Runner Boy | Book 2 | Rider Kid Page 3

  A man pops right in front of me. Shoots. Bam! Takes out the remaining window. Glass everywhere. Bam! Bam! He keeps shooting.

  Shit. These shelves are mostly air. I duckwalk toward the wall. Flying debris everywhere. Reach the end of the row. Look out. He’s firing, coming in. Bam! Bam!

  Pull my Glock.

  Bam! Hit him high, in the right shoulder. He spins; his gun goes flying. He’s down, slipping on the glass, scrambling to get back out the door.

  I pull the rifle up. Bwang! Fire one out toward the crazy next to the flower shop. He stops. Starts running back toward the alley. Chnk-chnk.

  Bang! Bang! Somebody new is shooting.

  Some guy wearing a T-shirt and jeans is chasing the crazy.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! More shots, from down the street. What the . . .

  I get up, go toward the door, rifle ready. Lots of people in the street by Doc’s.

  The crazy I hit is on the sidewalk, curled into a ball. He’s scared I’m going to shoot him. I point the rifle at him. Maybe I will.

  The volunteers have arrived. A dozen guys are all around the pickup and the Jeep. The T-shirt guy comes out with the crazy from behind the flower shop, holding a gun on him. It’s all over.

  5

  103 days until the Pulse Anniversary

  I’d gone to bed as soon as I got home last night, not wanting to talk, or to let anyone see how badly my hands were shaking. I didn’t sleep, knowing that I was going to see images that I thought I’d gotten over. Headless bodies. Boots spinning in the air. Trees exploding. And now add surprised eyes, glaring at me. Blood leaking into gravel. I want it to stop.

  I’m up early, out before I have to talk to anybody, other than to say I’ve got delivery business to take care of. Which is true, sort of. Since I’ll be making another ride into Lafayette tomorrow morning, I make a tour of all my regular customers to pick up anything they want delivered and get orders for things for me to bring back. This will save me time in the morning before I head into Lafayette to see the president speak.

  President Pounds is giving his speech in Purdue’s football stadium. It seems like overkill—there aren’t enough people living in the West Lafayette/Lafayette area to fill the stadium. Maybe at one time, before the pulse, but now? No way. The students are mostly gone. Even with the refugees living in the tent cities that sprang up around the new communal wells, I don’t think there are that many people, not after so many of those who were living here before died this winter. Plus, how many would even know about this speech? It’s not like he can make an announcement on radio and tv.

  But it seems like a pretty good-sized crowd when they open the gates to let us in. People are jostling for space, probably because there is no assigned seating, and they want to get close enough to hear the speech. Since there’s no power in the stadium, there’s no public address system, and people are afraid they’ll be unable to hear the president.

  This is a big deal for many of us, because it’s the first time that we’ve had any real presence of any government outside our local officials. Oh, there may have been a mayor or two who came through, or even some other politician from somewhere, but nobody official, nobody who could give anyone hope that things might get back to the way they were before the pulse. That’s what people want, a reason to hope.

  I’ve heard, via the “newspaper,” and from Jake, that Richard Pounds had been declared, or maybe that he declared himself, president of the Republic of North America: borders somewhat undefined, but said to include everything west of Pittsburgh and north of the Ohio River. But we’d also heard that Canada is receiving a lot of aid from England, and France is hard at work trying to rebuild the French-speaking areas of Canada, so there are probably some disputed border issues in the north.

  California and the West Coast are doing something different; I don’t have a clear picture just what that is. Texas, too, is separate, but it might include big chunks of other states, and maybe some of Mexico.

  New England and the Atlantic Coast are supposedly getting a lot more aid than those of us farther inland. The fact that they can more easily be reached by ship is probably one reason for that. Another might be that they need more. Big cities have been hit particularly hard by the pulse and its aftereffects. Tall buildings quickly became uninhabitable. Even if you could find water, it’s pretty tough to haul it up ten or twenty flights of dark stairs. There’s no source of food, or of fuel. If you survived all that, then the Pulse Flu probably got you, if the guns didn’t do the job first.

