Arcadia (Book 1): Damn The Dead (15 page)

Chapter 21

Opening arguments were brief. Ed Connors spoke for less than fifteen minutes. Char’s attorney talked for twenty. The twelve jurors appeared to listen intently to both attorneys. Char couldn’t gauge their reactions to anything stated.

“Prosecution, are you ready to proceed?” Judge Walton said.

“We are, your honor,” Connor said.

“You may call your first witness.”

Ed Connors stood by his table and shuffled through some documents. He took a moment to bang them lightly on the table and evened them up sliding his palm over the top before setting them back down. “Prosecution calls to the witness stand, Benjamin Forti.”

Char sucked in a breath and held it. She turned around to see if he’d entered the courtroom. The door to the hallway opened. Benjamin was led in by an officer. He was walked down the center aisle, head down as if unwilling to look Char in the eye.

Carl Trieste set a hand on her thigh. There was nothing sexual about the gesture. She knew he was merely trying silently to ask that she control her reaction. The jury would be watching. They’d see everything she did, every expression she made.

“He’s testifying for them,” she said. She thought she might be whispering. She worried that everyone heard her question.

He patted her thigh, a lame attempt at reining her in.

Benjamin took a seat in the witness box. He was dressed in his police uniform.

Ed Connors went through preliminary questioning, establishing that he knew both the victims and the suspect in question, that he was with them at the Bent Elbow on the night of the murders, and that he had witnessed the events from start to finish.

Benjamin’s answers were simple
yes
responses. They required little else.

Char willed him to look up at her. His eyes rarely looked away from his own lap. He didn’t make eye contact with the prosecutor or the jurors seated in the box to his left. His answers were weak and barely audible. She wrapped an arm across her stomach, she didn’t like the way he testified. Something was about to happen.

“And, Mr. Forti, can you tell us about what happened that night in the Bent Elbow, starting with when Olivia Ragone, Jason Iamuzzi, and Frank Broadhurst entered the bar? In your own words, Mr. Forti. Please.” Connors stood with his back to the defense. He stared directly at the jurors while addressing Benjamin.

Char hadn’t known the names of the other people with Broadhurst. It didn’t change anything for her. If put in the same, or even a similar situation, she’d still have killed them.

Benjamin recounted events truthfully. Char listened to every word said as if someone narrated while the events replayed in her mind. It was almost like sitting in a movie theater. She didn’t cringe, or close her eyes. She felt no remorse.

“Olivia Ragone died from a gunshot wound. Did you see who shot Ms. Ragone?”

Benjamin nodded his head.

“You have to respond verbally,” Connors said. “Did you see who shot Ms. Ragone?”

“Yes.”

“And was it the defendant, Ms. McKinney.”

Carl Trieste stood up. “Objection. Leading.”

Judge Walton nodded. “Sustained.”

“Can you identify the person who shot Ms. Ragone?” Connors said.

“Yes.”

Connors waited a moment, but when Benjamin did not continue, he said, “And is that person in this room today?”

“Yes.”

“Can you point to that person for the jury?”

Benjamin pointed in Char’s direction.

“Are you identifying Ms. McKinney?” Connors said.

“Yes, but Ms. Ragone had pulled out a knife.”

“Had Ms. Ragone attacked the defendant with the knife?”

“No, but—”

Ed Connors did not let Benjamin finish. “Mr. Forti, after the defendant shot and killed Ms. Ragone, did there come a point when you informed Ms. McKinney to stop?”

Benjamin pressed his chin to his chest.

Char adjusted the way she sat in the chair, leaning forward, her ribs to the table.

“I didn’t hear you answer, Mr. Forti.”

“Repeat the question, please.”

“Isn’t it true that, not only did you tell Ms. McKinney to stop, but that you told the defendant multiple times to let you handle the situation?”

It was one of the few times that she caught him looking up. He didn’t look at her. He looked at the jury. She wished she could see his eyes.

