by Roger Hayden
“Okay. We’re close to Main Street. It’s go time.”
“Got it,” Brad said.
Rob set down the radio and placed his hand in Mila’s, bracing her.
A quick turn on Main Street, and he floored it. The Datsun rattled over a stretch of cobblestone road. Faces turned to them from all around. Men with guns just stood aside, confused. Rob zoomed past them. People began following the two-car convoy down Main Street. Mila unfastened her seatbelt and got ready.
The old town hall building was in the distance—complete with an empty fountain, benches, and steps that led up to the entrance. Wind flowed through the car as Rob picked up speed. No one had fired at them since they entered the main drag, even though many of the onlookers were armed. The plan, so far, was working. They sped past nonfunctioning traffic lights. The street had been completely cleared of other vehicles. Rob’s own shop was only a few blocks away, but he had no immediate interest in seeing it. They had come for one reason only.
“All teams be ready!” Rob said into the radio.
He gripped the steering wheel and jerked it to the left, causing the Datsun to screech across the road and fishtail onto the sidewalk, inches from the steps. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air. They slid to a complete halt just as the Jeep Cherokee rushed past them and crashed through a bench, sending wooden slats and metal braces flying. Both vehicles had stopped. Rob shut off the engine and looked behind them. A mob of people was heading their way—lacking only fire and pitchforks.
Rob and Mila looked at each other, ready to jump out of the smoking car. Rob went first and pushed the door open with his foot. Mila jumped out and ran over to him, where she handed him his radio—all part of the plan. As the mob closed in, they put their hands in the air, surrendering.
Carlos tumbled out of the Cherokee and regained his balance. The front end of the jeep was dented. Smoke billowed from under the hood. He stood next to Rob and Mila and mimicked their stance.
Rob lowered one of his hands and spoke into the small handheld. “All teams, it’s on. Lemme know if you’re good.”
“I’m good,” Brad said.
“Me too,” Mayra answered.
“I’m ready,” Elliot said.
“Great,” Rob said. “Just remember your signals.”
Hollers from the advancing crowd grew more threatening. Men with guns vaulted ahead and circled them, but their hands were already up. A cold chill swept through the air. Rob, Carlos, and Mayra pressed their backs against each other, ready to enact the first phase of their plan.
The Trade-off
“Hold it right there!” Arthur shouted, walking down the steps and flanked by two armed men on both sides, their rifles aimed. He wore tan fatigues and a black beret—different for him. Rob faced the mayor directly as fifteen men circled them rabidly with weapons aimed and ready.
“Search them!” a red-haired bulldog of a man ordered the others. They patted Rob and each person in his group down, snatching the radio in Rob’s hand. The group kept their hands high in the air. Rob’s heart raced. There was no going back.
Arthur smiled in amusement as he reached the bottom of the stairs, only a few feet from Rob, his great nemesis. Townspeople gathered around—men, women, and children with despondent faces and vapid stares. Arthur raised his arms, urging restraint. He studied his unexpected guests with pure wonder.
“I must say, I’m surprised that you decided to barge into my town like this.”
“We came here to negotiate,” Rob said. He scanned the area, looking for sympathetic faces. “We’re not here to fight. Enough blood has been spilled already.”
“We certainly agree.” Arthur paused and turned to one of his men. “How many did we lose? Thirty? Forty?”
“Think it was more in the twenties,” the man replied.
Arthur whipped his head around to face Rob’s group. “That’s still a lot.” He stepped closer, pulled a pistol from his side, and placed it square against Rob’s head. Mila screamed. The growing crowd gasped. Rob squeezed his eyes shut.
Arthur continued. “Some might say that an eye for an eye doesn’t begin to cut it as far as you folks are concerned.” He lowered the 9mm Sig Sauer. Rob opened his eyes. Arthur then moved from him, stopped at Mila, and pressed the barrel against her head, causing her to wince and cry out.
“No!” Rob shouted, nearly grabbing Arthur’s arm. “I have a proposition. Listen to me!”
