While dropping toward the dusty canyon floor he suddenly remembered being a boy on Saturday mornings watching reruns of a program called The Rifleman. He always imagined himself as a grown up someday facing down outlaws and desperadoes to save the innocent and uphold the law. In spite of everything that had happened at the trailer park, or perhaps because of it, the sheriff had secretly spent the last several hours wishing he could have been there earlier to kick ass and try to save some of those who had died. The deaths of Captain Wyatt and Deputy Holmes as a result of going into the trailer park, under his orders, made the desire to do something even stronger.
Chuck Connors, the actor who portrayed Lucas McCain aka The Rifleman hadn't been a sheriff on the television series, but he'd still left an indelible mark of what it meant to be a hero on Guiteriz as a boy. (Plus, as an added bonus the series was set in New Mexico)
And no matter what happened in the next few minutes he wouldn't trade this rare opportunity to do something genuinely heroic for any of his seemingly endless typically boring days spent reading over and signing various reports, listening to trivial officer squabbles, shuffling tons of paperwork from both the state and federal authorities, and the 'ever thrilling' meetings with bureaucrats and politicians who always were looking for ways to slash his department's budget.
As his boots hit the dusty ground the chopper quickly rose up. While running toward the wrecked car the sheriff had a difficult time not grinning, just as he had as a boy watching The Rifleman save the day.
“What does that shit kicking cowboy think he's doing down there?” Dr. Peters demanded to know from his seat aboard one of the CDC helicopters.
No one aboard dared to venture a guess, although one of the National Guardsmen did say, “That's Sheriff Guiteriz. And he was right when he radioed back a while ago saying they were outside the quarantine zone. We're almost two miles beyond it.”
“Shut up. We need to contain this viral outbreak. We don't need some cowboy playing the role of hero. And who told you to stop firing?” Peters asked.
A quiet, reserved, yet commanding voice came over the radio, “This is National Guard General Tommy Fulton and until further notice no one is to fire. Peters you need to get a grip. I've been observing via the helicopter mounted cameras and for now I want both choppers to pull back and monitor the situation. If Guiteriz thinks he can get things under control he deserves a chance to do it.”
At the beginning of every episode The Rifleman would very quickly fire off approximately a dozen shots from the hip as he walked down the center of a western town. Guiteriz fought down the temptation to do the same, but did cock the Remington rifle as he went toward the overturned SUV.
The scene was as well lit as any episode of The Rifleman he'd ever watched. Spotlights from the three hovering helicopters, coupled with two more hand held spots from above where Lopez and other deputies had arrived at the spot where the SUV fell off the narrow road combined to illuminate the stretch of canyon almost as much as high noon.
The big wolf was so blood splattered that most of its dirty gray fur was crimson.
The sheriff aimed at the wolf but before he could fire there was a faint crackling sound as the man who'd been wrestling it got the beast in a bear hug and squeezed. The wolf's spine had been snapped. The hind legs ceased moving but it raised its crimson tinted head and howled.
“You there! Stand up with your hands in the air!” Guiteriz yelled over at the big man who pushed aside the wolf's body.
The choppers had pulled back up high enough that the sheriff could hear a faint clicking sound as Lopez and the other officers up on the road cocked their rifles as well.
Most of the shirt had been torn off and long claw marks had glistening blood on the man's heaving chest. He stood up and had hundreds of cactus needles visible on his skin from head to toe. The man squinted up at the spot lights before noticing the sheriff standing near the SUV. He bellowed and sprinted toward him.
The canyon exploded in a deafening fusillade of gunshots that came from nearly every direction simultaneously. The bullets tore the man to shreds of tattered meat within seconds, but it wasn't until the grimly smiling sheriff shot him in the head that he finally stopped running.
Rumbling echoes of the gunfire bounced off the stones of the canyon for several seconds after the man fell to the ground. It wasn't until the last echoes were dying that the sheriff heard an insane howling and terrified yells coming from inside the wrecked vehicle.
