Divided We Fall

by Trent Reedy

  I ran faster than I ever had before, right for the bigger of the two soldiers.

  “Hey!” the other one called out.

  My target spun to face me and started to bring up his rifle. He was too late. I drove my shoulder into his gut, wrapped my arms around the back of his thighs, lifted him while I pushed him back, and dumped him hard on the pavement. Then I scrambled up and punched him in the nose before yanking his M4 out of his hands and standing up.

  Cal and his soldier rolled on the ground, each of them trying to pull the M4 from the other’s grip. Sweeney ran up and clocked the soldier in the nose, but he somehow kept fighting for the rifle. Sweeney punched him again.

  “Come on, man! Hit him harder!” Cal grunted as he kept trying to get the rifle away.

  Making sure the guy I’d taken down could see that I had his weapon, I pressed my new M4’s muzzle to the other soldier’s head and yanked the charging handle back to chamber a round. The loud click of the bolt’s action froze Cal’s man right there.

  “Give him your weapon,” I said calmly. When me and Cal were both standing with rifles aimed at the soldiers, I motioned with mine toward the alley behind the grocery store. “Get up. Walk over there. Keep your hands low, but where I can see them. You try to go for a weapon or a radio and I swear I will shoot you.”

  The Feds stood up, and we all moved together into the alley.

  “Danny, thank God,” Becca said when she’d followed us to the alley. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. We were running groceries out to the truck and I was talking about you with JoBell. These soldiers recognized your name and the vehicle description, and they just grabbed us.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry.” To Cal, I added, “Give Sweeney your weapon. Cut the girls loose.”

  Me and Sweeney pushed the two soldiers — a sergeant and a specialist — up against the wall near a big green metal garbage dumpster.

  “What are you going to do, shoot us?” said the sergeant.

  “I’m PFC Wright. You have a problem with me, you come for me, got it? You leave my friends out of it.” I handed JoBell my M4. “Cover me while I search them.”

  I patted the guys down, finding more zip ties in the sergeant’s pocket. I faced them away from us and bound their wrists behind their backs. The rest of the search turned up the usual things soldiers carried: sunflower seeds, chewing tobacco, cigarettes, and a couple knives. But each of them also carried one smoke and one CS gas grenade. “I’ll take these,” I said, stuffing the grenades into my pockets. “Never know when they’ll come in handy. Now, you boys are going to stay here. Don’t try to follow us.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” a voice said from behind me. “Don’t move!”

  I drew my nine mil as I spun to face this new soldier, just as he pointed his M4 at me. Two more Feds rushed in from the side.

  I kept my nine mil aimed at the one who had spoken. He had me in his sights. JoBell was locked up gun to gun with a soldier to my left, Sweeney in the same situation to my right. Cal ran behind us, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him knock the first two zip-tied soldiers on their asses before they could try kicking us or something.

  “I’m Staff Sergeant Kirklin,” said the soldier aiming at me. “You folks need to put your weapons down.”

  “Sergeant,” said the specialist on the ground. “It’s him. It’s that guy from the Idaho thing.”

  “I know who he is.” The staff sergeant spoke like everything was normal — except he kept his rifle pointed at me. “Now, Private, I am prepared to order my two men to put down their weapons if your two friends will do the same. What do you say?”

  Only me and him would be armed then. It gave my friends a better chance. I bit my lip. My hand was starting to shake from holding up the gun. I slowly brought my left hand up to brace my right.

  “Okay, guys,” I said to Sweeney and JoBell. “If those two put down their guns, you do the same.”

  “Dude, are you sure?” Sweeney asked.

  “Trust me on this.” My mouth was dry.

  I kept watching the staff sergeant as the other two soldiers started lowering their weapons. A stinging drop of sweat ran into my eye and I blinked to keep focused. The rifles rattled quietly as the soldiers and then JoBell and Sweeney put them down on the pavement.

  “Okay … Good,” Sergeant Kirklin said. “Now, Private, you put your weapon down as well.”

  “I don’t think so, Sergeant,” I said as I slowly started walking backward. My friends moved with me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the soldiers. “JoBell,” I said. “You still have the keys? Let’s head for the Beast.”

