Charges

by Stephen Knight

  Don’t get involved.

  The man looked up, and for an instant, Vincenzo was afraid he’d been spotted, but then he realized the guy had spotted the trail. If they took that path, they would pass within feet of where Vincenzo stood. Vincenzo took a step backward, intending to fade back into the trees, but a branch snapped under his foot.

  The man skidded to a halt. He looked at the trees with something akin to panic, and when his gaze locked onto Vincenzo, his mouth fell open. “Please…”

  “Why are we stopping, Daddy?” the girl asked.

  Her brother said something, but Tony couldn’t make out the words. Oddly, the kid continued to be mesmerized by the hanger he was flipping in his hands.

  A gunshot rang out, and the man stumbled. A spray of blood exploding from his chest. The girl gave a little squeak as her father toppled face-first into the grass. The boy looked away from his hanger for a moment, an expression of muted shock playing across his face, then he went back to hanger-gazing.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” the little girl shrieked, falling down beside the man. “Daddy, get up!”

  Vincenzo raised the M1A, heart pounding. He scanned the area, trying to spot the shooter. Don’t get involved! Don’t get involved!

  Engines revved, and a moment later, two ATVs and a mud-splattered Harley rolled onto the scene. The men astride the machines looked hard and rough, with beards and shaggy hair. The one on the Harley was older. His long gray hair was neat by post-apocalypse standards, and his trimmed beard had a jagged scar running through it. He wore a Harley T-shirt and faded jeans, and had a military rifle slung across his back and a big revolver in an armpit holster. The other men were younger, with long dirty beards, longer hair, prodigious tattoos, and filthy clothes. One of them looked as if he had been splattered with blood that had dried hours ago.

  “Damn, old man, that was a hell of a shot with that Dirty Harry piece you got!” one of the young men said as he braked his ATV to a halt and jumped off.

  The blood-splattered one did the same. He swept the area with his pale gaze as he pulled the pump-action shotgun on his back into his hands. If he saw Vincenzo, he gave no indication.

  The Harley guy seemed more interest in finding a stone or something to lean his bike’s kickstand on. “Practice makes perfect.” His voice was a deep rumble that matched that of the idling bike. He finally found what he was looking for, and he switched off the Harley and climbed off. While his companions closed on the fallen man, he regarded his muddy ride and shook his head. “Damn, I’ll never take this thing off-road again,” he said.

  “So get yourself a new one,” the first man said. He leered at the girl, who was sobbing beside her father. “Hey, little girl! Your new uncle has a piece of candy for you. Want to suck it?” he asked, while unzipping his pants.

  Vincenzo felt sick to his stomach. Don’t get involved!

  The blood-splattered one looked at the boy, who seemed oblivious to everything but the plastic implement he was waving around. The man laughed and pointed. “Check it out, Harley. This one’s a fucking retard or something.”

  Harley regarded the boy for a moment. “Yeah, okay. Let him alone, Dees.”

  The girl shrieked as the youngest man grabbed her. He rubbed her small body against his front as she kicked and struggled. One of her kicks managed to catch him right in the crotch, but he only laughed. “Yeah, that’s the spirit!” he shouted. “Fight back. It’s better when you fight back!”

  “Hey!” Harley snapped. “You know the rules. Roth doesn’t want anyone touching kids!”

  “Oh, fuck that,” Dees said. “We just killed a bunch of kids last night!” He walked over and ripped the hanger out of boy’s hand. Ignoring the kid’s grasping fingers, Dees threw the plastic into the weeds. The boy wailed and began slapping himself across the face with enough force to make his skin turn red. His cap flew off his head, and the field was filled with the sounds of shrieking children.

  This isn’t going to end very well, Vincenzo thought.

  Don’t get involved! the small voice in the back of his mind implored. Wait for them to leave then get the hell out of here!

  “I want both of you to leave these kids alone!” Harley snarled.

  “No can do, old man,” said the ATV rider with the little girl. He threw her to the ground then dropped his pants, exposing his erect penis. “Maybe when I’m done, I’ll let you have a little.”

