by N. C. Reed
“Anyway, get in,” he ordered. “I want to get going before people get a chance to wake up and see or hear too much.” She complied, still somewhat ashamed. Roland hit the switch and was rewarded with the powerful rumble of the engine.
“That a girl,” he said fondly, patting the dashboard. “Buckle up,” he ordered, doing the same himself. He put the rig in gear and eased out of the storage unit carefully. Once clear he headed out, not bothering to secure the door. If Big Al was still working he would know the place was available again when he saw the open door.
Out on the road, it was getting light enough that Roland didn’t need the head lights, and he left them off. Bad enough to be moving in daylight with the noise the Hummer was making. He didn’t need light attracting even more attention.
“There’s a lot of stuff in here,” Maria finally spoke again. She had been silent for a while.
“Yeah. Which way?” he asked her. She looked at him quizzically for a moment, then started.
“Oh, right. Turn left at the next light. We’re only about ten minutes from my home.”
“Sounds good,” Roland nodded, making the turn.
“Four more lights, and then left again. That will be my street.” Roland counted off the lights, staying quiet.
“You’re very quiet,” Maria said almost accusingly just after the second light.
“Got nothing to say,” Roland shrugged. “Didn’t figure you’d want to hear it if I did.” Maria flushed at that, and this time Roland noticed, but decided against saying anything. He reached the fourth light, turning off onto a side street.
“That’s my house,” Maria pointed to a nice two-story brick with a large shop in the lot next to it. “My father’s shop,” she added. Her voice was small, almost subdued. Roland pulled the Hummer to a stop parallel to the house, still in the street.
“What do you want to do first?” Roland asked.
“I would like to go inside just for a minute,” Maria replied after a moment’s thought. “Alone.”
“Not happening,” Roland said at once. “I’m going where you go. I won’t look over your shoulder, but for all you know someone has taken up residence in your house. You’re not going alone.”
“I can take care of...”
“So can I, yet you’re still here,” Roland cut her off. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.” Maria huffed, but accepted his argument, and the two went to the door. It was unlocked.
“Wait,” Roland ordered, and pushed the door open, entering with his KSG held at waist level. The inside was trashed he hated to see.
“C’mon in, but step light. Someone redecorated for you.” Maria stepped inside, and gave a small gasp at the condition of what had been her home.
“Why do this?” she asked no one, bending down to handle some broken figurines. “These were my mother’s.”
“Some people don’t need a reason, Maria,” Roland said softly. “They do things like this because they’re mean, or because they can. It makes them feel powerful. They’re cowards, deep down, and doing things like this makes them feel tough.” She looked up at him, a tear trailing along one cheek.
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
“You could say that,” Roland nodded. “I’ve known a lot of bullies. On a basic level, they’re all the same.”
“I will only need a few minutes,” Maria promised, picking up a backpack that had probably been stored in the closet it was next to.
“Take whatever time you need,” Roland told her gently. “I’ll stay here, and keep watch.” Maria gave him a grateful look and went to collect her things. Roland watched her go, and then eased back to where he could see the street from the door. They were exposed here, and it made his skin crawl.
But Maria needed the time. She needed this to help her heal. Roland knew all about the need to heal.
-
Maria had been gone about ten minutes when Roland heard them. Voices, low and urgent. He sighed, knowing that wasn’t good. He moved slightly to see further down the road, and spied five gang types working their way toward the house. Two were especially interested in the Hummer.
“I say we just take the truck and run for it,” one said. He was wearing a leather jacket, even though it was a little too warm for it.
“Yeah, well, you ain’t runnin’ this show, now are ya?” the largest shot back. “I’m bettin’ that little gal has come back to get some of her stuff. She got away the first time, but I aim to have me some o’ that. Then we take the truck and go.”
“She might have someone with her,” the skinny one argued. “Let’s just take the truck. No tellin’ what’s in that trailer!”
Big One punched Skinny in the back of the head, sending him flying.
“Shut up! I give the orders around here, not you. Got it?”
“We all get it, Foot,” the Fat One said, hands up in a placating manner. “Rip was just offering suggestions. His way is safer, you have to admit.”
“I don’t have to admit nothin’!” Big One snarled, but he didn’t offer to punch Fat One. Roland took note of that. More to Fat One than met the eyes, apparently.
“Fine,” Fat One sighed. The other two, Roland decided to call them Dummy One and Dummy Two, since they didn’t offer to speak, nodded in unison. Skinny One got up, rubbing his head.
“I want that girl,” Big One said again. “Rest o’ you can have’er when I’m finished. Then we’ll take the truck and go. If anybody’s with her, we kill him, and take his stuff. Anybody got a problem with that?” No one spoke.
But Roland had a problem with it. Not only that, but from listening, these idiots were responsible for death of Maria's family. That would make killing them that much sweeter.
Roland felt a rush fall over him, all too familiar. This time he didn’t even try to fight it. His Calm was on now. He walked out on the porch, looked at the five morons in front of him, and shot Big One in the chest. The double-ought buck spread him all over Dummy One and Dummy Two, and left three of them paralyzed in shock for a few seconds.
