by C. M. Wright
I give a questioning look at both Jade and Gabe, wondering why they had been hiding in the bedroom. Sandro apparently catches my looks and interprets my thoughts correctly when he answers my unspoken question.
“We are afraid the men will become suspicious if they see us all together without any of the other men around. As far as they know, Jade and Gabe are holed up in their apartment chasing each other around naked. As for Gabby, we don't want her knowing too much. She's still too young to know better, so this way, she can't slip up and expose us all.”
“So. What's the plan,” Walker asks impatiently.
“We think it would be better to do this at night, when only a few men are on guard and the rest are asleep or passed out from too much alcohol. Tonight would be best, as the men have decided to have a wake for my uncle, so there will be a lot of alcohol in their systems. We've identified four more men who have been recruited against their will, and have stayed only because they have family that are being held captive. Two are older teens, one is a middle-aged man, and one man is in his late twenties. The rest, we are fairly certain, are original Krew members or men who joined willingly after the world went to hell.”
Sandro sent Gabe a nod and Gabe began to tell us more. “I've found where the four men have been assigned rooms and will make sure they are safely hidden in this apartment before we start taking the other men out. Sandro, since he's got one hell of a good throwing arm, will go on the roof with the excuse of needing to spend some time mourning his uncle alone, and has requested a couple of his men find him some baseballs to throw while he's remembering his uncle. Sandro told them about the time he and his uncle had such a blast watching baseball together.”
“Never actually happened, but they don't know that,” Sandro said with a short bitter laugh.
“He'll attach a note to the balls that will explain our plans and will throw them over to the roof of the building your people are at. Hopefully, they will see at least one of them when he throws them,” Gabe finishes.
“Sad, but that's the best we could come up with,” Sandro tells us with a shake of his head.
“Sounds good to me, guys. At least it's a plan,” I tell them. Walker and Amanda agree, and the two teens beam at us with pride.
“They're coming!” Jade hisses as she runs past us and heads back to the open bedroom door. Gabe isn't far behind her and Sandro waits for the knock at the front door.
“Come in,” he orders gruffly.
I turn my eyes from the door and back to Sandro. A shiver goes through me when I see that same look of evil coldness is back in his eyes. It's a little concerning to me that he can do the whole Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing so easily...and so freaking well.
Chapter Nine
Two men enter and Sandro waits for them to speak. One of the men is the one who “helped” me out of the truck earlier. I turn my head away as I feel my eyes form into a glare of hatred.
“All due respect, sir, but we can't find Bull after he was sent to take that bitch her clothes,” the man says jerking his head toward me when he said bitch.
Without missing a beat, Sandro says, “I sent Bull and Gabe out to get more alcohol for the wake this evening. They should be back shortly.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon for disturbing you then, sir. Is there anything we can do for you while we're here?” The man practically drools in his eagerness to please Sandro, his new “master”.
“As a matter of fact, yes. You can find a few more men to help transport these three back to their rooms.”
The two men jump to do his bidding, but Sandro halts them before they can leave. “And for God's sake, give this woman back her clothes.” He gestures toward Amanda. “The last thing I need is to have this addition to my entertainment freeze her ass off and die. In fact, make sure all the captives in the basement are dressed decently, as well. Even a simple cold will spread far too quickly and could take us all out way too easily, considering we don't have the luxury of doctors and medications like we used to. I know the men have too much invested in the captives to lose them all.”
The two men nod thoughtfully, then shower Sandro with compliments regarding his intelligence and insight.
Gah! Gag me. I can see now why their faces are always so filthy. Kissing ass can do that to a person.
The two men finally leave and Sandro smirks at us.
“I could get used to this,” he teases.
“I'm sure you could, though I think you look better without a bullet hole in your head,” I tease back.
Sandro laughs then leans forward. Keeping on eye on the door, he whispers that he will make sure we are released from our rooms when they're ready to begin and we all nod to show him we understand. Well, Amanda and I nod. Walker doesn't react, as usual.
Sandro stands and moves the chair out of the way, then makes his way to the window. His windows face the same as mine, so I know he can see the building the rest of the group is in. He stands at the glass and rests one hand in the other behind him. He says nothing more to us, and soon the men arrive to take us back to our rooms.
Blood rushes back to my hands as they untie me, and I shake them to try and hurry past the needle-prick sensations. Once my chest and feet are free, the same two men that brought me here, lead me back to the apartment from before. They shove me inside, though not as roughly this time, and slam the door at my back. I wait for the sound of the bolt to slide in place, and when it comes, I leave the door to head to the kitchen.
This time, I find some fruit and make myself a plate of fruit, cheese and crackers. Pouring myself another glass of milk, I settle on the couch and enjoy the meal. The sun slowly moves across the sky, the shadows stretching, which for some reason, reminds me of the mom from The Incredibles, which makes me smile as I remember my boys and I watching that movie, curled on the couch together, hundreds of times. Then I almost begin bawling when I think back to the days when my family and I didn't have anything more to worry about than normal every day life.