  “You fucking piece of—” Harley went for the revolver in the holster beneath his left arm. As he did, he twisted slightly, and his eyes widened.

  Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—

  Vincenzo raised the M1A just as the old biker opened his mouth to shout a warning. Vincenzo’s first shot caught Harley in the mouth, blasting through his lips and shattering most of his teeth. The biker fell backward, crashing into his bike. For an instant, the motorcycle teetered on its wheels. Harley fell to the ground, and his namesake lost the battle with gravity and landed on top of him.

  The taller man standing over the boy jumped back and fired a shotgun blast into the woods. He shot blindly and well to the right of Vincenzo’s position. Vincenzo returned fire, hitting the man first in the gut then again in the sternum as he stumbled backward.

  The third man’s cock deflated like a balloon when the air was released. He let go of his pants and reached for his rifle, but his loose jeans slowed him. His fingertips might have just brushed the weapon when Vincenzo fired again, drilling him with three shots that tore through his back. The man released a shrill scream that faded into a blood-choked gurgle as he thrashed weakly in the tall grass.

  Okay, that was definitely you getting involved. Vincenzo broke cover and ran toward the father lying in the grass. When the kids saw him coming, and they both scurried over to their father’s side. The boy stood above the stricken man, flapping his arms as if he could somehow take flight. The girl knelt beside her father, screaming for him to wake up.

  Vincenzo reached them and took a knee beside the man. “Take it easy,” he told the girl. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  You? One of the good guys? The little voice in the back of his mind tittered. That’s rich.

  Vincenzo saw a small hole in the man’s backpack. Fearing the worst, he slung his rifle and gently rolled the guy over. He was still conscious. But

  The man’s eyelids fluttered, then he looked up at Vincenzo. “Kids.” A little blood appeared on his lips. The bloodstained shirt told Vincenzo that the guy wasn’t going to last very long.

  “They’re here. They’re fine,” Vincenzo said. “I took out the other guys.”

  “Charity Point, Missouri,” the man gasped. “Their mom—Felix. Remember Felix.”

  “Their mom’s name is Felix?” Vincenzo asked.

  “Daddy!” the girl howled. “Daddy!”

  “Charity Point, Missouri,” the man said, pronouncing each word carefully. “Felix. It’s Felix.”

  “Charity Point, Missouri, and some chick named Felix. Yeah, I got it,” Vincenzo said.

  The man’s chest made a wet sound as he breathed, and Vincenzo realized the biker’s shot had left him with a sucking chest wound. He tried to think. How did you treat a sucking chest wound? Plastic sheeting, right? He had the tarp back in the Blazer, and he could cut a piece of it with one of the knives. And there was surgical tape in the first-aid kit—

  “Oh, my babies,” the man said in a mournful, blood-choked whisper. The light went out in his eyes. There was no death rattle, nothing as dramatic as that. He was just gone, like a lamp that had been switched off. And even though he’d just met a horrible end, his last thoughts had been about his kids.

  “Daddy.” The voice was soft and barely audible above the girl’s cries. The boy knelt beside Vincenzo and reached out with one grubby hand. He touched the man’s blood-flecked lips gently, his fingertips barely making contact. “Daddy.”

  Vincenzo got to his feet, and the boy moved closer to the man, kneeling in the blood without a care as he continued str
oking the dead man’s lips.

  “Daddy,” he said again.

  The girl shook as she sobbed, her face buried in the man’s neck.

  “I’m sorry, kids,” Vincenzo said, bending over to close the father’s eyes.

  “Man... you’re so fuckin’ dead.”

  Vincenzo whirled around. The would-be child-rapist lay on his stomach, his pale buttocks pointing toward the sky. The guy looked at Vincenzo with glazed eyes.

  “You think you’re going to kill me, fucker?” Vincenzo walked over, a fiery rage building up deep inside him. “You think you’re going to even be an inconvenience to me?” He unslung the M1A and put the tip of the barrel within an inch of the man’s right eye.

  “Roth’s gonna chase you,” the man muttered. “Chase you down. Take a long time... killing you. You’re gonna fucking scream... like a little girl. You’re... fucking history, dude.”

