Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

The third kick never came. A rifle shot cracked from somewhere off to the left, farther away than the men on the porch. A man struck the porch boards and slid against them.

Someone outside shouted, “What the—”

A second shot came from the same direction. Someone near the truck fired several rounds back. Wood splintered from the porch rail, and one of the side windows cracked. Louis dropped lower behind the pew and tightened both hands around the pistol. A bullet passed close to the left wall. Another rifle shot followed from farther away, and a man cried out. Jennifer covered her mouth.

“Stay down,” Gladice hissed.

Two more shots came from different directions. Then the gunfire stopped. Loose boards on the porch clicked as they settled. Louis’s hand hurt from gripping the pistol. Jennifer was breathing quickly beside Angelique. Louis could hear his own breath as he kept the gun aimed toward the front door.

A boot scraped across the porch. The side door behind the platform burst inward. The cans tied to the latch struck one another as a man stumbled through sideways. He wore a work jacket and a web belt. He looked around the church in confusion. Then he saw them. The man opened his mouth. Gladice crossed the platform and drove the rifle stock into the side of his head before he could speak. He struck the doorframe and collapsed beside the open door with one arm trapped beneath him. Jennifer gasped. Angelique reached the man, kicked the side door shut, and pulled his free arm behind his back.

“Help me,” she said.

Louis set the pistol on the pew, opened the backpack, and pulled out the rope they had taken from the bait shop. He threw it across the aisle. Angelique caught it and tied the man’s wrists. Gladice turned him onto his side with her boot, searched his waistband, coat, and boots, and removed a folding knife and a radio.

“He’s alive,” she said.

“Keep him that way,” Angelique answered.

“Bind his ankles too,” Louis said.

Gladice tied the man’s ankles. He remained unconscious. Outside, the gunfire had stopped. The truck engine continued to idle in the lot, but Louis heard no voices.

Jennifer whispered, “What happened?”

Louis did not answer. He raised his head behind the pew and looked toward the front window. From where he crouched, he could see part of the porch and the sunlit sand beyond it.

“Stay away from the window!” Gladice said.

He ducked.

“How many were there?”

“Three,” Gladice said. “At least.”

“Someone else was shooting at them,” Louis said.

“Obviously.” She kept her voice low. “Which means we are not the only trouble out here.”

“There was someone farther back.” Angelique stood.

“We don’t know who that was.” Gladice pulled the man clear of the doorway and checked the cord around his wrists. “Could be the Collective sent a unit.”

“Or could be the Holy States fighting themselves.” Angelique looked toward the front of the church. “Like those who attacked the manor last night.”

Louis thought of Vance dead at his desk and the attack on the manor. The shooter outside might belong to the same group.

Angelique glanced down at the bound man. “Maybe he knows.”

“Ask him when he wakes up,” Gladice said.

Louis slowed his breathing.

“Anything marking unit on that guy?”

Gladice shook her head. “No formal patch. Just a cross on the sleeve and a local county band. Not regular army.”

“Local militia then,” said Angelique. “Which means they will not be missed for a while.”

Jennifer stared at the bound man. “Are there more?”

Gladice looked at her, then returned her attention to the door. “Maybe.”

“Where?”

Gladice’s expression did not change. “Outside.”

Jennifer looked toward the window and swallowed. “We need to go.”

“No,” Gladice said. “We need to stay here until we know what is happening.” She glanced at the unconscious man. “And maybe he knows something useful.”

“We cannot stay in here all day,” Angelique said. “We will be trapped.”

“I know.” Gladice stood. “So we watch. Wait until dark. If nothing changes, we go then.”

Louis said, “And if something does change?”

“Then we improvise.”

Louis leaned down beside the bound man, supporting himself against the pew. The man was still breathing. If he woke, he might be able to tell them why the three men had come to the church and who had fired on them.

“Help me move him,” Louis said.

Gladice came over. Together they gripped the man’s jacket and dragged him into the short passage behind the platform, where he could not be seen from the front windows. Jennifer flinched when his boots struck the threshold. Angelique closed the side door and checked its latch.

“Now what?” Jennifer asked.

Louis turned toward the front of the church. He could not see the porch, the lot, or the shooter outside. He did not know whether anyone was still watching the building.

“We stay down,” he said.

Gladice nodded. “Yes.”

Jennifer looked between them. “But what if—”

“Jenny.” Angelique spoke quietly. “Sit down. Drink water. Be quiet.”

