Sanctuary

MARCH 17, 2015 ^{• • •}

“He’s improving. His fever is gone but he’s still feeling—” Wilbur said before Cruz cut her off.

“Like shit,” Cruz stated flatly. He took a sip of water and a labored breath. Even the effort of sitting up was tough for him.

“Is he well enough for us to get back on the road?” Gordon asked.

“Another day or two. I think he should rest here. It’s so uncomfortable sitting in that vehicle,” Wilbur said, placing a rolled-up blanket behind Cruz.

“Another day or two? We’re already behind schedule; I’ve not been able to communicate with anyone. They’re probably freaking out, wondering what happened.”

“Let them freak out; he needs to get better before we move again,” Wilbur barked.

Cruz raised his hand weakly. “I should be fine to go by tomorrow. Let’s not wait any longer.”

Gordon smiled. He had become very anxious and had dreamed of his wife and Haley during his nap in the office. All he wanted to do was get to McCall.

“Should we try the radio again, maybe drive to a higher elevation?” Christopher suggested.

“No, let’s just stay here. We appear to be safe and we have everything we need,” Gordon replied, then walked away. He stepped outside to get some fresh air and think.

Christopher joined him. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“This is all so crazy.”

“What do you mean?” Gordon asked.

“Thinking about how life has changed. When the lights went out, I was at work. At first we all cheered because nothing worked. We chatted, laughed, and enjoyed those initial hours. Hey, anything to not have to work. But then the odd stories of cars not working began to come in. I was meeting with the mayor and she was trying to find out what had happened but again, nothing worked. It wasn’t until I walked home and sat down with my wife and daughter that I first became scared.” Christopher paused. He appeared uncomfortable with what he was about to share. “My wife and daughter made the most of it the first couple of nights. She set up a tent in the living room for my daughter. She loved it. The problems started about forty-eight hours later. The stores were ransacked and looting began in the streets. The mayor, she stood up for our town and order. We were lucky, most of the police stayed on the job.”

Gordon watched Christopher. His voice trembled the more he talked.

“I still remember that day. It’s seared into my brain. I was with the mayor working on a plan to close down the roads when the old finance director came in.” Christopher paused again. His lip was quivering now. “She told me that my wife and daughter were killed when a group of men came to the hospital to loot. My wife was a nurse and she started taking Melody with her there. She wanted her to learn the importance of helping others, even when it was more convenient to just stay home. She went there every day to help those who were critical. The men came in and just killed them.” Christopher was now crying openly.

Gordon knew this man’s pain. He had been there himself.

“The man who killed my son, Hunter, gave me this scar,” Gordon blurted out.

Christopher looked over at him at the mention of the death of his son.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yours too,” Gordon said.

“I watched this man murder my son right in front of me and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I watched as the life drained out of my boy. The helpless feeling that you had, I’ve known that too,” Gordon shared.

“This is why we need to make this work, this is why we need to support people like the mayor. She has a plan for Coos Bay that doesn’t come from a place of violence.”

While they both shared a common story of tremendous loss, Gordon realized that their lives were completely different. How they approached the new world was not the same and never would be. Christopher was a gentle and good man, but didn’t have the same ruthless pragmatism that Gordon had.

Gordon didn’t want to insult Christopher, so he kept his reply simple. “Your mayor might be a good and righteous person, but the only way to peace in this world is through the barrel of a gun.”

Preliminary searches had been conducted for Nelson but Samantha knew he was gone for good. There wasn’t a shred of evidence that he was alive; nothing pointed them in any direction. Haley wasn’t able to help either. When they asked her where they had kept her, she told them that she never saw because they had her blindfolded the entire time. Looking for Nelson was like searching for a needle in a haystack. She didn’t know what else to do, so while she was out for one of the drives she took along several signs she had made.

Weeks ago she had an idea of placing signs along Highway 55 directing Gordon to where they were. She was inspired from seeing similar handmade signs along the way to Eagle. When she first mentioned the idea, Nelson had scoffed at it, then worried that it could draw attention to them. But now it seemed like the only thing they could do to put their minds at ease.

Eric joined her this morning. As he finished hammering the last sign over the highway sign he turned and said, “I hope this works. Doubt it, though.”

Samantha didn’t answer him.

“The roads are looking pretty good. We might be able to explore farther north soon to see if the route is open to McCall.”

“Is it me or is it weird for you to be discussing leaving for McCall without Nelson?” Samantha asked.

“I was assuming we’ll have found him by then,” Eric said.

