Trent Reedy - Divided We Fall

“What are you doing?” JoBell said through the comm.

“Let’s see these bastards follow me now.” I patted the Beast’s dash. “Come on, girl!” I hit the gas and she roared as she drove right up the slope, throwing back rocks and dirt toward the reporters. At the top of the hill I stopped, switched back to two-wheel drive, and hooked a right onto Third Street.

JoBell laughed on the comm. “You are seriously incredible. I think some of whatever your truck’s kicking up actually hit one of the NBC cameras. But listen, I’m watching about six feeds right now, and a bunch are broadcasting from the front of your house. You better head down the back alley and, I don’t know, park in the backyard or something.”

I headed for home, taking the most stupid indirect route to get there to keep the reporters off balance. “You really think they won’t be out back?”

“No way to tell. There has to be fewer of them back there, though. It’s your best shot.”

She was right. When I drove down the alley behind my house, all the reporters’ lights made it look like daylight was coming from the front yard.

A dark shadow crossed the alley in front of me and I hit my brakes. Then more lights lit the alley. More cameras and reporters. I drove around the reporter I’d almost hit, and sped up to drive through my yard. For a moment I thought about parking by the back door and heading in, but I didn’t want to leave the Beast exposed out where anyone could mess with her. If I parked in the driveway in front of our single-stall garage, at least she would be protected on two sides, and I could keep a better eye on her from my bedroom window. I drove across the lawn around the back of the garage — too late, I thought, to save my mom’s flower garden.

Around front, the press were pointing fingers and cameras at me like my truck moving was the most important story in the world. Some scrambled out of the way as if they were scared I was about to charge down the driveway to the street. Good. They deserved to be frightened. “Thanks,” I said to JoBell. “I wish we could have hung out tonight. This is all—”

“Stop talking to me and get in the house! Don’t sit there on camera giving the next crazy a chance to take a shot at you.”

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too. Now get inside and take care of your mother.”

I tapped out of the call and ignored the questions from the reporters on the street and sidewalk as I pushed my way to the front door and slipped inside.

“Danny!” Mom threw her arms around me as soon as I came in. “Danny, oh my gosh, Danny, are you okay? I saw everything! That man tried to kill you. The press has been after you!”

I locked the door. “Mom, why was the door unlocked? It’s not safe. It could have been anyone barging in right now.”

Mom pointed to the screen. CBS had video on like a two-second delay, showing our front door slamming behind me. “I knew it was you. I watched you come in. Danny, what are we going to do?”

I guided her to her chair. “I’m fine, Mom. Everything’s fine. Living room screen, turn off!” The screen went dark. I flopped down on the couch, reaching out to take her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. We’re going to be okay.” I had said these same things to calm my mother countless times over the years. Tonight, I needed to hear it just as much. “Let’s leave our screens off, so we don’t have to deal with that.”

“They found my number somehow. Three different networks called, and call waiting was beeping the whole time. I finally shut my comm off.”

Mom’s COMMPAD was an even older and slower model than mine. It was still running a first-gen digital assistant. Pretty useless. I pulled my comm from my pocket. If they had already found Mom’s number, they’d find mine soon enough. “We’ll get you a new comm,” I said to Mom. “It might be expensive, but it will be worth it. We’ll see if we can get you a new comm number too. That might throw them off.”

“What will we do about all the reporters outside?” she said.

“We won’t talk to them. We’ll do our best to live our normal lives.”

“Hey, Mr. Big Shot, you got a video call… request coming in from CNN. Wait! Now MSNBC wants to talk to you too. Also… another… two more requests from—”

“Hank, be quiet!” I shouted. How had they found my number? “Hank, block all calls and messages from anyone not in my contacts list or from anyone I have not sent a call to myself.”

“That’s a shootin’ tootin’ idea, partner! Should I leave… a message for blocked callers?”

Shootin’ tootin’? What did that even mean? I shook my head. “Tell them, ‘No comment.’”

“You got it!”

I turned to face Mom, who still looked worried. “We won’t talk to the press. We’ll tell everyone we know not to talk to the press.” Mom nodded and reached out to squeeze my hand. I looked around the living room. All our lamps were off, but so much light flooded in through our thin drapes from the media setup outside that we could easily find our way around. It would be tough sleeping with all this going on. “I might buy some new curtains, or even hang blankets over the windows. I’m sorry it’s like this, Mom. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

The leeches from the press stayed out there all night and still crawled all over Saturday morning. Over a dozen news vans with tall satellite antennas raised above them were parked on the street outside our house. At four a.m., reporters stood on the sidewalk, probably starting so early so their pieces could air first thing on the East Coast. What could the reporters be talking about? Were they standing there saying, “This is the home of Danny Wright, who you heard about last night. Absolutely nothing is happening. Wright hasn’t said anything to us”? Why couldn’t they get bored with the nonstory and get the hell out of here? I slept on and off until seven, when I gave up and went downstairs.

“Danny, I don’t like this,” Mom said, coming up behind me where I was peeking through a tiny gap in the blinds. Dark circles had formed under her bloodshot eyes. She was trying to be strong, but I doubt she got any sleep at all. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t try to go on with normal life like you said last night. Maybe you should stay inside. Hearing about that shooter nearly gave me a heart attack. Now with reporters following you everywhere, how will you be able to look out for someone else who wants to hurt you?” She put her hand on my shoulder, and I could feel her trembling.

“Mom, that was one wacko guy last night. They arrested him. I can’t hide away from this forever. Anyway, I’ll have to leave the house on Monday at least. I can’t miss school.” Actually, missing school sounded great, but all that education crap was important to Mom, so I figured I’d play that card. What I left out was that before the world had taken another turn for the crazy at the game, JoBell, Becca, the guys, and me had agreed to spend time together this afternoon for a little rifle target practice and then the rodeo. It was going to be our attempt at getting life back to normal, and the hell if I was going to let these reporters stop me. If I could calm Mom down about me going out, I could tell her that I was working late tonight. Then I just had to figure out a way to ditch the media. I had an idea about that.

“It will be fine,” I said to Mom, making sure I looked relaxed. “I have to go to work. It’s no problem. Trust me.”

She took a deep breath. “Be careful.”

“I always am.” I hugged her quickly, and then headed upstairs to my room, punching up a vid call with Sheriff Nathan Crow on the way.