by R. A. McGee
“Oh geez,” Cat said.
“Head back the way we came from, pull into the fast food place and park as close to the tree line as you can,” Porter said.
Cat obliged. She pulled onto, drove down, and turned off the main road in quick succession.
Porter eyed the storage facility as they drove past. Still no cameras. There was one other vehicle on the grounds, a family unloading something from a pickup truck.
Cat clicked on her blinker and pulled into the first spot in the lot.
“I said closest to the tree line, counselor,” Porter said. “We aren’t going in to eat.”
“Force of habit,” Cat said.
“You don’t look like you eat much fast food. How much of a habit could it be?”
“Don’t let the waistline fool you.” Cat consulted her mirrors and reversed, backing into the last spot in the line. “I promise I eat more than you do.”
“We’ll have to see sometime,” Porter said.
“Are you asking me out?” Cat said. “Right now?”
“Not unless you wanted me to,” Porter said.
“Get a room,” Badway said. “Give me the damn bolt cutters.”
Porter passed them up to Badway, who hopped out of the BMW and disappeared into the tree line.
“This is awkward,” Cat said.
“What? The food thing? Lighten up a little,” Porter said.
“No, this whole thing. Are we really going to break into this place? Hanging around, waiting to commit a felony?”
“It’s a mild case of trespassing. A necessary evil.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“If you have to, you have to,” Porter said. “The way I always look at it.”
“The ends justify the means? I’ll bet you were a hell of a cop,” Cat said.
“Who says I was a cop?”
“I’m not an idiot. You might think most lawyers are shit, but give me a little credit.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot, you just talk too much sometimes,” Porter said.
“Do I?”
“Sometimes.”
“If I stop talking so much, would you stop giving me such a hard time?”
“If you stop being a bitch to me, I will,” Porter said.
“Now I’m a bitch?”
“That’s not what I said and you know it.”
“You think a little too much of yourself, Mr. Porter,” Cat said, eyes shifting from Porter to the tree line.
“You aren’t the first person to tell me that,” Porter said.
Badway came bursting through the tree line. He popped the door open and squatted down. “Found it. You guys ready?”
Porter pulled himself out of the back of the car and shut the door. He and Badway waited for Cat, then the group disappeared into the wood line together.
Nineteen
Porter was sure there was some Special Forces ninja trick Badway had learned for moving through dense brush. Despite his muscular frame, the former soldier slipped and slid through the trees and overgrown vines like a cat.
Porter and the actual Cat fared much worse.
The walk wasn’t far, nearly a hundred feet through the woods. Badway went first, picking and sliding his way through the foliage. Porter was next, trail-breaking for both him and Cat. He held the branches and sticks up as he went through, so things didn’t smack her in the face. It worked well enough but was slow.
What took Badway two minutes to do took Porter and Cat nearly ten. Porter looked up as they neared the edge of the undergrowth and saw Badway crouching in the tree line.
“What are you, part mongoose or something?” Porter said.
“I’m not big and slow like you. Lifting heavy shit doesn’t help you move fast.”
“Blow me,” Porter said, pushing away the last of the brush to let Cat pass through.
For the first time, Porter looked at the storage facility from the rear. The buildings were lined up in rows, and the space between each pair of buildings formed a breezeway large enough to drive down.
From the tree line it was ten feet to the fence, then fifteen feet of blacktop to the back of the buildings. Enough space to drive behind the buildings, to get around the facility easier. Affixed to the cinderblocks were green metal signs with unit numbers and arrows pointing the way.
A handful of links in the fence were cut and curled open.
“You already did that?” Porter said.
“I got bored while I was waiting for you two.”
Cat squatted on the other side of Porter, smacking bugs away from her neck. Her feet were covered in dirt. “I wish I’d worn better shoes.”
“Who wears flip-flops in the woods?” Porter said.
“Someone who woke up at midnight and thought they were going to the jail and back home. I didn’t think I was hiking today,” Cat said.
“You two done? I think the unit is down this aisle somewhere.” Badway pointed straight ahead. “If we walk in like we belong, who’s going to say anything?”
At the far end of the aisle, moving in and out of the last unit on the left, was the family in the pickup truck.
“Them?” Cat said.
“Nah, Sarge is right,” Porter said. “They’re too busy doing their own thing.”
“Glad you finally admitted it,” Badway said. He darted out of the tree line and with one practiced movement, slipped through the cut in the fence. He sprinted the distance from the fence to the back of the unit, coming to a rest with his back against the cinderblock.
“Did you see him go?” Cat said. “Holy shit.”
“He’s a squirrely bastard,” Porter said. “After you.” He held his hand out in front of him.
“No way. You go.”
“Ladies first. I insist,” Porter said.
“So I’m a lady now? I thought I was a bitch,” Cat said. She darted out of the tree line, flip-flops clapping as she went. She had more trouble than Badway with the fence, but managed easily enough. In short order, she was next to Badway, back against the cinderblock wall.
“She’s never gonna let the bitch thing go,” Porter said to no one. Three strides and he was at the fence. Badway hadn’t cut it for his height, so Porter had to crunch up smaller than he wanted. His shirt caught on a sharp piece of the chain link and tore when he stepped away. He didn’t run to the wall.
