by Jason Brant
Another series of gunshots cracked from behind the tree.
Sammy pitched forward, sprawling into the grass. She rolled over and collapsed to her back, her arms by her sides, fingers clawing into the lawn.
Blood welled around three exit wounds in her chest.
“No!” I crawled over to her, put my hands over the ragged holes in her shirt, and pressed down. “Hold on! Help is coming.”
I coughed more, felt myself slipping, as if I were on the verge of falling asleep.
Shook my head, forced myself to stay conscious.
“Help!” I screamed at the gray cloud swirling around us. “We’re friendlies! Someone help us!”
“Keep pressure on her chest,” Drew muttered between coughs. He crawled toward us on his knees, using his good hand for balance. He made it halfway before he paused and swayed in place, blinking several times, each one slower than the last.
He was going out, and I didn’t have time to try to keep him awake.
I turned back to Sammy. “Just breathe. I’m going to take care of you.”
Her eyes were locked on to mine. Her throat worked, but she didn’t speak.
Blood poured through my fingers, the flow faster than I could ever hope to staunch.
I pressed hard, fighting against the panic that consumed me. Her chest was a mound of ruined flesh beneath my hands.
Oh God, oh Jesus, I couldn’t stop the blood. She was slipping away, the one woman who kept trying to help me no matter the danger surrounding me.
I looked around frantically, screaming, pleading for someone to help us.
My life meant nothing—I would’ve gladly given it up to save her. Oh dear Lord, I begged. Don’t take Sammy! She doesn’t deserve this. Take me. Take me!
She kept staring at me, her lips working even though I couldn’t hear anything over the battle surrounding us.
Her breathing grew shallower with each rise and fall of her destroyed chest. The blood flowed faster than I could bear to look at.
Drew collapsed facedown in the grass.
Sammy mouthed something again.
“What?” I leaned close, her lips brushing against my ear. “What?”
Her voice was so low that I could barely hear her despite our closeness. “Kiss me.”
I turned my head so we were face to face. “Just stay with me, Sammy. You’re going to—”
“Kiss me.” Her eyes dimmed as she mouthed the words again, no sound coming out.
I pressed my lips against hers, breathing her in, savoring the first and only intimate moment we would have. Her lips moved against mine, tender and soft, loving.
As I kissed the woman of my dreams while she died in my arms, I realized that I knew almost nothing about her. We’d gone through hell together, yet I’d never asked her anything about herself. I’d never delved into her mind enough to know who she truly was.
Sammy had come to save me and it would cost her everything, yet I didn’t even know her middle name.
The passion in her kiss calmed, the pressure between our lips eased.
In a moment of panic, love, and inimitable misery, I lowered my mental barriers and latched onto Sammy’s mind. I delved deeper than I’d ever gone before, encompassing her thoughts and emotions with my own.
I saw everything, experienced each memory, and lived every moment.
Her hopes and dreams, fears and insecurities, were mine. We were one and the same, two people drawn together through a process I could hardly fathom.
I walked with Sammy down the aisle of her teenage wedding, felt the love she had for her young husband, the excitement of a blossoming life.
My face hurt along with hers when he struck her for the first time. We shared the shame and embarrassment from seeing the same police officer at her door for the third month in a row. I absorbed the sense of failure when she signed the divorce papers less than two years into the marriage.
I saw the way she viewed me in the bank during our first encounter, seeing myself through the prism of kindness and awe that she placed around me. There was no pity there, just an understanding of what it was to be broken and alone, of knowing the pain involved with hard times and bad decisions.
Tears ran down my cheeks as I held our kiss. I knew what made her laugh and cry. Her favorite color became my own, the scent of her most beloved flower tingled my nostrils.
My head swam from the gas and the shared experiences. I struggled to stay awake, to hold onto her for every last moment.
Her lips stopped moving against mine.
I opened my eyes, saw the distant sheen descending upon hers.
Her mind fell away, the brilliant light of her last thought flashing in my own. Being in someone’s mind as they died was a painful, horrible experience, but I refused to release Sammy.
The tendrils of my consciousness tugged at hers, grasping at her fleeting thoughts.
But she slid away, the essence of her blinking out.
And then she was gone.
I watched her as I fought the effects of the gas. My muscles were fatigued, my mind beyond exhaustion. But I didn’t dare take my eyes away from her angelic face.
Boots appeared through the fog, trampling the grass as they encircled us. A man shouted something I couldn’t make out. He barked at me in angry, short bursts.
More soldiers marched up beside him.
I finally let my body give in and I carefully lay on top of Sammy, our cheeks touching.
As I slipped away, I focused on the smoothness of her warm skin against my mangled, swollen face.