  With a choked cry, Vincenzo straightened and kicked the man in the face with his heavy boot, putting as much strength into the strike as he could. He was certain the kick had shattered the man’s jaw, but the guy didn’t make a sound. Vincenzo kicked him again and again, releasing days of pent-up frustration and fear by slamming his boot into the limp body. When he finally finished, the child-rapist was dead, and the acrid stink of urine filled the air.

  “Well, I finally kicked the piss out of someone,” Vincenzo said with a nervous laugh.

  He heard revving engines and spun to face toward the trees on the other side of the field. There was a trail out there somewhere. There had to be. Otherwise, the old guy couldn’t have gotten a Harley Davidson all the way up the hillside. And from the sound of it, friends of the trio of butchers he’d just gunned down were probably looking for them. It was time to go.

  Vincenzo turned back to the two grieving kids. The boy was still touching his father’s lips, and the girl was still sobbing hysterically. For a moment, he considered running back to the Blazer and leaving them. They weren’t his responsibility. He had people of his own to get to, and his family needed him just as much as those kids needed someone. He had days and days of traveling ahead of him, and he had to get back on the road.

  Sure, just abandon two little kids. No problem, right, paisan? They’d just be an inconvenience, like your little girl was before she finally gave up the ghost in the hospital.

  The thought shocked him to the core. Next, an acute sense of self-loathing overcame him. That he’d even thought of abandoning two helpless kids was detestable. The characters in the bullshit TV shows he produced had more empathy, and they weren’t even flesh and blood, just figments of some creative committee’s imagination, designed to manipulate viewers into feeling something.

  He slung the rifle and walked back over to the children. “Kids, I’m sorry, but we have to go.” He rolled their father over so he could pull off his backpack.

  “Leave him alone!” the girl screamed. “He’s our daddy. Leave him alone!”

  Vincenzo reached out and caught her face between his hands. “Sweetie, listen to me. Your father is dead. I have to take you with me now, before more bad men show up.”

  “We can’t leave Daddy! He has to come with us!”

  “He’s dead, sweetie. He’s not going anywhere, and we have to leave. Right now.”

  The boy got up and ran away, flapping his arms.

  “Hey, come back!” Vincenzo yelled.

  The boy stopped a short distance away. He stood there for a moment then knelt in the grass. When he stood up, he had the dirty plastic hanger in his hand. He focused on it, slinging it around in his hand. If he was even aware of his blood-covered knees, he gave no indication.

  Vincenzo got the dad’s bag over his shoulder then grabbed the little girl’s hand. Her sunglasses were nearby, and he picked them up and handed them to her. Tugging her back to the tree line, he called for the boy to follow them, but the kid remained fixated on the spinning hanger.

  “What’s his name?” Vincenzo asked the girl as she tried to pull away from him. “That boy, what’s his name?”

  “Daniel!” the girl shouted. “Daniel!”

  “Daniel! Come here!” Vincenzo barked.

  The boy looked up and regarded Vincenzo with emotionless eyes. After a few seconds, he took a few steps toward them, so Vincenzo continued hurrying into the woods. The boy followed him to the trail, and Vincenzo called the kid’s name again when he hesitated.

  “Daddy... don’t leave my daddy,” the little girl wailed. Her cries were softer, and Vincenzo figured the gravity of the situation was finally becoming plain to her. He pulled her into his arms and carried her to the Blazer.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Vincenzo told her. “I’m one of the good guys. I’m going to get you and your brother out of here, all right? Just stay calm.”

  “Daddy...”

  “Later, honey. Later.” Vincenzo opened the passenger door and pushed her into the backseat. “Stay right there. Don’t touch anything, I’ll be right back. I have to go get your brother.”

  He tossed the man’s backpack onto the floor behind the driver’s seat then sprinted back up the trail. He found the boy standing there, his face contorted into an odd expression as he gave the hanger his full attention. Vincenzo scooped him up. Daniel stiffened and let out one plaintive yell, but he didn’t resist. Carrying the kid was like toting a big piece of firewood: hard, unmoving, but portable. On the way back, he stopped long enough to grab the boy’s cap. Back at the Blazer, he tucked the boy in beside his sister then hurried around the vehicle and slid in behind the steering wheel.

