by William Bebb
“This has got to be the biggest fuck-a-doodle ever,” Wyatt said, as he drove toward the exit. “We need to stop by that bus. An agent is in there. Then we are going, as the locals say, adios.”
“Why can't we get the colonel and his boy, Billy? They're just over there,” Maria asked, pointing to the distant trailer with an American flag flapping in the breeze out front.
The squad car swerved around piles of junk and approached the utility building parking lot where Josey's truck was parked.
“First, we need to call for help then we can get everyone out,” Wyatt replied, as he nudged his deputy who seemed dazed and was slumped forward in the passenger seat.
“Come on, Thomas, snap out of it! Get the shotgun ready and unroll your window. We’ve got to give Shoemaker some cover so he can get to us.” Captain Wyatt looked out of the corner of his eye at his partner as he swerved the car around a rusty shopping cart. “Thomas? You okay?”
Maria saw the deputy drooling as he stared out the passenger side window. “Captain, I think something's-” She started to say then shrieked as Thomas dropped the shotgun and began clawing at the metal mesh screen that separated the front from the back of the cruiser. Unable to look away, she saw the whites of his eyes were dark red.
His fingers clawed at the partition and were bleeding as the skin was shredded off by the metal screen like a cheese grater.
The car was filled with screams as Thomas yelled at her and she shrieked back.
“Son of bitch!” Wyatt yelled, as he looked over at his crazed deputy.
Thomas turned when the captain spoke and dove for him. He clutched Wyatt's arm and bit it.
The captain fought back and slammed on the brakes. The cruiser slid to a stop almost even with the back of the utility building.
“Shoot him!” Maria yelled, from the back seat as Wyatt let go of the steering wheel to grapple with the deputy with both hands. The car rocked back and forth as the fight in the front seat increased in ferocity.
Wyatt pulled his gun and with his other hand fought to keep Thomas off of him.
Drooling and gibbering, the deputy grabbed the captain around the neck using both hands.
Wyatt's face turned bright red as he pointed his gun and fired repeatedly at his partner. The shots were deafening inside the car.
Maria covered her ears and closed her eyes while praying fervently.
Thomas flew back against the passenger side door with four smoking holes in his chest plus three more in his neck. He slumped against the shattered passenger window... dead.
“Get him out of the car! Throw him out! He's going to come back like the others,” Maria pleaded, while Wyatt stared in shock at the dead deputy.
The last shots went through Thomas' neck, nearly severing the head from his body, before smashing the window behind him. Through the smashed window, Wyatt saw dozens of men including several in ICE uniforms running toward them.
It was apparent the people would be at the car in less than a minute and the captain stared down at his bleeding arm. His vision swam in and out of focus as he felt more confused. Looking back at the girl in the backseat the growing confusion cleared momentarily. He pressed the rear door lock release button and felt a fiery pain, like a red hot metal spear, throbbing in the center of his head. “Get out, Now!” He growled as his body shook uncontrollably. He held his head in his hands and started to scream louder as the deceased deputy lifted his head and looked over at him.
Maria climbed quickly out of the backseat and ran along the side of the utility building a moment before the squad car sped off with the siren blaring. She reached the rear of the building and stared at Mrs. Remlap's house. The fire was spreading fast across the wooden porch and flames erupted from the windows. Plumes of black smoke rose into the cloudless blue sky as she tried to think.
She sat down on a crate next to a pile of others and considered hiding behind a stack of them. There certainly are enough of them, she thought looking at the pile stacked against the cinder block wall of the building.
The police car siren and screams made it difficult to think clearly.
A shadow moved. She looked up at the top of the wall and spotted a large ugly buzzard squatting on the edge leering back at her. She'd seen enough of the crazy people attack the birds to understand why it was sitting up there, in safety. Careful of her broken fingers, caused by the rat trap, she reached up onto a wooden crate against the wall and climbed. This is so loco. I'm going to fall and break my neck, she thought but kept climbing.
The bird flew off after squawking indignantly at her.
Halfway up to the roof, she heard a grunting sound and stopped climbing.
A man trudged around the corner of the building. From his rotten flesh smell she could tell he'd been dead for quite awhile. He entered the shade of the building and gradually slowed to a stop. He did not look around. He did not look anywhere. He just stopped and swayed slightly back and forth and only seemed to be looking down at his feet.
Maria held very still and tried to be quiet.