29 – Epilogue
I put the empty beer bottle back in the six-pack carton and pulled out a fresh one. A solid buzz had formed just behind my eyes. There were only three beers left, but I didn’t plan to get through the rest of them anyway.
My legs were crossed in front of me, cool grass tickling my skin. The summer had finally begun to wind down, but the Baltimore heat would keep hammering us until October.
The injuries I’d sustained in Arthur’s Creek hadn’t kept me down for long. After getting the lead taken out of my shoulder and a few stitches in my face, the rest had been cake. Bruises covered my eyes and cheeks for a while and my ribs had been sore for a few weeks, but none of it had been serious in any way.
I wished that the same could have been said for everyone else.
Drew’s wrist had taken a lot of surgeries and skin grafts. His forearm had been sewed up like Frankenstein’s monster. Melissa, Drew’s significant other who despised me, hadn’t spoken to me since we’d been pulled out of the town on stretchers and placed in a forty-eight hour quarantine.
I couldn’t blame her for that. The way I saw it, no one should want to be around me. I’d have judged her if she didn’t hate my guts.
Nami and Jim had driven the bus straight out of town and had been stopped by the advancing military. All the kids were fine and so was Short Round. They offered her a month of paid leave, but she’d gone right back to the job. Drew said that she was done fucking around and had thrown herself at the Smith case with a renewed vigor.
God, I miss you, April.
The stray thought slid into my head. I hadn’t even realized anyone else was around. I walled myself off and went back to drinking.
Jimbo got a big payday from the government to keep his mouth shut. He moved out west without saying a word to anyone. Good for him.
I hadn’t seen or talked to Allison since then. Staying as far away from me as possible would be the best thing for her, so I kept my distance. Her wound had been gnarly, but not life threatening, and Drew had told me that they’d stitched her up and discharged her a few days later.
He also said that she’d been asking about me, about what I’d done to that bench, but I made him promise to keep his mouth shut. I wanted her to forget all about me and move on with her life if she could. The emotional baggage after living through something like that could break anyone down. Allison was as tough as they come though, and I had a feeling she�
��d pull through.
The suicides began less than two days after Smith broadcasted the signal over the air. Twenty-four hours after most of the people in the town went completely apeshit, they all returned to their rational selves. They progressed from rage, to fear, to finally understanding what had happened.
Half of them committed suicide while they were still in the quarantine.
They hanged themselves with belts or shoelaces. A few managed to cut their wrists or throats.
The memories of slaughtering their loved ones, friends, and neighbors were too much for them to bear. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t been in control of themselves at the time. Most just couldn’t live with the knowledge of what they’d done.
More than eighty percent of the people who had answered their phones that day had already taken their own lives. The rest were being held and treated with heavy doses of medications.
Butch, the mayor, and Dr. Franklin had been amongst the first to go. They’d orchestrated the death of a town and just couldn’t cope with the knowledge of what they’d done.
I could relate. Just because you didn’t cause a horrible event didn’t mean that survivor’s guilt wouldn’t tear you apart.
You let me die.
I ignored the voice and took a long pull from the bottle. It emptied before I even realized how much I’d been drinking.
Put it back and grabbed another.
I’d be happy and healthy if you just hadn’t gone into that bank.
“I know,” I mumbled, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
A couple walked along the aisle in front of me, concern and distrust in their eyes. I guess people didn’t appreciate a drunk hanging out in a cemetery.
I reached out and touched Sammy’s headstone. Her family had spent quite a bit of money on it and it showed. I hadn’t attended any of the ceremonies, choosing to keep my distance. Maybe someday I would introduce myself to her parents. I figured that everyone deserved to know who had caused the death of their loved one.
But I wasn’t quite ready for that yet. I had unfinished business to attend to.
Why couldn’t you leave me alone?
“I tried.”
And here we are.
I gulped down some more swill, let my fingers roam over the engravings on her headstone. I longed to be able to hold her one more time.
The couple stopped a few dozen yards away, staring down at a stone cross. The man whispered something to his wife, then stepped away and lifted a cell phone to his ear.
People had only begun trusting technology again over the last week or so. Cell phone network usage had plunged. Carriers were laying people off left and right.
And it wasn’t just the cell phone industry. People were logging off the internet. They didn’t want to watch television. No one listened to the radio. The entire stock market had crashed in Great Depression fashion. Unemployment was skyrocketing as the economy sagged.
Horrible legislation was being rammed through Congress that would do absolutely nothing to keep anyone safe. Almost everyone was pounding on the war drum.