He was mad about the shirt.
“You could have cut a couple more links. Help a guy out,” Porter said. He held the back of his shirt, poking his fingers through the hole.
“You made it, right? Quit bitching,” Badway said.
“Who’s the bitch now?” Cat said.
“Let’s just go already.” Porter walked around the corner and into the walkway. Although the sun was shining, there was a cool wind blowing, and the two storage buildings funneled the breeze into a more forceful stream. The jagged back of Porter’s shirt blew behind him.
Badway was on the right, reading the numbers on the units, while Porter looked to the left. The further they traveled down the aisle, the more apparent it became.
Porter stopped and moved across the pavement to Badway. “It’s right next to the family, isn't it?”
“Looks that way,” Badway said.
“So? You guys said they wouldn’t care,” Cat said.
“They may remember us if we’re right next to them. We’re trying to be ghosts, remember?” Porter said.
“What other choice do we have?” Cat looked at the two men.
Porter led the group to the unit. Badway stayed further back, turning every so often, eyes in the rear.
Unit sixty-two was six-feet-by-six-feet, and was just tall enough that Porter wouldn’t have to duck to get inside. The green, ridged-metal door had a large, circular lock hanging from a latch on the front, and the family’s black pickup truck was partially blocking it.
“Sorry,” the father said. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here. I’ll move it.” The man made a move to the driver
's door.
“No need,” Porter said. “We won't be long.”
The man wore outdoorsy khakis and a plaid shirt, the wife similarly clad. A young boy sat in a kayak on the pavement, pretending to paddle. On the pavement, leaning against a tire, was a teenage girl who couldn’t be bothered to raise her head from her smartphone. The back of their truck was half-full with sleeping bags, tents, and a camp stove.
“Appreciate that,” the man said. “Heading out to the woods this evening. Got a cabin and everything. Want to show the kids a little of the life outside the city.”
“I understand,” Porter said.
“Jake Shelby,” the man said, thrusting his hand toward Porter.
“Bruce Smith,” Porter said.
“Well, Mr. Smith, I’ll leave you to it. If you decide you need us out of the way, just let me know.”
“Will do,” Porter said.
Badway was now toward the middle of the walkway, looking over the top of the kayak to the lot they’d first parked in when they were checking the storage facility.
“Something?” Porter said.
“Not sure. Who has the key?” Badway said.
Cat produced the flat, brass key from her pocket and passed it to Porter.
Porter grabbed the lock and turned the key. There was no resistance and the key worked the first time. He slipped the lock off and palmed it.
Badway was next to Porter and Cat now. “You gonna open it?”
“Just thinking for a second. It’s not wired up, is it?”
Badway scanned the top ridge of the metal door, both sides, and the bottom. He took extra care around the latch the lock had been in. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“You two need to stop being chickens. You bring me all the way out here and now you don’t want to open the door? Here, I’ll do it,” Cat said.
“I got it,” Porter said. “At least stand out of the way of the door. Stand in front of the next unit.”
Cat crossed her arms.
“Humor me,” Porter said.
Badway stepped back. Once Cat saw him move, she followed suit. Porter stepped as far to the side of the door as he could and slid the metal latch horizontally, sending a loud clack echoing through the area. He looked again at Jake Shelby, who had disappeared inside his mammoth locker.
Badway turned his face, then forced the door up. Once the seal that kept water from leaking into the unit from the bottom was broken, Porter smelled it. A pungent smell, like someone had lit a box full of hair on fire. Badway slid the door the rest of the way up.
Stepping into the small unit, Porter thrust his hand backward at Cat and Badway. “Stop.”
But it was too late. They were both standing next to him.
The inside of the unit was bare, except for a metal folding chair, and the charred body tied to it.
Twenty
Cat covered her nose, retched, and stepped back from the entryway to the unit. Badway stepped back, leading her away from the remains. Porter stepped forward, looking closer at the body.
The body was cool, but a complete mess. All the hair was burned off; the person’s race was impossible to determine. The corpse was seated in the metal chair, ankles bound to the chair legs, hands bound behind their back and then tied to the chair.
There was a white dusting everywhere. “What is that?” Cat said from the outside pavement.
Porter looked closer. “Looks like residue from a fire extinguisher. The powdery stuff that’s left once the foam goes away.”
“Why set someone on fire and put them out?” Cat said.
“You see how the body hasn’t been disturbed? There isn’t any flaking or cracking of the charred skin. If they moved the body here after they burned this guy, patches would be missing, burned skin sloughed off and bone exposed underneath.”
“You're saying they burned him here?” Cat said, an involuntary gag escaping her lips.
“Yeah. They burned him, then put him out. Maybe they didn’t want to burn the entire place down,” Porter said.
“We gotta go, bro,” Badway said. “They sent us here for a reason. We can’t stay.”
“Do you think it’s Kevon?” Cat said. “We would have to get dental records to tell, right?”
