Step by Step/Issue 15

This is Issue #14 of Step by Step. This is the third issue of Volume Three.

30 Silvers
The rain made Wayne get the chills. He shivered, plopping the wet mop on the blood-stained floor. With all the rubbing, the soap didn't do anything to convince the blood to leave the cafeteria's floor. There was so much. It was as if someone had thrown red paint everywhere, like that one Stephen King movie.

He had been washing it since he had woken up, around four in the morning. Some of the soldiers, Alexander one of them, had snickered to themselves. Alexander told him that it was blood from the man that Officer Pacino had shot dead. He was sick to his stomach, knowing that he was probably trying to wipe up brain matter.

Word had gotten around pretty fast the day after that. Of course, there were probably less than thirty people crammed into Summercreek. Soldiers included. He regretted the decision now. He should have just raised his hands up and let Malcolm or Brock to choose another poor soul.

He guessed they had known he would. The thought of cleaning up after a crime scene didn't make sense in his mind. Wouldn't Indianapolis want to know why there finest in blue had ended a man's life so brutally?

Cleaning up the blood seemed like the moral thing to do. But whatever, he had about enough of the hard smell of soap meeting with the dried up blood. He wondered where the soldiers had taken the bodies. There were, at most, twenty dead. He had counted before running to find Nolan.

Twenty souls dead and no place to hand them a bed.

“I'm sorry.”

Wayne spun around, leaning on the mop. He saw a sergeant there, Malcolm to be precise. His eyes were raw and red. He was in his soldier uniform, camouflaged but not blending in with bloody floors.

“You were the only one with the stomach for it,” Malcolm said.

Wayne cracked a smirk. “Not all that bad really, looks like sauce if you think about it. We are in a cafeteria, right?”

Malcolm stayed silent, confused at the joke. “Well, food does seem to be precious now.”

“Why do you mean?”

“We're running low on the general stuff. Food and water, all that.”

Wayne mopped up and down the floor, realizing the stain wasn't getting out. It started looking blurry and diluted. “Aren't there food in the lunch lines?”

Malcolm shook his head.

“What about those trucks you and the boys got?”—Wayne looked over Malcolm's shoulder and drifted off—“I'll be damned.”

There was a thud behind Malcolm, causing him to turn around in shock. He first saw a young man, Lyle was it? Thrown on the floor. When Malcolm shot his eyes up, he saw Brock standing there, stiff and his jaw clenching.

The over wear that Malcolm had last seen Lyle with was gone. Now all there was was a torn undershirt. Lyle groaned, thrashing weakly on the floor. He had a bright, purple bruise on his one of his cheeks. His face was bloody, the red replacing his white as Tic-Tac teeth.

Brock breathed in heavy, settling himself with a relaxing one. He said nothing. There were two soldiers, one Malcolm recognized as Carter, the soldier that claimed to have survived a bite wound, beside him. The other was a tall, dirty-faced guard holding something firmly. A box.

“Traitor.” Brock sent spittle down at Lyle, trying not to fall on his wobbly leg. He didn't want anyone at the school, especially his soldiers, to know his was weak. Weaker. He would grow accustomed to his destroyed leg, but what would Mary say? His kids? They would call him a monster. A cripple.

“You got anything to say for yourself, Jackson?” He said, sensing a crowd drawing from the other veins of the school and the gymnasium.

“Yeah,” Lyle coughed, barely trying to talk. “Naughty me.”

Brock turned to the crowd of refugees, taking a look at Carter. “Stealing,” he said. “That's what he did.”

“Big deal, cry me a river,” said Lyle.

“Do you think this is funny?” Carter snapped. His brow rose. “We've only got enough food to last another day, tops.”

Brock tipped his hand to the other soldier the one holding the box. It was a fat, cardboard one. “Show them.” he said.

The soldier laid down the box, taking his time to open it. Murmuring began through the crowd as he slid off the top. “What's this?” He fished out a package of food, plastic wrapped. “This one's untouched, but wait, there's more.”

Carter went to help. He himself took out a packet of protein chips. It had a long cut on its opening side. He flipped it over, letting the remaining chips fall to the ground. “Evidence for you all.”

Lyle laid still, surprised by the food. Obviously, it wasn't his. The food inside he had stolen when the guards had handed out rations. Of course, some people had assisted him—namely, Nolan and Wyatt. But, in fact, Wyatt was dead. One less chain to hold Lyle's lock. He remembered that one man, a druggie, that had bailed out Nolan from jail. Connection with Lyle himself. It was no surprise that it happened the day after Big Earl's unfortunate end.

Dennis.

“You're a dumb ass,” the soldier said.

