Yeah, that’s it. All I have to do is wake up. Just wait a few seconds and it’ll be over.
Damon’s head burst apart into gray chunks and red mist in what seemed like slow motion. His headless body dropped to its knees, then keeled over.
But Jubal hadn’t pulled the trigger of the shotgun. He looked down at his hands. The shotgun was gone. He looked over at Fiona.
She had taken it from him and he hadn’t even noticed. The barrel still smoked from the killing shot.
This wasn’t a nightmare; it was real. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that?
Jubal’s face felt funny. He reached a hand up; it was coated with tears. He looked at his wet?ngers as if the substance upon them was some alien liquid.
“C’mon, baby. Let’s get out of here,” Fiona said, grabbing his upper arm. “There’s nothing you could have done.”
They made their way around the house, their feet crunching in gravel. By the time they had reached the cruiser, the rising sun had dehydrated Jubal’s tears.
“We need more guns,” he said.
It was another scorcher in downtown Serenity. But unlike most mornings, Main Street and its sidewalks were completely empty. Not even Bubba, the old dog owned by Phil Marx over at the Amoco, was to be seen; the mutt usually roamed up and down the sidewalks, looking for affection or handouts. He always had a wag of the tail for everyone.
Fiona made a low moan in her throat.
Jubal ignored it. The numbness in his mind had returned and he felt like a wooden puppet only loosely controlled by its own wooden brain.
He rolled the cruiser to a stop in front of the sheriff’s of?ce.
“You stay in the car, Fee. I’ll leave it on with the air going. Use the shotgun if you need to. I’m going to get more weapons.”
Fiona nodded weakly, staring out the windshield at nothing much.
Jubal laid the shotgun on the driver’s seat as he left the car. He slammed the door and paused, listening.
A mourning dove cooed somewhere. There was a muf?ed crash and clatter, as if from a toppled piece of furniture in a far off building. Then nothing.
Ignoring the piles of reports on the desk, which no longer meant anything to him-or to anybody-he walked straight to the gun cabinet. Jubal unlocked it and withdrew a Glock to replace the one the soldiers had con?scated, and two more shotguns just like the one in the car, along with an armload of ammo boxes. Looking around, he saw nothing else he thought he’d need.
What do you need when the world is ending?
What entertaining thoughts his mind conjured.
Outside, the car door slammed.
Jubal thought he heard Fiona say something. He laid the weapons and ammunition on the over?owing desk except for the Glock.
He left the front door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Fiona stood behind the opened car door, sighting along the Mossberg laid across the top of the door.
Jubal looked where she was aiming.
Far down the street, the walking dead creature that had once been the lab worker Renee shambled towards them. She held something loosely in her grip. Jubal squinted against the light and saw that it was a severed hand. As he watched, she put one of its pale?ngers into her mouth and bit it off with a snap that Jubal could hear quite clearly even from this distance.
“Are you okay?” Jubal asked, not taking his eyes off Renee.
Fiona grunted assent, still sighting along the shotgun.
“You know,” Jubal said, sliding on his sunglasses. “It’s just a matter of time before the whole town ends up like her.”
Fiona turned her head towards him with an astonished look on her face. “Mr. Sensitive now, are we?”
“Just the facts, ma’am,” Jubal said in a monotone, lifting his Glock and taking aim. “Die, bitch.”
Jubal shot once and Renee’s head snapped back. She wobbled around a bit, as if beginning a waltz step, then toppled over onto her face.
Jubal had the sudden urge to blow the smoke off the barrel of his gun, like an old-time movie cowboy, but then thought better of it. He barely understood what he was doing; it was as if some cold, primitive part of himself was taking command of his actions. “Bullseye,” was all he said.
“Jubal, are you losing it on me?” Fiona said, sitting down on the passenger seat with the shotgun propped between her legs. “I need you.”
“Shoot ’em in the head. They go right down. Plop.”
Jubal knew he shouldn’t be acting like this, that he was freaking Fiona out a little, but he just couldn’t help it. Maybe he’d feel like his old self after a rest.
“I’ll get the additional weapons, then let’s go home, Fee. We need to plan shit out.”
Fiona slammed her door closed without answering.
Jubal turned towards the sheriff’s of?ce, saying, “Oooooh-kay,” under his breath.
He went inside and collected the weapons. He brought them out and threw them in the back seat of the cruiser.
Again behind the steering wheel, he?ipped on the car and revved the engine. “It’s okay Fee. We’re going home now.”
He put the car into drive and sped off down the street.
“Look out, Jubal. You’re going to run over…”
With a thump and a bump, Jubal drove over Renee and continued on.
“Dead bitch.”
“Jubal?”
“It’s okay, Fee. Everything’s going to be okay now. I can feel it,” Jubal said.
He even smiled.
They carried all the weapons into his mother’s house, laying them on the coffee table, and locked the doors and windows.
“I have got to sit down and rest,” Fiona said, plopping down onto the couch.
“I’ll get you a glass of water. Be right back.”
Jubal returned with two glasses of ice water. He pushed aside the shotguns and set them on the coffee table. “Some wedding we’re going to have, huh?”
She didn’t answer.
“Hey, we could have Renee bring the?nger food,” he said and immediately regretted it. Fiona kicked the coffee table, spilling both water glasses and knocking one of the shotguns to the?oor. Jubal hadn’t engaged the safety of either Mossberg and he prepared himself for a blast that never came.
He picked the gun up off the?oor and heard the slam of the bathroom door.
You’re an idiot.
He just had to show his?ancee how calm and cool he had become, how he was dealing with this unholy crisis like a wisecracking movie character. He wanted her to know he was strong and he would protect her, because if he could convince Fiona, maybe he could convince himself. And maybe he could erase from his mind the image of Damon Ortega’s head bursting like a melon.
He cursed himself under his breath. He was 22 years old, shouldered with huge responsibilities, and he still acted like a kid.
Jubal stood outside the bathroom door for several minutes. He expected to hear Fiona’s sobs, but she made no sound.
Finally, he tapped his knuckle on the door.
“Fee?”
She didn’t answer.
“Fee, I’m sorry. I…I’m an ass. It’s so hard to act like I’m strong when I’m so goddamned scared.” He swallowed. That had been a tough thing for him to say. Now that he had, he felt better. Fiona loved him. She would accept him just as he was. After all, she had known him longer than almost anyone.
Actually, he realized, she had known him as long as anybody left alive.
“Fiona, did you hear me? I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
The voice was very small and came from a place near his knees. He pictured her sitting on the bathroom?oor, her head against the door.
Jubal leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting by his side of the bathroom door.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just stupid.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re a guy,” she said, as if that explained everything. Jubal supposed it did.
He pressed one side of his face against the door, hoping it was near Fiona’s. “Fee, we’ll get through this.”
“Don’t.”
“Just listen-”