Andrew Klavan - If We Survive

“A moment ago,” Meredith said behind me, “you asked me what sort of man I thought you were. Did you really want to know?”

“Sure,” said Palmer ironically. “It’d pass the time.”

“I think you’re an exceptional man. I think you’re a hero.”

Palmer laughed—but Meredith went right on speaking over his laughter.

“Something’s happened that made you bitter—I see that. And I see that you think you can get back at the world for whatever it is, that you’re telling the world to go hang itself. And I can see it confuses you how that just makes your bitterness worse and worse.”

I kept staring out over the balcony, but I wasn’t seeing anything now. I was just listening—listening to Meredith’s voice. The stuff she was saying to Palmer—it made me feel— I don’t know—bad somehow. Maybe jealous is the word I want. I couldn’t imagine her ever telling me that I was exceptional. A hero…

But Palmer only laughed at her again. “Wow,” he said. “You sure have a lot to say on a lot of subjects. Are you gonna spit in my eye now too?”

“No,” said Meredith. “But I am going to tell you one more thing.”

“I’ll bet you are.”

“I’m going to tell you that you’re about to do something very dangerous.”

“Oh, I think I figured that out all by myself.”

“I don’t mean that,” said Meredith. “I don’t mean just getting shot.”

“That sounds dangerous enough for me.”

“I mean if you reach your van—if you reach your plane— if you get away from here, get out of this country—and if you leave us to die because you think the world has mistreated you and it can go hang—you’re going to lose the man you were made to be. Not just misplace him, as you have now, Palmer. But I mean lose him, really, forever.”

It was weird. I felt a real tightness in my throat as I listened to her. I’d never heard anyone talk like that before. So simple, so straightforward, so sure of herself like that, so sure of what she knew. And again, in a weird way, I sort of wished it was me she was talking to…

But Palmer answered in his sarcastic drawl, “Wow! Lady Liberty! What a piece of work you are. That’s a lot of fancy talk just to get a man to risk his life for you.”

“Not for me.”

“Oh no! Sure. Not you. You don’t care about yourself at all. You’re not even afraid, right?”

“Look at me, Palmer,” Meredith answered in her calm, quiet voice. “Do I look afraid?”

There was silence. I couldn’t believe it: it sounded as if Palmer was finally lost for a smart reply. Out on the balcony, I found I had been holding my breath the last few seconds. I let it out now.

“Whatever,” Palmer said then. “All I know is that those guys out there aren’t drunk enough yet or distracted enough for me to make my move. And if you’ll forgive me, I don’t feel like getting riddled with machine-gun bullets for the sake of your high principles. And even if you won’t forgive me.”

I waited for Meredith to answer, but it seemed the conversation was over. I started to turn away from the railing, to head back into the room. But before I could, I saw something so horrible it froze me to the spot.

“Oh,” I heard myself say. “Oh no.”

A chair scraped in the hotel room. A second later Palmer was standing at my shoulder right behind me. Then Meredith was at my other shoulder. Jim and Nicki were there too, pressing in to get a glimpse.

We all stood together and stared down into the alley. What we saw made me feel as if my heart had turned to ashes.

Two rebels, machine guns strapped over their shoulders, came marching into the alley. They were dragging Pastor Ron between them.

Pastor Ron had been beaten badly. His glasses were gone. His eyes were dull. His mouth hung open. His face was covered in blood and bruises. He couldn’t walk on his own anymore—that’s why the gunmen were dragging him. His feet went out behind him weakly as they hauled him down the alley. He wasn’t even trying to move on his own steam. He was barely conscious.

Nicki screamed, “Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!”

At the sound of her voice, one of the two rebels glanced up at us on the balcony. He smiled. It was a grim, terrible smile. I knew in my heart that we were finished. All of us.

Her voice high and thin and filled with tears, Nicki cried, “They’re not going to kill him, are they? Are they? They can’t just kill him.”

“No, no, they won’t do that,” said Jim.

Palmer looked around, looked at Meredith. I saw their eyes meet and I could almost hear the ideas passing silently between them. Of course they were going to kill him. That’s exactly what they were going to do. And once Mendoza had shed blood, once he’d killed one of us—and a clergyman, no less—he would have to kill us all. He had nothing to gain by keeping the rest of us alive to bear witness to what he had done.

Desperately, without thinking, I shouted at Palmer, “Do something! You have to do something!”

Palmer only sneered at me as if that were the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. I wanted to slug him.

But Meredith said softly, “There’s nothing he can do, Will. There’s nothing any of us can do.”

Whatever I was going to shout next died on my tongue. I knew if Meredith said this, it was true.

Nothing we can do . The idea was horrible to me.

I turned and looked down helplessly into the alley.

The soldiers dragged Pastor Ron directly under us. One of them barked orders to the two gunmen who were drinking against the wall. The drunken gunmen snapped to unsteady attention. The one with the bottle tossed it into the dust. Then both men fell in step with the other two rebels. All four of them continued to march Pastor Ron toward the alley’s far end.

Nicki kept screaming and crying, “What are they going to do? What are they going to do?”

Jim kept saying, “They can’t… They won’t… They can’t just…”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything anymore. I felt as if there were a rock in the middle of my throat. Pastor Ron had come to our church about six years ago, when I was ten. I remembered him visiting the Sunday school to tell us Bible stories. He was always really nice and funny with little kids and we loved him. I remembered him shaking my hand on the receiving line after the service and telling me how much I’d grown. I remembered him saying the prayers at my grandfather’s funeral…

And now—now there was nothing we could do for him.

We stood on the balcony and watched as the four rebel gunmen dragged him to the end of the alley. There, they turned the corner around the church and went out of sight.

I wanted to pray, but I didn’t know what to pray. I just kept thinking the name of God over and over again. Finally, I just held my breath. I guess we all held our breaths. It felt to me as if the world itself had held its breath.

A long, silent second passed.

Then there was gunfire—and Nicki screaming.

It was the worst moment of my life.

Nicki reeled back into the room, screaming and screaming. Babbling words through hysterical tears: “What’s happening ?Why won’t anybody help us? Oh, they killed him! They killed him! What’s going to happen to us?”

I turned and saw Meredith rush after her. She grabbed Nicki by the shoulders. Nicki struggled wildly in her grip, her head going back and forth, her hair flying.

“Let me go!” she screamed. “No! No! No! They killed him! I have to get out of here! I have to! I can’t stand it!”

“Stop it! Stop it, Nicki!” Meredith said sharply. She shook her. “Have faith! Have courage! Stop!”