The other set of headlights was pointed right at them and came barreling down the street.
For a moment, it seemed like they were about to be hit.
Then the vehicle screeched to a stop, leaving only about a foot between James’s front bumper and theirs.
James stared at the vehicle in disbelief. It was the cop car.
The door opened. Slammed closed.
A man stood there, his body and face clearly visible in James’s headlights.
It wasn’t the cop.
It wasn’t even a cop.
It was a guy in regular street clothes. And he didn’t look anything like a cop.
Tattoos covered his face, forming intricate spiderweb patterns. James hadn’t ever known anyone with tattoos quite like that, but he was familiar with the concept. They weren’t in the style of the typical millennial going off to college and were out from under their parents’ roof for the first time.
No, these were gang tattoos. Probably inked in prison.
The tattoos were all black and the harsh light of the truck headlights cast an eerie glow over the man’s extremely pale face. It looked as if he’d never been out in the sunlight, as if there were only two colors in the world: the black and white of his face and its tattoos.
Even his eyes, as crazy as it seemed, seemed black.
The man strode over to the door with no fear in his stance, no hesitation, nothing but swagger.
He banged heavily on the window, his scowl visible in the low light.
James figured he’d better open it. And, only moments later, an enormous handgun, its muzzle pressed right against the window, suggested that it would be best that he lower the window.
James was out of options. He couldn’t get the truck out of there before getting shot. Certainly not backing it up. And in front he was blocked in by the cop car.
This man had demonstrated quite clearly that he was willing to use his firearm. After all, only moments ago, he’d apparently murdered a uniformed officer.
What could he do?
He rolled down the window.
“If you’re looking to shoot the witnesses,” said James, speaking first. “Then keep in mind, we’re not the only ones who saw what happened. Of course, I can’t deny that we did see you gun down a cop in cold blood. But half the neighborhood probably saw it too, or at the very least heard it. So if you’re looking to get rid of witnesses, then you’d better be prepared to massacre an entire block.”
“We want witnesses,” said the man, his voice sounding strangely hollow and tinny. It sounded vaguely familiar. “We want everyone to know what we’ve just done. We’re taking back this block. It used to belong to us and now it does again.”
James didn’t know what to say. Apparently Matt didn’t either.
“We monitor the police radio channels. We know their communications are down. The whole city is out. All of Western Mass, apparently, because we have roots all over the state.... that officer there, he wasn’t such a good guy. He used to work for us as an informant, then he decided he was too good for us ... wanted to keep his nose clean and all that.... he got what was coming to him.... and now that the rest of the force is scattered and disorganized, we’re going to take what’s ours.”
“Uh,” said James. “So you’re establishing your...”
“We’re taking charge,” said the man. “The Scorpions are in power once again. Back in the early eighties, we ruled this town. The cops were all in our pockets. And, pretty soon, we’ll be back to those times. We’ve kept low too long. We’ve had to hide like rats in the sewer ... but the times will soon once again be ours.... now, kid, unless you live here, I’d get going. We’ve got some ... unfinished business in this neighborhood that still needs to be taken care of.”
As if on cue, a barrage of gunshots could be heard down the block. They were somewhat muffled, as if coming from inside a home.
James didn’t have to be told twice. He drove away, with the gang member or leader standing there menacingly in the street.
“I’m assuming you don’t want me to drop you off at home, right?” said James, speaking in a low voice as he rolled up the window, protecting himself against the terrible chill.
“Definitely not,” said Matt. “Maybe drop me off somewhere in Northampton? I’m sure I can think of some friend’s house ... that’s where you live, right?”
“Yeah,” said James.
They were silent for a while. The impact of what they had just witnessed was in no way lost on them and it seemed to make it difficult to think of anything to say.
“That’s crazy, isn’t it?” said Matt, breaking the silence. “What we just saw?”
“It is.”
“It’s like something out of a movie.”
“I know.”
“It’s like ... they were just lying in wait ... hidden in the woodwork, if that’s the expression, and then took the opportunity to strike.... you don’t think they could really take over, do you?”
“Dunno,” said James. “I don’t understand how this stuff works up here.... Florida is a lot different.”
For once, Matt didn’t correct him or mock him based on his native state.
“Yeah, I guess I don’t either. Not, really, anyway. Hey, what’s that up there?”
They were driving back down Northampton Road, toward Northampton.
Up ahead, the truck’s lights picked up some kind of reflective surfaces that ran across both lanes.
“Looks like they’ve put up cones or something.”
“Shit. What the hell is going on?”
“No idea. My cell phone still won’t turn on.”
“Mine either. I tried it back there.”
There wasn’t anything to do but slow down to a crawl.
While there were hardly any cars on the road before, they were now sitting in a line of around half a dozen. James could just see their taillights, glowing red in the darkness.
