Never Far Gone, page 11
I break eye contact with her and place my attention on Simon as I grab him with both hands and prop him back on his knees. As he attempts to use the momentum to stand up, he falls back onto his knees as I punch him in his midsection. While Simon clenches his stomach with both of his arms and arches over, I retract the Kimber from its holster with my right hand and aim at the top of Simon’s head. The roaring stops almost as abruptly as it started and is replaced, instead, with gasps of shock. This time, though, no one is yelling for me to stop. Simon does his best to look up at me and nearly falls on his back in fear once he does.
Control the situation, Miles…
“We brought you into our home, where there are kids, and trusted you to help us make this place safer for everyone. But as it turns out, the only threat we have in front of us right now… is you,” I say loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. I can make out the chants of approval returning from those standing in front of the stage.
Control…
With the Kimber still in the air, Simon shutters as the thought of dying forces him to close his eyes. As the barrel of the handgun reaches Simon’s right eye, I do something no one could’ve expected; I lower the Kimber back to my side. I can see Corver and JB taking a step back after I begin to walk around Simon. While doing so, I lock eyes with Charlotte as I extend my left hand out to her. Some of the people in the audience turn to see who I’m reaching out to. As she’s put in the metaphorical spotlight and the peer pressure begins to reach unfathomable heights, Charlotte looks around in fear. She doesn’t know what to do, yet she starts inching her way down the left aisle of the Auditorium. When she is next to the stage, Pancho grabs her hand and helps her up the stairs until she is in front of me.
“This man let Jayden die,” I mutter out to her in a low tone adjusted for only her and me to hear. Simon tries to sit up straight yet grabs his stomach again just as Charlotte covers her mouth with both of her hands and lets out a whimper. “When Jayden came to help us hold off the attack, this piece of shit stood back and did nothing…” I say in a growl once I mention Simon. She begins to cry while she falls to her knees, so I kneel to get closer to her while I look at her in her red but watery eyes. She wasn’t outside when it happened, so she deserves the truth. She moves some of her dark red, wavy hair to the side to get a better look at me as I gently place the palm of my left hand on her cheek to address her directly.
“Because of this man, your fiancé had to endure the weight of a half-ton steel gate on his body as those things took chunks out of his flesh,” I say without breaking eye contact. I wanted her upset. I wanted her to see the man that she had in front lying of her for the cowardly monstrosity that he truly was. “You want to know what he did when Jayden pleaded for help? He ran away, just like he did when he left you to fend for yourself in the lobby. This man is dangerous. This man should not be with us…” I whisper.
I stand up without diverting my eyes from Charlotte’s as I flip the Kimber in my hand, as I had done earlier with JB. She grabs it with both of her tear-soaked hands as she rises and I grab her shoulder.
“You see Jawbreaker over there?” I ask while pointing at the young, Spanish man on the other side of the stage anxiously fiddling with his handgun while remaining vigilant. “That man almost had his life taken today, because his choice of retaliation was taken away from him by those who attacked us. I gave him that choice back, just as I’m doing for you now,” I say while I release my hand from her shoulder. The water flowing from her eyes seems to have dried up as she looks at me, not knowing how to respond.
“Pancho took his life back. What will you do?” I ask before taking a few steps back to leave her in front of Simon, who is now pleading for his life as he tries to wipe the snot from his face. Even with two hands, Charlotte struggles to raise the weapon to Simon’s chest. From where I’m standing, I can see her hands are visibly shaking. She begins to let out a whimper as the barrel is barely aligned with Simon’s torso. I can hear the chanting from the crowd getting louder.
“Kill that son of a bitch!” a male from the crowd shouts out as the volume in the room becomes deafening. One second. Then two. Then three. Then ten. It’s too much to ask of her. I take a step forward and begin to extend my reach for the Kimber as it shakes in Charlotte’s hand. I wasn’t able to take another before my ears rang again.
Bang.
The entire front of the stage is spattered with blood and I can hear screaming from the crowd as I readjust my eyes following the sudden blink due to the weapon being discharged. Simon has both hands trying to stop the blood from racing out of a sizable entrance wound located where his heart is. He looks down before slowly raising his head back up to look at Charlotte, who is now sobbing quietly as the unmistakable sound of another gunshot rips through the air.
Bang.
As if the first one wasn’t already a surprise, the second shot catches me off guard. With the second shot, Simon falls backward as the round perforates his body and becomes embedded near the edge of the stage in front of us. There was more blood spatter. He was barely able to groan as his breaths became slower. It seems like an eternity is passing us by as we all stand in silence. Before long, it became clear to me that Simon had stopped breathing entirely.
Charlotte drops the gun on the floor, which makes an audible thud once it hits the ground, and she puts her face in between my arms as she makes her way to me for an embrace. As I wrap my arms around her, I nod at the men near me to take her from the stage and instruct them to bring her to the Nurse’s Station near the Main Office to get her cleaned up. With all the spots of blood covering her face and her bright green turtleneck, she was beginning to look like me. “Get her some food from the Cafeteria, too” I instruct to Corver and Pancho.