  Senator Andrea Vega, who was Pounds’ opponent in the election that never happened, was trying to put together a government for the East Coast. She called it the Colonial States of America at first, but then switched to the United States of America. Seems a little presumptuous, since it only includes a small section of what used to be the USA, but that’s what she’s doing.

  Actually, the one person who would seem to have the best claim to be ruling what used to be the USA is Daniel Bowers. He was the president at the time of the pulse, but was going to be replaced by either Pounds or Vega after the election. But the pulse came, and the election didn’t happen.

  So Bowers is now President of the Great States of America, which is basically most of the old Confederacy. I guess that Pounds and Vega and others didn’t want him as their president, or thought they deserved the job. There were some pretty serious military battles in the early days after the pulse, including one right here in central Indiana that became known as the Battle of Lafayette. I got involved in that one, nearly lost my brother and almost got killed myself. It left me with nightmares that I have still. I’m just like everyone else—I’m looking for hope.

  I’m with Rachel, her brother Rob, and his partner, Wilson. Rob is in the military, and Wilson is running a bicycle shop. He’s a good guy, and has been very helpful in keeping my bike operational. Without it, PedEx doesn’t exist.

  We shuffle along with the crowd to find seats. President Pounds has set up a small stage in the north end zone, facing the seats at the closed, horseshoe end of the stadium. We find seats in about the tenth row, which is toward the back of the crowd. I’m guessing there’s two or three thousand people here, which isn’t much in a stadium this size, but it’s not bad, considering.

  There are several men in jeans and T-shirts dragging cable around. It’s quickly apparent that they have a sound system. I ask Rob if he knows if the university is sending power out to the stadium.

  Wilson answers, “No. I saw a big 18-wheeler parked outside when we were coming over. They were running cable from it. And they’ve got a big bus parked out there, too.”

  “Wow,” I say. “They’re getting fuel from somewhere.”

  “Yeah,” says Rob. “Probably diesel, to run those.”

  Wilson adds, “Got it from somebody. Maybe the Saudis. I’ve heard they’ve come through for our boy Pounds.”

  Rachel perks up with that. “You’re kidding, right? As Christian-centric as Pounds is, you think a Muslim country would help him?”

  “Sure,” says Wilson. “They like some of his fundamentalist ideas. Plus, he was never as much of a supporter of Israel as Bowers was.”

  Several men come out from under the stands.

  “Politicians,” says Rachel. “Who else would wear a suit?”

  I haven’t seen anyone wear a suit since the pulse. Not even my dad, when he’s doing banking stuff. He used to wear a suit to work every day. Now, it’s whatever he has that’s reasonably clean. Washing clothes isn’t quite the priority anymore that it was when we had running water and washing machines. Even my little sister Claire has gotten used to wearing clothes that are only “sorta” dirty.

  We sit in the stands for what seems like forever, making fun of the suits wandering around on the stage, checking out the microphone, which works fine, and talking to each other. Finally, a tall man in a suit and blue tie comes to the microphone.

  He taps it a couple times—yes, it’s live—and introduces
himself as Martin something, the mayor of Lansing, Michigan.

  “Big whoop,” says Rachel. “Lansing. Wow.”

  I elbow her.

  Mayor Martin says that Lansing is the first city that President Pounds “brought back to life.”

  The crowd is a little testy, maybe because we’ve been sitting in the sun, maybe because we’ve been on our own for so long that we’re skeptical when someone new shows up promising help. Not that anyone’s promised help yet. But a voice from the crowd yells, “Do you have electricity? Or running water?”

  Another voice from just a few rows in front of us adds, “Or how about working sewers?”

  Mayor Martin holds up his hands to quiet the crowd, and says, “No, not yet, but we’re working on all those things.”

  A voice from the crowd says, “So are we.” There are murmurs in the crowd. Some laugh.

