“Quips of the Scorned Mistress,” Lars answered proudly.
“Yeah, that one. When it became a romance bestseller, Lars redid the playground. Next big book, the sidewalks. He built his own status, and people ended up loving him. Hell, I really thought ten years ago the council was going to approve changing the name of the town to Lars, Ohio.”
Lars sighed as he tilted his head in consideration. “That would have been very nice.”
“Unbelievable.” Patrick poured another drink. “And here I thought Lars saved the mayor’s life in front of the whole town or something.”
“I did,” Lars stated. “Two mayors ago, during the corn festival. He was choking. But no one remembers that.”
“I certainly don’t.” Mick gathered up his cigarettes. “Well, you alcoholics have a goodnight. Me, I’m going home.”
“Well, it’s about time,” Dylan’s comment reached their ears before they saw her.
Mick smiled as he stood. “Hey.” The smile fell. “What the hell are you doing walking around by yourself?”
“Mick, please. It’s Lodi. Aren’t you supposed to be keeping us safe?” Dylan asked. “Of course, I don’t know how you do that loaded.”
Mick fluttered his lips. “I am far from loaded.”
“Good.” Dylan held out her hand. “Maybe I’ll make you work that big body of yours. Walk me home.”
“Ah,” Lars smiled and capped the bottle. “A romantic walk. Let’s go Ricardo, shall we walk like teenagers behind them and taunt them?”
Patrick finished his drink. “Sounds like fun. You don’t mind, do you Mick?”
Mick grumbled.
After hearing Lars’ comment to Patrick, Dylan, really offended, stopped at the door. “Lars, why did you call him that? Ricardo?”
“That’s his name,” Lars replied. “Doesn’t it make sense?”
“No. And it’s not very nice. I think it’s very racist. Patrick is Irish.” Dylan gripped Mick’s hand. “Let’s go, Mick. ‘Night all.”
Mick laughed as they stepped outside. “This is nice, you walking me home.”
“Yeah, I’m feeling frisky. So take advantage of it,” Dylan said.
Mick stopped her. “Can I steal a kiss?”
“As long as you do it before they taunt us.”
Smiling, Mick pulled Dylan into him. He embraced her then lowered his head. Lips parted, he drew closer. No sooner did their mouths touch when a loud screech rang out in the distance, immediately followed by a crash. Mick jerked away from Dylan. Turning, he heard a series of gunshots and the screech of tires once more.
The door to the bar banged open and Lars raced out with Patrick.
“What was that?” Lars said hurriedly.
Mick, ready to move, grabbed his radio. As soon as he did, a voice called through it.
“Chief, we had a breach. Blue sedan. Took out the guard and is heading toward—”
Mick saw the incoming headlights still far enough away but speeding in their direction. “I see him.” He hooked the radio on his belt, grabbed his revolver and stepped into the street.
“Mick!” Dylan started to charge out, but Patrick grabbed her as the car sped down the road toward Main.
Mick stood in the center of the street. He raised his revolver and didn’t flinch. The car moved quickly toward him. The closer it drew, the brighter Mick was illuminated by the beam of its headlights.
Mick waited. He ignored Dylan’s screams, clenched his weapon, saw a figure through the windshield and then fired two rapid shots.
A loud double ‘pop’ and both front tires blew out. Along with the sounds of the blaring screech of rim on concrete and Dylan’s horrified scream, Mick could smell the rubber tires burning right before the car veered off the road just three feet from hitting him. The damaged car sailed into Central Park, seemingly out of control. And it wasn’t but a few seconds before the car loudly crashed to a halt when the right side of the front end smashed into a tree.
“Stay here!” Mick yelled to the others as he charged forward into the park. He could see the steam come from the front of the car, and the hissing sound of the escaping steam mixed with the ongoing blare of the horn.
Revolver still extended, Mick pulled his flashlight from his waist when he arrived within a few feet of the car. The flashlight flickered across the driver’s face as he slowly lifted his head from the steering wheel.
The sight of his face brightened by the flashlight beam scared Mick more than anything had in his entire life.
There were no indications of the traffic accident. There were, however, signs of something else.
Eyes dark, face pale, sweaty, and splotched, the man looked at Mick with a satisfied grin. He was more than just a border breaker, or an invader, he was a ticking time bomb deliberately set to go off in Lodi.
It was a destruction mechanism that couldn’t be allowed to go off. Mick had to stop it, and he did. One shot, point blank, to the man’s forehead, delivered through the glass of the windshield, and Mick dismantled that time bomb without a second thought.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lodi, Ohio
September 25th
In the way that a lone backyard barbeque filled the air of the entire neighborhood with its aroma, the campers on the outskirts of Lodi lent their own scent to the air around Lodi.
The rooftop of Diggins’ drugstore became a popular lookout point, a television of sorts for those who needed something to watch, and those who felt the need to monitor the situation.
Dustin and Chris frequented Diggins’ roof. But on that particular day, with the brisk fall settling in, the slight cool breeze usually aromatic of the scents of autumn carried in the putrid stench of reality. Spoilage of sorts, rotten eggs perhaps; both boys tried to place the smell as something other than what it was, which was, plain and simple: dead bodies.
It was inevitable that the scent would fill the air. Too many people had flocked to Lodi, camped out and waited for the opportunity to enter. But after nearly three weeks, only four made it inside.
The boys watched as if something might happen, but no movement came from outside of Lodi. In fact, none had come for some time. The wall of bikers replaced by the U.S. military had dwindled down to six soldiers. There wasn’t a reason for any more border patrols; there hadn’t been an attempt to make it into Lodi for a week. Dustin himself had to wonder if the newest wall around Lodi was even a bigger deterrent that any gun could ever be. The bulldozers had mixed the dead campers and their supplies with huge amounts of dirt then moved them farther back from Lodi’s boundary, creating a wall that no one would want to cross. “Shh,” Dustin told Chris. “If you listen close, you can hear it.”
“No, you can’t,” Chris scoffed.
“I’m telling you, wait for the wind to slow down and listen.”
As the breeze died down, Chris concentrated with unfocused eyes. “Oh, wow.”
“See?”
“How many flies do you think are out there to be able to be that loud?”
“Millions,” Dustin answered.
“I thought flies died when it was cold?”
“Not if they have something to keep them going,” Dustin said.
“It has got to be the biggest maggot feast in the world,” Chris commented.
“Bet you it’s gross looking.”
Chris shuddered in disgust. “You know, if we don’t do something about them maggots we are gonna be infested with flies.”
“Oh, man, attack of the killer flies. Can you see it?” Dustin shook his head. “Hungry flies, huge from the unlimited supply of carnage, seek other means of food. Us.”