End Days Super Boxset (72 page)

Arthur stepped to the side to let him have the stage. Rob looked out into the crowd, all eyes fixed on him. Their faces—tired and broken—reminded him of how important his task really was. But in helping them, there was only one thing he could really do, and the time wasn’t right to do it. He moved his hands away from his pocket and cleared his throat. His mouth was dry, and the chill in the air had him slightly shaking.

“I’m… Umm… I’m glad to be back and given the opportunity to make things right again,” Rob began. He figured it was groveling enough to please Arthur. The disapproving crowd looked less than pleased. He scanned for any familiar faces: Bernie, his neighbor at the thrift store, Carol, the bookstore owner, even his landlord, Mr. Clayton. He couldn’t find them. Maybe they had made it out of town before the madness.

“I have some knowledge about surviving the elements, skills that may help most of you. I can show you how to trap the heat in your homes with duct tape and blankets. I can teach you about preserving and drying food. Anything you want. How to purify water. Even how to make your own weapons.”

Arthur cleared his throat with a level of theatrics that warned Rob to kill any talk of weapons.

“I can show you how to start a fire the good old-fashioned way. How to start what I call a garage greenhouse. This is where you grow your own vegetables in the comfort of your own home with cups of soil. It takes time, but I can offer tips or anything else you want to know.”

Arthur joined Rob in the center of the stage and turned to address the audience.

“And what do you think of me, Rob? How I gave you another chance. Would you say I’m a tyrant with an insatiable thirst for power?”

Rob looked around. Arthur’s men narrowed their eyes at him. “No, of course not. You are a leader.”

“Is that right?” Arthur asked.

Rob took a deep breath, hating himself for the words he was about to say. “You’re just the leader this town needs.”

Arthur held his hands out triumphantly. “There you have it, folks. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Thanks, Rob.”

A light applause, prompted by the guards, followed as Arthur signaled for Rob to exit the stage. Rob turned and stopped, distracted by the sound of several faint pops in the distance.

Arthur gripped his arm. “What is that?” he asked, staring ahead in fear.

His men looked around curiously as the pops got closer and louder.

“No,” Arthur said, realizing something was terribly wrong. “Not today…”

The seated people began to turn around with concerned looks on their faces. Arthur’s men readied their rifles. Silence fell, with only the rustling of the wind to be heard.

Arthur steadied one hand and with the other, reached into his suit jacket breast pocket for his pistol. “Be ready,” he announced to his men.

Reverend Phelps and Dr. Layish looked at each other with apprehension. Trouble was on the horizon. Everyone could feel it. Suddenly multiple shots were fired onto the town square from above. Three of Arthur’s men near the stage took hits and dropped to the ground like lead weights. The seated crowd screamed in terror and hid under their chairs or started to run as more shots rang out. It was hard to see where they were coming from.

Panicked, Arthur scanned the building rooftops along Main Street. He could see bright flashes radiating from different locations as each shot was fired.

“They’re on top of the buildings!” he shouted to his men. “Take positions!”

The crowd ran in different directions, anywhere away from Town Hall, as several of Arthur’s men laid down suppressing fire at any building in range. Rob couldn’t believe what was happening, but he knew he needed to take cover. He moved to jump off the stage, when Arthur yanked him back by the collar of his sweater.

“You son of a bitch!” Arthur seethed. “Are these your people? We had a deal!”

Rob pulled the switchblade from his pocket, and in one quick swoop, he released the blade and jammed it into Arthur’s chest. Arthur screamed out in pain and stumbled backward with the knife still sticking out. His men were too distracted by the gunfire to notice. Rob leapt from the stage, falling into Reverend Phelps, who was desperately trying to find cover.

“Quick, under the stage!” Dr. Layish said. There was just enough space to crawl under. The three men dropped to their knees and then flat on their stomachs, slipping underneath just as a barrage of men poured onto Main Street like an advancing army. Rob pushed himself farther under the platform as Phelps and Layish followed, grunting and heaving. “I did it,” Rob said. “I stabbed the bastard!”