Porter leaned in a little closer and saw something on the body’s forehead. “Hold on.” He looked around for something to use, but saw nothing, so he reached out and pulled with his hand. The soot jarred loose enough so that Porter could tell it was an ID. “Someone nailed a driver’s license into the head.” Porter tugged with more strength and the ID and the nail both came out.
He turned it around to read the front. It was Kevon Brown’s. “They must have nailed that once they put him out. If not, it would have melted into a plastic puddle.”
Porter stepped out of the storage unit.
“Mr. Smith? You’re a big guy, I’ll bet you’re strong. Any chance you’d help me lift…”
Before Porter could shoo the man off, Jake Shelby saw what was in the unit.
“What the hell?” Shelby backed away from the doorway. “What the hell is that?”
“VFX,” Porter said.
“What’s VFX?”
“Visual effects. We run an effects company for movies, television shows, things like that. Our group has been working on this little guy for a couple weeks. He was stinking up the entire office, so we had to move him out here.”
“It looks so real,” Jake Shelby said, leaning closer to the body.
“We wouldn’t be any good at our jobs if it didn’t,” Porter said.
“Wow. The smell. How do you even make something like that happen?”
“I can’t give away all my trade secrets,” Porter said, looking for a way out of the conversation.
Badway was standing behind the truck, looking across the road at the parking lot again. He shielded his eyes with his hands. “Porter… Smith… whoever you are, we gotta go. Right now.”
Porter ignored Jake Shelby. “Something?”
“Down!” Badway shouted.
A split-second later, a crack rang out, echoing throughout the breezeway between the two buildings. The cinderblock next to Porter’s head exploded, sending fragments of concrete into his face.
“Move,” Porter said, pulling Jake Shelby and Cat into the unit with the remains of Kevon Brown.
“What was that?” Jake Shelby asked.
Badway grabbed both the teenage daughter and the little boy in the kayak and pulled them behind the tailgate of the truck.
“Sniper?” Porter said to Badway.
“Yeah. I saw a big black SUV backparked in that lot across the street. The tailgate opened a few seconds ago.” He had his arms around the heads of the children and was crouched low behind the camper top.
“Mrs. Shelby, stay in your unit,” Porter said, loud enough for her to hear next door.
“What?” came a reply.
“Damn it, Carol, stay put,” Mr. Shelby said.
Two more shots came crashing into the door of the storage unit. Loud, but not a full rifle report.
“Cans,” Porter said.
The average person’s knowledge about suppressors came from television and the movies. Suppressors, silencers, or “cans,” as they were often interchangeably called, did not make gunfire Hollywood-quiet. Using a silencer usually made a rifle round sound like firecrackers being dropped in the street in a Chinatown on New Year's Day.
Quiet or not, the bullets were lethal.
“This isn’t fake, is it?” Mr. Shelby said.
“Of course not,” Porter said. He felt nails digging into his arm. Cat’s grip was relentless.
“We’re being shot at?” Cat said.
“Relax,” Porter said. “You’re safe in the storage unit.”
“Carol, stay there. Don’t move, okay?” Jake Shelby yelled.
There was a muffled reply.
“What do we do?” Cat said.
“Call the cops. Wait them out,” Porter said. “They can�
�t sit out there all day.”
“What if they come in?” Cat said.
“They were set up to shoot us when we left. Once they saw that we snuck in the back, they accelerated their timeline. No way they want to be seen on camera. They won’t come in,” Porter said.
“Good. Okay. We wait,” Cat said.
A volley of shots rang out, peppering the front of the truck, fragments skipping off the asphalt ground. One of the truck’s tires popped.
“I can’t wait it out back here,” Badway said. He cradled the kids’ heads against his chest.
More shots. Another tire popped. Now rounds were slamming into the side of the truck.
“Two shooters now,” Badway yelled, over the sound of pinging metal and crumbling cinder blocks. “The new angle is worse. Only a matter of time until they skip a round under the truck and hit one of us.”
Waiting it out was no longer an option.
“Porter, we have to get out of here,” Cat said.
“Working on it.” Porter looked around the unit they were in but found nothing useful.
“Badway, throw me the kids,” Porter said.
“Don’t, they’ll get shot,” Jake Shelby said, pulling at Porter’s shirt.
“They’re okay,” Porter said, motioning to his cousin. “I’m waiting on you.”
Another volley of rounds rang out. When it stopped, Badway threw the boy through the air, right into Porter’s arms. Porter passed him to his father. Another round of bullets answered the action.
Badway pulled the teenage girl to her feet and staged her near the corner of the pickup truck. Porter stuck his hand out and there were several shots. Badway pushed the girl from behind, sending her flailing across the gap between the car and storage unit’s door. Porter caught her as she fell.
“Move to the back of the storage unit,” Porter said. Jake Shelby pulled his children past the charred remains of Kevon Brown and onto the floor in the back corner.
“I can’t believe this,” Cat said. “I can't believe this is real.”
“Believe it,” Porter said. “We need to get out of here. If we do, these people will be safe. Vance just wants us.”
Porter looked around the unit again, then into the back of the Shelbys’ truck. “Move over, Sarge.”