“Will we ever find him? It’s been two days and we don’t have any idea what direction they went in.”

“They couldn’t have gone too far, they were on foot.”

“Yeah, but if you go south just a mile there are literally hundreds if not thousands of homes. What do we do—just go from house to house?”

“So we stop looking?” Eric asked.

“No… but how long do we stay here? Do we risk our children? I honestly don’t know what to do. I feel horrible because I’m the one who killed Raymond, and Nelson sacrificed himself for me. How do I not keep looking for him? When do we say that’s enough? Is it weeks, months, years, never stop looking?”

“Ask those questions of Frank and Gretchen. I think you’ll get the answer,” Eric blurted out.

This discussion reminded her of the argument she had had with Mike and his wife, Stacy, back in the desert when she was looking for Gordon and Hunter. The irony of how she was now rationalizing stopping her search for Nelson and heading north to the safety and seclusion of McCall was unsettling.

“If we don’t find him in a couple months, what happens? Do we leave? Do we leave Frank and Gretchen here? Oh my God! They’ll hate us,” Samantha lamented.

“In the end, I guess we all will do what’s important to us and our families regardless of others. Gordon was right. It really is every man for himself,” Eric mused.

She pondered this complex question. Is that what we do as humans? Many people bragged or spoke confidently of loyalty and fidelity, but what do we really do when lives are on the line?

“You know, I would never leave here if it was just me. But I have Haley and I have to think of her safety. Nelson was right, Truman and his people will come back one day when they need things. I don’t want to be here when that happens. So I guess I’ve come full circle in some ways. I’ll keep looking for Nelson, but when we can go, we’ll have to head north. I think that’s what he would have wanted.”

Eric didn’t respond. Something over her shoulder caught his attention. “Hey, look, an elk.”

She turned and saw the massive animal standing a few hundred yards away.

“God, they’re such big animals,” Eric said.

“I think I’ve come to realize we’re the real animals, not them.”

“Nothing? You’ve sent choppers out there and nothing? No communications?” Conner asked, concerned about the report that all contact had been lost with vehicle bringing Cruz back. “Why did they drive? I still want to know why we let that happen. I knew that idea was stupid.”

“We’ve managed to get some drones back online and they’re now operating around the Pocatello area. We have estimated our forces would have linked up with them around there,” Baxter added.

“Any thoughts if this was all a ruse by the colonel?”

“Sir, your guess is as good as mine.”

“We don’t need guesses. I need solid information. Get the colonel on the phone immediately. Let me know when we have him patched through.”

It took an hour to arrange the call with Barone. When Conner picked up the phone, he had no idea where the conversation was going to go. Their treaty was built on trust, and if Barone had betrayed him again, he might very well be faced with a two-front war.

“Colonel Barone?”

“Yes, this is Barone.”

“Colonel, do you have any idea where the vice president is?”

“They’ve been gone for a few days, so I’d suspect they might be close. But they are driving, so there are a myriad of issues that could have happened.”

“Why didn’t you fly them here?”

“We don’t have the resources to fly people everywhere. I’m sorry.”

“You have choppers. I know you have to have surplus fuel,” Conner challenged.

“Mr. Conner, I did what I did because my needs on the ground dictate it,” Barone fired back.

“I’d prefer it if you called me Mr. President.”

Barone paused a few moments before he replied, “No, I’ll call you Mr. Conner; you’re not my president anymore, remember?”

“Whatever! Why didn’t you mention that you weren’t flying them when you called me days ago? If you didn’t have the helicopters I would have offered to come get them. This is just crazy.”

“Frankly, you never asked how they were getting there; I was quite astonished you didn’t ask for that very important detail, but then again…”

“Stop the bullshit, Mr. Barone. Did Vice President Cruz and Secretary Wilbur leave Coos Bay?”

“Ha, you’re asking me because you suspect that I might have lied to you and am holding them? Let me assure you, I want the deal we’ve agreed to. Holding Cruz and Wilbur would do nothing for me now. I wouldn’t be so foolhardy as to blow a good thing.”

Barone was right—it wasn’t sensible for him to hold on to Cruz and Wilbur.

“Why do you suspect that they’re not heading your way?” Barone asked, curious.

“Because they’re not here yet. Once we found out you were driving them, I sent out a team to intercept them. By our estimates they should’ve crossed paths, but nothing. No signs of them. We’ve since launched drones along the route they were traveling. Somewhere along the way they disappeared and we have over twelve hundred miles of road to search. Not impossible, but it’s quite an operation.”