Just as quickly as he had brandished it, Arthur removed the pistol and put it back in his holster. He moved back to Rob, stood within inches, and spoke directly in his face. “Rob, I must say, it’s immensely enjoyable to see you in such a desperate position. I guess you are human after all.” He rocked back, howling with laughter, slapping the arm of one of his men, who began chuckling. Rob and his group were not amused. The situation could go south with one wrong comment or gesture. Rob was beginning to see that Arthur and his gang were not run-of-the-mill convicts. They were psychotic—either through gradual disassociation with the real world or through their own natures. What else could explain their allegiance to Arthur and the laughable acceptance of the faux military getup proudly worn by him?
“My people knew the risks coming here. We know the seriousness of the situation,” Rob said. “You’re a smart man, Arthur. We’ve seen what you’ve done with this town during the crisis. You’ve kept its people safe and alive. We’re appealing to this same intellect and reason, and proposing to end this conflict between us nonviolently.”
Silence filled the air. The convicts kept their weapons aimed and at the ready. Arthur thought to himself and took a step forward. “I assume all this flattery and nonviolence has a little something to do with us having your children captive. Yes?”
Rob didn’t say anything. Humored, Arthur walked around the group, looking into the faces of Ashlee, Carlos, Mila, and back around to Rob, who then had an answer ready for him. “Obviously we’re in this position because of that. You’re holding all the cards, Arthur, and we came here to negotiate.”
Arthur nodded and then pointed at him. “First of all, let’s start with the proper title. My friends call me Arthur. You and I, I’m sorry to say, are not friends.”
“And what would you like me to call you?” Rob asked.
“Mr. Mayor or Mayor Jenkins. Those are pretty much your two options.”
“Mr. Mayor,” Rob began.
“That’s better…”
“You talked before about trade. My group and I have decided that we can reach a satisfactory conclusion through the art of trade, just like you suggested.”
“That’s splendid to hear.” After a moment’s pause, Arthur suddenly turned away and began to walk back up the stairs, where he could overlook the entire scene. He raised his arms and made a crisscross fanning motion to settle everyone down and then began to address the crowd below. “The outsiders want to negotiate!” he bellowed. “The man before you, Rob, is in fact one of you. A former resident who went hiding in the mountains with his friends the moment the shit hit the fan. Some of you may even recognize him. Did he try to warn any of you of what was happening? Did he and his friends try to help anyone?” He paused and waited for an answer from the grumbling crowd, stirring their resentment. “No!” he shouted with bombastic flair. “They scurried into the mountains to leave you to fend for yourselves. Then, when we finally created a system, a way to adapt and survive in this new world, these very same people who turned their backs on you came back to steal from us like bandits.”
Having grown to fifty strong, the crowd had a frightening effect when it jeered in unison. Arthur’s men—acting as human barricades—had to hold them back from Rob’s small circle. It didn’t take much to rile them up, but Arthur was far from finished. He pointed one long accusatory finger at the outsiders and began speaking with the fervor of a fiery preacher. “They stole from you. Massacred your husbands, sons, daughters, and wives! And now they come groveling before you today to beg for their children back!”
The crowd roared in anger—calling out for blood. Rob looked at Mila. Her face flushed with worry. Things were quickly getting out of hand. Arthur’s men were the only things keeping the crowd at bay.
After his incendiary speech, Arthur urged calm by slowly lowering his hands, as if pushing something down. He looked at Rob and smiled, a sign that the show was over and he was ready to engage. “So tell us, Rob,” he said, mainly to the crowd, “what terms have you brought to this negotiation you’re proposing?”
Rob cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “We’re prepared to do whatever it takes. Our vehicles are yours. That and whatever supplies we have. We just want to take our kids and leave this area. You’ll never see us again.” His arms felt strained from holding them up so long. The rest of the group seemed to be struggling as well.
He could see Arthur’s eyes widen. “Your vehicles, you say?” Light murmurs floated up from the crowd, followed by a series of disapproving gasps. Arthur leaned toward the mustachioed man standing in front and to the side of him and whispered in his ear. The man nodded, and Arthur moved back. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the art of negotiation, but in order for it to work, both parties generally have something called leverage. And for the life of me, I don’t see that you have any.”
