Cooper knelt to the ground, next to Hodges. He kept an eye watching the door. He wanted to move through the home and see if other threats awaited them inside.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Hodges rasped through clenched teeth.
“Can you tell me why I shouldn’t?”
Hodges laughed shallowly and grimaced in pain, “Probably not. Except you might need me.” Through his grimace, a faint outline of the confident smile returned.
“Need you for what?” Cooper asked, taken off guard by his assertion.
“The Governor,” Hodges answered, his smile turning into a smirk.
“I’m listening.”
“First, the Governor knows you are here. He’s sending men from Salem for you.” Hodges fought for breath before continuing, “Second, you’ve only scratched the surface of the Brushfire Plague. I know so much more. You let me live, I’ll help you avoid the Governor and tell you everything there is to know about the real conspiracy behind the plague.” Despite the obvious pain, his smile kept growing in confidence and contempt as he spoke.
Before he could react, he felt the presence of someone standing over him. He had been badly distracted by Hodges’ talking. He glanced up and was shocked to see Bethany standing over him. She held a bloody knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. She looked at him vacantly. Her eyes were bloodshot, tear-stained. Blood was smeared across the white blouse she was wearing.
“What are you doing…” he began, but his voice trailed off as he saw her look over at where Miles lay. A chill ran down his spine as she looked at her husband vacantly and devoid of reaction.
Her mouth moved automaton-like and her eyebrows furrowed, “There’s nothing left, is there?”
“What do you mean?” Cooper asked.
“Everyone’s dead. Everything’s gone.” Her voice was flat.
“Bethany dear, it will be alright,” Hodges said, offering comfort.
She looked down at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Her eyes grew curious.
Cooper saw the hand holding the pistol move a few inches and she fired before he could react. He looked down in horror at Hodges’ face. A neat hole was quickly pooling with blood where his right eye had been. A second pistol shot and the sound of Bethany’s body falling to the ground sent Cooper over the edge. He scooted himself backward until his feet found the stairs and then he stood awkwardly, backing away from the horrid scene that had just unfolded. His brain struggled to make sense of it all. He could not connect the dots.
Instead, he turned around and focused his attention back towards to Angela and Calvin. He was still hunched over her, so Cooper bounded to her other side, kneeling down when he got there.
“How is she?” He asked. Calvin was pressing a bloodied and makeshift bandage over her right arm.
“She will be alright. I think it passed all the way through.” Calvin was in the process of wrapping the bandage with a strip of his t-shirt that he had torn. Angela’s face was sweaty and pale.
He reached down to stroke her cheek and her eyes fluttered open.
“You’re going to be alright,” he said, offering her a reassuring smile.
“I know,” she responded, her mouth dry. “I’m just resting, waiting for Dr. Little here to finish me up.” She managed a brief smile before a painful grimace forced it away.
He stood up in a daze. His mind raced to absorb what had just happened. His feet were numbly ascending the stairs once more, before he was even aware he was doing so. He plodded forward, step by painful step. He reached the top of the stairs and looked down. Hodges lay before him. The blood had overflowed from his eye socket and had made a neat river down his right cheek and pooled next to his head on the porch. His other eye was staring blankly skyward. Cooper shuddered; it looked so eerie. One side of his head a bloody mess, the other looking as it had in life; untouched and serene.
He could not avert his eyes from Bethany and his gaze slowly drifted to her. Her face looked peaceful in death. Her eyes were narrow slits, like she was about to doze off into a nap. She had landed on her left side. He was thankful the messier exit wound was shielded from him. On the right side of her head, a neat hole was surrounded by powder-burned flesh. Her head lay in a puddle of red, her hair matting in the coagulating blood. The bloody knife was still clutched tightly in her crimson stained left hand, while the pistol had fallen from her right. He looked once more at her placid eyes. The contrast was jarring. A chill ran down his spine and he shivered. Nausea threatened and he breathed deeply to keep it at bay.
Then his eyes went to the door that lay ajar. He knew what awaited him inside the home. Dread washed over him. Unconsciously, he shouldered the FAL and took his pistol out of its holster. He struggled for focus as he entered the home. His effort to clear the living room was lackluster and his legs ambled forward and toward the hallway that most likely led to the bedrooms. His mind called to him to make sure no other threats were in the kitchen or the dining room that lay off to the right, but his body refused him. A door at the end of the hallway beckoned him. The door was open and the doorknob was stained in blood. Muddled and bloody handprints stood out in stark relief on the door’s alabaster paint.
Cooper wanted to turn around and leave. He wanted to desperately avoid seeing what he suspected lay beyond. But, the other part of him had to know, so he staggered onward. His pistol fell to his side.
When he reached the door, he stopped to gather himself. He sucked air in a futile attempt to calm his racing heart. His palms were sweaty and blood rushed into his head. He closed his eyes and then stepped into the room. He opened them reluctantly.
A flood of macabre images assaulted him. The coppery smell of blood overwhelmed him. He fell to his knees and retched. His hands clasped to his eyes and tears flowed.
“No… no… no,” he mumbled in misery. He shook his head in denial. He did not know how long he remained on his knees, forlorn.
When he lifted his hands from his face and slowly opened his eyes once again, reality still awaited him. Bethany’s children were arrayed neatly on the bed. Their hands were folded on their chests, but tied. Their throats had been slashed and blood had sprayed about. Each child was ghost white. Cooper cursed Bethany for doing such a thing and his mind sought to understand why and how she could kill her own children. Hoping against hope, Cooper forced himself to rise, walk to the bed, and check for any remaining heartbeats.
There were none.
His hand came away blood-stained and he furiously wiped it clean on the bedspread. He was a man possessed until his hand was clean once more. He ripped the closet door open and rifled through it until he found an unused blanket that he used to drape over the children before stumbling from the room.
He re-emerged into the dull gray sunlight and squinted for a moment. Calvin was on the porch, finishing up bandaging Hodges’ wounded men. He stopped when Cooper stepped past the front door. He looked at him expectantly.
“The children,” Cooper whispered, disbelief clouding his words.
Calvin looked confused, but asked nothing else.
“The entire Stott family dead. In one day,” Cooper continued, trying to convince himself that it was real.
Calvin went back to his work, affixing a bandage, and left him in silence. Cooper looked out, past all the death that lay about him, to the tree line that fronted Hodges’ property. The wind blew through them and tall evergreens swayed at their tops in the wind. In shock, his mind drifted. Why can’t I just go walk among those trees? Their sweet smell could erase the stench of blood and gore that is all around me. He spotted a hawk circling just above the trees and was hypnotized by its graceful flight. He followed it as it circled and circled until it suddenly dropped out of sight behind them. That moment catalyzed him. Jake and Dranko.