The Drumhead

by Richard Correll

  “I don’t think we can go any farther.” Anderson was shaking his head. Pinder seemed caught between a moment of acceptance and wistfulness, hoping for another solution.

  “You have to get closer,” Brett’s voice was determination and pure gravel.

  “You don’t get it.” The bus driver turned toward Brett. His voice rose in frustration. “I can’t control this thing!”

  “But you can move.” Symons gritted his teeth and persisted.

  “But I can’t control it!”

  “Sir?” Symons turned quickly to Pinder. “We need to get closer or we are gonna lose people.”

  Pinder looked around the bus. All eyes had settled on him. Great, he thought bitterly. His gaze moved past them and into the darkness outside. A few figures here and there were now coming toward them on State Street. Although he was concerned, the crowd was gone. God damnit, Maggie. One hell of a job. We can’t let it go to waste. He sighed and turned back to Symons.

  “Time to take a gamble and roll the dice, Sergeant.” Pinder felt his feet steady themselves on the ground. Let’s do this.

  “Yes sir,” Symons nodded emphatically in agreement. He turned toward the bus driver with a look that was on the right side of what-the-hell. “Gun it.”

  “I haven’t done anything like this.” He was quieter now. The man was clearly trying to run through every protocol and came up blank.

  “First time for everything.” Pinder observed and received a pirate’s smile from Symons.

  “Get a grip on something everyone.” Symons raised his voice as the engine revved. “Lie down on the floor if you have to.”

  “This is gonna be a bumpy ride.” Anderson observed under his breath as he eased into the right gear,

  As the bus picked up speed the shaking became earthquake intensive. Brett had to grit his teeth hard or he swore they would be rocked right out of his mouth. He looked around for anything to get a hold on to and came up empty. He finally eased down the stair in front and planted his feet against the divider wall at the entrance of the bus. For now, he felt relatively stable. He could see others had grabbed the metal hand holds on seats in front of them. Some slid down to the floor and curled into crash positions like they were on a doomed passenger jet. Still, others just held on to the closest person nearby who was a stranger just a few hours before. I guess that makes us a tribe now. The crazy thought made him smile for a second.

  Brett saw Pinder close his eyes and take a slow, deep breath to find some calm. It didn’t work. His eyes were still fearful when he re-opened them. He looked over at Brett for a second and their eyes met. Are you sure this was a good idea? Brett swore he heard him think out loud.

  There was a grinding sound that was getting louder in volume and intensity. It hit a fever pitch before the shaking of the bus paused for a second and vertigo took over. That sensation that is close to flying in the pit of your stomach when your world goes out of kilter. When gravity is fighting a losing battle between you and other forces. Funny, Brett thought for a second. When you’re falling in your dreams you never feel it.

  He heard the bus driver swear and try to say something. Then he was airborne for a second or two. Just long enough to hear screams echo off the walls of the bus as he was picked up and thrown at the bus driver by larger forces. The world took on a new shape. Suddenly, the drivers’ side of the bus was the floor. The floor had become a wall while a sound of grating steel louder than any circular saw he’d ever heard was in his ears. They were still moving.

  He looked up through the windshield to see a form spatter against glass and be crushed between the bus and the curb in front of Macy’s. The bus had jack knifed slightly on to the sidewalk. The circular saw sound of metal grinding against asphalt was suddenly gone replaced silence for a second. Then human voices filled the void with cries of fear, sobs and words that seemed to be strung together with no meaning.

  Slowly, Brett began to understand his surroundings. The bus was on its side. He was wedged beside the bus driver in a space between what was once his driver window and the roof. He looked into the driver’s wide eyes as the man almost seemed to be hyperventilating.

  “You okay?” Brett found his voice.

  “Yeah.“ Anderson spoke almost from habit as he continued to breath heavy. He paused for a second and then nodded a second time to Brett. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  Brett sat up for a second on bended knees and tried to locate Pinder. He stood up slowly and tried to fight the wobbly feeling in his knees. Just fucking go with it, he finally advised himself. He stood and could not see motionless forms. That was a welcome sign. There were a few bloody noses and ashen faces that were acquainting themselves with the new configurations of the bus on its side. But there was nothing serious. As he looked around he happened to see past the sprawled forms, out the missing back window and into the darkness.

  They were coming…….

  They looked like shadows that had grown form and detached themselves from the darkness. They were deliberate in their movements. As they came closer, he could make out individual shapes that were outlined by even more shadows behind them. A dull thump made Bret turn and face the windshield. A woman in a courier’s uniform clawed at the glass. Her eyes were lighting up with the thrill of being so close to what she needed so desperately. Her red lip stick smeared the glass as she tried to find an opening.

  Trapped. The word jumped out at him. They have you this time. Oh, you can hold them off for awhile as they try and come through that back window. Then your ammunition will run out and they will just keep coming. Funny how everything always comes down to a game of numbers. Brett saw the Chicago tribune guy look out the window in the back as well. When he turned back to Brett, his eyes showed that he understood their fate. They were sitting ducks in a sideways bus just a few feet from their destination.

