Live From the Scene of Death

by Nick Curry

  Part 5: Stomping Ground

  By Jordan Martin

  My heart was in my throat. Chloe was with him. She had to be. There’s no way some senator born with a silver spoon in his mouth would be in Podunk, Nowhere without some impetus. That longing to pray bit at me once more, but I was pretty sure Matt would notice something was up if I suddenly fell to my knees.

  I needed to get off this farm. I needed to find Chloe. She needed me, and I needed her. Scanning the ground, the horizon, and even the sky, I pleaded for my brain to kick into high gear and push out some sort of plan.

  I could hit Matt and take his keys. No, that was stupid. All I have is this crate, and there’s no way I’m getting it above my head. Besides, I had no intentions of killing the man—maybe a coma at the worst.

  My head shook on its own at that thought. I wouldn’t have a chance until I had a vehicle. Harry’s water truck looked like it was fine for getting the heavy water from the well to the house, but something tells me his rust-on-rust paint job wasn’t going to last long on the bumpy roads.

  Harry had his gas tanker, too, but that didn’t seem like an option. I had no idea where the keys were, much less how to drive a vehicle so heavy with sloshing fluid. The only other option was the jeep the military guys arrived in.

  I had it.

  “I gotta take a break, Matt. My shoulders are giving out. How soon does this need to be done? We gotta put that fence back together, yet, too,” I complained.

  “Keep moving,” Matt commanded. “Complaining isn’t making any of this go faster.”

  “Neither will wrecking my back and shoulders. I’m about to cave, and then you’ll have to carry me along with the rest of the crates.”

  “Let’s not forget who is in charge. I let you live in exchange for your hospitality and assistance. Rhodes isn’t even part of my original squad and doesn’t give two shits about my orders, and Jamie’s completely compromised. I don’t know if he’ll make it through the night. Never mind the fact that your old man is whacked beyond comprehension and shooting at us,” Matt barked. “If you think I’m climbing my give-a-shit meter for your back pain, you’re mistaken.”

  “So do I get a break or not?” I said, giving a feeble shrug. My face felt red with nervousness.

  “You got 10. I suggest getting a good night’s sleep with it at the rate we’re going.”

  Inside, Dunbar and Rhodes sat around Jamie. He looked like he was resting calmly, though he still wasn’t conscious.

  “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  “Stable, but no one wants to move him just yet. We need a surgical team here,” Rhodes said.

  “Which means he’s pretty much a piece of meat,” Dunbar spouted.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Harry said. Shocked, I cocked my head his direction. Harry’s pupils were massive, and his skin could have made paper seem dark. He was in shock worse than Dunbar had been. Or he was dying.

  “Sick fuck,” Dunbar sputtered under his breath.

  “Has anyone gotten him help yet?” I asked. Harry’s sleeve had been torn off and a belt was strung tightly around his shoulder. The wound was about like mine, but took a pretty serious chunk out of his frail skin. It looked raw in the open air.

  “He refused—he only needs a few stitches and a few hours of rest and he’ll be just fine. I’ll see if I can’t patch him if he passes out,” Rhodes said. It hardly seemed helpful, but then again, they could have just mowed us down. I shifted thoughts. I had to stay on task.

  “Hey Dunbar, do you have the keys?” I asked, hoping no one cared that the conversation just shifted.

  “To what, the jeep?” Dunbar snorted.

  “Yeah, I saw a charger in the front. My phone is completely dead. My… my wife. She’s still alive. I was on the phone with her earlier today,” I lied. “She said she was in Omaha, and then my phone died. I just need to—“

  “Any major interstate is closed to civilians. If she’s trying to get here, she’s out of luck,” Dunbar interrupted. “Sorry, man.”

  “All I want to do is check my messages. Even if I can’t reach her, I want to hear her voice. Do you have a wife?” I asked. Most of it was even genuine, this time.

  “Had one, yeah.”

  “Ever miss her when you were deployed?” I asked, leaning in for any sympathy. Dunbar’s face was cold, but a small smile eventually broke.

  “Nah. She was fucking this asshole until he got deployed, too,” he said, pointing to Jamie, “but I get what you mean. I’ll walk you out there.” I whispered a curse. There was no way I’d be able to get the keys now, and he’d see that my phone had a busted adapter in it. I was just counting myself lucky they had the charger in the first place.

  Luck finally shined on me. And Jamie, too, I suppose.

  “Just gonna walk out while I’m bleedin here?” Jamie muttered.

  “Oh, oh man, Jamie!” Dunbar said. He knelt down beside his brother, who was now blinking looking around.

  “Who’s the blind surgeon? My gut is killin me,” Jamie said.

  “Hey, Dunbar,” I started. Before I could finish, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a dangling set of keys. I reached out for them, but Dunbar grabbed my hand just before I grasped them.

  “These will be back in my hand in three minutes or I’ll bury you with them,” Dunbar said. I grabbed the keys, thanked him, and turned on my heels out the door.

  “Back for more?” Matt asked, hauling a crate.

  “Yeah, how many left?” I replied. Keep your fist clenched tight, I thought. Not a single jingle, I thought. Stop skipping, the world is dead around you, I thought.

  “Just the one, and it’s got your name on it. I don’t mean to pull a ‘you’ and complain, but—“

  The keys jingled as I unlocked the door. No longer holding back my giddy excitement, I sprang into the cab and pressed the keys into the ignition, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it. Matt reached the door and pointed a sidearm at my face. I was willing to bet redecorating his interior for the windows being at least bullet resistant.

  Or that he was bluffing.

