CHAPTER 14: The Town Hall

Hi-tech gizmos and body parts washing ashore, eccentric newcomers building retreats in the remote forests, break-ins and attacks. Things are building up for sleep-deprived and over-prescribed Doug Shasta.

This week on APOCALYPSE ROCK it’s time for the Town Hall meeting, bringing together the local community of old-timers and green horns alike, to discuss — in the most sleep-inducing ways — local news, views and plans. But sometimes we’re our own worst enemies. And other times nature calls, screams, howls…

Hit play above to listen, or scroll down to read, but either way, I hope you enjoy. 🖤👁🖤🪵🖤🐾🖤

The town hall was packed. Those who hadn’t found seats stood against the walls. It was sweltering in the rickety old building, and all the large, worn sliding windows had been opened.

Doug’s head pounded, his knees wobbled once he stepped into the hall and the stuffy air hit him. The four friends found a corner with some standing space. Gossip about Doug’s injury had spread fast.

“Did someone actually attack you?” asked Brandi.

“I don’t know,” Doug replied, weakly.

“That’s the rumor. And Sweetland isn’t really calming anyone’s fears. At least, he said he suspects it was an attack.”

Doug rubbed his bandaged head with his bandaged hand. “Well, I thought I heard someone in the office when I got there. But I didn’t anyone. So maybe they got me when my back was turned. But I just can’t tell.”

“But you got your head checked properly? Right?” asked Bear.

“Got the all-clear from Dr Hubble and the ambulance,” replied Doug. “The kids are over for the rest of the week so I can’t be passing out, or get a concussion or whatever. Sharynne’s gonna babysit the kids tomorrow. So at least there’s that.”

“You really should get to Terminal for a second opinion,” said Gus, “Our diligent Dr Hubble becomes distracted this late in the week.”

“I’ve got a follow-up with Hubble tomorrow. But if the headache’s still around then I’ll get into town.”

“Did Sweetland say what he was going to be doing?” asked Gus. “I mean, if he’s telling people that it’s possible we have a violent intruder lurking out there, he has to have some advice about how to protect ourselves.”

“He didn’t say anything really,” answered Doug. “But he said he’d bring it up at the meeting.”

“Did anything go missing from your office?” Bear asked.

“I couldn’t tell… That glass tube thing I found on the beach is gone, but that was already missing from my car… I think.”

Brandi gave Doug a quizzical look. She was about to ask a question, but Gus jumped in. “Doug, you gotta say if you need to leave. One of us can drive you home, okay? You look tired.”

The main lights went out and the amplified voice returned, “Okay everyone. We’ll be starting the meeting now. Please get settled,” it was Sharynne from the pharmacy who was also the town council secretary, and a sometimes babysitter among other things. She was at the front of the room behind a table with the mayor Mike Dobson and treasurer Stan Brakhage seated next to her. At the far end of the table was Constable Gary Sweetland, his hulking figure, even though seated, towered above the others. Above the group was a large projector screen, glowing light blue with the text “NO SIGNAL” blinking on and off around the color field, randomly.

“So. Let’s officially commence our community advisory meeting, now. There’s a lot of people tonight, so we will do our best to keep our agenda timely as well as let everyone have their say. Let’s start with our regular items. First, Constable Sweetland has an update…” Sharynne handed the microphone over to Sweetland.

“Thank you, Secretary Hayes,” Constable Sweetland took the microphone and stood up to his full seven-foot height. The burly top half of his body bathed in the blue light, his dark eyes unblinking, his back ramrod straight in his Mounted Police uniform, his grey-skinned face fixed in a glare. “I’ll proceed through three items of urgent public interest,” he declared out over the crowd. “The first item on my schedule is an update on our current stray dog epidemic. They have returned. And with a vengeance, especially in the more remote regions of northern Sternum, and up Mount Costo. The second is the appearance of another detached foot at Murden Cove in Puget Sound. And the third is a potential break and entry and physical assault, right here in the village.”

Sweetland paused for a long moment, taking his time to scan the room and make individual eye contact with different attendees. His cold grey eyes refused to blink. Doug could never tell if Sweetland’s method of eye contact was meant to intentionally intimidate the locals, or if it was learned at some public communications course, then radically misapplied with his uncanny lack of visible empathy.

