Sol Survivors | Book 2 | Nashville Nightmare

by Benton, Ken

  When they first learned of Sammy’s injured leg, the three of them figured out how to get him to the top of the embankment without further agitating it. It turned out there was an easier way up than Mick took, ten yards the opposite direction, which two of the captors came down by. Jimbo ended up lifting Sammy by his shoulders there, with the bad leg either dangling or dragging by the heel, all the way up. They then found the branch for him, which Jimbo flattened the top of, and assured Sammy their destination was not more than a few blocks.

  If that was true, they must be getting close. Apparently, they had to take a slightly roundabout way, along the river and underneath two highway bridges, in order to stay out of another gang’s territory.

  In another block they started being joined by others. Sammy was glad it was dark so he didn’t have to see many of their features too clearly. As unwashed as the three who captured him were, they were fashion models compared to the haggardly bunch joining the parade now. And they all took a discomfiting interest in Sammy.

  “Ah, we got one!” someone with no front teeth said.

  “Hey, look at him!” another commented. “Where did you find this fattened calf?”

  Bat left them to walk ahead. Jimbo and Chili kept the swelling crowd from touching him, smacking away greasy fingers. Within a couple more blocks they reached their destination: an impressive property with a three-story circular structure in front, and a larger square building behind with boarded-up windows. It may have been a museum or a theatre. Across the street in both directions loomed the shapes of two large sporting arenas or concert halls. It all registered as something that should have been familiar, but wasn’t.

  “Welcome to the hall,” a trampy figure hissed at Sammy. “I hope you brought your A-game.”

  “He looks like he has some healthy lungs,” someone commented.

  “I call dibs on them if he doesn’t,” the one with no front teeth replied.

  “Some of you are really sick,” Jimbo said. “Stand back for Daniel, please.”

  Everyone gave space except the trampy hisser, who continued speaking to Chili and Jimbo.

  “Forget the damn show, eh? We already got one for a show. Look at this plump fish. We can’t let him get away.”

  Bat returned and pushed the tramp back. “Let this rabbit be,” he said. “You know Mort and Arturo. You know the rules. He’ll get a fair chance. And you know who will be next to join the show if you interfere.”

  The tramp muttered only further hissings and backed off.

  Two cleaner, more human-looking men then approached, who everyone appeared to respect. One of them was dark-skinned and spoke to Chili.

  “Looks like Marshawn saved your bacon, Chili. What a superb catch.”

  Chili glanced back and forth between Sammy and the newcomer with an air of pride. “Thanks, Daniel. Are you going to coach him?”

  The one named Daniel looked Sammy up and down before replying, “Hell no. I’ll coach the other one.”

  Chili tilted his head. “Why?”

  Daniel motioned toward Sammy. “Look at him. The other is a local malnourished city bird like us. This one is fresh, country-fed, and absolutely choice. I don’t want him to win!”

  They all laughed.

  “But he has a bad leg,” Bat said.

  That information did seem to concern Daniel. He came closer, studied Sammy a little more, and then shook his head.

  “It’s not that bad. He’s almost walking on it. Besides, three-quarters of this one is still worth two of that one.”

  “That’s what I’m saying!” the tramp hissed from somewhere.

  Sammy’s eyes began to adjust. Something about the location he was at registered in his mind. They called this place “the hall.”

  Back at the hole when Sammy surrendered, it was an act of desperation. He had come to realize he could not save himself. If what he was surrendering to was certain death, there would be no point to it. He would be much better off continuing to fight, even with almost no chance of surviving, and opting for a quick death at the riverbank.

  That option meant more than the surrender of his own life, though. It meant ending the remaining hopes his parents and brother held for him. It meant crushing Joel’s spirit, and Mick’s, when they found out. If it were simply a matter of his own life, with no one else getting hurt, Sammy would probably be more prone to going out fighting against impossible odds.

  Maybe that notion held even more significance below the surface. Maybe having others who care about you, and who will be hurt by your death, is what makes a life worthwhile—and worth putting forth effort to attempt to preserve.

  Not that Sammy had any lingering optimism for his life after surrendering. It wasn’t worth a nickel afterwards. But he was still alive. Had he refused to surrender, he definitely would not be. That was something, and the longer he remained alive the more hope he may be able to rekindle.

  Already, some thin string of hope presented itself. Sammy couldn’t be sure what these nefarious Nashville noctos were referring to, but it did appear as if he were to be placed in some sort of game for their entertainment—with, perhaps, the promise of another day of life for emerging victorious. If his demise were certain, why hadn’t it occurred by now? They had a reason for keeping him alive this long.

  Of course, one could not rationally invest hope in promises made by such worthless human rabble. But that also meant Sammy could not be disappointed by them. He would never believe anything any of them said. All he could do was try to stay alive and healthy for the next interval of time set before him, however short it may be, and then repeat, as long as possible. If he could keep it up, a real chance for escape might present itself at some opportune moment.

  Such an opportunity for a guy with only one working leg figured to be scarce, though.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Are we coming up to it?” Joel asked when he noticed Mick slowing down.

  “Yes. I think … yes, this is the off-ramp we took.”

  “Take it again,” Joel said.

