DEAD: Snapshot (Book 3): Liberty, South Carolina, Page 2

  “Glad to see I’m not the only person awake at this hour,” she mumbled as she glanced up at the clock on the wall. It read just past three in the morning.

  She hit the save button on her open spreadsheet file and started closing down her computer. She paused on her email and was about to close that as well when something caught her attention on the muted television sitting on the shelf to the right of the coffee pot. Opening her top drawer, she grabbed the remote and increased the volume.

  There was a man holding a microphone with a large military truck as his background. The man looked nervous and kept glancing to his right, wincing from time to time as he spoke words she could not yet hear. That alone had not been enough to grab her attention. It was the banner at the bottom of the screen that had done the job. The banner read: Multiple fatalities at the junction of Highway 178 and 123 closes major route to all traffic. That was just a mile or so south of town.

  “…have set up a perimeter just south of what I am told is 5 Forks Road near the town of Liberty. We are on the western side of the overpass, but military vehicles have just rolled in and an Army National Guard unit has joined with elements of the State Police to ensure that nobody gets past and enters what we have been told is a scene of unimaginable carnage.” There was a distant popping sound that Jamie heard on the television and then from somewhere outside just a split second later.

  She walked to the door and paused to look in the full length mirror that she’d hung on it. It wasn’t often that she had to do anything in an “official” capacity when she was here at the center doing paperwork, but it never hurt to be prepared. It wouldn’t do to go out and look a mess.

  Her long, sandy colored hair was only a little disheveled. She ran her fingers through it and it fell straight and at least presentable as it cascaded past her shoulders and came to rest on her dark blue blouse; the blouse made her light blue eyes almost look like smoky gray. Her makeup had held up nicely and all she would need to do is touch up her lipstick.

  As she exited the office and stepped into the mostly dark hallway, the main doors to the center opened. She recognized the outline of the figure coming in—Chief Adam Gilstrap. His six and a half foot, two hundred and fifty pound frame made her just barely over five feet tall seem even smaller.

  “Trouble out on the highway,” Adam said by way of greeting.

  “I just saw it on the news.” Jamie patted her pocket for her keys. “We should head over there and see if there is anything we can do to help.”

  “Army is shutting things down. I just came from out that way and the sumbitches turned me around. Told me to go back to town.” The undisguised anger in the large man’s voice was unmistakable.

  Adam had been the Chief of Police in Liberty, South Carolina for as long as Jamie could recall. He had to be on the downhill side of fifty and she could remember him coming to her grade school for various functions and assemblies when she was a child. Still, for as old as the man was, he had kept himself in remarkable shape and seldom had to do little more than step out of his car if he arrived at any sort of disturbance.

  “Yes, well perhaps if we go together?” Jamie hated that her voice sounded so frail and weak. She’d meant that to be a statement, but it had come out squeaky and ended up sounding like a question.

  “Mayor Burns, I don’t like what I was seeing, and think it best that perhaps we sit tight like they said,” the fatherly tone in his voice was at war with the fact that he’d actually addressed her by her title.

  At only twenty-nine, Jamie Burns was not the usual choice for mayor in a town like Liberty. As much as the world had changed and supposedly moved forward, Liberty still had a foot in the past; as did many towns in the South.

  Jamie had gone away to the University of South Carolina, in the state’s capital of Columbia. That had not been a very popular choice in her home where everybody else bled Clemson orange, but she’d wanted to major in political science. She’d been fascinated with politics since she’d been just a girl of nine years old. Of course that had all started back in 1990 when her family had taken a vacation to Washington, D.C.

  The family had been on a guided tour of the White House when a commotion up ahead had caused everybody to buzz with excitement. A group of men in suits with dark glasses had rounded the corner and the tour guide had stopped in her tracks.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are in for a rare treat…that is President Bush and his secret service detail,” the older woman had spoken in a hushed tone that had been very unlike her loud and grating tour guide voice.

  The entourage had suddenly changed course like a flock of birds and was now coming directly at them! For Jamie, everything after that had been a blur, but she still had the picture on her desk of President Bush kneeling beside her with a huge smile on his face.

  When she had returned to Liberty after earning her bachelor’s degree, she started attending city council meetings. Her face became a fixture and it was not long before she had taken a seat at that same council. Still, she had not even considered running for mayor. Howard “Skip” Merchant had been the mayor of Liberty for over sixteen years. He was loved by everybody; so much so that he’d run unopposed the last three terms.

  Then came the cancer. It hit hard and fast; reducing the large, robust man to a sickly shadow of his former self within weeks. It had surprised just about everybody when he’d requested that she be his successor from his death bed. That had been just over four months ago and she still was not used to being called Madame Mayor or Mayor Burns when walking around in public.

  “I think we should take your car and go see if there is anything that our town can do to offer assistance,” Jamie said as she struggled to maintain eye contact and stare up at the chief.

  “I agree, it’s just…” Chief Gilstrap started, but his voice faded and he suddenly seemed unsure of what to say or how to say it.

