Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

Taking the shovel gently slammed into the chest, Liam dropped into the hole, knowing he had pushed his mother too far. But it was too late now, she was on a roll. “Are you too young to remember the horrid smell when we first got here? Are you? We buried over one hundred corpses—it was damn near impossible to breath within a two-mile radius of this place until we put ’em in the ground. Do you have any idea the number of diseases rats carry? That’s what we need—an infestation of rats!”

Ryan was digging in the next grave a few feet away, his bare back glistening with sweat, and Andy was a few feet beyond him, his blue t-shirt dark with perspiration. Toby and Kristen were digging deep in their own hole nearby, each having shed all but boots, pants and a t-shirt. The three graves were progressing, but the hard clay at the four-foot mark in this section of the cemetery was becoming troublesome. It would take some time to finish the graves to the customary six-foot mark.

Andy stopped digging, laid his shovel on the ground next to the grave, and climbed out. He walked to the water jug, picked it up, and drank deeply. Terry continued to express her anger toward Liam.

“You need to start figuring this out for yourself, Liam. If you’re ever gonna become a leader, you need to grasp this concept.”

Andy walked to the edge of the grave and watched Ryan and Liam digging. He tapped his brother on the shoulder with the jug and handed it to him.

“Almost not worth killing the bastards, having to dig three graves in this heat, T. I’m with Liam on this one.”

“For real, Andy?” countered Terry. “You have anything better to do right now?”

Andy ignored her fierce stare and assessed the other two graves. They were deep enough to his satisfaction. He turned and gently smiled at Terry. “I say we’re done here, guys. Let’s toss ’em in. That’s more than deep enough for these assholes.”

Ryan and Liam stopped their digging and climbed out of the graves. Ryan immediately walked to the three bodies and began dragging one by the arm to the nearest hole. Andy picked up the corpse’s legs and they unceremoniously dumped the naked body into the hole. Toby and Kristen gathered the large corpse near their grave, rolling him in with minimal concern. Ryan and Liam dragged the last one to the edge of the final grave and Andy pushed him in with a solid flick of his muddy boot.

Andy, Ryan, Toby, Liam and Kristen began to shovel dirt on the bodies. Terry glared for a moment before abruptly leaving. All but Kristen refused to watch her leave.

“C’mon, you guys,” said Andy, “let’s finish this shit right now and we might have time for a couple beers before dinner.”

“A beer or two will go down real good about now, bro.”

Andy turned and faced Liam.

“ You can break out one of those strawberry juice jars from the storage shed.”

“All right!”

“Mister Connor Mac!”

“Whoa, slow up Cody! What’s going on?”

Nearly colliding, Cody entered the small two-story house they’d claimed as home base just east of Toledo. They’d stayed there for the past four days.

“Look! Look what I found! It’s got your name on it! I think, maybe. It’s from the President of the United States!”

Connor registered the concern in Amanda’s eyes, standing beside Cody and fresh from their recent hunting excursion. Her serious expression was out of place on such a beautiful August morning. Staring at the bright yellow paper held toward him, Connor took it, bold handwriting evident.

“What’s this?”

“A paper from the President of the United States… is your Army serial number 1985638?” asked Cody.

Shocked, Connor stared down at the paper. He’d not thought of that number in a long time. His expression turned decidedly serious; the fierce expression caused Amanda and Cody to instinctively step back.

“How’d you know that, Cody?” demanded Connor, his tone deadly.

Subdued, Cody politely pointed to the paper.

“It’s… right there.”

Connor read with confusion.

Attention All. Under orders of the President of the United States, Colonel Connor MacMillen, serial # 1985638, is to report to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio by no later than September 8th. Your services are required. Your country needs your help.

“Where’d you find this?” whispered Connor, stunned.

“Is it you?” asked Cody.

“I said , where’d you find this?”

Amanda chimed in. “He found it ’bout a half mile from here, Mac. They’re lying around every couple hundred yards or so. I have two others like it in my pocket.”

Connor reread the note, studying the signature. Flipping it for further inspection, he noted that the same information was on both sides of an original document. His mind reeled with possibilities, none of which made much sense at the moment. Distracted, he took the letter outside to the porch steps and sat with Cody and Amanda following. Rhonda, McLeod, Marty, BB, and several others, sensing something unusual happening, exited the house, gathering round.

“What’s going on?” asked McLeod.

Amanda shushed him with an abrupt hand while Connor studied the crumpled note for more several moments, lost in thought. Tense, the crew waited.

“Damn, this is definitely me,” mumbled Connor, “What’s going on here?”

“She’s smart, Phoenix.”

“Never said she wasn’t, Larry.”

“Just so you know, I don’t think she’s fallen for your wining ’n dining and all that fancy horseshit.”

“C’mon, uncle. She’s human, just like the rest of us. It’s has to be softening her up at least a little. If nothing else, it’s sure got her men craving for their next time at the feed trough.”

“Maybe. But, you know, we could do this above board. After all, she mentioned forming an alliance, like she said, to help rebuild this country.”

“Yeah, right.”

“And, still, you know, get what we want.”

“You admire her!”

“I respect the office of the President of the United States. Always have. The Sickness don’t change that. And, yeah, she’s one that I could’ve served under. From what I know about her, so far.”

“Well, then shit uncle. I guess you better do a self check right ’bout now and figure out where your loyalty lies.”

Larry Reed stuffed a large chunk of Lake Erie walleye into his mouth. Pointedly, he ignored Phoenix’s last outburst, studying the contents of his wine glass. Taking his time, he sipped the merlot and stood, refilling at the wet bar. Uncomfortable with the building silence, he decided to answer.

“You know I got your back, Phoenix. Blood always runs thicker than water.”

“Huh…”

“But, I’m thinking you could get what you want and not have anyone killed in the process.”

“Since when do you know what I want?”

“C’mon, nephew. Since maybe when you were ’bout sixteen and were caught with the ten-year-old Crawford twins in my basement,” said Larry, laughing, “Those girls sure were scared of you.”

Phoenix ignored the reference to their shared past, staring with a burning fury. Larry pretended not to notice, continuing his train of thought.

“I thought you wanted to be governor of Ohio.”

“Of course! That’s true. But, that was before Starkes and her posse rolled into Cleveland with a whole new set of problems.”

“Problems?”

“Now, c’mon! Use that pea-sized brain of yours, uncle! She has a woman with her that has a newborn.”