  “What?” Mick let off the gas completely.

  “You said they’re diurnals.”

  “The ones we saw,” Mick replied in a stressed voice. “The ones we saw!”

  “How many gangsters fit in a gas station? All right, pull over on the shoulder here and let’s talk a moment.”

  Mick voiced further concerns pulling over. “If they are watching for this vehicle, they may have already seen us. I vote for going right past.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Joel said, “about what I would do if I were them.”

  Mick grimaced and held his head.

  “You all right?” Joel asked. “You’ve been driving for more than four hours. I’ll drive the trip back.”

  “I feel the fatigue in my body,” Mick answered. “But now that we are here again, I have enough adrenaline to get through anything.”

  “Good. As I was saying, I’ve been thinking. These guys sent a car after you and Sammy. You outwitted them, and took their car.”

  “With a little help from—”

  “They don’t know that. All they know is you beat them. So the arrogant bastards sent another car after you, a bigger one with tougher guys. And then some time passed. If I were the boss, I would start to consider things like what if you beat them again? And another pertinent factor is how much road traffic is going into Nashville right now? Gotta be close to zero. I would have set some sort of roadblock, or tire spikes or something, on the interstate just past the station.”

  “Why would they think we would ever come back to Nashville?” Mick asked.

  “If they saw that there was only one of you in the Celica, they could have surmised the basic scenario and be a step ahead of us.”

  “The SUV would have been out of walkie-talkie range by the time they caught up to me.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Joel said. “There are a lot of ways it plays out the way I fear. They could have seen you from the gas station still, and
that’s why the SUV turned around and gave chase. They could have a walkie-talkie relay network set up. Hell, they are trying to acquire working vehicles so they might set a trap on the interstate every night anyway. If they have a couple nocturnals in their crew, they could very well have someone stationed ahead with a rifle and night scope. I would. If I were an evil gangster bastard, I mean.”

  “So you want to take side streets?” Mick asked.

  Joel nodded. “It’s an option we should consider.”

  Mick pointed ahead. “The only side streets here go right by the gas station.”

  “You guys took one around the back way, right?”

  “Yes. But it ends up being a cross-street at the station.”

  “And it goes by the yard behind the station where they keep their vehicles?”

  “Yes, but if anyone is watching they will certainly see us.”

  “We could shoot the tires out on their vehicles, and put a few rounds through the windows for good measure,” Joel suggested.

  “I don’t know, Joel. The Celica came out of the garage. I don’t remember seeing this SUV in the yard, either. I think we’ll be setting ourselves up for another round of the same game I already played, and don’t want to play anymore.”

  “They may think twice about coming after an AR.”

  “Maybe,” Mick said. “But they will positively know we have come back. So they’ll come up with some plan or another to try to get us. I still prefer taking our chances running straight past them.”

  “Any other options?” Joel asked.

  Mick pointed a thumb behind. “I studied the maps of this area. There are southern ways into the city. We have to cross the glades first. One of them is the highway at the last off-ramp, but it’s a smaller road.”

  “And a small bridge then, more likely to be blocked.”

  “Right,” Mick said. “But the 840 is only a few miles back. That goes across, too, and connects to the I-24, which returns to the I-40 just past the airport, a short ways before we need to get off.”

  “That’s an idea,” Joel replied. “We are so close, and want to get to Sammy as quickly as possible, but it may be foolish not to take a safer route that’s five or six miles out of our way. The only negative I see is you haven’t been that way—so we are venturing into the unknown in regards to things like vehicles blocking lanes, road debris, etcetera.”

  “It’s the etcetera that worries me the most.” Mick pointed left across the highway. “There is another option. We could take the opposing interstate lanes. Three hours ago the number 3 and 4 lanes were reasonably unobstructed through here. They don’t figure to be setting any traps from that direction.”

  “But anyone ahead will still see us coming.”

  “We could briefly turn the headlights on to drive 500 yards, flash them again and repeat. They would notice it, but might not be sure it’s from a car, or be able to keep track of us.”

  “Maybe,” Joel said. “If it were me, I’d be watching the other side, too.”

  “They’re not you.”

  “I really want to shoot up that gas station some.” Joel looked at Mick, who was frowning. “But we’ll go with your plan.”

  Mick’s expression turned quizzical. “Which one is that?”

  * * *

  The human mind has a mischievous side, and will occasionally devise pranks even upon itself. One notorious such example is withholding requested information from the memory until the last second. There was that time Sammy could not remember the computer password at the office and Joel handed him an index card with it written on. As soon as Sammy reached for the card, he didn’t need it. His mind relinquished its rascality and Sammy recalled the password clearly.

  In almost the same manner, Sammy figured out where he now was by a half-burned sign lying among a pile of rubble. All he saw were the words “Hall of,” but that was enough. He already knew they called this place the hall. Somehow adding “of” triggered the full divulgement in his mind.

  That same pile of rubble also appeared to contain memorabilia items of value. Value before Helios, anyway.

  Why wouldn’t they still be valuable? A large population of collectors has always existed for everything considered accomplished—such as classic cars, a market Sammy knew well. He also knew there were many other such markets, including music memorabilia. Joel was a country music fan. He might like this place. Sammy wondered if he’d ever been here.

