Racon Gunner In “The Last American”

The shot missed. It was too low. The elk bolted through the brush down the mountain. Racon sighed, knowing it would take all day to haul the carcass back up the slope. He was planning to get back to Durango by sundown; now it would be sun up if he was lucky.

Slinging his rifle, he surveyed the path down. The slope, lightly covered in snow, is great for tracking but terrible for climbing. He reached into his bag and pulled out his canteen from between the two ragged-edged books.

Taking a long drink, he shoved his canteen back in, tightened the straps, and adjusted his buckskin leather coat. “I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way.” He said as he pulled his hatchet from the sheath on his belt and used it to help slow his descent down the hillside. It would dull up the blade something serious, but it was better than breaking his neck.

Reaching the bottom of the ridge, he spotted the blood trail and followed it with his eye toward the frozen creek. Just behind a small fur tree, he could hear the buck’s labored breathing. “Must have nicked the lung.” Racon thought to himself and walked up to the beast, admired it for a moment, then seeing it had just died, he processed it for the long climb home.

He almost didn’t hear the truck’s engine as he focused on his bloody work. But he looked up just as the engine turned off, making a horrible rattling noise. Slowly he stood, sheathing his blade and reaching for his rifle.

The three men sat side by side in the small pickup truck. The driver’s mouth moved, and then after a moment, they all raised their right hand. The driver looked at all their hands as if to count them; then they got out of the truck, three rifles pointed back at Racon as steam lifted from his head and the body of the gutted Elk.

“No need for the rifles, strangers,” Racon said in a flat tone.

The three strangers split, two moved to his right, and the third moved left towards the cover of a fallen tree.

“You are the stranger here. And according to the laws, you need to come with us. Weapon down.” The driver said and pumped his shotgun, raising the buttstock to his shoulder.

Racon took a moment to look over his situation. The man on his left had found his kill shot while the other two advanced. Maybe he could get one. Maybe not. He slowly placed his rifle on the bloody snow at his feet. “Alright. I got no fight with you.”

The two advanced on Racon while the third covered them. They grabbed his rifle bag and relieved him of his hatchet and blade. The driver looked into the bag, pulling out the two books.

“What are these papers?” He said as if he had never seen a Bible before.

Racon kept silent as they escorted him at gunpoint to the bed of the little truck. In the back, they had a chain running down the middle with handcuffs attached to it, ten in all. They cuffed Racon to the middle one and sat awkwardly on the low wheel well. The three men got back into the truck, and the rattling engine started hard. With a big jerk, they backed through the woods and started down a rough trail toward the East.

It was sunup when the little truck turned down a paved road, now overblown with snow. Racon sat with his back to the cab while he fought to keep his left hand from freezing. The truck stopped, and Racon heard the muffled voice of the driver; then, two of the three raised their hands, and the truck moved on.

The truck stopped again after the sun had been up for about an hour. This time all three men raised their hands. They exited the cab and stepped to the side of the road to relieve themselves. Racon stood as best he could and did the same over the side of the truck bed.

He looked west and saw he was far from his home in the valley of Durango. To the East, he only saw rolling empty fields. “Where are we headed?” Racon said as the three men got back in the truck. The engine started with that terrible sound, and they moved on.

Sometime around noon, Racon woke from his cold nap. The truck had stopped and parked in the middle of a small town. There was a hardware store, a bar, and some kind of jailhouse. The rest of the buildings seemed to be more residential or boarded up. Five men walked out from the bar, and the three men got out of the truck. They removed Racon from his cuff and stood him behind the truck while they spoke just out of earshot.

Six of the eight men raised their hands, and they led Racon into the jail, where he was put in a cell and given a strip of jerky from his own bag and his canteen. He slowly chewed on a big bite, savoring the juices while he strained to listen to what was being said outside.

“Strangers are against our laws; they upset the balance. Too many opportunities to tie or break a vote. I say we dispose of him.” a gravelly-voiced man said.

The next voice was one Racon recognized as the Driver. “But we ain’t seen a stranger in almost fifty years; shouldn’t we find out where he’s from, how many more there are of him?” The group of men grumbled, then the gravely voiced one said, “Vote on it.”

They must have voted on keeping him cause they left him unmolested for the next twenty-four hours. Racon had finished the last of his water when the door to the jail door swung open, and a woman with long straight dirty blonde hair walked in. She looked at him momentarily and paused, then as if composing herself, she moved to his cell and handed him a warm cloth. Two other younger women stood outside the door.

She said nothing, just nodded towards him that he should look inside. When he unwrapped the cloth, he found a freshly baked half loaf of bread and a brick of cheese about the size of his hand. He smiled at the woman, and she smiled back, then she caught herself reacting and turned quickly to leave. “I could use a refill on this, too, please,” Racon said as he held up his dry canteen.

She came quickly and took the canteen. As fast as they appeared, the trio was gone. Racon looked at the door when the smell of the bread caught his attention, and he tore off a small piece and ate it. He wrapped the morsels in the cloth and looked at his new home.

