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Once I felt my composure return and my legs had turned from rubber back to muscle and bone, I stood and retraced my steps back to my truck. I found Jasmine sitting on the side of the police station, her back to the building, caught in a small patch of shade. At first, I didn’t think she noticed my approach, but as I got closer, she lifted her head and looked at me. I could tell she’d been crying but had wiped away the tears before I’d arrived.
I sat down next to her. The little patch of shade was refreshing, and the wet grass seeped through the seat of my jeans, but considering what I’d seen, that didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
“There’s no one else?”
Jasmine shook her head.
“Everyone leave town besides you?”
She shook her head again. “Nope. In the beginning we lost about half. When the rovers got here, more left, but those who stayed hide in their houses except for when they need to find food or whatnot. They’re too scared to come out otherwise.”
“What about the police?” I said, rapping my knuckles on the wood siding of the building.
“The police chief was one of the men in the chairs,” she answered. “He was more than happy to join up with the rovers. It was him who decided who they would make an example of. His words, not mine.”
“What do you mean by example?”
Jasmine jabbed a thumb behind her. At first, I didn’t realize what she meant, then I remembered the people treated like a pile of wet laundry.
“Oh.”
We sat for a few minutes without speaking.
“Why are they doing this to your family?” I asked.
Jasmine shrugged. “I don’t know. The chief has always had it in for my daddy. I don’t know why. He was always harassing him and following him through town. Gave him a ticket once for jaywalking across Main Street. Everybody crosses Main Street like that. Everybody.”
It was my turn to nod. I sat, thinking. The minutes stretched out like the highway I wished I was on right now, headed toward the Mississippi. Toward Kayla. Every fiber of my being wanted me to jump in my truck and leave this town. But I couldn’t. Not after what I’d seen in the last hour.
“Jasmine, I need to be honest with you. I’m not sure if there is anything I can do. The odds are five against one. If there were others around who might help, I’d say, maybe. But on my own? I’d probably get us all killed. Think. There’s no one around who could help me?”
“The only one crazy enough might be Flagman,” Jasmine said.
“Who’s Flagman?” I asked.
“Come on,” Jasmine said, getting to her feet. I followed her to my truck.
Once inside, I fired up the engine and Jasmine directed me to the outskirts of town. She directed me down a dirt road, and a quarter of a mile later, I pulled up to a house and parked the truck. The house itself was nondescript, but what really grabbed my attention was the sheer amount of Americana going on. Six flag poles stood in the front yard. Five of the poles had the American flag blowing in the breeze, with a flag representing one of the armed services right below it. The sixth pole, the tallest, held the American flag, and below that, the state flag of Mississippi. Perched atop the roof at the corners were bald eagles, carved from wood. Red, white, and blue bunting hung under the gutters, and the doormat in front of the door proclaimed that only true Americans were welcome inside.
“Are we okay to be here?” I asked, as Jasmine guided me to the front door.
Before she could answer, the screen door squealed open, and a man stepped onto the porch. The man who stepped out towered a good five inches above me. He wore blue jeans, a T-shirt emblazoned with the American flag and house shoes. In his right hand the bald man held a .45, which looked big enough to put a hole in my belly large enough to hold a volleyball.
“Who are you?” he asked me, gesturing with the gun. “What do you want?”
He stayed so focused on me; I don’t think he even noticed Jasmine. “That’s Baker. He’s my friend. He’s gonna help me.”
“With what?”
“Can we come in and I’ll tell you?” Jasmine asked.
Flagman hesitated for half a minute, grunted, and backtracked into his house. We followed. Based on the outside of the house, it shouldn’t have surprised me to see what I did on the inside, but I was. Flagman had decked out the entire living room in American flags. On the windowsill were bobble heads of ex-presidents. I didn’t count, but I estimated he had about two-thirds in his collection. A large photograph of a bald eagle in flight was the centerpiece of one wall, and that he’d surrounded with smaller photos of the Statue of Liberty, the White House, and the Liberty Bell, among other things. The wall opposite the eagle held a large shadowbox. In the center stood a photograph of a young man in desert fatigues and surrounding that were several awards and commendations, including a purple heart.
