by J. D. Palmer
“Get back get back from the door!” He covers his mouth and hustles backwards. I see Evelyn’s teary eye appear at the crack, little fingers at the small hole her father has made.
“Daddy please. Please daddy. I can’t breathe.”
Her mouth hovers at the gap for a second and Jimmy watches, hand over his own mouth and tears streaming down his face. “Get back from the hole, baby. I’ll get you out.”
She disappears for a second and Jimmy wraps his shirt around his face and resumes beating at the wall, his screams of rage barely muffled. The wall made to protect his family holds out, most of the damage inflicted done by the earthquake. Evelyn comes to the hole to breathe more and more. Eyes bloodshot and swollen from tears slowly darken as the blood inside her body turns to poison. Her crying takes a desperate turn and Jimmy attacks the wall like a fiend. I don’t think he knows that I am there. If I tried to help him, or slow him, I would die.
Evelyn’s crying ebbs and flows as the disease racks her body. It’s mostly quiet now. Every once in awhile we hear a cough, a shuddered “Daddy,” or simple whimpers. The room is quiet. The doctor is hunched over on the table, mouth open, the blood drying on his temple. Only the occasional twitch of his hand telling us he is still alive.
Beryl and I stand still, silent witnesses to another death in a world that has seen a surplus. I wonder if we should leave so that Jimmy can have privacy in this moment. I wonder if we should stay so that he might find us if he needs succor.
Jimmy is frantic, the claw side of the hammer swung into the wall again and again. His shirt is soaked through and I see that his hand is bleeding. But the metal is barely dented and there is only a small gap growing in the wall near the lock.
He stops and looks through the hole and it’s as if his soul leaves his body. There is a lurch as energy flees his limbs, a puppet whose strings have been cut. “I’m sorry, Ev, I’m sorry I’m sorry God I’m sorry.”
I don’t know how long we stand there. I glance at Beryl. Her face is stone. She does not grieve, no tears, because how does one grieve for another drop of rain that hits the ground? Her face is simply harder, one more horror story that she takes into her soul. I wonder what my face looks like now.
Jimmy’s body still shakes even after he runs out of water to fuel his tears. Slowly he stills. I wonder if he is still conscious but then he looks up at us. “Will you help me?” He barely can whisper.
It takes us hours to take the wall apart. In the end I’m exhausted and bleeding, my hands raw and swollen. Beryl leans on the wall next to me. I see her examine blisters on her palms. We took turns spelling each other. I don’t know how Jimmy is still standing. But he does. He angles himself into that room and takes the limp form of Evelyn in his hands and he carries her outside.
We follow. The whole land is still. Silent. You never notice the small things; the chirring of insects, the birds, the bark of a dog… Even the power generated by the windmills and solar fields gave a faint hum. Now it’s all gone.
For the rest of the men this is the lowest it has gone. This is as far into the depths of despair many have traveled. I have been down that path, it’s not hard to see it on their faces.
Jimmy walks with Evelyn out of Camelot and down the road. I know he is taking her to the windmill he pointed out. The first windmill made here, the one he named after his daughter.
Two men died and three are pretty messed up. I see the doctor get trotted out towards the road where the wounded are gathered. He does not know where he is or what the men are telling him. But his hands touch their arms, the cuts on their chests and faces with familiarity. We hand him things; ointments, bandages, stitching thread. He discards them or shakes his head, hand waving, until he finds that which he needs. The men hold Chris down as he sets his arm.
Don is a whirlwind of energy. He checks with every man, excepting Beryl and myself, making sure no one is hurt. He forms groups and assigns jobs. Gather food. Gather the water reserves. Form shelters. Find tents. He warns us of aftershocks. After feeling the magnitude of that quake I find the idea of an aftershock terrifying.
Jimmy doesn’t come back that night. I am too tired to do much more than fall asleep. Small shakes rattle the ground and interrupt my already restless sleep. Beryl sleeps next to me. Or at least I think she does. Breath in. Breath out. It was the same back in Stuart’s house. But some nights I could see her eyes.
