A LIGHT breeze came up, whisking away some of the heat as they left Kevin sitting in the gazebo to argue in front of the chapel. He watched, thinking that Martin Bishop, for all that was said and written about him, looked, more than anything, tired. He waved his hands and made shapes in the air, but unlike the man in the videos inspiring crowds, he just seemed to be going through the motions as he angrily laid into Benjamin, who didn’t look like he was having any of it. Ingrid Parker, by Bishop’s side, was no less furious. Kevin couldn’t make out much, but sometimes the wind shifted, and he caught phrases and words:
Martin: “What the hell were you thinking? You’ve ruined—”
Ingrid: “Wait! Calm—”
Ben: “… just the start! There’s no other way…”
Martin: “The start of what?”
Ingrid to Ben: “… political neophyte!”
Ben shoved Martin and shouted: “Fucking snowflake! Are you in or are you out?”
Eventually, they calmed down, huddling close and talking, and from that point he could hear nothing. Kevin got up and walked in their direction. When he got too close, Ingrid glared at him, and he withdrew again. Defeated, he returned to Benjamin’s car, where he rifled through the glove compartment, finding chewing gum but little else, so he popped a piece into his mouth and went back to the gazebo. By then they’d taken a break, and Benjamin joined him while Martin and Ingrid remained in front of the chapel and spoke.
“What’s going on?” Kevin asked.
Benjamin shook his head, visibly upset. “He doesn’t get what has to be done; he never has.”
“Then why have you stayed with him so long?”
Benjamin furrowed his brow and looked suspiciously at Kevin. “Because how else is it gonna get done? You think I’ve got the money to run all this?”
Kevin looked past him, to where Ingrid was shaking her head at Martin. She then walked ten feet away, staring down at the grass. Martin turned to look back at them in the gazebo. Kevin met his eye, and in Martin’s bearded face saw the passage of mixed emotions. What was he thinking? What was the big disagreement?
Then Martin jerked, and the left side of his head exploded, splattering red across the white chapel door.
Seeing the look on Kevin’s face, Ben turned, but Ingrid didn’t look back until the delayed pop of the gunshot arrived from out in the fields. Her scream was automatic, and she ran toward his body. Then, before registering what he was doing, Kevin ran toward her, shouting, “Go, go, go!”
Finally, Ben moved, shouting, “To the car! Now!” as he bolted toward it himself.
Kevin found Ingrid on her knees by what was left of Martin’s head, her hands wet from his blood. She wouldn’t move, so he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her even as she kicked and screamed at him. But he wasn’t going to let her go. He half-carried her around to where their vehicles were parked safely behind the chapel. He let her drop into the grass, her face red and teary. She was in no state to move, so he said, “I’m going to pick you up again. Please don’t kick me anymore.”
He leaned down and reached out, but she slapped his hands away and, suddenly very calm, said, “I’ve got it.” He watched her climb to her feet, and while her knees were clearly weak, she made it to the car and climbed into the passenger seat as Kevin threw himself into the rear. Ben, sitting as low as possible behind the wheel, was already stomping on the gas pedal.
“Keep your heads down,” he said with a voice wobbly from adrenaline and fear as they sped out from behind the trees, now exposed, kicking up dust and gravel. They turned onto 130 and headed west.
Carefully, Kevin raised his head to look out the rear windshield, and far away he saw the glimmer of sun against what looked like a white pickup truck, all alone, in the middle of a field of wheat. Then it started to move.