Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

“Keep driving, but don’t turn on your lights. If you hear any more gunfire, pull over and stop,” Herb said.

Up ahead there was a cluster of flashlight beams dancing around, right where I thought the checkpoint should be.

“Those have to be from our men,” my mother said.

“That’s what we hope.”

“Who’s in charge here tonight?” my mother questioned.

“John Wilson,” Herb said. “He’s a retired police officer.”

“That’s good,” my mother said.

“I guess we’ll see how good,” Herb said.

My mother ordered me to stop the car. When we halted, both she and Herb stepped out.

“Wilson?” my mother called out.

The flashlight beams fanned out in our direction, searching for us.

“It’s me, the captain, and I have Herb and my son with me!” she yelled.

One of the men waved for us to come.

They climbed back in and we drove forward. In front of the elementary school there were a dozen men standing around. As we got closer I recognized most of them, including Howie and Sergeant Evans. They were standing over a man on the ground—no, there were two men on the ground, and in the thin light I could see that the pavement was stained with blood pooling out from beneath them.

I cut the engine, and Herb and my mother jumped out. I hesitated and then slowly got out, remaining right by the car as my mother and Herb rushed away. I was afraid to follow but more afraid to be alone. I ran after them.

Everyone started to talk at once until Herb and my mom quieted them down and asked Wilson for a report. “They came from behind us and—”

“Are they gone?” Herb demanded.

“Gone?” Wilson said, almost like he didn’t understand what the word meant.

“Have they left, have you driven them away?”

“Yes, yes… well, except for…” He gestured to the two men lying on the ground.

Herb bent down and put his hand against the pulse point on the neck of one man and then the other. “Both men are dead.”

“By chance my patrol was almost right here when the shooting happened,” Sergeant Evans said. “They were shooting at us and we had no choice.”

“Of course you didn’t,” my mother said.

I stared at the two men on the ground. One was facedown while the second was on his back, his eyes wide open, reflecting light. I looked away.

“You said they came from behind,” Herb said.

“They just appeared behind us, and when we tried to stop them they opened fire on us!” Howie said.

“There were five or six of them,” Mr. Gomez said.

“Maybe more,” another added.

“That’s when Mike was hit!” Mr. Gomez said. “He was standing right behind me and then he was—”

“That’s when we arrived,” Sergeant Evans said. “We exchanged fire, and then they sprinted that way, toward the school. We chased them, two were hit—those two—and the rest ran. Some of them dropped what they’d taken.”

Howie pointed to some canvas bags lying on the ground off to the side.

“We checked them. They contain some food, but also jewelry, some electronics. They must have robbed some of the houses. They died for practically nothing,” Howie said.

“I’ve been on the force for fifteen years,” Sergeant Evans said. “I’ve never had to even take my service revolver from the holster… and now… I did this.” His voice cracked over the last few words.

“You didn’t have any choice,” my mother said. “They were a danger to everybody. You did what had to be done. Look, I want you to go to the doctor’s house and see how Mike Smith is doing, and then I want you to go, have a coffee, just rest, try to go to sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll talk.”

He nodded his head. “Thanks, Cap. Would it be all right if I just went home instead?”

“Of course, go. See your wife, check on your kids.”

“And know that because of you they’re safe,” Herb said. He reached out and took Sergeant Evans’s hand and shook it. “Son, I know you didn’t want to do this, none of us do, but you did the right thing. Tomorrow in the light of day you’ll see that.”

“Thanks… thanks so much.”

Sergeant Evans walked away, leaving us behind. We stood there until we couldn’t hear his footfalls any longer.

“I know this has been hard on everybody,” my mother said. “I need some people here on guard, but if any of you think you need to leave, go and we’ll take your duty.”

“I’m good,” one man said. “I’ll stay.”

“If it’s okay with you, I think I do need to go,” Mr. Gomez said. “I’m afraid I might throw up.”

“No problem,” my mother said. “Does anybody else need to go?”

Two more men put up their hands. They looked sheepish, embarrassed. I didn’t know if I would have been brave enough to put up my hand.

“Go and get some food in your stomachs. We’ll take care of things,” my mother said. She turned to me. “Drive them home, and then you go home as well.”

“But—”

“You have to go home. If your brother and sister wake up, they need to have somebody there. Besides, I need you to be there.”

I understood without her saying any more. If some people had gotten through the guards and sentries and checkpoints to break into some houses, what was to stop them from breaking into our house?

“I’m not going to be home for a while,” she said. “We have things to do.”

“Including removing the bodies,” Herb said. “Seeing them will only cause problems, upset, even panic among some people.”

I knew how much it was upsetting me. I was working to avert my eyes, not look at them, but it was hard. It was like passing a car crash on the side of the highway.

“Okay, you need to get going,” my mother said. “Don’t wait up.”

I knew I should get to sleep, but I couldn’t. After checking on the kids I’d made a conscious decision to sleep on the couch instead of my bed, so I could be downstairs—between them and anybody trying to come into the house. Usually the couch was comfortable and I’d fall asleep watching TV. Maybe I couldn’t sleep because there was no TV. More likely it had something to do with the fact that I had one eye and both ears open and had a gun tucked under my pillow. Then, when I did close my eyes, I couldn’t escape the images I’d seen. How was any of this possible? How could things go so bad, so fast? Had it really only been last Wednesday that I was in school, typing Todd’s essay in the computer lab?

I got up from the couch. I had to check the doors again. I wandered around the house—front door, garage door, side door, and then both sets of sliding doors. This house had way too many possible entrances, and that wasn’t counting the large front window or the three big windows off the kitchen. If somebody really wanted to break in, there was practically no way to stop them.

The house was dark and quiet. I could have lit some candles or turned on a flashlight, but it was better to blend into the background of the other dark houses than to be a beacon, a light leading people to a place where there was something valuable to take. Still, I could have really used a cup of tea, except the generator was off and there was no power. It was for the best, I thought. We still had lots of tea, but we’d run out of milk and, worse than that, we were running out of sugar. Black was one thing, but I needed sugar in my tea.

Then I noticed on the table the sheets that Herb had brought over. They were the list of everybody in the neighborhood—the key to the next steps.

I picked up the pages and went back to the living room. I closed the door, sat down, and flicked on my flashlight. I looked at the first page.

It listed everybody in our neighborhood, street by street, their names written in very careful handwriting. All of the streets were arranged in alphabetical order, and then the people by their address on the street. I flipped through the pages until I came to our street—Powderhorn Crescent. I started going through the list. I only knew a few people by name, and hardly any by what they actually did for a living. Our street had teachers, a couple of IT people, two engineers, a dentist, a vet, four nurses, a paramedic, and a whole bunch of retired people whose former occupation was listed. So many people with different skills. Was this what Herb had meant when he said that the people were our best resource?