In the morning Jimmy returns. Eyes red and hands filthy. He was always so put together, hair and clothes and a smile all at the ready. A man who woke up before everyone and went to bed later. No one has seen this ghost. A man aged by grief. Patchy facial hair more grey than black. Covered in blood and tears and eyes unseeing. He trudges up to us and joins the circle of men and I think that’s all that he knows to do right now.
Don walks to him and gives him a hug. I don’t like the man but I can see that this is what he needs. He almost breaks down again and Don whispers in his ear and I see the friendship that they used to have.
Vegetables are dispensed for breakfast and Wing and the brothers share with Beryl and I. No one wants to leave the group. I guess there really would be nothing else to do. Eyes look to Don and Jimmy for guidance.
Don checks on the wounded. He doesn’t look like he slept. I’ll give it to him, the man cares. He finishes taking stock and he steps into the middle of our little camp.
“What a night.” He scans everyone in the crowd, giving out nods. “A lesser group might have perished. We continue to survive.” He gives out a proud smile. Holds it, lets it linger before his face falls into solemnity. “Let’s have a moment of silence for a girl that we all loved. Evelyn.” He bows his head and the group follows suit. I catch Beryl’s eye before bowing my head. The grief is too near, and too dear to Jimmy. This feels wrong, steps in a play written by Don, but we cannot break out of character for fear of reprisal.
Don goes to Jimmy and gives him another hug. He steps back into the circle, dragging his old friend with him. “We are here. We will continue to survive. Now is the time for strength. Courage… I have to ask a hard question.” He grips Jimmy’s shoulders. “My friend. Jimmy. How bad is the damage? Is Camelot over?”
Jimmy draws in a large breath as he gathers himself, compartmentalizing the death of his daughter into some shadowy attic of the mind. “I think we are fine. The processors themselves shut down with seismic activity. It’s a simple kill switch method in case of an open circuit causing a fire. The lines in the houses will need to be repaired and of course any damage to the machines in the field and then… And then it’s just a matter of turning the power back on.”
Smiles from the group of men. Don nods. “This is excellent news. I believe we can safely handle all of that. Thank you Jimmy, for everything.” He pulls the small gun from his waistband and shoots Jimmy in the head.
Chapter 23
The group is silent and still. Jimmy still stands, eyes rolled upwards as if he too, like everyone else, is looking at the small hole in his forehead. He brings a hand halfway up to his face.
“Were you…”
I don’t know what he was trying to say. He collapses into the dirt, lifeless arms twisted beneath him at odd angles.
Don takes a deep breath. Everyone stares at him. “I’m sorry, I truly am, that you all had to witness that. But as everyone here can attest, he was leading us down a path detrimental to our future. To any future.” He scans the crowd. “Anyone disagree?”
Blurry eyes stare at the gun. At the three dead bodies and the destruction around them. Minds labor to grasp this new development.
John steps forward. His hands buttoning an imaginary jacket in front of him. Chin up he approaches Don.
“Not only did you kill an unarmed man. Not only did you kill the one man who knew this place inside and out. But you killed your friend. You could have…”
Don has raised the gun and is examining it. John trails off. I wonder if I could get to Don before he shoots him. I start to rise from my s
eat. Don idly swings the gun in my direction.
“Sit.”
There is silence for a second. He looks at John.
“Was that it?”
John doesn’t say anything. Don nods, as if that makes a point for him.
“You see? This is what people respond to.” He holds the gun up, a prop in another production. “Power. Jimmy didn’t get it. And yes, he was my friend. MY friend. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I did it for the group. I did it now so that I wouldn’t have to watch him die later. Or watch one of you die later.”
He scans the crowd. Perplexed faces stare back at him. No one knows what to think. Some are looking at Don with new eyes. Most don’t look at him at all, doing their best to avoid this next chapter of violence.
No one does anything. Not that they can, not now. And he’s right, people respond to power. In times like these decisiveness goes a long way.
