Read THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road Online
Authors: Frank Kaminski
THE COLLAPSE: Swantown Road (23 page)
Ben had made two critical mistakes at that moment in time. One, he had re-shouldered his shotgun. Two, he had taken his eyes off Stephen and Fish while they discussed which batteries to purchase, and shined his light down the rest of the empty aisle to check it out. It was only for a short moment, but long enough for Fish to reach down, lift up his jeans down by his boot and pull another M-4 magazine out of his sock.
Ben heard the “click” of the magazine locking into place behind him, and then the snap of the charging handle being pulled and released, which locked the first round into place. It was poor Ben’s “OH, SHIT!” moment as he frantically spun around. He had almost swung his shotgun into place again before he was forced to freeze. Fish commanded, “Put your gun down, kid. Now.”
Fish had his M-4 pointed at the terror-stricken young man’s face, and Ben obeyed by slowly lowering his weapon to the floor. Fish learned in Afghanistan that a gun barrel to the face was twice as intimidating as a barrel to the chest. He heard from some of his marine corps buddies that it was human nature to protect the brain at all costs.
Stephen was horrified. He asked, “What in the hell are you doing, Fish?”
Fish ignored Stephen, and ordered Ben to his knees. He kicked the shotgun with his steel-toed boot, and it slid damn near halfway down the aisle before coming to a stop.
“This isn’t a good idea, Fish!” Stephen exclaimed, but Fish continued to ignore him. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the frightened boy looked hopefully toward the sunlight at the front of the store and called out, “Dad! D-“
He never got out the second ‘dad’ because Fish had whacked him hard in the temple with the butt of his M-4. The unconscious kid collapsed face first onto the shiny tiles and Stephen recoiled with astonishment. “Jesus, Fish! He was just a kid!”
“Yeah, a piece of shit kid with a piece of shit dad.” Fish laughed as he readied himself, preparing to shoot the father or anybody else that ran toward them. Stephen ran down the aisle to fetch the shotgun and took up a defensive position in the next aisle, adjacent to Fish’s. He could barely breathe. What in god’s name was Fish thinking? There was no way out of there, the ‘owner’ had people on the roof! What was Fish’s plan? Stephen briefly thought about surrendering and making up a bullshit story to cover what happened to the boy, but then abandoned the prospect. The man would be too upset about his son to be reasoned with. They were likely going to fight this one out. Not good!
Luckily, after a few long moments of waiting, nothing happened. Fish and Stephen assumed that the kid hadn’t yelled loud enough for the father to hear him. Either that, or, the man was in the midst of another hard bargain outside the store, haggling with another potential customer.
“Okay, so now what?” Stephen said to Fish, exasperated.
“Wait here.” Fish replied. He ran away from the flustered Stephen, but quickly returned with a handful of grocery bags. He slid all of the batteries that remained in the display off the hooks and into a tripled-up bag and handed it to Stephen.
“Dude, that’s way more than twenty dollars worth. The man at the door is going to know it, too.” Stephen argued as he held the heavy bag.
“I know, but we’re still taking them all. Don’t argue, just hide that shotgun quick and follow my lead.” Fish said, and before Stephen could appeal, he started walking toward the entrance.
“Not good, not good!” Stephen complained to himself as he stashed the shotgun on an empty shelf and hustled to catch up with Fish.
Fish was already at the entrance, but was hiding slightly around the corner when Stephen caught up to him. As Stephen walked up, he watched Fish cup his hands around his mouth and holler, “STEPHEN, THERE’S WAY MORE THAN TWENTY DOLLARS OF STUFF IN THAT BAG, THAT MAN OUT THERE IS REALLY SMART AND HE’S GONNA FIND OUT! PUT SOME OF IT BACK, HURRY!”
Stephen didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t need to say or do anything. Just as Fish had anticipated, the deal-savvy man at the door came bounding around the corner to investigate. He saw Stephen standing there, confused, ‘holding the bag’ (so to speak). The man immediately noticed how full the bag was and pointed at Stephen, yelling, “Hold it right there!”
