Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

‘Do you think I’m a coward?’ Lenny asked. ‘Is that it?’

‘I think Kirk was a coward. Not you.’

‘Kirk was a hero, man.’

Chris shook his head. ‘No, he wasn’t. He was a sadist, a bully, and a killer. I don’t think you’re like him at all, Lenny.’

‘He was my brother.’

‘Maybe so, but he did bad things, and we both know it.’

‘Don’t talk about him like that!’

‘You know what he did. You know what’s right and what’s wrong. I don’t need to tell you that.’

He took a step forward. Lenny cocked the weapon, and he froze.

‘Stop!’ Lenny demanded, his voice cracking.

‘I just want you to put the weapon down. You’ve seen what’s happening outside, Lenny. You’ve seen the river. We’re running out of time.’

‘I shot Johan,’ Lenny said.

‘That’s why we need to get out of here right now. He needs a doctor.’

‘I don’t care about him.’

‘What about Olivia?’ Chris asked. ‘Do you care about her?’

Lenny blinked in rapid succession. He cocked his head as if his neck were in spasm. ‘She hates me. She wishes I was dead.’

‘That doesn’t matter. If you care about her, then you won’t hurt her.’

Chris watched fear and indecision play across the boy’s face. He studied the small patch of dirty wooden floor between them and knew he could jump for the gun, but he’d probably take a bullet in the stomach as he did. Lenny was alone and had nothing to lose. He looked at the floor and saw that Lenny had an arsenal here in guns and ammunition. The boy could hold out, firing, for hours if he chose.

They didn’t have hours. They had minutes. He had to go.

‘That’s it,’ Chris said. ‘I’m done with you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lenny asked.

‘It means I can’t stand here trying to convince you that a real man would help me . You’ve got to make that decision for yourself. I have to get to Hannah’s house. I have to get to my family. If you want to stay up here and shoot me, go ahead.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Lenny swore.

‘Go ahead. That’s what Kirk would do, right?’

‘Kirk wasn’t afraid of anything.’

‘Good for him. Me, I’m scared, Lenny. I’m scared of losing my wife and daughter, and that’s why I’m leaving. You do what you have to do.’

Chris turned around. He tensed, awaiting a paralyzing shot into the center of his back. He could hear Lenny panting behind him, torn with doubt. He left him alone. He took the first step through the trapdoor without looking back, and he disappeared down into the black confines of the tower. Lenny didn’t move, and he didn’t fire. That didn’t mean the kid wouldn’t change his mind and pick up the rifle again while Chris was in the no man’s land between the church and Hannah’s house.

He reached the base of the stairwell, and his feet landed in icy water. The river had risen into the belly of the church. He kicked his way toward the doors and had to throw his shoulder against the glass to force it open. Outside, he stared in disbelief at the inland sea running wild over the town, chocolate-brown, surging and tumbling over itself in deep swells. The water was thick with debris: chunks of concrete, whole trees, remnants of walls and windows carried from houses that had been eviscerated. The air bristled with the noise of impact, wood on metal, metal on wood. The short distance to Hannah’s house was a minefield, virtually impossible to cross.

In the middle of that minefield, he saw something that made his whole body turn cold with despair.

No, no, no, what did you do?

On the street in front of the house, Olivia clung to the few dry inches of metal pole on a STOP sign protruding out of the water. It was a fragile life raft, and the sign flapped as the river roared by, threatening to peel away her hands and carry her downstream.

He saw her, and she saw him, and her voice erupted in a desperate scream.

‘ Dad! ’

53

Chris shouldered into the water, which rose above his waist, and the chill hit him like a thousand needles. The current was ferocious, threatening to launch him off his feet, but he realized that the worst danger was invisible, hidden underneath the surface. Branches, glass, and rocks punched and cut him as they whipped through the water, as fast and sharp as knives. He didn’t have far to go to reach Olivia, but the distance looked overwhelming, and his main concern was that the swirling currents would sweep him past her, and he wouldn’t be able to make his way upstream.

He eyed the flow of the water. Two branches of the river had joined here, rippling together in curves like ribbons, moving in different directions. Among the tumbling flotsam, he saw the lid of a garbage can spinning toward him, and he snatched it out of the water. He tossed it like a Frisbee toward the trunk of a huge oak tree in front of the church, and as it landed, the lid swooped into a giant arch that carried it within five feet of the sign where Olivia was trapped. That was the route he needed. That was how to get close to her.

He couldn’t walk. He swam. On the surface, he could see and avoid more of the debris flowing toward him. The river smelled as fetid and poisonous as a landfill, but he couldn’t avoid toxic mouthfuls as he fought upstream. He felt as if he were swimming in place, taking strokes and getting nowhere. When he stopped, the water carried him farther away, and he had to redouble his effort to make up lost ground. His heart hammered with the exertion, and his muscles screamed in protest. By the time he reached the oak tree, he needed to hang on to the low branches and rest. He felt as if he’d been in the water for hours.

‘Olivia, are you hurt?’ he called to her. The roar of the water made him shout, as if he were trying to drown out Niagara Falls. He choked and coughed.

His daughter shouted back. ‘I think my ankle’s broken. I’m sorry, Dad, I thought I could help if I got to the church.’

‘Just hold on.’

She had both arms wrapped around the quivering STOP sign. He could see she was tiring. He watched the water and knew she was in a place where the current was particularly strong. There was no time to wait. He braced himself against the tree trunk and launched himself into the rapids. This time, with the flow propelling him, he moved at startling speed, and he was practically on top of Olivia before he had time to react. He careened toward the sign, and he was afraid he would swoop past it. He kicked to his right and stretched his arm as far as it would go. The damp metal pole slapped his hand, and he clawed at it with his fingers, curling three fingers around it. His body kept traveling, and as he swept downstream, he felt his grip loosening, but then Olivia grabbed his shirt, and his body spun. He cocked an elbow around the pole, and he shoved two fingers into one of Olivia’s belt loops and pulled her into his chest. She let go of the sign and hung on to him.

‘Nice day for a swim,’ he murmured into her ear. He didn’t want her to be scared.

His daughter laughed and clung to his neck. Her wet hair pushed against his face.

He had no idea what to do next, other than to hang on for both of their lives, but then he heard Hannah shouting and saw her in the first-floor window of the house, no more than fifty feet away. The river was immediately below the sash; she had to be up to her knees in water inside the house. She had a coil of heavy white twine from a clothes line in her hand. She flung the coil toward him through the window, hanging on to one end, but it didn’t travel nearly far enough. The rope fell in the water and washed away downriver. Quickly, she wound it back up before debris took hold of it and ripped it out of her hands.