When Guiteriz yelled for the man in the cactus patch to stand up, Henry could see through one the SUV's windows the sheriff's badge pinned to his chest reflecting the spotlights and realized that his family’s nightmarish southwestern road trip was finally at an end. Unfortunately, he'd been watching the action outside so intently that he failed to notice the strange man in the front of the SUV violently shuddering.
The sole survivor of the failed immigration raid at Albuquerque Springs Trailer Park had been infected when the man facing the sheriff had earlier grabbed onto his leg and taken a bite out of his already shot and bloody calf. It was during that precise moment that he recalled how fellow Agent Shoemaker had shot him when he'd been running earlier that day.
As he curled up in a fetal position inside the SUV and felt his sanity rapidly draining away his last coherent thoughts were of Shoemaker and how much he wanted to kill the son of a bitch.
The roar of gunfire outside the SUV when nearly every law enforcement official around the remote canyon joined the sheriff in putting down the infected wolf wrestler brought Dudley out of his stunned state of mind. The children screaming as a result of the gunfire outside drew his attention. Dudley followed the sound and the stabbing pains in his fevered and violently insane mind lessened slightly when he spotted the family huddled together only a few feet away. His eyes swam in and out of focus as blood filled the white parts, but he moved toward them nonetheless.
Edwin was in his father's lap, with his dad's comforting loving arms holding him tight. But when the six year old boy got his first glimpse of the infected ICE agent staring back between the front seats he finally lost his heroic battle to control his bowels. He'd managed to hold it in ever since before the wreck. Even when he'd been mauled by the wolf, somehow, the boy had retained control, but the red eyed man drooling and snuffling the air as their eyes met caused a eruption of indescribable foulness. Edwin's body shuddered in more fear than ever before in his brief life.
Megan caught a whiff and shouted, “You twit! How could you do-” A very nearby growling sound stopped her from completing her question. She saw the man with impossibly red eyes quickly coming toward her family and flung Mr. Cuddles at him while screaming and looking for something else to throw.
Mr. Cuddles was her favorite childhood plush stuffed animal. It was a fairly large fluffy pink rabbit that had accompanied her to bed since she'd been a baby and always kept her safe while she slept. The beloved stuffed animal may have kept countless nightmares at bay over the years, but the grinning rabbit only momentarily distracted the insane man when it whacked him in the face. He quickly tossed the beloved toy through one of the shattered windows and continued toward the bewildered yet understandably terrified family, all of whom were now screaming for help at this point.
Henry pushed his reeking son behind him and reached for one of the suitcases. He slammed the biggest piece of luggage forward and used it as a shield. The large Samsonite case belonged to his wife and as he defended his family from the madman with it he couldn’t help envisioning a commercial for it. In the ad, what was happening to him and his family was reenacted as a spokesman calmly said, “Traveling has all manner of dangers. Isn’t it nice to know Samsonite is there when you need it?”
His wife screamed, “What’s going on!?” while the children issued forth only a string of loud nonsensical but heartfelt shrieks.
Henry felt a searching hand scrabbling over one of his boots as the terrifying stranger howled and tried to pull the luggage from hi
s grip. He lifted his boot slightly and when the questing fingers wrapped around it, stomped down on them. There was a crunching of bones that was drowned out by a howl of pain and fury that seemed to go on for an eternity.
Bo was prepared to shoot the wolf as it approached him under the rock overhang with its teeth bared and growled at him, but when the gunfire erupted behind him she yelped in terror, turned and crawled deeper into the narrow space. The deputy scooted back outside and was blinded by the number of spotlights shining down. He noted the blood pumping from the bullet hole in his leg in rhythm to his heartbeat.
The deputy spotted the big crazy man lying motionless a few yards away in the cactus patch. He watched it warily as he yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket and tied a quick tourniquet around his wounded leg. There were distant cheers coming from the officers on top of a hillside and everything seemed to be over until the sheriff quickly turned back to the SUV, squatted down, and shined a flashlight inside.
