But Tyler practically growled. He armed sweat from his brow and spat a wad of blood just outside the court. He got into a defensive position and held his hands out for the ball. Kurt bounced it to him.
Tyler bounced it back.
“Ball in. Let’s play,” he said.
Avery and Ray backed away, shaking their heads.
The fire of anger burned bright in the pits of Tyler’s stomach. He’d never felt such anger, not so far in his adult life.
Kurt passed the ball in to Avery, who quickly flipped it back. Tyler stayed right on him. Kurt dribbled, his body between the ball and Tyler. As soon as Tyler saw an opening, he went for it, struck out like a snake at a mouse.
His aim was a little off…and he ended up slapping Kurt’s arm.
“Foul,” Kurt called.
Tyler didn’t protest. He had made sure to hit him hard. If he’s going to call fouls on everything, he reasoned, I might as well make them count.
In pickup basketball, no one got disqualified for too many fouling violations. And what Kurt didn’t know was that Tyler had grown up where ‘No blood, no foul’ was a common phrase. Even when you were bleeding, you usually didn’t call a foul, lest you be mocked by your peers.
“That one’s free, Darky. Next one is gonna cost you,” Kurt sneered.
Tyler said nothing, only stared at the ball. If he stared at Kurt’s face, he was liable to swing on the bastard.
They rechecked. Avery passed in to Kurt. He tried a hook shot.
Missed.
Tyler knew it was a miss as soon as it left his hand.
He gambled again. Seeing the shot hit the rim, and judging where it would go, he figured Ray would catch the rebound. So Tyler shot off to his position at the three-point line—well beyond the three-point line. He moved as fast as he could, which was pretty fast, all things considered. Ray, standing tall among the others, saw him almost instantly and fired a pass out to him.
Tyler caught it, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, and shot the ball.
Like the first game-winning shot, this one was no different.
Nothing. But. Net.
Tyler looked Kurt right in the eyes. “You gonna call a foul on that one?”
Kurt didn’t answer.
“Game,” Tyler continued. “Twice.”
That was when Kurt’s anger got the best of him. A rage burned in his eyes so hot that it turned his pale skin beet red. He ran at Tyler with more speed than he’d had all game. Tyler, prepared for this, sidled out of the way, causing Kurt to go skidding off the court, leaving black sole marks on the hardwood.
“Stop it!” May shouted. “Leave him alone!”
Kurt didn’t listen. He spun around and ran at Tyler again, as fast as before, faster than Ray or Avery, who had lunged in their direction, trying to stop the fight before it even started.
“I’m gonna kill you, you nigger!” Kurt shouted.
Tyler knew what he had to do. This wouldn’t be his first fistfight with a sore loser, and it probably wouldn’t be his last.
Nana and Mom might’ve taught him to be the bigger man, but he doubted they’d ever had a meth-head, alcoholic biker running at them and calling them racial slurs. When the chips were down, Tyler had learned something of his own, something he didn’t think Nana or Mom ever could’ve taught him: you had to fight back, stop the threat, and stand your ground.
So that’s what Tyler did.
Kurt’s hands were out in front of him like he was ready to choke Tyler. He probably would’ve, too, if Tyler hadn’t stepped back, cocked his right fist, and swung at Kurt’s face.
The shot took him in the left cheek, just below his eye. Tyler felt teeth give way beneath his fist.
Poetic justice, he thought madly, as the flash of Kurt’s in-game elbow filled his head.
Kurt dropped like a corpse. Tyler had stood his ground, and knocked the asshole’s lights out in one punch.
Ray and Avery were on him in a flash, but Tyler had no plans to continue kicking Kurt’s ass. The punch was good enough. He was already starting to feel guilty for it, looking down at the biker, crumpled like a paper man.
“I’m all right,” he told them, putting his hands up. “I’m cool. I’m cool.”
His right knuckles were already swelling. May came to him and put her arm around his waist, dragging him from the basketball court as Avery helped Kurt to his feet. A fleeting look showed Tyler that Kurt’s left cheekbone had turned a blistering red.
As Tyler and May left the sporting goods store, Kurt shouted, “I’m gonna kill you, you dumb nigger! Your ass is mine! Hear me? I’m gonna kill you!”