Off to the right, he knew that the river was flowing steadily, hidden in the darkness.
Behind him, there was Holyoke, apparently being overtaken by some gang, as insane as that sounded. It really sounded like something out of some crime novel or movie, rather than something he had just experienced.
And up ahead lay Northampton, where his apartment was.
He didn’t want to be in either Northampton or Holyoke.
He wanted to get the hell out of this crazy state.
Something weird was going on.
Something very weird.
“Looks like they’re checking licenses or something,” muttered Matt. “Looks like another cop up there.”
“We should tell him what happened.”
“Why? So we can get in trouble ourselves? So he can rush off and get killed by that gang? You heard what that guy said about the police not having any communication.”
“Maybe he was lying,” said James. “What reason do we have to believe that a cop killer and gang member would tell us the truth?”
“It sure seemed like he was telling the truth.”
“It seemed like it? I think he was telling part of the truth. Probably not the whole thing.”
They were inching forward. One by one, the cars in front of them were let through.
Next it was their turn.
Feeling like he’d been through this all very recently, James rolled his window down.
“Hi, officer,” he said.
“License and registration,” said the officer.
James already had it out, since he’d expected as much. “Look, officer,” he began. “I really need to tell you...”
The officer held up his hand, palm facing James, clearly signaling for him to be silent.
“But, officer. This is really important...”
“Sir,” said the officer, not looking up from the paperwork that James had handed him.
The meaning was clear. Shut up or pay up.
James didn’t want any trouble, so he stayed quiet.
“
Excuse me, officer. I really have to tell you that...”
“Shut it!” snapped the officer.
Now Matt entered the fray. “We’ve just witnessed a murder!”
The officer slammed his fist down on the hood of the truck. It made a loud, startling sound.
“I’ve had it up to here with this! Everyone’s trying to get my attention! Don’t you understand what’s going on?”
James shook his head.
“I’ve got specific orders to shut off this section of road. There’s no radio communication. We’ve gone completely dark. I’m out here on my own.”
“I’ve got to get to Northampton,” said James.
“I can’t let you through.”
It was then that James realized that the cars in front of him had been turning around one by one and heading back in the other direction. In the darkness, keeping track of the headlights had been confusing and somewhat disorienting.
“My apartment is in Northampton,” said James, aware that his tone of voice was taking on a note of pleading. “I don’t know how else to get there. Why’s the road closed?”
He was betraying his best instinct, which was to never question police officers.
The cop slammed his fist down on the hood again.
He was clearly overworked. Overstressed. And already pushed beyond his capacities.
He knew he was doing perhaps a pointless job. He knew things were going to shit. He knew everything was headed in the wrong direction.
But what could he do?
He was just one man.
One man with a gun.
His hand went hovering by his holster, as if he was deciding what to do. Then his hand wrapped around his sidearm’s handle.
He didn’t draw the weapon. But the threat was clear and he moved his hips so that the handgun was closer to James’s head and his truck’s window than before.
“If I were you, son, I wouldn’t push it any more. If I were you, I’d get out of here.”
The words didn’t even need to be spoken.
James just nodded, knowing that there was nothing else to do. His hand was on the shifter and his feet worked the pedals as he maneuvered the truck into a tight U-turn. A few tense moments later, they were headed back down Northampton Road, headed once again toward Holyoke.
“That was crazy,” said Matt. “What an asshole. He could have let us through.”
“He wasn’t an asshole. Just a guy trying to do his job. But I’m starting to think this is getting too crazy for me. Do you know another way back to Northampton?”
“I know you can cut through South Hadley, but it’s way out of the way, and I can’t remember how to do it.”
James didn’t say anything in response. He was lost in thought.
This was all getting crazier than anything he’d bargained for.
Cell phones didn’t work. A cop had been murdered. A gang was claiming control over Holyoke. The power was out everywhere. The police force was scattered and in the dark in terms of communication.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for me to head down to Florida already.” He said the words before thinking them consciously to himself. But as soon as he’d spoken them, he knew that that was what he should do.
He needed to get out of there. It was getting too crazy.
Maybe everything would be normal by tomorrow. Maybe it’d return to normal in a week.
But James knew that it was easier to just stay out of trouble than get out of said trouble.
Now, the prospect of spending several days on the road, driving by himself, didn’t sound unappealing in the least bit.
What was the alternative? Sitting in his darkened apartment in Northampton, provided he could even get there, wondering what the hell was going on around him, wondering if some gang was going to come try to claim his town?
He didn’t want to hang around.
Getting out was the right thing to do.
“You’re leaving the state?”
“Doesn’t seem like the right time to hang around ... the semester’s over anyway.”
James was completely convinced now. Telling his professor his plan just solidified it in his mind even more.
He didn’t even want to return to his apartment to get anything.
There wasn’t anything he needed.
