Desperate Times Three - Revolution (4 page)

“What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Holy shit!” Julie said, slapping her hand to her forehead. “How do you suppose his friends are going to take this? Somebody has to go tell them.”

“Don’t look at me. Doc can handle that. I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

From down below, the sound of Paula’s renewed shouting began to reverberate inside the confines of the small kitchen. The words they could decipher were language that was strictly forbidden in the Dahlgren household. Julie groaned and Jimmy closed his eyes and shook his head. Things were coming unhinged, and he felt powerless to stop whatever was to come. There were sounds of banging and thumping, and something crashed hard on the concrete floor. Paula continued to rant and rave, and Jimmy waited for Ken to appear in the kitchen and charge downstairs. But he never did.

A moment later, the commotion suddenly died away as quickly as it had begun.

“I don’t like this,” said Julie.

Jimmy looked at her and covered his face. “I don’t like it, either,” he replied. “This is so bad.”

“We should go down there.”

“Let them figure it out. Trust me, we do not want to get in the middle of this.”

“We don’t know what’s happening down there.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t think we want to know.”

Julie stared at Jimmy for a minute and then turned and walked away. He followed her into the empty living room that was lit by a single candle and out into the porch. The porch was lit by two lanterns and they found Cindy sitting on her father’s bedside, while Bill snored away in blissful ignorance of the situation brewing in the basement.

“What are we going to do?” Cindy asked, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.

Julie rushed to her and wrapped her arms around Cindy, who looked completely lost. “There, there,” said Julie. “Everything will work itself out, you’ll see.”

“What happened down there?” Cindy asked, looking at Jimmy as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Doc looks like a crazy man.”

“Doc’s in love with Paula,” Jimmy answered, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“I think that says enough,” said Julie. “Jimmy, if you love me you’ll go down there and see what’s going on. I’ve got a really bad feeling about this. One of them should have been up here by now.”

“Maybe they took Vetter back to his people,” Jimmy said, not believing it. “That’s what Ken told him to do.”

“Fine,” said Julie. “And you’ll know that if you go down there. I’m going to stay here with Cindy and Bill. Run down there quick and check on them. Please?”

Jimmy stood there for a long moment and said nothing. He knew he had to go, but every fiber in his body told him that he wanted nothing more to do with the nightmare unfolding down in the basement workshop. Finally, Jimmy nodded his head. He had been cornered and knew it. He walked back into the living room and grabbed the holster that contained Ken’s Smith & Wesson. He cinched the belt loosely around his waist and found that the big revolver felt good on his hip.

He took a deep breath and continued on into the kitchen.

Jimmy paused at top of the stairs. “Doc?” he called. “Is everything okay down there?”

The basement was quiet; the silence was enough to make the hair on the back of Jimmy’s neck stand straight up. As a young child, Jimmy had always been afraid of something in the basement of the Dahlgren lake home. The dark shadows surrounding the massive octopus-style furnace had frightened him; coupled with the dungeon-like smells and dingy light, it was a place he rarely visited alone. He slowly took the next step and the wooden stair groaned under his weight. “Paula? Are you two still down there?”

Jimmy stared down into the faint orange glow of the flickering light and took another two steps down. His nostrils were suddenly assaulted by the smell of cooking meat, and the smell sickened him. Something inside his brain screamed at him to turn around and as it continued to beg him to do so, as he slowly made his way down the stairs. The basement was utterly silent as his feet settled on the concrete floor. “Doc?”

Jimmy unholstered the Smith & Wesson and drew back the hammer with a loud metallic click. He steeled himself against what lay around the corner and slowly moved forward.

Nate Vetter would never steal another man’s woman; not in this world. “Oh, shit,” Jimmy hissed, trying not to look at the body. From the looks of it,
someone
had tried to sever Vetter’s head with Ken’s double-bitted axe. The killer had nearly succeeded as the floor was covered in dark red blood. Beyond Vetter’s body was the wooden door to the small storage room where the other men hid out to smoke their cigarettes. The door was open a few inches.

“Jimmy!” shouted Ken’s voice from the top of the stairs, sending his pulse skyrocketing. “What’s going on down there?”