“But remember, in general, if you witness something suspicious,” Sweetland continued his scan around the room, “you are obliged to report it to local authorities. Specifically, to the local official representative of the Joint Border Islands Law Enforcement Task Force. That being myself. So please do not hesitate to contact me.” Sweetland turned to his side. “Is the slideshow ready?”

A blurry image blinked onto the screen. Doug squinted and could make out that the image showed a pack of dogs, dozens of them in differing sizes and colors, lounging out somewhere in the woods.

“This is a picture taken by a local. It was submitted to the police department anonymously via our online tips contact form,” Sweetland explained. “It’s estimated that there are several dozen stray dogs here. I have received numerous reports of sightings and complaints of property damage, missing cats, and overall public anxiety. Especially, as reported previously by the Undertow news site, there is a fear of contagious diseases, like rabies.”

“Rabies?” Gus muttered. “Maybe he means the strays who got into Big Gord’s chicken coop last year. Gord’s still foaming,” he whispered, and silently slapped his thigh. Bear and Brandi chortled.

“These reports have been dutifully passed on and logged with all representatives of the Joint Border Islands Force,” Sweetland continued. “I have yet to receive a definite response with clear feedback regarding next steps and further action. But, I want to assure the local community that I am particularly focused on solving this long-running island problem. I am currently working on a hopefully final solution for this. I will update the community when the action plan is ready. Next slide please.”

The same blurry picture of the dogs was now overlaid with a graphic of a large, red gun sight, locked in on the group.

“Wow,” whispered Brandi, her eyes wide open in disbelief. “Just. Wow.” Bear and Gus shook their heads. Doug blinked at the screen. The room was silent.

Sweetland scanned the audience, his dark eyes staring into the crowd. “I understand that some of you might find this slide… unconventional,” he continued straight-faced. A couple of supressed titters pricked the stifled air. “But, I hope that it illustrates my determination to rid our beautiful island of these roaming health and safety nightmares. I will keep pressure on my bosses at the Joint Border Islands Task Force headquarters. And if it comes to it, I will lead a team of highly trained firearms specialists in a cull.” The crowd was completely quiet.

“I swear Sweetland’s eyes went red,” whispered Bear.

“Next slide, please.”

The image of the lounging dogs with a target over them cross-dissolved into the picture of a small, brightly-colored running shoe on a mudflat.

“The second item on my agenda is the appearance of another detached human foot. This time washing ashore at Murden Cove in Puget Sound. My update today is primarily meant to assuage any continuing worry about this local phenomenon. I must reiterate that whatever you, the community, might feel in terms of anxiety is unfounded. I state, unconditionally, that rumors of a serial killer at large are incorrect. Also, the notion of criminal gangs, such as the Hell’s Angels, or any of their associates, murdering their rivals and then disposing of them like this, is false. The same goes for terrorists, and the like. Remember citizens, keep calm. Do not let your imagination run wild. Don’t listen to rumors. There is no evidence that should lead you to suspect your neighbors.”

Sweetland had been fixed still for his entire statement. Only his mouth seemed to move while his black eyes stared into middle space, having failed to find anyone to make direct eye contact with. The room stayed silent.

“Well then that’s that, eh?” Bear whispered to the friends. “Everyone on Sternum’s a foot chopping psychopath.” At the front Sweetland twitched as if he had heard Bear’s sniping. Brandi nudged Bear and stifled a laugh.

“I think this guy would find a therapist incredibly useful,” whispered Gus. “He just seems so pent up.”

“Next slide,” there was a growing agitation in Sweetland’s voice.

A picture of Doug’s office exterior, its door ajar, appeared on the screen.

It felt like everyone glanced at Doug for a second. His head was pounding and sweat had moistened his bandage. Doug nodded uncomfortably.

“The third item warranting inclusion in my regular community report is that there has a been a break-in at the Sternum Island Business Park,” Sweetland continued. “At 10:43 this morning I was contacted by the Sternum Island Postcard & Facsimile Factory’s owner, reporting a male, in his mid- to late thirties, incapacitated and motionless outside of the office of the IT consulting business. It turned out that this male was the proprietor of said business, Douglas Shasta.” Doug felt his face get hot. “After the attending police officer – myself – arrived on the scene, the proprietor reported that he had returned to his office earlier that morning to find the door ajar. Mr Shasta further stated that he had heard a loud crash coming from inside the office, but upon investigating, he found it to be empty.”