“Mr. Forti?”

“I did tell her to stop,” Benjamin said. He looked at his attorney. Their eyes locked. “The situation was still volatile, but—”

“And did she stop?”

“No, but Broadhurst still had—”

“And how many times did you tell Ms. McKinney that you would handle this, that you wanted her to stop so you could handle the situation?”

“You are not letting me answ—”

“Answer the question asked, Mr. Forti.”

Trieste stood up. “I object, your honor. Prosecution is badgering his own witness.”

“It’s my witness,” Connors said.

“Overruled, Mr. Trieste. Mr. Connors, if you ask your witness a question, I would like to hear his entire answer, if you don’t mind,” Judge Walton said. “Proceed.”

“Read back the last question, please?” Connors said to the person taking notes. There was no stenographer.

“And how many times did you tell Ms. McKinney that you would handle this, that you wanted her to stop so you could handle the situation?”

“Thank you,” Connors said, then turned to his client and repeated the question.

“A couple.”

“How many times is a couple?” Connors said.

“I’m not sure.”

Connors turned to look at the jurors. “More than once?”

“Yes.”

“Five times?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Between two and four times?”

“I don’t think I said stop, or let me handle this four times.”

“Between two and three times?”

Benjamin nodded.

“You actually need to answer,” Connors said. “Did you tell Ms. McKinney to stop and let you handle the situation between two and three times that evening?”

“That sounds about right,” he said.

“Did she know you were a deputy? That you are a public figure with some authority in Arcadia?”

Char hated seeing Ben testify. She could tell he did not want to be up there, that he might be forced to testify. She figured the mayor was behind it, or possibly the sheriff. She couldn’t say anything though. Everything asked and answered so far had been nothing but the truth.

“She knew.”

“How do you know she knew?”

“She’d seen me in my uniform, I imagine. I’d mentioned it to her, as well, I guess.”

“Objection. Calls for speculation,” Trieste said.

“Sustained,” Judge Walton said.

“Did the defendant ever see you in your uniform?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wear a badge on your uniform?”

“Yes.”

“So she knew you were a deputy. She heard you tell her to stop and let you handle the fight. And yet, she didn’t listen to your commands.”

“Objection,” Trieste said. “Counsel is merely summarizing.”

“Do you have a question for your witness, Mr. Connors?” Judge Walton said.

“Just a few more.”

Connors enjoyed the drama. It was evident. He was into the theatrics. Char wanted to punch him the face. Even in the midst of an apocalypse people strived for personal success. She figured this guy wanted to win cases to vie for the mayor’s seat during the next election. It was the only motivation she could fathom for why he acted like such an asshole.

“Did you then witness Ms. McKinney stab Frank Broadhurst?”

“I did.”

“Where did she stab him?”

“The chest. But he was holding Charlene’s —Ms. McKinney’s friend hostage.”

“Hostage?”

“Broadhurst had Sam by the head, was threatening to snap his neck.” Benjamin sounded angry, and spoke for the first time with animation. He sat forward with his hands up, arms out, and trying to convey what happened with his actions.

“And this was when you commanded Ms. McKinney to stop and let you handle the situation.”

“I didn’t command her,” Benjamin said.

“Did you, or did you not to tell Ms. McKinney to stop, and let you handle the situation?”

Trieste stood up. “Objection. Asked and answered.”

“Sustained. Move on, Counselor.”

Connors pursed his lips. Being chastised didn’t bode well for him. “Did Ms. McKinney listen to you when you told her to stop and let you handle the situation?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it true that right after you told her to stop, and stand down, that she attacked Broadhurst and stabbed him in the chest?”

“Yes.”

“Did he die when she stabbed him in the chest?”

“Objection,” Trieste said. “We’ve not be given any supporting evidence to show Benjamin Forti’s medical background.”

“Sustained.”

Connors smiled. “Do you believe Frank Broadhurst was dead when Ms. McKinney stabbed him in the chest?”

