Everything Under The Sun

David held firm, and pretended to know nothing of the accusations. Had I been wrong about them? Had paranoia gotten the best of me? No—I refused to believe that I was wrong.

“You’ve been burning tires,” I pointed out, “since we got here. Tires. The perfect signal to let someone, oh I don’t know”—I cocked my head to one side in a sarcastic fashion—“someone out hunting maybe, to know that you’ve got new people in your house. That’s why Lance hasn’t come back, isn’t it? Because he saw the black smoke, and instead of coming home, he went to alert someone. Am I about right?”

I knew that, undoubtedly, I was. And judging the shell-shocked faces the family wore but tried so hard to hide, it was further proof I knew all I needed to know.

“Why else would you be looking out the windows toward the field all day?” I added.

No one said a word.

I laid out all of my suspicions, my evidence, and all the while I had Thais in the back of my mind. I needed to hurry. I needed to do what I came here to do so I could find her before someone else did.

“No one,” I said, “no matter what skills they possess, or how many chickens they raise, can survive out in the open like this with just a few people.” I glanced at the coffee table and then back at them with a ridiculous look on my face. “Magazines? Fucking potpourri? This isn’t real”—I waved my free hand about the room—“you’re living like this because someone else protects you.” I gestured at them, cocking my head to the other side. “But for what in return? Or for who in return?”

I saw David’s right hand fall behind him—but mine was quicker. A booming shot rang out half a second later, and Shannon screamed as blood from her father’s head sprayed her face. His body collapsed on the floor in a heap of plaid and blue jeans; blood pooled on the scruffy rug, soaking into the fabric.

“Daddy!” Shannon shrieked; she sank to her knees beside him; her hands were covered in blood as she grabbed his head, trying to stop the blood flow. “Bastard! You shot my father! You fucking bastard!”

Emily, unmoving in her fear and dress soaked with piss, gaped up at me from the floor, shaking her head in a short, rapid motion.

“Push the gun away with the back of your hand,” I instructed Shannon when I saw the one David tried to pull from the back of his jeans was within her reach. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will. Push it away with the back of your hand—now.”

Shannon did what I told her, her anger benefitting me as she shoved it farther than she probably wanted to. It slid across the rug and stopped underneath a magazine rack set against the fireplace.

“Did ya kill my daughter?” Emily spoke through trembling lips. “Is Rachel dead?”

“No,” I said right away, “but I’m going to, along with both of you if you don’t start talking.”

David’s death was enough to convince Emily.

“Everthin’ you said is true,” Emily admitted. “But Lance don’ live ‘ere—he lives jus’ up the way, ‘bout a few miles from ‘ere. He’s a lookout, and he ain’t the only one in these parts. Families like us, we burn the tires when people come through ‘ere with no place to live, nothin’ to eat. We signal for Lance and then he goes to bring ‘em back.”

“Bring who back?” I gripped the gun so hard it hurt the bones in my hand.

“Lexington City raiders,” Emily answered, and I flinched.

I had never heard of outsiders living like this, commissioned by Lexington City to lure and capture unsuspecting travelers.

“How many are coming?” I ordered. “How many!?”

Shannon glowered up at me from the floor; her dead father lay pressed against her leg. “We don’t fuckin’ know, you piece of shit,” she hissed. “But however many there are, they’ll be here soon, and when they—” She stopped and turned to look toward the door; Emily looked up too.

My heart fell into the pit of my stomach when I turned and saw Thais standing in the doorway on the other side of the screen.

She opened it with a creak and stepped inside; the gun I had given her was in her hand, pointed at the floor.

For a moment, I could get no words out; I wanted to yell at her, and force her back onto the horse and back into the woods where she was supposed to wait for me. But then panic set in: she was here, and Lexington City raiders were on their way.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Thais started to explain, but I, adopting an entirely new plan now that the situation had changed so drastically, went toward Emily and Shannon, the gun pointed at Shannon’s head. “Get up! Get up now!”

“W-What are ya gonna do?” Emily unsteadily pushed herself to her feet.

“UP!” I glared at Shannon, and finally she rose into a stand beside her aunt.

“Let’s go!” I stood back and made a gesture with the gun toward the front door.




THAIS




I stepped out of the way, and Atticus shot me a cold look as he hurried the women out the door and down the porch steps.

Before I could will myself to follow, I caught sight of David’s body lying dead on the floor; the rug had hungrily soaked up a bucket-full of red-black blood. I looked down at the gun grasped in my hand and suddenly the weight of it felt heavier; my heart felt heavier; my stomach felt as if a hot wind churned inside, tossing around everything I’d had to eat the past two days.

Not wanting to look at the body another second, I ran out the screen door, letting it slap against the frame behind me.

“Oh Lord Jesus in Heaven!” Emily bellowed. “Please don’ let this man kill us!”

Shannon shook her head as they walked briskly through the front yard with Atticus at their back.

“Please Jesus!” Emily cried.

“Oh, shut up,” Shannon barked. “Jesus ain’t gonna do shit for you, you crazy old bat.”

Emily ignored Shannon’s jibe and rambled on about Jesus all the way to the concrete storm cellar jutting from the ground.

“Raise the door and get in,” Atticus demanded.

Emily and Shannon looked at each other.

“GET IN NOW!”

Startled, Emily grabbed the handle and lifted the heavy door; it screeched and groaned, metal on metal. Emily went in first, carefully taking the steps, her hands braced on the doorframe. Shannon followed.

Standing next to Atticus, I looked into the hole at the women whose faces stared up at me from the shadows of the 5’X7’ walls that surrounded them. Seconds later, their faces disappeared behind the heavy metal door as it closed with a clamorous bang. Emily’s muffled voice, crying out for Jesus, filtered through the bulbous air vent set in the roof. Then the booming echo of hands beating the metal from inside sounded in my ears.

Atticus stepped hard onto the door to keep it in place.

“Go over to the stable,” he told me, “and find something strong that’ll fit into this hole—hurry!”

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