knowing the cashier’s name either. “You okay, fella? What’s going on?”
The fleeing man didn’t stop. He shuffled past them, not even bothering to look in their direction as he answered. “Dark men . . . they’re going house to house . . . killing folks. Killing everybody. Even the pets.”
Paul took a step forward. “What do you mean?”
“No time! If you’re smart, you’ll run now. I mean it. They’re killing everyone.”
“Who?”
“The dark men. Run!”
“What was that explosion?” Paul asked.
“Someone shot the propane tank behind the fire hall. Now get going, if you know what’s good for you. I ain’t waiting around for the dark men.”
“Hey! Just wait a goddamn minute, fella. We don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
Without another word, the man fled on, trailing dark spots of blood on the asphalt. Gus and Paul looked at each other.
“Dark men?” Gus arched one eyebrow. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”
“I don’t know. Black folks, maybe?”
Gus shook his head. “No. I’ve talked to him plenty of times down at the shop. He’s brought his car in to be serviced, though I can’t remember his name. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Never struck me as a racist.”
“Just because a fella ain’t telling nigger jokes or wearing a Klan robe don’t mean they’re not racist.
You can never tell.”
“I still don’t buy it,” Gus said. “And besides, even if he was racist, it still doesn’t make any sense. Why would a bunch of black folks want to shoot up Brinkley Springs?”
“Not saying they are. I’m just trying to figure out what he meant. He said dark men.”
“Well, if we stand out here long enough, I reckon we’re liable to find out the hard way what he meant.”
Paul nodded. “I suspect you’re right. Not sure what to do, though. Don’t hear any sirens or anything. Just screaming.”
They paused, listening. Gus shuddered.
“I hope my brother is okay.”
“Where is Greg, anyway?” Paul asked him.
“At home sleeping, I guess. Wish I could call him and find out.”
Paul glanced at his cowering dogs and then out into the street. The breeze shifted, bringing with it the unmistakable smell of smoke. It made his eyes water. He hesitated, weighing his options. On the one hand, he should stay here and look after the dogs and his belongings. The fleeing cashier had mentioned that pets were being killed. But on the other hand, it sounded like there were a lot of people out there who needed help. People that he knew. Some that he’d known his whole life. It didn’t seem right to hunker down here while they were in trouble. He turned back to Gus.
“Want to go check on your brother?”
“I’d like to. Do you think it’s safe?”
“No. But it beats standing around here waiting for whatever is happening to find its way to us. We’ll make sure he’s okay. Then I’ll come back here and watch over my dogs.”
Nodding, Gus squared his shoulder and straightened up. “Sure. Just let me change my shoes.”
“Yeah,” Paul replied, glancing back down at the bedroom slippers. “I reckon you might want to do that first. Might want to put some clothes on over those pajamas, too. And Gus?”
“What?”
“Might be best if you bring along a gun.”
“I reckon you’re right.”
***
Artie Prater slept, which was exactly what he’d been afraid of. His wife of five years, Laura, was out of town. She worked for the bank in Roncefort, and once a year, all of the bank’s employees went on a mandatory week-long retreat. This year, they were in Utah, enjoying steak dinners and attending seminars about things like team-building and synergy. Artie liked to tease Laura about these things, but only because he was secretly jealous. He’d been unable to find work for over a year, and it bothered him that he couldn’t provide for his wife or their new son, Artie Junior. The upside was that while she was at work every day, he’d been able to
The fleeing man didn’t stop. He shuffled past them, not even bothering to look in their direction as he answered. “Dark men . . . they’re going house to house . . . killing folks. Killing everybody. Even the pets.”
Paul took a step forward. “What do you mean?”
“No time! If you’re smart, you’ll run now. I mean it. They’re killing everyone.”
“Who?”
“The dark men. Run!”
“What was that explosion?” Paul asked.
“Someone shot the propane tank behind the fire hall. Now get going, if you know what’s good for you. I ain’t waiting around for the dark men.”
“Hey! Just wait a goddamn minute, fella. We don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
Without another word, the man fled on, trailing dark spots of blood on the asphalt. Gus and Paul looked at each other.
“Dark men?” Gus arched one eyebrow. “What do you suppose he meant by that?”
“I don’t know. Black folks, maybe?”
Gus shook his head. “No. I’ve talked to him plenty of times down at the shop. He’s brought his car in to be serviced, though I can’t remember his name. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Never struck me as a racist.”
“Just because a fella ain’t telling nigger jokes or wearing a Klan robe don’t mean they’re not racist.
You can never tell.”
“I still don’t buy it,” Gus said. “And besides, even if he was racist, it still doesn’t make any sense. Why would a bunch of black folks want to shoot up Brinkley Springs?”
“Not saying they are. I’m just trying to figure out what he meant. He said dark men.”
“Well, if we stand out here long enough, I reckon we’re liable to find out the hard way what he meant.”
Paul nodded. “I suspect you’re right. Not sure what to do, though. Don’t hear any sirens or anything. Just screaming.”
They paused, listening. Gus shuddered.
“I hope my brother is okay.”
“Where is Greg, anyway?” Paul asked him.
“At home sleeping, I guess. Wish I could call him and find out.”
Paul glanced at his cowering dogs and then out into the street. The breeze shifted, bringing with it the unmistakable smell of smoke. It made his eyes water. He hesitated, weighing his options. On the one hand, he should stay here and look after the dogs and his belongings. The fleeing cashier had mentioned that pets were being killed. But on the other hand, it sounded like there were a lot of people out there who needed help. People that he knew. Some that he’d known his whole life. It didn’t seem right to hunker down here while they were in trouble. He turned back to Gus.
“Want to go check on your brother?”
“I’d like to. Do you think it’s safe?”
“No. But it beats standing around here waiting for whatever is happening to find its way to us. We’ll make sure he’s okay. Then I’ll come back here and watch over my dogs.”
Nodding, Gus squared his shoulder and straightened up. “Sure. Just let me change my shoes.”
“Yeah,” Paul replied, glancing back down at the bedroom slippers. “I reckon you might want to do that first. Might want to put some clothes on over those pajamas, too. And Gus?”
“What?”
“Might be best if you bring along a gun.”
“I reckon you’re right.”
***
Artie Prater slept, which was exactly what he’d been afraid of. His wife of five years, Laura, was out of town. She worked for the bank in Roncefort, and once a year, all of the bank’s employees went on a mandatory week-long retreat. This year, they were in Utah, enjoying steak dinners and attending seminars about things like team-building and synergy. Artie liked to tease Laura about these things, but only because he was secretly jealous. He’d been unable to find work for over a year, and it bothered him that he couldn’t provide for his wife or their new son, Artie Junior. The upside was that while she was at work every day, he’d been able to
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