Sweetland paused and scanned the crowd, as if accusing everyone of being the intruder, collectively. Doug could feel the flinches around him.

“Mr Shasta described how he had then become dizzy and had to sit down outside his office. He then lost consciousness due to some physical or psychological factor. He fainted for an indefinite amount of time. But to my estimate, it would be well over five minutes until he was discovered by the manager of the Postcard Factory.” Sweetland paused and made another fearsome scan of the audience. “Next slide, please.” A picture of Doug’s messy office was overlaid with another image of Doug and his two kids on a beach holiday. Doug’s sunburned face was circled in red. The faces of his daughters had been pixelated.

“Why the fuck is he showing this?” Doug whispered. “He must’ve got that off Facebook…”

“Terminal PD always ships their weirdos out here,” Bear shook his head.

“And, next slide,” said Sweetland. A shot of Doug’s office toilet came up on the screen. Medicine cabinet contents were spilled on the floor, numerous magazines and newspapers had been scattered about.

“As you can see here, the investigating party – myself – found the crime scene to be in great disarray,” A faint giggle came from the audience. “Upon discussing this with the business proprietor, Mr Shasta, we could not ascertain as to whether anything had indeed been taken, only that his office had been entered without his permission. Mr Shasta went on to claim that, despite the obvious disarray his office had been in prior to the perpetrator entering, whoever did so enter proceeded to search through all his belongings. Thus, leaving his property in even greater disarray. As already stated, we were still unable to ascertain what the perpetrator took, if anything at all. Next slide, please…”

A shot of Doug’s office kitchenette came onscreen. Doug felt like his head was being crushed by his bandage.

The fridge door was open, inside an array of milk jugs, juice containers and assorted condiments. Pinned to a little notice board on the wall were several bills with the words Payment Overdue marked in red.

Doug lowered his face and closed his eyes as whispers passed through the audience.

Sweetland glared over them all. “This is the first break-in we’ve had on Sternum since the fertilizer heist at the garden center. It is a serious transgression of the order we have on our peaceful little island. So, I request that anyone in the local community who might have any information about this violation of private property, and indeed possible physical assault, I ask you to inform the proper authorities. In this case, me, representing Joint Border Islands Law Enforcement.”

The main doors of the hall opened with a small creak. Doug could see that it was Marcus and Shining Wind, accompanied by another person. The trio stood next to the main doors, unable to move further in through the crowd.

“I remind all members of the local community to remain calm,” Sweetland continued. “It is important that no one panic or become involved in rumor-mongering. Please remain vigilant. And again, please report all suspicious activities to myself. Thank you for your time.” Constable Sweetland nodded curtly and sat down. People in the crowd whispered to each other.

“Jesus,” Brandi looked at Doug. “Are you okay, Dougy?”

“It’s like he’s pretending to be a cop,” said Bear, “I told you guys. Googled him when he got stationed here. I mean, can you imagine? He used to be a couples’ therapist. What havoc did he wreak?”

“I have no idea what’s wrong with him, “Doug’s head pounded, “but I wish he hadn’t shown everyone pictures of my office. And my kids. And those bills.”

“He doesn’t really need to wear that Mounties outfit,” said Gus, “it’s only meant for ceremonial duties. Funerals, whatever. Not town meetings. I sense a big father-figure authority complex going on, right?”

Sharynne stood up hesitantly and took the mic back, “Okay… Uh, thank you so much Constable, we appreciate the report. I’ll add a personal note of just how shocking this is, this violation Doug Shasta has endured. Maybe it’s fine for people in the city, but it darn well is not fine here. Myself, and I’m sure the entire council’s thoughts, go out to Doug in this difficult hour.” There was half-hearted applause from the audience.

“Sharynne ‘The Greeting Card’ Hayes strikes again,” whispered Bear. “Wouldn’t be a town meeting without it.” Brandi and Gus chuckled.