Mila was somewhere in the back of the first wave of fifteen men who stormed Main Street, taking position behind trash cans, vehicles, and anything else they could use for cover. Arthur’s men engaged relentlessly, firing at them nonstop. Bullets flew over Mila as she jumped behind a rusty Camry parked on the side street. Carlos and Brad fell in next to her, ready to bring the fight home.

“Stay here!” Mila said. “We don’t want to be used for target practice.”

“Damn right,” Brad said, covering his head. Bullets shot through the Toyota window, sending glass bits airborne.

“Has anyone seen Rob?” she asked between heavy breaths.

“Looks like they were having an event before we showed up,” Carlos said.

“A human sacrifice?” Brad asked in jest.

One of the sheriff’s men ran past them and hit the ground, taking a shot to the head.

“No!” Mila shouted.

Carlos got up on one knee, peeked out, and fired his rifle from behind the car. Arthur’s men were everywhere and advancing quickly. Gunfire was heavy in both directions, and from the rooftops. Arthur’s men were falling like rocks all around the stage.

Mila looked out and saw a man writhing in the center of the stage, in agony. He was on his back, dressed in a suit, and looked familiar. “Oh my God,” she said. “It’s him. It’s the mayor.”

“Where?” Carlos said, his face burning with rage.

“On the stage,” Mila answered, pointing.

He fired but didn’t have an open shot, hitting one of Arthur’s men in the chest and sending him to the ground. The sheriff suddenly jumped behind the car to join them. He had fallen back.

“There’s a lot of them. We’re trying our best!” he said, holding a pistol and adjusting his crooked sunglasses.

“I saw Arthur!” Mila said.

The sheriff’s eyes widened. “Where at?”

“On the stage!” Carlos answered. A shot rang out from behind them, and they turned in unison to see five men with rifles advancing toward them. They were surrounded.

They unloaded on Arthur’s men, riddling their bodies with multiple rounds. The blasts, coming from all around, were deafening. The group of five collapsed in bloody heaps, with spent gun shells scattered around them. But the fight was far from over. The sheriff’s men fired repeatedly, hitting Arthur’s team but missing some too, and using up ammo. Any unarmed resident had long since vanished. The once-quaint Main Street had become a war zone.

“That was a close one,” the sheriff said, clutching his pistols and staring at the bodies before them.

“Too close,” Mila said. “We have to survive this. It’s our only option,” she said jokingly.

“You’re telling me,” Brad said. “I’ve got four kids waiting for me back at the camp.”

Carlos scanned the area ahead, looking toward Town Hall. He could see the man Mila identified as the mayor crawling off the stage toward the ground. Carlos stood up suddenly and charged forward as his boots crunched against glass and shells.

“Carlos, no!” Mila shouted.

He was already far ahead and dodging gunfire.

Mila and Brad aimed their rifles down the road and fired, doing their best to provide suppressing fire after being taken off guard.

“Watch our backs!” Mila shouted to the sheriff.

Carlos kept sprinting forward through the hail of bullets, focusing on his target. One of Arthur’s men jumped out from behind a barrel with his rifle aimed. Carlos shot him through the head, and he spun backward, screaming. As he dropped, another shooter came out of nowhere, putting Carlos in his sights. Carlos blew the side of his face off in one shot and kept running.

The stage was getting closer. He was almost there. The mayor was on his knees under a tree and trying to push himself up. As Carlos advanced, a lanky man with a handlebar mustache ran to the mayor and shielded him. For a moment, he was too distracted to notice Carlos charging toward them, but when their eyes met, he quickly swung his rifle around to take fire. A gunshot rang out from atop a nearby building, cracking the man’s head open and throwing him to the ground near Arthur. Surprised, Carlos jumped but kept his pace.

Arthur had managed to get up on his feet just as Carlos pummeled him like a bull. Arthur gasped and spit blood as the two men flew onto the hard concrete ground. Sporadic gunfire blasted, coming from all sides. Several of Arthur’s men dropped as others quickly realized they were outnumbered. They threw down their weapons and ran, but the Clarkson crew weren’t ones to take prisoners.

