John Gilstrap - At all costs

“It’s fall,” she countered. “The leaves are getting thinner every minute.”

Travis laughed. “Do you really think-”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Jake snapped. “Now, get down below the rocks and do what you’re told.”

Travis paused long enough to peek one more time, just to make the point before settling into his spot among the rocks. “This is so boring!”

Jake chuckled. “Under the circumstances, boring is good.” In their hurry to get away from the van, Jake had snatched the wrong ammo bag, leaving the assembled magazines for the Glock on the shelves and taking the empties with him instead. Now, if only to pass the time, he busied himself with the task of loading 9-mm hollow points into his six remaining clips.

“Can I do one?” Travis asked.

“Sure.” Jake felt the heat of Carolyn’s glare without looking but paid no attention. Thirteen-year-old boys were poorly engineered for long periods of stillness, and if playing with bullets would divert him for a while, where was the harm?

The clip and the box of bullets were both heavier than Travis had expected. Watching his dad, it looked like you just slid the rounds into place, but when that wouldn’t work, he looked up for assistance.

“Press down,” Jake instructed. “Then slide in.” He watched his son try it again, with little success. “That’s the right idea,” he encouraged, “but you need to press harder against the spring.”

Hard was right! His thumbnails turned white from the effort, but finally, the first bullet slid home. “Cool.”

“You know I don’t approve of this, right?” Carolyn said.

Jake smiled uneasily. “That’s why I didn’t ask.” He hoped to tap a vein of humor. The last thing he needed right now was a fight with his wife.

She didn’t laugh, but she let it go. They’d seen enough confrontation for one day. Instead, she leaned back against her rock and stared up at the random splotches of brilliant blue sky through the patchwork canopy of leaves. The day was proving to be much warmer than the one before, and as the sun rose high to evaporate last night’s rain, the humidity got trapped under the canopy, providing a last moment of summer before winter took over for good. If it weren’t for the occasional siren and the incessant clicking of metal upon metal as her guys prepared for the worst, she might have talked herself into believing things were nearly normal; nearly peaceful. On a different day, she might even have fallen asleep.

“You know,” Travis said, directing his words to his father, “you never answered my question.”

Jake looked up. “Oh yeah? What question is that?”

“Whether you would have shot those cops. You know, back there at the school?” The boy kept his concentration focused on his hands as he spoke, studiously avoiding eye contact.

Jake tried to stay unfazed by the question. “What do you think?”

A casual shoulder twitch doubled for a shrug. “I dunno. I guess so.”

Jake stopped what he was doing and placed his halfloaded clip on a rock, sensing that this went beyond a simple hypothetical. More and more, it seemed, as Travis closed in on adolescence, conversations were becoming complicated.

“There’s only one reason to kill,” Jake explained, peeling the words off carefully, as a gambler might deal a high-stakes hand. “And that’s to protect your family.”

Travis considered the answer, then went back to work on the clip, still making no effort at eye contact. “Even if it’s a cop? And he’s just doing his job?”

Jake looked over to Carolyn, who suddenly lost interest in playing possum. He softened his tone. “Where are you going with this, Trav?”

When Travis finally looked up, the innocence in his eyes had disappeared, bitterness residing in the spot once occupied by trust. “I’m just trying to figure it all out,” he said. “I mean, all these guns and these bullets and stuff. You bring them everywhere, and you threaten everybody. I’m just wondering who you’re going to kill.”

If words were swords, Jake would have been in a million pieces. He didn’t know what to say.

“That’s not fair-” Carolyn tried.

Travis cut her off. “Why not? Am I supposed to think these guns are just for show?”

“Travis, please,” she begged, rising up to her knees.

Jake waved her off. “No, let him talk.”

“Yeah, let me talk,” Travis mocked. “Let me ask my stupid-kid questions, right?”

It was Jake’s turn. “Look, Trav, I tried to explain-”

“Why you lied,” he blurted. “I don’t think we ever got to the killing part.”

“We’re not going to shoot anyone,” Carolyn said.

Travis dodged her grasp and stood, oblivious to his exposure above the rocks. “That’s not what he just said!” He gave his father a withering look. “He said he was gonna kill to protect his family. Well, that’s just great! And then they’ll kill you! And I’ll be…” His voice caught in his throat. “They’ll just…”

Travis’s eyes grew red as he contemplated a prospect he didn’t dare to give a name. He searched for more words, but they just weren’t there.

Carolyn stood unmoving, fearing the rejection she’d feel if she reached out to him. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Travis turned his back on her to stare down at the road some more.

Jake watched it all, without a word, respecting the boy’s right to be angry. As husband and father, he wanted to go to them both, to somehow soothe their pain, but he sensed the uselessness of it. Pain was likely to become a big part of their lives, and to get through it, each would have to find their own way to cope. This wasn’t a time for emotions. Maybe later, but not now. This was a time for rational thinking; for action. It was about survival now, not about feelings. Carolyn knew this as well as he, but she refused to stay strong.

This all had to happen one day, and here it was. This particular brand of resentment was all new to Travis, though. He was only just now tapping into its deeper levels, and as he did, he said hurtful, hateful things. But it would pass, Jake was sure. And if it didn’t, so be it. May his son live long enough to resent him for a hundred years. Fact was, even a century of hate from his son couldn’t begin to match the hatred Jake felt for himself.

As his vision blurred to a mass of autumn colors, Jake turned his attention back to the business at hand and began to slide bullet after bullet into his last spare magazine.

By six o’clock, the sun was gone, and a chill returned to the air, driving the Donovans once again into their jackets. The dampness which had felt so soothing in the warmth now brought shivers and misery. Carolyn had thought to stuff a goody bag with crackers and cans of tuna fish before they ditched the van, but forgot to grab a can opener. Thank God for Swiss Army knives.

Police activity up and down the road had died to practically nothing over the past five hours, luring everyone into a sense of security which Jake warned repeatedly was only an illusion. Each time conversation became animated, or the volume rose, he shushed them. Nothing serious was discussed during those hours, beyond catching Travis up on the real details of his heritage. It was as if they’d declared a silent truce, in which the only rule of engagement was not to engage the present or the future. That left them with only the past-well-worn, benign stories of Travis’s childhood.

Come nine o’clock, it was time to move out, each of them carrying a bag of something. Travis offered to carry the cash but was relegated instead to hefting the extra food and clothes.

“Mom’s in charge of the money, just like always,” Travis observed, earning himself a playful shot to the head.