Brian Keene - Terminal

“I can’t believe they spat on you,” Oscar said. “They didn’t talk about that in school. They barely even covered Vietnam. It’s like it didn’t happen, so they don’t want us to know about it.”

“Yeah,” Dugan nodded, “that sounds about right.”

The smile on his face was grim, and I noticed tears streaming down Sharon’s cheeks.

“So what happened next?” Roy prompted.

Dugan sighed. “Well, I made my way up the coast, working odd jobs here and there. But everywhere I went it was the same, and I never stayed long. I felt like I didn’t belong anymore, but I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t face Sharon.”

“And her memory followed you wherever you went?” Roy asked.

Dugan swallowed his emotions and nodded.

Kim’s eyes grew misty. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I finally came back this month for our high school reunion, and when I walked into the Fire Hall and saw her across the room…”

He stopped and stared into her eyes. The love they had for each other was so strong that it rolled off them in waves. Seriously. I could feel it there in the vault. Once again, I found myself thinking of Michelle and T.J. again. What had I done to them? Not only was I dying of cancer, but it looked like the cops might do me in first. Even if we did make it out of here alive, it was just a matter of time. That would be time spent in a jail cell, kept away from them by iron bars and electronic locks. I’d see them only through a glass window; speak to them only through a phone. I’d die wearing an orange jumpsuit, and in the end, I would die alone. They would not be there to comfort me, and I would not be able to comfort them, to reassure them that it would be okay. I would be alone and so would they.

“I ended up marrying another friend of ours from school,” Sharon was telling the group, “but we divorced six years ago. He found a younger woman.”

“What happened to Lee?” Oscar wanted to know.

“He dodged the draft,” Dugan said. “He went over the border to Canada and died fifteen years later in a drunken driving accident near Niagara Falls. He wasn’t wearing his seat belt.”

“I’ve been to Canada,” Roy mused. “Beautiful country.”

“What took you there, Mr. Kirby?” Sheila asked.

“My job. I was a sales representative for the foundry here in town. I traveled all over the globe before I retired.”

Sherm and I glanced at each other, and Roy caught the look.

“What?” he asked.

“The three of us worked for the foundry too,” I confessed. “We just got laid off.”

“Shut up,” Sherm hissed.

“Why does it matter, dog? They know who the hell we are already, don’t they?”

He shrugged. “I guess. Fuck it. Who cares—” The phones began ringing again, interrupting him.

“That’s the cops, wanting our list of demands. Guess we’ve delayed them and shown them we’re in control long enough. Better give it to them this time before that annoying fucker breaks out his bullhorn again. They’ll probably have the negotiator for the Quick Response Team on the line too. This should be fun. I’ll stall them and see if we can get an ambulance for Carpet Dick while I’m at it. You stay here and make friends with the nice people.”

He ran out of the vault and answered the phone in Keith’s office. Sheila arched an eyebrow. “There’s one thing I’ve got to know, Tommy.”

“What’s that?”

“Why does he call John ‘Carpet Dick’?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” I turned my attention to Roy. “So you worked for the foundry too, huh?”

“Yes indeed. I gave them forty years of my life. Then I retired, and I’ve been bored ever since.”

“Why the hell did you retire in Hanover?”

“I’d seen the world already,” he explained, “and my wife had family here in town. We never had any children of our own, but both of her sisters lived here, and we had nieces and nephews to spoil. After my wife died though—well, I don’t know. I guess I just had nowhere else to go. It’s funny. Not funny humorous but funny in a sad sort of way. This town used to be a good place, the kind of place you wanted to retire in. Until the jobs dried up and the Baltimore folks began arriving. Now it’s depressing. It’s like the town has cancer—it’s dying. I guess I’ll just die with it.”

I shivered. John lay limp in my arms, and his skin was turning alabaster. I needed another cigarette. My arms were growing tired from trying to keep the pressure on his wound. My hands were numb and the sticky blood dried and flaked on them. It felt like glue. I shifted my weight and reached into my pocket with one hand. I pulled out Lucas’s cell phone, set it aside and dug into my pants again, finding a crumpled pack of cigarettes. I shook one out—only three left, and lit it up. Immediately, I felt the nicotine rushing through my veins.

“Should you be doing that?” Sheila arched an eyebrow.

I breathed out smoke and gave her a thin, tight-lipped smile. “Do you really think it matters at this point?”

“No, I guess not. I just thought you might set off the smoke alarms or something.”

If you only knew, I thought. Smoke alarms are the last thing I need to worry about from cigarettes. You know those little warning labels on the side of the pack? Those are what you need to worry about. It turns out the Surgeon General was right all along.

“The fire alarm is turned off anyway,” Sharon reminded her. “Otherwise, it would have gone off when Sherm had Lucas check on his truck.”

“Can I get one of those please, Tommy?” Kim asked. “That is, if none of the rest of you mind?”

“Actually, I could use a smoke too.” Oscar agreed. “A cigarette would taste really good right about now.”

Shrugging, I shook out the last two cigarettes, lit them, and put them in their mouths.

“Thanks.”

Kim inhaled deeply, a look of pleasure crossing her face. Her innocent, pouting lips expertly wrapped around the filter. She really was a knockout.

“It’s kind of weird smoking at work. We have to take our smoke breaks outside, of course.” She giggled nervously, the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t worry, hon,” Sharon said. “I won’t tell Keith if you don’t.”

“God, I hope he’s okay.” Kim took another puff and the cigarette bobbed between her lips.

“We haven’t heard anything since Sherm took him to the office.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Sherm wouldn’t have killed him—if only because we’ll need the leverage. Keith and Lucas both—they’re fine.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked.

“Sure.” But I could tell they didn’t believe me. That was okay. I wasn’t sure that I believed me either. I’d been lying to my wife and son so why should lying to strangers be any different? I tried to change the subject.

“So what about the rest of you? What’re your stories? Oscar?”

“Nothing special, really. I go to college in York and live with my parents here in Hanover because it’s cheaper that way.”

“Girlfriend?”

He sulked. “What do you think?”

From Keith’s office, I heard Sherm barking into the phone.

“We’ll make you wait another fucking hour if you don’t shut up and play ball. Got that, motherfucker? Good. Now, write this shit down.”

“What are you studying?” Sharon asked Oscar, raising her voice over Sherm’s.

“Art. I want to be the next Todd McFarland.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s a famous comic book artist. The guy that created Spawn. He’s a multimillionaire now.”

“I never understood how grown men could read comics,” Kim said.

“Actually,” Roy corrected her, “today’s average comic book readers are mostly adults in their thirties.”