But not Fat One. His hand moved like lightening, streaking to his waist and pulling a handgun.
Looks like I was right about him, part of Roland’s mind smirked, even as he worked the slide on his shotgun and shot Fat One right in the middle of his large belly.
That’s what you get for still being fat when everyone else is starving, he thought with malicious glee, working the slide again without the need for thought. By now Skinny One was running. Dummy Two was trying to get his rifle off his shoulder, while Dummy One was yanking on his pistol, trying to free it from his waist band.
Amateurs, Roland snorted mentally, shooting Dummy Two. Dummy One watched his friend fall, then raised his hands in surrender.
“Wait! I surrender! I give up! I didn’t want to, Foot, he. . .he made me! Yeah, he made me! Threatened to...” He stopped when a round of buckshot disconnected his head from his shoulders.
Skinny was long gone, now, running down the street. There was no way buckshot would get him from this distance. Pulling the shoulder stock out on the KSG, Roland flipped a switch underneath, and took careful aim.
The Hornady Ballistic Sabot round left the short-barreled shotgun at over eighteen hundred feet per second. Skinny lost that race before it ever started. Hearing a gurgling sound, Roland turned to see Fat One struggling to move. Roland drew his knife, and knelt down over him.
“You were almost fast enough,” Roland told him, smiling. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “But you weren’t. Never start a fight you can’t finish, know what I mean? Did you enjoy wrecking that girl’s life, jackass? Tearin’ her home all ta pieces? Tell me something, ass-wipe. Was it worth it?” With that he drew the razor-sharp knife over Fat One’s throat, and the gurgling noises stopped. Roland wiped the blood from his knife on Fat One’s clothes, and returned it to its sheath.
Standing among the dead bodies Roland calmly but quickly reloaded his shotgun. He could feel the adrenaline running throug
h his body, straining for release, but there was no more release. He breathed deep, trying to rid himself of the urge to do more violence. Finally, he felt the tide begin to ebb and his mind start relaxing. He turned back toward the house, to find Maria standing in the door, the little pistol he had given her in hand.
The look on her face was enough to tell him she’d seen it all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Maria, are you. . .” Roland started toward her.
“Stay back!” she almost screamed, and lifted the little pistol with a trembling hand. She used her off hand to steady it, but there was still a tremble or two.
“Maria, it’s okay,” Roland stopped, raising his hands, and letting the shotgun fall in its harness. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”
“What about you!” Maria demanded, tears in her eyes. “You. . .you just killed them!”
“Yes, I did,” Roland nodded. “They had it coming. From what they said, they were the people who killed your parents. And the big one had very ugly plans for you. He came here looking for you specifically.”
“How can I know that?” Maria demanded. Suddenly Roland felt the Calm hit him, and nothing he could do would stop it.
“You know what?” he said, his voice very low. “I don’t care. I’m sick and tired of this shit. You say you can’t trust me because I’m a gringo, then demand to come with me. Now, when I just kept you from being their plaything forever how long they decided to keep you alive, I’m the one you can’t be sure of?”
“I’m sorry me being white offends you. . .no, you know what? I ain’t sorry. I can’t help the color of my skin. I think this is where you and I part ways, Maria.” Roland started for the Hummer. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he was sick of this. Whatever her issue was, she needed to deal. Lord knows he had plenty to deal with every day. And night.
He was almost to the truck when she called out to him.
“Wait!”
“No,” he threw back over his shoulder. “I’m not waiting. I’m done. You want a lift back to the warehouse, I will give you that, but you and me are done. I can’t trust you, Maria. Sooner or later you’re gonna stab me, cut me, or shoot me. Probably with a weapon I gave you in the first place. I don’t intend to let that happen. You’re a walking time bomb, full of hate for the wrong people.”
“And I’m definitely the wrong people.” He stopped suddenly, almost out of breath. That was probably more than he had spoken to her since they’d met. He was worn out with worrying over Maria.
“You need me!” Maria shouted. “You need my help.”
“I don’t need anyone’s help that bad,” Roland shook his head. “And you weren’t planning on staying, anyway. We’ll have to learn to get by without you sooner or later. Might as well be sooner, to my way of thinking.” He opened the door, and started to get inside.
“Roland, wait!”
And he waited. Maria had never called him by his name. Gringo was usually the best she had, if she bothered to address him by any name at all. Despite himself, he looked back at her.
The gun was hanging by her side, and she was shaking like a leaf. Concerned, he stepped back out, looking at her.
“Are you all right?” he asked. He didn’t approach her, and kept his hand on the pistol grip of his shotgun. She was unstable and he didn’t want to get shot.
“No, I’m not,” Maria admitted, sliding down the porch post she was leaning against to sit on the porch.
“I haven’t been for a good while. I’m. . .I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Roland asked gently. Her sudden change was worrisome.
“For being so mean,” she sobbed softly. “I have been so afraid for so long, and I hid it by trying to be tough all the time, and keep everyone at arm’s length. It’s. . .it’s been hard since my family died, with no one to depend on.”
