As Darkness Falls

by David Lucin

  Jenn shouted, “Four!” Then, to Wyatt, “He’s right. If they decide to—”

  The door clicked and swung inward. Jenn jumped back, instinctively lifting her rifle. Wyatt and Freddie did the same, but when a gray-haired woman with hunched-over posture came out, a bandanna over her mouth and nose, Jenn pressed the air, telling them to stand down for now. Two younger men—her sons?—helped her walk. Each step was slow, deliberate, like her legs would give out beneath her if she moved too quickly. She refused to make eye contact, but the men glared at Jenn as they passed.

  That ache of guilt returned. How much had this woman been through in the past five months?

  A half dozen more refugees filed out of the shed. One of them, a forty-something man in jeans and a leather jacket, said on his way through the doorway, “Here we are, outside.” The muscles and tendons showed through the skin on his neck, and a gash above his right eyebrow burned red, like it was infected. How did he get that? In a fight? “Hope you’re happy.”

  Jenn paid close attention as two men came up beside him. One wore a black tracksuit, the other a gray sweatshirt. A trickle of adrenaline sharpened her senses and made her fingers tingle. Aiden and Tanis, she noticed, had returned to the front of the shed and stood behind Leather Jacket and his friends.

  “Hey,” he said at Jenn. “I’m talking to you.”

  She tried to stare past him, at the last few refugees leaving the shed, but his gaze was relentless, and she couldn’t stop herself from meeting it.

  He shoved one hand into the pocket of his jacket and pointed at the old woman with the other. “You see her? She’s seventy-four. You realize what you’re doing to her by sending her away?”

  Killing her, Jenn thought. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do.”

  Leather Jacket laughed without humor and took a long step toward her. “Oh, no? Who can, then?”

  “Hey, pal,” Wyatt began, “why don’t you cool it, all right?”

  “Cool it? Or what? You’ll shoot me?” Leather Jacket still had a hand in his pocket. What did he have in there? A gun? How would he even get one? Nobody in New River was allowed a weapon. Could he have found it after he left the camp?

  The other refugees from the shed had dispersed, leaving only Leather Jacket, Tracksuit, and Gray Sweatshirt. With Tanis and Aiden behind them, the trio was surrounded, but Jenn got the sense they didn’t care. Her gut told her they were looking for a fight. She had to de-escalate this situation before it spiraled out of control. “No, we’re not going to shoot you. All we’re asking is that you clear the rest stop and be on your way.”

  “You say it like we have somewhere to go. You should just put us out of our misery, save us all the suffering.”

  He didn’t want her to kill him, did he? Probably he was only taunting her, trying to get her to admit she was in the wrong. Well, she wouldn’t. “Sir,” she said, now fixated on the hand in his pocket. “We aren’t here to hurt anyone, so if you’ll just please—”

  The hand came out. In it was a switchblade. His thumb hit a button, and a blade sprang from the handle.

  In a flash, the trickle of adrenaline transformed into a cascade, sending Jenn’s rifle to her shoulder. Wyatt, Aiden, and Tanis had also lifted their weapons. Freddie followed a second later, and then five Militia troops had Leather Jacket in their sights. Jenn wished she had her Glock or a semiautomatic. If she was attacked at this distance, she would only be able to squeeze off one round.

  “Do it,” Leather Jacket said. “Put a few in my chest. When you’re done, you can go ahead and shoot her.” He waved in the direction the old woman had gone. “You’re killing us anyway. Might as well make it quick.”

  “I’m not going to shoot anybody.” Jenn hoped against hope that was true. She’d killed five people, yes, but this situation felt different. “Nobody has to get hurt. Just drop the weapon and walk away.”

  “I don’t think I will.” Leather Jacket took another long step forward. Three more and he’d be close enough to strike out with his knife. “See, you don’t have the guts to take me down. That’s why you gave us water and are pushing us out now. I’ll prove it.”

  He ran his thumb along the knife’s blade. Tracksuit and Gray Sweatshirt had balled their hands into fists, their knees bent like they were preparing to pounce.