  The nocto lowlifes who commandeered this city and turned it into a living nightmare obviously placed no value on music memorabilia. The two gang leaders, who Sammy was briefly introduced to after being ushered inside the theater, both wore clothing suggesting they also held an affinity for country music. But they probably only pilfered it from the gift shop stock. Judging by the raggedy appearance of most of the other gang members, clothes might be issued in accordance with rank in the gang. By that assumption, the three guys who came out to capture Sammy ranked in the upper middle.

  In that case, the two “coaches” who’d been assigned to Sammy and one other captive were second-level. They wore relatively clean clothes and carried themselves in an authoritative manner that suggested they expected a degree of respect. But they nearly bowed in the presence of the two leaders, whose clothes radiated newness even if they didn’t fit perfectly.

  The higher-ups didn’t eye Sammy with quite the same level of revolting lust as the street-level guys. But it was still perceptible. They only controlled it better. Sammy refused to think about what that lust represented. He simply decided he would not become the victim of it while he was still alive and possessed any remaining strength. Sorry, Mom and Dad. Some things are a deal breaker.

  The other captive’s name was Enzo. Daniel was Enzo’s “coach.” The name of Sammy’s coach was Finn.

  “Thin?” Sammy asked when introduced to him.

  “No, Finn!”

  “Like Huckleberry Finn!” Daniel called over. That garnered a scowl from Finn, so Sammy decided to only nod respectfully. He could see why Finn got teased. It wasn’t just about his name. The guy was short, had boyish features, and even wore a hat—though not a straw hat. It was a cowboy hat, probably awarded him for his rank in the gang, and therefore may have even once belonged to a famous country singer. Sammy thought he detected a signature under on the brim. But it was hard to see, like everything else.

  The lighting inside the theater ranged between dim and dark. The dim sections existed from makeshift wood fire pits in strategically-placed locations. The indoor fires produced annoying smoke, but not as much as one would expect. There must be holes in the ceiling where some of it could escape. Sammy glanced upward as he was led down the aisle of the theatre. Scaffolds dangled precariously as if they hung by one or two remaining ropes.

  The small backstage fire didn’t produce much light either, but it was enough to see the piano Daniel led Enzo to. The first few notes Daniel tried to play on it were terribly out of tune.

  “Don’t pay any attention to them,” Finn said picking up an acoustic guitar. “We need to concentrate on our own performance. Now, the opening number is comparatively forgivable, but you still don’t want to give the judges such a bad impression that you have to dig yourself out of too deep a hole. Especially since they tend to favor the piano accompaniment, and we are starting with the guitar. Also because you are so … well, you know. If there is a tie, you are going to be the one everyone wants to lose.”

  “Judges?” Sammy asked.

  “Mort and Arturo.” Finn played a couple chords that revealed the guitar was no more in tune than the piano. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

  Sammy shrugged. “Hip hop and classic rock, I guess?”

  “Hmm.” Finn strummed a little and then licked one of his fingers, cursing. “Don’t know much hip hop, other than a couple NWA songs from that movie. Not sure I can give you much backup for those. So, classic rock. How about Blinded by the Light? Think you can hit the high notes?”

&nbs
p; “I … um … you want me to sing?”

  “Yes. What did you think this was?”

  “I didn’t … nobody told me.” Sammy felt a rush of panic. “I’m not a singer. I’ve never sang.”

  “Well you better become one real quick. Don’t worry. Everyone can sing when push comes to shove. I doubt your opponent is any better prepared. Come on, now.” He began strumming on the horrible guitar. “Blinded by the light.”

  “I’ve never heard that one,” Sammy said. “What do you mean by my opponent?”

  “Him, of course.” Finn motioned towards Daniel and Enzo, who appeared to be having a similar discussion amid Daniel’s distorted piano plunking—which was beginning to sound melodious compared to Finn’s strumming.

  “This song is easy,” Finn said. “And I know Arturo likes it. Just listen and follow along.” He banged on the guitar strings with more force. “Blinded by the light! It looks like a newton in the rumor of the night. Blinded by the light!” He stopped. “Okay? Your turn.”

  “Did you say a newton?” Sammy asked.

  “That’s right.” Finn began strumming again. “Like a fig newton. Remember those? Think about them when you sing. It will help put feeling in it.”

  “So…” Sammy looked back and forth between Finn and Enzo. “The show they were talking about is a singing contest? Between me and Enzo there? And the gang lead—I mean, Mort and Arturo, are the judges?”

  “Yes!” Finn acted annoyed at having to stop playing again. “You’re a little slow, aren’t you? For your sake, I hope you perform better than this on stage. If you stand up there shaking like a scared rabbit, you’ll ruin everyone’s evening. Including yours.”

  “If I win do I get to go free?”

  “That’s the deal.” Finn struggled to put his fingers back on the right strings. “But at this point, I don’t like your chances much.”

  “What happens to the loser?”

  Finn glanced at the small campfire burning backstage, frowned, looked back at Sammy and licked his cracked lips. By this time Enzo had begun trying to sing to Daniel’s piano plunking.