“Sit down,” Flagman ordered. He took a seat in an old gray recliner. Jasmine and I sat on the musty brown couch. “Talk.”
Jasmine started us off, telling Flagman her version, and I filled in what little I had seen. Flagman sat silent and listened as we told the story.
“So, what you need from me?” he asked when we’d finished.
“I was hoping you could help. I can’t go up against five men,” I said.
“How long has this been going on?” Flagman asked.
“About three weeks since the rovers came and gone,” Jasmine said.
I wondered how these events could have taken place, and Flagman had no inkling of them. He looked into my eyes, and I guessed he could read my thoughts.
“I don’t get out much,” Flagman said. He bent over and lifted his left pants leg. Underneath, I saw the prosthetic leg. “Stepped on a mine during Desert Storm. But let me tell you, as much as I hated chasing those terrorists throughout Iraq, I hate what happened to this country ten times that.”
“So, you’ll help?” Jasmine asked.
Flagman thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t be much good in the field but consider me operational support.”
Jasmine squeaked with delight, jumped from the couch, and wrapped her arms around the man. To my surprise, he embraced her as well. I noted he’d never let go of the gun.
When Flagman offered his help as operational support, I initially took that to mean as a hype man, but he surprised me when he led me into a back bedroom and showed me enough military surplus to wage war on a small island nation. Now I found myself laying on my belly in full camouflage, including black face paint, looking through the night scope of a high-powered rifle I’d fired all of five times at a Pepsi can from twenty yards away. On the fifth shot, I hit the can in the middle and Flagman and declared I was now a trained sniper. I had my doubts.
After my weapon training, the three of us sat at the kitchen table. There, Jasmine drew a rudimentary sketch of all the buildings around the area, along with the trees and a best guess of other vegetation nearby the houses. From that, Flagman developed a plan. One that I’d have to execute pretty much on my own.
For now, the plan was to stay still and observe, which I’d been doing since a half hour after sunset. Jasmine’s mom, still wearing a collar and leash, had brought out food for the men at one point, then got herded back into the house. About an hour after sunset, the men set a fire in a burn barrel, then all but one disappeared into the house. Every hour, the man outside got replaced by someone else who took the watch. I’d observed the shift change three times, and each man who came out had more or less the same routine. First, they’d check to ensure Jasmine’s father and brother remained secured to the tree. Sometimes they’d walk around the perimeter of the yard, sometimes they’d head right for a lawn chair and settle into it. Flagman had guessed the best way to deal with the men was one at a time since they had me outnumbered, and based on the captor’s routine, I suspected he was right.
I waited.
And worried.
I’d never killed a man before. Since the end of the world, I’d seen plenty of men killed, including my ex-best friend the day before, but the deaths had never been from my hands. I’d brought up the idea of taking them into custody, but since the entire justice system had ground to a halt, it didn’t seem practical. Of course, I’d also assumed that people who would hang other people from a water tower wouldn’t surrender peacefully.
I waited.
Flagman had stressed patience and stealth as my greatest assets. He’d set me up with the sniper rifle, his .45, and a knife I’d only seen in movies before.
I watched as the man in the chair put his arms in the air and stretched. Then he stood and, after checking on his captives, started a lazy loop around the perimeter of the yard. At one point, he started walking toward me, and I backed up from the bush, glad that a late afternoon storm had dampened the earth enough to hide my noise as I crawled over the fallen leaves. I got to my feet and duck walked a few yards back, then froze. From there, I watched as the man stopped near the bush I’d just vacated. As I held my breath, he undid his pants and urinated.