Jennifer stared at Gladice, then sat behind the pew with her knees drawn up and her arms around them. Angelique took the shotgun and moved to the front window. She crouched below the sill, raised her head for a few seconds, then ducked again.

“Porch is not empty,” she said.

Louis looked at her. “How many bodies?”

“Two I can see. Both still.”

Louis could not tell whether the shooter had left or remained concealed nearby.

Jennifer wrapped both arms around herself. “Shouldn’t we ask who’s out there?”

Gladice turned toward her. “And say what? Hey, random shooter, we’re just innocent fugitives hiding in a church with a militia guy tied up inside. Please don’t kill us?”

Jennifer flushed and looked down.

Louis said, “There’s no way to know who it is. Not without risking the window. We wait.”

“Until dark,” Angelique repeated. “We wait until dark, and then we move.”

Jennifer looked from one of them to the next. “So we just sit here?”

“For now,” Louis said.

“That’s insane.”

“No,” Gladice said. “What’s insane is leaving this church in the middle of a firefight we didn’t start and don’t understand.”

The radio Gladice had taken from the bound man hissed. Jennifer jerked at the sound. A voice came through the static.

“—post three, answer—”

Gladice lowered the volume.

“—three, answer. Report your status.”

No one spoke. The voice repeated the call, sharper this time, before static covered it. Louis held out his hand, and Gladice gave him the radio. Dirt filled part of the speaker grille, and paint had chipped from the casing. He considered answering, but he did not know the man’s voice. Any reply could reveal that someone was inside the church.

He set the radio on the pew without responding. Gladice nodded. Jennifer continued to watch it. A branch snapped somewhere beyond the lot. Everyone looked toward the sound. Nothing followed. The shooter might not know they were inside. Louis did not intend to give him a reason to look more closely. He remained behind the pew and looked at the others.

“Nobody moves,” he said. “Unless they come through the door.”

Jennifer started to speak, then stopped. “And if they come through the door?”

Gladice lifted the rifle. “Then,” she said, “we start shooting first.”

Angelique guided Jennifer down behind the left pew with a hand on her shoulder. Louis returned to his position behind the second pew and picked up the pistol. Gladice crouched behind the front pew with the rifle aimed at the entrance.

Hours passed before the bound militia man woke. Heat built inside the closed church. Their water bottles were running low, yet they still could not tell whether anyone was watching the building from outside. Eventually they could no longer avoid using the small back room as a toilet. Angelique used the room first, then held the door while the others went in one at a time. Jennifer hesitated until Angelique took her place beside the door. She came out pale and kept her eyes down. When Louis’s turn came, the back room already smelled sharply of urine, and the floorboards were wet near the far wall. He braced one hand against the wall to keep the weight off his knee and tried not to step in it. No one mentioned it afterward.

After another twenty minutes, Louis first heard the prisoner’s breathing change. The man pulled against the ropes around his wrists and gave a low grunt. Gladice sat below the front window with the rifle beside her and the radio turned low. She looked back.

“He’s up,” she said.

The man was awake. A dark swelling had formed at his temple. He tried to sit up, but his bound hands pulled behind him and he fell back against the wall. When he saw them in the doorway, he stopped struggling.

“Easy,” Louis said.

The man looked from Louis to Angelique to Gladice. His gaze stopped on Jennifer.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said.

Gladice stood in the doorway. “That’s not how this works. We ask the questions.”

He tried again to sit straighter and winced. “You got no idea what you’re in.”

“No,” said Angelique. “That is why we’re asking you.”

He stared at her. “You’re with them.”

Gladice looked at him. “Who?”

“Whoever shot my boys out there.” He tipped his head toward the porch. “You think I don’t know a setup when I see it?”

Louis stepped farther into the room, keeping most of his weight on the cane. “What’s your name?”

The man said nothing. Gladice stepped closer.

He said, “Wendell Troy.”

“Unit,” said Louis.

“Covington County Militia.” He swallowed. “Third Platoon. We were called out last night.”

“By whom?”

“Captain Walker from the county office.” Troy shifted against the wall. The ropes tightened around his wrists, and he grimaced. “Said Montgomery wanted us deployin’ roadblocks on all routes south.”

“Why?” Angelique asked.

“Because we’re going to have a war with the Collective. Ain’t that obvious?”

“What makes you think that?” Louis said.

“Because that’s what everybody said.”

Gladice looked at Angelique. “And why were you sent here?”

“We got told to check structures along the county line and hold anything useful until regulars came through. We saw the church and stopped. Wasn’t supposed to be more than a quick check.”

“How many men do you have?” said Louis.