“We will rebuild. We will make Camelot better than before. We will create a home.” He turns to Beryl. “Darling girl. We all have sacrifices to make. You will be given time. Time to adjust, to get to know everyone. You will be treated as the savior you are. But you will do your part to save mankind.”
She doesn’t say anything, frozen in place next to me. His glance slides over to me.
“You. You are a disease to this company.”
I stand up and he raises the gun.
“If you shoot him you die.”
Everyone looks over to see Wing holding a gun. A bag with all of his earthly possessions sits on the ground next to him. Shaky hands aim the pistol at Don. He repeats the statement. “You shoot him and you die.”
Beryl gets in front of me. Steven joins her. Don scans the group. Changes tactics.
“I’m not going to kill him. We have had enough death today. He is, as we all agreed, not allowed to stay.”
John steps forward. “You talked about this, he—”
Don cuts him off. “He will be taken far away. He will be given water and a small amount of food. And he will leave here knowing that if he ever comes back… He. Will. Die.”
The words hang over the group. They do not care. He is the man in charge. Hell, I get it. I don’t want to make decisions in a world where the importance of every little choice has skyrocketed.
John makes protests, sotto voce to Don, imploring him to see reason. Wing finally lowers his gun and adds his voice. Don now wears the sad face of a father who understands the anguish of children but metes out the punishment anyways.
“Theo, Dave, Alderman, take him.”
The three men approach. I do not fight. I will not give Don the easy way out. They do not roughly grab me, instead I feel a single hand on my shoulder. Theo stands, unreadable, swollen face waiting for me to come with him. I look at Beryl. She is crying. She gives me a little grimace and shakes her head.
“Don’t come back.” She looks me in the eyes as she whispers those three little words. A deep breath. A hard look. “Go home. Make it home. Don’t come back here.”
I look at the three men around me. “Something tells me I won’t.” I regret the words as I say them. She turns from me, face contorting and transforming from the face of one who cries to one who weeps.
“It will be okay, Beryl.”
She doesn’t look at me, but I see a nod. Good enough. I realize John is speaking to me. He tells me to carry on, to get to my family and make sure they are safe. He tells me he will protect Beryl. I see Steven’s face over his shoulder, his visage more truth than his brother’s words. Then I’m gone.
Alderman is rough. He is Don’s man through and through.
“Ya done fucked up now, faggot.”
He places a blindfold over my eyes, tightens it until my temples hurt. My hands are bound behind me. They toss me in the back of a truck and one of them climbs into the back with me. Then we drive. Not the smooth drive of a car over miles of highway. That’s all gone now, courtesy of the earthquake. The truck clambers down ditches and up slopes, through what must be desert terrain, swerving and braking suddenly. It’s all I can do to brace myself so I don’t fly out or bash my head in.
We stop. They share water and a piss and every moment I expect a bullet to the head. Every scuff of a boot on dirt is the last thing I’ll ever hear.
Then we keep going. They leave the tailgate down this time. The driver, I don’t know who, starts to swerve and brake and do whatever he can to throw me out. He succeeds.
I hit my head on the side of the truck bed as we go over a bump and then I’m flying. I smack into the sand and my shoulder makes a popping noise. Dirt fills my mouth. The wind is knocked out of me and hands pull me back into the truck. One yells something about a bet. I try to tap into rage, into something that will help me. It’s fruitless.
I’m fucked.
They continue with the game, swerving and skidding and sometimes spinning circles in the dirt. I fall out a few more times. Picked back up and put back in. The man in the back, I think it’s Alderman, finds this hilarious. I frantically try to wriggle my hands free from the duct tape around my wrists. It’s impossible to do while sliding around.
I don’t understand what they are doing. It’s like they are just wasting time. What for I cannot tell. This would scare me more if I wasn’t doing my best not to fly out and break my neck.
The truck slows, stops. Hands pull me out and push me down onto the ground. The blindfold is ripped off. Alderman stands before me, an evening sun behind him, dark blue of night creeping in already. Dave is leaning against the cab of the truck smoking a cigarette. Theo is behind me.