  “Okay, we’re going to leave now. I’m Tony. I’m going to help you guys. I need you to put on your seat belts, okay?”

  “Daddy,” Daniel said, his voice soft and beautiful. He looked up from the hanger and met Vincenzo’s eyes. An instant later, the hanger seemed to call to him again, and he gave it his full attention.

  “Guys, put on your seat belts,” Vincenzo repeated.

  The girl was still blubbering, but she grabbed the seat belt. She struggled to fasten it, so Vincenzo reached back and did it for her, then he did the same for Daniel. Once they were both secure, he buckled his own belt then cranked up the Blazer.

  “I want my Daddy,” the girl said, but with more pain than panic in her voice.

  “Later, honey,” Vincenzo said. “Hang on, now. This might be rough.”

  He pulled out of the trees, hearing bits and pieces of debris sliding off the fiberglass top as the tires bit into the trail. The Blazer swayed as it rolled down the rough track. As he neared the trail’s exit, he saw something metallic gleaming in the sunlight down on the road. It was an ATV, and the man sitting astride it looked up as the Blazer rolled down. He reached for his hip, where a pistol was holstered.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Vincenzo shouted, nailing the accelerator.

  The Blazer’s engine roared as the black beast surged out into the street. Its heavy bumper rammed into the ATV. The rider flew in one direction while the off-road vehicle went in another. The ATV slammed into a yellow classic pickup truck parked on the other side of the road. It hit with enough force to rip the clip off the truck’s front, demolishing the radiator and tearing the plastic windshield wash reservoir off its bracket. The white plastic tub tumbled through the air, leaking blue fluid. The men who had been standing beside the truck leaped out of the way, but one of them was taken out by the ATV as it ricocheted off the front of the truck.

  Vincenzo cranked the wheel hard to the right and stomped on the accelerator again. The Blazer’s big wheels chirped on the pavement as he worked the three-speed shifter, speeding away from the obliterated truck and the confused men around it. By the time he made it to US 40, he was going far too fast to make the turn, so he just drove across the intersection, surging up the road on the other side. He heard gunfire, but nothing hit the Blazer. He weaved from side to side to make a tougher target. Stuff rocked from side to side in the Blazer’s cargo area behind the backseat. The girl s
tarted crying again.

  “Are you guys hurt?” Vincenzo shouted. He checked the rearview mirror, but he couldn’t see out the back since some of the gear had shifted. The side mirror on the passenger side had been knocked askew. He saw no signs of pursuit in the driver’s side mirror, but he didn’t slow down. Houses were on either side of the street, a collection of motley capes and country-style houses with peeling paint and cars in the front yard that left Vincenzo wondering if he was already in West Virginia.

  The road forked, and he tacked to the left, catching the name of the street as he whipped past the sign: Constitution Boulevard. Two men sat in plastic lawn chairs near the corner across from a white brick American Legion post. One held up his hands as if asking Vincenzo to slow down. He did but only slightly. A glance at the speedometer told him he was doing fifty-three miles per hour. He looked into the side-view mirror and still saw no signs of pursuit.

  “Guys, answer me. Are you all right?” Vincenzo asked again.

  “Puzzle,” Daniel said softly.

  “What?”

  “Puzzle, please,” the boy responded.

  “Little girl, what’s your name?” Vincenzo asked.

  “Gabby,” the girl said.

  “Gabby, I’m Tony.”

  “You told me that already. Will Daddy be okay?”

  “Sure,” Vincenzo said.

  “Puzzle!” Daniel repeated.

  “Will Daddy meet us somewhere?” Gabby asked.

  “You know it. He just needed me to take you guys with me, since I have the truck. He was going to talk to the rest of the men that were following you.” Vincenzo thought that was quite the ad lib. “Gabby, why is Daniel saying ‘puzzle’?”