Eliot Strange and the Prince of the Apocalypse

20) Tearing Down and Apart

Steven and I have a plan. We are going to split up, that way we can cover more ground.

"We won't get them all," I say, "but we can make a big dent in them."

I make good progress stopping, getting off my bike, and ripping the papers off the poles and putting them in my basket. I have not seen a soul on the deserted streets, though I can see that a couple of the papers are missing. Someone is interested in the reward for the prince.

I work about an hour and a half, and I collect about 28 of the flyers. At the rate I am going, I should be finished in about an hour. I stop to get a drink from my water bottle when I hear a car approach from behind. I think about pedaling away, but I am out in the open and don't think I can out run a car. I freeze. I don't dare turn around. I irrationally think that if I stay put, don't move, the car will go on by. I am invisible. I will myself to be invisible. I hear a now familiar siren and see a blue light before I see the police cruiser coming to a stop beside me. I am busted.

An officer gets out of his car that is marked with a # 89. From the looks of him, the officer is not one of the new recruits. He is middle-aged and dressed professionally in a crisp uniform that includes a bulletproof vest and a gun in his holster. It is hot outside, and he is sweating, but he looks like he is cool and collected and not in a hurry to get anywhere but right here.

"Good afternoon young lady," Officer Simpson, according to his name tag, says.

"Good afternoon, sir." Mama didn't raise no fool.

"I been watching you remove those flyers. I hope they ain't the newspaper Mr. Johnson's been posting cause he will be mad, and it will also be destruction of property."

I don't say anything. I am hoping that destruction of property is not a hanging crime because Officer Simpson looks like he follows the rules.

Officer Simpson reaches in my basket and pulls out the newspaper and reads it. "Oh, I heard about this. The government is looking for this man. Um, it looks like somebody else is looking for him too. Hope it ain't that One Nation bunch, or he's a goner." Then to himself he says, "Wonder what he's done? Wonder why they want him?"

I don't answer because I am plotting my escape. I think I can outrun Officer Simpson because he is twenty pounds overweight even in times when people are hungry. I am betting he has been so busy, he has not been to the gym lately either.

He asks me, "Why you been collecting all these?" and then answers his own question with a laugh and a, "Oh I get it, clever girl. Reward. Want that reward for yourself, huh? Don't want nobody else to know."

I nod because I can't tell him the truth.

"Truckload of food, huh?" He laughs again and then gives some advice in a tone that tells me to listen up. "This man is dangerous. Don't go looking for him. Get out of town while you can. It is not safe here anymore." He adds as he gets back in his car, "It might already be too late."

Officer Simpson drives off, and I continue covering my assigned territory. I don't see Steven, but it is likely he started at the opposite end. I decide I am finished when I don't see any more flyers. I tear all 57 papers in fourths and put the parts in multiple trash cans on my way back to Steven's house.

About three blocks away I hear the siren again and think that now it is Steven's turn to talk to Officer Simpson. The officer is probably telling Steven that he has some competition for the reward. I slow down because the officer might not think I am so funny the second time around. I am resting and waiting for the siren to cut off and the car to leave when I hear a gunshot. Just one. One gunshot that is more ominous and heart stopping than it would be if there was machine gun fire.

I start to pedal as quickly as I can. I slow up as I approach Steven and Nana's home. There is a man lying in the road in a puddle of blood as car #89, with the siren still blaring, is driving away.

I run over to Officer Simpson. There is no saving him. He is clutching his throat with both hands, but he can't hold the blood in. He is making gurgling sounds and looking at me with his eyes wide open. Eyes that beg me not to leave him. I try to help him. I put my hands on his hands to help him hold it all in. My mind is saying run, run, run away, but I can't because the officer is looking at me and saying "stay" with his eyes. I scream for Steven to come and help me, but no one comes.

Officer Simpson's eyes quit staring as his hands fall from his throat. He is dead.

I take my hands off of his and wipe them on my shirt. There is so much blood that my shirt and my knees are now soaked in blood. I look around and notice Steven's bike lying on the sidewalk in what looks like a bike wreck. The frame is bent on the bike, and the papers he collected are strewn across the yard. I pick up one of the papers; there is blood on it. 

I scream Steven's name like I don't care who hears me and run in the house. Nana is gone too. I know she is not gone with Jim Newsome because her walker is in the kitchen turned over. If I had any doubt that she is in danger, the broken jars of last summer's tomatoes lying on the kitchen floor confirm that Nana is gone.

It is unmistakable. The someone who killed Officer Simpson has taken Steven and Nana. I lean up against the no longer working fridge, and I slide to the kitchen floor knocking Steven's prom picture from last year down with me. I look at the picture I took of Steven in his navy blue tux standing beside his Nana like she is his most prized possession on earth.

They are my family and now, the last of my family is gone.

I am all alone.