Trent Reedy - Divided We Fall

“Sergeant,” said the specialist on the ground. “It’s him. It’s that guy from the Idaho thing.”

“I know who he is.” The staff sergeant spoke like everything was normal — except he kept his rifle pointed at me. “Now, Private, I am prepared to order my two men to put down their weapons if your two friends will do the same. What do you say?”

Only me and him would be armed then. It gave my friends a better chance. I bit my lip. My hand was starting to shake from holding up the gun. I slowly brought my left hand up to brace my right.

“Okay, guys,” I said to Sweeney and JoBell. “If those two put down their guns, you do the same.”

“Dude, are you sure?” Sweeney asked.

“Trust me on this.” My mouth was dry.

I kept watching the staff sergeant as the other two soldiers started lowering their weapons. A stinging drop of sweat ran into my eye and I blinked to keep focused. The rifles rattled quietly as the soldiers and then JoBell and Sweeney put them down on the pavement.

“Okay… Good,” Sergeant Kirklin said. “Now, Private, you put your weapon down as well.”

“I don’t think so, Sergeant,” I said as I slowly started walking backward. My friends moved with me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the soldiers. “JoBell,” I said. “You still have the keys? Let’s head for the Beast.”

“Stop right there,” Kirklin said. “All of you.”

We kept moving. “We’re leaving now,” I said. “Don’t try to follow us.” The tense rise and fall of Kirklin’s chest mirrored my own. I wondered what would happen if I did stop. Just gave up and surrendered. Maybe I’d get a fair trial, maybe not. But then my friends would go to jail for helping me. And my mother — there’s no way she could handle me being arrested.

“I said stop!” Kirklin shouted.

And if I trusted him, if I let my guard down at all, he could just betray me like that asshole medic yesterday. My nine mil was still locked on him. What if I wounded him, shot him in the leg or something? No good. He’d still be able to fire, and Army doctrine was one shot, one kill. If he shot me, he’d probably get a medal and a promotion. I could see the fire in his eyes, the finger tight on his trigger. I kept backing away.

Kirklin moved a step closer. “Private, you and your friends are under arrest.”

I had only one option. Could I do it? If I did, there was no going back.

Kirklin tightened his rifle against his shoulder. If he made his move, I’d never know.

I took control of my breathing. Oh, God, please forgive me . In and out and in —

“Private,” Kirklin shouted, “if you take one more step I will shoot—”

— and hold —

I pulled the trigger. His chest burst blood and pieces of flesh. I fired again. His hand was ripped away from his rifle as he fell to the ground. The other two Feds dove for their weapons, but my guys tackled them. People were yelling. I couldn’t tell who.

“Nobody move!” I shouted. “Shut up!” I pressed the business end of my nine mil to one Fed’s temple. They both stopped struggling. “Guys, get all the guns,” I said. Cal and Sweeney picked up the rifles. Becca and JoBell zip-tied the last two Feds so all four of them were bound tight and helpless on the ground.

I stepped up to Staff Sergeant Kirklin’s body. The Army mental health pamphlets warned soldiers against staring at bodies, particularly those of people they’d killed. But I felt like I owed this man enough to look at him, to not try to ignore what I’d done. His body lay crumpled in a big, expanding pool of bright red blood, dust floating on the edges. His arm was thrown back so that he almost looked like he was waving, except above his wrist there were only shreds of meat. Steam rose from his still, open chest and bone fragments jutted out of the deep red cavity. His dull eyes stared up at nothing. It was too much like that girl at Boise, except this time, I had chosen to make this person dead.

When I looked up, I saw JoBell standing in the middle of the alley, her M4 dangling from her hand with the muzzle pointed at the ground. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at me. I met her eyes. What was she thinking? Did she think I was a murderer? Did she understand that I’d had no choice? Did she know I’d done this at least in part for her?

I swallowed and licked my lips. “We gotta go.”

Cal motioned toward the soldiers with his M4. “We can’t leave these guys and the… We can’t leave them out in the open. Someone will find them. Find out we were here.”

“Someone probably heard those shots already.” I started toward the Beast. “We’re leaving now.”

Back by the Beast, the image of the man I’d killed flashed through my mind again. I felt the acid burn at the back of my mouth. My stomach lurched, and I puked and then dry-heaved before I was finally ready to get into my truck.

When we were all mounted up, we had a truck full of the groceries the girls had been able to load, four M4 rifles, an AR15, my nine mil, four silent people probably wondering what had just happened, and me, PFC Daniel Wright, who, no matter his reasons, would from now on be a killer.

I told everyone to play it cool as we got back to Sarah’s apartment. We needed to keep quiet about everything that had happened so my mom wouldn’t freak out. We also needed to hurry. The Fed would be after us soon. It was going to be even tougher getting out of here now.

“Is everything okay?” Mom asked when we all came into the apartment. Sarah was leaning back against the wall behind Mom. She smiled at Sweeney and slid her arm around him. For once, Sweeney wasn’t on his usual game and didn’t respond much.

I picked up Mom’s suitcase and her other bag. “We should get going.”

“I’ll miss you,” Sarah said to my mom.

“I’ll miss you too,” Sweeney said.

JoBell shook her head. “Eric, will you knock it off?”

But Sarah squeezed his hand. She hugged my mom and we all headed out.

This time Mom rode in the passenger seat. JoBell with the AR15 and Cal with an M4 sat wedged in with the food and supplies in the very back by the toolbox. I’d thought Mom might freak out at the sight of the guns, but she was taking all of this very well. “It’s a messed-up world,” she said, “when a seventeen-year-old boy and his friends have to carry guns so his mom can go home.”

“Amen to that.” I put on my cowboy hat and drove out of town, grateful that Mom had no idea about the horrible thing I’d done.

The plan was to cross into Idaho on a tiny logging road way up north, so I headed up Highway 2 toward Mount Spokane State Park. Nobody said much on the drive. The radio was on the country station, but I wasn’t listening. I kept going over what had happened behind the store. “Thou shalt not kill” ran through my head again and again. Maybe I hadn’t needed to shoot. What if he and I had both put our guns down? Could we have got out of there peacefully? No. Kirklin wouldn’t have put his rifle down. He was on the edge of shooting as it was. And even if everyone had put their guns down, we all would have just fought hand to hand, and who knows what would have happened then? One of us might have ended up fighting one of them for a rifle. It could have gone off. Anyone could have been killed. Like in Boise.

Maybe I should have given up and let him take me to jail the way they’d done to Specialist Stein. But then JoBell and my friends would be in jail too, and Mom would be trapped in Washington, where she would slowly go crazy, or make a stupid run for the border on her own. Plus, she’d freak out if I was arrested. She’d already lost my father. I really didn’t think she could handle losing me too. And I had promised that I would take care of her.