  “Is there a problem?” Jamie fought the urge to plant her hands on her hips. This was a time to be as professional as possible and prove that she had been the right choice for this job. If there was a terrible tragedy unfolding on their doorstep, the good men and women of Liberty were by-God going to help in any way possible.

  “I saw something that I can’t explain,” Sherriff Gilstrap stated. He pressed his lips together tight and ran a hand through the gray stubble of his crew-cut. “There was a body…I made it out in the lights of one of the trucks. It was just lying there in the road, but it was missing an arm, and it looked like…” Again he paused and his face screwed up tight as if he had just swallowed something foul. “I can’t be sure, but it looked like the body was sitting up as the soldiers were sort of herding me back to my car. A second later, I heard a single gunshot.”

  “But I could have sworn that I heard several,” Jamie finally spoke when it was clear that the chief was done talking.

  “Yeah, me too.” The man nodded. “But those came just as I was pulling into the parking lot out front.”

  “You aren’t saying what I think you are?”

  “If what you think I am saying is that the army shot and killed an injured man, then yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Then we have a duty to go and see just exactly what is happening this close to our town.”

  Jamie edged past the large man and headed out the door. She heard his heavy steps follow and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Hurrying down the steps she went to the front passenger side door and waited for the chief to get in his car and unlock her side. She climbed in and glanced out her window as the engine turned over. She was startled by the crackle of voices on the radio.

  “…falling back…”

  “…where are they coming from…God there are six more…”

  “…can’t stop them…”

  A hiss of very loud static erupted from the speaker. A second later there was a bright flash in the sky to the south along with a ground shaking rumble and boom.

  Sherriff Adam Gilstrap threw the police car int
o reverse, stomped on the gas, and sent the car backwards in a jolt. Just as suddenly, he slammed on the brakes and cranked the steering wheel, spinning the vehicle in a near-perfect hundred and eighty degree turn before flooring it again and rocketing out of the Rosewood Center parking lot.

  In moments, they were cruising down Moorefield Memorial Highway; the road that was at the junction with Highway 123, and the scene of this terrible accident.

  The television in Jamie Burns’ office had been left on. The image now playing was that of a pair of newscasters in the actual newsroom. They were staring back at the camera with looks of horror and astonishment at what had just played out a moment before, ending with a bright flash of light and then static as the feed from the field reporter had ended abruptly.

  ***

  Ricky Porter tapped away on the keyboard of his computer. His parents would tan his hide if they knew he was up at this hour and on the computer, but he hadn’t been able to sleep and the lure of his favorite video game was simply just too strong. He’d been so close to beating the final boss on the last level that he’d absolutely had to give it just one try…then another…and another.

  Thirty-seven tries later, he’d done it! He had eradicated the zombie king and beaten the game. Of course, now, he was bored out of his mind. His allowance would not let him buy another game for his computer for at least another three weeks. By then, he knew that jerk Mitch Henry would not only already own it, but would have beaten it and bragged to everybody how easy it had been for him to do so.

  A pop-up in the lower right hand corner of his screen got his attention. It was his best friend, Lawrence Martin. Lawrence was a shoe-in to be the captain of the baseball team this year. That was already ruffling some feathers since Lawrence was two things Mitch Henry was not; first, Lawrence was not Coach Henry’s son. Second…and this was only a problem for some of the families that had called Liberty their home for generations going back a couple of hundred years—Lawrence Martin was not white.

  What are you doing up so late? the message read.

  Just beat Zombie Menace, then I couldn’t sleep, Ricky typed back. What about you? Try outs are tomorrow. You need to be on your game.

  Dad got called away, something bad is going down over on the highway. I think it has something to do with that news report out of Kentucky three days ago.

  How could something on the highway here have anything to do with that crazy story out of Kentucky?

  Turn on the news.

  That message was followed with a link. Ricky clicked on it and had to plug in his headphones so that he could actually hear what the reporter was saying. He recognized the man’s face, but it was not normal for any of the local stations to have local news on the air at this hour.

  “Elements of the National Guard have set up a perimeter just south of what I am told is 5 Forks Road near the town of Liberty. We are on the western side of the overpass, but military vehicles have just rolled in and an Army National Guard unit has joined with elements of the State Police to ensure that nobody gets past and enters what we have been told is a scene of unimaginable carnage.”

  A sound that Ricky was pretty certain had to be gunfire could be heard. First it came in a few sporadic bursts, then a barrage. The reporter on the screen flinched and turned his head, obviously in the direction of the sound.

  WTF? Ricky typed. There was a long pause with no reply, so he hit the “question mark” and “Enter” keys a few more times. At last, Lawrence replied.

  Sorry, phone just rang. Mom answered it. She sounded really upset and then she took off out the house. Didn’t even stick her head in to check on me or say anything.

  Ricky was trying to think of what to say to his friend when the next message popped up on his screen.

  I’m hopping on my bike and heading over to see what’s going on.

  WAIT! Ricky responded. After a few seconds, he added, Lawrence? Six times he repeated his friend’s name, but there was no reply. He knew he would be in a whole mess of trouble, but Lawrence was his best friend. There was no way he could just sit here at his desk and wait.