  “Stop right there,” Kirklin said. “All of you.”

  We kept moving. “We’re leaving now,” I said. “Don’t try to follow us.” The tense rise and fall of Kirklin’s chest mirrored my own. I wondered what would happen if I did stop. Just gave up and surrendered. Maybe I’d get a fair trial, maybe not. But then my friends would go to jail for helping me. And my mother — there’s no way she could handle me being arrested.

  “I said stop!” Kirklin shouted.

  And if I trusted him, if I let my guard down at all, he could just betray me like that asshole medic yesterday. My nine mil was still locked on him. What if I wounded him, shot him in the leg or something? No good. He’d still be able to fire, and Army doctrine was one shot, one kill. If he shot me, he’d probably get a medal and a promotion. I could see the fire in his eyes, the finger tight on his trigger. I kept backing away.

  Kirklin moved a step closer. “Private, you and your friends are under arrest.”

  I had only one option. Could I do it? If I did, there was no going back.

  Kirklin tightened his rifle against his shoulder. If he made his move, I’d never know.

  I took control of my breathing. Oh, God, please forgive me. In and out and in —

  “Private,” Kirklin shouted, “if you take one more step I will shoot —”

  — and hold —

  I pulled the trigger. His chest burst blood and pieces of flesh. I fired again. His hand was ripped away from his rifle as he fell to the ground. The other two Feds dove for their weapons, but my guys tackled them. People were yelling. I couldn’t tell who.

  “Nobody move!” I shouted. “Shut up!” I pressed the business end of my nine mil to one Fed’s temple. They both stopped struggling. “Guys, get all the guns,” I said. Cal and Sweeney picked up the rifles. Becca and JoBell zip-tied the last two Feds so all four of them were bound tight and helpless on the ground.

  I stepped up to Staff Sergeant Kirklin’s body. The Army mental health pamphlets warned soldiers against staring at bodies, particularly those of people they’d killed. But I felt like I owed this man enough to look at him, to not try to ignore what I’d done. His body lay crumpled in a big, expanding pool of bright red blood, dust floating on the edges. His arm was thrown back so that he almost looked like he was waving, except above his wrist there were only shreds of meat. Steam rose from his still, open chest and bone fragments jutted out of the deep red cavity. His dull eyes stared up at nothing. It was too much like that girl at Boise, except this time, I had chosen to make this person dead.

  When I looked up, I saw JoBell standing in the middle of the alley, her M4 dangling from her hand with the muzzle pointed at the ground. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at me. I met her eyes. What was she thinking? Did she think I was a murderer? Did she understand that I’d had no choice? Did she know I’d done this at least in part for her?

  I swallowed and licked my lips. “We gotta go.”

  Cal motioned toward the soldiers with his M4. “We can’t leave these guys and the … We can’t leave them out in the open. Someone will find them. Find out we were here.”

  “Someone probably heard those shots already.” I started toward the Beast. “We’re leaving now.”

  Back by the Beast, the image of the man I’d killed flashed through my mind again. I felt the acid burn at the back of
my mouth. My stomach lurched, and I puked and then dry-heaved before I was finally ready to get into my truck.

  When we were all mounted up, we had a truck full of the groceries the girls had been able to load, four M4 rifles, an AR15, my nine mil, four silent people probably wondering what had just happened, and me, PFC Daniel Wright, who, no matter his reasons, would from now on be a killer.

  I told everyone to play it cool as we got back to Sarah’s apartment. We needed to keep quiet about everything that had happened so my mom wouldn’t freak out. We also needed to hurry. The Fed would be after us soon. It was going to be even tougher getting out of here now.

  “Is everything okay?” Mom asked when we all came into the apartment. Sarah was leaning back against the wall behind Mom. She smiled at Sweeney and slid her arm around him. For once, Sweeney wasn’t on his usual game and didn’t respond much.

  I picked up Mom’s suitcase and her other bag. “We should get going.”

  “I’ll miss you,” Sarah said to my mom.

  “I’ll miss you too,” Sweeney said.

  JoBell shook her head. “Eric, will you knock it off?”

