“Tommy,” I said again, hoping to reel back his attention.
“Hey Mr. T,” Tommy answered. “Oh right! Yeah, you can talk to me for a minute.
I figured no sense in beating around the bush so I asked him straight out. “Tommy, how did you get on the Wal-Mart roof the other night?”
He was thinking hard. I almost believed I could hear the wheels creaking in his noggin. And then when he came out with the answer it was like it was no big deal, something he had been dealing with his entire life. “The Voice told me.”
Goose bumps ran up and down my arms. “The voice?” I asked hoping for some elaboration.
“Yeah, you know, The Voice the one that tells you to do things,” he explained, digging into his bag of candy, thrilled when he pulled out a blue M&M.
The way he said it gave me the impression that he thought everyone had a guiding voice.
“Did you hear this same voice earlier tonight when you came to help me and Brendon?”
“Oh yeah, I was going to get my Yoo-Hoo and I stopped with the refrigerator door open. Are you mad because I left the door open? I forgot about it once before. The Voice told me where to look for the bow and then the arrows and that I had to come help you quick ‘cause you were in a lot of trouble.” My mouth must have been hanging open because he just kept going. “So you’re not mad about the fridge door being open?”
I snapped back to reality. “The door? No I’m not mad about the door. You saved my life, and Brendon’s too. I don’t care if a few Popsicles melt.”
Tommy’s expression became one of alarm. “Not the Popsicles!” he said as he started to rise, I believe to go shut the fridge door.
I grabbed his arm. “Don’t worry, Tommy. The Popsicles are in the freezer,” I said, doing my best to calm his nerves.
His face relaxed. “Oh okay, I only left the fridge door open,” he finished.
“Back to the voices,” I started, realizing he was once again paying at least some attention to me as he dug around in the bag looking for some more blue M&M’s.
“Voice,” he muttered.
“Huh?” came my reply.
“You said ‘voices,’ there’s only one, don’t you know that?” he said, but not in a condescending way.
“Well I do now,” I told him. Tommy just looked at me funny. I absolutely was intrigued, my ‘need to know’ meter was through the roof at this point. “Does the voice sound like God?” I asked conspiratorially.
“No,” he answered as he shook his head. His eyebrows creased as if to say I was nuts.
“Jesus?”
He shook his head again.
“The archangel Michael?”
“Who?” he asked, a look of disfavor crossing his face as he pulled a green one out of the bag.
Well if that wasn’t the voice then there was no real reason to explain who Michael was. “Tommy, who does the voice belong to?” I asked.
Tommy leaned in real close and whispered in my ear, making sure no one else heard.
I sat back in my chair hard when he told me. I was searching his face for any signs of deception or amusement. I found neither. The voice Tommy heard in his head belonged to Ryan Seacrest. ‘Oh that’s rich,’ I thought to myself. I had just moments earlier been locked in a life-or-death gun battle and I now found myself on the verge of laughing hysterically. I knew the voice wasn’t actually Ryan Seacrest’s, but that didn’t stop Tommy from believing in it wholesale. Something was going on. I couldn’t wait to see what Ryan had in store for Tommy next, as long as it didn’t get the kid hurt. I gave him a big hug which he reciprocated in spades, and went to get something to eat before the meeting, shaking my head and muttering “Ryan fucking Seacrest” all the way to the kitchen.
CHAPTER 11 
Journal Entry - 11
The mood at the meeting was, in a word, depressed. We had lost eight of our small community and none of them were Mrs. Deneaux, I thought sourly. There had been five raiders, four were killed, one wounded and subsequently captured. You guessed it, my old pal Durgan had lived.
“Okay,” Jed began. “So now the question is, what do we do with the prisoner.”
“Kill him! Shoot him! Put him outside the gates!” came an assortment of angry replies from the group.
Jed was trying his best to restore order, but the crowd (mob) wanted nothing to do with it. Eight of their own had been killed and they wanted good old-fashioned Western justice.
“Talbot, this is the second run-in you’ve had with this guy. What’s your opinion?” Jed opted to turn the discussion over to me.
‘Thanks so much, Jed, for dumping this mess on me,’ I thought sourly as I stood up. “Jed, Durgan is dangerous and probably insane, but there isn’t anywhere here that we could lock him up. Even if we did we would have to spread our already thin resources to guard him. I’m also not much for cold-blooded murder, so I guess I haven’t solved anything,” I sat down dejectedly.
Jed scowled at me as if to say ‘Thanks for nothing.’
I shrugged. I wasn’t getting paid the big bucks to make the difficult decisions.
“Well then, we’re just going to have to set up a court system. I know that man killed our friends and neighbors,
but I will not condone a lynch mob.”
“What gives you the right? He killed my best friend!” More than one resident yelled their agreement with Don Griffin, the man that had shouted out. “We know the outcome of the trial already, let’s just skip the formalities.” The yells of agreement were louder and contained more voices; it appeared to me that Jed was quickly losing ground and his tenuous hold on power.
I don’t know why I stood again, part of me thinks it’s because my whole life I’ve bucked the system. Society says go ‘right’ I go ‘left.’ I’ve always been a rebel even if only in my mind.
“LISTEN!” I shouted. I waited a few seconds for the murmurs to die down. “You know Jed and I don’t always see eye to eye.” That received some laughs, most people remembering an easier life when the biggest problem was the correct time to put out the trash. “But he’s right - THIS TIME,” I emphasized. “I would like nothing more than to kill Durgan but not like this, not in cold blood. Mr. Griffin?” I asked. “Could you, even now, as mad as you are, walk up to that man and kill him?” I didn’t want him to have enough time to ponder the question. He was still pissed so I hastened on. “Of course you can’t, you’re not a murderer. I know it’s cliché but do you want to step down to the level of that man?” I spat out the last word. It tasted funny on my tongue even as I was saying it. “Jed’s right,” I said with less vehemence. “We have to hold onto our civility or we just become a pack of rabid dogs.” The crowd wasn’t overly enthused with my speech but the dissension had died down and I think if put to a vote even Don Griffin would acquiesce.
Jed thanked me with a slight nod. “All right, we will meet tomorrow to discuss who will preside over the trial, who will defend the accused, who will prosecute and who will sit on the jury.” There was still some grumbling in the audience but it didn’t look like Jed was going to have his power usurped tonight. Jed continued. “Okay, now we have the more pressing concern of having to figure out how to defend against invaders. I honestly thought that zombies would be our only threat, for that I take full responsibility. I had the misconceived notion that any survivors would be thrilled at the prospect of joining our small society, not destroying it. If five armed men can cause this much destruction, we have to come up with another plan.”