“Stay upstairs,” Jimmy said after taking a deep breath. Ken had nearly given him a heart attack. “You don’t want to see this.”

The next sound was of Ken’s heavy footsteps clomping down the wooden staircase. A few seconds later, gun in hand, he was standing next to Jimmy. “Son-of-a-bitch,” muttered Ken. “What next?”

Jimmy had a good idea what was next and pointed toward the open door. “I think Doc and Paula are in there,” he whispered.

“Doc?” called Ken. “Come on out of there. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” replied Doc’s voice from behind the door.

Jimmy and Ken exchanged a look and stood their ground. Jimmy’s eyes rested on the white skin of the amputated hand that was still sitting on the workbench. Jimmy quickly looked away, but his stomach rolled at the memory. He should have tried to stop Doc; he now knew it, and his conscience was never going to let him forget that. He was partially to blame for all of this.

“Open the door,” Ken said, raising his chin as he did so. “I need you to come out of there.”

“I’m sorry,” Doc whimpered. “I guess I went a little crazy. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“We know that, Doc,” Jimmy said. “Come on out and we’ll help you.”

“You should have warned me about her, kid. She made me do it. She was an evil bitch and I loved her so damn much.”

Jimmy felt a pang in his heart as he realized that Paula was dead. Somehow, he had hoped that she had escaped out the garage door.

Sadly, Ken shook his head. “Where is she, Doc? Is she in there with you?”

“No, she’s out in the garage. You might not want to go in there, I’m afraid she isn’t so pretty, not anymore. I’m sorry… I’m so damn sorry for all of this.”

“Old-timer, I’m coming in. Don’t do anything foolish, okay? I want to help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Doc replied in a weak voice. “I’m done for.”

Jimmy watched as Ken slowly opened the door. There Doc sat, holding his head in his large hands. He was covered from head to toe in bright red blood. Doc looked up at Ken like a guilty child. “I’m sorry, Ken,” he whispered. “She was going to tell Julie everything... She was a bad person, but I loved her.”

Jimmy was fairly certain what Paula was planning to tell Julie. They had been kidding themselves to think that the others wouldn’t figure out that she was pregnant. Jimmy could see the syringe and the empty vial on the concrete floor, and he knew that Doc wasn’t long for this world. He stifled his tears as he watched Ken set his gun on the workbench and embrace his old friend. Doc wrapped his arms around Ken and wept bitterly. This was the first time that Jimmy had seen Ken hug any man, and the significance of that hit him hard. He turned away and lit up a cigarette.

By the time he had finished smoking, Doc was dead.

Ken, his bare arms smeared with blood, picked up his gun and wiped the tears from his eyes as he brushed past Jimmy. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to go tell Dundlemore about this.” He picked up a flashlight and flicked it on. Yellow light shone up into the cobwebs covering the twisted tangle of ductwork.

“Yeah,” Jimmy replied, hating the thought of it.

Jimmy groaned as Ken opened the garage door and shone the beam of light inside. Ken’s head suddenly rocked back as if he’d been punched. He quickly closed the door. “Follow me,” he said. “We’ll take the stairs.”

Julie was waiting for them at the kitchen door as they hit the landing. “How bad is it?” she asked.

“Don’t go down there,” Ken ordered. “Doc and Paula are dead. Don’t let anyone down there. Do you hear me?”

Julie put her hand over her mouth and nodded. “Oh, Ken,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

Julie gave Jimmy a sorrowful look as she closed the back door to the kitchen. This was no time for them to discuss what had happened. Paula’s days of getting under their skin were over, and Jimmy was still adjusting to that reality. Despite everything, he found that he was terribly saddened by what had happened. He needed to come to terms with it, and soon.

Ken stuffed his handgun, a snub-nosed .38, into the back pocket of his jeans and pointed to Jimmy’s holstered gun. “Conceal that and leave the holster here. I don’t think you’ll need it, but we sure as hell aren’t taking any chances.” Ken spat bitterly into the grass and began to walk, training the flashlight beam in front of them.

The bonfire next door was bright orange and lit up the night sky. Ted Nugent’s guitar echoed in the trees, and alcohol-fueled voices laughed cheerily from the other side of the wall. The party would soon be over, thought Jimmy.