“Our truck and another one farther east.” He shook his head. “Maybe more on the roads. We weren’t told everything.”

“Who shot at you?” asked Angelique.

“You tell me. You’re the ones who set it up.”

Gladice leaned closer. “Did you see them?”

“No. Just fire from the woods.” Wendell looked away. “So y’all ain’t with them?”

“Let’s pretend you think we’re not.”

He stared at her but said nothing. Louis waited. Wendell appeared to know only the orders passed down to his platoon and the rumors moving through the county. Local militias were checking roads and buildings while regular troops moved south, and any unexplained attack was being blamed on the Collective.

“Do they know we’re here?” Louis asked.

“Who?”

“The men who shot your men.”

Wendell gave a short laugh. “You really think anybody knows anything right now?”

“Answer.”

“No.” He shifted against the wall and winced. “Not unless someone saw you. We came because the road angle gave us this rise and a roof. That’s all. We didn’t know what was inside.”

Gladice looked at Louis. Angelique said, “How long until someone notices your truck has stopped reporting?”

Wendell studied her before answering.

“Already noticed,” he said. “Question is whether they care enough to come looking in the right place.”

“Will they?” Louis asked.

Wendell shrugged as much as the cords allowed. “Might. Depends on whether they think we’re worth the trouble. County militia ain’t exactly regular army.”

“That’s a shame,” Gladice said.

He looked at her. “Yeah. It is.”

Gladice turned to Louis.

“Guess that’s everything we’re getting,” she said.

“No,” said Louis. “Probably not yet.”

“He’s said what he knows.”

“Maybe.” Louis remained beside the doorway. “But he knows more than he’s said.”

Wendell looked from one of them to the next. Jennifer remained in the doorway behind them with one hand on the frame. Her face was pale.

“What happens to me?” Wendell asked.

No one answered. Louis returned to the main room. Afternoon sunlight fell through the windows. Gladice followed him.

“He’s done,” she said.

“He may still know something else.”

“Like what? The names of every other militiaman in the county? Where the nearest gun shop is?”

Angelique came after them.

“Do you think he told the truth?” Angelique asked.

“Parts.” Gladice rested the rifle against the pew within reach. “They didn’t expect to find us. That part I believe. They were told to move south. That too.”

Louis looked toward the front windows. “The question is who the shooter was.”

“Could be the Collective,” said Gladice. “Sending teams across the border already.”

“Could be Dixie shooting itself,” said Angelique.

“Could be some local clan who decided the world ended a week ago and didn’t wait for permission.” Gladice shrugged. “There are a lot of people with guns out here, and not all of them are waiting for orders.”

“So what do we do with him?” Louis nodded toward the side passage.

“We use him.”

“How?” Angelique asked.

“Put him outside.”

Louis turned to Gladice. “No.”

“You want to argue, or you want to know why?”

“Why?”

Gladice slung the rifle over her shoulder. “Because someone is out there. We don’t know who. We don’t know how many. We’ve been sitting in this church hoping the dark returns before somebody smarter than the last bunch notices the porch. I’d like to know what answers the door.”

“With him,” Louis said.

“Yes.” Gladice pointed toward the side passage. “He goes out. Hands up. Calls to whoever’s out there. If they know him, we learn something. If they shoot him, we learn something. If they answer, we learn something.”

Jennifer looked from Gladice to Louis.

“That’s monstrous,” she said.

“You have a better plan?” Gladice asked.

Jennifer said nothing. Angelique looked toward the side passage, then toward the front windows.

Louis said, “He is still the only direct source we have.”

“He is a county militiaman who got sent to die with two other idiots,” said Gladice. “And he’s right. Nobody’s coming for him. But if we put him out there, we turn his useless death into something useful.”

Jennifer flinched.

Louis said, “He can still tell us more about where the roadblocks are. How they are set up. What kind of vehicles.”

“And he can tell us all that just as well after he goes outside.”

“If he goes outside and gets shot, he tells us nothing else.”

“Then we stop pretending he matters beyond what we can use him for.”

Jennifer stepped back. Angelique watched Louis and Gladice before speaking.

“He has some remaining value. But only some.”

“Meaning?” Gladice asked.

“Meaning Louis is right that we should ask the last questions now. And you are right that after that, his value is no longer enough to keep him inside.”

Jennifer stared at her. “You mean you agree with this?”

“I mean we do not have the luxury of mercy at the moment.”

Jennifer looked from Angelique to Louis and waited for him to answer. Louis hesitated longer than he wanted to. “If it comes to that,” he said, “it comes later. Not now.”