“You got it… boss,” Jawbreaker says with a nod of respect before he and Corver turn to carry Charlotte off stage. As they make their way towards the entrance Derrick is standing by, I begin to address those in front of me.
“This does not have to happen!” I exclaim as the silence in the room is deafening. “We are better than those just looking to get by as the world around them turns to shit! You know what we do when that happens? We make a better fuckin’ world!” I holler out as the room starts to become lively again with nods of approval.
“We’ll make this place safer than you can imagine, yet that starts with us! You think we’re going to accept scrapes of garbage as men like this help others take what keeps our kids fed? No! You think we’re going to let whatever the fuck lies beyond these walls stop us from stepping outside? No!” I can hear the chants begin to return louder than ever as the blood from Simon’s body starts dripping over the edge of the stage. Even with the echoing chants, I can still hear every drop as it lands on the floor beneath me. “We are not merely surviving. We’re better than that. No, we’re thriving.”
“We’re not survivors…” I shout out as I pick up the now bloody Kimber from the floor and place it back into its holster. “No, we’re Thrivers.”
5
Ledger
Vito Caruso Renata Caruso
Hope Starcov Charlotte Kennedy
Pancho Ruiz Simon Adams
Derrick Simmons Jayden Walker
(There are 47 additional names on the list)
Journal Entry: Some look at me like a hero for what I did last month. Those on the other side of that spectrum fear me. I still can’t read Charlotte yet, but JB seems to be wrapping his head around that night pretty well. I mean, fuck… he was almost killed for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know if he’d take the gun when I handed it to him, but I gave him a chance to take back what was taken away from him.
I know one thing for sure: We’re better off now than we have ever been. We’ve got security. We’ve got the Armory. We’ve got a small surplus of perishables from the area. We’ve even got some more firearms, although those are getting hard to come by since we’re in city limits, mostly from those we’ve taken in recently.
We’ve come a long way already, yet I can’t help but wonder how far we can go… these people all seem to have something to bring to the table. I can use that.
What a start to the day…
It’s still dark outside, yet I can hear a faint groaning coming from outside the partially opened window on my right. It doesn’t sound close enough to be an immediate threat, so I do my best to not pay it much mind. I begin slowly dimming the small metallic lamp sitting on my desk so as to not draw attention from anyone, or anything, past our gates. As the unmistakable sounds of anguish fade away into the dark abyss before my eyes, they’re replaced by multiple footsteps coming from the hallway on the second floor. Nocturnal security patrols.
I close the journal and throw it into the drawer beneath my desk before locking it with a key and picking up the Kimber I had sitting near the lamp. Even in the dark, I feel comfortable when my hand makes out the frame of the pistol. I pull back slightly on the slide using the front serrations on the handgun to ensure there’s a round in the chamber before placing it into my holster once the dim illumination from the light reflects off the brass casing and confirms it’s ready to go. I grab my new bag, referring to a mildly used black assault pack we found in one of the nearby apartments that worked wonders when compared to my bullet-ridden substitute, and turn off the lamp before slinging the bag over my shoulder while I make my way out of the office.
As I step into the hallway, which is lit with small candles strewn about the floors, I walk by a group of three armed Thrivers who are all on duty for the night. Given our growing numbers and the bullshit we’ve had to deal with so far, having a patrol on each floor at all times seemed like a good idea that everyone was comfortable with. There are two men, both carrying what I can only imagine are the Ruger bolt action rifles from the armory, and one woman carrying a faded .22 caliber rifle walking together towards the library.
“Hey, boss,” the girl says to me as the group acknowledges my sudden appearance. It was in a tone I can only describe as drowsy yet forceful. They all look tired, but the sight of me causes them all to straighten their backs in an attempt to conceal their fatigue. The female who had called out to me lowers her head as she and her team continue to stroll toward the library in the same manner an introvert would if called upon to speak in a lecture.
Well, that was awkward…
I tail them a few feet before coming to a stop at the maintenance closet at the top of the staircases leading to and from the main lobby. I can’t help but reminisce about when Renata and her son had camped out here when they first arrived. Times were more simple then. Pancho is in front of the steel door, which is now serving as the entrance to the Armory we set up after the whole ordeal with Simon. As he begins to straighten his back, the creaking coming from the legs of the dark blue chair that he likely retrieved from one of the classrooms nearby echoes off the walls around us.
I’m almost certain that chair is way too damn small for this man.
“You holding up alright, JB?” I ask in a concerned manner. I know he’s been watching the door for longer than I had been asleep, so he must be tired.
“I could use a coffee or something, y’know? Fallin’ asleep here,” he lets out with a scruffy chuckle. He looks like he needs a breather or two.
“Gimme the key and go get some rest. I’ll get you when everyone’s up for breakfast in a few hours, alright?” I ask as I put out the palm of my hand in anticipation of his approval.
JB hesitates before nodding and throwing me the keys he has in his right pocket. He puts his right hand on my shoulder before slowly brushing past me. The brief gust of cold air as he does so is inviting since the the fire emanating from the lit candles is making the hallway a little warm. He stops a few feet behind me when I call back to him abruptly.