He would remember this moment for a long time as the calm before the storm.

"Years ago, it meant something to be crazy. Now everyone's crazy." ~ Charles Manson

They were twenty feet from the gate when Ken’s flashlight beam fell upon a dark form lying on the grass. A second passed before Jimmy recognized the form as belonging to Nate Vetter’s tattooed friend. Kyle was flat on his back and didn’t move as they approached. Ken shone the beam into the young man’s face and Jimmy grimaced. Kyle’s vacant eyes were open wide, and white foam bubbled from his yawning mouth.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” mumbled Ken, leaning over and pressing two fingers against the young man’s carotid artery. He pulled his fingers away and shook his head before wiping his hand on the grass. “This is just great,” he growled. “Like I don’t have enough shit to deal with right now. God damn it!”

Jimmy looked away from the body and followed Ken as he led the way over to the raucous party next door. Ken strode straight over to the source of the music, a battered Dodge Neon and pointed at a young man who was thumbing through a stack of CDs.

“Shut that off,” Ken said, pointing to the glowing stereo mounted into the dash of the small Dodge. “I’ve got something to say.”

“Blow it out your ass, old man,” replied the husky kid.

Ken casually drove his knee into the kid’s stomach with enough force to send him flat on his back. The young man rolled on the grass, moaning as he held his stomach. Ken reached inside the Dodge and shut off the music, and all eyes slowly turned on Jimmy and Ken.

“Hey, buddy,” Mark Dundlemore said, a confused smile playing at the corner of his lips. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“We’ve got a problem,” Ken said.

A beer can suddenly hit Ken in the chest and exploded, showering both Jimmy and Ken in cold liquid. A cheer erupted from the crowd of young men that was followed by roaring jackass laughter. Ken slowly wiped the beer from his face and stared coldly at Dundlemore, who looked amused by what had happened.

“Turn the music back on, Ken,” Dundlemore ordered. “And then go back home.”

“Not until you hear what I have to say.”

Another beer can flew by Ken’s ear, and Jimmy could plainly see who had thrown it. Ken’s face was bright red, and the veins in his neck were pulsing with blood.

“You’re an asshole,” Dundlemore said. “You and your buddy had better go home before you get hurt.”

The beer can thrower was reaching inside the cooler as Ken withdrew the Smith & Wesson and began walking toward him. The kid shrieked at the sight of the blue steel and held his hands in the air. “Dude, it’s cool,” he moaned as Ken stuck the barrel of the pistol under the young man’s chin.

Jimmy had also seen enough and pulled the .357 from the back of his jeans and trained it on Dundlemore. “If you open your mouth again, I’ll blow your goddamn head off!”

“There’s been enough killing tonight,” Ken shouted to the group, which Jimmy calculated to number somewhere between twenty and thirty. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that one of my people lost his mind tonight and killed the owner of that there motorhome,” Ken added, pointing with his free hand. “There’s another of your group just on the other side of my wall. He’s dead too. I think he choked to death on his own puke. The man who killed your friend also killed that pretty blonde that was over here. He then killed himself. Like I said, there has been enough death.”

Ken paused, and a hushed murmur rose from around the crackling fire. Mark Dundlemore looked as if he were about to protest, and Jimmy drew back the hammer with a loud, satisfying click.

“I’m going to need four guys to come over and retrieve the bodies of your people,” Ken said. He moved closer to the fire and pointed at a group of young men with the barrel of the .38. “You four, come with me,” Ken ordered. “This won’t take long.”

“You too,” Jimmy said to Mark Dundlemore, waving him to follow the others. “I want you to see this.”

“How do we know they’re safe?” asked a voice from the crowd.

“Because I goddamn said so!” bellowed Ken, twisting back to stare wild-eyed at the throng of interrupted partiers.

He was met by only silence.

The four young men Ken had chosen began to hurry away from the firelight ahead of Ken. They were followed by Mark Dundlemore and Jimmy. The group said nothing as Ken led the way with the beam of his flashlight. A moment later they were inside the wall, hovering over a pasty-faced Kyle.

“You two,” Ken said, motioning to the smallest of the young men. “Drag him out of here.”