He didn’t even need his phone to get back home. All he had to do was drive south, following the coast. He knew the numbers of the big roads to find. It’d be easy. He’d sleep in truck stop parking lots and eat a lot of beef jerky. If he pushed himself, he could make the trip in just a few days. If he took it slower, it’d be a while before he got home to see his folks. He’d see how he felt tomorrow, once he was on the road, before gauging how hard he wanted to push it.
Unconsciously, James was pushing the truck to go faster, his foot pressing harder and harder on the accelerator. He was already in fifth gear on Northampton Road, already going fifty-five, far faster than the speed limit.
Off to his right, there was the turn-off for his professor’s neighborhood. In one of the houses, dancing flashlight beams could be seen in the upstairs window.
James thought he heard the pop-pop sound of a firearm discharging, but he couldn’t be sure over the roar of his truck’s engine, and the rattling of the chassis and suspension as the tires banged over the potholes of the rough Massachusetts road.
James hadn’t spent that much time in Holyoke, but he did know that there was an on-ramp to I-90 about half a mile down the road and that there were was a Barnes & Noble, Starbucks, CVS, and other similar stores.
He was already feeling better, just having decided to get the hell out of there.
Soon, he’d be away from all this nonsense. Soon, he’d be in the warm semi-tropical air of Florida.
He’d worry about returning to Massachusetts when the time came. Better push it to the back of his mind for now.
If it hadn’t been freezing out, he would have rolled down the windows and let the air blast against his face, blow through his short hair, and he’d feel as good as he ever had.
Then, all of a sudden, he remembered that his professor was in the car with him.
Shit.
What was he going to do with him?
He couldn’t drop him off in his neighborhood where the gang was, could he?
James’s mood was sinking fast.
“Uh, Professor...” he said. “Where do you want me to drop you off?” For a second, he couldn’t remember that Matt’s name was Matt. “I figure you don’t want to head home.... anywhere in Holyoke I could drop you off? I’m hoping to pick up I-90 down by the Starbucks.”
What James would have liked to say, and what he would have said if he had been less polite, was that he couldn’t wait until he could dump his professor off somewhere. The corner up ahead was the best. The sooner the better.
“Uh, so you’re headed down to Florida?”
“That’s the plan. Don’t want to hang around here any longer than I have to.”
“You know, maybe I could hitch a ride down with you.”
“Down to Florida?”
“No, but I have family outside of Philadelphia. That’s on the way, right?”
“Uh, I guess so...”
“Look. I’ll pay for half your gas. That’s a good deal, right?”
“Half the gas for the whole trip?”
“No, just to Philly.”
James hesitated just long enough that his professor, who apparently wasn’t a very good bargainer, immediately upped his bid. “Okay!” he snapped. “I’ll pay gas for your whole trip. Just drop me off in Philly and I’m sure I can get a ride there.... this whole area is giving me the creeps.... I’ll spend Christmas break down south where it’s a little warmer and a little less…”
His words trailed off, because there was really no way to describe what was going on, and that was because they really didn’t know what was going on.
James thought it over silently.
His prof
essor certainly could be annoying.
But he’d been short on money all semester and the gas alone on this unplanned trip back down south was going to cut into his bank account more than he’d planned for.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll take you down to Philly.”
“Now I don’t have the cash on me, but the next ATM we get to...”
James wasn’t listening. He’d made it down to the on-ramp, just as he normally would.
But, up ahead, there was nothing but a sea of taillights, glowing red in the freezing night.
He didn’t even make it to the highway.
And while the roads had been relatively clear, it was now apparent that they were only clear because everyone in the area was headed to I-90.
Apparently, without any communication, everyone else had also decided it’d be a good idea to skip town. And what better way to do it than the highways?
“Shit, this isn’t good,” muttered Matt.
“No,” said James, looking ahead, then glancing in his rearview mirror, seeing a couple cars pull up behind up, effectively blocking him in. “No, it’s not.”
He didn’t like the situation.
He didn’t like being hemmed in like this.
It wasn’t just bumper-to-bumper. No one was moving.
He couldn’t turn around.
He couldn’t go forward.
He was stuck.
11
Meg
Meg’s heart was pounding.
She was terrified.
She wasn’t scared of guns per se, provided they were in the right context, like on a cop’s belt, or in a safe.
But she didn’t like seeing men in the street holding guns. It wasn’t normal. It didn’t seem right.
“What the hell is going on?” she whispered to her dad.
“Just drive slow. I want to see their faces.”
“What for?”
“One of them looks familiar.”
“Which one?”
“The guy on the left. I think it’s McPherson.”
“Who?”
“You don’t remember the McPhersons? They live behind the Smiths.”
“Oh, yeah. The plumber, right? I thought they got divorced.”
“They did. Long story.”
Constant Danger (Book 1): Fight The Darkness Page 9