Dale's Redemption

Dale's Redemption

Dale's dreams were haunted for the hundredth time since the chaos began in early Fall.

Dale liked to use his eyes. He was naturally quiet and introverted, but he always looked into people's eyes to see their thoughts. That all changed when he stared questioningly, searchingly into the eyes of Mitchell Caffardy the day he was threatened with is life. A knife was touching his throat, so cold and keen that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Mitchell's eyes were cruel; they seemed to glow with a cruelty that mercilessly hammered Dale's innocent gaze with a shockwave effect. Dale could only remain silent and try to mask some of his incomprehensible terror.

Dale sat up, waking from his nightmare. Even now, Mitchell's memory made him feel sick to the stomach. Instinctively, his fingers twitched. He remembered the feel of the gun in his grasp. The gun he had killed a man with. He had killed Mitchell. Dale was afraid of Mitch, he hated Mitch, and he killed him. Just before Mitch died, Dale had seen his face twist in pain. For a moment, Dale's eyes, stern wit hatred, looked directly into Mitchell's, which showed an expression of surprise and puzzlement.

Then he fell, dead.

Dale shook off the memories. He spent the morning preparing for a serious undertaking which he had been debating lately. Skyler joined him around lunchtime, and the two teens carried a load of stuff toward the vehicle that would be used tonight.

They passed through Main Street, which was hot under the open sun. Summer was well underway in Jericho, dispersing memories of frigid frosts and empty streets, replacing them with new hopes…and new fears. Thanks to Major Beck, Jericho was an enemy of the ASA now.

Jericho was no longer a priority place to search for the terrorists Beck was convinced that the ASA would not come in with guns and tanks. Rather, they would kill the town by blocking trade and stopping food shipments. Not that such a blockage would be a new problem—Jericho had been cut off from the outside world ever since it was declared an Insurrection a few weeks ago.

These thoughts flew through Dale's mind as he strode over to a black pick-up truck with the faithful Skyler at his heels. The truck had belonged to Skyler's parents, and when Dale had nothing to drive, Skyler leant it to him. By law Dale was not supposed to be driving; he was sixteen years old and did not have a Learner's Permit, let alone a Driver's License. Before the attacks almost a year ago, Dale remembered applying for his Permit; but he did not pass the test. He never seemed to satisfy the people around him—in academics or anything else. Even when he worked like a dog at Gracie's store, practically running the whole franchise for her, nobody paid any attention to him.

Nobody except Skyler. Dale clenched his fists and hardened his face, vowing that he would protect Skyler for the millionth time.

Protecting someone or something called for careful picking of allies. Dale knew that his store as well as Skyler would be in trouble if there was no way to open trade. He had to save his business no matter what.

Dale handed Skyler the keys to the truck. "Go ahead and start it," he said with his eyes down and his voice repressed as usual. "You can round up the guys too, if you see 'em. I've got to do something before we leave."

Skyler watched him walk away, marveling again at Dale. He was so small, and yet he already owned a good little business and had all the right friends in trading. The boy who had once seemed the most insignificant person in town now owned more farmland than anyone in Jericho. He was too short for his age, and yet his stride carried him faster than any pedestrian in sight. Even with all this, Skyler couldn't help wondering if her boyfriend was really happy or not.

Dale didn't stop or look up until he had reached the flat, greenish-yellow field on the edge of town where the graveyard was located. The sun seemed to ignore this bit of land; it always seemed cool and dreary. Dale laced his way through the stones, suddenly noticing how quickly his heart was beating. Imagined faces of the dead were staring up at him, reaching out at him because he had sent a man to join their ranks. With every step Dale felt the trigger, heard the bang, and saw the spot of blood appear on Mitchell's chest.

He stopped in front of Johnston Green's gravestone. Far too self-conscious to say anything out loud, he talked to Johnston in his thoughts.

Hello Mayor Green. Oh, sorry—I keep calling you that even though it's been half a year since you were beaten by Gray. You've only been gone a few months, but it seems longer to Gail. …And to me.

Dale thought back, remembering how kind the Greens were. Gail had comforted him and offered him shelter after his mother was killed. When Gracie died, it was Gail who helped start up the grocery store again. And Johnston had always had a soft spot for Dale the loser. Johnston protected Dale at the horrible Black Jack trading post, and he was the first one to believe what a monster Mitchell Caffardy had been.

I don't know if you can help me, sir. Gracie's market—I mean my market—is in trouble. There's no way for me to trade for goods. …Unless I do business with those thieves and Black Marketers. I've done it before, you know. It was the thieves who sold me the vaccine for the Hudson River Virus. You might think that what I did was wrong, buying and selling products that were probably stolen or illegal. But I didn't take money for them. I gave them to the town for nothing. Jake helped. Anyway, I need to know what to do now. "I'm asking for advice," he added aloud.

