
“That may be,” Dusty said, chuckling at the commotion, “But not before I send your brother on ahead of us all.” He turned to face Chuck. “Say ‘hi’ to the Grim Reaper for me, will ya?”
Harold beat Paige hard enough to get her to be quiet. Dusty paused when it was silent, then started into his speech again, noticing the crowd had fallen out of their rabid excitement. Some looked afraid, even. Others were turning away.
Dusty shouted to their backs, “We all have to pay a price. This world is dog-eat-dog now. It’s strong versus weak. It’s survival of the fittest.”
He cocked the gun, and Brittany clenched her eyes shut as Paige wept, blood trickling out of her mouth.
Just as Dusty was about to pull the trigger, his radio went off. “Dust, we got trouble. Get over here!” the voice was panicked and then there was gunfire.
Dusty paused a moment in thought. Then he put his gun down. “To be continued,” he said, and Brittany sagged.
“Take these guys back to the trailer. I’ll be right back!” Dusty rushed with a few guys to a Jeep and they all piled in.
Harold took Brittany and Chuck and Paige back to the trailer and tied each of them to the piping and left them there alone.
Paige struggled with her ties, they all did, but she was like a maniac, knowing Chuck’s seconds were ticking by. “I have to get out of these!
“Sis,” Chuck said. “You’re bleeding.”
“I don’t care! I don’t care. I just need to be free. We have to get out of here. We have to get you out of here before he comes back!”
Paige was full on panic mode. Brittany understood it and she was pulling on her hands too, even though blood gushed from the re-opened wounds.
Chapter 9
Mexico
German was sleeping and sleeping well. A little bit of color had come back up into his cheeks. Luckman knew if German could see him now, nurse-maid by his bedside, he’d have some words to say. Right now, Luckman would do anything to see it. But the big Russian was sleeping same as he’d been since the first cave Luckman had left him in.
It wasn’t fair that Luckman had to face this alone. He’d just gotten his friend back and now he’d lost him again. Not in a permanent way, but enough that he felt very lonely through all of the trauma. He wished he could ask German what he should do. If it was a good idea to stay or move on…not that he’d be moving on until German was well enough and safe enough.
He’d thought about staying until German could continue the journey with him to New York, but it would be too long. He’d have to go it alone. He’d have to face the colds again, no matter how dangerous, and try to fix it…if he could. But he wanted German awake, and well enough to say goodbye.
Luckman knew it would take a miracle to stop the Killing Cold, but wasn’t he a walking miracle already? He’d been drowned and almost frozen to death, and he’d been in two plane crashes.
“What?”
Luckman about jumped out of his skin. He was so deep in thought he’d not seen German’s eyes flutter open and busily, frantically search the room.
“Here,” Luckman said, standing up fast. “Here. I’m here.”
“Where am I?” German then began speaking swiftly in Russian. He was staring at Luckman as if he expected him to understand.
“I have no idea what you just said, but, we’re in a home. Safe. You were…sick. You needed surgery.”
German’s eyes went wild as he noticed the IV, and he made like he was about to get up.
“Josephine!” Luckman called. “I need some help in here!”
German was thrashing around and trying to get out of bed.
“Stop him!” The doctor snapped as she rushed into the room. “Stop him. He could reopen the wound and ruin everything we’ve done! Grab his arm!”
Luckman did and so did Josephine, but German tossed her off like a rag doll.
Cal lunged through the doorway, dropping his bandages. He took the arm opposite Luckman. Josephine was back up with a needle in hand. “Hold him still!”
She injected his IV, and German went loose at the joints. Finally he let Luckman lay him back on his pillow. The Russian’s eyes were soft then, and he took a deep breath.
His eyes closed slowly, and Luckman sighed in frustration. He’d been expecting to talk to his friend. “Why was he like that? He didn’t even recognized me.”
“It’s the morphine,” Josephine replied. “It’s making him a bit out of it. Don’t worry. I’ll lessen the dose tonight and he should be good as new by morning. Well, not good as new, but well enough to stay away for longer periods.”
“Luckman,” Josephine said softly. “He’s been through a lot. He needs time.”
The one thing they were running out of. Luckman nodded but a frown pulled at his mouth. What if German forgot him? What if the trauma and his injury had done something to his memory?
Joseph came rushing in. “Is everything all right? I heard a fight.”
“Just German feeling a bit better.” Luckman rubbed his shoulder where German had fought to be free. “He must be healing.”
Cal was gathering up his bandages. “He’s strong as an ox.”
“Thanks to you guys.” Luckman didn’t want to seem ungrateful. In truth he owed them everything.
Joseph looked ready to say something but was waiting for the right moment.
“What is it?” Luckman asked
“We’ve got trouble.”
“I heard. But it’s in town, right?”
Joseph nodded but seemed hesitant. “Yes. For now. But word is they’ll be riding this way.”
“Riding?” Josephine asked.
“Yeah. They are on horseback. Gas is almost out. Barely anyone has any.”
“But they’ve got horses,” Cal finished. “That’s what this place is built for anyway. Cows. Horses. Livestock.” He shrugged, but Luckman saw the bitterness there.
He’d pegged Cal as city dweller, so he probably had returned here for family when things fell apart. And now, he was stuck.
Luckman told Joseph, “I saw you had riding trails right up to the houses. I’ve never been in anywhere where that could be. In New York, it’s a concrete jungle.”
“What do they want?” Josephine asked, managing to stay on point while the conversation drifted.
Jean came into the room and stood by Luckman. “What does anyone want during the chaos?” she murmured. “To use it to their advantage.”
Luckman tried to picture the bandits on horseback. It wouldn’t click. “So it’s like the wild west out here for real now. This freeze has set us back nearly a hundred years.”
Jean nodded. “It’s scary to think that everyone will live by the sword again. Guns included.”
“Die by the sword, more like,” Joseph said wit
h disgust.
“Can we fight them?” Luckman asked, and Joseph glanced at him in surprise. Luckman knew that as the scientist he was least likely to seem ready for a fight, but he was. German was here, and he was healing. Jean was here, and she was…something more than a friend maybe. If time permitted.
And he’d be dammed if he’d watch people hurt the rest of them. Terry, Joseph, Josephine, and even Cal. He was in all their debt.
He’d fight. It was going to have to happen to protect the people he cared about.
Joseph thought for a long moment and then pulled his cowboy hat low. “Okay,” he said. “We have extra rifles in the stable. Let’s get everything in the house. Everyone should arm themselves. We will give them hell for sure.”
**
The few police officers that remained along with Joseph helped everyone get their weapons in order. Showed them how to load them, and how to aim. Jean had a big rifle and said she’d been to the range before, which surprised Luckman, but also increased his respect for her. She seemed to want to take care of herself, and he admired that.
Terry, too, was still determined to get to her family, so she took her pistol and kept it close.
Cal and Luckman were the ones who needed the most instruction. Josephine grew up with her father and could shoot and hunt with the best of them, though, Luckman could tell she didn’t really like having to use her hands that were now trained to heal to fight. But she also looked at German before they manned their stations, her hands feeling along his wounds, checking his pulse and breathing, and that seemed to give her the energy for the coming brawl.
They were coming to harm everyone, including the patient she so dearly fought to save. Luckman knew that was not okay with her because he barely was allowed to sit overlong with German—doctor’s orders.
Joseph told them it would be best for some to remain inside, but for the bulk of the people to scatter outside on the property at different stations, so that the enemy didn’t know where they were so easily. It was going on the offensive. It was smart.
