Col. Dirk Fallows laughed.
Timmy kept the Walther P.38 thrust toward Fallows's chest and squeezed the trigger again. The hammer snapped, metal striking metal. No explosion. No bullet. Just the big, craggy face of Fallows laughing at him. He kept pulling the trigger, eight or ten times. Click, click, click…
Dobbs took a deep breath, not even realizing he'd stopped breathing the moment Fallows had given the kid the gun. His throat was dry from not swallowing. There were little crescents of blood on his palm from where his fingernails had dug in when he'd clenched his fist. He stared at his open hand. Shit, when had he done that? He wiped the blood on his pants. He could sure use a cigarette.
"Well, well," Fallows said, still chuckling as he stepped toward Timmy.
Timmy winced. He lifted the gun by the barrel as if it were a hammer, but Fallows snatched it away from him.
"Hell, I'm not going to punish you, Tim. It took guts to do what you just did. The kind of guts we need around here. I'm proud of you."
Then Fallows did something that shocked Dobbs. He grabbed the kid by the shoulder and hugged him close, patting his back like an old buddy. Like a son. Christ, Dobbs thought, now I've seen everything.
Timmy didn't resist. He just stood there, zombielike, tears leaking from both eyes, feeling not good for anything. He hadn't been able to protect his sister when they'd killed her. He hadn't been able to protect his mother when they'd killed her. Now he hadn't even been able to kill the man responsible for his father's death. What good was he?
"You're going to make a first-rate soldier yet, Tim. I guarantee it. When I'm done with you, well, you'll be able to take care of yourself. And anybody you care about."
Timmy looked up. Take care of people he cared about. Yeah, wouldn't that be something.
Fallows watched Timmy's eyes and continued. "The biggest obstacle to getting to the top is fighting your way through the crowd at the bottom. Remember that, kid. And that once you get to the top, all those clowns jerking around down there are going to try to take away what's yours. You've got to know how to control them. Use them. Or, if you have to, destroy them."
"That doesn't sound… right," Timmy said.
"Doesn't it? Why? Because your dad said so? Well, he didn't bother teaching you kids even part of what he knew about surviving. Look where it got you. If he was so damn right, how come you're here? How come your mother and sister aren't? What'd he do about it? Huh, what?"
Timmy shook his head furiously. "You killed them, not him. It was you!"
"I did what was necessary to protect myself and my people. If your father had listened to me, your mother and sister would still be alive. Think about that."
Dobbs pulled a pack of Winstons out of his pocket, shook one loose, and clamped his lips on the filter. He didn't understand Fallows's game, but whatever it was, this kid was starting to crumble. Dobbs grinned as he touched the match flame to the cigarette. Shit, that Fallows could sure mess up your mind.
"Just think about it, Tim," he said, hugging Timmy's shoulder again. "And while you're at it, think about that bitch he's been traveling with, humping every night."
"No," Timmy said, "Tracy's a friend. Mom's friend, too."
"Yeah, well, she's an even better friend to your dad. Your mom was hardly even cold before he started screwing her brains out. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd had something going even before your mom died-"
"No!"
"Maybe even before the quakes. Maybe ole Eric wasn't in all that much of a hurry to find you and your mom after all. Maybe he liked the way things worked out. Him free to take up with that Tracy woman."
Timmy fought the tears, standing stiff and upright as if he were at attention. But his shoulders shook, the tears tumbling down his cheeks like tiny boulders.
"The thing is, kid, you've got to be flexible in this world. Make new alliances." He released the empty clip from the Walther and tossed it on the ground. Then he took a full clip from his pocket and palmed it into the gun. "First thing you've got to do is trust no one. No one. Check everything yourself." He snapped a round into the chamber and thumbed off the safety. "Like I said, check everything yourself. Now you know this gun is loaded, because you saw the bullets in the clip."
Dobbs took a drag on the Winston, let the smoke curl out of his nose just for a change. What the fuck's he doing with that gun? Whatever it was, Dobbs didn't like it. "Maybe I should go check out the food supply, Colonel?"
"Yeah, OK. Only wait a second. I want you to see this."
Dobbs shrugged, puffed out a couple smoky hoops.
"What I mean, Tim, is that you have to know who can do you any good. Can get you what you want. Think about that for a moment. What is it you want right now? Don't have to tell ine, just think about it. Then ask yourself this: Who is most likely going to be able to help me get it? See what I mean?"
Timmy didn't say anything, but Fallows watched the eyes, knew the kid was thinking.