Things were fucked up, and I couldn’t tell when they would start to improve. The specter of Smith and his Merry Band of Assholes hung over everything. Our government had chalked up the Massacre at Arthur’s Creek, as it was now being called, to a harrowing act of terrorism.
And that had been accurate.
What they hadn’t said was that it was an act of domestic terrorism, not foreign. It wasn’t caused by religious fundamentalists or a crazy dictator.
The attack had been designed and executed by a homegrown madman. In our quest to combat terrorism abroad, we’d willingly given too much power to those who would abuse it. Now, we were paying the price.
After the military had stormed into Arthur’s Creek, finally putting an end to the slaughter, they’d only managed to find two of Smith’s men, both of whom were dead. There had been no sign of Smith, the Man in Black, or that Jamie Welsh character whose power they had managed to manipulate.
We didn’t even know if they’d wanted me or if killing me would only have been a bonus point after they’d sacked an entire town. Had my involvement just been the perfect alignment of the stars for their little message with the signal and a shot at killing a lot of the members of Nelson’s new crew? I had no idea.
The military hadn’t found any of the equipment used to facilitate the broadcast of the signal with the cell phone tower. There were no clues as to where they were or what they would do next. They’d essentially vanished, leaving a trail of destruction and death behind them. The Psych Ward was essentially back at square one.
A monster was in our midst.
But if I was good at one thing, it was slaying beasts.
You are the beast.
I’d been hearing Sammy in my head since the moment I’d woken up in quarantine. She whispered to me at random times. It was as if she were always just over my shoulder, speaking right into my ear.
I knew that she was dead—I’d seen her corpse, had mourned at her grave too many times.
But when I’d gone so deep into her consciousness, I’d brought something back with me. It was as if she’d bored out her own little space in my mind. I didn’t know how that was even possible, or if I’d just gone completely bat-shit crazy.
Either way, we were having conversations every single day.
Usually we talked about her death, which she blamed me for.
I blamed myself too, so at least we had that much going for us.
So now I drank to not only dull the thoughts of those around me, but to mute the ones coming from inside my own head.
“Ashley.” Drew’s voice came from behind me.
I gave Sammy’s headstone one last look and tipped my beer at it. “See you soon.”
After polishing off the bottle, I put it back in the sixer and gathered everything up.
Drew and Nami stood on the sidewalk two rows back.
Nami glanced around. “I hate these places.”
“Me too.” I walked over to them, offered Drew a beer.
“No time for that.” Drew put his hand on my shoulder, gave me one of his patented I’m-worried-about-you looks. “Nelson called all of us in. He’s got the new team members assembled for you to scan.”
“How many are there?”
“Twelve.”
“Are they all spec ops?”
“Most are, but not all.”
“More grunts for me to deal with.” Nami twirled a finger by her temple. “As if I didn’t have enough on my hands with you butt plugs.”
I flicked one of her pigtails with my index finger. “Don’t pretend that you aren’t enjoying having all of this beefcake around you.”
“Don’t touch me, douche canoe.” Nami swatted my hand away. “I find brains way sexier than brawn.”
“You two can talk shit while we’re on the road.” Drew looked at his watch. “They’re expecting us within the hour.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. There would be no climbing out of the rabbit hole I was about to leap in.
“What do you think, Ogre?” Nami asked. “Ready to help us kick some ass?”
My eyes slammed open. “Let’s do this.”
*****
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Did you love Madness? Then you should read Asher's War by Jason Brant!
Asher Benson has been living on the outskirts of society for years. After surviving a devastating terrorist attack in the mountains of West Virginia, he abandons a life of solitude to rejoin a fight he thought was long behind him. Drowning in survivor's guilt and plagued by the death and destruction that always follows him, Ash dedicates himself to finding the terrorists responsible for destroying an entire town.
When a new threat arises in Washington D.C., the entire nation descends into chaos. With a team assembled from retired Special Forces warriors, the snarky Nami, and the ever-vigilant Drew, Ash goes in search of the man who brought the country to its knees.
*Asher's War is the third book in the Asher Benson series of novels full of sarcastic humor and non-stop action.
Read more at Jason Brant’s site.
About the Author
"JASON BRANT" is an anagram for Bas Trojann, a former Bigfoot hunter who, after being abducted (and subsequently returned) by aliens, decided to hang up his ghillie suit and enter the world of professional arm wrestling. Despite back-to-back first place finishes in the South Dakota World Championship League, Bas receded from athletics to invent cheese and give Al Gore the initiative to create the internet.
Nearly a decade after writing the bestselling self-help series, Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese (Cut into Four Pieces) for the Soul, Bas has left his life of notoriety and critical acclaim behind him to write existential, erotic poetry.
