by Schow, Ryan
“It’s so dark!” he cried, clearly scared.
“It’ll be darker if you’re dead, now get down there!”
He went into the dark hole, climbing and crying at the same time. She was afraid she was going to have to drag him down there by force.
Outside, the gunfire persisted, which tore at her attention. Half of her needed to be there, standing tall with Will, but he told her not to do that, so maybe he would be okay. She climbed down into the hole behind Buck. But then she stopped and hesitated.
Without regard for herself or the kid, she climbed back out of the hole and ran to the open barn door. She saw the men taking the house by force. There were at least twenty of them. Too many to shoot. Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized Will was still in there. If he wasn’t dead yet, he would be soon. He’d take out a few of them if he was lucky, but basically, Will was a goner.
She watched the lead shooter kick down the front door and bully his way inside while the rest of them circled around the back of the house. Unable to hear anything at all, she was desperate to get closer, see what was happening, or just go in shooting. But she had herself and the kid to think about.
Hand to her mouth, terrified, saddened, she waited, hoping to God for an outcome completely different than the one unfolding.
Up the driveway, a few of the guys were picking up their dead, the ones Will shot earlier. She thought about shooting those guys, but if she starting firing on them, they’d find her and kill her, or worse.
Pretty soon, she saw men coming out of the house, their arms loaded with food, blankets, and clothes. They were talking and laughing. Something in her snapped. The rage that roared forth had her gripping her Glock and not caring what happened to herself.
If she walked out and shot those smug bags of crap point-blank, if she just started putting holes in their stupid faces, it would be worth it. Think about Buck! She had thought about him plenty. He’s a serial killer’s kid, the voice inside her said. He doesn’t matter.
But he did matter! He was a child, regardless of who his parents were. And if she took him with her, then she was responsible for him.
A dark side of her she didn’t know existed secretly wished she’d let him freeze to death in the truck. The more reasonable side of her said to wait, to plan, to avenge Will, but only when the circumstances were on her side, in her control, and only when she could get more than just a few of them.
Gritting her teeth, shaking, tears pooling in her eyes, she watched the men acting like ants at a picnic. They were taking everything!
When they were done ransacking the place, a few of them lit the house on fire, hooting and hollering as flames licked up the side of the house, and soon engulfed the entire structure.
First they killed Will, then they robbed him, and now they were burning his house? Have these mongrels no shame? She couldn’t stop the crying jag she’d somehow gotten on. She was just so sad, and so mad! But she also felt weak. If she went outside and confronted them now, it would be with none of her earlier rage, only a terrible sadness for everything that had happened from the moment the lights went out to now.
Not wanting to risk being seen, she went to the storm cellar, grabbed the ladder, and descended into the darkness, closing the hatch behind her. In the dark, she told Buck she couldn’t hear him, but that he should lay down on one of the cots until it was safe. Sitting in perfect darkness, she could hardly breathe. Void of light and sound, she grew restless with the sensory deprivation. Then a sliver of light shone from above, and a guy she couldn’t see carrying an old, dim flashlight started down the ladder.
Freaking out inside, she pulled out her Swiss Army knife and stood there. Buck grabbed her, but she shoved him down under his cot. She crawled under her own cot and waited.
When he reached the bottom of the cellar, the intruder swept over the large room with his light. She backed up against the stone walls, watching the light, praying it wouldn’t touch her. Finally, the light flicked out. She thought she saw a sliver of light from the cellar door above, but she could not be sure. She waited a long moment or two before quietly coming out from under the bed.
She stood to her full height, then put her hand out, trying to feel in front of her. She knew where she was heading, but she was afraid of bumping into some of the supplies lying around the space.
Disoriented, scared, she stopped for a moment to get her bearings. That was when a thought occurred to her—had the man really left?
Was he really gone?
She felt the warm breath on the back of her neck and froze. With her Swiss Army knife, she stabbed backward, striking a body. Freaking out, she flew into a manic-laced stab fest, continuing to knife her target even as an arm snaked around her neck and began to choke her.
Changing tactics, instead of going for the body—which may be padded with clothes or a jacket—she stabbed at the arm around her neck, catching the meat of it twice before the arm let go.
Spinning around, sucking in air, she pin-cushioned the man creeping around in the dark, catching his upper body, his neck, his face. When she finally turned the blade in her hand and drove it in where she thought his throat was, the attack stopped.
She stabbed again for good measure, but there was nothing to hit. She kicked out with her feet, felt the body lying on the ground. She was then struck but a sudden, horrifying thought: Had she just killed Will?
She found the flashlight this man had been carrying and picked it up with trembling hands. If she shined the light on the man and it was her boyfriend’s father, she would lose her mind. Total fracture. She knew she had started whimpering, but at least she couldn’t hear herself. She clicked on the light, shined the dim amber beam on the man’s face, then let out a breath. It wasn’t him. Thank God!
Forgetting about Buck, she climbed the ladder, eased it open, saw the barn was clear. She crawled back up into the barn and ran to the door where she had been watching from before. The last of the guys were getting into their trucks. But to her horror, the house was now a fiery inferno in the late morning drizzle. It was not salvageable.