  But Sarah squeezed his hand. She hugged my mom and we all headed out.

  This time Mom rode in the passenger seat. JoBell with the AR15 and Cal with an M4 sat wedged in with the food and supplies in the very back by the toolbox. I’d thought Mom might freak out at the sight of the guns, but she was taking all of this very well. “It’s a messed-up world,” she said, “when a seventeen-year-old boy and his friends have to carry guns so his mom can go home.”

  “Amen to that.” I put on my cowboy hat and drove out of town, grateful that Mom had no idea about the horrible thing I’d done.

  The plan was to cross into Idaho on a tiny logging road way up north, so I headed up Highway 2 toward Mount Spokane State Park. Nobody said much on the drive. The radio was on the country station, but I wasn’t listening. I kept going over what had happened behind the store. “Thou shalt not kill” ran through my head again and again. Maybe I hadn’t needed to shoot. What if he and I had both put our guns down? Could we have got out of there peacefully? No. Kirklin wouldn’t have put his rifle down. He was on the edge of shooting as it was. And even if everyone had put their guns down, we all would have just fought hand to hand, and who knows what would have happened then? One of us might have ended up fighting one of them for a rifle. It could have gone off. Anyone could have been killed. Like in Boise.

  Maybe I should have given up and let him take me to jail the way they’d done to Specialist Stein. But then JoBell and my friends would be in jail too, and Mom would be trapped in Washington, where she would slowly go crazy, or make a stupid run for the border on her own. Plus, she’d freak out if I was arrested. She’d already lost my father. I really didn’t think she could handle losing me too. And I had promised that I would take care of her.

  It all came down to what I’d learned from that Fed medic. I didn’t have the luxury of taking stupid, trusting chances. That sergeant’s finger was on the trigger. He could have shot me at any time. It would have taken one second. I’d never know what he meant to do, but waiting around to find out could have gotten me and maybe even all my friends killed.

  If I explained it to myself like that, it started to make sense, but then in the next second I was full of more doubts. Worse, even when I could convince myself that my action had been necessary, I couldn’t shake the hollow, cold, desperate feeling that I had done a very terrible thing.

  “You know,” said Sweeney after a long time, “a lot of this situation really sucks, but at least I had the chance to meet Nurse Sarah and —”

  “Eric, shut up,” Becca said.

  “What? What’s so bad about me finding true love?”

  “You find it every day,” Becca said.

  “Shut up!” JoBell said. I checked my mirror and saw her pointing at two fast-approaching Army Humvees. Red lights flashed on the roofs of the vehicles. “They’ve found us.”

  “Everybody hold on. This is going to get rough!” I sped up. With the Feds chasing us, there would be no time to find some forgotten dirt road to get home. I hooked the corner onto the highway that would take me to my Guard company’s position. Humvees were heavy, especially armored Humvees, and heavy meant slow. Of course, the Beast wasn’t exactly lightweight either. I just hoped they were slower than me.

  The crack of gunfire echoed from outside.

  “Oh, Danny, they’re shooting!” Mom screamed. She was going straight into a panic attack.

  I looked in my rearview mirror again. The gunners standing in the turrets at the top of the Humvees were firing the light machine guns on their mounts. I guessed they were M249 SAWs, Squad Automatic Weapons. The Humvees’ .50-cal heavy machine guns would have ripped right through us. Their muzzles flashed as they fired again. This time I heard the thump, thump, thump-thump-thump as the rounds hit the Beast.

  More shots hit the back window, which spiderwebbed right in front of JoBell and Cal. They would be dead now if Schmidty hadn’t put in the bulletproof glass.

  “What are we gonna do?” Sweeney shouted. “They’re shooting at us!”

  “We’re going to have to shoot back,” Cal said.

  “Cal!” JoBell pushed his barrel down.

  “Self-defense!” Cal yelled.

  Another barrage pelted the back of the truck. More round divots in the glass. Cal hit the window hard with the butt of his rifle. “Damn. This glass is tough!”

  “Cal, those are American soldiers!” JoBell yelled. “We can’t —”

  “It’s them or us,” Cal said. “They’ve already made their choice. We’re in this too deep, JoJo.”

