Mountain Home

by Bracken MacLeod

Jesus, I’ve lost a lot of blood. He couldn’t vocalize his concern; Hunter needed him to be strong.

  Sitting in the chair, he carefully unbuttoned and stripped off his shirt. “How’s it look, Lyn? Is there a lot of glass?” Although she was a waitress, from the last fifteen minutes of their shared experience he reckoned that she’d be up to the task of helping him remove whatever was stuck back there. She shook her head and set about the task of pulling pieces of shattered window out of his skin. He heard her breath quicken, but otherwise she gave no sign that the job was beyond her capabilities. He gritted his teeth and wished for a couple of Percocet or Vicodin.

  “It’s time we put our respective self-interests aside and start figuring out a way for us all to get out of here. Where’s the rear exit?”

  “It’s through those swinging doors,” Lyn offered. “There’s another way out on the other side of the building by the bathrooms, but neither one goes anywhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a lot in the back where we keep the dumpster, but that’s it. Past that, it’s the mountain. The only way to leave is by the road out front.”

  A look of devastation flickered across Neil’s face. He’d been counting on a service road at least. Now he didn’t know what to do. “Can someone climb down and go for help?”

  “Not unless you’d rather commit suicide than get shot,” Beau chimed in. “This used to be mountainside. Back when they made the road, they carved out this plot for a scenic overlook or something. All the loose rock they blasted out got thrown down the side of the mountain. It’s a steep scree slope with dense forest at the bottom. If you don’t break your neck going down, without a GPS you’ll get lost during the forty mile hike into town.”

  “So we’re here for the duration?”

  “Looks like it,” Beau said.

  Neil closed his eyes and sighed. He sat still for a minute trying to clear his muddy thoughts, but was having a hard time. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep. That means you’ve probably already lost too much blood.

  “Two things. First, we need to shut off the sign outside,” he said. “Let people know the place is closed before the dinner rush.”

  “And second?”

  “We need to find a way to get word out. Let the world know we’re up here.”

  “Who put you in charge?” Luis asked, still cracking his knuckles.

  Neil pointed at the windows. “She did.”

  #

  1530 hrs

  “Is he pulling us over?” Daniel asked Andy as he continued to watch the police car following them up the highway in the rear view mirror.

  “Nuh uh.”

  “Then be cool. We haven’t scored yet. We can turn around and get some weed from Bryan.” Daniel flinched, waiting for the second punch to his bruised arm. It didn’t come. Instead Andy kept his hands on the wheel and his speed at fifty-five.

  “Fuckin’ cops, man. If we turn around they’ll know we ain’t up here to buy fuckin’ lunch. We’re going in. You guys are going to get something to eat and I’ll meet Leonard in the back. Cops’ll never know what’s going on if you play it cool.”

  “That sounds good,” Paula said. “I’m hungry.” Daniel didn’t reply. He had brought enough money to contribute to grass and gas. Lunch was going to really stretch him thin. He looked at his girlfriend in the backseat and was about to ask if she’d brought any extra cash. His question was cut short by Andy’s heavy hand thumping the middle of his chest.

  “Don’t look, dude!”

  “I was gonna say something to Raylynne,” he gasped. The blow had knocked the breath out of him, along with his last shred of patience. If they ran into anyone he knew at the restaurant he was definitely hitching a ride home with them, weed or no weed.

  “Because my dad’ll fuckin’ skin me if I get popped copping again. Just play it cool and we’ll all get baked and mellow out. I promise.”

  Daniel sighed and turned around in his seat, nodding. Andy had a way of making it seem like no matter how big a jerk he was at that moment, it was all going to be okay in the end. And it always did because he was Andrew Johnston and everybody loves Andrew Johnston.

  Andy slowed and pulled the truck into the restaurant lot, parking as close to the side of the building as he could. The Sheriff’s vehicle turned the opposite direction and parked in the driveway across the street. “See? Nothing to worry about. He’s not even coming in here.”

  “Dude, are they even open?” Daniel pointed at the blinds.

  “Fuckin’ better be. Leonard told me he was working until late.” Andy leaned over and looked up. “Sign’s on. They’re open. They even got the door propped open.” He opened his door and began sliding out, lighting a cigarette before his feet could hit the gravel. “Let’s go.”