“Well, I can understand that,” Roland offered a small olive branch. Just a small one, since he didn’t want to get hit with it. “I mean, I ain’t never had a family, not that I can remember anyway, so I’ve never had that. Not ‘til I joined the Army.”
“I’m sorry for you, if you’ve never known the love of a family,” she told him, looking up at him with a tear stained face.
“Can’t miss what you never had,” Roland shrugged. “James is pretty much the same way. Though he talks like he had a good foster home finally, before things went nutty.” He paused, looking up and down the street. So far the shots hadn’t drawn anyone, but he couldn’t count on that to last.
“Look, Maria, I know this is a bad time for you, but we really need to get moving. Someone probably heard those shots.” Maria nodded, wiping her face.
“Let me get my things and we will take what we need from Papa’s shop.” She disappeared back into the house, emerging five minutes later with her backpack, a small suitcase, and what looked like a comforter. Placing them in the back of the Hummer, she led him over to the shop building.
The door had been jimmied, and the place ransacked, but she ignored that, going to one of several storage boxes. Maria opened the box, revealing a number of air tight containers, each with a freezer tape label.
“Seeds,” she said simply. He nodded, and started moving the containers to the trailer. Maria began locating the various hand tools they would need. They worked in silence, neither feeling the need to say more than they already had. Roland looked around the shop, wondering if there was anything else they might need.
“There is a small generator,” Maria told him, pointing to another cabinet. He was amazed that it was still there. They hauled it to the trailer as well. There hadn’t been a lot of free room in there to start with, and it was disappearing fast.
“There may be fuel,” she added. “If it is still there, we should take it. And the chainsaw. We will need fire wood.” Roland nodded, and the two went back once more. He grabbed the chainsaw, and two five gallon cans of gas. Maria took another two, and managed to make it to the trailer with them as well.
The very last trip was for one remaining fuel can, and her father’s tools. Files, wrenches, any and every kind of tool a man in his trade might need.
“We should go,” Maria announced as they loaded these last items. “They had friends who might come looking for them. I wish not to be here when they arrive.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Maria didn’t look back as they drove away. She had said goodbye. Her new life now lay ahead of her. Somewhere.
-
A very relieved looking James was waiting with the cargo door open when they returned. Twice they had detoured to avoid what looked like makeshift roadblocks. That worried Roland more than he let on. Something like that could stop them from leaving.
“Good to see you, Roland,” James smiled.
“Good to be here, James,” Roland grinned back. “Let us rest a while, and get some chow, and I’ve got some stuff for you to look at.”
“Okay,” the teen nodded, and took his station at the walk-through door again.
Maria was very subdued, but smiled as the smaller children all clamored to see her back. She had kind words and a smile for each of them, calling them by name. Terry and Deena both looked equally happy to see her, Roland decided. He couldn’t help but smirk a bit.
Roland took an MRE, leaving the better food for the children, and sat down on the hood of the Hummer, looking at a map. He carefully noted the roadblocks on it, and scribbled some notes in his field book.
Slowly he was getting an idea of what lay beyond the industrial park their warehouse was in. He had stayed here idle too long, forced to watch over the children.
I should have killed that bunch sooner, he thought to himself, sourly. He immediately chastised himself for thinking that. He had to wait until they gave him a reason. Killing someone because they might be a problem later was socially unacceptable. Got to remember that.
He needed a truck. One he could haul stuff in. He needed to find the things he needed to strengthen the bus so it
could take on a roadblock. The Hummer was up-armored. That was more luck than anything, since he had grabbed the first one he’d come to. That made it a gas guzzler, but the tanks were full and there were four Jerry cans of gas in and on the truck itself. It would make it.
What he really needed was a technical. Technical was a wide term for any modified vehicle, and he needed a strong one, reinforced to take a pounding. Something that could blow its way through even a determined roadblock and open the way for the other vehicles. Something to draw fire away from the bus.
I need, I need, I need, Roland thought wearily. What don’t I need? At this rate, we’ll never get out of here.
He paused in his morose thinking to steal a glance at Maria. She was helping the children get fed their evening meal. They reminded him of a bunch of baby birds, chirping for more.
I need to try and find some candy for them, he thought suddenly. Just a little something for a treat, every now and then. Help keep their spirits up. Wouldn’t hurt to try and find some toys, too.
These thoughts brought him full circle back to his morose feelings. There was so much he needed to give the little kids any kind of decent life. Every time he stopped to look around, he saw something else he needed.
And the teens needed some relief, as well. They were working their ass off just like adults, when by rights someone should still be taking care of them. What a messed-up situation. Shaking his head, he returned what was left of his meal to the package, and set it in the seat of the Hummer. He suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.
“You wanted to see me, Roland?” James’ gentle question jolted Roland from his cloudy thinking.
“Sure did,” he managed a grin. “You said you were familiar with a pistol, right?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Ever fire a Beretta? Ninety-Two model?” Roland held one out to him.
“Yes, my foster father had one. He let me shoot it on several occasions,” James nodded, taking the weapon, and checking that it was clear before examining it.
“I’ve got a rig you can wear, drop down holster, all that stuff. I’m counting on you not exaggerating how well you can shoot.”