The steel bars were solid; they had maintained this cell. The window was too high to reach and served mainly as light since there didn’t seem to be power. Maybe he heard a generator running the night before, but it could have been that loud little truck that brought him here. He had been locked up only once before, and like the last time, he would have to use his head to get out of this one.

Around dark, the woman and her two friends returned with his canteen. She carried a battery-operated lantern and seemed to be in less of a hurry to leave. Racon got a better chance to look at her. She had light blue eyes and a straight nose with high cheeks. She seemed sturdy, but it was hard to tell because she wrapped herself in a big fur blanket, and he could only see her patched dark leather boots. Racon took a long drink of the cool water, then smiled. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

She nodded and beckoned with her hand for the cloth she had delivered breakfast with. Racon picked up on the pantomime and handed it over. “You can’t talk?” He said as he passed the cloth to her.

She shook her head “No.”

“Something the matter with your voice?”

“No.” again.

The other two women at the door were getting anxious. They started motioning with their hands for the woman to go. Then one of them rapped loudly on the door. As she moved past the cell, the woman turned and handed a scrap of paper to Racon. The room went dark as the door closed.

He sat there for a long time in the dark, wondering what the note might say or even if it was a note. Finally, after midnight, the clouds had cleared, and the stars were bright enough for Racon to make it out. Written in an almost childlike scrawl, it simply said “Halp.”

The next day was uneventful till late afternoon when a group of five men entered the jail. One was holding the ragged book of the Constitution, and the other was the Bible. Then the man with the gravelly voice said, “Vote.”

Three of the four raised their hands, and the Gravelly voiced fellow seemed not to like the results, and the group left in a hurry. “What’s going on with the voting in this town?” Racon said to himself.

That evening after dark, the woman came back, this time alone. She brought no light and moved close to the bars. Speaking like she had not uttered a word in years, she stumbled out, “Can you be willing to halp?”

Racon nodded but then spoke. “I will help.” He emphasized the word Help. “But I need to know how I can. I’m the last person to help since I’m locked up.” He pointed at the cell.

She thought for a moment, gathering the words she had long forgotten. “They vote against you tomorrow. It will tie. You vote for yourself. That’s how you help start.” Racon nodded at her corrected pronunciation of help.

“How can I vote?”

“It rules. All in town can vote. When they do, you raise your hand. You will get out. Some want this.” She stopped at the sound of that truck starting up, then continued. “Help vote our voice back.” She pointed at her mouth.

The truck drove by the jail. The woman stood to leave. “What’s your name?’” Racon said. She smiled at him and slipped out into the dark. Racon looked down to see a fresh cloth and the smell of bread and cheese. He sat back in his cell and ate his dinner.

Around late afternoon, like before, the men returned. This time, the five men and the three men from the truck voted last time. Nine men in the room counted himself. They looked at him momentarily, and then the gravelly-voiced one said, “Vote.”

Four men to the left of the gravelly-voiced man raised their hands. The gravelly-voiced man looked at the four, upset. “Tie again!”

“No. Look.” the driver said. The gravelly-voiced man looked at the cell and saw Racon standing with his right hand up. “Who told you the law? Was it her?” Then he and the others on his side left, almost knocking on the jail door from its hinges.

The others smiled and opened Racon’s jail cell. Their leader, a young kid only twenty, spoke. “You have been voted out. But not free. Carl will rally the others to vote to have you hanged with him.”

Racon shook their hands. “Why do you want me out?”

“Simple, you can break the tie. You can walk around town, but we will shoot you if you try to leave.” And with that, they left.

Racon was a bit puzzled. They voted him out of his cell, but not free? He was sure he could easily get out of town before anyone had time to notice. He stepped outside and saw the little truck parked near the jail. His weapons and equipment sat unprotected in the front seat. He put them on as he watched the townspeople take a good look at him. He saw the keys in the ignition. “Too easy.” He said with a smile.

After dawning his gear, he approached the kid who had talked to him. He had taken a seat on a bench outside the hardware store. “I don’t want you to take offense, but there is no way in Hell you can keep me here. I’m going home.” Racon said with a big grin.

“You can’t.” He said, pointing to the tower at the end of town. Racon squinted and looked at the tower. He couldn’t believe it. It was an Xl75 Biosync Auto Cannon mounted to the top of the tower and pointed straight at him.

“So that’s why you took my canteen. You needed a sample of my DNA to sync to the gun.” The kid shook his head. Now everywhere he went in town, that gun would be pointed right at his head, and if he stepped out of range, BOOM!

“It also has a proximity setting, so don’t get too close. It shoots one warning shot, that’s all.” The kid added as if knowing Racon’s next thought.

“How close?”

“I don’t know; it’s over a hundred years old.” The kid smiled.

Racon walked back towards the jail and sat on the front step. The buzzing motor of the gun was a reminder he was out of one prison and into a bigger one. The sounds of an argument and fighting focused his attention as Carl, and his thug buddies yelled and cursed at the woman who gave Racon the note. He stood up, adjusted his belt and pack, shouldered his rifle, and calmly walked towards them.