  “I think I’d rather wait here,” Raylynne said.

  “Me too,” Daniel agreed.

  “Bullshit. Get out of the truck and come inside. You’re getting something to eat. Remember the plan?”

  “The ‘plan’ was for when that cop was up our ass. But you said he––”

  Andy spun around on his boot heel and glared into the truck. “Jesus, man. Why are you being such a pussy?”

  Daniel held out the twenty he was contributing. “Go get your weed. We’ll wait here. Raylynne, you got yours?”

  “Sure, whatever.” She didn’t care about the pot; she’d already visited her mother’s medicine cabinet to satisfactory end. She passed her bill to Daniel.

  Andy leaned into the truck and grabbed the twenties. Stepping back, he winked and took a drag from his cigarette. It was going to work out his way in the end. Like it always did.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but the crack echoing through the air cut him off. He heard a loud plonk of a bullet impacting against the open driver’s side door. Andy looked over to inspect the hole that had appeared in his door. “The fuck?” The second round caught him in the side. He dropped to his knees, head bouncing off the door before he slumped down in the gravel, too breathless to scream or even to choke on the blood replacing the smoke in his lungs.

  The girls in the back screamed for him.

  Daniel climbed over the stick shift and onto the driver’s seat as another shot ripped through the rear window, through the passenger headrest, and spider-webbed the windshield. Daniel fumbled with the ignition, looking over his shoulder. What the fuck? That’s not a thirty aught. What is that cop shooting? Why is he shooting at us? He couldn’t see anything. At least the American eagle decal held the window together. The cop shooting at them still couldn’t see inside.

  He tried the ignition again but it didn’t budge. Andy’s keys lay outside in the gravel where he’d dropped them. Another shot slammed into the back of the truck and Daniel heard Paula grunt and gasp. For the first time, he noticed that the restaurant blinds were hanging and the windows were either missing or had holes in them. Bullet holes. He decided he couldn’t spend time taking in the scenery while Raylynne screamed her head off and Paula… well, he didn’t want to acknowledge what the noises Paula was making meant. He needed to get them out of there.

  He clenched his fists and took a second to steel up his nerve before pitching himself out of the car. Lurching onto his hands and knees, the parking lot rocks dug painfully into his left palm. His other hand landed squarely in a slippery mess. The stench of it reminded him of cleaning a deer he’d accidentally gut shot. The animal had been squarely in his sight, but it had stepped forward as he took the shot. His grandfather had been furious that they’d had to track the suffering animal for over a mile through the woods and as punishment made him clean it entirely on his own. It was the last time he’d been hunting with Grampa Dan––his namesake. If I get out of this, I swear I’ll visit Gramma and Grampa every single day, God, I swear.

  Pulling his hand away from the hole in Andy’s stomach, which was pumping out blood and reeking of punctured intestine, he fumbled in the gravel for the keys. One jabbed into his raw pa
lm making him yelp. Grabbing them, he tried his best to pop up and leap for the truck. A bullet hit the gravel where he’d been kneeling and kicked dirt and rocks into his face. He sputtered and fell to his stomach, lacing his hands around the back of his head in surrender. “Shit man, don’t shoot! We didn’t do anything! Don’t fuckin’ kill us!”

  “Jesus, kid! Head for the door!”

  Daniel heard the sound of a pistol firing rapidly and then another shot from the monster rifle. He couldn’t tell where the voice had come from over the shooting, but he couldn’t listen to it and leave Raylynne in the truck by herself. He did his best to jump up like before, but two hard falls on the ground had knocked the wind out of him. Hands gripped him under his armpits and hauled him up. Raylynne was out of the truck and dragging him to the door. He protested. “We’ve got to get Paula to the hospital. I’ve got the keys!”

  “Paula’s dead!” she shouted. Daniel saw the cop pulling himself beneath their pickup truck, leaving a trail of blood in the gravel.

  “Inside! Get inside!” the cop yelled.

  Daniel fell over the corpses blocking the door. A hand from inside the restaurant grabbed his belt and pulled him over the bodies as another shot took out the front door, spraying them with glass.