Forcing myself to leave my memories for another time, I rise from the couch and cross to the windows. I see something move across the air and focus above. I don't have to wait long for another object to go flying. Small and white, the baseball hits its mark as it crosses from one building to the next. The distance the ball was thrown is astonishing coming from a person so young. Only one other person I know can throw like that, and that's my husband.
Will could have been in the major leagues, and in fact, had even tried out for the St. Louis Cardinals. Not my favorite team, but I had gained a little more respect for them when I met my husband and found out about that. They wanted him for his arm as he could throw from outfield straight to the catcher's glove with no bounce, and for the fact he's left-handed. However, he was too slow on the running test... by one second! They encouraged him to try out for the Chicago Cubs since they didn't have the strict running requirements, and so he went.
Unfortunately, he was having a day that started out bad and just never got any better. The Cubs people still wanted him to keep trying, or to even come back the next day, as they knew from a heads-up from St. Louis what he could do; but his dad's health had recently taken a turn for the worse, and Will just couldn't get that out of his mind. So he walked off the field and gave up on his dream. His dad was furious with him; and I know Will has regretted it every day of his life since then, but that arm of his is still very powerful and incredibly impressive.
I watch as a few more balls fly across the sky, then stop. I can't see much of the other roof that's so far away, and it's a bit higher than where I am, so I can only assume that either someone over there had appeared on the roof, or Sandro had run out of balls to throw and we were on our own tonight. Either way, we had a long night ahead of us.
I decide to finish the nap I'd started earlier today and make my way back to the couch. I pull the throw off the back of the couch and settle in for what I hope is some good old-fashioned refreshing sleep.
*******
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nbsp; I wake to find total darkness outside the windows. Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes and stretch, then make my way to the bathroom. The urge to pee is so strong, I wonder if I'll even make it and feel as if the piss is about to start pouring from my eyes; but I manage to get my pants down and drop my ass on the toilet just in time. Then I strip my clothes off, rip the duct tape and gun off my leg, which is followed by a lot of jumping around, tears streaming and swearing, before stepping in the shower for a nice hot shower. Everything in the shower is strawberry scented, from the soap to the shampoo, and the smell of so many strawberries is a bit overwhelming.
Finished, I dry off and put my clothes back on.
Now I feel a lot better and cleaner, but smell like I rubbed a shitload of strawberries all over me. I rummage through the drawers and medicine cabinet and find an unopened stick of deodorant. Strawberry, of course!
I also find an unopened toothbrush and thank whoever lived here before for being a person who stocks up, unless the Krew did this. If that's the case, then... Yeah, still screw 'em. I grab the toothpaste and my eyes bug out when I see that it's freaking strawberry flavored too.
Whoever lived here before was one strawberry-addicted woman. Or, at least, I hope it was a woman. For some reason, picturing a man with a strawberry obsession just seems weird. Am I right? Or am I being a bit sexist, here?
I wash a comb I find in one of the drawers with alcohol, hoping that it might kill whatever the previous user might have had going on, not that I think they did, I'm just paranoid like that. After I rinse the comb, I run it through my long hair, not noticing til now just how long my hair has become. Deciding a braid might be best, I take the time to do that, then leave the bathroom.
In the living room, I begin some stretching exercises to warm my body up and also start to mentally prepare for the fight ahead.
Shut down emotions. Forget the fact that the Krew members are human. Forget that I am human.
When I hear the lock slide on the opposite side of the door, I'm ready. When Sandro steps inside, looks me in the eyes and takes a step back, I know he knows I'm ready.
Chapter Ten
I follow him as he releases Amanda, who I'm very happy to report has her own clothes back on and her ass is now completely covered, though I think she's the happiest about that. Next, Walker is released and we all begin pulling out our guns, all except Amanda who still refuses a gun. Walker, Sandro and I do our best to convince her to at least take one of the guns, just in case. She growls in frustration, but finally relents and shoves a small gun inside her inner jacket pocket, making sure the safety is engaged.
I personally want to smack her for this. I'm not exactly sure what her deal is, it's not like she hasn't used guns before. She had a bigger one in her hands when we met up with them, and I know this for a fact because she had it aimed right at me for most of that first meeting! But, whatever, we don't have time for this.
After making sure the rest of our guns are loaded and ready, we then put them safely back on our bodies, and make sure our knives are close at hand since we are hoping to be able to take out the majority of the drunks as they are passed out without alerting anyone else. Then we head toward the stairs with Sandro in the lead.
Gabe is waiting on our side of the stairway door, watching the stairs for anyone dumb enough to come up. He whispers that the four men are secured in Sandro's apartment and have sworn on their lives to keep his sister safe. He also let's us know he isn't real comfortable relying on men he doesn't know all that well and leaving them alone with a small defenseless little girl, but knows he has no other choice.
That is, until Amanda suggests – actually, she begs – that we allow her to stay with Gabby. Walker immediately approves and sends her back. Once she's disappeared inside the apartment, we all turn as one to him and give him questioning looks.