Not wanting to risk a shot, I unsheathed the knife and waited. When he finished his business, he got himself back together and took a few steps to finish his perimeter check. I waited, and a second later, when he’d almost passed me, I stepped forward, ready to stab him in the chest. At the last second, he sensed my movement and turned toward me. He saw the knife glint in the moonlight, then thrust his arm at me to block my blow. Instead of getting him right in the ribs, his deflection caused my arm to slide up. My blade found his neck, and my inertia buried the blade deep. I got spattered with his fiery blood, and he dropped immediately to his knees, pawing at his neck. I’d let go of the knife when he fell, and his hand found it, and ripped away the knife. He splattered me a second time, then dropped the knife. His eyes found mine and I could see the fear in him. A moment later, he gurgled, then fell.
My entire body shook uncontrollably at the horror I’d just participated in, and I crashed through the bushes toward the mobile homes. There, not far from the spot where I’d vomited earlier in the day, I vomited again. Once I’d emptied my stomach, I wiped the man’s blood from my face with the sleeves of my jacket. I wanted to quit, to get in my truck and go, but I realized I’d reached the point of no return. Regrettably, I’d killed a man, and I knew when his buddies found the body, they’d either go looking for who did it, or take it out on the men tied to the apple trees. I had to finish what I started.
When I returned to the scene of the crime, I found the knife and wiped the blood from it on the man’s jeans before replacing it in the sheath. After I’d completed that task, I dragged the man’s body back through the trees and hid it behind the remains of the downed tree.
I took up my position and looked through the scope. I saw the expanse of the yard before me, and I had a clear line of sight to the men against the trees. It was then I realized I’d made a mistake. From where I stood, if I shot at an enemy and missed, I’d hit the good guys. I knew I needed to remove them from the equation, so I followed the tree line until I’d reached the far side of the yard. I approached the apples trees from the opposite side. The older man spotted me as I slowly approached. I put my finger to my lips, and he nodded.
I got closer and whispered in his ear. “It’s okay. I’m a friend of Jasmine. Can you walk?”
He smacked his lips a couple of times to moisten them, then answered. “I can try.”
“I’m going to cut you guys loose. Take him back through the woods behind me.”
“My wife...” he started.
“I know. I’ll get her, too.”
With haste, I removed the knife and cut through the ropes of both men. They were both unsteady on their feet and leaned on each other as they disappeared into the trees. When the men slipped from sight, I approached the house, careful to stay near the building. I looked in the windows, but all was dark. I took a position at the corner on the opposite end of the door. From there, I assumed that whoever came out for the next shift would notice the men were missing and go in that direction.
I waited.
When the door squealed open, the next man came out, saw his captives missing, and took a few fast steps toward the apple tree. When he stopped, I put the middle of his back in my sight and pulled the trigger. The rifle barked and a moment later the man fell forward, face first, into the tree Jasmine’s brother had occupied.
The report seemed loud enough to wake the living, and I heard a muffled voice from inside the house. I lined up my rifle parallel to the house, hoping to catch the next person as they came out the door. The next man out of the house came rushing out. I fired, but he’d moved too fast, and I missed him. He turned around and started to pull a gun from his belt. But I had the advantage since I’d already lined him up in my scope. I fired, and he fell.
Three down. Two to go.
Once again, I waited, although my body chemistry had jacked me up, and I wanted to run into the house with guns blazing to finish the deed. Instead, I forced myself to hold still.
I expected the fourth man to rush from the house, but he didn’t. Instead, I detected some clunking on the inside of the building, as if furniture was being overturned, then things went silent.
Several minutes later, a window in front of me silently slid open and the muzzle from a shotgun inched out and swept the area. I leaned my rifle against the house and drew the handgun from its holster. I crept to the window and positioned myself under it. The gun above me moved from right above my head to the left. There, it stopped for a moment, then came back the other way. When it got back above me, it paused again. With my left hand, I grabbed the gun and jerked it forward. As I did, I raised my .45 and fired two quick shots into the open window. The shotgun fell and landed in the grass, and a second later, an arm poked out the window, then stopped moving.
“Fuck!” I heard from inside the house.
I retreated to the corner and retrieved the rifle.