  “CHRIST!”

  “Get away from the door!” someone cried from behind the lunch counter. “She can still see you there!”

  #

  Lyn grabbed at the girl and swung her around behind the wall, knocking over the gumball machine. Unlike everything else in the restaurant, it didn’t break. Daniel scrambled into the restaurant heading for the dining area. Lyn grabbed him by the belt again and pulled hard, barely stopping him. “Not that way,” she hissed.

  Neil shouted over his shoulder, “Luis, you and Hunter get the lights in the back.” The boys ran off through the kitchen doors, Luis lagging behind. “Lyn, get these two behind the counter.” From his seat he waved the trio toward him. “Is there anybody else out there?”

  Daniel stuttered, but couldn’t get an answer out. Neil gave him a quick once-over, looking for wounds. Although one hand was elbow deep in blood, the boy had made it in with just a little road rash on his palms. Both kids were shaken nearly to the point of catatonia. “I said, is there anybody else out there?”

  “My friends are… are dead. A c-cop. He killed…”

  “There’s a policeman outside?” Beau asked. Daniel nodded but didn’t say more.

  Another bullet ripped through the blinds, slamming through the lunch counter spraying shards of shattered dinner plates on the survivors. “It’s not safe here. We’ve got to get into the back,” Lyn said. The counter wasn’t any better protection than the blinds. Joanie couldn’t see through them, but they didn’t stop her bullets. If she stepped up her assault they were still too exposed. Lyn didn’t want to think about what Joanie’s next step would be, but she was pretty certain that this wasn’t all she had planned.

  Beau was frozen in place below the order window. “The kid says there’s a cop out there.”

  “If he’s not in here, he’s dead,” Lyn said. “Come on. Help me.” She tried to lift Neil from his seat with little success. Despite his natural complexion, the doctor was dangerously pale and could barely hang on to her.

  “He c-crawled under Andy’s t-t-truck.” Raylynne stuttered as she ducked under Neil’s other arm to help.

  “He shot my friends. He killed them,” Daniel added. Lyn remembered Daniel from her senior year in high school. He was a freshman then, and cute, but too young for her. Plus, he was into sports and while he’d seemed like a nice guy at first, she’d been sure he’d turn out like all of the other guys who played football: not her type. Looking at Raylynne, she figured right. The girl was a stranger, but she could see from the thick makeup and tall hair, they likely had little in common.

  Lyn lacked faith that whoever else had shown up outside was their savior. But there was one thing that held a glimmer of hope. Even if he’s dead, there’s a police car out there with a radio and probably a gun.

  “He didn’t shoot your friends,” she said.

  “If there’s a cop out there, he’ll radio for help. We just need to hang on until the cavalry arrives,” Beau said.

  “If he got shot, he’s not sending for backup. He’s fucking dead. We gotta get in the back. Now!” Lyn kicked open the swinging door and lurched through with Neil hanging off her shoulder. Raylynne wasn’t much help, but she afforded Neil the extra balance he needed to hobble along on his good leg. Lyn set him on the floor as gently as she could and hobbled to the wall by the front window. There was no way to see outside without climbing into a booth. Although the blinds were down, she was pretty sure that if she got too close to them, Joanie would get a glimpse of her silhouette at least. Still, she wanted to see if it was possible to get into that police car.

  “What are you doing?” Neil called out.

  “Stay there. I’m taking a look.”

  “Let’s wait for backup,” Beau answered. “The police always radio in their position. When he doesn’t respond, they’ll send others.”

  “Just help get Carol into the back! I’ll be right there!” Lyn wanted desperately for there to be a running police car waiting right outside the front doors. She fantasized that she could make a dash for it. Forget about the rips and tears in her knees and shins that made it uncomfortable to walk, let alone run––she knew she could run if she had to, jump inside, and be halfway to Mercy Lake before Joanie got a bead on her.

  It’s chicken shit to leave all these people. Except, if no one else knows what’s going on, it’s our only chance.