“She's not really a fighter. She hates to kill, even if it's animals and she's starving. I was afraid from the beginning that she wouldn't be able to do this, but you two just wouldn't listen.” Walker glares at me, but I stare right back at him, not giving an inch, though I do feel a twinge of guilt. Just a twinge, though I'd never show it.
“It's too late now. Let's finish this,” I tell him.
He nods and we follow Sandro and Gabe down the stairs, though Walker and I stay back on the higher steps when they turn to go down the last remaining steps which open to the next floor. This floor is expected to have a lot of passed out drunks. Or at least, we hope they are all passed out.
Sandro and Gabe disappear from sight for several minutes, and Walker and I listen for any sounds to alert us that they are in trouble. We hear nothing and I personally feel the adrenaline shooting sparks through my body as I wait for the signal to get busy. It finally comes when Gabe sticks his head through the door and motions us forward.
We pull out our knives and follow the teen inside. They've opened all the apartment doors and Sandro waits for us beside the first door. Silently, he points Walker to the next apartment, me to the one across from him, and Gabe to the one next to mine. We separate in silence and I cross the threshold into an apartment that no human should ever be exposed to.
The smell is so bad my stomach flops over and over and bile rises to my throat. I force it back down and feel the burn linger.
Holy shit! Who chooses to live like this? For God's sake!
I have to be careful where I step, which is damned hard to do, because there's very few places that aren't covered in empty and half-empty food containers and cans. Food that has maggots writhing through it is stuck to those same containers, and even in piles where it had been dropped or spilled. Filthy dishes lay wherever – some shattered in pieces, some with old food and new maggots, some scraped of food but never washed. The smell is not unlike the smell of a horde of zombies, and I know the odor will be stuck inside my nose, on my hair, clothes and body for much too long after I leave.
Besides the dishes and food, smelly unwashed clothes litter the floor, furniture, and even a pair of stiff-looking filthy-ass jeans hang from the light and fan fixture above the living room couch. The windows have been painted with what I assume is black paint, though I can easily picture from the rest of the apartment that it might just be painted with many layers of grime and dirt.
How the hell can someone survive living in this nastiness and not falling over dead from disease?
I follow the loud snores of the drunk into the first bedroom and find the man who has lived like this and survived. It's the filthy hairy guy who had pulled me from the truck when we arrived.
Not surprised a bit by finding him in this trash. The shape of the apartment makes perfect sense now.
I back out of the room and continue down the hall to the second bedroom. Inside, I find two more men sprawled on a queen-sized bed, fully clothed, and laying across the bed from one side to the other instead of top to bottom. Obviously, these two were too drunk to manage falling into bed the right way. I'm actually amazed they even made it this far with the obstacle course they had to go through in the rest of the apartment to get here.
Just to be sure, I also check the bathroom and find it empty of humans. Although, after seeing the filmy, floating nastiness clogging the toilet, and then the overflow, or just plain not caring where they emptied themselves, on the floor and tub in the bathroom, I'm actually wondering if these people really are human.
My mind, for some odd reason, is shocked when I see hand prints and smears of shit on the walls.
Exactly why are you shocked by this, Canada? Hello! Look around.
I turn away from the bathroom and make my way back to the two men across the hall. I withdraw my knife and my handgun, just in case, and with the knife in my right hand, I creep around to the opposite side of the bed where their heads are.
The first man makes it easy on me as he's laying on his back and has his head reclined off the side of the bed. One quick but deep slice across his throat, and the blood floods his face as his life fades a
way. He never even opened his eyes.
The second man is on his stomach, his head on the mattress and turned to the side. It may be stupid, but I count on him having had enough alcohol in his system to be able to grab a good chunk of his hair and pull his head up. He grunts, but other than that, doesn't respond to the mistreatment. Within a few short moments, he joins his bed mate in hell.
I leave to the sound of their blood smacking on the wood floor and move on to the final man in this apartment. He had managed to get into bed the right way, and is half covered by a torn and soiled blanket. His left arm is mostly covering his eyes and forehead, his right arm is tucked under the blanket.
I immediately jerk my body out of the doorway and throw my back against the wall in the hallway, knowing he's no longer asleep, and obviously wasn't as drunk and passed out as I had originally thought. I listen for movement from the room and hear the whisper of the blanket as it's pushed away.
He's coming for me.
I raise my gun, the one with the silencer that I had hoped not to have to use so soon, and move back down the hall. I inch my way backwards into the other bedroom and ignore the dead men behind me. I know they aren't coming back.
A shadow emerges from the bedroom as the man attempts to sneak out. I know he'd seen me standing at his door, and by my reaction, he has to know that I know he's aware of me. He looks down both lengths of the hallway, but I'm well hidden in the darkness inside the bedroom against the wall, and am confident he can't see me.
He begins to slowly stalk his way toward me and I quietly suck in a breath as I raise the gun. His own gun is stretched out in front of him, ready to fire.
Closer now.
I slowly and silently release my breath and aim my own gun at his head.
Two more steps and he'll be right where I want him.
One step closer.
The man stops and listens.
I wait patiently.
And then the fool turns and begins to go back the other way!