Desolation

“Okay, where was I?” Bill watched his daughter and their new friend go get their only means of escape. “So, Max long ago had been watching us. I didn’t read this, but it just makes sense when you think about it. The funding for my business, remember? It came from some unknown source. The scholarship for Sally, and later for Darla. Our chance meeting with Max in Mexico. His mysteriously brokering the purchase of our home—well, what was our home…” Bill’s words faded as he spoke them.

~~~

Judas Feinstein heard voices, just above the loud ringing in his ears. He was sure he had to be dead after having been severely burned and then blown up. He didn’t believe in the afterlife, no matter what the traditions of his Jewish family from the UK told him, and these voices weren’t angelic in any way. He recognized the dialect as Mexican Drug-Dealer.

Then the pain started to rocket through his body, like shockwaves. The voices were louder, and he looked up, his head barely moving. There were three men, all staring at Thompson’s house—rather, at what was left of it. Two looked bloody and slumped over, and the other was arguing with them. Judas was able to recognize some of the Spanish: “…all dead…” “…what now?” “…go back…”

He noticed he was on the same street as them, in between Clydeston’s house and Thompson’s warehouse, although he couldn’t remember walking this far. His AK was right in front of him. Maybe he could take them out before they saw him. Pushing himself up on his knees, he saw and remembered the state he was in. His shirt was burnt off and so were most of his pants. The pain was almost unbearable, but he didn’t care now. He was angry at these people who ruled his life with their guns and fear and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. Judas reached over and dragged the gun his way; the racket should have, but didn’t, alert his targets. He held the gun up, pointed it, pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He tried to pull the charging handle, remembering Clyde taught him how to load the gun, but it wouldn’t budge. Okay, maybe it’s loaded already, he grumbled in thought, gotta take off the bloody safety. He turned the rifle closer and flipped the lever down. That should do it

.

The Spanish was louder and panicked. Judas looked up and saw all three men scrambling for their rifles on the ground; one already had his and was pointing it Judas’s way. He wasn’t going to give them the chance. Aiming it again, he squeezed the trigger, and a fusillade of bullets tore at the pavement in front of him, working its way up to the men, and then to the sky, knocking Judas on his back. He scrambled to right himself, not unlike a turtle pushed over on his shell, his legs folded under, pinned down by his body and arms flailing around. He rolled over, pushed himself up again, and looked; there was no movement from any of the men. As he dropped the rifle he noticed two things: the RPG he’d taken was also right in front of him, and he had been shot in the chest.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, almost indifferent. “Well if I can’t enjoy Thompson’s warehouse, neither can anyone else.” Blood from his chest wound poured down his large frame and pooled on the ground where he sat cross-legged. He reached for the RPG.

~~~

“Oh my God, the whole time Max knew us, our family, and he started helping us before we even knew him? That’s hard to believe…” Lisa trailed off in thought after Bill had told her and Maria his story.

Gunfire erupted right outside the window, albeit muffled by the thick insulation and heavy glass. They all stepped closer to see what had happened. Amid the debris, a fat naked man with fire-blackened skin slowly rose up and then sat cross-legged. A red hole in his chest attested to his having been hit by one of the shots they heard. He reached out for something, which he picked up from the debris of Max’s exploded house. It was an RPG. He pointed it right at them. His face, a repulsive mix of fat and charred skin, wore a vindictive grin.

They were about to hit the floor, knowing immediately that they were in trouble, when another sound came from the left side of the house. Judas tried to turn that way, but was bent as far as his broken, bulbous body would allow. He had dropped the RPG and now struggled to pick it up again, when Sally’s Blazer burst onto the street. She barreled over him and the weapon before he could fire, screeched to a halt, and backed up to make sure the job was done right.

Lisa had never thought she would be in a position to cheer on the killing of another, but she was now. “Way to go, Sally!”

48. The Proposal

Laramie, Wyoming

They estimated their own dead to number over one hundred, although they wouldn’t know for sure for a few days. The important statistic was that every one of the invaders was dead. They now had their town back, and they would rebuild.