The Defiant: An Unbeaten Path (9 page)

“Can you help him?”

“I, ah, I can see what is wrong,” Vincent said as he hobbled over next to her.

“His wound has become very infected, see,” she said, lifting up his pajama top to show a blackened hole in his lower abdomen. His belly had swollen in the area surrounding the wound, with reddish string-like tentacles coming from it. “He went into the half-conscious state last night.”

Vincent leaned over to get a better look and said, “It’s obviously infected. Um, what was he shot with?”

“A handgun.”

Vincent searched his mind for questions that might help. “Did the bullet pass through?”

“No, it’s still in there.”

“The bullet is still in there?” Vincent asked, astonished by this and factored that this could have helped create the environment for the infection to take hold.

“You have to get it out,” Vincent said with urgency.

“I thought about that, but I don’t know how to perform surgery. I tried to find a doctor at the hospital and—” she said but purposely cut herself off.

Vincent could tell there was more to the hospital story but didn’t want to explore it just yet. He wondered if he could perform the surgery.

She looked up at him, tears forming in her green eyes, and asked, “Can you do it? Please save him.”

“I’m not a surgeon, I know first aid, but—” he replied but was interrupted.

“Please.”

“Please, mister, help us,” Noah said from the doorway.

Vincent looked at him and didn’t know how he could say no. He just needed to feel confident that if he failed, they wouldn’t hold it against him. “I’ll try to remove it, but…” He stopped short of saying it in front of Noah. “Can we talk in private?”

She nodded and took him to a large walk-in closet.

He closed the door and said, “Listen, I’m not a doctor. I just want to make myself clear on this. I’ll go in and remove the bullet and do what I can, but I want to make it very clear that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I understand.”

Vincent’s breathing had increased and he became blunt, “I could kill him.”

“If I do nothing, he’s going to die anyway, I fear, and if this helps save him, then I have to risk it.”

He could see the pain in her eyes, and again this might be his new mission. “I’ll do it.”

Wellsville, Utah

The short drive from the clinic to the city offices was pleasant, and if you had just been plopped down without any knowledge, you’d think the world was the same.

Nicholas marveled at how everything seemed so
normal
. People walked with strollers down the streets, and in the park across from the city offices, children played. He found it all so odd and in some ways unsettling. He asked himself how this little place had become an oasis in the madness that had taken over the world. He planned on asking the question, because from appearances, they had done something he hadn’t seen in any municipality or urban center since leaving San Diego.

When they stopped in front of the small single-level building that fronted the appropriately named Main Street, several armed men stepped out and met them.

Nicholas recognized one of them as Brock. “Hi, Brock, good to see you.”

“Same, Mr. McNeil.”

“Just call me Nic. I’m sure this is a stupid question, but no reports from your patrols about my two friends?”

“No, sir. Right this way,” Brock said, motioning towards the front doors.

Inside, Nicholas found it exactly how he’d imagined it would look. The floors were covered in a worn carpet. The walls were painted a neutral tan and adorned with framed images and paintings of mountain landscapes. Above him, a white drop ceiling made him feel a bit crowded as the height was just shy of eight feet.

Brock took him down the hall and into a large boardroom. The far walls had windows that spanned the length, but the light of day was blocked with thick metal blinds.

Seated at the long twenty-foot wood-laminate table were seven people, five men and two women, all white. All were middle-aged except for one man and one woman.

The man at the far head of the table motioned him to come in further and said, “Welcome, welcome to Wellsville.” He was average height, older, balding, and was seated in a wheelchair.

“Hi,” Nicholas replied as he slowly stepped into the room. He could feel pain emanating from his side and then remembered that he hadn’t taken any pain medication.

At Nicholas’ request, Colin joined him. When Colin’s towering stature entered the room, Nicholas noticed several people react. He imagined they weren’t used to seeing such a large black man in this part of the world. He remembered the demographics for small mountain towns were primarily white, to the point of being almost homogeneous.