  Sideways…………

  “I need a firing line, guys.” Brett decided not to wait for chain of command. He slapped the backs of a few helmets to scramble into position while he looked around at the bizarre surroundings. He turned back to the bus driver for a moment and smirked. Brett leaned over to where the man was still on the floor as if he had been nailed to his chair.

  “Hey,” Brett leaned forward to get close so he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. “Open the doors.”

  For a second, the bus driver widened his eyes and tilted his head. Then, he fumbled himself to his knees and pushed a lever that was now above him. There was a hiss as the passenger doors now on the roof peeled open. Salvation, Brett almost said the word out loud. Pinder was suddenly beside him looking up through the doors. A dark shape that was the concrete canopy of Macy’s was a darker black in the night. It was an almost perfect fit.

  “Let’s get these people on the roof.” Pinder had found his voice and bellowed his first order since the crash. Bestoni lifted his daughter to safety and then looked around for another. When it was his turn he showed remarkable agility for a fat man. He climbed up the sideways seats and found a hand hold before being lifted to safety by others.

  It struck Symons how symmetrical the interior of a bus was. The placement of the seats and handholds almost made a perfect step ladder to escape. Did they plan it that way? He tapped Moshood on the shoulder and motioned him to climb. Bret wanted the big man in a position to haul people up when it came down to the last few. Moshood lifted the boy who had been on his back up through the opening with care to eager hands before climbing up himself.

  When the first few torn faces appeared at the back window they were obliterated in a wall of steel. Symons thought it weird that his mind seemed to slow down at a moment like this and watch shells make contact. Maybe you’re just losing it. He tapped Pinder on the shoulder.

  “You’re next, sir.”

  Shouldn’t I be the last one?” Pinder didn’t want the job. But, he had no intention of running out now.

  “No sir,” Symons was quick to answer as time was running out. “Maggie wanted me to look afte
r you.” He watched Pinder nod slowly and move to safety in the blistering noise of gunfire. Brett turned and watched the faces at the front of the bus press forward and pound on the Plexiglas. A beautiful woman with blonde hair ran her hands along the glass twice. Then, pounded hard on the glass. She repeated the rhythm over and over with delicate hands that seemed more at home playing a piano. Her blue eyes rested in the now familiar puss like sea. The intensity of her rage in a stare that made everything feel a million miles away. He turned back to two soldiers left in the bus.

  “I got it, sir.” Esterhaus spoke above another burst that sent a man dressed only in shorts to oblivion. The fiftyish body with grey chest hairs flopped against the edges of the broken back window like a large fish out of water before sliding away into the night. “Go.” Esterhaus barked the word. Symons felt the same strange feeling that came across Pinder. He sighed and found some leverage before slipping his foot through a hand hold and hauling himself to safety. Once on top he unslung his M16A3 and went to the end of the bus. They’re gonna need cover fire. He stomped on a plexiglass window and it just vibrated. Fuck it, he pointed the business end of the M16A3 at the glass and squeezed off a burst. A pattern starred itself across the glass and Symons paused and stomped again. A large enough portion gave way.

  “Go!” Esterhaus nodded to Bradley who gave him a forlorn look before heading to the front of the bus and using the most distant exit. Now came the tough part. Esterhaus fired a long, deafening burst into the rear of the bus and then turned to start his climb. Above, Symons concentrated on the aperture.

  Esterhaus slid his foot into the first hand hold he saw and reached up. He felt his right boot slip on the surface of the handhold. It sent his balance off and he found himself suddenly out of reach of the hands that wanted to pull him to safety. He looked up at the widening, desperate eyes and began to try again.

  C’mon, pull me up.” He urged them on.

  Symons heard a command that sounded almost like a whisper. Well, a whisper compared to Maggie’s commands. There was never any doubt what was said with the slow and amplified tone she used in adrenalin charged situations. He didn’t have time to explore the thought as Bradley and a second soldier passed him and pointed their M16A3’s over the edge of the bus. In a second or two later, the guns spoke as they gave Esterhaus the cover he needed. Symons aimed through the window and fired twice at a figure that had already been peppered with fat black wounds on his back. A carefully aimed burst finally finished the job.

  “C’mon, pull me up.” Esterhaus found his footing and reached up to the hands that seemed so close to his.

  “Empty!” Bradley swore and began to reload. Seconds later the soldier beside him also swore.

  No, Symons fired a long burst into the broken back window of the bus and hands and torsos pressed home a sudden advantage. He watched an elderly man of seventy drop like a careless child’s doll. Beside him, a large woman in a retail uniform had her head explode like a gelatinous cherry bomb. Did you get them all? He suddenly realized how fast he was breathing.

  “C’mon,” Esterhaus pushed his fingers higher into the air. “Pull me up.”

