by Ryan Schow
Derek came from bad stock, Garrity said. He had a crap father, a beaten mother, a brother who left for the war and still hasn’t come back home. Seldom did he talk about his family life because it seemed he was hoping to put it behind him. We became his family. Marilyn, Laura, and I. He died fighting beside us, protecting us. He died a valiant death, the way a warrior would have wanted. We’ll miss you, Derek. We’ll miss you and we’ll probably be seeing you sooner than any of us expected. May God keep and protect you, brother.
Leighton nodded along with him, feeling just how important Derek was to Garrity. She was sure the physical bonds tested by his death would not break the emotional bonds Garrity and Marilyn had with him. But before this was over, there would be more than just Derek’s death, Niles’s death, and Kenley’s father’s death to contend with. The earth was going to weep beneath the hundreds of millions of fallen. Before long, funerals would be a thing of the past.
They waited for Garrity to shovel in the first scoop of dirt. After that, she and Gator joined in the burial. When they finished filling the grave, Garrity stuck a crudely made cross into the ground, then said, If we survive the next few days, I’ll make him a better cross. For now, this will have to do.
No one faulted him for not having a better ceremony, they were just glad to see that he loved his deputy and his friend enough to give him a proper sendoff.
Garrity took a deep breath, then let it out slowly and said, Once I clean up, I’ve got a long overdue date, and then we’re going to have a short talk about survival of the fittest.
The woman with the Honda Pilot? Marilyn asked. Garrity nodded. She really likes you, Lance. You know that, right?
So I’m told, he said. We’ll see how much she loves the battered version of me.
Marilyn put an arm around him and said, She’s going to like you just the same, you big dummy.
Garrity gave a half a laugh and tried not to look so sad.
“As far as the survival of the fittest,” Leighton said, “why don’t you give us the highlights of what you’re thinking?”
He gave a contemplative nod, quietly collecting himself. By now, people will have grown hungry. Some will be starving. In the next few days, I expect people to take their desperation to the streets, and then into other peoples’ homes. It’s been a week more-or-less—
“What day is it again?” Leighton asked.
The days no longer matter, Gator said, his mood darkening once more. The sun’s up and civility is done as far as I’m concerned. There’s no need to measure the days or even the hours anymore. There’s only sunrise, sunset, and everything we can do in between to survive.
Garrity nodded. Marilyn did as well.
Today is the day we go take stuff, Garrity said, because in a year, nine out of ten of us aren’t going to be alive.
Gator added, By then, the earth is going to be carpeted with the dead.
“Let’s talk about what’s next and try not to get all apocalyptic right now,” Leighton said.
We have to abandon the rules we played by in society, Gator said. We’re either victims or survivors.
Marilyn stood there with her mouth hanging open. Is it really going to be like that? she asked.
This again? Garrity asked.
Leighton knew Marilyn was tough, but she was newly minted when it came to the concept of survival by all means necessary. Hell, they all were. Some were just more ambitious and honest with themselves than others.
I’m still trying to process what we did earlier, Marilyn said. All I did last night was have nightmares of…of…killing all those people.
Leighton said, “Welcome to Thunderdome, Marilyn.” Turning to the boys, she said, “Seriously, can we please table the doom and gloom? You’re upsetting those of us in the cheap seats.”
I think about those guys we have on the list, the list of the top ten scumbags Marilyn and Laura made earlier. I think that’s where we start, Garrity said. Drug dealers, sex offenders, guys we know to be this city’s problem children. And on a more personal note, I want to kick the crap out of each and every one of those guys who ran Derek off.
“Ran him off when?” Leighton asked.
We had a woman file a complaint about some drug dealers, Garrity told her. I promised her that I would attend to the matter despite the chaos. Derek took the call. They roughed him up and kicked his ass out of there, which was why he was beat up before we hit the lumberyard where you and I field-tested our body armor.
Marilyn shifted on her feet at the mention of the incident. Clearly she hadn’t reconciled with this. Leighton nearly suggested the woman not come with them in case she got cold feet in the middle of a gun battle.
I know you want to put a beat down on them, Lance, Gator said, but it would be better if we just put them down altogether.
Garrity seemed to be thinking about a lot of things. To this, however, he responded fairly quickly, like he’d already done the calculations on this particular operation. We need to decide which is more humane, to kill them and stop any problems they’re going to cause in the future, or let them starve to death but have a chance at living.
“Do we want to take a vote on that?” Leighton asked.
I say we smoke ‘em, Gator said.
Garrity added, We spent years trying to control them, arrest them, and hope the courts would straighten them out. And with these Hayseed Rebellion turds, we let them do all the stupid crap they’ve done hoping they’d run out their tempers the same way toddlers cry themselves to sleep. But that won’t work. That didn’t work for either problem. At this point, Marilyn would ask me what I mean, so I’ll say it plain as day because I’m pretty determined on this thing. I intend for us to thin the herd. I’m talking about going in guns blazing, raining heavy metal and death. We take all their stuff and leave them to rot. Then again, that little voice in the back of my head, which is either the lawman in me or my conscience, is feeling like I have to at least try not to go off the deep end.