Stephen just stood there with the grocery bag, shrugging and smiling sheepishly. Once the man was fully inside the store and out of view of anyone, Fish stepped out of the sun-shadows and said, “No,
you
hold it right there.”
The dealmaker turned around, not expecting anyone to be armed, but Fish certainly was. The dealmaker also noticed that Fish had an active magazine in his M-4, and slumped his shoulders in defeat, saying, “Extra mag, eh? I should have been smarter than that.”
“Yup. Now, put your hands on your head and get down on your knees if you want to survive today.” The man obliged, and Fish retrieved all of the ammo that the dealmaker had taken from them, and redistributed it to himself and Stephen. Stephen set the bag of batteries down to reload his revolver.
Fish asked, “Where’s my friend’s silver?”
“In my knapsack hanging up in the entryway. Are you going to rob me of everything, too?”
“You shouldn’t have been taking advantage of all these good people. Sooo, your problems really aren’t my problems. And yes, I kinda feel like taking a bit of shit today.” Fish replied.
The dealmaker frowned at Fish’s declaration, but then suddenly smiled. He smirked at Fish and said, “You’re never going to make it past my men on the roof.”
“I’ve already thought of that.” Fish said. “I used to work for Safeway when I was in high school.”
Stephen was confused. What the hell did that mean? What was Fish’s plan for the men on the roof? Was Fish planning on sneaking out the back or something? Stephen wanted discussion, options, planning. But Fish didn’t have time for that. He had momentum, and the element of surprise, and that was all he needed. No time for talky-talky, Stephen!
“Stephen, cover him.” Fish ordered, and took off running toward the back of the store. Then he did a spinning 180 degree turn and came back to Stephen and asked, “I need that flashlight, it’s pretty dark back there.”
“What are you doing?” Stephen quickly asked as he handed him the trusty little light.
“Saving the world.” Fish answered with his trademark grin. He ran away again, leaving Stephen to cover the dealmaker, who asked in a serious tone, “Where’s my son?”
“He’s fine. He’s just taking a little nap, that’s all.”
“You better hope he’s okay.” The dealmaker threatened, sneering at Stephen, who was covering him with Eddie’s .38 special instead of his rifle. The handgun provided better mobility and close-quarter combat capability; just in case the dealmaker decided to get frisky.
There’s Justin Case again, and yes, he can be a motherfucker.
Stephen decided to say something, to keep the dealmaker’s mind occupied so he wouldn’t be able to dream up any plans to turn the tables.
“Actually, you know what? I think that
you better hope
that my friend allows to you live. He’s had a pretty shitty day so far. I wouldn’t push it, if I were you.”
“Bad day, huh? Big deal. We’ve all had those.” The dealmaker said. “I think you and that tall drink of water are about to have a seriously bad day. My men are excellent shots.”
Stephen grinned at the man, “You obviously don’t know my friend very well.”
Out of nowhere, as if Fish knew that Stephen was talking about him, automatic gunfire erupted in short, controlled bursts. It was presumably coming from the roof. Stephen kept his gun hand on the dealmaker, but shimmied to his right so he could see out the windows in the entryway better. The edgy crowd in the parking lot was nervously retreating from the gunfire towards the vehicles in the rear of the lot.
There were screams from the roof, and then Stephen flinched as one of the shooters dropped from the roof and landed with an audible *plop*. His rifle momentarily danced on the asphalt next to him before coming to a rest next to the shooter’s body.
The dealmaker closed his eyes in frustration. He must have known that Fish was annihilating his men on the roof. And he was.
There was a moment of silence, which seemed like forever, then Stephen heard a yell from outside; it was Fish on the roof, hollering, “C’mon everybody, the coast is clear! GET SOME! GET SOME! GET SOME!”
The formerly retreating crowd outside cheered loudly in response and stampeded toward the Safeway entrance. Stephen had to step aside to avoid being trampled, but didn’t need to cover the dealmaker anymore. Several males from the new angry mob of customers had taken him aside and were beating on him relentlessly.
Stephen received many hugs, handshakes, and ‘thank you’s’ as the masses poured into the store from the outside. Wow, what a feeling that was! He felt like a real superhero! But Fish was the real hero, Stephen was just a sidebar to all of his fast-actions and bravery.