“My name is Nicholas McNeil, and this is my friend and partner, Colin Somerville.”

Colin grinned with his typical toothy grin and waved. “Hi, ya’ll.”

“Please, gentlemen, take a seat,” the man in the wheelchair said. Right after Nicholas and Colin sat, the man introduced himself, “My name is Chad Smith, I’m the mayor of Wellsville, and to my right is Sally Braithwaite, my secretary, going down and around we have Deborah Shumway, John Christiansen, Thomas Fielding, Jason Bagley and Chuck Summers. They are the council people of our great town.”

“Nice to meet you. I want to first thank you for saving my life. I have to admit your generosity and hospitality was welcome and unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” Chad asked.

Nicholas looked at Colin, then answered, “Yes, every town we’ve encountered has been either a threat because they’ve collapsed into mob rule, or we were turned away with the threat of violence if we came anywhere near it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that so many towns and cities haven’t been able to manage this crisis,” Chad lamented.

“From what I’ve seen, you have something special, and while I thank you, I’d suggest you need to be more careful who you allow in here. Not everyone will be as nice as we are.”

“We have turned our fair share away. Let’s just say we profile who comes through, and we do monitor their presence while they are here. We trust to a degree then verify. We’re nice but not fools, Mr. McNeil.”

“I wasn’t saying you were fools.”

“I know, so let’s talk about why we wanted to see you. I know Brock told you we also wanted to talk with you.”

“Yes,” Nicholas replied. He wanted to get to the topic of what he wanted to ask but found himself obligated to let Chad speak first.

“A thriving town can only remain so if it has rules or laws. It must be administered fairly within the rule of law by an executive and an elected body of the citizenry. That’s the first component; secondly, it must have able-bodied citizens who work actively on its behalf. It is this second half that is why I have asked to speak with you. You see, we have lost people, a large number have left, others have died and some have been killed. In order for us to a have a thriving and functional city, we must have people. We have a small population. Before the war we had about thirty-five hundred people, we’re now down to half that. Our council has adapted to this crisis by having the town pull together. As a people we’ve always been prepared for such emergencies, but we believe this crisis won’t be fixed for a very long time if at all. Because of our belief that this crisis won’t end anytime soon, we immediately went to work creating an infrastructure for our town’s survival, but those plans and that infrastructure requires manpower,” Chad said and cleared his throat, he then continued. “I’ll be blunt, Mr. McNeil; we’d like you and your group to stay. I don’t know what your plans were or where you were headed, but we can offer a stable and safe environment.”

Nicholas was floored by the proposition. It came at him out of left field, but it stirred something in him. He looked at Colin, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. He thought for a few seconds and replied, “Mr. Mayor, I don’t know how to respond. I wasn’t expecting you to say this. In fact, I had no idea what you’d ask of us.”

“What does your gut say? I’m a believer in following your instincts,” Chad said.

“To be quite frank, I like the idea, but I also have a skeptical side to me that says, no, do your due diligence. We’ve been through a lot to get here, and like I mentioned earlier, the world has really gotten bad.”

“I can assure you, if we were bad people up to nefarious things, we wouldn’t have allowed you here much less given you the care you’ve just experienced.”

Nicholas nodded after Chad said that. It didn’t make sense for people to save you and care for you with the eventual goal of killing you. “I have to say, I’m intrigued by the offer, but I can’t make this decision myself. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You sure you don’t want to? Look what happened last time you put it to a vote,” Colin said half-jokingly, reminding him of the fateful decision that found them now in Wellsville.

Nicholas glared at Colin and put his attention back on Chad. “I really need to ask my group, so I hope you don’t need my decision right this second.”

“No, please take some time to think about it and discuss it with your people. I also understand that two in your group are missing,” Chad said.

“Correct, that’s why I wanted to talk with you. I’d like request some help looking for them, if you could spare some people.”

“I already instructed Brock to do whatever was necessary to locate them. Brock is the head of our security patrols. He’s doubled them and had them searching.”

