Brian Keene - Terminal

“I hear you, dog. I hear you. We’re all sick of her shit. But think, man. If you shoot her now, the cops will rush this place. You know that. We talked about it already. They’ll be on us like white on rice, just like they would have been if you’d shot Lucas or Keith.”

At the mention of the delivery driver and the manager, he jumped. His muscles were coiled, like a snake ready to spring forward and strike its victim.

“Don’t do it, son,” Roy chimed in. “Things are bad enough already.”

“I am not afraid,” Martha spat, blood running down her chin.

Before Sherm could reply, we were all suddenly distracted by a new sound. A low, sonorous thrumming that seemed to come from overhead. As we turned our eyes to the ceiling, the noise grew louder, rapidly approaching.

THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA

“What the fuck is that?” Oscar shouted. His eyes were wild and scared. It was right over our heads and it sounded like the ceiling was going to collapse, like a construction crew had decided to drive a bulldozer on top of the roof or something. The bank felt like it was shaking. The steel walls vibrated against our back as the sound rocked the building to its foundation.

“Finally!” Dugan’s shout was one of joy and relief, but his face was apprehensive.

“They’re coming in,” I hollered, leaping to my feet and pointing the pistol at everything and nothing.

“Is that a tank?” Oscar shouted. “Do they have a tank?”

“Oh God,” Kim whimpered, shutting her eyes. “This is it. We’re going to die…”

The noise increased, exploding around us, making speech next to impossible.

“This is it… This is it… This is it… We’re really going to die…”

Benjy tried to put his shoulders up over his ears, to shelter them from the thunder. Even in my panic, I found myself wishing that his hands were free. He was just a little boy. I was terrified and I could only imagine how he felt.

“Sherm,” I yelled over the deafening roar, “what the fuck are we gonna do?”

“What?”

“WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? THEY’RE COMING IN.”

“Relax, yo. It’s just a helicopter.”

“What?” I cupped my hand to my ear and gripped the gun tighter. My palms were sweaty.

“A HELICOPTER. IT’S A FUCKING HELICOPTER.”

I gaped at him, my heart racing in my chest, then the noise started to subside. The speed and rhythm decreased, and then stopped altogether. Finally, all we could hear was the distant, muffled whine of an engine, then even that stopped.

“They’ve landed.” Sherm grinned. The look on his face was very close to joy.

“Who landed? What the fuck are you talking about, Sherm? That was a goddamned helicopter. Who was in it?”

“The York County Quick Response Unit,” he said with obvious pride. “They finally arrived. Sounds like they landed in the parking lot.”

“Oh great,” I sighed sarcastically.

“Damn straight,” he replied. “Now things should get really interesting around here.”

His laughter seemed almost as loud as the chopper’s blades had been, and just as sharp.

Eventually, we all relaxed again, as best we could given the circumstances. I convinced Sherm to bring in one of the big bottles of water for the cooler, and we gave everybody a sip. I dribbled some down John’s throat too.

Sherm was bored.

“So tell us, Dugan. How long have you been banging Sharon?”

Corded, ropy muscles rippled underneath Dugan’s chambray work shirt as he bristled, straining against his bonds.

“Why, you little piece of shit. You’d better hope I don’t get loose, boy. I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.”

Sharon tried to shush him, but Dugan ignored her.

“I won’t have him talking that way about you. Enough is enough!”

Sherm laughed. “Hey, man, all I did was ask you a question. But since you don’t want to answer nicely…”

He picked up the gun and walked toward Dugan.

“I’ve fucking had it with you people. I don’t care if the commando squad is here or not. It’s time for somebody to die.”

My heart started racing in my chest.

“Come on, Sherm.”

“Stay out of this, Tommy.”

“Hey,” Roy stammered. “Now wait just a minute, Sherm. Wait a darn minute!”

“Nope. I don’t think so, Roy. I asked him a simple question and he decided to call me names and threaten me instead. I don’t play that shit.”

Dugan stared at the pistol in Sherm’s hand. His eyes were defiant and filled with hate. He did not speak.

Sherm leveled the gun at him.

“We met in high school,” Sharon interrupted. “We were sweethearts when I was a junior and he was a senior.”

Sherm glanced down at her, smiled, and looked back at Dugan.

“See, your girlfriend answered politely.”

He sat down again. Dugan fumed, and Sharon looked embarrassed.

“So you were high school sweethearts. Sounds like the perfect romance. Go on.”

Dugan began to speak.

“I got drafted in ’69, and two weeks after I graduated, I was on my way to basic training at Fort Bragg. I couldn’t afford college, and there was no way I was dodging the draft, running off to Canada like some of the freaks from this town. I was with the First Cavalry in Vietnam. Sharon wrote to me at first, but—”

He trailed off, and Sharon continued for him.

“But I was still in school and still young, and Vietnam seemed so very far away.”

Her voice was quiet, thoughtful and apologetic all at once. I got the feeling that she was talking to him more than the rest of us.

“While he was over there, I watched my friends date and go to the prom and the Sadie Hawkins dances and to the drive-in on Friday nights, and all I did was sit at home, waiting to hear if he was alive or not. Waiting for a letter every day and crying myself to sleep on nights when one didn’t show up.”

“Until Lee.” His voice was hoarse, and even after all these years, the memory still bothered him—whoever Lee was.

“That’s right. Until Lee.”

“Another boyfriend?” Kim asked, and I wondered if this was the first time she’d heard about her coworker’s life outside the bank.

“Sort of. He was nothing like Dugan, and I didn’t love him—but he was there and Dugan wasn’t, and one night we ended up together in the back of his Mustang.”

“You got pregnant?”

“No, nothing like that. We used protection, even back then. But two of Dugan’s friends saw us, and they wrote to him and told him about it. After that, he stopped writing to me. He—he never came back home.”

“I did two tours of duty, just to get her out of my head.” Dugan sighed. “But it didn’t work. When I got out, I came home to a country that I no longer recognized. I flew from ’Nam to Hawaii, then from there to San Francisco. I was supposed to change planes in California and fly to Baltimore, and then make it back here to Hanover. I was dreading coming back—I hurt inside from all the things I’d seen and done, and I couldn’t bear to face Sharon. You see, I was young and stupid, and while the war made me older in some ways, it didn’t help me to understand women any better. I didn’t understand that she was young and that what she did with Lee was because of that. She loved me, but she needed somebody. It wasn’t fair that she should spend her senior year like that, not knowing if her boyfriend was alive or dead. I just wish I’d known then what I know now.”

“When I got off the plane in San Francisco, there was a big protest going on inside the airport. Some of the protesters started calling me a baby-killer and all kinds of other garbage. They spat on me! I was so shocked that I just walked away. I walked. I think that messed with me in ways the war never did. And after what had happened with Sharon, it was the final straw.”