Under the sound of cheers, even under the engines noises of the helicopter and the whupping of the blades turning overhead, Bo heard a savage howling coming from inside the vehicle coupled with a chorus of terrified screams. He’d thought it was over. He’d hoped it was over, but as he struggled to stand and hobble toward his sheriff he knew it wasn’t.
The painful poking cactus needles prodding his skin and the bullet wound combined to make him feel nauseated and weak, but ignoring the sensations he hurried to the car and his boss.
Sheriff Guiteriz shined his flashlight in the front of the overturned car. It was empty. Scooting back to the midsection of the vehicle he saw a pink long eared rabbit fly out of a smashed window. It landed a few feet past his boots and he shined the light inside once more.
A man dressed in tactical body armor with a horrible bloody leg wound that looked as if he’d been hit with a shotgun blast was yanking on a large purple colored suitcase with one hand, while reaching under it with another. There was an overpowering stench of shit inside, but the sheriff ignored it as his eyes began to water. He heard children crying and a woman’s agonized voice coming from the back screaming “What’s going on!?”
Guiteriz was still holding the Remington Rifle but had yet to reload it. He tossed it down and drew his sidearm but was faced with a problem. The man inside the car was wearing body armor over his torso and had a helmet covering most of his head. A bullet at such close range should be able to pierce the helmet but if it didn’t it could easily ricochet, possibly into the rear of the vehicle where the screaming people were located.
His gun wavered before he aimed at the man’s bloody leg wound and fired.
When the bullet blasted Dudley’s lower leg to shreds he howled again while turning toward the sheriff.
“That’s right! I shot you! Now come and get me!” Guiteriz yelled at the red eyed man who glared at him.
The sheriff was still squatting down to keep the crazy man in view as he inched backward.
Dudley whimpered and seemed undecided whether to follow or continue trying to get at the family just beyond the ripped and badly shredded piece of luggage. The whimpering children sounded much more appealing and for several seconds he only looked back and forth between the back of the SUV and the sheriff.
With his gun still aimed at the unpredictable man, the sheriff took on a sweet tone of voice and said, “Come on out of there. You want someone to eat. I’m right here. Come and get me.”
The sheriff backed away from the overturned car as the ICE agent snarled up at him. His blood filled eyes darted around as he crawled out through the shattered glass, dragging along what was left of one lower leg more by the strands of his torn uniform pants than by any connective bodily tissues that remained. Razor sharp shards of twisted metal from the SUV's torn jagged metal roof sliced the man's hands open but he didn't appear to notice. His eyes were still having trouble focusing but the glint from the spotlights bouncing off the sheriff's badge was like a hazy yet irresistible mystical beacon.
Over Guiteriz’ radio, Captain Lopez's voice could be heard. “Sheriff, we're up on the road above your position and there are three rifles trained on the subject. Do you want us to take the shots? Just nod and this will all be over.”
Guiteriz kept his head steady as he weighed the option. Oh God, I just want to go home and get so drunk that this day will be nothing but a blur. He's a murderous monster, but is that his fault? No, of course it isn’t. He's just sick and crazy. Damn, what would The Rifleman do in this situation? He bit his lip, staring intently at the crawling man trailing blood, madness, and disease behind him as he doggedly followed him from the wreck.
The sheriff reached a conclusion as he watched the pitiful looking man coming after him. It was a difficult one but he was sure it was the correct choice. Perhaps foolhardy and stupid but correct.
A few hours earlier, he had planned and caused the hideous death of Stephen Keck by kicking him in his pompous ass. The executive of Beaumont Biochemical Industries then fell into a well filled with undead monstrosities that had once been living men. Sheriff Guiteriz didn't regret having done it and doubted he'd ever lose any sleep over doing it, principally because Keck had been directly responsible for all the death and madness that had occurred.