Fish came back to Stephen through the store, out of breath from all the activity and running. He nodded at Stephen and smiled. They went to the knapsack in the entryway and Fish fingered through the treasure trove inside of it. The bag was fat with jewelry, wedding rings, old silver coins (all dimes, quarters, halves and dollars minted prior to 1965 consisted of 90% silver) and of course, Stephen’s roll of silver American Eagles. Fish yelled, “Jackpot!”
“We’re not thieves.” Stephen said, sincerely.
“We are today!” Fish howled, and then laughed.
“Karma is a motherfucker, dude!” Stephen countered. Fish thought about it for a long moment, then said, “Dang it, you’re right.” He then took a few steps into the store and violently flung the open knapsack back and forth, scattering all the booty on the tile flooring toward the frenzied shoppers that were running about. Minus Stephen’s silver, of course.
“Alright, Robin Hood, let’s get the heck out of here before this place turns into a shit show.” Stephen said to Fish.
Fish looked around, and the previously joyous mob had begun to battle amongst themselves for whatever was left on the shelves. “You’re right, let’s go. The shit show
is
about to start.”
Tarra was in the garage, finishing up a small load of hand-washed laundry. Just underwear, bras and socks. The bigger stuff could wait until it stood up by itself. She used the cold hot tub water and a pair of large blue plastic buckets that they had picked up from the Dollar Tree before The Collapse. The Kays loved the Dollar Tree, and at the time they had informed Tarra that they
absolutely had to have
those buckets, for whatever reason. It seemed as though the girls had had some really awesome foresight, because the dual buckets worked perfectly for the job. One to wash, one for a quick rinse, then wring out the item and hang it up on the bungee-cord line that Stephen had rigged up in the garage. Other than the super cold water on her hands, the method worked great!
She had the garage door open, and watched Pharoah as he entertained himself in the yard. Suddenly, she heard the engine of a vehicle approaching from Swantown. She was pretty sure it sounded like Stephen’s truck, but she wasn’t positive, so she picked up the shotgun with her wet hands and stood up. Pharoah stopped running, sat down and barked twice. His muzzle was pointed up the driveway where she couldn’t see from the garage. ‘
Two barks means good-to-go’
she remembered Fish saying. It had to be Stephen. And it was. Smart dog.
The boys caught up with Tarra in the garage, and began telling her about the day’s events. The Kays hadn’t come running down yet, and Stephen assumed they had heard the truck arrive but were finishing up a game or a book or something.
Tarra was peculiarly interested about Constantine. She wanted to hear everything. She wanted details, damnit! Stephen guessed that the drama was exciting to her, since there was no television to satisfy Tarra’s feminine desire to watch other people (other women, especially) crash and burn. Tarra’s curiousity turned into fury, when Fish got to the part about Connie deciding to stay with the abusive shitbag husband.
Doesn’t it always end up that way, though?
Fish had put a lot of emphasis on the part where he had made the man piss himself. Tarra enjoyed the story nevertheless; it was her apocalyptic version of the Lifetime Channel. Her thirst for drama had been quenched, if only for a short while.
Stephen never had a chance to inventory the fat sack of batteries that Fish acquired for him, so he disappeared upstairs to greet the Kays and have a sit down with his new booty. Fish stayed down in the garage with Pharaoh and Tarra, and told her after Stephen left, “Stevo saved my ass today, you should be proud of him. I really wanted to shoot that little turd, but he stopped me. I don’t know if all those guys at AWOL would have killed me or not, but we never had to find out, thanks to him.”
Tarra asked him, “Are
you
okay? I mean, about the whole Connie thing?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m over it. She can have her crappy husband. Women are so damn stupid.” Fish said. He caught himself screwing up and corrected by saying, “But not
you
, though! Other women, I meant!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever, jackass!”
