R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

In a quick, fluid motion, Cooper had his pistol trained on Rick. Rick lowered the shotgun and held it out for Cooper, holding it by the stock, barrel pointed at the ground.

“So, just what are we going to do with you two boys?” Cooper asked. “I think we warned you last time we’d give you a bullet if you came back into our neighborhood. This time you came into my home. Doesn’t that mean I should give you two a bullet as promised?”

Rick whimpered and began to cry. Woody looked at him with disgust and then turned back toward Cooper, defiant, “Do whatever you want. You got us fair and square. I ain’t scared of you.”

“Oh, this guy’s a tough one, a real hard case,” Dranko mocked, pushing the barrel harder against his skull. Woody winced in pain.

“My, my, he is. Tough as nails. I would put you down like the cur that you are. But, see, that would be illegal as you don’t pose a threat to me right now. While the law isn’t very operative right now, it would still be wrong. Besides, I have a better idea than that,” Cooper said smiling confidently.

“What’re you gonna do, call the cops?”

“Hmmm, we can try that, but I’m guessing 911 is busy right now. No, my idea is much simpler than that. First, you two are going to strip naked. Then, you are going to hoist what’s left of your friend Smartie onto your back. We’re then going to escort you out of our neighborhood and down the road a bit, maybe a mile or two.”

“What the hell you doing all this for?” Woody interrupted.

“It’s simple. Carrying a half-torn apart dead man, especially one that was your friend, will take the piss and vinegar out of any man. You included. I’m betting that fifteen minutes of feeling his blood drip down your body, having to smell all that death right up close and personal will make you rethink your current line of work. I think when you return to your gang, most of whom are just along for the joy ride, naked, covered in blood, and humiliated, that your days of leading that ragtag band will be over. You see, they’re going to ask what happened to Smartie and you’ll have to tell them how he died. I think they’ll then see following you around is bad for their health. You really should just go back to playing video games and kicking the occasional dog.”

“My boys won’t abandon me,” Woody shot back.

“Oh yeah? I think once they realize that a night out with you can bring them home dead, they will drop you like a hot potato. Young men don’t like to think about dying and Smartie here will ensure that your boys will have no choice. They will know their leader can’t even pull off a simple home burglary—in this neighborhood anyway—without getting one of his boys killed. You see, your gang is nothing more than a bunch of scared and misguided teenagers who’ve watched one too many Tarantino movies. You all thought this would be fun and games. Now, they’re gonna see that what you’re doing is serious business. So serious, they could end up dead.”

Woody stared back at him, fuming. Woody knew his leadership was being eviscerated in front of Rick which meant it would spread to the others once they got back.

Cooper broke the silence quickly, “I’m done with you. Let’s get going.”

A half hour later, Woody and Rick were gone. Dranko had escorted them, naked and carrying Smartie’s limp body, a mile or so down Division Street, headed east. No police crossed their path, which showed just how far law enforcement had fallen. Dranko had used their assailant’s pickup and returned with it to the neighborhood. They also kept Woody’s .45 pistol which turned out to be a well-maintained original Colt. Cooper had spent the time cleaning up the mess that Smartie had left behind. He kept Jake in the basement until everything had been returned to normal, save the broken picture frame that now hung on their wall without any glass in it. He had also bandaged his shoulder wound, which fortunately had not cut into any muscle.

When Dranko returned, Cooper reached out a hand to his friend, “Thank you. You saved my ass back there.”

Dranko smiled, “You’re lucky I’m a night owl. I was already up when I heard that 12 gauge blast, I just came running.” His smile grew wider as he continued, “Despite me being pissed off at you, I couldn’t let you get killed by some no good teenagers.”

Cooper returned the smile, “Good that keeps us square because I’m still pissed off at you. But, I’m too damn tired to talk about it right now.”

“Me too. Let’s talk later, over some breakfast, brother.”

“Sounds good.”

Dranko left as quickly as he had come.

Cooper decided to watch the latest news on the television, but when he turned it on, he discovered his cable was out. Not a single station came on. He shook his head, and turned on his radio instead. Every station was carrying news. He quickly settled on his favorite station.

“…in Des Moines, there are at least fifteen confirmed dead and seventy-six wounded after a riot at a Wal-Mart distribution center. Hundreds had gathered there as the shelves in retail grocery stories emptied. That concludes our latest round-up of news related to the Brushfire Plague.

In direct news, the Center for Disease Control has announced that it is working around the clock to identify the source and structure of this virus so that work on a vaccine can begin in earnest. They announced significant progress on identifying and mapping its structure.

Dr. Leonard Luciani from John Hopkins University has caused a firestorm of controversy with his recent claim that he believes that the Brushfire Plague was not an accidental mutation. He said yesterday, during an interview on CNN, “…the rapidity at which this virus spread indicates it was not accidental. I’ve read the explanations that this virus appearing across the globe, almost simultaneously, is due to the commonality of international travel is complete hogwash.” He has been roundly condemned across the scientific community for his comments and has been called “irresponsible”, “dangerous”, and even “criminal.”

Casualty figures continue to be difficult to ascertain accurately, but most estimates are that between thirty and fifty million are either dead or infected across America…”

Cooper turned off the radio. He’d heard enough.

A few hours later, they reassembled at Cooper’s house. Cooper had decided to begin emptying out his freezer first and so he had fried a dozen frozen sausages, cooked a mess of hash browns, and mixed up some orange juice from concentrate. A pot of hot coffee rounded off the repast. Cooper and Dranko gathered at the table. Jake was still asleep in the basement. After the night’s events, Cooper wanted him to sleep as much as he could. He would warm the breakfast for him later.

Uncharacteristically, Dranko spoke first. “I owe you an apology, brother. I shouldn’t have come at you the other night like that. Not publicly, anyway.”

“Well, I owe…” Cooper began, but Dranko waved him off with a sausage link skewered firmly by his fork. He was chomping on it as he talked.

“Let me finish. You are wrong, Cooper. It would be safer where I want to go. Hell, last night proved that beyond a doubt. But, I understand you aren’t going to leave. This means I have an important decision to make: to go where I know it’d be safer or stick around here with a stubborn old friend who isn’t thinking sensibly.”

Cooper interjected this time, impossible to restrain, “I just can’t leave. I know you think it’s silly, but she’s still here. There’s something in every room. I don’t want to leave it all behind and I sure don’t want to take Jake away from it all either.”

“I get it, brother. Your stubborn stance on this—and the reason why—got me thinking. What do I want to survive for? I know my carcass isn’t worth keeping safe and sound based upon any intrinsic value!” He paused to laugh at his own joke and almost choked on a piece of sausage. “I thought about this a good long time. I decided that you were right. You survive so you can help keep some other good people alive with you. It’s no secret that I’m a guy who keeps to himself mostly. But, your bond with Elena and Jake has me thinking about all that too.”