“I’m so sorry, Will,” she whispered. Her eyes went to the men getting into their trucks. She counted eighteen of them. Were there more? She committed a few of their faces to memory, then vowed to avenge Will, to make these maggots pay.
When they were pulling out of the driveway, the rearmost truck stopped and the driver got out fast, armed. He opened fire on someone, then holstered his gun, and got back into his truck.
Leighton suddenly felt a hand grab hers causing her to both cry out and jump at the same time. She turned around and saw Buck staring at her with scared eyes.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You just scared me.”
Where’s Will?
“He’s gone,” she said, the hitch in her voice painful. “We need to go, too. We have to find my friend, Niles. Will’s son.”
Is my daddy dead, too? he asked.
She felt herself sink inside. This was the last thing she needed right now.
“Yes, he is.”
Did you kill him?
“I helped.”
His little mouth was working, his dry lips pinched together half the time, and worming around against each other the other half of the time.
Good, he finally said.
“You know what he did, who he was,” she said. He looked down. “Not all men are bad like your father. And just because you come from him, you don’t have to be bad, either.”
I’m not bad, he said, looking up at her.
“I know, sweetheart,” she said, picking him up and hugging him tightly. She kissed the side of his dirty face and said, “I know.”
Telling Buck his father was dead was one thing. Having to break the news about Will to Ramira and Niles would be another thing altogether.
Niles loved his father, just as she had. One day, he was going to be her father-in-law. Now he was yet another tortured memory.
She put Buck down, started shaking aga
in. Her eyes flooded. For a second, she couldn’t get a hold of herself, for there was no way to put any of this out of her head. Will wasn’t just a casualty. He was a person, a father, a husband. And now he was gone.
She collapsed against the barn’s wall, sank to the floor. She was now so deep inside her own head she couldn’t burden herself with thoughts of Buck or his father. All she knew was this terrible, unfolding pain. It ate at her, then began to build, like a black balloon overfilling inside of her. Rage mixed with grief and the explosive force of it suddenly needed an exit.
To her own surprise, she drew a deep breath then let out a roar of grief so ferocious it literally scraped the lining of her throat.
Buck just stood there, looking at her, but she wouldn’t look at him. She’d gotten Will killed. If only she hadn’t brought Buck with them, they would have missed those guys. He would still be alive.
Turning to the boy, she said, “You did this!”
Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Lowering her face into her hands, she screamed bloody murder, trying to expel all the hurt inside, the hurt that seemed endless in its supply.
The worst thing of all was that this explosive force inside of her was mighty but silent to her. She took no satisfaction in her meltdown, which only intensified her misery.
“It’s not your fault,” she said to the boy, still unwilling to look at him. “This was my fault, not yours.”
When she opened her eyes, he was sitting down, crying to himself, which made her feel even worse. She stood and went to him, pulled him in her arms, and they held each other even as the fiery roof of the main house began to collapse in on itself.
“Let’s go, little man,” she finally said, standing up and dusting herself off.
As they walked up the driveway, she couldn’t stop seeing the house. Decades of memories were made there, but it would be the catastrophic losses that would likely haunt the surviving members of the Bennington family.
With Buck in tow, Leighton made her way to the end of the driveway, the Glock out, ready to go. They stuck to the sides of the brush, then moved cautiously into the street. There, they ran into a dead man sprawled out on the pavement. This was the man these cretins shot on the way out.
She thought of walking past him, but she couldn’t do that, not in good conscience. She pulled out his wallet from the back of his pants, saw the name Jacob, and knew he was with Will.
She thought she’d plumbed the depths of her sadness with Will, but now she found even deeper layers. Not only was she going to have to tell Niles and Ramira about Will, but she would also have to tell Jacob’s family about him. Suddenly she felt ill. There was no way she could waste time on the street, though. They had to keep moving.
She took the license, read the address, and then they started walking again, sticking to cover where they could. If Niles was still alive, he would be at Jacob’s house, just as Will had said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Leighton McDaniel
Just when Leighton felt like they might be able to get to Niles unobstructed, Buck squeezed her hand hard and turned his head. She looked around but didn’t see anything.
“What is it?” she asked.
Trucks.
“Get off the road,” she said to Buck. “Hurry!”
The two of them scrambled off the road and off the beaten path. They ducked behind a few pruned shrubs, then watched as a few old-as-dirt trucks flew by like they owned the road. They waited for a good five minutes before Leighton was willing to step back out near the road.
“Do that again if you hear anything,” she said. “Just squeeze my hand and I’ll know.”
They walked to Jacob’s house without further incident. At the front door, Leighton took a deep breath, then knocked. Moments later, a semi-attractive redhead answered the door.
Yes? Can I help you?
“I’m looking for Niles Bennington,” she said. “Is he here?”
With a warm smile, she said, You must be Leighton.
Relieved, she said, “I am. And this is Buck.”
Hi, Buck, she said. I’m Kenley.