  De-escalation wasn’t working. These men wanted a fight, and Jenn could say nothing to change that. So she reached for the mic on her shoulder, planning to call for backup, but the moment her support hand left her rifle, Leather Jacket leaped at her, knife raised. Everything told her to pull the trigger, to put him down like she put down Yankees Hat, but something in her brain, a part born of her experience with violence, commanded her to lift Espinosa and use it to deflect the incoming blow.

  She reacted just in time, and his forearm struck her weapon near the magazine. He knocked her off-balance, though, and she fell onto her backside, into the grass.

  The weight of his body pressed against hers. He howled like a feral animal, and his eyes burned with rage. One hand on the stock of her rifle, the other on the barrel, she thrust it toward his face and struck his jaw. He made an oof sound and then overpowered her, forcing her weapon flat to her chest.

  In a blur of movement, she saw Wyatt tackle Gray Sweatshirt at the knees. Aiden and Tanis already had Tracksuit on the ground, each of them holding down one arm as he bucked and tried to break free. Freddie stood stone still, mouth agape, and watched as Leather Jacket swiped downward with his knife.

  “Freddie!” Jenn cried as hot pain exploded above her left elbow. The knife—she’d been stabbed or cut. But her fight-or-flight instincts decided the wound didn’t matter, not right now, and the pain vanished. “Do something!”

  Her attacker raised his knife again, but a hand gripped his wrist. He yelped and was jerked sideways. She was free.

  Yannick, teeth bared, straddled Leather Jacket and drove a fist into his cheek. Three Militia troops rushed in to secure the man’s limbs. A fourth delivered a kick to his ribs. Others from Quinn’s team helped Wyatt with Gray Sweatshirt and Aiden with Tracksuit.

  Jenn rolled over and began to push herself up when Quinn knelt next to her and cried, “You’re bleeding!”

  Bleeding? Jenn tapped a finger to where she’d felt that sting on her tricep, and it came back red.

  Terror welled in her chest, but the adrenaline kept it from breaking free.

  Quinn tore off her mask and tied it tightly around Jenn’s arm. Quickly, blood darkened the fabric, so Jenn added her own mask to the makeshift bandage.

  A crowd of Militia and National Guard troops rushed over. Jenn heard, “I need a medic down to the rest stop to deal with a stab wound.” It sounded like Courtney. When she searched the faces for the tall sergeant, wanting to say thanks, her attention shifted to Freddie. Like a statue, he stood frozen, wearing that same shocked, frightened expression. She focused on him for a moment, hoping he’d have the courage to look at her, but he continued staring at his feet.

  Rage bubbled in her veins. Disappointment buried it. Freddie had watched idly as his squad leader was attacked with a deadly weapon. How did she ever think he could cut it in the Militia?

  Sam was right—he didn’t belong here. It was time for Dylan to bump him from his position. Hopefully he’d be sent home. Screw the fallout from Chief Morrison.

  10

  Seated on a cot in the medical tent, Jenn touched the bandage on her left tricep. Beneath it, six stitches held together a one-inch-long gash in her skin. She’d only earned stitches once before, as a little girl, when she sliced her foot on a nail while playing in a neighborhood park. Back then, she was given a numbing agent. No such luck today—the National Guard medic had none in inventory. Instead, he offered Jenn a pencil to bite down on. She almost gnawed it in half and cried during the whole procedure.

  “How’s it feel?” Liam asked, standing in front of her cot with his arms crossed. Technically off duty until tonight, he’d rushed down from Cordes
Lakes as soon as he received word of the incident at the rest stop.

  She straightened her elbow, then bent it, feeling the stitches tug on her skin. The final vestiges of adrenaline floating through her bloodstream dulled the pain to a faint throb, but the sensation wouldn’t last forever. She wondered if Ed had brought any of his bourbon. A few shots would probably help. “It’s all right. The doc sewed me up good.”

  For what she swore was the tenth time, Dylan leaned in to inspect the wound.

  “Quit fretting,” she said to him. “I’m fine, honestly.”

  “I just wanna make sure it’s not infected.”