  The engine roared over Matt’s shouting, making it completely indiscernible. I threw myself sideways onto the seat and dropped the shifter into drive, stomping on the gas. Matt fired shots, plunking solidly into the body of the jeep and shattering a tail light, but nothing connected with me.

  The rear gate was still wide open, and the last crate was sliding around as the jeep bounced up the driveway. He stopped shooting; I peeked over the dash. I’d somehow managed to align myself with the still open fence.

  Loud salvos of gunfire rained forth from the house, but I didn’t look back. I looked ahead to the road. To survival.

  To Chloe.

  I made it around the first bend of the abandoned gravel road before the gunfire faded into the distance. They fired magazine after magazine toward me, but the only one to hit the jeep was Matt from point blank. I was safe, at least from them.

  The road wound past my old truck, and I contemplated stopping for my journals. Even if only for the laughs of how I wrote when everything was presumably fine. It’d be nice to have a trip back to when some guy killing three or four people was noteworthy, and warranted everyone’s attention and fear. Killing three or four people now was pretty standard practice.

  Three or four was still ahead of me—I had one measly kill under my belt, if you don’t count the dead as people.

  When did I get so morbid?

  I pushed myself. Keep focused. Murdock was nearby, and I would bet Chloe found her way onto whatever exit strategy that guy had. She’d never mentioned him directly, but it might not have been important a week or so ago when it didn’t matter enough to bring up. That was it. He was there, but it only mattered telling me where she was. Yeah.

  I only had to cover ten miles of road outside of Harry’s farm. I had done that on my bike every day of my life when I was younger, and it was usually in a f
ew short hours. Ready with a car, I could have this area swept in a few minutes.

  Then again, what if she wasn’t with him? What if my message got through, and she’s making her way through Nebraska’s back roads.

  Maybe she’s dead.

  I pulled to the side of the road and sat quietly, looking around the thin, flat horizon. In my rearview mirror, the sun was setting on my beaten truck. The back end of the jeep was still open, and the one crate left for me to haul sat plainly in the back end, stuck on the latching point for the hatch. Fighting anything infected in a moving vehicle didn’t sound like anything I wanted to experience, and an open door or a busted window was the best way to make that experience happen. It needed to be shut.

  Nothing around me moved, short of the taller grass waving against the occasional breeze. It was silent other than the rustle in the landscape. I decided it was safe enough.

  The door swung open with a slight creak, and my feet made dust clouds when they impacted the gravel. The rear of the jeep was laden with dirt and a Colorado license plate. I wish I’d noticed that sooner—a normal jeep painted camo wouldn’t have had bulletproof glass.

  Luck shined twice for me, then. I guess.

  The hatch felt stiff, but it swung down with some force. It didn’t latch, though, stuck on the crate. I slammed it a few times, but it never took. I lifted the gate once more, all the way to the top. A thick strap sat over the top of it, leading from the crate I thought was blocking it at first. I set the keys down and picked up the lid—a tiny messenger bag was inside, but the strap wasn’t connected on both ends.

  I didn’t know why, but curiosity jarred me entirely from my line of thought. I’d hauled at least ten of these crates, all sealed up tight; I had no idea what I was hauling. I could at least peak in just the one bag.

  The bag was heavier than I expected, but I had no trouble getting it out of the back of the jeep, even with my sore shoulders. I set it on the ground, and glanced once again to make sure the latch was free and clear of everything that could obstruct it. The top flap fell open on its own, revealing a huge black handgun and a red cardboard box of bullets.

  Aside from knowing which end is the dangerous end of a gun, I’ve never had much experience with them. I set it and the bullets gingerly back down in the crate before inspecting the rest of the bag. Swinging down one last time, it banged closed with a satisfying click.

  The setting sun wasn’t helping. I sat on the ground behind the jeep, scanning left to right and occasionally around the bumper to make sure my noise hadn’t alerted anything while I scavenged the bag. A balled up UNI sweater and a small notebook made up the rest of the contents, save one shiny object at the bottom. I turned the bag upside down and gave it a strong shake. The glimmering object fell to the ground, complete with a chain.

  They were dog tags. Bloodied, messy dog tags.

  This was someone’s bag. This was a fallen soldier’s bag. Matt wasn’t kidding—they really were the last of their troop. And I’d just stolen their jeep.

  I hated to be so cold, but Chloe came first… even if it meant adding a few unfortunate souls to the list of people that died because of me. My fingers like tweezers, I lifted the tarnished tags to my face, but I couldn’t even read the name. Whoever he is, he should be so lucky. The idea of dog tags isn’t lost on me, but if I came back infected with a nametag still on—

  Keep it together, I told myself. Keep moving. The wind was kicking up, and I was in the middle of the flattest part of Nebraska. I wasn’t more than a few miles from Harry’s place, but further than I wanted to walk at night, even if I had to.

  I had to find Chloe. I had to get moving.

  Standing slowly, feeling fatigue settle into my hips, I leaned against the jeep to pull myself upright. A low groaning noise emerged from a nearby barn, but it sounded more like the place settling than anything I needed to be concerned about. Still, for a moment, I thought about retrieving the gun again.

  Then again, I dreaded the thought of having to carry it on my person. I’d probably stick it in my pants loaded and blow off parts Chloe would eventually miss.

  I laughed, and even smiled. Things were finally going my way, and I was finally feeling a bit more confident that I’d at least get to see her again. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I walked to the front of the jeep and gripped the handle.

  It clicked, but it didn’t open. I tugged harder, but the handle held fast. I patted down the front of my pants with my empty hand, finding only my dead cell phone and disappointment.

  I was glad I smiled when I did. The darkness settling in affirmed the darker realization growing within. The keys were locked behind the hatch.