  There was one more of them, Brett was sure of it, Dammit. He leaned through the glass and found a thin figure picking itself up off its hands and knees. In all the time he saw them. Brett had always felt that they were slow and clumsy creatures. Now, he had to rethink that belief. It suddenly was up and very close to Esterhaus. Bradley and his companion had now resumed firing but couldn’t see into the bus from their angle.

  Hands began to help Esterhaus as he pushed his way toward the open doors on the ceiling. He had that primal sensation. Everyone knew it at one point of their lives. Something is close to your skin, very close. You felt it when a spider was dangling above your head from a single thread of silk or you were about to touch something dangerous. He brought up his left foot and hit something out of eye sight that he sensed crashed to the floor. A pair of strong hands found his shoulders gripped him under the armpits. He was suddenly air born.

  “Pull me up,” Esterhaus heard himself plea in a whisper. An M16A3 that he would later learn was Brett’s opened up on something that was straining to get a grip on his boots. Esterhaus was suddenly aware of Moshood’s shoulders as the big man pulled him through the doors to safety. They looked at each other for a suspended second as time caught up and let the last few minutes sink in. Fuck, that was close.

  “Dude, you have got to lose weight.” Moshood finally gasped. “You know a few extra pounds can kill you, man.”

  Esterhaus paused and let the words sink in before starting to laugh. He felt moisture appear at the edge of his eyes and run down his face as he kept laughing between gasps of air into lungs starved and shocked. He couldn’t even understand why he was laughing. He couldn’t understand the tears. But he knew he couldn’t stop either of them from taking over his life for the next few minutes.The laughter faded into deep breaths that suddenly had much more meaning.

  Brett started to walk back with Bradley as their attention was averted to Pinder borrowing something from a student he had glanced at back at the hotel. It was one of those large key chains that were impossible to lose. The keys were decorated with fuzzy something-or-others and a cylindrical silver object. Pinder fiddled with the chain for a second and a piercing light suddenly appeared. Nice, a flashlight. Pinder stepped up carefully from the bus to the overhang above Macy’s entrance and then turned to help others. The large concrete rectangle began to fill up with people as he peered into the windows on the second floor. It took a long careful minute before he finally nodded to someone behind him and then nodded to Brett.

  “It looks clear inside,” Pinder nodded to the window he had been checking. “We might need to set up a perimeter in there first.”

  Symons was looking at Pinder but not hearing the words. Brett slowly turned his head left to a noise that began as a distraction in the silence of Chicago. It grew into an instinct and blossomed as a sure fire gut feeling. He knew it.

  Gunfire…….

  Maggie. He turned and began to walk toward the front of the bus. There was no hesitation, no moment of indecision. There was not a single maybe or perhaps in his step. He was at the edge of the bus in a matter of seconds. Brett looked over the edge and picked his spot. Here and there, scattered figures wandered about or were steadfast in the patchwork darkness. The occasional street lamp still blazed away. They provided islands of light that eventually surrendered into shades of the overwhelming night.

  “Sergeant!” There was a hand on his shoulder. It was Pinder. “What are you doing?”

  “Back in a minute!” Brett pushed the Captain’s hand away and jumped.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  He landed and rolled his body to reduce the impact and wound up resting against the main entrance to Macy’s. He pulled himself up on one of the brass door handles and it stayed firm. They were locked. A figure appeared from the back of the bus and made an animal sound. In the ongoing struggle between light and dark the thing was only visible as an outline. Bret brought his M16A3 up to his shoulder and fired twice before moving toward the phantom gunfire up State Street.

  He slapped away a hand that appeared out of nowhere as he sprinted past the front of the bus amid shadows and shapes and shouted commands from above. Two more profiles illuminated by a streetlight blocked his path. A woman in a white blouse that had a dried crimson waterfall extending from her neck to her waist howled at him with blazing eyes. A second, a young man with brown skin and a torn black t-shirt growled and grinded his teeth. Instead of charging, the young man lowered his shoulders and seemed to wait for Brett to make the first move. The woman was hungrier. Off balance, she lunged at him and missed. Brett side stepped the fallen figure and brought his rifle butt up to make contact with the young man’s face. He was past them in an instant. He headed toward the gunfire, deeper into dark.

  There………

  A figure was suddenly illuminated in a muzzle fl
ash. The burst was tight and controlled. Something in the darkness fell on to the pavement. The figure was barely visible in the folds of indigo dark as another muzzle flash lit up the corner of State and Lake Street. Again, more figures collapsed at the extreme edge of visibility. It was her, it was Maggie.

  “Maggie!”

  Brett checked his back and fired off a quick burst at two approaching silhouettes. The beautiful blond woman Bradley had seen earlier jerked her head once and collapsed back on the stain of the exit wound from her skull. The second, a man in ragged clothes staggered for a second before taking two more steps and collapsing.

  “Maggie!”

  Did she hear him? He couldn’t tell. The darkness wasn’t giving up any secrets. There was no wave, no sign of recognition and no movement his way. The only addition to the scene came from the east side of Lake Street. It was a low cloud the color of a moonless night. It moved like an approaching fog made of coal from across the street. It was hunting Maggie.