I couldn’t tell if he was serious or trying to make me feel unstable. When someone replies to your interior thoughts, it’s hard to know what to believe.
But by then it didn’t matter anymore.
I fired. A single shot. Ed’s silhouette toppled over and his flashlight fell in an arc toward the ground, where it came to rest pointed straight at its owner. The body made awful, screechy, liquid sounds, and I would have abandoned the flashlight if not for the weapons and ammunition that theoretically were nearby.
After a few minutes of searching, I discovered the swollen bodies of Mack and Nick and Aaron. Mack’s rifle was threaded between thick fingers, and when I tried to wrench it free, the wooden sounds of skin tearing and bones splintering dropped me to my knees. From here I could see pink foam leaking from his nose and I wondered if I was dreaming. Because in a way none of it seemed real. Would anyone believe I had murdered three people since the EMP? What if it had all been some kind of grand hallucination? Why did I need Mack’s gun when there were two other rifles nearby that had been thrown free of their owners?
A little while later I trudged out of the trees and eased down the slope with an automatic rifle slung over each shoulder and the canvas bag in my hands, into which I had stowed all the new ammunition. The RPG would have been killer (haha), but it was awkward and I didn’t know how to fire it. Still, two rifles and 269 total rounds could inflict plenty of damage.
I approached the DC with care, in case any of the other guards had come around back, but none had. I stowed my newfound cache in an out-of-the-way spot near the door and resumed my position along the rear wall.
For hours I stood there, staring into darkness but not really seeing. Instead I pictured a beautiful sunrise marred by the chaos of a thousand displaced humans who might be sleeping or crying or praying. I realized how pointless that was, praying, asking for help from an imaginary guy in the sky. Why had I wasted so many years believing He cared about me? Where was the evidence? A loving God would not have allowed my old life to deteriorate into chaos. He wouldn’t have permitted His followers to suffer at the hands of the powerful, to fall prey to the lies of the rich, who pretended to care about our interests in order to get our votes. There was no God. There was only filthy, stinking humanity that had frittered away its chance at greatness. Who chose short term gains over long term prosperity. I was as guilty as the rest, of course I was, but in the morning I would use my new weapons to acknowledge the truth no one else was honest enough to admit.
The world was over. There was nothing left to live for. No more reason to struggle.
I was ready to go, and on my way out I would take a few with me.
Start the dominoes falling.
Hasten the departure.
Sometime before dawn, as patches of indigo appeared in the eastern sky, I became aware of a strange, new chemical odor. A little while later, ash began falling in clumps, like dirty snow, collecting on my head and in the fine hair of my arms. The sound of the crowd rose from a murmur to a low roar.
Eventually Paige walked out of the DC and ascended the ladder. She didn’t even bother to say hi or relieve me from duty. But I didn’t care anymore. All I wanted from Paige at that point was her position on the roof, because being up there was integral to my plan.
When I walked inside, Anthony was pacing near the open dock door. He could tell something was different. I wondered if he would ask where Ed was, if he would discover the truth in my reaction.
Instead he said, “Aiden, follow me.”
We marched out the dock door, toward the edge of the building. The air was so smoky I could taste it, and our footsteps stirred ash into a cloud that hovered near the ground. I wondered if I was being marched to a punishment of some kind, if I was being banished to the crowd. Imagine the irony of feeding me to the humans I had targeted for mass murder!
When we finally reached the corner, I could see the mob had swollen enormously, its restless energy barely contained by the illusion of our control.
“You gotta let us in, man!” someone yelled. “The fires have reached McKinney!”
“That smell is the tire plant! The smoke is toxic!”
Anthony pointed toward a tall, broad-shouldered man lumbering toward us. The weapon in his arms looked like mine. The bulk of his chest suggested body armor. I had no idea what was happening.
“We can’t breathe this air for long,” the fellow growled when he reached the fence. “Let us have some food or there will be hell to pay.”
Anthony was clearly concerned about this man and his intentions, rather than me. He approached the fence and spoke in a voice so low I could barely hear what he said.
“If we open our gates, the supplies inside will be wasted. Chaos will reign. People will get hurt.”
“What do you think is happening out here?” said the angry man.
“I understand people are desperate,” Anthony said. “But help is coming.”
“Help? From where?”
“From the U.S. Army. The other day I heard a helicopter, what I believe to be a Black Hawk—”
“Listen here, Professor Plum. I’ve seen two of those choppers myself. They aren’t landing. They aren’t helping anyone. They’re surveying the carnage so they can report back to whoever is in charge. We put binoculars on the closest one and saw a guy taking pictures. With a Polaroid.Help is not coming. You’re sitting on a mountain of food and you are going to let us in.”
Anthony was facing away from me and I couldn’t read his expression, but the disbelief in his answer was obvious.
“I—” he said. “I cannot—”
“You will or there will be hell to pay.”
The notion that the government, or some version of it, was unable or unwilling to help us seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. But Anthony was clearly shaken by the news. He walked backward a few feet and surveyed the crowd. He raised his hands into the air, and like magic, the roar of conversation grew quiet.
“Listen,” he said in a loud, deep voice. “I can bring food to you.”
The cheering that followed made it impossible for Anthony to go on. While he waited, I reviewed the details of my plan. The first and most important step was to get on the roof as soon as possible.
“My men can bring the supplies with carts and dollies,” Anthony eventually said.
“Just let us in, fella!” yelled someone. “We’ll come to you.”
“Please understand: The food inside will become useless if order breaks down. Anarchy will put your safety at risk. Think of the children.”
I assumed the man who threatened us would have been pleased by this announcement. Instead, he turned around and disappeared into the crowd, which to me seemed ominous.
Deion and Emmitt were ordered to remain at the west entrance, while Mike manned the east side with an older guy whose name I had forgotten. Anthony asked me to follow him back into the DC. His face was solemn, his eyes uncertain.
“You’re really going to bring them food?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “My speech bought us time, but minutes only.”
“That guy could be bluffing about the helicopters.”
“He did not seem to be bluffing. And if no one is coming, my strategy no longer makes sense. Maybe we should grab supplies and evacuate before the decision is no longer ours.”
The last thing I wanted was for Anthony to give up so easily. I needed more time. When we reached the building, I appealed to his sense of order.
“If we’re going to evacuate, let’s do it on our terms. I’ll go to the roof and help Paige watch the crowd while you and the others round up supplies.”