Grant had to block the entrance. They would be back, and quickly.
“Move the cars across the street so no one can come back at us!” Grant yelled. Ron and Len looked at each other.
“Damn it!” Grant yelled. “Go! Now! Block this entrance. Go!”
They jumped into their cars and moved them so one car blocked each side of the street. No car could get through. Grant used Len’s hood as a rest for his AR and he kept scanning the entrance area with the red dot and circle. He could start to hear people talking to him.
“Hurt. They’re hurt,” Grant heard Len say. What? Who was hurt?
Len pointed to the slow moving things at the entrance.
Oh, God, Grant had shot people. Oh, God. He had hurt people. For the first time, Grant realized that he had shot people, instead of just hitting targets.
Now it made sense. The things in the street were dead and the things moving were—now that his hearing was coming back—screaming… those were people. Oh, God.
Grant just stared at the entrance. The screaming. He did that. He hurt them.
He went into his trunk and got his first aid kit. He thought it was odd that he was compelled to try to save the lives of people who, just a few seconds ago, were trying to kill him. But he was a sheepdog, and this is what sheepdogs do.
He grabbed his first aid kit, threw it to Ron, and said, “I’ll go up to them and cover you while you go see if any need first aid.” Grant didn’t want to walk up to the people he’d shot. He didn’t want to see their faces. Not that he felt guilty; they were trying to kill him and Ron. He just didn’t want to look at their faces. He was terrified of their faces.
Grant went first, sweeping the entrance with his AR. Ron was behind him with the first aid kit. The first guy wasn’t moving. It was obvious he was dead. Ted had a story about that too, where a guy thought a Taliban was dead only to find he wasn’t. Grant kicked the body. Nothing. Grant kicked him a second time. Hard. Nothing. OK. That one wasn’t a threat.
They did the same with two others. Same thing.
Two moving blobs were heading into the woods outside the entrance. In the street light, Grant could see a wide blood trail from where they went to the woods. It was the weirdest shade of crimson he had ever seen. It was horrifying. There was some screaming in the woods. It sounded like two different screams. Grant didn’t want to go into the woods, but he wanted the screams to stop. He didn’t know what to do.
“We can’t help them,” Ron said. He motioned for them to go back. Grant covered Ron while Ron went back. The farther away they were from the gun fight, the more and more silly it seemed to be keep sweeping for bad guys. It was pretty obvious they had left, or were dead.
Grant didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want anyone to see him with an AR, so he put it back in his car.
He had to leave. He just had to leave.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Grant said.
“What? You can’t just leave,” Len said.
“I have to go,” was all Grant could say. He got in his car and drove the two blocks home. He got one block before he had to stop, open his door, and throw up. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and went home.
Grant hit the garage door opener. How many times had he hit that garage door opener and come home to pretend with Lisa that things were alright when they weren’t.
Well, that was over. He was a killer.
Killer.
That word kept running through his head.
How could he explain this to Lisa?
Chapter 49
The Easter Bunny
(May 5)
Grant was in a daze. Everything was cloudy and exaggerated. He had a raging headache. He got in the door and Lisa was there, looking concerned. She had heard the shots.
“We have to go right now!” Grant yelled to Lisa.
“What?” She looked at his pistol on his belt. “Where did you get that?”
“I had to shoot some guys,” Grant said. “Some bad guys. Trying to attack Ron.” He realized he was yelling even though she was just a few feet away.
“What?” she asked for a second time. It was starting to sink in. She heard gun shots, her husband was on a crime patrol, and now he was saying he shot some guys.
Grant wanted to change out of his clothes. He was sure they were soaked with blood. He looked at them and they didn’t seem to have any on them. But he was convinced they were soaked with blood and were… dirty. Dirty. Dirty. He realized he was freaking out. He needed to calm down. Suddenly, a really terrifying thought crossed his mind.
The police. Grant had just killed three people and apparently wounded some more. Maybe Ron hit some of them, but Grant had shot most of them. His mind was replaying the shooting over and over. He could see each one of the targets—people—as he shot them.
Police? What police? Well, for a multiple shooting, they might send someone over. But then again, they were battling some huge protests at the capitol right then. There probably were not any police available in a fifty-mile radius. That thought comforted Grant.
Grant’s mind started racing. Would he be arrested in a few days when the police could come by? Would that gang, or punks, or whoever they were, come back? Would his guns get seized? He was only protecting Ron and the neighborhood.
“We have to go now,” Grant yelled. “We have to go out to the cabin. These guys might come back or the police could show up and they won’t understand.” It was like an emotional dam broke in him. All his fears, all his frustration at no one listening to him, all his begging to go out to safety at the cabin. It was all coming out at once. Right now.
“What?” Lisa asked, obviously terrified by her bizarrely acting husband. “No, you need to talk to the police,” she said and picked up the phone like she was going to dial 911.
“What police?” Grant said, at a normal volume now, instead of yelling. “They’re busy now. We have to go.”
“We can’t just leave,” Lisa said. “Cole needs his things. I need my things. Manda has ballet rehearsals,” Lisa said.
Ballet rehearsals? Ballet?
Was this really happening?
Lisa kept listing all the reasons why they couldn’t leave. “Cole needs his routine…all our things are here…we can’t go. This will be over soon when the police can come out here.” She didn’t seem to believe that last part, but was saying it anyway.
Grant snapped back. “No, Lisa! Damn it! The police won’t be out here. Things will not be back to normal soon, if ever.” He was yelling again and couldn’t stop. “No, Lisa, everything is different. You need to adapt to the situation or we’ll all be dead.” He felt a lecture on normalcy bias coming on and thought he’d save that for another time. It was time for the Easter Bunny speech he had rehearsed in this head for months.
The Easter Bunny speech was for when the shit had hit the fan and it was time to go. Grant would tell her that he had enough supplies at the cabin for months. He would tell her that the Easter Bunny had put them out there. That way he wouldn’t have to get into a debate about him having foreseen this. Saying the “Easter Bunny” took care of all this would remove the “I told you so” sting from it.
“Honey,” Grant started to explain in his calmest voice possible, “I have at least nine months of food out there. The Easter Bunny left it out there. And we have neighbors out there who will work with us. I have guns and ammunition there. It’s extremely safe out there.”
What? Lisa thought as she heard this. Some kind of stockpile out at the cabin? Why would someone do that? The Easter Bunny? Maybe Grant was delusional after the shooting. She saw that often in the ER. Lisa was thoroughly confused.