Again Nicholas found himself shocked.
Is there no end to these people’s kindness?
he thought. “You are on top of everything here. Very impressive.”

“It’s our responsibility to help one another, even strangers.”

“I have another request. One in our group was killed. We’d like your permission to bury him here.”

“Of course,” Chad said. He looked at Sally and continued, “Sally, take care of the arrangements and make sure there are flowers.” He looked back at Nicholas and offered, “Do you need a clergyman to officiate a religious service?”

“Let me check.”

“One last item, where can we park our trailer and camp?” Nicholas asked.

“No need to camp, I’ve arranged for several vacant houses to be made available for your stay. No need to be roughing it,” Chad replied, smiling.

“Um, that’s not necessary.”

“Why would you want to sleep on the ground? Just use a few houses; your back will thank me.”

“Fine, we’ll do that.”

“Good, Brock will take you to them. Take care, Mr. McNeil, and nice meeting you, Mr. Somerville, and please seriously consider our offer.”

“I’ll say goodbye, then. I’ll get back to you soon about our decision on your generous offer,” Nicholas said as he stood.

Brock escorted them back to the Suburban.

When the door closed and they had their privacy, Colin asked, “Whatcha think?”

“Not sure. My gut says, wow, what a nice place. I mean, look, fucking kids are over there jumping and playing, but my head says this is too good to be true.”

“Which you going with?” Colin asked.

“A combination of both.”

Vista, CA

Vincent looked at his blood-covered hands, then to Ron’s body below him. The four-inch incision he had made on his lower abdomen was seeping blood and thick pus. There was no doubt the second he opened Ron that he had an infection, but the infection was far worse than he had imagined, and it even appeared that some of his tissue surrounding the wound and much more internally had begun to decay, meaning that gangrene might have set in. There were so many reasons why Ron didn’t survive the surgery, but his ultimate prognosis hadn’t been good regardless. Vincent thought that more than likely he had also developed sepsis, a fatal blood infection if left untreated. The trauma Vincent was feeling was nothing in comparison to what Bridgette or Noah were experiencing.

The scene was bloody and gruesome but made worse with Bridgette’s wailing grief. She sat next to Ron’s body and held his lifeless hand.

Noah stood next to her. Tears of pain and loss streamed down his innocent face and dripped from his chin.

There were no words to describe this scene except tragic.

Vincent finally spoke. “I’m so sorry. I am so very sorry.”

Bridgette wailed.

Noah looked at Vincent, but his quivering lips didn’t mutter a word.

Vincent felt uncomfortable and in some ways like an intruder on a very private moment. He stood up and went to the bathroom. He turned the handle and was surprised to see water pour from the rubbed bronze faucet. He washed the thickening blood from his hands with cold water and toweled off.

Bridgette’s wails continued to echo off the walls and tile floors.

He walked back into the bedroom and found them exactly where he had left them. He contemplated trying to comfort her but then dissuaded himself, thinking that was inappropriate. The Marines had taught him a lot, but failed to give him instruction on how to handle these types of situations.

“I’m going to step out for a bit. Let me know if I can help with, um,” he said but cut himself short because the next word was
body
. It just all sounded too morbid. He turned the knob on the door when Bridgette cried out.

“Don’t go, please.”

“I can stay.”

“If you need to step out, I understand, but don’t leave, stay,” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were swollen with tears, and snot hung from her dripping nose.

“I’m going to step out, but I’ll stay. I won’t leave you, I promise,” he said and deeply meant it. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“You did nothing wrong. It’s this fucking world!” she suddenly screamed, her anger stemming from a deep emotional loss.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Vincent said and left. When he closed the door, he rested his weight against it and sighed. He looked up and out loud said, “I guess I was wrong, God, you didn’t keep me alive to save lives.”

CHAPTER THREE

“Every person has free choice. Free to obey or disobey the Natural Laws. Your choice determines the consequences. Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.” – Alfred A. Montapert

Wellsville, Utah