“It’s time to go off the deep end,” Leighton said.
Yeah, Gator added, what she said.
“We’re going with you,” Leighton said. “You and Marilyn can’t play Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid by yourself.”
Who you calling butch? Marilyn asked, feigning insult.
Leighton smiled, then winked at the woman, who didn’t seem to know how to take her.
I’m so depressed about Derek and this crap world right now, but somehow you always seem to do or say the wrong or inappropriate thing, Marilyn said.
“Thank you,” Leighton said. “It’s one of my superpowers.”
I hope not getting killed is another one of your superpowers, because I don’t think I can stand doing this again, she said.
“Let’s hope,” Leighton added.
It’s gonna happen, though, Gator said. Statistically, there are less than ten of us here, so within a year, most of us will be dead anyway.
“I could give two hoots and a holler about statistics, Garrity,” Leighton said, “I want in on this.”
You aren’t in on squat, Leighton, Gator said. In case you forgot, you got shot. You were lucky with the vest, but vests don’t stop guys who like to shoot you in the face.
“This pretty face?” she asked, knowing it had to be good for something those days.
Garrity looked at Gator; Gator looked back at Leighton.
You’re something else, you know? Gator said.
“It’s another superpower of mine,” she joked. “Are we going to stand around like gossip girls or are we going to figure out how to defy some of those odds Gator just mentioned?”
Now that the band broke up, Marilyn said as she looked down at Derek’s grave, I don’t feel so violent. Really I just feel sad.
“I feel violent,” Leighton said, returning to the more serious side of her, the one that reminded her less of Hudson and more of the girl she used to be. “I can’t stop thinking about Niles, how he looked when he passed over. So I’m going to keep
chasing that pain until I’ve driven it into a corner and squeezed the life out of it. You say what you want about guys shooting people in the face, I’ll go in with Hudson if I have to.”
Your dad is gonna have my nuts in a vice, Gator said.
She looked at him and nodded, the grin on her face widening. She put out a fist and he reluctantly bumped knuckles with her. She said, “Now that’s the spirit, soldier.”
Yee-haw, Gator replied with a frown.
Chapter Fourteen
Marley McDaniel
Marley, Isaiah, President Kennicot, and Adi navigated their way to the interstate in the Humvee. They were about as ready as they could be for the three-hundred-and-sixty-five-mile journey west.
Along the way, there were more than a few tough spots, especially around the major towns and big cities, but the going was better than any of them would have expected. Until Frederick. That’s when things started getting a bit funky. The Hayseed Rebellion was out in force, and they thought it would be cute to try to block the interstate.
Isaiah surrendered his humanity and just powered through those crowds blocking the roads. The Humvee was good for many things, not the least of which was a battering ram. The rig fared well when it ran over the weak human blockade. Beyond that, here and there, they had to push and shove and drive vehicles out of the way. Cosmetically, the Humvee struggled to maintain its shape, but mechanically, it was as strong as an ox.
An hour later, they stopped for a few animals bravely trotting out in front of them on the interstate. One of them was a young bear. Just after that, a few miles down the road, a lady stepped in front of them waving her arms. When they reached her, she pulled a gun on them. Isaiah nudged his way forward. She fired at the windshield, but the bullet did nothing. When he revved the engine, she finally moved. After that, in between towns, the group emptied their bladders while Isaiah siphoned diesel fuel from a couple of abandoned semis to refill the Humvee. When they were done, they got back in the vehicle and carried on diligently.
They had a good long run of road, mostly obstruction-free, but as they were passing through Hagerstown near the Lennox Distribution Center, they ran into problems. The heavily stocked distribution center was being overrun by mobs of people, dozens of them crowding along the highway like fish on the verge of a feeding frenzy. The distribution center was the motherlode for these people. It would have been for them as well.
Some of these marauders tried to stop them, but Marley rolled down her window and pointed her gun at them. Most seemed to think twice about engaging them, not because they were sweethearts or innocents, but because they weren’t armed with anything other than their bad breath and unchanged underwear.
Just when they thought they were in the clear, some knucklehead fired a couple of shots in their direction. A bullet plinked off the door, causing Marley to get back inside and roll up the window.
After that, the going went slow for awhile, and the damage to the Humvee from nudging cars out of the way continued to mount.
Night snuck up on them quickly, but they weren’t anywhere near their intended destination. The consensus was unanimous: they would make camp on the outskirts of Bruceton Mills in Preston County, West Virginia.
Outside the speck of a town, the interstate’s guardrails kept them from getting off the road for a while, but then the land flattened out, the long run of guardrails stopped, and they were able to cross the I-68 median.
Isaiah took them off road, heading through an open field toward the edge of a large grove of trees that would hopefully provide them with some cover from the nearest houses.
Isaiah tucked them inside the grove of trees, parking the Humvee sideways. Strategically, he’d positioned the rig between the nearest house and the campfire they planned on building, hoping for adequate cover. After that, they made camp and settled in for the evening.