“I see why you’re concerned. What would you like from my end?”

“First, how well do you know the men taking them?”

“I sent one man.”

“What?! You sent one man?”

“Yes, that’s all I could spare. The local civilian authorities also sent a person and my guy had two others who he handpicked to go with.”

“So it’s not just one man, there’s a four-man team that went with them?”

“Yes,” Barone answered, lying about the team size so as to not enflame Conner any more.

“Can you dispatch some air and ground elements to trace the route?”

Barone was silent for a moment.

“Well, don’t answer right away,” Conner said, annoyed by Barone’s silence.

“I’ll put together several teams and have them deploy right away. Please have General Baxter keep in contact with me. If you find them before I do, I want to know so I can recall my teams. I need every person here,” Barone answered.

“Since we’re allies now, may I ask if everything is okay? I’m seeing red flags with all the ‘needing all people’ or ‘can’t spare the resources’ talk coming from you.”

“We are dealing with things not unlike you are. By the way, how is Cheyenne? I hear it’s windy and cold there.”

“It’s just fine here,” Conner replied, then drove the conversation back to a more professional topic. “Please return the favor and stay in touch with General Baxter.”

“I will, if that’s it. I’ll get right on sending those teams out.”

“That’s it, thank you. Oh, before I let you go, I did want to thank you for destroying the PAE’s naval forces. I can’t tell you how much that helps us both.”

Both men hung up.

“Dylan! Get in here,” Conner hollered.

Dylan ran in from the adjoining office. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“Get Baxter on the phone or in here, whichever is fastest. The colonel made some interesting comments and I need to see what is going on over there in Coos Bay.”

“Is everything okay with the colonel?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I need to have Baxter’s help. I’m concerned… very concerned.”

Barone hung up the phone and stepped back into the main CIC. He was on board the Makin Island, as it was the only place he could have long-range communications.

“Top, we need to send out a few teams. Apparently our guy Van Zandt can’t follow directions. He might be lost, shot up, or, worst case, dead.”

Simpson was talking with a senior chief petty officer about a ship issue when Barone interrupted his conversation. “I’m sorry, sir, what was that? Who might be dead?” Simpson asked loudly.

“Van Zandt and the vice president.”

“Roger that, sir, I’ll get several teams ready to green light in six hours, will that work?”

“Yes, that’ll be fine.”

Barone left the CIC and went directly to his old stateroom. He was feeling the beginnings of a migraine and needed some privacy. He lay down and closed his eyes for what seemed like a minute, then the intercom sounded.

“Colonel Barone, Colonel Barone, please report to the CIC.”

“Shit!” he cried out as he sat up. He was so tired he hadn’t even taken off his boots. He looked at the bed and said, “I’ll be back.”

Simpson met him outside the CIC. “Sir, we’ve got a problem.”

“Isn’t there always a problem? What is it?”

“The protest out front of the city hall has exploded into a riot. They’ve stormed the building looking for you. The report is they’re heading down to the ships.”

“Oh, fantastic,” he said dryly.

“There’s rumor that you had the vice president and the mayor’s aide killed,” Simpson added.

“What? Who’s saying that?” Barone asked, irritated by the reports.

“Mayor Brownstein is leading the riot, that is all I know.”

“Christ, really? I am so fucking sick of these people. We have things to fix, we don’t need our time and resources wasted because people want to be heard!” Barone yelled. “Call general quarters, get the men down along the docks in front of the ships. Let them know to prepare to restrain some rowdy civilians.”

“Roger that!” Simpson said and went back inside CIC.

Barone made his way to the flight deck to get a bird’s-eye view of everything.

Men were scurrying inside and outside the ship. Barone watched as the large protest made its way down the road. They were chanting and yelling. Many were holding up signs or banners.

“Seriously!” he said out loud to himself. “What do they think this is, a fucking college campus? Idiots!”

At the head of the group was Mayor Brownstein. She was walking hand in hand with the other councilors from both Coos Bay and North Bend.

Barone couldn’t resist getting involved. He exited the flight deck and jumped in with his men as they disembarked the ship.

NCOs and junior officers were organizing their men into riot formations around the side of the ships. The men were all wearing their tactical gear and helmets. Barone hadn’t issued an order for firearms but Simpson must have taken the lead.

The crowd of protestors had swelled to several thousand. It was the largest group he’d ever encountered and they looked ready to fight.

They continued to sing and march until they stopped just within a few feet of the line of armed Marines.

Mayor Brownstein turned around and began to yell to her people to quiet down. “Spread the word, please be quiet! I need to address the colonel. I need everyone to be quiet.”

