Isolation by Jones, Nathan (the first e reader .TXT) 📗

he'd come to this decision from a logical position. “Appeasement isn't going to stop the fighting. We have to show them that if they keep going, they'll lose. They think they can do whatever they want to us, and we can't do anything to stop them. But even if they pretend they've got nothing to lose, they do. And it's about time they start losing those things.”

Ben was quiet for a second. “Haven't they lost enough, though?”

He whirled on his brother. “If this doesn't sit right with you, you can wait in the truck. I'll do it on my own.”

“Hmm. What to do?” Ben raised his hands, ghostly in the darkness, and wobbled them like scales in the balance. “Do something I have reservations about, or leave my big bro to go into danger alone.” He spat off to one side. “Let's just get this over with.”

In spite of his bravado, relief washed over Chet; he didn't want to do this alone. Although he did feel a bit guilty about twisting his brother's arm. “All right, grab your stuff and let's go.”

Ben grabbed his own stack of newspapers and pair of gas cans, and together they picked their way down the hill through the sparse forest. Before long they reached a low fence surrounding the backyard of a big house in a nice neighborhood.

The sort of house Jay lives in? Chet wondered.

Well, it didn't really matter; most of the houses were abandoned anyway, and there was no way to tell who among the Wensbrook survivors lived where. Most of them were probably camped out a few miles from Stanberry anyway, where they could be close enough to keep terrorizing the town and quarantine camp.

He nodded to Ben, then headed one way as his brother headed the other.

The next fifteen minutes or so were a heart-in-throat blur of darting from house to house, packing wads of newspapers around wooden sections of the structures and dousing them with liberal splashes of gasoline. In his haste he splashed more than a bit over his feet and on his gloves, but hopefully he wouldn't light himself on fire when the time came.

Once he was done with his houses he headed back to the first backyard where they'd split up. He was a bit chagrined to find that Ben had beaten him there.

“You get yours?” Chet hissed.

His brother nodded, shaking his empty gas cans. “Seven houses, ready to go up. It's just too bad we don't know which one's Jay's.” He wiped at his forehead with a sleeve. “You?”

Chet nodded. That made fourteen houses in total, the nicest they'd been able to find. Thirteen for the houses in Stanberry Jay had burned down, and one for their ransacked farmhouse. Probably that number should be higher now, since Jay's thugs had probably trashed way more houses than theirs by this point.

But there was no way to know for sure when they hadn't yet been able to check the other outlying houses around Stanberry, and Chet was satisfied with the number.

He hadn't forgotten Nick's words from earlier about the danger of escalating violence; it was enough to simply return Jay's destruction in kind, until the psycho got the message that the loss and suffering wasn't going to all be one-sided.

Ben cleared his throat. “All my houses were dark so I couldn't tell if anyone was in them, but did you notice all the cars parked on the street? Is it possible Wensbrook's got a bunch of people here?”

Chet immediately shook his head. “What people? They've only got a few dozen guys with them, and most of those people are up in Stanberry giving us grief. Those are probably just vehicles abandoned during the outbreak.”

“Yeah, but I don't remember seeing that many in this neighborhood when we were scavenging here. Most of the vehicles around here were in garages.”

“You're just imagining things,” Chet snapped. “These houses are abandoned, so let's just do this. Exactly like we planned it . . . start at the farthest house after a count of three hundred, light each fire, move on, when you're done meet back at the truck and we'll get out of here.”

Ben was slow to nod his agreement. “One last chance to change our minds.”

Chet snorted. “And have them discover gas-soaked newspapers around these houses and be furious anyway? We've already got this far, let's see the fireworks.”

His brother nodded grudgingly. “One, two . . .” he started counting, then fell silent as he melted into the darkness.

Chet started his own silent count and trotted towards the last house he'd doused, digging a lighter from his pocket. He reached it at around two hundred and had to wait, fidgeting nervously while poised over the wadded newspapers in front of him. He was ready to light his fire the moment he caught sight of fire in the distance, in case Ben's count was quicker than his.

Either his brother's was slower or they were both on count, because when he reached three hundred the night was still quiet. For now.

With a last deep breath to prepare himself, he flicked the lighter and touched the flame to the papers. They went up quickly, licking at the porch and wall he'd placed them against.

Not that Chet paused to admire his handiwork; he was already halfway across the yard to the next house, heart thundering in his ears. He tripped over a small bush, stumbled against some toy or lawn ornament, slammed against the fence and vaulted it with a surge of energy, and pounded to where he'd set the next fire.

That one went up equally fast and he was on to the next, then the next. He was very aware of a lurid glow rising behind him as the fires took and grew, and felt a surge of exhilaration as he realized his plan was working.

Shoe's on the other foot now, Jay.

Ben was waiting at the last house, which was one of his; flames were swiftly climbing up the wall, clearly lighting his