Brightside (30 page)

Wayne’s staring at me. I just lift another huge rock, focus my thoughts on the weight. I drop it as Sara and Danny drop
theirs. Then I see my opportunity. Sara and Danny are out of the way. I run and grab the shotgun, but before I can even take aim, Wayne says, “Now, Joe, why do you have to complicate things.”

Still, I point the hollow end right at his face and wedge myself in between Wayne and Danny.

Wayne’s cocking his head, sizing me up. He says, “Momma didn’t raise a killer.”

“Fuck you, Wayne. I already broke my cherry.” I’m trying to sound tough, but Wayne’s inside my head.

He rubs his beard. “But you didn’t like the taste, did you?” Wayne narrows his eyes. He’s burrowing around inside me. “How’d you do it, Joe? How’d you take down that chopper?”

I’m trying to hum, to block it all out.

“You look those men in the eye, like your daddy told you? Huh?” A grin spreads over Wayne’s face. “Or did you wait until they were down below and shoot them in the back?”

I can’t get the pilot out of my head fast enough. I’m humming as loud as I can, and Wayne’s still grinning. I tell him to back up, but he just keeps coming, not even moving his hands, just presses his chest against the barrel.

Wayne’s breath pours over my face and I jab him with the gun to push him back, but Wayne leans in so I’m practically holding him up, the hollow end digging into his ribs.

“I’m right here, Joe. What’s it going to be? You a coward or man?”

I hear my father’s voice telling me to stop being such a goddamn baby, and Wayne’s laughing. My
finger’s
on the trigger. I can feel it fine against my skin. But Wayne keeps leaning, his eyes wide and psychotic. I just can’t squeeze.

Wayne grabs the barrel, swipes it away from his chest. I’m holding onto the butt of the gun, both of us yanking, pulling, grunting. Then Wayne gets his other hand on the gun and slams me into the rocks, knocking everything out of me. He’s using both hands, one on each end of the shotgun, forcing it against my throat. I push back on the barrel, and Wayne pulls me away from the rocks then crushes me back against them, my head smacking, nearly splitting. My legs give out, but he’s holding me up with the Mossberg on my neck, cutting off air. I close my eyes and try to kick, but Wayne throws out his knee and blocks it.

“Look at me, Joe. This is how you do it. You look them right in the eye—”

Danny’s roar only lasts a second, but it’s enough to get Wayne to turn, just in time to see Danny’s hands coming at him. The stick punches through Wayne’s cheek, Danny’s fingers digging into Wayne’s eyes. They spin.

The Mossberg flies out of Wayne’s grasp and cracks against a rock. I’m on all fours sucking air. Wayne and Danny are pulling and pushing and punching, a snarling violence that collapses to the ground, probably close enough to touch, but I can’t lift my head to know for sure.

Wayne’s laugh almost covers the sliding of metal on leather. Sara screams. I look up and see Wayne holding the knife high above his head, ready to drive it through Danny’s chest. I
look for the gun, but can’t find it. It’s somewhere buried in the snow. So I dive into Wayne. We start tumbling, rolling down the hill. This sharp pain carves into my side, but I can’t tell if it’s the knife or just a rock. Finally, we stop rolling and Wayne crawls on top of me, a ragged hole in his cheek. Spit falls from his lips and onto mine. He wipes the snow from his hair and sniffs, sucking up blood and snot. He flips the knife around in his hand so he can get a better grip.

“Please,” I hear my voice squeak.

Wayne’s thinking how good it’s going to feel to slice through me. The cartilage and fibers shredding and spraying blood like warm rain.

Then comes the
crack!
And I see the hole in Wayne’s head, all dark and hollow. It’s about the size of a dime. Wayne’s eyes are focused on something behind me until there’s no focus at all. He falls to his side, his face half-swallowed by the snow, which dissolves and turns crimson.

I force off his legs and expect to see Danny or Sara with the shotgun. Instead, I see Sheriff Melvin, Sharon and about forty other people.

Melvin is holding a revolver. His uniform is covered in blood. Same goes for a half dozen of the
Brightsiders
. They look like they’ve just been through a war, bruised and broken, their bodies still carrying fragments of lead.

Melvin stands over me and asks, “Can you get up?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t carrying your ass.”

I get to my knees and feel the pain shooting down my side. My jacket is torn and I unzip it, peer in and see the blood. My fingers feel the wound and it’s not very deep. The jacket took most of the damage.

Danny and Sara run over and help me to my feet. Sara asks if I’m okay and I tell her I’m fine. Danny keeps apologizing for not stopping Wayne.

“It’s okay, Danny,” I say. “You saved my life.”

That simple joy returns to Danny’s eyes. “I did good?”

“Yeah, real good.”

We walk back to the cave where the
Brightsiders
are ripping down the rest of the rocks.

Sharon gets in my face. “Who knows about this place?”

“No one, just Sara and Danny.”

Sharon looks at Wayne’s lifeless body.

I say, “And him, too.”

Sharon doesn’t find it funny. Apparently, her little club has a leak. The Boots found out about the escape. There was gunfire in the Square. A few people died.

“Joe, I need you to think about this real hard,” Sharon says. “Is there anyone else that’s not here who knows about the cave?”

Rachel knew, but she’s dead. Same went for Robert.

I didn’t tell another soul.

“Did anyone see you on the roof?”

“A couple of people, but no one could’ve known about this place. They were down on the sidewalk. They only saw me fire the shot.”

“What about afterwards?”

I picture the stairs, the office, the elevator. That big paw waving me into the bathroom.

Sharon’s face
squinches
up. “Wendell?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell him anything. He already knew. He heard it from someone. But he didn’t tell anyone, at least not after he saw me.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because he’s dead.”

“Still, he heard it from someone? Who?”