Shouting and yelling cascaded down the ranks of the crowd until most were silent in anticipation of what was going to happen.

She turned around and faced the Marines. She pulled out a piece of paper and began to read it. “Marines and sailors, fellow Americans: Please lay down your arms and join us! We are here not as adversaries but as friends. We want to remain in the United States. We don’t choose to create a new country; we choose to stay with the land of our birth or, for some of us, the land we chose to immigrate to! We love you and appreciate all the sacrifices you men and women have done for us! But we cannot go along with Colonel Barone. He is a traitor who betrayed the very country he swore to defend. He has forsaken this country and brought you here against your will! We forgive you! We know you have to follow orders but now you must know that you don’t have to follow unjust orders! This man has perverted our system of separation of powers! He comes here like Julius Caesar, promising great things, but his intent is to conquer. He now has taken another step by having the vice president of the United States killed along with our very own Christopher Hicks. He is a traitor and outlaw and we people of Coos Bay, North Bend, and Coastal Oregon are here to arrest this man and bring him to justice!”

A loud cheer erupted following her speech, then the crowd started to chant “Traitor!” over and over.

The Marines in front of her looked stone-faced in front the people. Brownstein attempted again. “Marines, please lay down your arms and join us.”

Barone pushed his way to the front of his men and directly in front of Mayor Brownstein. “Madam Mayor! I have always been one who loved theater, and this is quite a show you have here.”

“This isn’t a show for your entertainment, but a show of force in the power of the people.”

“People? Why do civilians think they’re the only so-called ‘people’ but men in uniform are your instruments? These men, my men are also the ‘people.’ Enough of you and your ilk thinking you have a monopoly!”

“Lieutenant Colonel Barone, we are here to arrest you for the murder of Vice President Cruz and Christopher Hicks!” Brownstein yelled.

“Murder? They’re not dead!”

“We received information that they are dead. Based upon your past actions, we have to assume you had them killed. A fair trial will either find you innocent or guilty, but you will be tried!”

“Mayor Brownstein, we have much to do here. Enraging thousands of people with a lie, then coming down here saying you’re going to arrest me, is foolish. I’m not going anywhere, I have work to do!” Barone hollered out, then turned around.

As he walked past the first row of Marines, a bottle thrown from someone in the crowd smashed against his head.

The force jolted him, causing him to stumble. A Marine steadied him. He felt behind his head, and looking at his fingers, he saw blood. Angry, he turned around and walked back to confront Mayor Brownstein.

He held his bloody hand in her face and said, “This can go very bad for you unless you calm down this mob. You came here for my blood. Here. Now do you want to see theirs?” he asked, pointing at the crowd.

Brownstein heard his threat loud and clear. She was aware that by organizing such a large group that things could have the potential of getting violent, but she didn’t seek a conflict with him. Her hopes were that such a demonstration of strength would compel him to listen. That had worked. Now she was unclear about what she wanted the group to accomplish. Of course she’d be happy if he gave himself up to them but she knew that he was incapable of that.

More agitated yells came from the group.

She turned and yelled, “Everyone, please, we are a peaceful people. We are here to show the colonel that many are upset with him and don’t want him here. We are not here to fight these men!”

A few rocks came from the center of the group and bounced off the helmets of the Marines in the first row.

“Mayor, disband this mob and go home! If you want to talk we can do that, but not like this! If you want to talk to the president, I can have that arranged, but disband this mob now!’

The yelling had increased in volume and severity. More rocks and bottles were hurled at the Marines. The Marines held their line and didn’t budge or flinch.

Brownstein wasn’t focused on Barone. Her attention was now on controlling the crowd, which was getting more boisterous.

“Everyone, please calm down!”

Then a single gunshot changed everything.

People in the crowd scrambled in all directions after a man near the front of the group attempted to shoot Barone. His shot missed and had struck a Marine behind Barone in the neck.

Another gunshot cracked from a different direction.

This shot hit Barone in the shoulder, went clean through, and struck a Marine standing behind him.

The crowd was heaving and shifting. Some people had fallen and were being trampled on. Total pandemonium had broken out.

Brownstein was still yelling for control and order but it was too late.

Barone clutched his left shoulder and stepped back behind the front row of Marines.

Things were happening quickly and chaotically but the Marines were maintaining strict discipline under the pressure. They had their rifles targeted on the crowd but none could get off a shot at the two shooters, so they had held their fire.

Barone had made it back to the ship while a corpsman looked at his shoulder.