“He could have been.”

“Did Ms. McKinney believe Frank Broadhurst was dead after she stabbed him in the chest?”

“Objection, calls for speculation.”

“Sustained,” Judge Walton said.

“How many times did Ms. McKinney stab Frank Broadhurst in the chest?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it more than once?”

“Yes.”

“More than five times?”

“I don’t know.”

“Less than five times?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t be positive.”

“If I told you that Frank Broadhurst was stabbed at least seven times, would that sound reasonable?”

“I don’t know.”

“He was. He was stabbed seven times.”

Trieste banged a fist on the table as he jumped to his feet. “Objection. Counsel is testifying.”

“Sustained.”

Chapter 22

The two day murder trial was over, the jury deliberating.

Char sat Indian style on a bed without sheets or a blanket in her cell. She stared at the grey cinder walls. Outside thunder boomed. She could hear the wind whine as it whipped through the town. A storm seemed fitting; matched her mood. She did not think she’d have long to stew. The jury would be quick to render a decision.

Carl Trieste informed her that Sam and Tony had been cremated. They didn’t bury people inside the walls of Arcadia. He promised she’d receive the urns with the ashes as soon as they were available. She wished she’d had one more chance to see them. Saying goodbye to a box filled with their remains just didn’t seem like it would be the same.

Her attorney indicated that there was no change in Grace’s condition. She was still alive, breathing on her own, but remained in a coma. Char figured the bangs on the head from the ride inside the trailer didn’t help. She’d been certain her friend already suffered from a concussion. Getting cracked in the head at the Bent Elbow probably only exacerbated the original injury.

She hated the loneliness she felt. Entering the town, the mayor, the sheriff, and even the priestess had fawned over them. She wasn’t surprised no one came to see her, but that didn’t make it hurt less.

Where was Ben?

She thought, maybe hoped, that he would see if she was all right, or if she needed anything. The last time she’d seen him was when he testified against her in the court. It felt like weeks ago. It felt like she’d been sitting and staring at nothing for weeks. It may have been for days. She had some idea of time by the food trays brought, and taken away untouched. There was dinner, breakfast, lunch, and just moments ago her dinner tray was removed.

She wasn’t hungry.

The deputies didn’t seem to care if she ate or not.

A clap of thunder sounded like it had erupted directly over the City Hall. Without windows she could only imagine the flashes of lightning that must be like white fire finger-stepping across the sky.

Dispatch didn’t like thunder. Char hoped that he was okay, that he’d met up with Tony’s horse and the two were far from the storm.

Although she couldn’t see them, outside her cell she could hear two deputies talking.

“You are missing the point,” one said. “In zombie movies, the epidemic starts slow. Like one or two people are infected, and then they bite one or two people, and those four bite more, ya know? And so the virus spreads slowly. The military, they got time to get a handle on things before it’s outta control. But in the real world, everybody and their grandmother got one of them flu shots. Think about that. Everyone turned into a freakin’ zombie at about the same time. You know how crazy it was.”

“You think it’s going to settle down even more?” the other deputy said.

“I figure, it’s gotta. The zombies seem to starve to death. Well —the ones outside Arcadia, anyway. Unless they’re freshly turned, they’re slow as shit.”

“We hole up here a few more years, and maybe everything will get restored back to normal,” the second deputy said.

“Be nice, but I like it here. Everyone is pretty cool. We take care of each other. . .” the first deputy said.

“Except for a murder now and then,” the second deputy said.

“I don’t even mind that. As long as it ain’t too often. We’re a lot like the U.S. as a country, ya know? We gotta patrol our borders better. We can’t be letting aliens in left and right. Eventually they’ll destroy what we’ve built. We got a prisoner that’s proof of that.”

Char fell back onto the mattress. She still had a pillow. She put it over her head and pressed the sides tight against her ears.