"He was always good at that."

Dale started, surprised. One hand was automatically thrust into the inner pocket of his vest, where he kept his penknife. He was relieved to see that the owner of the voice was Gail Green. She stood just a few yards behind, staring sadly at her husband's gravestone. Dale relaxed.

Gail slowly stepped forward, bent down, and touched the letter J in Johnston. "He could always give advice. Most of the time he gave it when I didn't want to hear it. But you know what?" The glow in Gail's eyes grew. "He was always right. So what's bothering you?"

"My store is in trouble."

Gail raised an eyebrow. "But you always know the right people in the trading world, don't you?"

Dale's gaze never wavered from his feet. "This time it's dangerous. If soldiers find out that I'm binging in supplies…. I don't mind risking my life, but I'm worried about Skyler."

"And you'll probably be buying from a cheater."

Dale's eyes darted up slightly, and then came back down to the comfortable view of his feet. "Yes. And it won't be the first time."

Gail was silent for a few seconds. She gave a sigh and sat down on the ground. "Dale honey, I'm struggling to understand life as much as you are. I guess the only advice I can offer you is this: if you listen to your heart, you'll be happy for a time. But your heart—your cravings—don't always know what's best for you long-term. You've got to be able to use your heart, soul, and mind together. That means emotion, common sense, and deeper meaning."

"You sound like a shrink, Mrs. Green."

"Johnston sounded that way too, sometimes. If you can imagine a shrink with a hunting rifle and a pair of antlers on the wall." She smiled. "I don't know all the answers, Dale. For this situation, I would recommend that you leave Skyler behind."

Dale nodded and began to walk off. "Hey, you want a ride back into town?" asked Gail. Dale shook his head, preferring to walk by himself. When he was with Gail, he felt uneasy. He wanted to tell her everything—he wanted to talk about Mitchell, about his parents, and about his fear—but he restrained himself. Dale had never really liked talking, except when absolutely necessary.

Only one time had Dale's iron will had bent, and with a shaking voice he had almost told Johnston about Mitchell's murder. It was at Black Jack, after Johnston had alluded to the subject of Gracie's death. "When my mom died," Dale had said, "…I didn't think I could ever get over it. And then when Mrs. Leigh…"

Johnston stopped him, putting a friendly arm on his shoulder and unintentionally preventing his young friend's confession. "Mitchell Caffardy will get his due," Johnston promised. He didn't know that Mitchell had already been killed—by Dale.

"You can't come this time," said Dale quietly, climbing into the driver's seat of the pickup truck. "It's too dangerous."

Skyler folded her skinny arms and fixed him with her sissy-sassy eyes. "Dale, we've been through this. It's always dangerous. Now don't start getting stubborn; you know I can be pretty scary when I'm angry."

A small smile appeared on Dale's face. He could not force Skyler into anything. In fact, he wanted her to come. "You'll have to stay close to me," he said, almost in a whisper. His pale hands gripped the wheel and he started to drive. In the back of the truck sat five of the immigrants, Dale's hired henchmen so to speak. Besides carrying impressive guns, these hardy men had signed up to protect the trading goods. They sat amongst piles of salt, cartons of gas, refurbished generators, and more.

Getting out of Jericho was difficult, and had to be done at nightfall. The checkpoint was being guarded by Jericho Rangers, and of course they let Dale pass. But after them came the open roads, where anything could happen. Soon, ASA Humvees would be parked on the roadsides to prohibit incoming supplies.

Dale halted at about ten O'clock at night. Up ahead, there was a soldier outpost. He quickly flicked off the headlights and drove slowly off the road. He parked the truck behind a clump of trees and bramble. Some traders from Black Jack and surrounding counties had agreed to meet Dale's group here, an hour before midnight or earlier. Without a word, Dale gave flashlights and water to all the men.

Then they waited.

A slow half hour ticked by. Dale was wide awake, but Skyler was dozing with her head against his shoulder. What does she possibly see in me? Dale couldn't help wondering. I was the town loser and she was the beauty queen. Her parents had all the power, but she wanted to be with me. She must really love me.

There were headlights coming down the road. A half mile away, the vehicles parked. Dale could see a few flashlights wavering in the night air, but he could not make anything else out. Silently, the capable teenager signaled to the men to get behind the truck. Skyler cast her boyfriend an anxious glance; then she too took shelter.