Lyle cursed him off. He looked at the crowd. They were curious, interested. Most of them were angry faces. He could tell they were hungry, but he could also feel their sympathy. He had been the one to trade food with them for their assistance.

“You can't do that.” It was a familiar voice. Joseph's. He walked out of the crowd, shaking his head at Brock. He appeared with his camouflage, a sidearm dangling from his holster. “You're insane!”

“I'm sane, believe me,” said Brock.

“Okay, can I get up now, detectives?” Lyle adjusted himself on the floor, shutting an eye in pain. “A couple bags of chips never hurt nobody.”

Carter scoffed. “We saw last night after curfew, headed for the gym lockers.” He let go of the bag, knocking over the box. About five pounds of rations fell out, crumbling over each other like fallen bricks. “Found all this.”

The crowd gasped.

An uneasy face left the crowd. It was Lilian, and behind her was Gordon. The man who had said a masked man had shot him the week before. Together, they were both like twins. Brownish blonde hair that went to their shoulders. “You've gone nuts.”

“No,” said Brock. He pointed to Lyle, “he has.”

“Fresh Prince over here thinks he's in charge,” said Gordon. There must have been a smile on his face, but Lyle couldn't spot it through the blur caused by blood on his face. “But don't worry a little bit, it's just that time of the month.”

Brock straightened up. He pushed his hand forward, growling. He looked at Carter.

“Stay back, Don.” Carter reached for his hip. His hand came back up with a pistol, burning itself into Gordon's face.

“Whoa, take it easy, Eastwood,” said Gordon, raising his hands. He looked surprise by the gun, not expecting Carter to do such a thing as to pull it out. Threaten a soldier. “Put it away, dude.”

“The funny thing is—“ Brock pursed his lips, glancing at Lyle. “Each of the rations had names on them. Now I haven't gotten to know most of you, but there are names on the rations.”

“You having a trading fiasco going on?” His eyes went cloudy with rage. “Behind our backs?”

Malcolm started walking to the hallway himself with Wayne. He called up Brock, but the man ignored him. “What the hell do you think you're doing, Menster?”

“Getting justice,” said Brock. “This shithead made us all worried. He's a coward, stealing from the people trying to keep him safe. Lyle is a selfish traitor, he only thinks for himself. He used you all, don't you see?”

“All right, my back is starting to hurt,” said Lyle. “I can make up for it.”

“This isn't right, Brock,” said Amanda, standing at the side of the crowd.

The policeman next to her laughed, combing his hair. “Sure it is.” He scanned the box, detecting no carbonated products there. Lyle was no use to him now. “He has a partner.”

Brock smiled. “That's what we thought,” he said. “Were you working alone?”

Lyle nodded, no doubt on his face.

“Bullshit!” Carter shouted, his teeth grinding.

There was a chatter going through the crowd. Awe. Amanda screamed. “Carter, calm down!”

Gordon took a step forward, barely three feet from Carter. It was enough for him to stick the pistol in Gordon's gut, but that didn't hold him back. “You got a temper on ya, Mr. Anger Management.”

"I don't have a short temper, I just have a quick reaction to bullshit."

Brock observed the crowd, taking in every detail. He tried to see who was missing. But every refugee stuck with him in the school was in the same hallway. Lyle was working with someone. A criminal named Nolan. The rations had been labeled with the traitor's name, telling Nolan who to give which ration too.

“We may have a solution,” he said. “It's punishment, but a fun kind. It's one of those where the traitor may lose, but everyone else gains something.”

“What are you suggesting?” Wayne asked.

Brock hummed to himself. “The sentence is a type of community service.” He cocked his head to one of the hallway's windows, showing the dark scene of the roadway where there was a rising flood water. It was about knee-deep. “He's going to make up for this. In other words, he's going out there to bring us food from the trucks.”

“That's suicide!” Joseph exclaimed.

“No, you idiot, it's a chance of surviving. Personally, I was going to execute him.”

Lyle coughed, grabbing his chest. He looked through the crowd, trying to find Nolan. His last chain that held his lock. He thought he saw a flash of brown hair, but he winced from the pain. “You were close to it, Rocky.”

Brock stretched out his smile. “If there's no objections, it's a go.”

“Yes there's a problem,” said Malcolm. “If we do this, we'll be risking everyone's life for a crate of food that might not even be there to begin with. If we do do this, then we go all the way. You—frankly, none of us—don't know what's even out there with this storm on us. Shit, all we know is that there's dead people outside waiting for our flesh and bones."

Carter sighed in Gordon's face, letting his breath sting Gordon's eyes. He went to Lyle, propping a hand out to him. “You're coming with me, fresh meat.”

Brock stared at Lyle, showing no emotion. “While you're at it Carter, go round up some guards and officers. There's another criminal in here.”