“Put it down nice and easy… nobody has to get hurt today.” The words were spoken clearly, but with a certain calm to them that might make a man uneasy.

“Nobody has to get hurt? Where have you been? Look around you.” Even as Briggs seemed to scoff at the notion of a peaceful resolution, he let the glock roll around his finger so the barrel could be gripped in his palm and slowly dropped to the ground. The man, by all accounts probably a desk clerk somewhere, scrambled to his feet, blood dripping down the side of his head and a noticeable limp as he scurried away with the backpack full of supplies.

“Chaos is what reigns down when lawlessness runs rampant. We still have rules… laws… basic humanity.” The voice again echoed out followed by the sound of the man lowering his own weapon. “Now why don’t you get back in your vehicle and get someplace safe, there’s a lot of folks out there that still need my help.” Briggs could hear the sound of gravel crunching as the stranger started moving away.

“So some asshole runs me off the road, makes off with my supplies, and you’re just gonna walk away like you’re some God damn hero?” Jeremy’s voice was laced with malice as he spoke. “Some fucking cop you are. Good riddance to a fucking society with a joke of law and order like you.” His words were only met with a chuckle as the cop kept walking. “Just gonna keep walking huh? Look at me! What gives you the fucking right?!” Briggs voice had raised into a yell at this point, the man in uniform nearing his truck.

“I’m the Sheriff son… that’s what gives me the right.” As he spoke the words there was the hint of a smile, a man who was still calm and collected amidst the world collapsing around him. Briggs’ could feel himself, engulfed in rage as he looked at the man opening the driver side door.

“I said look at me!”

“Just go somewhere safe will ya?”

“No… I said look at me! Look at me god damnit! LOOK AT ME!” Finally the man who identified himself as the Sheriff turned to look at Briggs. “I am the Sheriff now.” A loud bang followed, a single round for a backup weapon Jeremy kept tucked in the rear of his pants rocketed out of the barrel of his weapon, drilling itself right square between the Sheriff’s eyes, dropping him to the ground with a thud. Jeremy was still a moment, before walking over the body and looking down at the corpse. “Be thankful you don’t have to live to see how much further we fall old man. I just did you a favor.”

Grabbing what was left of his supplies out of the off roaded 5 series, Jeremy climbed into the police truck and took a moment to familiarize himself with the gear and supplies tucked inside. His 15 years in pharmaceutical sales hadn’t taught him how to use a weapon, but that childhood dream of being a police officer had pushed him to learn odds and ends and he found himself more familiar with the items than he would have expected.

It was about 30 minutes into driving that the radio calls for the Sheriff finally broke through Jeremy’s nerves. He’d rip the microphone from the clip on the dash and cue it up, “Listen up… all deputies out there. The Sheriff is dead. I shot him. He was a delusional old man who thought this world still followed the law. Look around you folks… you’re fighting a losing battle. You all have guns… you all have ammunition… go somewhere safe.” He kept driving, flipping through maps and pieces of papers the Sheriff had left on the passenger seat, a map of Arklay Island catching his eye.

“This is Denver 7946, identify yourself immediately!” The voice sounded young, female, and out of her element.

“Lady… you can call me Briggs. But let me be clear, you or any of your deputies want to follow me, you’ll get more of the same that your Sheriff got.”

“7946, this is 1138.” This time the voice sounded older, confident, a male who had probably been around a while. “This guy has a point… you really think directing traffic is helping. Shit is getting worse out there. Let’s book it.”

“Wise advice 7946,” Briggs would answer, copying the number identifier the deputy had used. More voices would chime in, debating the options, some in favor of hightailing it, some in favor of hunting Briggs down for justice. Finally a new voice popped up though.

“How many of us having nothing left? Sheriff Hurst pulled us away from family and loved ones when they needed us most… and for what? He was a lonely old man who had nothing… now we’re all alone. All we have is each other. Briggs… you out there?” There was a long pause before the voice echoed again, “Briggs?” Again another pause. “Briggs? You got some master plan?” Briggs thought long and hard and then looked again at the map on the passenger seat.

“Arklay… Arklay Island. Small place… controlled access. I’m gonna camp my ass out there and ride this shit storm out. And I’ve got firepower… so don’t think of trying to come at me, I’ll mow each and every one of you down if you do.”

“Fuck that,” that same familiar voice responded, “but two is better than one.”

“Three is better than two,” the familiar female voice popped in.

“Four better than three.” It continued on and on. Every now and then someone interjected in opposition, but more and more folks volunteered to join the bandwagon.

“Those of you who are serious… meet me at the Arklay Bridge at sundown. Bring your rifles. Try and cross me though and I’ll make sure you end up like those rotting corpses on the side of the road." Briggs wrapped the microphone around the rearview mirror and pushed down on the accelerator to push him towards Arklay a little faster.

The female officer from earlier, chimed in after a few minutes of radio silence. “Copy that…. Sheriff.”