  “You can’t even see through the bandages. Besides, the doc had alcohol wipes and cleaned it out.” Which was fortunate, because Jenn didn’t want to think about where Leather Jacket’s knife had been. “I’ll survive. Promise. I appreciate you worrying about me, but Sam’s going to smother me to death when he hears about this.” She dreaded telling him the story; she didn’t want him thinking roadblock duty had become too dangerous. Although he volunteered to help Flagstaff and the Militia, his main reason for coming down here, she knew, was to keep an eye on her. She finished with, “I don’t need to hear it from both of you.”

  “Fine, fine.” He backed away and sat in a chair next to her cot.

  Liam scratched at his salt and pepper beard. “So he leaped at you with the knife? No provocation or anything? Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” Jenn said. “We kept our cool and didn’t escalate. He was going on and on about how he wanted me to shoot him because we were killing them anyway.”

  “Suicide by police,” Liam mumbled. “Or in this case, suicide by Militia.”

  “Suicide? You don’t think he was actually serious, do you?”

  “He might have been. A few years ago, we had an incident in Flagstaff. The guy had lost his job, his house. Wife left him, took the kid. His last option was modular.”

  This story was all too familiar; it could have applied to millions. Despite the challenges Jenn and her family faced before the bombs, on the economic spectrum, they were closer to one-percenters than the destitute poor who lived on the street or in modular. “So what happened?” she asked.

  “He had a gun, blew out a few car windows downtown. My old partner and I get a call of shots fired, so we head down and meet a few other squad cars there. He stood right out in the open and shot at us a few times, very obviously trying to miss. We clued in pretty quick on what he was doing, so we kept our cool, talked him down, and nobody got hurt. No offense to Gary, since he used to be one of them, but the cops down in the city might’ve just taken him out as a matter of course.”

  “Wow.” Jenn made a note to ask Gary about his experiences with suicide by police during his career in Phoenix.

  “I’m sorry it went down the way it did,” Liam said. “But it sounds like you and your squad handled it perfectly.”

  She blushed at the compliment, proud of her people. Except Freddie. He let her down. Let the whole squad down. Should she tell Liam? No, that felt too much like tattling, and she didn’t want to go over Dylan’s head. At some point, Liam would likely have to consider taking away Freddie’s fire team, but she should discuss what happened with Dylan first. So she said, “That means a lot. I’ll pass on to the grunts that they did a good job.”

  “I’ll talk to them myself. Are they in a break tent?”

  “Yeah. Closest one to operations.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Liam pushed aside the tent flap. With one foot outside, he said over his shoulder, “Take the day off and get some rest. If you’re feeling up to it, you can work tomorrow.”

  “I’m good to go now.” She flexed her arm again, though she had to clench her teeth to keep from wincing in pain. “See? No problem. Like it never happened.”

  He smirked at her. “Nice try. Baker, make sure she’s on the next ride up to Cordes Lakes.”

  “Will do.”

  Liam left Jenn alone with Dylan. She anticipated another question about her wound, so she preempted it with, “I’m fine. I’d argue with you about sending me home for the day, but it’s a lost cause at this point.”

  “It is.” He discreetly peeked at her bandages. “First battle scar. How’s it feel?”

  Like I was stabbed. “I’ll wear it with pride.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  The throbbing in her arm grew worse with each beat of her heart. Doing her best to ignore it and not cry in front of Dylan, she said to him, “Freddie screwed up. Totally froze.”

  “I know. I saw.”

  She hadn’t considered that Dylan would have seen what happened. In the heat of the moment, with Leather Jacket atop her, knife in hand, her brain had mostly ignored everything else. “So what do we do? You were right about him, and I can’t trust him anymore.”

  He tugged on his earlobe. “He came to see me while you were getting stitched up.”

  That surprised her. She figured he would have found a quiet place to hide. “What did he say?”

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  “To apologize, I assume. Or explain himself.”

  “Yeah, like that’ll help.”

  Dylan leaned his elbows on his knees. “I think you should hear him out.”

  She snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.” He tapped his index fingers together a few times. “How about this? You listen to what he has to say. Then you let me know how you want to move forward. If you decide we should bump him, I’ll plead our case to the commander. If you decide we should give him another shot, I’ll back you on that, too. It’s your squad, so it’s your call.”