Doug try to imagine he was somewhere else. He readjusted the bandage on his head.

Sharynne continued, “Do any members of the local community have any questions or statements about what Constable Sweetland just presented? And just a reminder that we have a lot to get through tonight, so please try to be concise. It might not be possible to get the microphone to you all, so you will need to speak up to be heard.”

Sharynne, Sweetland, Mayor Mike Dobson and Treasurer Stan Brakhage looked around the attendees. Someone coughed.

Sharynne pointed to a raised hand, “Ted? You have some thoughts you’d like to share?”

An elderly gentleman stood up, “Sharynne, Constable Sweetland. Theodore McMaster speaking,” he said in a thin, unsteady voice.

Sweetland stared out beyond the crowd. Sharynne replied, “Sorry. Ted? Could you please try to speak up so that we can hear you properly?”

“What?” blurted Ted.

“Please speak up, Ted!” Sharynnne repeated, this time so loudly that the people in the front rows winced.

“Oh, right. Okay. Ted McMaster speaking here,” Ted did his best to shout but he struggled to muster the strength. He looked down at a notepad and read out his question, “I would like to respectfully ask Constable Sweetland what, if any, extra precautions he will be taking against this intruder, or this gang of intruders? I must note that we only have one officer of the law protecting us. On both sides of the border.” Ted wheezed and paused to catch his breath.

“Ted, did you want to get someone else to read out your question?” Sharynne asked.

Ted coughed then went on as if he hadn’t heard Sharynne, “I must also note, that in the evenings when our officer has gone off-shift, there is no one left to keep order. Will we ever get two officers here? Even if part-time? Will we finally have equal representations of both our nations regarding their distinct cultures of law and order? I need not remind you of the constant threat of foreign terrorists exploiting our vast, unguarded coastlines. How will we, as citizens…” Ted paused to catch his breath, “How will we citizens truly defend ourselves when the local bylaws and regulations work against our God-given right to protect ourselves and our property against intruders and violent outsiders?”

“Oh boy. Here we go,” whispered Brandi, “Five yankee bucks he’ll be on about gun control soon.”

“You’re on,” replied Bear, “Sharynne’ll move in before the militias take control.”

“Would you like to respond, Constable Sweetland?” Sharynne cut in over Ted, who looked like he was about to start improvising.

Sweetland stood back up and looked out at no one in particular, “Thank you for the thoughts. As the sole representative of the Joint Canadian-US Border Islands Law Enforcement Task Force, and the nominated Canadian representative of our current four-year posting rotation, I want to reassure all citizens, whether American or Canadian, that I have everyone’s safety as my top priority. I split my patrol time equally across the border, as and where I am needed. Specifically in this case, I will be adjusting my shifts to cover the late-night hours. I will also be running checkpoints along the main road. But, I must note, that there are no extra resources currently planned for Sternum Island at this moment. I reiterate for everyone to stay calm, and that our firearms restrictions certainly remain in force.”

Ted shook his head violently and tried to say something, but only gave a wheeze.

Sharynne grabbed the microphone as the crowd started murmuring, “If there are no further questions on this topic…”

“Five yankee dollars, please!” Bear whispered to Brandi.

A dog howled loudly right outside the hall, the primal, blood-curdling sound wrenched through the interior. A series of ferocious barks rattled the main doors, then claws tore at wood. The old, flimsy doors shook, then crashed open into the sweaty room. People screamed in confusion and scattered inwards. A guttural growl lurched into the room, followed by more terrified shrieks.

“Ramses! Ramses!” July screamed out from somewhere in the mess of scrambling Sternumites.

The overhead lights came on, further stunning the bewildered crowd.

“Ramses! Ramses!” July continued. She had made her way across the overturned seats, toward the large black dog pacing down the middle aisle, its claws making it slip on the polished wooden floors. People cowered from Ramses’s blood-spattered maw, dripping with drool and the tendrils of some mauled animal.

“Ramses!” July called again. The dog saw July and immediately calmed. His barking and growling grew soft then faded into a whimper. He slumped then nuzzled July, streaking blood onto her clothes. The crowd settled around them, in shock, looking on as the lone pair huddled together in the center of the large room.

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