  JoBell frowned. “I told you before.” She pulled and released the charging handle to chamber a round on her AR15. “Don’t call me JoJo.” She joined him in hitting the glass until it finally gave way. “Danny, your back window is ruined. I’m going to take out their weapons. Hopefully, I won’t hit anyone.” One-two-three, she fired quick. One of the turret gunners crouched behind his machine gun. “It’s hard to hit anything when we’re moving.”

  “I’ll keep the Beast steady,” I said. “You keep shooting.”

  Cal opened up too, firing wildly.

  “Try to aim at something, Cal. You’re wasting bullets.” JoBell fired again. While the one turret gunner ducked down, she shot round after round, sparks jumping off the machine guns as she pelted them. I figured that at least that SAW wasn’t going to be able to shoot again. The .50-cal was a different story. Those things were like tanks themselves.

  The second Humvee caught up to us and brought its front bumper up side by side with my door handle. Then it swerved at me and struck. The two-inch pipes welded inside the Beast’s body kept us from being crumpled right there.

  The Humvee hit us again. My tires squealed as we were pushed to the side. “Oh, you did not just scratch up my truck!” I shouted. I yanked the wheel to the left, slamming into the Humvee and knocking it back. The turret gunner on top lost his balance and struggled to get himself back under control. He reached to unlock the mount on his SAW so he could move it to fire on us.

  I rolled down my window and grabbed my nine mil. I didn’t want to do this, but I couldn’t let him spray us all with 5.56 rounds. I held the steering wheel with my left hand and with my right aimed as best I could across my body at the gunner. Then I squeezed off five rounds, hitting him in the shoulder. He dropped down into the turret.

  “Sweeney!” I yelled. “Get on my comm. Call Sergeant Kemp. Tell him we’re coming through the checkpoint on this highway in about five minutes, and we could use some help with the company we’re bringing.”

  The Humvee that had been alongside us dropped back a little, but we had worse trouble ahead. Another gun Hummer was coming down the road straight at us, gunner ready. I switched my shooting and driving hands, holding my gun out the window with my left, firing forward wildly and unsupported. “JoBell, we need you up here!”

&nbs
p; She scrambled to climb over the backseat, rifle in hand. “Hang on a second.”

  But we didn’t have a second. The approaching gunner completely opened up with his SAW, spraying the hood and windshield with bullets. The Beast swayed all over the road as a hot dagger sliced my left hand. I dropped my gun and shouted in pain.

  Then I heard a choking, gasping sound. Mom was flailing around in her seat with a gaping, spurting red hole in the upper right part of her chest.

  “Mom! Mom! Someone get a bandage on her! Stop the bleeding!” I swerved to the left to dodge the oncoming Humvee, its armor scraping alongside my truck. “Becca! Somebody!”

  Becca had her shirt off and held it to Mom’s chest. “You’re okay, Mrs. Wright. I’ll stop this bleeding, no problem.”

  “Put more pressure on it!” I shouted. “You gotta put pressure on it!”

  “I am!” Becca cried.

  We were coming up on the border. I could see our wire obstacle in Idaho and a bunch of soldiers around the new Fed checkpoint on the Washington side. Mom screamed, pressing her blood-soaked hands over Becca’s. JoBell slid up between me and Mom, using the big center console as a seat. “Danny, you have to drive. There’re soldiers ahead.” She knocked out the cracked-up front windshield with her rifle and then opened fire. The Feds scattered for cover. There were dozens of them, though. They’d rip us apart before we ever reached our side of the border.

  “Danny,” Mom said with a raspy voice.

  “Mom, I’m right here. Stay with me. We’re almost there.”

  “Oh, it hurts, Danny.”

  “I know, Mom.” I wiped my eyes and blinked so I could still see through the pain in my own hand.

  “Maybe we should surrender.” Becca leaned over my mother. Mom’s blood had soaked Becca’s bra and was smeared up her arms. “Maybe they have a doctor.”

  She was right. This might be our only chance. And we’d never make it through to Idaho with all those soldiers ready to shoot us up from either side of the road. I let off the gas.