“Hey…” I bark out just low enough so as not to disturb those sleeping in the surrounding classrooms. As he turns around, I throw him the Glock that had been lying on top of the book used for recording authorized Thrivers from heading in and out of the Armory. He almost doesn’t catch it, yet I blame that on him being tired. “Don’t ever leave this behind again,” I growl out as he nods and turns to continue down the hallway. I watch him disappear past the blue door leading to the stairwell before proceeding into the Armory.
As I pass the metallic doorway, I can hear faint gusts of wind coming from behind the large sliding window on the other side of the room. There are unloaded firearms propped up on some of the desks we had positioned in here a few weeks back, and I had placed ammunition in some of the heavy footlockers we secured from the third-floor gym.
As I notice my breath becoming visible in the cold, I walk to one of the footlockers and kneel directly in front of it. I open the case with my left hand and can see a single box of .45 ACP ammunition in a half-empty box.
I free my shoulder of the bag I had been carrying and grab the box before sitting on the now-closed footlocker and replenishing two empty magazines for the Kimber. I guess the cold kicked in quicker than I thought because the shivering that accompanies the sudden gust of wind ushering past my body makes it harder to stabilize my hand when loading the rounds. There is just enough in the box to fill both magazines to the brim, so I place the plastic tray that was holding the rounds in place back into the now empty box before throwing it in the trashcan at the corner of the doorway I had entered from moments ago.
Alright, I think I’m done here.
I pick up the open binder sitting on the mahogany desk closest to the window and begin writing on the paper labeled “Inventory” with the black pen hanging on the top of the page. Everything needs to be accounted for. I can’t help but feel dread as I scribble the number zero in the category labeled “.45 ACP”. The list goes as follows:
Firearms:
(Handguns) - 7
(Rifles) - 6
(Shotguns) - 2
Ammunition:
.22 LR - 117 Rounds 332 Rounds
9mm - 214 Rounds
.45 ACP - 16 Rounds 0 Rounds
10mm Rounds - 30 Rounds
.308 - 59 Rounds
5.56x45mm - 63 Rounds (“We’re lucky we even found these”)
Other:
3 Hand-flares
49 27 Zip-ties
2 Collapsible Batons
(The list goes on)
We’ve done a good job getting ourselves situated here, yet it’s not enough. I’ve seen just how fast ammunition can disappear even when being conservative. One thing is certain: We don’t have enough. I slam the book shut in aggravation as I straighten up and glance out the window. The wind seems to be getting stronger as I notice it starting to blow some of the snow off the rails of the second-floor balcony. I throw the pen on the table before turning around and heading to the entrance of the Armory while snatching my bag from against the footlocker.
I open the door to be immediately greeted with the now comforting warmth irradiating from the candles in the hallway. As I shut the door behind me, I see Derrick about 15 feet away, heading toward the office from where the second-floor nocturnal patrol had previously walked toward just minutes ago. He stops when he sees me and begins striding in my direction with a black and white notebook in his hand.
Is he looking for me?
“Boss, I’ve been looking for you,” Derrick says in a hushed manner so as not to wake up those still sleeping throughout the second floor. Good to see people in this world still have consideration. I haven’t seen him in over a week, so it calms me down when I recognize him from afar. He stops in front of me and begins to flip through the scribbled pages in the book he is carrying as he starts speaking.
“We kept an eye on the bodies of Simon and his “friends” after locking them behind the gates of the fifth-floor gym as you asked. Now, at first, I didn’t understand, but now I think I am beginning to,” Derrick says as he diverts his gaze back onto the page he had previously been scrolling for. “Look at this,” he commands as he picks up one of the candles near his foot and holds it up to the notebook for illumination. His voice begins to crack slightly as he continues, “Me and a few of the others were watching them after what had happened in the auditorium. Even had the stopwatch ready like you said. But around 40 minutes in, just like Jayden, one of these… these pieces of shit begin moving… Your suspicions were right, Miles. Only the one who had that mark on his ankle got back up,” he says as his eyes wander towards the wall behind me. I can tell he’s reminiscing about something in his mind.
“And?” I ask in an attempt to get his attention back on track. It seems to work because the look he gives me is a mix of frustration and fear.
“And? All of these motherfuckers have bullet holes spread across their bodies!” he lets out as I cover my lips with one finger to remind him people are still asleep. His demeanor transitions from irritation and confusion to that of a four-year-old child who wants to show off their new toy to their parents. “Any normal person who has a six-inch exit wound to the neck wouldn’t even be able to breathe, let alone stand up without a hitch. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. No, I need to talk to you about this…” he says in a faint whisper as he places the candlelight closer to the book to reveal a well-done illustration of a bent gate as well as a chart with different times below it.
What the hell is this?
“We found that when there was any kind of bright light, this guy didn’t act like someone with two six-inch exit wounds along his back. No, he is… aggressive. He was aggressive. The only time I have ever seen anything like that was-“ he gets out before I cut him off.