*****
The next day was graciously uneventful, and on the morn of the following day, Stephen had called a family meeting. They discussed the idea of leaving the house on Swantown Road for the Rudehouse river property. Nobody wanted to live in fear anymore. How long would it be before people took to violent acts to obtain every meal? Hunger did terrible things to people. Tarra wanted the Kays to be free to go outside and play, without fear, and without having to worry about the next predator or trigger-happy idiot that passed by. Without law enforcement, the country was in a total free-for-all mode for anyone that wanted to try and get away with some evil shit. On the flip side, without law enforcement, there would be no consequence for anyone that sought their own vengeance or took the law into their own hands.
i.e. Molest my child, kill my wife or invade my house, and I will tie you up, cut all your fingers and toes off, one by one, and then pour salt on them, until you either bleed or starve to death, whichever comes first.
What’s good for the goose, was also good for the gander. Somehow, the world still balanced out. Criminals, anarchists, and chaotics are always the first ones to perish during a nation’s Collapse. Which is ironic, because it is exactly the type of thing they wish for.
During the meeting, everyone (including Uncle Fish, who was officially family) had come to a concensus that they would depart on the first sunny day of March. Provided that there were no sunny days during the entire first week of March, the departure deadline was set at March 7
th
. It would be warm enough by then to not freeze to death at night while camping. Additionally, March was planting season, and they could help the Rudehouses ready the soil there for growing things.
The bad part about leaving on a rainy day, would be that their supplies could get wet in the back of the truck. Stephen had the plastic tarps and bungee cords to tie them down, but they weren’t a 100% waterproofing solution. Some of the stuff would still get wet. Plus, Fish would be riding as security in the back of the truck. That would make for a long, cold, wet journey for him. The Skagit property was an hour and half away, provided that they didn’t have to detour or slow down for any random encounters along the way.
After the Rudehouse property meeting, Pharoah began barking frantically at the front door. All of the adults readied their weapons, and Fish ran downstairs to exit the garage in order to run around the house to flank anyone that might be outside with malevolent intentions.
Tarra called Pharoah to her, and he stopped barking momentarily, but took up a low growl at whoever, or whatever was outside.
Stephen, now braver than at any other point in his entire life, said, “Fuck it” and walked up to the door and looked out the narrow window. He saw Constantine creeping up the walkway to the front door, and she looked like she had been badly beaten.
“Tarra, it’s Connie! What should we do?” Stephen whispered to his wife.
“Tell her to piss off!” Tarra whispered back.
“I can’t do that, honey. She doesn’t look good. She doesn’t look good at all.”
“Fine,
I’ll
tell her then.” Tarra said, no longer whispering as she opened the door. Connie really did look terrible. She was sporting a fresh shiner on her left eye, which made sense, because TC was likely right-handed. He probably beat the shit out of her, and she finally had had enough of it and left him. Tarra wondered if she had told anyone where she was going, though. There’s nothing like an armed, angry little husband to ruin your day.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Tarra said through the screen door, as Connie crept toward the house. The beaten woman was subdued, quiet.
“Hi, Tarra.” She replied, softly.
“I suppose that you are here because your hubby used you as a punching bag?”
“No, my husband is dead.” Connie stated. Tarra didn’t know if she should have cheered at that moment or felt sorry for the poor girl.
“What happened to you, then?” Tarra asked.
“TC and another man got into a knife fight over me. The other guy wanted me really bad, and he thought that if he killed my husband, that he could have me. I didn’t want to be with him, so he beat me up.” She shrugged, as if domestic violence was just another thing. “I left. I realize now, that Fish was a really good guy, and that I should have listened to him when my husband first came back.”
Tarra raised an eyebrow, and said, “So, your husband gets stabbed to death, and now you want Fish, huh? That’s bullshit Connie, and you know it. Girls like you give the rest of us a terrible name. I really want to feel sorry for your ass right now, but I just can’t. You probably wouldn’t even be here if your turd husband was still alive.”
Tarra got a physical response from Connie when she said, ‘turd husband’. Connie’s face grew momentarily angry, then she calmed herself back down, and said, “Is Fish here?”
“I’m right here, Connie. I heard the whole thing.” Fish said, coming around the corner of the house. He had been listening to the conversation without her knowing. Connie saw him and ran. She leapt up into his arms and repeatedly told him how much she missed him.
Stephen watched as Fish raised Connie up off the ground with a huge hug. He then asked his wife while shrugging his shoulders, “I guess she stays, then?”