But Tyler barely heard him, and, he wasn’t scared of the bastard, either.
10
Packing Bags
“You rocked him!” May said.
She didn’t sound the slightest bit disappointed. They were walking up the dead escalators, toward the beds they’d slept in the previous night.
“He started it,” Tyler replied, almost defensively.
“I think you should’ve punched him a long time ago,” May said. “How dare he call you those names? Piece of trash, that’s what he is. I would’ve punched him myself if you hadn’t. I don’t even care about my arm.”
Tyler smiled at her, a fatherly smile. Then he turned and began bagging up the little possessions he’d arrived at Amsterdam Mall with: his old clothes, a pocketknife, a handkerchief, a flashlight, a towel, and an extra pair of shoelaces. He piled them into a dark backpack he’d taken from Bachman’s many months before. It had grown ratty since they’d been on the road.
“What are you doing?” May asked. She rocked in place, back and forth from the balls of her feet to her heels. “Are we leaving?”
“I can’t stay here. You were there, you saw what just happened. A racist asshole like Kurt won’t ever change, and he won’t think we’re even until he’s standing over my dead body. Kurt will try to kill me.”
“Don’t say that,” May said. Her bottom lip quivered. “Avery and Ray won’t let anything happen. They’ll probably throw him out!”
Tyler only shook his head, frowning. “He’s got seniority on me. They’ll never throw him out. Besides, I shouldn’t have punched him. I stooped to his level, let him get the best of me.” He shook his hand. “And now my knuckles hurt like hell.”
“He started it!” May moaned.
Tyler pulled the zipper closed on his backpack. Then he sat down on the edge of the model mattress, and began unlacing the Nikes given to him by Ray. It didn’t feel right keeping them, even though such items weren’t exactly in high demand anymore. He switched them out for his old, worn boots, which had once had the same new shoe smell, a lifetime ago.
“I don’t think that matters much,” he reasoned, “who started it or not. All that matters is that they want a peaceful community here. And as long as I’m clashing with Kurt, that ain’t gonna be the case.”
“You can’t leave,” May said.
“I have to, but you can stay. These are good people…I can already tell. There’s not too many of those types left. I’ll be fine.”
“If you go, I go.”
“No, May. You already followed me here when you should’ve stayed in Ohio—”
“There was nothing for me in Ohio!” she interrupted. “We’re a team. We’re family. If you go, I go.”
Tyler said nothing.
“Or…neither of us have to go,” she proposed. “We can talk to them. Sort something out. I don’t know. Make sure you and Kurt are separated.”
From near the escalators came a different voice.
“May’s right,” Florence said. “Neither of you have to go. We’re kicking Kurt out. We voted. Avery and Ray are heading down to his spot to make sure he gathers his stuff and goes. Skylar is welcome to stay, but I don’t think she will. She and Kurt have a…weird bond.”
Tyler’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe it.
“I know, I know,” Florence said, putting up a han
d. “Pretty crazy, right? We hardly know you, and we’re letting you stay over him. Well, really, it’s simple: Kurt’s an asshole, a hothead. As long as he’s here, he’ll cause problems.” She leaned closer and spoke in a whisper, “We’ve been wanting him out of here for a while…at least I have. I’m pretty sure the boys have, too. Not only is Kurt rude and brash, but he drinks constantly and steals from the food store. So unpack your bag, Tyler Stapleton. Stay a while.”
Tyler shook his head. He didn’t unpack his bag, though.
May did it for him, snatching the backpack out of his hands like a hungry dog snatches a scrap of food.
He was going to stay.
11
Kurt
“Fuck you,” Kurt said.
He was back in his part of the mall. Ray and Avery were standing in the doorway of the breakroom of Dillards. Kurt thought he should’ve pulled down the security fence at the threshold of the store, stop these assholes from barging in.
Skylar had a hand on his shoulder. She kept trying to touch his face where Tyler had slugged him. It was swollen, as big as a miniature head, and hurt like hell, too. He shook with anger. Had he not been on the ground when Tyler had sped off the court, he would’ve kicked that son of a whore’s teeth in, made him choke on them. Would’ve chased him, too, if he’d had what he was currently looking for in Dillards. The gun was nowhere to be found, though. Sky probably put it some place, the dumb broad.