Inside of a small, makeshift fire pit, Isaiah and Adi laid a small fire while Marley cleared away several places around it to sit. President Kennicot insisted on waiting inside the Humvee until the fire was big enough and warm enough to sit beside. When the flames were sufficient, Isaiah threw a stick at the side of the Humvee, startling Kennicot.
She got out of the vehicle and said, “You couldn’t just come and tell me the fire was ready nicely? Like a civilized adult?” She was glaring at Isaiah, forgetting everything he’d done to get her out of the District of Criminals alive.
“What, and leave all this warmth behind?” Isaiah asked, exhausted. “Not a chance.”
Kennicot shook her head and sat down before the tempered blaze, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the early-evening chill.
“So, Adi,” Kennicot said, “what do you think of the journey so far?”
He looked at her, almost like he wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s okay, I guess.”
Marley quietly shook her head. The woman was too out of touch with reality to talk to kids.
“Are you really the President?” Adi asked.
“Yes, I’m really the President.”
“You’re much prettier on TV,” he said.
She laughed, almost like she couldn’t believe he’d just said that. Did she really have a defense against that, though? Without makeup, a staff to do her hair, a personal shopper to select her wardrobe, and focus groups to determine her style, who was she but a regular-looking woman fighting the good fight against age, gravity, and loss of self?
What started as an innocent jab at the president became little bits of small talk here and there. Ultimately the German child could hardly believe he was sitting with the President of the United States.
When she told the boy her name was not Madam President, but Althea Kennicot, Adi tried to pronounce it. For some reason he was having a hard time.
“It was difficult for me to pronounce the first time, too,” Kennicot said. “But after a while it started to roll off the tongue with some grace.”
“Althea is not your given name?” Marley asked.
The President laughed and said, “Heaven’s no. It was a bit awkward to pronounce at first, but not so much now. Althea Kennicot is the name I took on long ago. It was deemed a more political name, something catchy and fresh for the D.C. circuit.”
“What’s your real name?” Adi asked.
“Jerica.”
Marley felt every single one of her muscles clench the bones beneath them. This was one of the names Savannah Swann had given her. She swallowed hard, fought the urge to be sick, or to just walk off and try to collect herself.
This can’t be happening, she thought. Why is this happening?
“My dad wanted to name me Jessica,” Kennicot continued, “and my mom wanted to name me Erica, so that was the compromise. Jerica.”
“That’s a weird name,” Adi said.
Kennicot laughed again at the statement, but this time her laugh was merry rather than cynical. “I would have wanted either name on its own, but not both of them smashed together as one.”
“I knew of a woman named Jerica once,” Isaiah said, his voice a touch sharp, his tone cold enough to frost. “She wasn’t a particularly nice woman. She had a pretty face and some power, but she couldn’t seem to figure out her loyalties. See, this Jerica—the one I knew—was a married woman, a woman of proclaimed virtue, a woman with a wonderful husband who overlooked her shortcomings in support of her ambitions. This Jerica told that man she married that she was barren when, in fact, she was not. She had only married the man so she could gain entrance to a world that would not let her succeed as mightily if they knew she had a girlfriend.”
Even in the firelight, Marley could see color rising in the woman’s cheeks. “Who are you?” Kennicot asked Isaiah.
“I’m Isaiah Wright,” he said with conviction. “That was my given name. Unlike Kennicot, which is not your last name.”
“What is your last name?” Marley asked.
Even to herself, she sounded far away, like she was having an out of body experience where s
he was the soul watching all of this unfold from a distance.
“Yeah, Jerica,” Isaiah said, his voice scathing and tenacious. “What is your real last name?”
“Why do you want to know?” she barked.
“I just want to know if it’s as ugly as your first name,” Isaiah said, causing everyone to sit a little straighter despite the growing tension.
“What am I missing here?” Marley asked, looking between Isaiah and Kennicot. For him, it was as if he woke to a latent hostility, an anger buried in the dirt that suddenly rose like the undead, ready to ravage anything in its path.
As the fist of fear uncomfortably squeezed her stomach, her hand slid down to the hard plastic head of an old screwdriver she’d picked up in the Humvee. It had been sitting under the seat, rolled in a dirty old cloth next to a fixed wrench and an adjustable wrench. She didn’t have much for protection, but she’d kept it close just in case.
Isaiah continued, undeterred. As Marley listened to him wind himself up, as she watched Isaiah’s body language change completely, she tried to understand what was happening. She’d never seen this side of Isaiah before, for there was an ill will that went far beyond the enmity most folks had for politicians.
“The Jerica I know sold us out to the highest bidders,” he said. “She was the kind of woman who would rather sell out her country than become the center of a scandal that had her face-down in some brunette teenager’s lap.”
“Her age is irrelevant,” Kennicot snapped.
“I mean think about it,” Isaiah pressed, “the President of the United States having sexual escapades with a teenager and a known lesbian. All this, Jerica, because you couldn’t take responsibility for your actions. All of this…”
He spread his hands out wide, as if to say the state of decay was all her fault. Was it? Did she have something to do with this? Kennicot had steam lifting off her face, out of her eyes, escaping in puffs from her ears.
“Say your name, you scandalous hag,” Isaiah hissed.