Tarra was flustered, and angrily yelled to Fish and Connie in the yard, “She stays downstairs in the basement. There’s an extra bed down there. I don’t want her drunk, doped up ass around my kids. Not for a few days, anyway. She needs to get her shit together and get herself cleaned up, too.”
*****
At first, Fish thought that Tarra was just joking around about forcing Connie to stay in the basement. But she wasn’t. Not even a little bit. She had told Fish that if he wanted to be with her, he needed take his ass downstairs. Fish normally slept in the spare bedroom upstairs, but with Connie in the basement, he would need to relocate if he wanted to share a bed with her. That wasn’t a problem for him. He didn’t mind the basement. Besides, if they decided to get a little busy, nobody would hear them down there! He was on top of the world again, he had his beloved Connie back! Fish figured that sooner or later, Tarra would come around, and allow Connie to be part of the rest of the family. He just
knew
it.
Tarra viewed Fish not only as her husband’s best friend, but more like a brother. It was difficult for her to accept Connie. Tarra felt as though Fish was only a ‘last ditch’ option, and that was the only reason she had come back. There was something else, too. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.
Even though she was an extra mouth to feed, Stephen was happy that Connie was back with Fish. It significantly raised his best friend’s morale. Fish was the driving force behind the security of the Alexander homestead, and a happy guard is an alert, vigilant guard. Tarra argued with Stephen that Fish wouldn’t perform his nightly patrols properly, and that he would be apt to sneak off in the middle of the night to go downstairs and be with his little boo. Stephen countered with, “Don’t forget, he will be charged with protecting his boo, too.” (and yes, that rhymed) “I don’t think that he would do anything to jeopardize any of us.”
*****
Two more days passed, and closer to the March deadline they went. The Alexanders had mixed emotions about leaving the house. Tarra was ready to leave, citing that she was tired of the constant, watchful patrols, and that she persistently felt as though ‘something was wrong’.
Stephen waved her off, he figured that she was just paranoid. Yeah, there was a lot of hungry, bad people out there, but damnit, why live your life based on a possibility? Oak Harbor was a small town, not a big city. There were enough houses near the city center for people to mess with. Eventually, the AWOL crowd would be working their way further and further away from Pioneer, but Stephen deducted that they still had plenty of time. Coming all the way out to Swantown meant exposure, just like the souls that formerly occupied the bodies now in Eddie’s driveway had found out. Being a bad guy during total anarchy had its dire consequences, which was ironic, because it was exactly the type of thing that bad guys dreamt of. Don’t forget about the two home invaders that Fish executed in Margaret’s yard.
The Alexanders along with Fish were heavily armed, and it would take a small army to bring down their fortress. Fish, Stephen and Tarra had gone through many drills and had bounced many hypothetical situations off each other. All three of them came up with variable responses to any type of assault upon the house. All bases were covered. Not to mention that Eddie’s driveway across the street still had the corpses of the dead punkasses lined up on it. If that wasn’t an excellent deterrent, then Jesus, what was?
Connie had obediently remained in the basement as directed. Fish stayed with her down there as much as he could, but he couldn’t leave his nieces upstairs during the day for very long before they would call for their Uncle Fish, and he was forced to abandon her. He tried to make those abandonments as short as he possibly could. Fish also thought it would have been nice if Tarra had lifted her draconian basement restriction, but she declined multiple times, saying that Connie ‘wasn’t upstairs material’ yet.
Even though Tarra had made her issues with Connie well known, Fish consulted with her on a problem of his own that he was having with her in the early AM hours of the third day since Connie’s return. As they turned over the patrol duty with each other in the garage, he quietly asked Tarra what she thought about something. He told her that Connie still had not ‘done anything with him’ yet. At first, Tarra rolled her eyes and told Fish that she didn’t want to hear about his sexual problems. She wanted to gag! But then she saw the hurtful look in his eyes, and consoled him with, “She probably just isn’t ready yet, with all that she’s been through, and everything.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll just be patient.” He said.
Tarra laughed, “Good luck with that. Don’t forget, I
know
you.”