  Mayor Martin smiles and holds his hands higher and says, “Let me tell you what comes first. Safety.” He looks pleased with himself, like this is a huge revelation. “It is safe to walk the streets in Lansing. That’s not how it was.”

  He blabs on about how tough it was in Lansing after the pulse. The scavenging, looting, murders, and gang wars. Then he talks about dysentery, and cholera.

  Rob, who’s sitting just to my right, quietly says, “Yeah, we’ve all had it tough.”

  Rachel whispers back, “And we’ve all seen the Pulse Flu.”

  Others in the crowd seem to be getting restless, too, when Mayor Martin says, “You’re next, Lafayette. Join cities like Lansing and Ann Arbor, Michigan, Columbus, Ohio . . .”

  Rob says, “Sounds like a tour of the Big Ten.”

  “. . . and South Bend, Indiana.”

  “Nope. Went to Notre Dame instead.”

  “There are many others like them. Like you. And we’re getting it done. President Pounds has been to Europe. He’s been to the Far East. He’s getting aid, when we didn’t have aid before. Just look outside. We have vehicles and equipment from Germany, and fuel from Kuwait. We’re getting electronics from the Far East. It’s a long road, but we’re going to get it done. And the foundation is President Pounds’ five-point program. It’s what will start to bring Lafayette back to life. And to tell you all about it is our president, President Richard Pounds.” He holds his hands out and looks over to his right, where another man in a blue suit is walking toward the stage.

  This new man has white hair, and is holding both hands in the air, waving to the crowd. It is the president himself, at last. The crowd gives him a nice welcome. Not crazy. Not quite a standing ovation, but he’s the man we’ve all come to see.

  President Pounds takes the stage and starts talking. It’s immediately obvious that he’s not a great speaker. He’s hard to hear, even with the microphone. He even looks a bit nervous, standing stiffly with little expression. But as he talks, it’s clear he’s passionate about what he’s saying, especially when he gets to the part about the five-point plan. He gets a little animated, punching the air and pounding his fist into his other hand. He’s even got some visual aids—very basic, about like what I used for my last presentation for English class, back when there was such a thing. There are several easels set up on the stage behind President Pounds, and as he says, “The first principal is Faith . . .” a guy in a tan suit puts a poster board with a big, black “F” on the first easel.

  The president says he’s never trusted a person who is without faith, and goes on to say people of faith treat each other well, or something like that. What gets my attention, though, is when he says, “You need to bring Jesus back into your life.” When I hear that, I look over at Rachel, who is having the same reaction. She mouths, “What about Jews? Or Muslims?”

  I whisper back, “I guess this is going to be a Christian-only country.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  The president’s second point is “Laws,” with a big black L on an easel. He says civilizations are defined by their laws. He talks about “God’s Laws,” which are defined for us in the Bible. That got another look from Rachel. He says that not only included things like the ten commandments, but also things like the fact that marriage is between a man and a woman.

  “I knew that was coming,” says Rob under his breath. I look over and see that Wilson is shaking his head and gritting his teeth.

  Pounds goes on to say that we also need “Man’s Laws,” to deal with things like drugs and technology and corporations, things that weren’t dealt with in the Bible. But, he says, he’s most concerned with “God’s Natural Laws”—those things that God says are natural for man, and those that are unnatural, and therefore unacceptable.

  Rob leans over again and says, “Unnatural. That’s code for gay sex.”

  “Shit,” I say.

  He nods.

  Now Pounds puts up an “A,” for Accountability. He says people must be accountable for their actions. As he’s talking about this, I’m not listening. I’m thinking about Rob and Wilson. It seems like they’re being targeted with several of these laws.

  The next point is “S.” As the letter goes on the easel, Rachel says, “Let me guess. Scriptures.”