"Take me, for instance. I have to trust people all the time. I send them out on a job, and I have to trust them to do it. And do it right. Well, like Dobbs here."
Dobbs straightened a little at the mention of his name. He didn't want to be involved in Fallows's weird shit.
"I send my man Dobbs out after your dad and he brings me back a fucking gun. I ask for him alive or at least the head and what do I get? A goddamn gun with some smeared blood. Could be anybody's blood, even Dobbs's for all I know."
Dobbs shifted uncomfortably, coughing a little when the smoke went down the wrong tube. He didn't like the way this was going. Something kinky here.
"Maybe your dad is dead. But maybe he's only wounded. Maybe he's looking at us right now, that big, ugly crossbow of his aimed at Dobbs's head."
Dobbs knew Fallows was playing with his mind now, but he couldn't help but look over his shoulder, take a sweep of the woods. Didn't see anything. "Christ, Colonel…"
Fallows ignored him. "My point, Tim, is that when you ask for something and it isn't done, then that person has not only risked your life, but the lives of everyone you're responsible for. I'm responsible for a lot of lives here. All these men you see count on me. I take that seriously. Just like I take protecting you seriously. Nothing's happened to you since you've been with me, has it?"
Timmy shrugged, rubbing his bruised and burned arm.
"That doesn't count, kid. That's lessons. I'm talking about your life. Survival. Your dad protected his family and look what happened to them. That won't happen with my little family. I won't let it." He offered the gun butt to Timmy. "But a family needs to be able to trust each other. And when that trust is broken, they need to be punished. You follow me?"
"I-I don't know." Timmy stared at the gun without taking it. Fallows spoke so quickly, and Timmy was so exhausted, it was hard to follow what was being said. It sounded right, but…
"Take it, Tim. Take the gun."
Dobbs flicked the cigarette into the dirt. "C'mon, Colonel, this is getting weird."
"Just bear with me a minute, Dobbs. You'll see what I'm getting at." Fallows winked at him when Timmy couldn't see.
Dobbs nodded and grinned to show he understood. He felt a little better now.
"Go on, take it." Fallows smiled, his arm still resting on Timmy's shoulder.
Slowly, Timmy reached for the gun. He hefted it, looked it over, as if checking to see if it was the same gun with the bullets. Or had Fallows made a switch?
"There's the safety. Check it first. That's right. Now it's off. Guess all we need now's a target." He looked around, his hand still firmly gripping Timmy's shoulder. "Well, I guess we'll just have to use ole Dobbs there." He chuckled.
Dobbs chuckled too, but it came out more like a choke. And his skin had paled considerably.
"Go on, Tim." Fallows's voice began to take on a lulling rhythm, yet with a harsh edge, a commanding tone. "There's the man who may have killed your father. Who at least tried to. Look at the blood on the handle. That could be your daddy's blood. Pumping out of a hole in his chest while he was dying. Go ahead, pull the trigger."
Dobbs looked confused, but didn't move. He stood there frozen like a cat caught in a car's headlights.
Fallows continued, squeezing Timmy's shoulder as he kneeled beside the boy. "But I say he probably didn't kill your daddy. That Eric Ravensmith is probably alive right now, out there with some woman who surely is not your mother. And if he is alive, then Dobbs here has put the rest of us in jeopardy. He has risked all our lives by not doing his job properly. You and I, Tim, we have a responsibility to protect these men, just like your daddy should have protected you and your mother and sister. We won't fail like he did, will we? Will we?"
Timmy shook his head. "No."
"Then shoot. Shoot the bastard."
Timmy lifted the gun.
"Fuck, Colonel," Dobbs said. "He's gonna do it."
"Shoot, Tim. Squeeze that trigger. We have to protect our family. Squeeze the goddamned trigger!"
Timmy pointed the gun at Dobbs's chest, his hand quivering as his finger hooked around the trigger.
"Shoot!" Fallows screamed. But when Timmy didn't, Fallows reached over and clamped his huge hand around Timmy's, his finger pressing Timmy's small finger against the trigger until the explosion.
The gun jerked back at the same time Dobbs jerked back, the front of his chest opening like a red orchid suddenly in bloom. He flopped to the ground, his right foot kicking a pattern in the dirt while his leg spasmed. But he was already dead.
Fallows unpeeled Timmy's cold fingers from the gun and patted him on the back. "Congratulations, son." He grinned. "You just killed a man for not killing your father."