  “Why are you on his side all of a sudden? Before we left, you were looking for every opportunity to get rid of him.”

  “I had my doubts about whether he was ready to lead a fire team, but I wouldn’t say I was”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“‘looking for every opportunity to get rid of him.’ And I hate to say it, Jansen, but you coming down on him hard after one screw-up would be a tad hypocritical.”

  She recoiled in offense. “Hypocritical? How do you figure?”

  “I seem to remember having to pretty much drag you through the woods in Camp Verde after we scoped out the bridge.”

  “Oh. That.” Her face burned with embarrassment. Still reeling from her first kill, she’d panicked and nearly got her and Dylan captured or shot. She’d been a liability then, but she learned from her mistakes. Dylan could have left her with Sheriff Wilson in Prescott and continued into Phoenix without her, but he didn’t; he gave her a second chance, and in the end, she made herself an asset. “You had to bring that up, didn’t you? You’re going to make this decision really hard.”

  He slapped her knee and rose from his seat. “Nobody said being a squad leader would be easy. Just wait until you’re running a platoon.”

  Again her face burned, now with pride. Dylan speaking of her promotion to platoon leader as an inevitability validated so much of what she’d done to get this far. It would take a while, yes, and she wasn’t close to being ready, but knowing she had found her calling, her place in this new world, warmed her heart. She said, trying but failing to keep the smile off her face, “Who said I want to run a platoon? Your job sucks.”

  “Embrace it, Jansen. The suck. It only gets worse.”

  “Great. I can’t wait.” The words came out as a joke, but she meant them honestly.

  Dylan took one final look at her bandage. “I’ll send Freddie in, if you’re ready to talk with him now.”

  “Might as well. Thanks.”

  He left the tent, and Jenn thought about what she would do. A few minutes ago, she was eager to boot Freddie from his position and replace him with Wyatt or Aiden. If she’d had her way, she would have sent him packing to Flagstaff and worked with a squad of seven instead of eight. Now she wasn’t so sure. Dylan’s reminder about Camp Verde hit home. It also brought to mind how she reacted at the
roadblock in Flagstaff when the first wave of refugees from Las Vegas arrived on I-40—she turtled and hid away, crying and calling for her mother.

  Dylan was right; she’d be a hypocrite to judge Freddie too harshly based on what happened today. But could she afford to give him a second chance? Next time, someone might end up with an injury that couldn’t be fixed with only a few stitches.

  Freddie poked his head inside the tent. “Jansen?”

  “Hey, Freddie. Come on in.”

  He zipped up the flap behind him, affording them some privacy, then stuck his hands into his pockets, his gaze wandering to the first-aid kit on the wooden table in the corner. “How bad is it?”

  “This?” She held up her arm. “It’s nothing. ’Tis but a scratch.”

  His left eyebrow shot up. “Monty Python. I thought you didn’t like old movies.”

  “I don’t. I picked that one up from Dylan.” Using her good arm, she gestured to the chair next to her cot. “Have a seat. Dylan said you wanted to talk to me.”

  He did as she asked, avoiding eye contact. His skin was paler than usual, and he kept his hands in his pockets, even when sitting. For a long, awkward few seconds, he said nothing. Finally, “I messed up back there. I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t move. It’s my fault you got hurt.”

  She wanted to dress him down, but what would that accomplish? He clearly felt remorse already. So she asked, before she fully realized what she was doing, “Why are you here, Freddie?”

  Now he met her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you volunteer? And don’t give me some BS about doing your part or your duty or whatever. I know all about your uncle and how he got you a fire team, so tell me the truth. Did he force you to join up?”

  The skin around his mouth tightened. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? That doesn’t really answer my question.”

  He took a rubber band from his pocket and pulled his mop of blond hair into a short ponytail, then undid the top button on his shirt, only to do it up again. “When the war started, I was twenty-one, prime age to enlist. My parents, specifically my mom, thought their only child should do exactly that.” He settled on leaving the button undone. “You remember how it was in the beginning. Everyone wanted a piece of China for what they were doing. People were excited about the war, thinking it would be over by New Year’s. All that.”