  But she’s wrong. It’s “Strict Enforcement.” Lawbreakers will be held accountable and punished. I’m wondering who is going to be enforcing all these laws when I remember something Jake told me—to be wary if Pounds shows up with jackbooted men. Like Nazis, I guess. So I look around and feel a little relieved when I don’t see any. Not that Jake was serious. But still, this all feels unreal.

  The last point—Help. So now we have FLASH spelled out for us. Pounds says we’re going to help each other, but mainly the weak, the infirm, those who can’t help themselves. Like the unborn, he says. So there is the anti-abortion thing, something well known about Pounds back when he was in Bowers’ cabinet. And then he talks about not putting women into situations where they will be vulnerable. I’m not sure if this is still about abortion, or something else, but Rachel is really pissed.

  “So women are the same as the weak and the infirm,” she says. “We’re vulnerable, and can’t take care of ourselves, apparently.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say, “we’ll take care of you. As long as you’re Christian.”

  She doesn’t think my attempt to lighten her mood is funny. She slugs my shoulder and says, “Fuck you.”

  What is funny, though, is the reaction of the crowd. Clearly, our little group is in the minority. Pounds has been getting lots of applause throughout his talk. Some people have even been yelling out things like, “Yes,” and “Hallelujah,” and there’s been more and more positive reaction as the speech went on. When he mentioned the unborn, some in the crowd stood and cheered.

  Pounds looks at his display cards. “FLASH,” he says. “I know that officially it was called the pulse, but I saw the flash. It was a flash that changed our world. And now it’s our FLASH that will change it again. And I believe that our new world will be better than the old one.”

  That brought the biggest ovation of the day. I guess when people are in need of hope, then any kind of hope is good. I hope things will be a lot better, too, but I’m worried that Pounds’ vision of better doesn’t match mine. About the only thing that I agree with him on is that it was a flash. I called it flash-bang day for a long time.

  Pounds motions for people to sit down again. When things quiet a bit, he motions for a man standing offstage to come up. “I know many of you are wondering what’s next. Eventually, we’ll have elections and a representative government. But we’re not ready for that. First, we have to stabilize our society, and we have to rebuild our infrastructure. That’s what FLASH is all about. And the first step is to put the right people in place to oversee the program. I want to introduce Andrew Wayne, who is our Governor General for Indiana, and southern Illinois and Ohio.”

  He turns and shakes the hand of another white man wearing a dark suit. At least he’s not wearing jackboots. Wayne is tall, a good six inches taller than Pounds, and sta
nds straight, like maybe he’s a military guy. He’s smiling, revealing a row of large, white teeth.

  Pounds turns back to the microphone and tells us about Wayne. Turns out he is military, and was serving in Germany when the pulse hit. He then came to the US with some of his troops after it hit. He’s originally from northern Indiana, so this is home to him. And his job? Pounds says he’ll be in charge of the redevelopment effort, economic restoration, and peacekeeping, which includes both police and military functions, combined into one militia.

  Pounds yields the microphone and leaves the stage. Wayne steps up and smiles again. He speaks in a booming voice, much louder than Pounds, so it almost makes me sit back in surprise. He thanks Pounds and a bunch of other people, then says this is going to be a big job, but he’s been working in other cities with the recovery teams, and knows it can be done. That draws a big cheer.

  He clears his throat and says the first step is to ensure the safety of our communities. That will be the job not only of the militia as mentioned by President Pounds, but by everyone. He says, “The pulse, or flash, led to anarchy, which threatens to destroy our society. But we can all, by our actions, fight anarchy, fight to protect ourselves, our families, our homes, and our communities. And I want to bring up to the stage one person who exemplifies that attitude. A person who nearly single-handedly defeated a gang of anarchists, thugs who attacked one of our local communities.”

  Wayne looks over to another man, who steps up and hands him a note. Rachel looks at me. I wonder what that look on her face is all about.

  Wayne turns back to the microphone. “Would Brady Gruen please come down? I’m told he is in the crowd today.”

  6

  102 days until the Pulse Anniversary