  She slowly crawled into a booth, keeping her head low, and leaned around to look outside. She caught a glimpse of the back end of Andy Johnston’s pickup and the blood trail leading to it, but couldn’t see a police car or flashing lights. Shit! She looked at Beau helping Carol off the floor. He glanced over his shoulder as he led the woman into the back. Lyn gave him a nod. He squinted at her as if he was suppressing a flinch, waiting to see if her head was going to pop like the bad tippers’ had. When it didn’t, he led Carol through the swinging doors.

  Lyn faced the window. A light breeze moved the curtains slightly and she caught sight of Andy’s body lying in the gravel. Beyond that was a dark blue figure she imagined was the cop. He wasn’t moving either. Well, that’s it.

  She scanned the front of Joanie’s house searching for any sign of the shooter––her blond hair, a gun barrel. It’s too far away. Lyn realized that Joanie was looking back at her through a scope. That means she can probably see me pulling these––

  A bullet pounded through the window blind in front of her and she threw herself into the booth. Glass stabbed into her buttocks, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t shot.

  Ahead of her, in table five, was fat man’s dead body. She couldn’t help but stare at him. He leaned out of the booth slightly, like a snapshot of a man getting up to head down the hall to take a pee after drinking six glasses of Coke. Except he wasn’t getting up. She figured, despite his gut holding him in place, gravity would eventually win out and he’d fall to the floor. Dead and alone. Whoever cared about him––a mother, a lover, even just a friend online––didn’t have him to care about anymore.

  Lyn felt a little crack growing inside of her. She sat waiting for her breathing to slow, crying into her hands. The tears and sweat soaking through the bandages stung her lacerated palms. We’re all going to die in here. We’re going to die and no one is going to help us.

  She shuffled away from the booth and near the toppled gumball machine. Leaning against the wall, she debated whether or not to head through the swinging doors with the others. I could wait things out here. No one needs me now. I got the windows closed and I’ve done all I can. I’m not a fantasy heroine and this isn’t Brandybuck’s. All of a sudden, her sketchbook seemed like the most important thing in the world. If she could touch it, look at its pages, she could have a moment of normality before
the inevitable happened and Joanie came striding through the front door to finish what she started. It’s nothing to anyone else, but it’s mine. Everything I want to be is in that book. And when they find it on me, they’ll know I wasn’t just some skinny nobody working in a greasepit. I was more. I am more.

  The voice in her head took on a foreign character she wasn’t used to. It was confident and convincing. That book and everything in it is mine and nobody else’s. Screw anybody who wants to take that away.

  She stood up and smoothed the front of her skirt and apron. She walked confidently over to the hostess station, unconcerned with whether or not she could be seen through the open front doors, bent down and retrieved the leather bound sketchbook from the drawer. Holding it was exactly what she had hoped it would be: a link to the moment before the world went to hell. She looked up and out at Joanie’s house. Will it hurt? Will I feel the bullet? Like before, she couldn’t see her killer, but she was certain Joanie could see her.

  A movement in the line of trees bordering Joanie’s property caught her eye. She watched as the bear the Colorado couple mentioned stood on its hind legs, with its head stuck in the low branches, and stared right at her. Shimmering in the leaves like a heat mirage, it didn’t look like any bear she’d ever seen. It was at once familiar and alien in a terrible way. It looked like…

  “Joanie!” Lyn’s attention shifted at the sound of the cop shouting from underneath the truck. “Joanie, can you hear me?” he cried. She dropped behind the register stand and carefully peeked around. The bear thing was gone. You’re losing it. Keep it together. Stay in the really real world, okay?

  “Stay down!” she shouted. “Stay down. I’ll get help!” Lyn tucked the book in her apron and slipped around the divider for the back.

  Crashing through the swinging doors, she shouted, “He’s alive. The policeman is...”

  It took more than a moment for Lyn to process the scene in front of her. Where did Luis get Jim’s gun? she thought, remembering the gun-nut ex-boyfriend who kept the same blocky looking pistol in the glove compartment of his pickup truck. He had a collection of guns that bordered on an arsenal, but that one was his favorite––it was the one they used in all the action movies he loved. A Glock. The unmistakable square design reminded her of the singular feature that had also sent her ex to the emergency room the time, trying to look cool, he’d shoved it in the back of his jeans: there was no safety switch to flick off like in the movies. If your finger was on the trigger, it was ready to fire.