Dale turned out his flashlight and held his arms out to the sides in a neutral position. He held no weapon in his hands, though there was a one-handed gun tucked away in his vest. For a while he could not see or hear any sign of the traders…

Then suddenly they were there.

Dale was blinded by the lights of three or four flashlights. He was forced to close his eyes, and his stomach knotted nervously. On the outside he remained calm and said, "Cool it, guys. What, did you think I was gonna attack you?"

The traders lowered their flashlights—and their guns—and Dale could see three rough-looking men in drab grey coats. A dark-haired man was leading them; his face was covered in black beard stubble and his eyes had a sarcastic glow. He was not as fit as his henchmen, but he was still quite a sight in comparison with the pale-faced blue-eyed teenager who stood at odds with him.

"Things are dangerous out here lately," observed the dark trader nonchalantly. "There's war, I hear. Men can get paid for bringing in fugitives." His voice had a strange coarse quality.

Dale thrust one hand into his vest, subconsciously fingering his only safeguard, the gun. "Let's quit the talking and get to business. What do you have to trade?"

"Depends on what you want." The man's hands were invisible in his oversized coat pockets, and Dale was aware of an ironic friendliness beneath the coarseness of the trader's voice.

"I need food," said Dade. "As much stock as you can get, especially meat. I'm willing to negotiate a long-term bargain. We can schedule to meet once every two weeks to trade. I've got salt, and tons of metal that can be burned down."

"What I need is traveling supplies," answered the trader. "Blankets, spare parts, cables, guns and ammo. And gas. The government may be running but they sure aren't too generous when it comes to our sort. They want to close us down."

Dale nodded. "We'll agree on a trade: give me twenty pounds of food or seed in exchange for twenty pounds of gas, guns, and any blankets I can find. We'll need a way to seal the bargain."

"Come down to the truck with me and I'll give ya an extra pound of collateral. How's about a couple sacks of flour to seal this thing?"

Dale nodded. He turned his head and called, "Hey guys, we're going down to this guy's truck. Come on." Dale noted that the trader looked surprised and disgruntled when he realized that his young business partner had reinforcements. "Come on, Skyler," Dale told her in a barely audible voice. "Stay by me—I don't trust this guy."

Dale, Skyler, and his four men followed their new business partners. They stayed to the side of the road, unable to see what or who was traveling by it. Within ten minutes they found the trader's truck, parked in clean sight on the road. There were three more men there, all of them armed. Dale barely had no time to process what was happening before it was too late.

One of Dale's henchman shoved him to the ground, and at the same moment the sound of a gunshot rent the air. The man who saved Dale's life was down, dead. The traders from the truck were attacking! Dale didn't know why his partner had decided to turn on him, but he knew he had to get away. Dale heard more shooting, cursing, and yelling before he was able to find cover and see what was going on.

Three of Dale's henchmen were down thanks to the good aim of the other trader's men. Now the deal-breakers seemed to be looking for a target. It was dark, and Dale's pumping heart and panicking mind made it hard to think or focus on anything at such short notice. Suddenly he realized that Skyler was out in the open; but the gunmen were too focused on Dale to notice her. At any moment, they could end Dale's life.

Skyler knew it. Without warning she threw her hands up and said, "Hey!" This successfully distracted the gunmen from Dale.

Another gunshot, and a girl's scream tore through the warm night air.

"Skyler!!" Dale's cry, wrung from his very soul, came out as loud as strong as an animal roar. He sprung out of hiding and ran to the right, where he had seen Skyler fall. Lifting her tall, slender body, Dale darted away into the underbrush. He heard sounds of pursuit, and several bullets barely missed him. With his adrenaline pumping vigorously and the suppressing darkness aiding him, he soon outran his enemies.

But all sense had left Dale by now. He kept running, oblivious of his surroundings, his face soaked with tears. Some instinct led his galloping feet toward Jericho. When he was almost at the checkpoint, Dale tripped. He sat up again and noticed that his head was strangely sore. Skyler was still in his arms, unresponsive. Her clothes were warm and wet with blood. Dale's head throbbed, and the shock of Skyler's injury overwhelmed his senses.

He passed out.

When Dale awoke, he didn't remember anything. He wondered why he was in Mrs. Green's house instead of his cot in the grocery store. Vaguely, he remembered talking to Gail at the graveyard. As he got out of bed, he noted again that his head was sore. Absentmindedly, the teen wondered if he had a fever, and half-expected his mother to come in with a pitying smile on her face and a thermometer in her hand.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. Dale sidled down the stairs and into the Greens' comfortable den. He liked the mild-colored carpets, soft sofa, and the friendly window peering out onto the small lawn, where Jake's old dog was sun-bathing. Several books were neatly arranged on a shelf, along with a few of Johnston's trinkets. A rabbit foot for good luck. A rusty horse-shoe. A small but realistic model of a bass fish.

