R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

Leroy had no immediate family and a cloister of people simply gathered around him, standing and looking down at him in bizarre curiosity. Cooper realized this was the first violent death most people in the neighborhood had ever seen.

Mark called out, “Eleanor, can you get a sheet or blanket to cover him with?” The demure elderly woman, who lived next to Leroy, sauntered off.

A shrill, crotchety voice made Cooper turn around, “Anyone like what they see? Dead men lying in our streets? If not, then thank the men, and their families, who have fallen. ‘Fore if they hadn’t been on their posts, we’d have many more dead to mourn. Or worse.” Lily Stott stood, waving her black cane as she spoke. Her face was flushed and damp from coming all the way up the block in short order.

“And let us thank the men who told us we should set up these barricades in the first place,” she continued. She pointed her cane directly at Cooper in closing. Heads turned towards him and a few hands set to clapping.

Cooper waved it off, “We have lost friends today. There is no place for applause. Ms. Stott is right; all thanks are due to the men who protected us today. Please join their family in mourning and offer your help to them.”

A line quickly formed around the Aguilars to offer support and pay their respects. Eleanor returned, and Cooper helped cover Leroy’s body with a brown blanket.

Dranko and Mark came jogging up to Cooper’s side. He hadn’t noticed that they’d left.

“We’ve policed the attackers’ bodies. All dead,” Dranko reported. Cooper caught Mark’s expression and determined that they hadn’t all been dead when they’d found them. “They looked like freelancers out for fun. I didn’t see any coordinated gang markings on their tattoos or their clothing.”

“That’s good. It would have been worse if they’d been experienced,” Cooper commented.

Dranko continued, “We have eight pistols we can hand out and one pistol-gripped twelve gauge. We’re also the proud owners of one slightly damaged, but usable, motorbike and a van in good shape.”

“OK, here’s what I want. Tomorrow, offer Miguel any of what we’ve found today. It’s the least respect we can show. Whatever is left, we put in the armory for duty use. The bike may be useful transport. Add the van to strengthen our weakest barrier. Gather the bodies and pitch them onto the other side of the barricade here. Finally, spread the word that we’ll meet tonight at five, here. Everyone, except those on duty.”

Mark looked at Cooper with an eyebrow cocked, “What are we going to do with the bodies of these vermin?”

“Heads on pikes, brother,” Dranko intoned with a devilish grin.

“Almost. That’s too nineteenth century,” Cooper said smirking in Dranko’s direction. “We’ll burn them instead and leave the bones. But the principle remains; nothing says ‘stay out’ like the remains of those who tried to cross you.”

Cooper left Mark and Dranko to finish returning things to normal at the barricade and ensuring it was staffed by fresh faces. He jogged at a quick clip back to his home. His determined look warded off the questions of those headed to the north barricade.

When he arrived at his home, the front door was slightly ajar. His heart leapt into his throat. Forcing calm, he took a deep breath, shouldered his rifle and brought the pistol into his hands. He knew a round from the FAL would likely go through every wall in the house, if he had to fire it. He couldn’t risk that with Jake likely inside.

Without warning, he pushed the door wide open with the toe of his boot and swept the room from right to left with the pistol barrel. His house looked like it did when he’d left with no sign of disturbance. Keeping the gun at the ready, he moved quickly from room to room on the first level. Finally, he came to the basement door.

He called down through the closed door, “Jake, you down there?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the password?”

“Rutabaga,” his son called up.

Cooper relaxed, holstered the pistol and opened the door. ‘Rutabaga’ was the all clear sign. If the response had been ‘chili’ it would have meant there was trouble.

Before he could take a step down, Jake came bounding up the steps, his rifle in his hands.

“Where’s Julianne?”

“Dunno. She put me down here, said she had to check on something, and then I heard her leave the house.” The relief in his voice was unmistakable.

Cooper’s fist thundered against the thin wood on the door, “She rabbited, eh?”

“She what?” Jake asked, confused.

Cooper patted his head, “Sorry, it means she panicked and ran off. I don’t think she liked the questions I was asking her.” Now I know she had something to hide.

Jake shrugged his shoulders, nonplussed. He’s happy she is gone. “What happened up the street? I heard a lot of shooting.”

Cooper led him to the kitchen and poured them both a glass of water. As he drank his down in one long pull, it felt like cold nirvana to his parched, dry throat. A fight always does that to me. Instant dehydration.

He poured himself another full glass and then sat down with Jake at the kitchen table. “Well, the good news is that we got rid of some bad guys trying to come here and do us all harm.”

“What’s the bad news?” Jake’s wide eyes revealed deep concern.

“Antonio Aguilar and Leroy Johnson were both killed, son.”

Jake’s eyes glazed over in deep consideration, and soon glistened. He didn’t know Leroy very well, but he had shot hoops and played touch football a few times with Antonio. He’s having to learn about death way too fast and much too often. Cooper could see it.

Cooper put his hand firmly on his son’s shoulder. “You alright?”

“Yeah. It just sucks, dad. Leroy seemed like a good guy and Antonio was a friend of mine. Why do these guys have to add to the death already happening all around us? It doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re right son, it doesn’t make sense. Some people and some things just don’t make sense. This was one of those things.” Cooper knew his words were inadequate, but it was the best that could be said.

“Look, I’m bushed. You wanna lie down with me to take a nap?”

“Sure.”

He took his son’s hand as they made their way upstairs. Almost the picture of Norman Rockwell, except for the hardware I’m carrying. Less than five minutes later, he was in deep slumber. Jake lay awake watching his father’s chest rise and fall. After a while, he laid his head on it, savoring the reassurance of its steady breath. He was thinking about the last time he and Antonio had shot baskets. He fell asleep remembering how Antonio had shown him, many times over, how to properly hold the ball while shooting. His eyes were wet when he fell asleep.

Cooper awoke a few hours later. He left Jake sleeping and quietly crept from the room. He cleaned the rifle and when Jake woke up, made them both a hearty lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches, fruit, and tall glasses of cold milk. He clenched his jaw tight while frying the sandwiches. The smell of the melted butter and cheese was overpowering. Grilled cheese had been something Elena always made their son to comfort him after a bad day at school or sometimes simply on one of the sad, cold, gray rainy days in mid-winter that were so common in the Northwest. His mind drifted to a memory from several years ago.

When Cooper came home, Elena was standing in the kitchen, in front of the stove. Jake sat at the kitchen counter, chin in both hands and sad, droopy eyes. Cooper immediately smelled the reassuring aroma of butter and cheese frying amid toasted bread.

“Uh-oh, what’s going on buddy?” he asked his son as he patted his head.