Carl hit the woman hard, and she fell to the ground. The other two younger women and a few men went to her aid, but Carl yelled, “It was voted on!” They backed off, and Carl kicked her. He must have been used to beating people with no threat cause he didn’t even see Racon step up next to him and throw the big Haymaker punch.

Carl hit the ground hard, and everyone stopped. Racon was about to finish the job when the woman screamed, “Stop!” Everyone turned to look at her. Some gasping at the sound of her voice. Then she said, “Let him, it was voted on. It’s the law.”

Carl quickly shook off the punch and got up to stomp on the woman. Racon grabbed him. Then the kid pointed and just said, “Gun.”

Racon looked and saw the XL75 spinning up. He reluctantly let Carl go. Carl grabbed the woman, pulled her up to her feet, and spit out, “And when I’m done, we will vote to do it again because you spoke.”

Racon’s voice boomed over everything. “I want a vote to stop Carl.” Everyone looked. The kid spoke up. “You cannot. Once it is voted on, it is the law. You cannot counter the law.” Racon turned his head, thought briefly, and said, “Okay, I want a vote to let me beat Carl when he finishes beating her.”

Everyone looked at one another, and Carl looked at Racon and the rest of the people. “They wouldn’t do that.” Carl sputtered.

“Are you sure? Looking at some faces here seems to me some of them would like to see you beat.” Racon countered. “Are you all ready to vote?”

Carl let go of the woman and motioned to his gang to follow, and they stomped off into the bar.

The gun went back into sentry mode. Racon looked at the woman. She was tough. This wasn’t the first time. She shook it off as the streets cleared and walked away. Racon stood alone as the sun sank below the horizon. “This is getting ugly.” He said to himself. But before I can do anything about it, I must remove the gun pointed at my head.” He walked back to his cell at the jail as the XL75 moved, following his head.

The night was bitter, dark, and silent. The sounds of the engine from the little truck roared. Lights came on all down the street. The kid ran out to see Racon in the truck. The light of the gun blinked red. “Don’t do it!” He shouted in warning. “It’ll kill you twenty yards out of town!”

But Racon wasn’t going that way.

The truck lurched backward as fast as the engine could. The truck headed straight at the tower. He swung the driver’s door open. The steering wheel was so loose it was hard to keep the truck aimed at the tower’s base. “What did the kid say about a warning shot?” Racon mused as a round from the XL75 Biosync Auto Cannon ripped through the truck’s roof and blasted off the rearview mirror. “That’s my cue.”

Racon lept from the truck just before the cannon opened fire, and that loud little truck smashed into the tower, toppling it and the gun with it. The XL75 gave out one last buzzing sound before the rounds in its hundred-year-old magazine exploded, ending Racon’s prison term.

The entire town was on the street now, staring at Racon as he got up, stretched his left arm, and dusted himself off. Carl and his thugs walked right up to him. Racon leveled his rifle at Carl’s head. “Not a good feeling, is it?” He said as Carl, and his thugs stopped cold. “Now we can talk like gentlemen.” Racon shouldered his rifle.

“I’m calling a vote to end the silence,” Racon said loudly so everyone could hear. The Kid moves towards Racon. “You can’t vote the law out. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m not calling a vote on that. I’m voting. No one can be silent. Who’s with me?” Then Racon raises his hand. The Kid looks around at the others, and Carl, then at Racon, slowly raises his hand.

Racon counts the votes. “Well, looks like that’s a majority. No one can be silent. So I think y’all better start speaking up. I don’t plan on sticking around long, so if you want to fix it, you best speak now.” “I vote we kill the stranger,” Carl yelled at Racon. The townspeople yelled at Carl, some of them for the first time in twenty years. It sounded like an army of Banshees.

Racon raised his hands in the air to calm them. “Wait. Wait! The only way out of this Hell you got yourself in is to vote. Even on this.” They looked at one another and voted. Again, Racon cast the deciding vote. “I guess you can never kill me, Carl.” Racon smiled.

“It seems you have a problem called The Tyranny of the Majority. And my guess is someone died after that vote, and you’ve been stuck like this for quite some time,” Racon reached into his bag and pulled out the two books. In his right hand, the Bible, and in the Left, the Constitution of the United States of America.

“In my right hand, I hold the book that tells us how to act toward one another. It tells us that God gives us all infinite value and that we should love one another as He loves us. In my left hand, this book tells us that we all have the individual right to speak, protect ourselves, and be treated fairly. And that no one group is more important than any other. I call a vote that you read, consider the wisdom of both, and if found worthy, adopt them as your guide.” Racon lowered his left arm and kept the right held high.

Slowly the hands raised, and all but Carl and a couple of his close thugs voted in favor. Racon smiled. He walked over to the woman and handed her the books. “That is the best I can do. The rest is up to you.” She took the books and held them close. And for the first time in her life, she freely spoke.

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