Shot in the back, the fleeing men collapsed next to the bodies of their own, drenched in pools of blood that leaked throughout Main Street.

“Get off me!” Arthur shouted. Carlos rolled to the side and got on his knees. Before the mayor could say another word, Carlos’s meaty fist pounded his face with lightning-fast punches. He then clutched Arthur’s neck.

“What did you do to my son?” he asked, squeezing his neck and cutting off his oxygen. “Tell me, you sick fuck!”

The knife still protruded from his chest. Carlos reached for the handle and yanked it out. Arthur cried out in gasps of pain. “Cat got your tongue? Talk, damn it!”

“I-I’m sorry,” Arthur wheezed. “It wasn’t me. It was an accident.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Carlos asked, hunched over him.

“One of my men took it too far. We buried the boy. Gave him a proper burial just like anyone else!”

Completely in shock, Carlos loosened his grip. “What? He’s dead?” Tears welled in his rage-filled eyes. “You killed him? You fucking killed my boy?”

He removed his hand from Arthur’s neck and stared forward in a horrified daze. Sound was fading. Everything was becoming blurry. In Carlos’s moment of crippling astonishment, Arthur reached into his coat, pulled his pistol out, and pushed it against Carlos’s chest. Carlos looked down just as Arthur fired. A stinging pain swept through him, and he fell to his side beside Arthur.

Rob crawled out from under the stage when he heard the nearby gunshot. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He shouted to Carlos and ran over and kicked the pistol out of Arthur’s hand before he could fire another shot. Carlos lay on his side, shaking and coughing with rapid breaths.

Rob fell to his knees next to him and placed his hand on his back. “Stay with me, man. Come on!”

Arthur lay next to him, his face swollen and bloody and one eye half-shut. His lips curled upward in a smile. “Got him,” he muttered.

Rob was too distracted with his friend to even hear, as gunshots continued nonstop. The sheriff’s men were quickly advancing and staving off Arthur’s gang. Rob pulled off his sweater and gently nudged Carlos onto his back. He was hit. A bad spot—right in the chest. Blood oozed out, soaking through his jacket and forming a puddle under him. Carlos gasped for breath as sweat dropped from his forehead.

“Look at me, Carlos!” Rob said.

Carlos’s eyes looked through Rob as he muttered something about Antonio.

Rob moved Carlos’s hands and wrapped his sweater around the wound, tying the sleeves tight to staunch the blood that showed bright red against Rob’s white undershirt.

“It’s going to be all right,” Rob said in a desperate, demanding tone. “You hear me? You’re going to be okay. Think of your wife and daughter!”

For a moment, the gunfire seemed to have ceased. More of the sheriff’s men were in sight after successfully taking the street.

“Dr. Layish!” Rob shouted. “We got a man down here!”

Reverend Phelps and Dr. Layish looked out cautiously from beneath the stage.

“It’s clear! You can come out. But I need your help.”

Layish ran over, ready to help, and took a knee next to Rob. One look at Carlos, and his face looked stricken with hopeless concern.

“He’s one of ours,” Rob said. “You’ve got to help him.

Layish examined Carlos, pulling aside the sweater to look at his wound. His head whipped around to face the pastor. “Quick, Phelps. Get my bag. It’s in my office on the first floor.”

Phelps nodded and darted off, nearly tripping over Larry’s motionless corpse.

“I don’t think it hit any major arteries,” Layish said and wiped his forehead. “If I can clean and dress the wound in time, he should be okay. Might have to get him out of here for surgery.”

“Surgery?” Rob said, brushing back his hair. Being so completely preoccupied with Carlos had given Rob tunnel vision. So much so, that he didn’t notice that Arthur’s gang had been defeated, or so it seemed. Most of his men lay dead in the street. Others had managed to run off, fleeing the town in a panic. His team of enforcers, at thirty-five strong, had been decimated. The freemen had taken an enormous blow. Their leader, however, had survived, lying off to the side, trying to crawl away before it was too late.