mgowriter's note: surprise visitors...
9. Something to Lose
The late-August sky was filled with streaks of yellow and orange from the setting sun. Crickets chirped happily in the overgrown grass that surrounded the main street of Lincoln, Massachusetts. A soft breeze ruffled the tops of the grass, revealing the momentary glare of a pair of lenses before they disappeared back into the shadow.
"They're across the street, next to the grey pickup." Bill said quietly as he lowered the binoculars. "Take a look."
"I see'em," said Frank. He squinted into the eyepiece.
Two men huddled around the old pickup truck. Their clothes were dirty, taking on the unwashed appearance of weeks of travel. The older man looked to be somewhere in his seventies, with short, snow-white hair and a long, ugly scar that ran across the right side of his neck. He was clearly in pain, but kept his voice low as he talked, making it hard to make out their conversation. The other man was younger, in his late forties or early fifties. He frowned deeply as he examined the older man's leg.
"You think it was them this morning?" Frank whispered.
"Hard to say," said Bill. "The nail bomb went off on the other side of town. Could've been an infected."
"They don't look like military," Frank commented. "Fireflies?"
"It doesn't fit. What would Fireflies be doing in Lincoln?"
The younger man pulled out a supply bag from his backpack and went to work cleaning his companion's wound. It was bad. Even from a distance, a large amount of blood was visible and soaking through the meager bandages.
He shook his head to a comment that Frank and Bill couldn't hear, and replied with an answer that the other man clearly disagreed with. It seemed as if he was about to argue back, but settled instead on taping the bandages. When it was finished, he handed over a crudely shaped walking stick. The older man hopped up on one foot. He grunted in pain as soon as the wounded leg contacted the ground, but held on for a couple more seconds before letting the other man help him to the ground.
. . .
Frank looked back at Bill.
"No," Bill whispered with intensity. "No way. Don't tell me you're even thinking about it. We don't know who these people are."
"They need help," said Frank, keeping his voice equally quiet.
"They look pretty damn capable to me."
"Bill, these guys look exhausted. They've obviously been on the road—for who knows how long. They're practically starving. That leg is going to get infected without antibiotics."
Bill peered into the binoculars. The younger man was looking through his backpack.
"The guy with the wounded leg has a 44 Magnum on his side and another handgun hiding beneath his shirt on his back. The other guy is wearin' two semi-autos in plain sight, and has an M16 that never leaves his side. They might look harmless, but they're packing like they're professional hitmen. Either way, I ain't gonna put both our lives at risk by sittin' around and finding out."
They both turned at the sound of a loud thud across the street. The man searching the backpack had thrown it against the truck in frustration. He ran a hand through a head of dark hair that was peppered with grey, and sat down next to the older man.
"There's nothing we can use," he said, this time loud enough for Bill and Frank to hear. "We need to see if there are any supplies in this town."
The older man shook his head. "There're traps all over the goddamn place. It's too dangerous."
"I could sneak in and—"
"And what? End up shot? We don't know how many of them there are."
"Sully, you can barely stand on that leg. The last piece of shrapnel I took out was almost to the bone." The worry was clear in his voice. "You need antibiotics and clean wound dressings. And I'm sure some damn painkillers wouldn't hurt, either."
Frank looked to Bill, who motioned for him to remain still. The two strangers were facing directly toward the patch of tall grass they crouched behind.
"Do I look like I turned into some kind of weakling overnight? The leg is fine. I don't need any painkillers."
The younger man sighed deeply. "All these years of missing Friday night poker and you've lost your poker face, old man. Good to know you're not getting any less stubborn, though."
The older man's laughter quickly turned into a grimace at the disruption of his leg. He looked at the improvised wound dressing that was slowly soaking through with blood.
"I'm sorry, kid. I've been slowing you down for a while now."
The younger man stopped what he was doing to stare directly into his companion's eyes.
"You're not giving up on me."
The older man remained silent.
"It's like you said. We've got nowhere to go and all the time in the world to do it." The younger man lowered his head and paused. "If you give up now, you kill us both. I can't…you can't leave me to do this by myself."
The older man sighed. "You can't think like that, kid. What happened to Elena wasn't your fault, and you can't keep on blaming yourself. You're gonna—"
"I'm gonna make a splint for that leg," the younger man said, cutting him off. "And we're going to head for the next town tomorrow." He stood to dust himself off. "Call out if you need anything."
. . .
Bill motioned for Frank to follow him as he retreated from their hiding spot.
"I know you want to help them. It's the right thing to do. But like I said, we don't know who they are or what they're capable of. We give them a place to sleep—they could murder us in the middle of the night and live on our supplies for a year. If it came down to it, between them and us, don't think for a second they'd hesitate to kill the both of us."
Frank considered his words. Bill was right. They didn't know the two men, and there was a real chance any encounter could end up backfiring on them. But something didn't sit right with him.
"What's changed?" he finally asked.
"What do you mean?"
"The first night you found me…you didn't know who I was. I was a stranger that needed your help, like these two. What's changed between then and now?"
Bill weighted the question in his mind, before staring into Frank's eyes.
"I didn't have anything to lose then, but I sure as hell do, now."