  Slipping out of his bedroom, Ricky pulled on his heavy coat and slipped out the back door. He made it down the stairs and to the garage. This was where it would be tricky. The side door to the garage needed some serious WD-40 on the hinges. Even worse, his parent’s bedroom window was on this side of the house and his dad always slept with the window open. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, he claimed that his body ran hotter than normal.

  Turning the knob, he pulled the door about an inch before he froze with the first sounds of the high-pitched creak. He swallowed his heart that had somehow managed to reach his throat, and then opened the door another inch. It felt like it took an hour to get the door open enough so that he would be able to slip in and then exit with his bicycle, but at last he’d managed his goal.

  Moments later, he was pedaling as fast as he could down South Peachtree Street, also known as 5 Forks Road. He could already feel his legs burning as he pedaled the long and gradual incline. The darkness made the ride even worse. His tiny headlight did very little to keep the dark at bay as he strained to reach the top of the shallow hill. He never ceased to be amazed at how such an easy hill as this that seemed like nothing in his parents’ car or truck felt like he was going up the side of a sheer mountain when he took it on his bicycle.

  It felt like forever, but at last he reached the top and now began the trip on the downhill side. His hands kept squeezing the brake handle grips as he rode. On the uphill side, he’d run no risk of riding so fast that he could not see something and react well before he was close enough for it to matter, but going downhill was an entirely different matter.

  Plus, for the first several minutes of his ride, he’d heard the sounds of continued and sporadic gunfire coming from the highway. He just realized that, at some point, the noise had ceased. For whatever reason, that did not leave him even the slightest bit comforted. If anything, the ominous silence only made things that much worse.

  He was pedaling downhill as fast as he dared. Apparently that was still much too fast because he never spotted the person on the road until it was too late. Ricky jerked his handlebars to the right out of reflex, but he still collided with the figure and went sailing as his bike stopped suddenly.

  He was momentarily grateful that he landed on the side of the road in the brush until the pain shot through his body, emanating from his left shoulder. He tried to move that arm but stopped when the jolt of agony threatened to make him sick.

  Rolling onto his back, Ricky looked up to see…nothing. His tiny headlight had gone out. Its only power came from the bicycle being pedaled and now he was in the pitch black on an empty road.

  But he was not alone!

  Ricky heard the shuffle of feet in the blackness and thought that he could see an even darker outline silhouetted against the night sky. He was about to open his mouth. Was the person okay? Had he injured him or her? But then the smell hit Ricky and before he could stop himself, he leaned over and vomited.

  A low moan sounded in response. Now Ricky was sure that he’d hurt whomever he’d hit with his bicycle. Had he made the person mess their pants…or was that him? He tried to get his mind off his pain enough to be sure that he hadn’t been the one to have the stinky accident.

  After a split second of self-assurance, Ricky called out, “Hey? Are you okay?” There were a few heartbeats of silence and then another moan. This one was just a bit louder as whomever it was in the darkness turned to orient on the sound of his voice.

  “Hey,” Ricky hissed again, sensing that something was in fact very wrong with this individual. “How bad are you hurt?”

  Maybe this was one of those people from the highway. Maybe they’d been hurt before and had wandered into the woods. Only, from what little he had learned from the news report, the military had been called to deal with whatever was going on. Even Ricky knew that was not the usual way a traffic accident was d
ealt with.

  Lawrence had mentioned Kentucky. Just the other day, there had been a story about some small town being totally quarantined due to what some folks were calling the “Blue Plague” or something to that effect; he hadn’t really paid it that much attention. Only, apparently Lawrence had because he had come to school the next day talking about how the entire news story had simply vanished. He had been unable to find anything online about it, and none of the news media had spoken of it since the initial report.

  “The government is trying to hide something,” Lawrence had confided to Ricky that afternoon as they rode home from school.

  “You watch too much television,” Ricky had laughed.

  Another moan snapped him out of his thoughts. The sounds of shuffling were closer now. Ricky tried to sit up and scoot back; but only being able to use the one arm made that task next to impossible. He managed a few inches at best. He tried to get up and was struggling to his knees when something cool and peculiar feeling swiped across his face.

  That had felt like a hand!

  “What the—” was all Ricky managed before something collapsed on top of him, sending him falling backwards.

  He was bent at a very awkward and painful manner since he had been on his knees when this stranger had attacked him. It had sent his body collapsing flat onto his back, but his legs were now folded underneath him and the pain was incredible.

  He felt hands clawing at him, ripping at his jacket. There was the sound of cloth being torn and Ricky’s only thought was just how angry his mom and dad would be at him for ruining his best coat.

  Cold hands found his skin as his shirt was torn away. Now Ricky was thrashing and screaming. He had no idea what this person was trying to do, but he’d watched the news. He knew about those creepy sorts who did terrible things to children.

  Well, that was not going to be his fate. He brought his right fist up and punched the crazy person in the side of the head. He swung again and again, but it did not seem to be having any effect. The person wasn’t crying out or nothing. Ricky Porter might not be the biggest or toughest kid in town, but he knew how to throw a punch. This should be having more of an effect.