“So who wants to do it?” Alderman looks to his cohorts. He is a weasel of a man. He touches people a lot, punches or high fives or pinches or whatever he can to make himself known. The first to laugh at someone else’s joke and the first to condemn that same person should the joke be met with disfavor. But never the first to do anything.
No one responds and he walks to the truck and opens the passenger door, returning with a gun. Unctuous grin at the ready as he proffers the weapon to the others.
Dave shakes his head. “I’m not doing it.”
Alderman makes a show of spitting. As if he had the balls. He holds out the gun to Theo. The large man takes it. If anyone had any reason to put me in the ground it’s him. I wonder if I can knock the gun out of his hand. He is so close to me, maybe I can make a run for it.
Dave exhales some smoke. “Don’t rush. Don wanted us to come back late.”
Alderman gives him a sneer. “Doesn’t mean we can’t do him now. Go get some booze and hang out. I’d rather not look at the fucker.”
Dave shrugs. “Whatever. “
Alderman looks to Theo. “Well. What the fuck are you waiting for?”
Theo examines the gun. Runs large fingers over it as if feeling it for the first time. There is the click as he chambers a bullet. He holds it up to the dying light and looks at it. Alderman gives a little giggle at the display.
“Fuck man you’re gonna make him shit himself before he goes.” He kneels down next to me. “You brought this on yourself, faggot.”
I make eye contact with him. Not out of any defiance, but because maybe he’ll see me. Really see me. And if he does kill me he’ll have to remember me for the rest of his life.
That’s something, right?
For a moment he just looks at me. Then his nostrils flare and one half of his mouth curls into a grin.
“I want you to picture something for me. Go ahead, close your eyes. Close your fucking eyes!” He whips a hand across my face. I close them and he leans in close, his hot, putrid breath hitting my ear. “Picture all these little kids running around, playing in the grass, or at the beach, or racing cars. Picture these kids. And all of them with my hair and her good looks. You see it? You picturing it?” He roughly grips my cheeks with his hand. “The future of this world. And you’ll be in the guts of some coyote. Fucking done. Nothing.”
I lunge towards him. All I
do is topple down into the sand but it startles him. He scrambles backwards before getting to his feet and kicking me in the ribs. He spits on me, little droplets landing on cheek and arm. “Fucking do it Theo. Do it now.”
Theo hesitates, a forlorn expression crossing his face. Alderman walks up to him. “You fucking afraid? I’ll do it if need be. Don’s been worried about you, ya know that? Wondered if you still had the balls to—”
Theo grabs the man by the neck and throws him down on the ground. I look to the truck and see Dave slide a gun behind his back. This must be a test for Theo. To see if he is still Don’s lieutenant or not. If not there are at least two who are willing to fill the position.
Theo looms over Alderman.
“You forget who you are talkin’ to, motherfucker.”
“Am I?” Alderman is confidant. He knows the score. Maybe he is hoping for two corpses versus one. I wonder if I should yell at Theo. Warn him. See if they’ll fight each other. Or run. Take my chances in the sand that they can’t run me down with a truck.
Don’t be an idiot.
The giant glances at Dave. He knows. He shrugs.
“You got me wrong. I don’t want to kill him.” His gaze flicks to me. “Yet.”
He bares his teeth in a nasty grin as he slides the gun into his waistband.
“He’s gotta suffer a little first.”
A huge hand pulls me up by my hair and then a meaty fist crashes into my stomach. Alderman crows with delight. A few more punches and I’m on my back, hands still bound and pinned beneath me. His swollen face looms over mine as he bends down and props me up. With a grunt he hoists me up and onto his shoulder. He gets a little running start and then vaults me through the air into a small patch of cacti. Needles pierce the flesh of my lower back and thighs. I contort and scream and impale myself on others as I try to escape the slivers of agony.
Alderman is laughing his shrill little laugh. “Never seen anything like that. Jesus.”