Gladice let out a breath through her nose. “Fine. Ask him your very last questions.”

Before Louis could return to the side passage, a distant explosion sounded beyond the pines. A second later, one of the side windows rattled.

Jennifer gasped, “What was that?”

A second explosion interrupted them. It came from the same general direction but sounded closer.

Gladice listened.

“There,” she said quietly. “Now we have war.”

A third explosion followed, farther away than the second.

The bound man called from the side passage, “What’s going on?”

No one answered him. As the sound faded, Louis heard the beat of rotors somewhere beyond the trees.

Jennifer braced one hand against the pew. “Helicopter.”

“Yes,” said Angelique.

Louis moved to the front window and remained below the sill. He raised his head. Nothing moved outside. A few seconds later, he heard several engines on the road. They grew louder. Tires crossed loose gravel, one engine downshifted, and metal rattled in a truck bed. At least two vehicles were slowing beyond the rise, one with a deeper engine than the others.

Gladice turned toward the side passage. “Now we use him.”

Louis looked at her. “We don’t know who ‘they’ are.”

“Exactly.”

Louis understood Gladice’s plan. Local militia or county volunteers might answer one of their own. Covenant regulars might hesitate before shooting a bound county man. If the newcomers were Collective, the name Louis Collins might make them respond. But whoever was outside would then know exactly who was inside the church.

Angelique stepped into the side passage. Wendell looked up at her, then turned toward the engines and voices outside.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Your chance to remain alive a little longer,” said Gladice.

Gladice entered behind Angelique with the rifle held low. Louis followed. Wendell looked at the three of them, and his face went pale.

“No,” he said immediately.

“We haven’t asked yet,” said Angelique.

“Whatever it is, I won’t do it.”

Louis stood in front of him with most of his weight on the cane. “There are men outside. You are going to walk out with your hands visible and say one sentence.”

Wendell stared at him. “I am not walking out there.”

“Yes,” said Gladice, “you are.”

He looked at her. “They’ll shoot me.”

“They might.”

His breathing quickened. “You said—”

“I said remain alive a little longer.”

Wendell pushed backward with his heels until his shoulders struck the wall. “No!”

Louis said, “Listen to me. If you go out and say what I tell you to say, you may live. If you refuse, you die right here in this room.”

Outside, another vehicle door slammed, and men spoke near the road. Their voices were closer than before.

“What sentence?” he asked at last.

“You go out. Hands high. Slow. Loud. And you say, ‘Louis Collins is inside.’”

Wendell’s eyes widened. “Collins? That kid from the bulletin?”

“Yes.”

Wendell hesitated. “And if they think I’m lying?”

“Then shout it again.”

He looked toward the door, then back at Louis. “You are a devil.”

“No,” said Gladice. “He’s just learning.”

Angelique stepped behind Wendell and untied his ankles. “Hands stay bound.”

She loosened the rope around his wrists, brought his hands in front of him, and tied them again.

The engines outside slowed near the church. Their vibration passed through the floorboards. Footsteps crossed the gravel in the front lot, and someone called to another man. The helicopter rotors had moved farther away but remained audible beyond the trees. Angelique helped Wendell stand. He swayed but remained upright. Gladice entered the main room first with the rifle held low. Jennifer stood when she saw them.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

No one answered her. Louis took Wendell by the upper arm and led him to the front door. Through it, Louis heard voices, footsteps, and a brief burst of radio static. Wendell stopped at the door. Louis tightened his grip on his arm. Wendell’s breathing had become harsh and quick. Sweat ran from his temple.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“Yes,” said Louis. “You can.”

Wendell shook his head. “Please.”

Jennifer gasped. Angelique reached past Louis and lifted the latch. The cans tapped against one another.

“Open it,” said Gladice.

Louis opened the door. Wendell pulled back, but Louis shoved him between the shoulders. He stumbled onto the porch with his bound hands raised. Nothing happened at first. Then a man shouted from the lot.

“Don’t move!”

Wendell flinched and began to turn. Louis remained behind the doorframe, caught the back of Wendell’s jacket, and pressed the pistol against him.

“Say it,” he said.

Wendell swallowed. His first attempt came out too low.

“Louder,” Gladice said from behind the door.

Wendell took a breath and shouted, “Louis Collins is inside!”

No one in the lot answered. A truck engine idled somewhere to the left. Gravel shifted beneath a boot, and a radio crackled before cutting off.

Wendell shouted again, louder this time.

“Louis Collins is inside!”