“Take their cars and kill ’em!” a man shouted from the crowd. Raucous cheers followed. The crowd was ablaze with passion. Mila turned to get a look at the crowd, hoping to spot people she knew—neighbors, coworkers, friends, anyone. Everyone looked the same—pale, dirty, and malnourished. Many of them had scabs and blisters on their faces. They seemed wild and feral—devoid of humanity, altered in some basic way in just two and a half months. It was an unbelievable sight.
“Now, now,” Arthur began. “I want to get to the bottom of this before we kill anyone. I would never have thought these outsiders dumb enough to just burst into town without some kind of assurances.” He turned to Rob. “Am I right?”
“Yes,” Rob stated with conviction. “Your men took a radio from me, and I would like it back now.”
Stunned and boisterous laughter followed from those standing nearby. Arthur seemed to want to play along—as if wanting to prolong the taunting display of authority he commanded over the outsiders.
“Whoever took Rob’s radio, please give it back,” he said.
A tall, skinny man with a shaved head and goatee stepped forward and handed it over. Rob lowered his arms, and the rest of the group followed suit. He was ready to reveal the next part of their plan and felt cautiously optimistic about what was next to come.
“I would never risk my life or that of my friends without ensuring that we had… what was it you said? Leverage?”
Arthur nodded. His eyes squinted, and his demeanor changed from jovial to suspicious in an instant. The clamor from the formerly reactionary crowd faded into silence.
“Since the attack against our camp,” said Rob, “we’ve searched for others. Former residents, just like us. They joined us, and they’ve since infiltrated the town by the dozens.”
Arthur’s lips pursed as he tilted his head skeptically. His men began looking in every direction, scanning the area for intruders.
“Still don’t believe me?” Rob said. He held the radio to his mouth and spoke. “Group number one, you see us?”
One of Arthur’s men lunged to grab the radio. Rob swung his arm away, and in his sweeping motion, knocked the man away, pitching him to the ground. “You know what to do,” he continued.
A distant gunshot sounded, blasting out the streetlight right above Arthur. Panicked screams rose from the crowd, which seemed to fly to the ground in one mass movement. Arthur’s men scrambled to take cover. Rob and his group remained calmly huddled in position as Arthur jumped out of the way and hit the ground, sliding on the hard pavement and into the stair railing. His head jerked up as his beret flew off.
“You just signed your own death warrant, you stupid bastard!” He seethed.
“I don’t think so,” Rob said. “If your men so much as point their weapons at my group, my team of sharpshooters will pick you and them off, one by one.”
Mila gripped his arm. Her hand was cold and trembling. Rob knew that the success of their plan hinged on the next crucial moments.
Arthur stood up but carefully stayed low while moving behind a nearby cement waste receptacle. “You put one guy out there, and I’m supposed to believe you have an army with you?” He scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Rob calmly held his hand up, pointing two fingers in the air. Another shot rang out from a different direction, striking a window in the building and sending the crowd below into a frenzy. Frightened and confused, the mob trampled over one another, trying to get away or hide, as Arthur’s men took cover and fired in rapid succession in the direction the shots came from. Rob took Mila by the hand, and they began moving quickly toward the cars, and in the confusion, nobody tried to stop them. Carlos and Ashlee were right behind them.
“I hope this shit works!” Carlos shouted over the shooting.
“It may already have,” Rob said and signaled to where Arthur was cowering. He then wasted no time standing up and signaling with three fingers. A barrage of distant gunfire sailed onto the building, blasting out one window after the other.
“All right!” Arthur yelled as bits of glass rained down around him. “Call them off!”
Rob made a fist in the air, and the gunfire stopped. Several of Arthur’s men kept firing into nothing, desperate to find any of the shooters hidden in their midst. But they were wasting ammo, which soon ran out, and things went eerily quiet. The noxious smell of gunfire was inescapable because there had been so much of it. Arthur peeked out from behind his cement receptacle and moved back to a spot at the top of the stairs.
