“What can I do to help, Sheriff?” Coach Burns asked.
“I need your car. And any guns you’ve got in the house.”
“Whatever for?”
“Because it’s finally happened. God, you remember the movies don’t you? How they’d drop out of the sky like monkeys with machine guns? Blowing away every American they saw until some redneck locals banded together and fought back? I never thought we’d actually see the day…”
The sheriff reached out his glass for another refill. Burns noticed the blistered marks on his wrists. He lifted the bottle from the table and poured Dawkins another sour mash. Part of him was sorry to see the whiskey go so fast. He’d been saving it for St. Paddy’s.
“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about them!”
“Who?”
“The goddamn Russians. They’ve landed here in Traitor!”
Burns took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. He counted to ten. It didn’t quite take, so he counted again. Retirement had demanded less daily practice. “Cuke Burns” was not known for losing his cool, unless he caught one of his students smoking cigarettes. He searched for tell-tale signs of madness, but nothing had swum to the surface of Dawkin’s lumpy white face. The poor man’s head looked as if it had been used as a soccer ball. Had he been on one of his benders again, got mouthy with some other fellas while off duty? Why didn’t he have his own guns?
It wouldn’t be the first time Cuke had seen Dawkins in trouble. One had to wonder if he went out in search of it sometimes. He was just lucky the county was forgiving, always came through for him during election season. Cuke lifted the bottle halfway to his mouth and glanced down its throat at the golden mash winking back. He changed his mind and set the bottle down.
“Did you just say what I thought you did?” Burns asked.
“I did Cuke. The Reds are here. But they haven’t stormed our beaches like in the movies. They got here by taking the goddamn highway!”
“I’ve got to be honest with you Dawk. You’re not on drugs are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you telling me the Russian army is invading Traitor?”
Dawkins drained his glass. He glanced around the room at the framed sports photos and shelves of trophies gathering dust. His face was up there on the wall too somewhere. “I’m talking about the mob, Cuke. The Russian mob is here in town and they took Mitch and me hostage along with a couple of kids. They’re looking for some money they say is theirs.”
“How’d you get those marks on your wrists?”
“They cuffed me with a plastic band. There was no other way to free myself. I pressed them against a wood stove until they melted enough to pull apart.”
“Jesus,” coach whispered. “Should I go get my first aid kit?”
“No. I’ll be okay. There’s no time for it anyway.”
“No time for what?”
“To stop them before they leave Traitor.”
Cuke shook his head. “That’s not possible Dawk. All the phones are still out, even the cell phones. They say Traitor is cut off from both sides. There’s an overturned truck on bay bridge and up north of town it’s a total mess. I heard a piece of highway a half block long slid down and almost took a lucky trucker with it. There’s heavy equipment on the way, but it can’t go nowhere until the bridge is cleared.”
Dawkins held out his empty glass. His eyes seemed to be staring inward. “One more hit Cuke and I’ll be on my way. Now please go get me your guns.”
“No one’s asking you to be a hero, Dawk.”
“I know that.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Look at what they done to me. I’ve got to go see if I can find them.”
Cuke got up from the table and walked stiffly toward the back bedroom. “Son of a bitch.”
“What’s that?”
“You heard me.”
Dawkin’s mind began to drift while he waited. Cuke’s whiskey had warmed him up nicely. The hot anger he’d felt had passed and he was glad for it. If you wanted to do things right you needed to stay focused on what had to be done.And once you get them out of the way you’re going to need to find those kids that left you, kicked you upside the head and left you behind in that stinking shack …
Ten minutes later Cuke returned with a gym bag and set it on the table. He’d gotten dressed. The sheriff noticed he was armed with a.45 in a holster.
“What do you think you’re doing, Cuke?”
“We can get the rifles from the truck. I’ve got two pistols in that bag and plenty of ammo.”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“Like hell I’m not.”