“Holy shit, Colonel!” Simpson bellowed as he came up alongside him.

“My men are good people, right?” Barone asked Simpson.

Simpson looked at him oddly. “Sure, they’re good people, but they’re fine Marines.”

“They are fine Marines,” Barone stated as he watched the crowd slowly disperse as the people ran back into town.

No one had seen enough of the two shooters in the crowd to identify them, but Barone knew that someone would come forward. He had stifled a strong temptation to order his Marines to kill everyone in the crowd. Killing innocents would not serve him, he recognized, but he wasn’t opposed to selectively choosing his targets.

Marines carrying stretchers came rushing by him with those who had been shot.

Barone looked at the first, who was grimacing in pain at the bullet wound in his arm. A second stretcher went by, the Marine’s face obscured by a poncho.

“Stop!” Barone commanded. He lifted up the poncho to reveal a young lance corporal, his eyes still open.

“There’s one of our finest right there,” Simpson declared.

“Yes, he was,” Barone said.

The crowd had almost entirely dispersed. Some were limping off, others were helping those who had fallen. Signs, trash, and other debris littered the dock.

Barone watched Brownstein, who was still visible from where he stood. She appeared lost, as if she didn’t know how her plan had gone wrong. He snarled and ordered, “Top, have her arrested.”

“Roger that, sir,” Simpson said with a smile.

“What’s the charge?”

“Inciting a riot.” He paused for a moment. “And murder.”

First the snowstorm slowed them, and now the highway was packed with thousands of people heading west in the bitter winter cold. Foot traffic was not a problem that Sebastian expected to encounter on their journey. He could only imagine how desperate those people must be to be out in the harsh weather conditions, vulnerable to whatever would come their way. The one thing Sebastian didn’t want to do was drive in among them. Fortunately, the terrain north of the highway was flat and only covered in small shrubs, plants, and only a few inches of snow, making it easy to go overland.

On the map, Annaliese had located a small road that could eventually lead them back to the interstate. She also spotted a large base on the map to the south and commented, “I think these people might be heading to this Air Force base.”

“What base is that?” Sebastian asked.

“Mountain Home.”

“I hope they find what they’re looking for there,” Sebastian said.

“Why don’t we go there?” Luke asked.

“Because we have a place to go to in McCall and my brother will be there,” Sebastian answered.

They continued driving overland until they would hit that road. Driving overland was a slow and bumpy process, so when they intersected with the dirt road that Annaliese had noticed, he was happy to be moving a bit faster. However, they were only about a quarter mile or so along when they noticed that something seemed wrong with the truck.

“Oh, no,” Sebastian said.

“What is it?” Annaliese asked. She now could feel that the right rear of the truck was at an angle.

“I think we have a flat tire,” Sebastian said as he stopped the truck. “Shit. I hope there’s a spare.”

When he got out of the truck his prediction was correct; the right rear tire was flat. A branch from one of the shrubs was sticking out of the sidewalls.

“Damn it!” he barked. He looked around to gauge their location. The dirt road ran parallel to the highway. To the west, about a mile away, he could see a few gas stations, restaurants, and other commercial businesses off the highway.

“Let’s see if old Samuel gave me a spare,” Sebastian said as he lay on the ground and looked under the truck. “Awesome, there it is!” He had half-expected that Samuel would purposely leave one off. However, his euphoria was short-lived. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Annaliese asked. She was bundled up against the cold wind but was still shivering.

“We have a tire, just no jack.”

“Are you sure?”

The boys came out then. They both started going through the truck looking for the jack too, but there wasn’t one to be found.

“Shit. Well, we’re not far from what I guess are hundreds of abandoned cars over there. I’ll go there, get one, and come right back,” he said, pointing toward the gas stations and other buildings.

“You can’t go by yourself,” she urged.

“I won’t, I’ll take Luke with me.”

“Great, leave me with the devil,” she joked. He kissed her on the forehead.

Luke proved to be quick and responsive to everything Sebastian requested. They made it to the gas station in less than thirty minutes and found over a dozen cars sitting abandoned and ransacked. Sebastian went to the first truck, a Chevy Silverado, and in less than a minute had a jack. Thinking of the future, he took the spare tire from the truck too.

It was clear that Luke was feeling more and more confident. The pistol training and his natural marksmanship abilities had boosted his self-esteem. When Sebastian requested he join him on this adventure, he was excited and proved to be a good companion.

“Good job, Luke, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It was fun,” Luke responded with a smile.