“All right, everyone. It’s okay,” he announced to the dozen residents who still remained, many still lying in the road, flat on their stomachs and petrified. Arthur’s men regrouped and surrounded Rob, ushering Mila, Carlos, and Ashlee away from the car and back out into the open.
“Put your hands up!” a bearded man shouted to Rob, his face flushed with anger.
“No, you idiot!” a man holding a shotgun yelled. “That’s how he’s signaling them!”
“Enough,” Arthur said, walking down the steps, approaching them. He got close, right in Rob’s face. “Clever…”
“Thanks,” Rob answered. “Like I said, no one has to die here.”
Arthur cut him off. “The question now is, do you have the leverage you need to get what you want and leave here safely?”
“I’m counting on it,” Rob said.
Arthur looked at one of his men and smiled. “What do you say, Larry? Should we let them leave?”
The mustached man looked the group up and down, his rifle aimed directly at Mila. “I wouldn’t.”
Arthur turned to Rob. “Sorry, Larry said no.” Seeing Rob’s bewilderment, Arthur laughed. “I’m just pulling your chain. I think we can work something out after all.” He turned and then pointed toward the steps. “But what I want first is for you to kneel before me and call me your king. Then I’ll release your children. It’s that simple. You give me the vehicles, bow before me, and the kids go free.”
It was an unusual request, to be sure, but the intent was obvious: subjugate Rob and, at the same time, solidify his authority. Carlos and Mila looked at Rob, who seemed to be thinking it over. Arthur waited patiently as some townspeople began coming out of hiding and gathering around again.
“Whatever gets you off, I guess,” Rob said.
Arthur’s smile stretched across his face. “Excellent.” He beckoned Rob forward.
“Now?” Rob asked.
“No, next Tuesday. Yes, now. Come on.”
Rob looked back at Mila. Her face was masked in deep concern.
“Are you kidding me?” Carlos said.
Arthur was already well on his way up the steps.
Rob spoke in a hushed voice
. “Just do what he says, and this will all be over soon.”
“We agreed to the vehicles. That’s plenty. Now tell this psycho to release my children,” Carlos said, crossing his arms.
“I’m waiting!” Arthur bellowed from the top of the steps, wallowing in his own arrogance. “And I only want you, Rob. Leave your pitiful posse and come honor me.”
“To hell with him,” Carlos said.
Rob took Mila’s hands in his. “It’s my burden now. Close your eyes if you have to.”
Carlos’s head slumped as he stared at the ground.
Arthur stood atop the steps proudly in his tan fatigues and beret. His chin was lifted high, and his hands were locked behind him. He rocked back and forth on his heels in anticipation.
Rob walked up the stairs as a hushed silence fell over the crowd. Arthur raised his arms as Rob stopped at the step directly below him.
“People, gather around! This man is the leader of the traitors who abandoned you, stole from you, and killed your loved ones.” Arthur turned to the side, ushering in an unexpected guest.
“Reverend Phelps! Will you join us here?”
The double doors of the building opened, revealing the pastor, dressed in a three-piece suit and tie. He had a trim beard and freshly cut slicked-back hair. He also looked nervous—apprehensive, perhaps—about being there.
“Let’s get started!” Arthur said, smacking his hands together. “The reverend, here, is going to guide us along.”
Rob looked ahead, beyond Arthur to the shattered windows of the town hall building and the glass strewn across the concrete entranceway. The charade he was to become a part of felt like a trial of some kind, and he was beginning to see how Arthur had seized power in such a brief period of time.
“The reverend is here to validate my ascension, not only as king of the outsiders, but as a prophet of the divine word.” He paused and looked at the reverend. “Isn’t that right?”
The pastor hesitated then nodded. “Yes. That’s correct.”
“So as a divine prophet and king, the first thing I want is to receive a blessing and homage from our visitors.” He turned to Rob and held out a hand with one particularly large, golden ring on one of his fingers.