Completely devoid of serious thought, Dale gingerly selected a book of poetry. He liked some kinds of poetry, especially the kind with a struggling hero in a crazy, unrealistic situation. Somehow, those types of stories appealed to him greatly. Dale opened the book on Alfred Noyes' "The Highway Man."

"One kiss, my bonnie sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;

Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

Then look for me by moonlight

Watch for me by moonlight

I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

…"Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot in the echoing night!

Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!

Her eyes were wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,

Then her finger moved the moonlight,

Her musket shattered the moonlight

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death."

Dale slammed the book shut, feeling suddenly sick to the stomach. Something happened last night. Skyler. Dale felt suddenly drained and everything seemed surreal as he remembered. He was like a fish suddenly taken out of the water. Skyler. She took the hit that was mine. She's going to die…like Gracie…like my mom…

The door opened suddenly and Gail came in. "Dale, honey," she said softly. "I didn't know you were awake. You must have hit your head on something last night." She thought Dale looked indescribably helpless and pitiable.

Dale slumped into a sitting position on the floor. "Where is Skyler?"

From the way Gail's face changed, Dale knew the reply would not be good. "She's in critical condition. They're not letting anyone see her right now. The doctor isn't sure if…"

Dale bowed his head, stunned, destroyed; unable to process anymore grief. Skyler is dying. Shakily, he got to his feet and stumbled out the door, his face pale and blank. A mist seemed to cloud all his senses. He was vaguely aware of Gail's protests, but he ignored them, leaving the house.

He went to his store, and looked at the familiar signs and products. He went into the back room, where he often slept on the cot to be alone. Other times he would sleep in Skyler's house. Wordlessly, Dale looked at his mop and broom, reminders of his fond days of working for Gracie. Back when he was happy to work. Back before he realized that the only way to get through life was to have power over others. Dale had nothing to remind him of his parents—any pictures of them had been burned down with his trailer, burned down with his life, his love, and everything he knew. Everything. Burned. Gone.

The last thing he had was his business, his only hold over the uncontrollable raging beast that called itself life. The only other thing was Dale's last love, Skyler. And now she was going to leave him also. Without her, life was not worth living. The power he had over Jericho was not worth holding.

Dale shook his head furiously, trying to shake off despair. He needed someplace peaceful, someplace that didn't have so many memories. He left the store, paying no attention to any of the people around him. A bunch of the immigrants came up asking about their work schedules, but Dale ignored them. The restaurants were too busy to provide any peace for him. Eventually he lost track of where he was, and stumbled into the next unlocked building he found. Not knowing where he was, Dale slumped down onto a curiously long bench.

Tears trickled down his face slowly at first. Then they came faster, and hotter. His whole body shook. Suddenly he stood up and started shouting, sobs mixed in with his words. He did not know to whom he spoke. "Where are you?" he cried hoarsely. "They told me about life! They said it was so wonderful! But it's not!" He cursed vigorously. "I wish I were dead!" He fell onto his knees on the floor, half-whispering, half-sobbing, "I'm so lonely and so confused. The only way I've been able to survive is by struggling, stealing, fighting like a mad beast for power. Nobody in this town likes me. I'm lost and alone!"

Dale's hands trembled and his tears flowed freely from his face and onto the floor. Never before had he lost control of himself like this—not even when his mother died. Skyler's rapidly approaching death was like reliving the deaths of everyone who had ever passed out of Dale's life. It felt good to let all this emotion out…but there were lots more where that came from.

Self-consciousness returned. Dale stood up and shot quick, furtive glances around to make sure no one was watching. That was when Dale suddenly realized where he was: the empty building he had stumbled into was a church.

Mayor Green? Dalecalled out with his consciousness. I remember what you used to say: when life gets too crazy, you go two places: the woods and the church. You said you could feel a…a presence in both places. Are you here?

Dale could not hear any answer. He walked to the back of the room, feeling like an intrusive stranger. The pulpit, the fat book, and the various knick-knacks here seemed strange and unfamiliar, despite the fact that Dale had been to church with Mrs. Leigh several times. It had sounded weird and distant: everything the grey-haired pastor was about Bible stories and religious arguments.

None of that mattered now. But the prayer-time did appeal to Dale a little, because that was when the religious lingo stopped. People began saying how they really felt. They were no longer people trying to impress each other, like everywhere else in life—now they were a human, broken people expressing themselves and demanding answers to questions that really meant something. Dale liked that time.

