Something's Wrong

“This isn’t a safe place to be,” Jon began as he spoke muffled through his sleeve. “Guessing that’s toilet water.” Because those toilets backed up pretty regularly.

Leslie shut the door and locked it behind her. “Sure, we can go out there to see what those punks are swinging instead.” She moved back to support Mac with Jon.

“I rescind my complaint.” The young man regarded Leslie seriously as they carried the older fellow to the back of the counter where he had a chair and cot, Mac often staying all night in the Arcade to help kids waiting for their rides and parents to get back from work. “He must have been open all night...“ Jon looked around and noticed that there was some food sitting on one of the tables, others knocked over and one of the Arcade cabinets just destroyed as if someone had a fit of rage over losing a game.

Leslie tucked Mac onto his chair and covered him in the blankets he kept around. Luckily the chair was a recliner and kept up out of the unsanitary waters. “Shhh...“ Leslie implored as she ducked behind the counter.

The sound of the hooligans came much closer: cars being damaged by whatever weapons they had picked up and glass shattering as they looted the abandoned vehicles or shops that had not closed up. The sound of a grunt was heard as one of the punks tried the Arcade’s door. They started to bang on the glass and door frame, but luckily it was much sturdier than some other windows as Mac had them tempered. Sirens could be heard in the distance, quickly drawing closer. One of the raiders outside would shout out in warning, though from behind the door it sounded muffled. There was more banging as the troublemakers drew away from the Arcade only for the shouting to become more severe before--

BANG BANG BANG!

Several shots were fired, but from who? Jon and Leslie looked to each other before peering over the counter. A shadow had come upon the door, distorted by the giant, gold letters that painted the frosted glass doors of the shoppe.

“Mac?!” It was Sheriff Hardy. “Mac you in there?!” The door rattled.

“Sheriff!” Leslie called, motioning to Jon. “I’ll stay with Mac.”

Hurrying to the door Jon pushed it open. “Sheriff!”

“Jon, what the hell? Where’s Mac and I thought I heard Leslie.”

He would nod. “Yeah, Mac’s hurt, he was pinned between two cars outside, for how long we don’t know. He’s cold --” As Jon spoke to the Sheriff he peered passed the man, spotting the bodies of the hooligans that had tried to enter the shop... face down, in the water.

The deputies were checking over their corpses. He wasn't going to try and fool himself and look to convince himself that they were just unconscious. It was foolish to ignore the reality before him, though it only made the panic in his chest deepen. Had he not been with Leslie, who was more level-headed in these situations: Mac would have been out there alone dealing with those ruffians. They looked like the druggies from the other side of the tracks. A lot of questionable stuff happened on what was considered the Dark Side of town. Past the train tracks, along East Avenue, was where much of the unscrupulous activities in town were known to take place. Hoodlums hung out at the junkyard and wrecked old cars and machines while at the old lot where they kept the train’s boxcars served as drug dens. The police did what they could, but the department was small and a small town like theirs just didn’t have the resources to fight the incursion of drug use and poverty. Jon was starting to feel sick.

“Jonny?” Hardy reached out to put his hand onto the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t look at them, lookit me.” He tried to assure the young man. Jon turned his gaze over to the officer. He was wearing a clear rain poncho over his uniform, his sunglasses pushed up as that handlebar mustache pushed up into a smile. “Hey you and Leslie go on to Misha’s. My daughter’s there helping out folk. We found a lot more hold up in their shops after the flood. Damn fools if you ask me.”

“But--” Jon was worried about old Mac.

“Hey,” Hardy called. “We got him. The ambulance is on the way and the Fire Brigade’s got a few emergency tents set up where there ain’t no power. Go on.” He pat Jon’s shoulder reassuringly as he called the other officers in to help.

Jon made sure to move out of the way quickly. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the two deputies follow Hardy in, quickly turning his head as they looked back. He could feel it on his cheek. As he moved to the edge of the sidewalk he could feel their eyes on him, judging. They didn’t like that he wasn’t like them. There weren’t many minorities in town so it stirred up a bit of tension when the authorities had trouble to deal with and it was usually kids like Nathan and Jon that were first to blame. Hardy had grown up in town and while he had his own prejudices that he was slowly working himself out of, a lifetime of being told who was better. He knew Jon and Nathan since they were little and they were friends with his daughter. Had it not been for those two she may not have ever seen her tenth birthday... The sheriff didn’t want her anything like the rest of his family, if he could help it. Leslie moved between Jon and the two deputies.

“Well if it isn’t Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb!” She chirped.

“Leslie,” Hardy warned. “Don’t sass ‘em.”

She would drape her arm over his shoulder, moving her free hand to playfully punch at his arm. “Ignore those big heads. Let’s go see Kaitlynn. Maybe Paulie’s with her!” Leslie was worried about him too.

As they passed one of the bodies, Jon felt himself become tense. They hadn’t even bothered to move them, and, by the looks of it they were definitely -- sick. Their skin had become jaundice and they were thin. Jon focused on following Leslie, until he snagged his foot, and tripped. He caught himself on his hands and knees. The splash of the fall soaked the front of his shirt. He tried pulling to stand, but the cuff of his pantlet was still snagged. Looking back he was met eye to eye with the face of one of the corpses, or so he thought it had been. The man was very much alive as his jaws parted wide open: missing teeth from years of drug use, and his hair balding in a few spots. His body was so thin that the clothing loose on his body looked more like loose trash bags. The junkie screamed, causing Jon to scream and Leslie to shout as she jumped into action. Kicking her foot out she would smash the bottom of her boot into the man's face.

“Hardy! Hardy!!” Leslie and Jon shouted.

The Sheriff and his deputy ran out with guns at the ready, the other still inside with Mac.

“What hell...?” Hardy positioned his weapon. “Let go of the boy! Let him go!” But he couldn’t risk the manic dragging Jon down and opened fire.