They both laughed and shared small talk as they strode back. The terrain sloped up slightly and below that small hill was the road where Annaliese and Brandon were.

The laughs and smiles turned to shock when they reached the top of the small rise and saw another vehicle behind theirs.

Sebastian dropped the tire, pulled out his pistol, and sprinted for the truck. Neither Annaliese nor Brandon were anywhere in sight.

Just twelve feet from the truck, an older man lifted his head and laughed openly. He was followed by Annaliese, who was also laughing.

Sebastian called out, “Annaliese, what’s going on?” He pointed his pistol at the man.

“Sebastian, no, it’s fine. He’s helping,” Annaliese cried, waving Sebastian back.

Sebastian kept the gun pointed at the man, who stood frozen with his arms up.

“I’m just here to help. My name is Jed, Jedediah Walton. I live on a ranch about a mile north. This road you’re on is mine. You’re on my property.”

Jedediah was a native Idahoan and his family had been potato farmers and ranchers for three generations. His thick gray hair was cut short and the deep wrinkles on his face were earned over his seventy-two years of life.

“Why would you help us?” Sebastian asked, squinting his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I? That’s part of the problem with this world, not enough helping,” he answered calmly.

“Sebastian, he seems like a good man,” Annaliese pleaded.

Sebastian’s suspicion was healthy in this world but his logical mind told him that not everyone would be bad. He lowered his pistol and stepped around the truck to get a full view of what Jed had done.

The truck was jacked up and the spare had been removed and was ready to put on.

“Where’s Brandon?” Sebastian asked.

“In the truck,” Annaliese answered.

“In the truck, while it’s jacked up?”

Just after Sebastian spoke, Brandon yelled something unintelligible from inside the truck.

The door burst open and a boy about Brandon’s age jumped out. “I did not!”

“Yes, you did. I showed it to you now it’s not there. Where is it?” Brandon screamed at the boy as he jumped out behind him.

“I didn’t take it!” the boy yelled again.

“Give me back the ring!” Brandon screamed.

“Hey, hey. What’s going on?” Sebastian asked.

“He took my mother’s ring. I showed him some of my stuff; her ring was one of those things. I went to look at it again and it’s now gone. He took it!”

The boy, Jed’s grandson, Flynn, rushed away from Brandon and toward his grandfather’s truck.

Brandon ran after him and jumped on his back.

Both boys fell to the ground and began to wrestle. Flynn had gotten the better of Brandon and was punching him.

Sebastian raced over and pulled Flynn off. He was swinging wildly as he held him high in the air.

Brandon scurried off the ground and stood up. He wiped blood from his face and ran back to the truck.

Sebastian put Flynn down just as Jed came over.

“You all right, son?” Jed asked Flynn.

Sebastian asked him then, “Did you take it?”

“No!” Flynn yelled.

“Brandon, oh my God!” Annaliese screamed.

Brandon had walked back from the truck holding the small revolver. He pointed it at Flynn. In an instant, the back of Flynn’s head exploded and the boy dropped to the ground, dead.

Sebastian reeled back from what happened and turned to face Brandon. Brandon then turned the gun on Jed and shot him in the chest.

Jed bent over and fell to the ground as his last breath exited his body.

“Brandon! What are you doing?” Sebastian asked. He now had pulled his pistol and aimed it the wide-eyed teen.

Annaliese had made her way around from the far side of the truck and was fast approaching Brandon when he trained the gun on her. She stopped when she saw him aiming at her. “Brandon, put the gun down!”

“I fucking hate you! I told you these people were bad. We can’t trust anyone. I will never trust anyone!” Brandon screamed.

Sebastian watched with fear as Brandon’s shaking hands held the revolver he had given him a few days ago.

“Put it down, Brandon. We can talk about this!” Annaliese pleaded.

“All you do is pick on me and say horrible things. I heard you call me ‘devil’ this morning. I hate you!” he screamed.

Sebastian saw the hammer slowly start to go back on the pistol. He too began to squeeze the trigger on his pistol when another gunshot went off.

The side of Brandon’s head opened up as the bullet from Luke’s little Colt Detective exited. Brandon dropped the gun and collapsed to the ground, dead.

Sebastian, startled by Luke’s shot, turned toward him. He then trained the pistol on Luke, not sure if he too was going to go renegade.

Luke dropped the pistol and said, “He was going to kill Annaliese. I couldn’t have him do that. I couldn’t!”

Annaliese ran up to Luke and hugged him. Sebastian ran his hands through his hair. He couldn’t believe the way that this day was going.