Then I waited. Nothing happened for a good long while. I moved closer to the open window.
“Come out. We’ve got the house surrounded,” I yelled.
“Bullshit!” came the response.
“I’ve got ten men with flash-bang grenades waiting for my order to enter. If you don’t come out, we’re coming in,” I screamed. “You’ve got to the count of ten.”
“You’ll kill the woman,” the man yelled back.
“We’ve already saved the other two. We’ll take the chance. You’re down to a count of five.”
Silence descended, and I waited.
A woman shrieked. “I’m coming out,” the man said.
I moved halfway down the house, closer to the door, and trained my rifle on the spot. The door creaked and out stepped the woman, and on her back like a second skin was the last man standing. He forced her down the stairs and into the yard. Looking through the scope, I saw I didn’t have a good shot. Shooting a man at center mass was hard enough, but I didn’t have the skill to fire a shot and hit the man without killing her as well. I needed a better opportunity.
I waited.
The couple moved as one. A step into the yard, and then another. I wasn’t sure what his plan was, since there was nowhere to go.
“That’s far enough,” I said. “Let her go and we’ll let you go.”
The man pivoted, so the woman was directly in my sight line. “If you shoot, you’ll kill her.”
“And my men will kill you,” I said.
The man looked around, then laughed. “There’s no one here. New plan. I’ll shoot you instead.”
Too late, I realized I’d made a mistake. I should have stayed at the corner of the house to take cover. Once again, I’d let someone get the drop on me.
“Drop the gun,” the man said.
Instead of simply dropping the gun, I tossed the rifle forward toward the man. He took a step backward to avoid getting hit by it, and when he did, Jasmine’s father hit the man on the side of the head with a shovel. The man fell to the earth, and Jasmine’s father took a moment to spit on him.
For a moment, I wondered what was next, and before I could say a word to the man, my world went dark.
Birds. I heard birds. Once I opened my eyes, I looked to my right and saw two robins searching for breakfast. I moaned and sat up. Although I was still on the ground, there was a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me. In front of me, Jasmine was curled up in a lawn chair, also covered in a blanket.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You passed out,” Jasmine said. “Daddy said it was the darnedest thing he ever saw. You came all up in here like Clint Eastwood, took out the bad buys, and passed out. They tried to get you inside, but nobody had the strength to get you up.”
I struggled to my feet and stretched. There was a knot in the small of my back that would take forever to work out. I looked around the yard. The two men I’d shot still lay where they fell. I noticed the arm was missing from the window, so I assumed that someone had moved the body. They’d also trussed the last captor like a Thanksgiving turkey. Someone had covered his head with a pillowcase, so I couldn’t tell what his condition was.
I heard a noise behind me, and I turned and saw a dozen people walking up a stone driveway I hadn’t noticed before. In the lead was a man I recognized as Jasmine’s dad. He changed direction and walked toward me. I put out a hand for a shake, but he gathered me into a hug instead. When he finally let me go, he had tears in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Are your wife and son okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “Because of you.”
As we stood together in the awkwardness, I saw a few men enter the house, and a few more gathered up the bodies outside. Two men got the remaining captor to his feet and started leading him down the driveway. I didn’t want to know what the future held for him.
“Can you stay?” Jasmine’s father asked.
I shook my head. “No. I’ve got to get going. I have another friend who needs my help.”
He nodded, then hugged me again. “If you ever come back this way, you stop in. You’re always welcome here, son.”
I patted him on the back, and he let me go and plodded toward the house.
“Flagman says he wants his weapons back. You can keep the clothes, though,” Jasmine said as she left her chair.
I looked around and spotted the rifle a few feet away, lying in the grass. I retrieved it and leaned it against her chair, then I added the .45 and the knife to the pile.
“It seems you were the right man to ask for help,” Jasmine said.
“I reckon so.”
She rushed forward, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed my cheek.
“Baker’s still a silly name,” she said.
“No worse than Jasmine,” I answered.