“Listen, Kurt,” Avery began, and the way he spoke was grave, disappointed.
Kurt would show him disappointment. Oh yes, he would. He just needed his gun…
“Fuck you,” he said aloud.
“Just listen,” Ray butt in.
“No, you listen,” Kurt said, straightening up and getting in Ray’s face. Ray was a big motherfucker, but Kurt could tell just as soon as he’d met him that he was as soft as diarrhea. The bigger ones usually were, because when you were that big, no one fucked with you; no one toughened you up. “I don’t wanna hear any of that apologizing shit. I’m not apologizing to a damn nigger, and I’m sure as hell never playing basketball with him again. Fuck, I’m never playing basketball with any of you clowns again!”
“Kurt…” Skylar said softly.
“Shut up, whore!” Kurt said, turning to face his wife. She cringed away. Would’ve thought the bitch learned her lesson last time she mouthed off. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, I guess. All you can do is beat them senseless until they’re too scared to breathe.
“Listen, Kurt,” Avery began again. He stepped forward, not afraid of Kurt in the slightest. He knew the man was all talk.
For now, that was. If Kurt had a weapon, then he might’ve been a little perturbed. Currently, though, Kurt was unarmed, and his body ached. His face throbbed. His bone to pick wasn’t with Avery or Ray or Florence—though he’d told them not to go out there the night before and save whatever dumbasses were outside fighting the monsters. If Kurt had known one of the dumbasses was black, he would’ve fought harder against it. But what was done was done. If the monsters hadn’t gotten the chance to finish Tyler off, then by God, Kurt would do it.
“Kurt, you’re out of here,” Avery said. He looked at Skylar. “Sky, you don’t have to go, but I reckon you’ll want to follow him, and he’s not welcome here. Not anymore.”
“What the fuck you mean?” Kurt seethed. “I’m a founding father of this goddamn place!”
“We took a vote, Kurt,” Ray said. He stepped forward slightly, thrusting his chest out like a chicken. It made Kurt want to punch him all the more.
Skylar gasped loudly, dramatically. She took a seat on the breakroom’s couch, dropped right into it.
“I ain’t going anywhere,” Kurt said. “You don’t own this fucking mall. Your names ain’t on it, not since I checked.” He started to laugh, thinking this was real funny. These two pussies thought he was just going to get up and walk out of here on his own—
Ray grabbed him around the collar of his leather vest. The chain in his jeans pocket jingled loudly, and Skylar squawked like a bird. Suddenly, Kurt’s feet dangled off the floor. Ray gave him a shake, and Kurt flailed, then he kicked the Frankenstein bastard in the kneecap. Hard.
Nothing. It felt like Ray was made out of iron.
“You are gone. Got it?” Ray told him firmly. “I’m sick of your racist, whiny bullshit. All you do is complain. You don’t help out. You sneak food and booze from the stores—yeah, we know all about it. And you’re a fucking slob, Kurt. You’re gone.”
Choking, face reddening, Kurt said, “Let—me—go!”
“You have fifteen minutes,” Ray said, and dropped Kurt on his feet.
But Kurt lost his balance and fell backward on the arm of the couch. He was too shocked to retaliate.
If he could just find the gun…
Before he even sat up, his hands were searching in between the cushions. He usually slept with his gun. Felt safer that way. It was an old Ruger that he’d taken off of a dead man back in Charleston—a man he had killed.
“Looking for this, Kurt?” Avery said.
Kurt’s eyes focused on what was in Avery’s hand. The Ruger.
“You been in my fucking room?” he growled.
Avery chuckled, shaking his head. Ray joined in with a slight smile.
“What?” Kurt demanded.
“You don’t remember?” Avery asked.
Kurt’s mind was blank. Remember what?
“He doesn’t remember,” Ray confirmed. “He was wasted.”
Wasted?
When was the last time he had drank to the point of getting wasted? Better question, actually: When was the last time he hadn’t drank?