“I don’t know, Sharon. Could be anyone. I mean, this operation isn’t exactly a well-oiled machine.”

Sharon glares at me then walks over to the cave. “Alright everyone, listen up! We’ve got ten minutes to get off this mountain or else our ride is gone. So let’s move!”

Sharon’s chosen ones keep hurling rocks. A few have torches, which they douse with gasoline. Carlos and some guy who works at the deli carry this giant spooled up ladder.

Danny says, “I
wanna
help.”

Sara tells him okay and Danny heads over to the cave and starts chucking rocks. Sara looks at my torn jacket, but doesn’t ask about the cut. She’s listening to my thoughts about Wendell, another unlucky soul who made the mistake of running into me. He didn’t need to die. He was just trying to help me, even after all the awful shit he heard me think about him.

“It’s going to be okay. It will,” Sara says. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Yeah, lucky us.”

All Wendell wanted was for me to help his sister, Becky. He gave up his life because I promised him I would.

“Joe, you need to let it go. We only have ten minutes to get out of here. The girl will be fine.”

“No…” Once we’re gone, the people left behind will never be safe. They’ll lock it down and turn it into a zoo.

Carlos and the guy from the deli set down the spooled up ladder. I walk over.

Carlos looks up and says, “Joe!”

I don’t have time for him. I say to the other guy, “Do you know Becky? Wendell’s sister? She works with you, I think.”

He says he does, feels like shit about it. The girl’s only sixteen. She has no one left.

“Do you know where she is? Where I can find her?”

“She was at the deli earlier, but there’s a curfew now. Might be at home. Lodge Two, I think. Yeah. Second floor.”

I nod and turn back. Sara’s right there.

“Joe, come on, let’s just go help Danny, okay?” Sara takes my arm. But I’m not going with her. I’m looking for the shotgun.

“Are you crazy? If you go back there with a gun, they’ll kill you.”

Sara’s right, I have to go unarmed. One shotgun isn’t going to stop every Boot. It’s only going to draw them in.

“Joe, please don’t do this.”

I look at the cave. They’re only halfway done with the rocks. I’m already backing down the hill. Sara begs me to stay.

I tell her, “I’ll be back in time. I promise.”

“Yeah? And if you’re not?”

“Then leave and don’t look back.”

Sara is still yelling as I take off into the woods. I’m running down the hill. Trees fly by and I jump over a log, dodge holes, angle left at my carvings. I pump my arms as fast as they go. The pond is less than twenty yards away. My left foot slides out beneath me and gets caught on something in the snow, my
ankle cracking. It’s not broken, but it’s definitely sprained. I don’t have long before it swells. I put most of the pressure on my right leg, but keep moving. My left foot barely touches the ground as I head towards the Square.

Most of the lamp posts in the park are lit, but a couple have been shot out, glass scattered beneath them. I make it to the Square. The streets are so quiet and empty it’s creepy. It must be because of the curfew, which makes me realize trying the deli is pointless. No one is going to be there so I head for Lodge Two. I have to cross the street, but otherwise I try to stay up against the buildings.

There’s a Boot up ahead. He’s scraping something off his sole. Gum or something.

I crouch as low as I can without putting my ass on the ground. It puts pressure on my ankle, but I can’t be seen. The Boot is hopping on one leg, losing his balance. I slip around the corner, cross in between two buildings. I start to take a left when I hear this faint buzzing sound.

There’s a security camera somewhere. They must have realized most of them had been disabled. I wonder how many are back on.

There’s a fence to the left. It’s about five feet high. I check both ways then take off and run, but my ankle gives out. My hand goes to the pavement. I’m completely exposed so I spring up and hobble onto the grass. I climb the fence, flinging my body over the top and land on my side to protect my ankle.

Lodge Two is just over a small hill. I creep towards it, see two Boots out front. They’re armed and trying to look real serious, even though no one is around. I figure there must be a camera on the front door. They’re being watched, which means I need to find another way in. I swoop around towards the side and look up at the second floor. There’s no way I could climb up, even with two good ankles. But the first floor offers opportunity. There’s a window and it’s slightly open, which is odd in this cold.

I move closer and hear voices inside the apartment.

A woman says, “I told you I was sick.”

A man says, “Oh, believe me I know, and it’s disgusting.”

I duck walk the rest of the way, praying there isn’t a camera. I get to the ledge and slowly lift my head up over the sill. The living room is empty, just the same shitty furniture as every apartment in Brightside. The bedroom door is closed and so is the bathroom. They both have lights on, which spills out under the doors.

My breath is streaming fog and I can barely feel my fingers. I look at my watch. I only have five minutes to make it back. I’m already behind schedule and I haven’t even made it to the second floor. Instinct tells me to turn back. I can still make it if I hurry, but Wendell keeps popping into my head. His big giant
body splayed on the wet bathroom floor. The holes in his chest, his face.

The window gives the slightest creak as I lift it a few inches. Luckily, the couple is still arguing from different rooms. I don’t think they can even hear each other because they’re saying the same thing.

I press up on my right foot and hoist myself through. My stupid coat is getting stuck so I have to wiggle a bit. I nearly propel my face to the floor, but my hands spring out and soften the blow. I’m heading for the front door when I hear a flush.

The knob begins to turn and I nearly trip over the coffee table, my hand frantically reaching out for the door. The bathroom light flicks off and I turn the knob, slip out just in time.

The hallway’s empty. The stairs are at the other end. I hobble and hurry and use the handrail to keep weight off my left foot. There are at least eight doors on the second floor, and I have no idea which one is Becky’s. I don’t have time to try them all, so I just knock on the first one. A middle-aged woman, with dry, frizzy hair, answers. I think I’ve seen her washing dishes at the diner.