Jeff Brackett - Half Past Midnight

The contact seemed to lend him the strength to push his emotions back. After a few seconds, he sniffed and looked back at me. “Sorry, Lee.” Then he pushed my hand away. “You and me, we’re the same. D-day changed us all, but you… me… a few others… it’s chosen us to be warriors. We’ve grown into our roles in this world. Not just soldiers, but true warriors. The kind that hasn’t existed outside the military in a long time. I’ve thought of you as a brother because of that bond.”

I nodded. “I feel the same way, Eric.”

“There are other things that pull us, though. That first night, when they killed Andrew, I knew that it wasn’t the poor bastard Megan killed that caused his death. And I knew I would find out who it was, and I would do whatever it took to kill him.”

“Look Eric, I know how you feel, but-”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, but you still have your kids. You just can’t understand. A man would go through hell and back for his kids.” His face took on a look of grim resolve. “A man would do anything for his kids.”

He turned and walked away, saying, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

There was plenty of work to do over the next several days, and it was eerily familiar. Once more, we gathered bodies and took them to communal graves. Once more, we inspected abandoned homes. This time, however, we were especially careful, looking for any booby traps that Larry’s men may have left behind.

I was on one of those salvage crews the next Saturday morning when Ken found me. He’d been running and was out of breath, but the look in his eyes told me there was trouble. “You’d better get home, Lee.”

I dropped my shovel. “What’s wrong?”

“Zach, it’s… Zach…”

I’d been riding the dirt bike around during the days, so I sprinted to where I’d left it and immediately tore cross-country toward home. Debra sat in the front yard when I got there, rocking and holding herself as if holding in a great wound.

“Deb?”

The crowd gathered around her parted as I approached. Someone laid a hand on my shoulder in sympathy, saying things that were probably meant to be consoling.

Jim was there, and he tried to pull me aside, but I wasn’t having any of it. I went straight to Debra. Afraid to ask, but more afraid of not knowing, I forced myself to question her. “Zach?”

Still weeping, she handed me a piece of paper. Fearing what it might say, I refused to read it. Instead, I turned to Jim. The expression on his face put a chill through my soul. “Where’s Zachary?” God, don’t let him be dead! Not my son, my baby! I grabbed Jim in panic. “Where’s Zachary?”

“We think he’s okay, Leeland. Now calm down. You ain’t doin’ nobody no good like this.”

My breath burst forth before I realized that I had been holding it. I took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right.” First, do what needs to be done. Time enough for emotions later. “Okay. What happened?”

“Read the note.”

I looked down at the paper I held in my hand. It was one of Larry’s old “turn over the war criminal” fliers. Eric’s note was scrawled on the back.

I’m truly sorry about this, Leeland. I’m taking Zachary to Larry. I made arrangements to meet with him in Bixby. I told him I’d be bringing your son to him to prove to him that I’ve turned against you. I guess in a way, I have.

The way I see it, there are only a few ways this can play out. Either I fool Larry enough to get close to him and kill him, or I don’t, he kills me, and you come after him to get Zachary.

Either way, I get to kill the motherfucker.

If you want Zachary back, you’ll have to come take him from Larry.

Consider this my veto of the council’s vote,

Eric

I read again before I turned to Jim in disbelief. I couldn’t believe what I had read. “Eric? Eric did this?”

“Looks like it.”

I’m not sure how long I stood there before I became aware of Ken standing beside me. For the first time in months, I felt truly lost. “He took my boy, Ken. He got Zach.”

He nodded, then handed me the bundle he carried. I regarded the bundle dumbly for a moment before recognizing my machetes and knives, the same blades I’d been so eager to put away a few short days before.

Ken’s reply was simple. “Let’s go get him back.”

There was no discussion about who would go and who would stay. I was going. It was as simple as that. Anyone who wanted could go with me. Anyone who didn’t could stay. I didn’t care.

I could see Debra felt the same way, and it was with a mixture of sadness and pride that I watched her set personal feelings aside and arm herself. In all the years we’d been together, I had only seen her armed twice, and both of those times since D-day. Even during the long months spent battling Larry’s troops, she had elected to stay and help with the management of the exodus, tending the wounded, gathering food.

She was very much in tune with life. I recalled the day she had come to me and told me she was pregnant with Zachary. She had known from the first that she carried a boy, just as she had known with Megan that it would be a girl.

Always calm, never judgmental, she tried her best to walk apart from the conflict that engulfed us, though she never gave any indication she thought any less of those who had fought, or even of those who had killed. It was just that, no matter how much she knew intellectually that the fight had been necessary, her peaceful nature simply wouldn’t allow her to contemplate the idea of taking another life.

But now Larry had our son, and she didn’t hesitate. That was as extreme as it got for her. I helped her strap on some of my extra blades and gave her the shotgun and shells we had retrieved from one of the hidden caches. All the while, I couldn’t help praying she wouldn’t have to use them. For though the look in her eye forbore any thought of trying to keep her from coming, I feared she hadn’t the skill to last long in a fight.

It took us less than half an hour to gather what we thought we might need and, as we prepared to leave, I looked around Amber’s empty house.

Megan walked in the front door without knocking. “I just heard.”

I slung the machete over my shoulder. “We’re just about to leave.”

Megan seemed hesitant, as if something bothered her.

“Megan?”

She shook her head a few times, her mouth working of its own accord, but no words came.

Debra went to her and pulled her close. “It’s okay. We’ll get him back.”

Megan pushed away. “I should have known what he was up to. We had been planning…” She seemed unable to continue.

At first, I thought I’d heard wrong. But I saw her face and knew I hadn’t. My chest suddenly tightened. “Planning?” My voice began to rise without my intending it to. “Planning what?”

Megan started to turn away, but I grabbed her arm and spun her around to face me. “You’re telling us you knew about this? And you didn’t say anything?”

“No!” she sobbed. “Taking Zachary wasn’t part of it! We never discussed that! We just wanted-”

“What?” It was only with considerable restraint that I was able to lower my voice again. “You just wanted what?”

We were interrupted by a tentative knock at the door. Ken stepped back defensively when I snatched it open. I started to tell him that it was a bad time when I glanced over his shoulder. A small group waited just behind him, Cindy, Rene, Sarah, Billy, Edwin, and several others, all looking surprised at my apparent ferocity.

“Um, did we come at a bad time?” Ken asked.