One Second After

It all seemed to move so slowly. Without ceremony, flourish, John raised the pistol, centered it on the man’s chest. At the very last instant Larry started to move, to try to fall to one side.

John squeezed the trigger.

He saw the impact; Larry staggered backwards against the concrete wall. The roar of Washington’s .45 exploded next to him, startling him. He saw his second shot miss, striking above Larry’s head as he slid down against the wall, leaving a bloody streak.

Two more quick shots from Washington’s .45.

John fought to center his Glock, aimed at Larry’s midsection; he was kicking feebly. John could hear screams behind him. He fired again, again, and then again.

A hand was on his shoulder. It was Washington.

“The head,” Washington said softly.

John walked up to Larry. Was he dead? Blood was pooling out under his body, the front of his pants wet, another stench added in, bladder and bowels having let go.

There seemed to be a flicker of eye movement. John aimed at the center of Larry’s head, standing over him, and fired.

A second later another explosion, the coup de grace being delivered to Bruce.

Woodenly, John turned. All were now staring at him, all silent. Hands to mouths, a few were crying. The way they looked at him, it was different, different from anything he had ever seen before in the eyes of people gazing at him. Fear… awe… revulsion… from a few strange glazed eyes almost a look of envy and lust.

He felt the vomit coming up. He had to control it. He held the Glock up, not sure if he had actually emptied it or not. His student Jeremiah was standing in the crowd, and John made eye contact. Jeremiah stepped forward and John handed him the gun.

“Secure the gun and meet me at the car,” John whispered.

He turned and walked away from the crowd, got behind the concrete wall, bent double, and vomited.

Gasping, he remained doubled over.

“It’s ok, sir.” It was Washington.

John looked up at him, suddenly ashamed.

“Puked my guts out the first time I killed a man. Sir, if you hadn’t I’d of been worried about you.”

“Stop calling me ‘sir,’ god damn it,” John hissed between the continuing heaves.

“You did the right thing, sir. You did it well.”

“Well? How can you say killing a man like that was done well?”

“No, sir. Not that. It’s always a stinking mess. I mean what you said. That’s why I call you ‘sir’ now. We used to joke about it before. Frankly, sir, you were a professor type, but I knew you were a colonel, so I played along. But today, sir, you led out there, you faced something horrible, and you led.”

“Ok,” John sighed.

“Come on; let’s get out of here.”

John nodded. Wiping his mouth with the hack of his hand. He winced with pain. His finger was infected and the act of shooting the Glock had ripped the cut wound open.

He came back around the wall and the crowd, mysteriously, was all but gone. Few had hung around. The bodies were gone, Bartlett’s van already driving off.

John realized he must have been behind the wall for long minutes.

He was glad no one was around to see him now.

A bit wobbly, he headed for his car.

“John?”

It was Makala.

He didn’t recognize her at first. Gone was the sexy business suit. She had on a pair of baggy jeans, a few sizes too big, and an old faded T-shirt from Purdue University.

“Thank you, John.”

“For what, damn it?”

“What you said back there before you had to shoot those two.” He nodded.

“It’s been getting a little tense between those who lived here before and people like me who have wandered in. What you said needed to be said. It reminded us we’re one in this.”

“Ok.”

He really did not want to talk and he slowly continued to the car. “Let me look at that hand.”

She stepped around in front of him and he winced as she pulled the bandage off.

“John, it’s getting infected, badly infected. I told you to go home, wash it, and keep it protected.”

He thought of the nursing home, carrying his father-in-law, the filth there.

“I need to clean that out for you, John; it really should be stitched up.”

“It can wait,” he said woodenly. “I just want to go home now.”

“Ok then, I’ll go with you.”

He glared at her coldly, a sick thought crossing his mind that perhaps she was turned on to him because of what he had just done, that or as an “outsider” she was ingratiating herself with a man who now obviously had power in the town.

She stepped back slightly.

“John. First, you’re getting an infection; in this situation you could lose your hand, or maybe even your life. Second, I heard about your father-in-law and the nursing home. I volunteered to go up there to help clean and take care of the folks. After I’m done with you, it’s a far shorter walk. Third, John, your little girl—Jennifer, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Monitoring her diet now is going to be tough. She should be checked every couple of days by a nurse or doctor. So just take me home with you; I’ll get done what needs to be done and then go up to the nursing home for the night.”

“Ok.” It was all he could say.