“It’s Kyle,” one of the young men whispered.

They stood and waited as the limp body was dragged across the grass and out the open gate into the blackness. Ken motioned with the flashlight to the side of the house. “Come on,” he said. “The other one is in the basement.”

“How do we know you’re not going to kill us?” Dundlemore asked, raising his hands in the air. “I don’t trust either of you assholes.”

“You should have thought of that before you opened your big fat mouth,” replied Ken.

“And if you open it again, I’m going to knock your teeth out,” added Jimmy. “Now get moving!”

There were no more words as they trudged up the short hill at the side of the house. The night air was still and cemetery quiet. Jimmy watched Dundlemore without pity as he turned back to face him. The older man looked scared to death as he was ushered inside the back door and down the creaking stairs. Jimmy followed the group down and wasn’t surprised to see one of the young men rush to the laundry tub and retch at the sight of Vetter’s nearly decapitated body in the yellow light of the oil lantern. Again, Dundlemore turned to stare at Jimmy with accusatory eyes. He was blaming them for Doc’s killing spree, and Jimmy found that he didn’t care.

“That’s Doc in the back room,” Ken said, pointing to Doc who had slumped back into the wooden chair. “Apparently he had a problem with your friend here moving in on his woman. Ya know, a guy should really think of stuff like that before he tries to step into another man’s shoes. Some guys end up like your friend. A damn shame, really. So young…” He rummaged around under the workbench and produced a small, paint-spattered tarp. He tossed it down next to the body. “You can wrap him up in that,” he said, nodding toward the severed hand on the workbench. “And don’t forget that.”

“Cut the bullshit, Dahlgren,” Dundlemore said as the third of their number reappeared, white faced and wiping the vomit from his chin. “Let’s just get this over with. There’s going to be an investigation, do you hear me? Things are back to normal now, and you can’t go around killing whoever you like. We have laws again.”

“Do you doubt what I’ve told you?” Ken asked, narrowing his eyes at Dundlemore.

“I certainly do. How do I know that he’s the one who killed poor Nate? God rest his soul,” Dundlemore asked, nodding to Doc. “And we’re supposed to just take your word for it that the blonde girl is dead? You could be holding her against her will.”

“Yeah,” agreed one of the young men.

Ken’s eyes grew large, and he pointed to Vetter’s body. “Pick him up, right now. Don’t worry about the stairs. We’re going out through the garage.”

Jimmy’s breath caught in his throat at the words. He had no desire to see what Doc had done to Paula, and his imagination ran wild at the thought of it. Still, he knew that sooner or later, he and Ken would have to haul both bodies out back and bury them with the others. He watched as Ken hoisted the bottle of whiskey and took a long pull on the amber liquid. Jimmy brushed past the dumb-struck Dundlemore and took the bottle from Ken as Vetter’s body was rolled up in the spotted blue tarp.

“Don’t forget his hand,” growled Ken. “Pick it up, Dundlemore. You carry it.”

Mark Dundlemore’s jaw dropped as he stared at the ivory-colored stump of hand. “Do you have a bag or something I could put it in?”

Ken raised his handgun and pointed it between Dundlemore’s eyes. “Nope,” he said, “just deal with it, asshole. I’m done messing around.”

Jimmy watched as the ashen-faced Dundlemore picked up the severed hand by the tip of the index finger. He held it out in front of himself as if it were a soiled diaper. Ken reached up and unhooked the glowing oil lantern from its perch above the workbench and handed it to Jimmy. “Take this,” he said. “All right, follow me. Watch your step, boys; the garage is kind of a mess.”

With Ken leading the way, followed closely by a clearly disgusted Dundlemore, the procession moved to the garage door. Ken gave Jimmy a solemn nod just before he opened the door and disappeared inside.

“Oh, my God!” gasped Mark Dundlemore. “What the hell happened in here?”

Jimmy held the door open for the men carrying Vetter’s body and felt sweat bead up on his forehead. He steeled himself against what was to come and slowly followed them into the garage, holding the lantern up in front of him.

Leaning against the garage wall was Ken’s double-bitted axe. The head and upper axe handle looked as if they had been painted red. The garage was thick with the smell of spilled blood. Mark Dundlemore doubled over and vomited where he stood.