A flare of anger greater than the one he’d felt when Tyler punched him took hold now. If they had been in his room, if they’d stolen his gun, then they’d found his secret stash of booze. They had to have. That’s what this was all about. No way they’d kick him out just because he punched someone in the face. No way at all.
Kurt stood up again. He didn’t care anymore. He was going to punch both of these bastards in the face, do something worthy of getting kicked out. If Skylar tried to stop him, he’d slap her around good, too.
“We took it from you two nights ago. You were drinking absinthe,” Ray said. “Fucking absinthe, dude. Then you pulled this gun and said, ‘Let’s play Russian roulette. I’ll go first,’ and Skylar tried to stop you, but you busted her lip. We had to intervene or you probably would’ve killed her.”
“We probably also saved your life,” Avery added.
Bullshit, Kurt thought. He didn’t remember any of that. He’d been drunk more times than he could count throughout his years. Maybe back in the day, he’d get so wasted that he’d forget the night before, but not anymore. He was a drinking pro.
“Give me my gun back,” he said. His heart was beating almost abnormally fast.
“You’ll get the gun back. When you leave. We can’t have you shooting us up because you’re pissed off about losing in basketball,” Ray said.
“I’m pissed off because that porch monkey punched me in the face. Not because I lost a game of basketball. I could give two shits about that.”
That wasn’t true, of course, and everyone knew it.
“Whatever, Kurt. You’re out of here. We don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here,” Avery said.
Kurt hawked a loogie and spat it at Avery’s feet. He had aimed for his chest, but the numbness on half his face prevented success.
Avery looked down at the spit. Mucus mingled with blood, and maybe a bit of rotted tooth, knocked loose by Tyler Stapleton.
“Missed as bad as you shot today,” Ray said.
With that, Avery turned and left, but Ray hung back and made sure Kurt packed his stuff.
Kurt did, only after he stared daggers at Avery’s retreating figure.
12
Treat You Right
Unlike Kurt, Skylar was not a bad person.
She had me
t Kurt when she was young. He was a twenty-one-year-old hothead; she was a fifteen-year-old runaway. She’d been staying with some friends in a trailer park—druggies, deadbeats—and Kurt was one of their best customers. She’d watched him for a full year. He hadn’t seemed to watch her at all.
First, he came for marijuana and pills. Then he started getting into the heavier stuff: meth, heroin.
One time, he overdosed in the back of the trailer.
No one knew what to do. Roger and Kristen certainly weren’t going to call the ambulance, because it would’ve brought along the cops, and there was about fifteen grand worth of drugs packed away under the floorboards of Kristen’s room. Not to mention all the yellowish powder smeared on the coffee table, and all the bongs, the marijuana plant in the bathroom with the special UV lights. They didn’t have a car, either. All that money, and they didn’t flaunt it in any way whatsoever.
It had been Skylar—the then sixteen-year-old girl who worked at a bar on the weekends, serving drinks and getting hit on by all the old scumbags despite only being sixteen years old—who’d come to the rescue. She stole a car from the Save-A-Lot across the street.
When she was barely a teenager, one of her mom’s boyfriends had taught her how to hot-wire. His name was Donny; he was one of the few that didn’t look at her in a gross way or hurt her mom. Of course, Ma didn’t stay with him. She was a druggie herself, and she’d cheated on Donny with a guy who kept her nose white and her senses dulled, the same way Kurt would do for Skylar in the future.
Back to Kurt.
Just as he was foaming at the mouth and about to choke on his own tongue, Skylar damn near drove the stolen car, a piece of shit Chrysler, through the trailer’s front door.
Roger helped Sky get Kurt in the car, but when she asked for his help after that, Roger just shook his head, and said, “I don’t do hospitals, sweetie. Uh-uh, not for me.”
She’d told him to fuck off. She didn’t need him any more than she needed her junkie of a mom or her dad that was never there. Matter of fact, she’d never even known her dad, though it seemed like she had a new one every couple of weeks. Mom’s men came and went, but they were all the same. They would drink beer, and yell at her mom while watching sports on her crummy TV. Donny was cool, though. If anyone could’ve been her father, she wished it was him.
Beneath: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Taken World Book 4) Page 6