She opened the door, invited them in, and then she took Leighton back to the bedroom where Niles was resting. Leighton saw Ramira and softened inside. The woman stood and hugged her. She was never that friendly before, but now Niles’s mother was holding on to her like they were besties from forever ago and it was just marvelous to see her.
What are you doing here? Ramira asked.
“The power went out and I didn’t want to be at NKU by myself. My parents know where you live, and I wanted to be with Niles…”
She looked over at him and he opened his eyes.
Leighton? he said, looking groggy.
“It’s me,” she replied, stepping around Ramira to give him a kiss. He looked like hell. “Your father said you were shot.”
Will’s back? Ramira asked like she was relieved.
“Um,” she started to say, but her eyes puddled with tears, and all of a sudden, the dam of emotion she’d been holding back so bravely broke at once. Turning to Ramira, she tried to speak, but it was no use. The words wouldn’t come out, and she couldn’t stop the tremors that hit her hands, her voice, her heart.
No, Ramira pleaded, her body visibly weak. She sat down on the edge of Niles’s bed and steadily began to fall apart.
Looking at Niles, she saw him realizing all the things she could not say. Will was gone, dead, never coming back.
Buck put his arm around her leg, standing close like he would a mother or a mother-figure, in his case. She picked him up, hugged him tightly, and said she was sorry for making him sad. She felt his body starting to shake out a few tears of his own.
Kenley came in and said, What’s wrong?
Will, Ramira cried.
Kenley’s face twisted up with sympathy. She went to the woman. I’m so sorry, Ramira. What happened?
“They burned…the house down…after a gunfight,” Leighton managed to say, unable to look anyone in the eye. “Will…got four of them. But…” She didn’t want to speak anymore. She didn’t even want to try.
But my father went to help him, Kenley said. Looking at Leighton as Leighton feared the woman would, she asked, Did you see him? Did you see my father?
Slowly, she handed Kenley her father’s driver’s license.
Now Kenley had the same reaction as Ramira and Niles. Leighton couldn’t take it any longer. She set Buck down and walked out of the room. It was too dangerous to be on the front porch, so she went out back and found an old swing set. She brushed some leaves and a puddle of water off the seat, then plopped down and grabbed the ropes. Unable to stop crying, she leaned her head on the side of the rope and just let her emotions run loose.
The rain started up again, a light drizzle. This wet nuisance, this weather that would never give them a break, it just broke the skies open like a cracked toilet bowl emptying out on her head, shoulders and back.
Buck came running out the back door, shouting, pointing his fingers toward the front of the house. The men were back? Did someone get hurt?
She got off the swing and ran into the house, heading right to the front window. Across the street, the trucks pulled up to a medium-sized one-story house. Ramira said there were really only a couple of neighborhoods in Melbourne, and these guys were cleaning everyone out.
Kenley was so distraught, she emerged from one of the rooms with a rifle, fully prepared to go after the men who killed Will and her father.
Leighton stopped her and said, “No.”
You can’t stop me, she roared, pushing Leighton’s arm off of her. No one told the redhead Leighton was deaf. Then again, she hadn’t even told Ramira or Niles about her failed hearing aids.
“Let’s at least measure the situation,” Leighton said, trying to calm her. “There’s no need to charge into a firing squad.”
What does it matter now? she cried.
“Why kill just one or two when you might be able to
kill all of them? If you go up there half-cocked and crazed, you’ll be shot on sight, and never have your revenge.”
She seemed to think about this.
What do you know about killing anyone? she said, her features contorted with anger.
“More than I want to know.”
Is that why you’re all scratched up, and your head is bruised? Leighton nodded her head, solemn. I’m…I’m sorry.
“So am I.”
I’m still going, Kenley said.
Leighton felt bad enough about Will, and mad enough about what they’d done to Niles and the neighbors across the street that she wanted in on the action, too.
“I’m coming with you.”
I don’t want that on my hands, Kenley said.
“You don’t want what on your hands?”
Your death.
“With all due respect, Kenley, grow up and look around. Things aren’t normal. They’re not going to get normal. Nothing is ever going to be normal or sane or even civilized again, which means at this point, we aren’t really responsible for what we do. We are only responsible for what we don’t do.”
You don’t know that.
“Yes, I do.”
Do you have a gun then? she asked.
Leighton nodded her head.
The two of them then watched as the guys across the street broke into the house and started taking things out. Beside her, Kenley jumped.
“What?” Leighton asked, watching her mouth.
Kenley turned and looked at her. What do you mean what? You didn’t hear that?
“I’m technically deaf. My hearing aids went out in the EMP,” Leighton said. “What did you just hear?”
“Gunshots.”
She drew a breath and knew what was next. She stepped back and said, “It’s time to go. Watch my six and don’t bother talking to me. I need to read your lips to know what’s on your mind. Remember that.”
Roger that, Kenley said.
When the coast was clear, they crossed the street, hustled up a small grassy hill, then tucked up against the house. Kenley was on her six, thank the Lord.