“Still believe she isn’t dead?” Ken asked, unsympathetically. “Maybe you’d like to check her pulse?”

There was blood everywhere, splattered on all four walls and completely covering the floor.

Jimmy stared at the savaged body and found that he couldn’t imagine Doc having done such a thing. How many swings he had taken with the axe was hard to tell. Jimmy estimated it to be somewhere between fifty and a hundred. The most haunting aspect was that Doc had been careful not to strike Paula in the face. She stared back at them with terrified eyes, her jaw hung open in a silent scream. Jimmy quickly looked away, but not before the scene was imprinted permanently in his memory.

“What kind of people are you?” Dundlemore asked, waiting for Ken to hoist the garage door.

Ken quit fumbling with the chain lock just long enough to reply. “We’re Americans,” he said, as if it was some sort of revelation.

After Mark Dundlemore and his young friends had disappeared outside the gate, Jimmy and Ken closed it tight and dropped the lock into place. One at a time, they silently hauled the bodies out to the shed and began cleaning up the horrible mess that Doc had made. Ken used an old string mop in the garage while Jimmy used a bucket and a sponge in the workshop. One thing they both had learned about blood: you never wanted it to sit for too long. Jimmy was smoking a cigarette as Ken pushed his mop bucket in from the garage and over to the washtub. He dumped the bucket into the tub and rinsed it out before sticking the mop head under the faucet. Jimmy watched Ken as he worked and quietly worried about his friend. He had so much on his plate; Patty was upstairs in what Doc had called critical condition, and now Doc was gone.

“Guys,” Julie called from the top of the stairs. “You’d better get up here and see this.”

Jimmy and Ken exchanged a glance and began to move to the stairs.

“Oh, my God,” exclaimed Julie. “I think they’re going to attack us!”

“Get up there!” Ken ordered Jimmy. “I’ll go out through the garage and meet you out front. Hurry!”

Jimmy charged up the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the living room. Julie was standing there and tossed Jimmy his assault rifle. One of the steel ammo boxes was open on the table, and Jimmy began stuffing loaded clips into his waistband. Julie deftly slapped a clip into her own M-16, picked up the ammo box and waved Jimmy to the front porch where Cindy, dressed in her pajamas and a bathrobe, stood at the window.

“Cindy,” called Jimmy. “Quick, douse the lights!”

Following Julie through the front door, Jimmy ran to the edge of the deck and took a deep breath as he saw the cause for Julie’s concern. The motorhome had been positioned in the grassy area near the lake, directly across from their gate. Dozens of dark forms stood around the motorhome, and one man stood defiantly on top; it was Mark Dundlemore. “Dahlgren!” he shouted. “Either you come out here willingly, or we’re coming in to get you! You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to our friends!”

Jimmy dropped his sights on Dundlemore, and Julie quickly pushed the barrel away. “Wait,” she hissed. “We’re not firing the first shots.”

“Pay for what?” roared Ken from the darkness below. “I explained to you what happened!”

“Do you hear that?” Dundlemore asked his cronies. “He said he explained what happened. You all saw Nate’s body. They butchered him!”

“We didn’t butcher anyone!” shouted Jimmy. “The man who killed your friends is dead. You saw him!”

Illuminated by the roaring fire next door, Dundlemore danced like a court jester on top of the idling motorhome, clearly angry at being challenged. “You should have stopped him!” he screeched. “You were responsible for their safety, Dahlgren! You allowed those kids to be murdered! Come out here like a man and face your punishment!”

“Kiss my ass!” shouted Ken. “And get that goddamn motorhome off my property. You’ve got two minutes!”

Dundlemore jittered about on his stage like a man on fire. “Did you hear him?” he shrieked to his followers. “He’s telling us to get off of his property!”

“Oh, my God,” whispered Cindy from behind them. “That guy’s a lunatic.”

“Worse,” replied Julie. “He’s a lunatic with an army.”

“I’m going up on the wall,” Jimmy said. “Julie, you stay here and give me cover. I think they’re going to try and ram the gate. Cindy, we need you. Grab a rifle and go out back behind the woodpile. Shoot anything that moves.”