She didn’t want to listen to them talk anymore. She didn’t care what they had to say.

Closing her eyes seemed like the best escape. She didn’t know if she could fall asleep, but wanted to try.

As she welcomed the darkness, the steady sound of her heart beating, and the solitude, she thought she missed something.

Sleep was coming.

She knew she was drifting.

Someone had said something important, though.

She just didn’t know what, or when it was said. 

#  #  #

Char was on her knees. Large raindrops fell from a black sky. Soaked, and shivering from the cold, she clawed at the ground scooping mud away in search of something she’d buried in the woods. Her fingers were bent and cramped like claws.

From every direction infected closed in on her.

They stumbled forward, moaning that hollow moan that filled her with fear.

She hated their moaning.

She hated the infected.

If she stood up, there’d be nowhere to run. She was surrounded.

She concentrated on digging. What she looked for was here. It had to be. She just couldn’t remember what it was she hoped to find.

Thunder echoed in her ears. She thought her ear drums might pop.

The infected were so close. Despite the wind that whipped about around her, and despite the rain, she could smell them.

The infected were rank, raw with decay.

Inside the hole she’d dug, her fingertips scraped across something that was not muddy earth.

She’d found it, whatever it was.

She almost screamed with joy!

She did scream.

Not because she’d found what had been buried, but because they had her. . .the infected were falling onto her.

She lost her balance, overpowered by the infected attacking, and fell into the hole she’d dug. The hole was several feet deep. She crashed on the bottom, surprised that the hole had been so long, and wide, and deep.

The infected did not fall in after her. They gathered around the edges of the rectangular shaped hole and reached down for her, their fingers curling and uncurling in a desperate attempt to grasp any part of her body.

At least she was safe.

They weren’t coming in after her.

The rain fell faster, harder.

The bottom of the hole began filling with water. It rose to over her feet. It didn’t stop when it passed her knees.

She paced around on the bottom of the hole. The reprieve of feeling safe was short lived as the water rose to her waist.

The infected faces oozed loose flesh. It splashed into the deepening pool of rainwater that she stood in. She looked into glazed over eyes. There was nothing human left in them.

Tony had been wrong.

They were not infected. They were zombies.

The rain fell relentlessly from above, and the water levels continued to rise. Char couldn’t touch bottom. She had to tread water.

Zombies didn’t like the rain.

Why were they here? Why had they come for her? Why hadn’t they run off to hide?

She was swimming now. The water, like an elevator, lifted her closer to the outstretched arms and reaching hands of monsters that desired only to tear her apart, limb by limb.

Plugging her nose, she went under water. She kicked and swam for the bottom. There had to be an exit, another way out. It was down here at the bottom of the hole. She knew it.

Her lungs burned.

She wouldn’t be able to hold her breath for much longer.

Feeling along the bottom of the hole she knew she’d find, if anything, a drain plug. Once pulled, the water would recede. She’d be safe.

There was no way she could stay under. Not even for a second more. She kicked off the bottom and swam toward the surface. The moon was bright above the shimmy of the water, but she could see little else.

Her head popped up out of the water, and while she planned to suck in a breath of air and dive back down, it wasn’t what happened.

Fingers twisted in her hair and yanked her up and out of the grave size pool.

She screamed.

They had her.

She was on her back, struggling. She kicked and punched at the zombies as they closed in on her. They said her name, over and over. At first it came in a moan, “Charrrrrrr. Chhhhhaaaarrrr.”

It changed, becoming more high pitched, and less gravelly sounding. “Chhaarr! Charrr!”

They had mouths open, teeth exposed and were ready to bite. . .

“Char! Char!”

She screamed for help, for someone, anyone to help!

She sat up. Eyes wide open. She was alone in her prison cell. There were no infected around her.

No one calling her name.

Shivering, she hugged herself.

Outside, the thunder continued to disrupt the night.

She was hungry. Cold, alone, scared, and suddenly very hungry.