But the very recent death of the mad man who'd been fighting with a wolf and then charged at him left the sheriff feeling less like a western hero than an executioner or perhaps even a cold blooded murderer. Over his career in law enforcement he’d faced countless situations where his actions weren’t exactly by the book, sometimes quite the opposite, when it came to dealing with the worst kinds of criminals.
While serving as a young deputy himself, many years earlier, he broke every finger and the nose of a drug dealer who he’d caught giving out samples to middle school students.
Almost a decade earlier he learned of a wealthy stockbroker who had been arrested for beating his severely retarded step-son so badly that the two year boy named Carl suffered permanent brain damage. Despite the stockbroker’s wife’s sworn statement that her husband had done it, and the man’s own drunken confession to the crime, the wealthy child beater had a very respectable high priced lawyer and made bail. Guiteriz, Lopez, Wyatt, and a few other members of the Sheriff’s Department met secretly and agreed sometimes justice, TRUE JUSTICE, couldn’t be found in any courtroom. When they were done with the sorry excuse for a human being the world was shed of a monster that enjoyed beating small children within an inch of their lives, the taxpayers were off the hook for paying for his possible prison time, and the herd of hogs that belonged to a cousin of Captain Lopez feasted well.
But even the most justifiable executions sometimes result in unintended consequences. The boy’s mother eventually surrendered Carl to the New Mexico Bureau of Child Services for placement in the foster care system. A week later she was found dead from an apparent suicide.
But in spite of everything that had happened, including the death of the sheriff’s long time friend Captain Wyatt that afternoon at the trailer park, the idea of shooting the man crawling across the sand before him crossed the line. It was an invisible line which all law enforcement officers have to learn to deal with.
The sheriff decided if he could take the ICE agent into custody in hope that someone, somewhere, somehow, could find a cure for whatever had driven so many people murderously insane he would do so.
After holstering his sidearm, he kicked sand and dirt into the crawling man's face. As the infected man growled angrily and groped blindly toward him, the sheriff pulled his leather gloves more snugly over his hands and double checked that the set of handcuffs was still tucked into his belt.
Dodging the man's groping hands, he hurried around to his side and picked up a plush pink rabbit (which had long floppy ears) that was lying in the dust. He quickly pulled the ears in different directions to see how strong the material was. It seemed fairly tough and the sheriff swung the grinning bunny around Dudley's head and quickly tied it in place behind his
helmet by its long pink ears.
As the deranged ICE agent bit into the soft pink fur of Mr. Cuddles, which smelled slightly of a flowery perfume that Megan had liberally sprayed on the beloved toy before taking him along on their road trip, Guiteriz seized one of the man’s wrists and slapped one end of the handcuffs in place.
He yanked that arm behind Dudley's back and was in the process of reaching for the agent's other hand when the man suddenly started to roll over. The sheriff was leaning down to grab the remaining wrist and found himself badly off balance and falling. I should have just shot the son of a bitch, he realized as the rocky ground seemed to rush up to meet his face.
Bo Autry's strength was almost gone by the time he reached the wrecked vehicle. He felt dizzy and sweat was dribbling down his pale face despite the cool evening breeze which was considerably supplemented by the strong winds being generated by the two remaining helicopters hovering above.
The second CDC helicopter had been sent on to continue the search for any other people who may have wandered out of the quarantine zone after the mad man in the cactus patch had been blown into a large quantity of unsightly chunks of bloody infected meat.
Bo spotted the flashing blue and red lights of the patrol cars parked on the narrow roadway above. The pulsating lights were almost hypnotic and his eyes felt immensely heavy. There was movement on the face of the steep hill. It took a great deal of effort for the deputy to pull his gaze off the flashing lights and focus at the officers rappelling down. Cavalry's here. It's finally over. Thank God, was the extent of his relieved thoughts.
Leaning back against one of SUV's tires, Bo was in the process of shutting his eyes when he heard the sheriff slap the first handcuff on the ICE agent.