Without knowing what he was doing, Dale again reached out into the void with his consciousness. I don't know if anybody can hear me…um, my name is Dale Turner. I've heard around town that there's a God somewhere up there…Mayor Green used to talk about you. I don't much about you, but I guess if you're creator, then you made everything, even emotions. So I think I can share how I'm feeling, with you of all people…

His gaze stopped wandering and came to rest on one of the rows of chairs. It was place that Gracie and he used to sit. Anger welled up inside Dale. Okay God, he said, here's the deal. I'm sick of bad guys. They come in here and mess everything up! They killed my parents, they killed Mrs. Leigh, they killed the Mayor, and now Skyler is in critical condition. This all your fault and I hate you for it. You don't even care about justice!

Again, there was nothing but silence. However, Dale felt good after expressing himself. Hey sir, he prayed again, everyone in town thinks I'm a loser. I hope I'm better than they say, but I know for a fact that there are things beyond my understanding. I don't why you let the bad guys run free. The fact is, I'm not really angry at you. There is a lot going on in my life, but I don't feel like addressing any of it except this one thing at the heart…nobody likes me except Skyler. I can't trust anybody; everything is competition. I know this sounds weird, but I just wanted to ask…could you and me maybe…could we be friends? I've heard that you're not like everybody else. We won't have to manipulate each other.

Dale shuddered, remembering the look on Mitchell's face when he was shot. It was so clueless, so unsuspecting. What am I thinking? He wondered. Sir, I'm a murderer. Nobody knows it yet except you and me. I guess you wouldn't want to be friends with a murderer. I'm willing to admit that I'm wrong. Mitchell deserved to die and I felt like I should bring him to justice. Maybe I'm the not who was meant to do it. I know I'm a pretty screwed kid. Dale turned to go, but he added, sir, I have one more thing to ask. Could you please, please, please save Skyler?

A strange sense of peace washed over Dale. Admitting to his helplessness, expressing his true feelings, were both agonizing and liberating. This could be the start of something new.

"Dale?"

Gail walked into the building. "I followed you because I was worried. I thought you might have gone to the med center, so I dropped by there. I have good news." She smiled. "Skyler made it. After she was hit by the bullet, we tried a risky surgery to remove it. She was really weak afterwards, and we thought she might not pull through. The doctor says her position is stabilizing, though. She's going to live."

Dale looked up, his pale blue eyes glowing. He felt like he should celebrate, but he didn't quite know how. And he was suddenly aware of a presence of love radiating around him, just begging to be let inside once and for all. He didn't know what to make of, but he suspected it had something to do with his cry for help.

"Mrs. Green," said Dale, quietly, "why does Skyler love me?"

Gail seemed shocked by the question. "That's a pretty heavy question," she said.

"I'm a pretty heavy thinker."

Gail smiled. "She talked about you. It took a while to get her to shut up and calm down. She said that the traders broke the deal and started attacking. The traders must have heard that this town was full of enemies and traitors to the ASA. They probably attacked you to get some reward." She paused momentarily, disliking the gruesome topic. But she continued. "Skyler distracted them so they wouldn't shoot you. She has an empathetic nature, Dale. Not many rich girls will let themselves fall in love with…people they think are less important."

"Imagine the risk," said Dale, in a whisper. "She wanted to be my friend, giving up everything at her Dad's wonderful house. She took the bullet that was mine, risking her death."

"That's called sacrifice."

"But…" Dale struggled for words… "But I didn't deserve it. Mrs. Green," his voice began to break, "Mrs. Green, I'm just a cheat. Stealing the vaccine to save the town was one thing, but I took other stuff. In the winter, everyone broke their deals with me. Since nobody was helping, I stole what I wanted. And Mitchell…he killed Gracie, and he wanted to kill me. I…"

Gail put her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Dale, I know. I've known about it for some time…when Major Beck started cleaning things up, the Jericho Rangers discovered Mitchell's body in the alley. Only Jake and Jimmy and I knew about it. With Johnston dead, I was almost too sad to care. Jimmy is always persistent, though. He asked Skyler. She showed him your gun. We linked the case together, and had enough evidence to evict you."

Dale backed away, defensive. "Why aren't I in jail, then?" he asked.

"Because of another principle you're not used to. It's called grace."

"Grace…sacrifice…" Dale shook his head. "You believe in strange things."

"I didn't make it up." Gail grabbed a picture from the stage, and then sat down on the pews with Dale. She showed him the picture; it was a man with blood all over him, and an expression of love and empathy on his face. He was hung onto a strange wooden post that looked like a Goth symbol. A man on a cross.

Then Dale understood.