Free Dead Earth: The Green Dawn by Mark Justice Page B

along
the shotgun.
    “You know,” Jubal said, sliding on his
sunglasses. “It’s just a matter of time before the whole town ends
up like her.”
    Fiona turned her head towards him with an
astonished look on her face. “Mr. Sensitive now, are we?”
    “Just the facts, ma’am,” Jubal said in a
monotone, lifting his Glock and taking aim. “Die, bitch.”
    Jubal shot once and Renee’s head snapped
back. She wobbled around a bit, as if beginning a waltz step, then
toppled over onto her face.
    Jubal had the sudden urge to blow the smoke
off the barrel of his gun, like an old-time movie cowboy, but then
thought better of it. He barely understood what he was doing; it
was as if some cold, primitive part of himself was taking command
of his actions. “Bullseye,” was all he said.
    “Jubal, are you losing it on me?” Fiona said,
sitting down on the passenger seat with the shotgun propped between
her legs. “I need you.”
    “Shoot ’em in the head. They go right down.
Plop.”
    Jubal knew he shouldn’t be acting like this,
that he was freaking Fiona out a little, but he just couldn’t help
it. Maybe he’d feel like his old self after a rest.
    “I’ll get the additional weapons, then let’s
go home, Fee. We need to plan shit out.”
    Fiona slammed her door closed without
answering.
    Jubal turned towards the sheriff’s office,
saying, “Oooooh-kay,” under his breath.
    He went inside and collected the weapons. He
brought them out and threw them in the back seat of the
cruiser.
    Again behind the steering wheel, he flipped on
the car and revved the engine. “It’s okay Fee. We’re going home
now.”
    He put the car into drive and sped off down
the street.
    “Look out, Jubal. You’re going to run
over...”
    With a thump and a bump, Jubal drove over
Renee and continued on.
    “Dead bitch.”
    “Jubal?”
    “It’s okay, Fee. Everything’s going to be
okay now. I can feel it,” Jubal said.
    He even smiled.
    They carried all the weapons into his
mother’s house, laying them on the coffee table, and locked the
doors and windows.
    “I have got to sit down and rest,” Fiona
said, plopping down onto the couch.
    “I’ll get you a glass of water. Be right
back.”
    Jubal returned with two glasses of ice water.
He pushed aside the shotguns and set them on the coffee table.
“Some wedding we’re going to have, huh?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “Hey, we could have Renee bring the finger
food,” he said and immediately regretted it. Fiona kicked the
coffee table, spilling both water glasses and knocking one of the
shotguns to the floor. Jubal hadn’t engaged the safety of either
Mossberg and he prepared himself for a blast that never came.
    He picked the gun up off the floor and heard
the slam of the bathroom door.
    You’re an idiot.
    He just had to show his fiancée how calm and
cool he had become, how he was dealing with this unholy crisis like
a wisecracking movie character. He wanted her to know he was strong
and he would protect her, because if he could convince Fiona, maybe
he could convince himself. And maybe he could erase from his mind
the image of Damon Ortega’s head bursting like a melon.
    He cursed himself under his breath. He was 22
years old, shouldered with huge responsibilities, and he still
acted like a kid.
    Jubal stood outside the bathroom door for
several minutes. He expected to hear Fiona’s sobs, but she made no
sound.
    Finally, he tapped his knuckle on the
door.
    “Fee?”
    She didn’t answer.
    “Fee, I’m sorry. I...I’m an ass. It’s so hard
to act like I’m strong when I’m so goddamned scared.” He swallowed.
That had been a tough thing for him to say. Now that he had, he
felt better. Fiona loved him. She would accept him just as he was.
After all, she had known him longer than almost anyone.
    Actually, he realized, she had known him as
long as anybody left alive.
    “Fiona, did you hear me? I’m sorry.”
    “I know.”
    The voice was very small and came from