Scott Williams - The Pulse

Grant reached under the booklets and was surprised to see that the something else was a gun. Casey had not mentioned anything about her father having a gun in the vehicle. Grant took it out and examined it. It was a stainless-steel automatic pistol with dark brown, checkered wooden grips, the barrel and most of the receiver protected inside a soft nylon holster. He unsnapped the strap that secured the pistol in the holster and pulled it out. The stamp on the receiver said “RUGER 22 CAL. LONG RIFLE AUTOMATIC PISTOL.” The pistol had a solid heft to it and a long barrel fitted with adjustable sights. Grant hadn’t owned another gun since he’d lost everything in Katrina, but he was familiar with the .22 caliber because it was the same cartridge used by the well-worn Colt Woodsman pistol his father had taught him to shoot shortly after they bought the land on the Bogue Chitto. He depressed the magazine release catch at the bottom of the grip and removed the slim magazine. It was fully loaded with hollow-point ammunition. He pulled back the slide and checked the chamber to make sure it was empty. Grant knew enough about guns to know a .22 pistol was not really intended for defensive purposes, but he figured Casey’s father kept it handy, just in case, and he knew it could do the job in a pinch, at least in some circumstances. Looking deeper into the glove box, Grant found a hundred-round box of hollow-point ammunition, labeled “CCI Stinger,” the container full except for the ten rounds already loaded into the magazine.

Grant wondered again why Casey had not mentioned that her father kept a gun in his vehicle. Maybe she simply didn’t know about it, or perhaps it didn’t occur to her that a gun was something they might need. Grant knew that while Jessica seemed clueless about what they were facing, even Casey had not come to the full realization of the hardships that could lie ahead. She probably couldn’t fathom that they might actually have to defend themselves with deadly force, or kill animals for food. Though he didn’t believe in taking things that did not belong to him, there was no way Grant was going to leave something as potentially useful as the pistol in the vehicle. He knew that Casey’s father would understand, and would probably be glad that someone with her had it to protect her. Grant found a pen and quickly scribbled his explanation on the bottom of Casey’s note, adding that he would do his best to take care of the pistol until it could be returned when this was all over. Then he locked the Tahoe and remounted his bike, the Ruger and its ammunition zipped inside his handlebar bag.

When Grant returned to his apartment, he found Casey there alone. In the short time he’d been gone, she said, Jessica and Joey had gotten out of bed and immediately started arguing about what they should do next. Joey had insisted on going back to his house and Jessica had left with him. She told Casey she would be back in a little while, but Casey was not convinced, especially since Joey was adamant about not leaving the city.

“We can’t wait around to find out, Casey. Do you think she really wants to go with us or not?”

“I think she does, but she doesn’t know what to do about Joey. He’s not going anywhere. He said it again this morning. He thinks you’re full of it and he’s blaming you for putting stupid ideas in Jessica’s head.”

“From what I saw out there, we need to hurry, Casey. On the way back I passed a group of looters coming out of the broken windows of a CVS pharmacy with armloads of stuff. I also saw a fight with at least five people involved, and someone on the street threw a bottle at me that just barely missed my head.”

“Where are the police? Aren’t they trying to do something about all this?”

“Sure, they’re trying, but most of them are on foot too. I saw some officers on mountain bikes, and even a few on horseback down near the riverfront, but the mobs are getting bigger and getting out of control. There aren’t enough cops, Casey. After Katrina, it took the National Guard and even members of the regular army to restore order here. And they were sent in from areas that were not affected. They may not be coming this time, as far as we know, anyway.”

“So what do we do, go to Joey’s and try to talk to Jessica?”

“I’ll go. You stay here and keep the door locked. I’ve got to go tell her how it is, and she’s either going to have to come back with me or stay with him. When we get back, assuming she comes with me, we need to all get on the bikes and head for the Causeway. I want to be out of the city before dark.”

Grant left without telling Casey about the gun and rode as fast as he could to Joey’s house. Jessica had taken her bike with her, but Casey said she was pushing it, since Joey didn’t have one. Walking, they would barely have time to get to the house before Grant could catch up.

As he turned into the upscale neighborhood where Joey lived, Grant smelled smoke and heard several loud bangs that could only be gunshots. Before he reached the driveway to Joey’s house, he saw two New Orleans police officers in tactical gear running across a side street with rifles at the ready. One or more houses were burning somewhere in the direction they were headed, and from the sound of it, a gun battle had broken out between the police and whoever was responsible. He hopped off his bike and leaned it against Jessica’s, which was propped unlocked against the rail on Joey’s back porch. Grant knocked on the door. When no one answered, he began banging on it louder and calling their names.

“It’s Grant!” he heard Jessica yell from inside. “Open the door, Joey!”

“Son of a bitch! What the hell is he doing here?”

Jessica unlocked the door herself when Joey wouldn’t do it. “Grant! Am I glad to see you! I’ve been scared to death ever since we got here. Did you see what was going on in the neighborhood? We got in here and locked the door as fast as we could when the shooting started.”

“I did, Jessica. It’s starting even sooner than I thought. This area is a target for looters because it’s so upscale. I came to tell you we’ve got to go, and now.”

“Screw you, man!” Joey came to the doorway, pushing Jessica aside. “Who are you to say what she needs to do, or Casey either for that matter? You think we all wanna go ride bicycles freakin’ 90 miles to stay in some cabin in the middle of nowhere? I’m not leaving my house and letting a bunch of thugs come in here and clean it out—maybe burn it down too.”

“How are you going to stop them, Joey?” Jessica yelled. “You saw the same thing I saw. They’re shooting at the police, and you don’t even have a gun.”

“You can’t stop them,” Grant said. “No one can. There will be far too many of them. It would be crazy to stay here just to protect your property.”

“I am staying!” he yelled back at Grant, and turning to Jessica: “If you want to be with me, you’ll stay here too, where you belong. Let Casey go with this asshole if she wants to. No girl of mine is going to run off on a camping trip with some dude I don’t even know.”

“I’m not staying here, Joey. People are shooting at each other! If you loved me you wouldn’t want me to stay where I am in danger….”

“If you loved me , you wouldn’t leave me to go run off to the woods with some prick who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

Grant stood in the open doorway, disgusted, but not wanting to step into the middle of the argument any more than he had to. He glanced around to make sure no one else was coming up the secluded, tree-lined driveway. The gunshots had stopped and he thought maybe the looters who had engaged the police in a firefight had made a run for it and were looking for places to hide anywhere they could find them.