EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [crime books to read txt] 📗

“Why would I ever do that?” Matthew asked in a low voice. Chris came so close Matthew could see the cruel gleam in his hazel eyes, the soft tap of the tire iron against his shoulder a warning. Matthew kept his chin up high, remembering stupid ego fights like this from his time in bars, when he’d be the one telling his friends to cool it when tempers ran too high. Now, he was the one picking a fight—but this wasn’t over a slight. This was because Chris thought it was fun to hurt others. This was Matthew giving a young woman the time and space to get away.

“Because if you don’t, I might knock your jaw off.” The tire iron tapped against Chris’s shoulder again. Matthew looked down and tried to hide his shock at seeing the bold interlocking lines of blue, black and red peeking out of Chris’s rolled-up tee-shirt sleeve. A tattoo. It looked familiar—something like an army guy might sport.

“Matthew,” David breathed from behind, and Matthew blinked, saw the crew surrounding them like a pack of wolves, each with that predatory quietness about them, waiting for Chris to give the signal to attack. Behind Chris’s shoulder, Matthew saw the woman in the car stumble out and begin running away from them, her high heels held in her hand, her stocking feet silent on the crushed glass and concrete. Something eased in his chest—at least she was safe. Only now, he and David were in trouble.

“If that’s what it takes to show you how to behave,” Matthew said, slinging his pack slowly over his shoulder. He didn’t want to back down, almost felt ready to test his strength against Chris’s, but he knew it wouldn’t be fair. Not with his dad vulnerable behind him, not with the other men in Chris’s crew eyeing him like a meal. They couldn’t make a run for it—David wouldn’t be able to keep up. Even Matthew might not be able to outpace Chris, who looked like he ran marathons.

Chris yanked Matthew’s pack out of his hands. “Cheese, check the old guy’s pack.”

The man who’d laughed at the woman’s distress earlier—Cheese, Matthew thought with a shake of his head—stepped forward and wrenched David’s pack from him. Backing up to stand next to Chris, Cheese grinned at him and ripped through the zippers of the pack. Chris did the same. Together, they dumped out the power bars, toilet paper, and supplies on the asphalt.

“That’s it?” Cheese asked with a snort of derision. “Buncha crap.” He stomped on one of the power bars, breaking the plastic covering and sending dusty chocolate up into the air.

“Might be a good lesson, here.” Chris held his foot above another bar and slowly crushed it against the pavement. “Since we’re on the playground and all. Might be a good lesson for you to mind your own business. What do ya think, Cheese.”

“Yeah,” Cheese said, and Matthew noted the man had a couple of back molars missing. “Teach ’em.” He picked up a roll of toilet paper and began tearing pieces off and flinging them at Matthew. The pieces floated down like feathers.

“Can get in a lot of trouble when you don’t mind your own business.” Chris tilted his head.

“That so,” Matthew said, tapping Chris's arm where the tattoo lay. “Is that what they teach you in the military? What were you—Army? No, Marines, I bet.”

Chris’s mouth clapped shut, his eyes shuttering closed. His bravado slipped away.

“Where did you serve?” Matthew asked, like a dog with a bone. “What’s your rank? I’d love to know. Would love to support you by giving you my power bars.”

A sharp breath hissed through Chris’s teeth. He backed up a step and threw the empty day pack at Matthew. Matthew barely managed to catch it. “I’m bored with this,” Chris said, stepping back. “Let’s get out of here, boys.”

The crew stayed silent, all knowing Matthew had touched a nerve, but they melted away from around David and Matthew, spreading out around the cars as they walked away. The tight knot of anxiety in Matthew’s stomach eased. Cheese tucked the roll of toilet paper under this arm and began unspooling it, letting the thin white pulp-paper float like streamers. Matthew let out a deep breath, the adrenaline leaking through him in jittering waves. The sudden sound of glass crashing made him whip around to see Chris lever the tire iron and smash the metal through another car window with undue force. As if he wished it were Matthew’s face he was smashing in.

“They won’t stop,” Matthew said in a rush.

“Of course they won’t,” David said sharply, bending down to gather the remaining power bars and stuff them back in the bag.

“He should know better,” Matthew said, hot anger coating his words as he turned back to look at David. “He’s probably an ex-Marine. Those kinds of actions could be…I don’t know, he could be court-martialed or something.”

“They won’t stop harassing people.” David zipped up his bag and adjusted it over his shoulders.

“We can’t let them get away with it,” Matthew said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” David said, “but we can’t force them to be decent men. You can’t teach morality. That's not your job.”

“But we can’t just do nothing.”

David made a sound of frustration. “You’re an idealist, Matt. Just because you can show people the right way to do things doesn’t mean they’ll do the right thing. Most people, when push comes to shove, are ugly down to their bones. That man might have been an ex-Marine, but you have no idea what his past was like. Maybe he deserted. Maybe he saw enough bad things to make him need control over others. Things aren’t black and white.”

“Some things should be,” Matthew said. “Things like, don’t terrorize others. Or, don’t be a jerk to your fellow humans. Everyone is scared. What’s the point of making it worse?”

“You need to recognize that we aren’t in a normal situation. What you just did could