Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

I’d seen Herb do this trick before—he answered with either a question or an answer that didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Were you with the CIA?”

He laughed. “Why would you think that?” Again he was giving a question rather than an answer.

“It doesn’t matter why I think that. The question is, were you a spy for some part of our government?”

“The term used in foreign affairs is ‘operative.’”

“So were you an operative?” I asked.

“Do I look like I was a—”

“Are you going to answer or not?” I demanded. “Listen, you want us to be honest with you, so isn’t it time you were honest with us?”

“I have never told you anything that wasn’t true,” he said. He sounded a little bit hurt, but I wondered if that was a technique to stop me from pushing further.

“That doesn’t mean you haven’t told us things that are true. I think that’s what you’ve been doing, only telling little bits, moving us in a direction without telling us what’s farther along in that direction.”

“You are a very wise young man.” He took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, by law, I’m not able to provide more information about my previous assignments.”

“What law?”

“It’s all classified,” my mother said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Herb had the grace to look a little uncomfortable. “I can’t even confirm or deny that. Unfortunately, at this time I—”

“Can you at least tell us if you’ve seen things deteriorate like they have here?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “Much worse than they are here.” He paused. “At least as they are today.”

“But it’s not today you’re worried about—it’s tomorrow,” my mother said.

“Tomorrow isn’t going to be the problem as much as three weeks from now. The thin veneer of civilization we are still clinging to will soon be peeled all the way back to reveal an ugly reality.”

“You sound so certain, so pessimistic ,” my mother said.

“From what I’ve seen, I think I’m being realistic,” Herb said. “In fact, what I’m thinking now almost verges on optimistic. I think we can do something despite the odds. Bad things are coming, but we can compensate for them.”

“How?” my mother asked.

“We have to become increasingly more organized as the world becomes more dis organized. The situation will de volve quickly so we have to e volve more quickly and continue to evolve, not just reacting to what’s happening but anticipating it before it happens.”

“Like you keep talking about chess, keeping a few steps ahead,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“And you think more people with weapons at the checkpoints is the next step,” Mom said. “What’s the one after that?”

“That’s hard to tell.”

“Hard to tell or you won’t tell?” I asked.

“Everybody has secrets,” he said. One hand gently touched the bulge over his gun as he looked me straight in the eyes. Was he threatening me or… I knew what he was saying. He’d given me a gun and I’d taken it, and my mother didn’t even know. That was our shared secret, but that secret wasn’t going to keep me from pushing further.

“There’s nothing to stop you from telling us what you think is coming,” I said. “What’s the next step in this chess game?”

“You don’t understand. With chess it’s never just the next step, but six or seven steps ahead. And the foundations of those steps are right here,” he said, tapping the papers he’d laid down on the table. “The most valuable resource we have is the people in this survey, knowing what skills they possess.”

“Even if you won’t tell us what skills you possess?” I demanded. “Maybe those skills, plus what you’ve seen, are the things we need the most to get through this. You need to tell us, tell my mother.”

A small smile came to him. “Perhaps it is time for me to—”

He was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

My mother sat up straight. “Where do you think that’s coming from?”

“It’s hard to say with just one shot. It could be up by the plaza or—”

There was a barrage of gunfire, so many shots that I couldn’t tell where one stopped and the next started!

Then silence. It was clear that this had been some kind of full-fledged gun battle, and that it had gone on right here in our neighborhood.

Mom jumped to her feet.

“I’ll go with you,” Herb said.

“So will I.”

My mother gave me a worried look. “Adam, I need you to stay here with the kids.”

“But I should come along, to drive you. Nobody can drive my heap better than me. You might not even be able to get it started.”

“All right,” Mom said. “As long as the door is locked, Danny and Rachel are safe.”

Herb nodded in agreement.

I raced upstairs to grab my shoes and check on the kids. Luckily both of them were sleeping right through the excitement. I left Danny and Rachel each a sticky note in case they woke, and then I caught up with Herb and my mother as they were heading out the door.

Herb carried a big police flashlight. Both of them were armed with their holstered revolvers, and now my mother had our shotgun as well. I was glad to see this. When I had been putting on my shoes I decided to leave my pistol in its hiding place, since I didn’t want to chance Mom finding out about it the wrong way.

She locked the door behind us, and we ran down the driveway just as the night exploded with another burst of gunfire. Whatever was happening wasn’t over yet.

“Over there.” Herb pointed south, toward the elementary school.

I was surprised it wasn’t in the other direction, at the mini-mall.

We jumped into the car and once again she cranked, turned over, and came to life. I squealed out of the driveway, bumping down the ramp.

“Stay calm,” my mother said. “Let’s not run somebody down on the way there.”

I started up the street and hung a turn, careful not to burn any more rubber. The streets and sidewalks were empty. I had thought that the gunfire would have drawn people out of their homes, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. I rolled around a big curve, my headlights leading the way, but really I already knew by heart where every car was stalled out on the road, so I could almost have done it with my eyes closed. Just as I came up to a stop sign we saw the headlights of another vehicle racing toward us from the school.

“Pull over,” Mom yelled.

I slammed on the brakes so hard we fishtailed.

“Turn it off and kill the lights!” Herb ordered.

My heart was racing and I felt like I’d had a sweat explosion. The other car roared up and then skidded to a stop right beside us. It was the Camaro with Mr. Langston at the wheel. He leaned out of the window.

“It’s Mike Smith!” he yelled. “He’s been shot!”

Herb turned on his flashlight and aimed it through the open window of the car. Mr. Smith was in the passenger seat, his hand clutching his arm, blood trickling through his fingers, his face an eerie white. He was staring straight ahead, as if he hadn’t noticed us or the light shining on him.

“Did the checkpoint hold?” Herb yelled.

“There was gunfire everywhere, and all hell broke loose and—”

“Did the checkpoint hold or not?” Herb demanded.

“The patrols came back in time to chase the intruders away.”

“Good,” Mom said. “Now go straight to Dr. Morgan’s home!”

He squealed off.

“Okay, Adam. Get us to the checkpoint,” Mom ordered.

I started the car again but wished I was headed in the other direction. I’d never before seen anybody who’d been shot. That image was frozen in my head.