Gardner prayed that Donna would make it past the liquor store.
She did.
He watched her headlights disappear down Highway 26.
Chapter 8
1
Winny and Garth crawled forward along the cold tile floor. They moved slowly. Their bellies lightly squeaked against the coldness of the tile, every inch that they pulled seemed louder than the last. They maneuvered toward the back door, just beyond the rusty rack of cleaning supplies. They both stopped moving, startled and scared.
Stomping through the front door, the red-head ran inside.
What was her name?—Cherri.
She was calling-out into the darkness of the store. Her voice trembled. Obviously, she was nervous.
Winny grabbed Garth’s ankle. He crawled a few feet ahead. He whispered, “The phone in the back office…we’ll call the police.”
Garth turned to Winny, annoyed. He’d already thought of calling the police. It was the only thing on his mind since the thieves had smashed their cell phones.
“No shit, Sherlock. Can we get the hell out of this war-zone first? Do you mind?”
Winny looked dumbfounded. He removed his hand from around Garth’s ankle. They continued crawling toward the door. Garth popped to his knee. He staggered, settled, and then wrapped his fingers around the doorknob. He turned in the direction of the store area.
Cherri screamed.
“Timmy, where are you?” she begged.
Garth appreciated that Cherri was calling attention to herself. She was drawing the psychos away from him and Winny. Since he didn’t care for the red-head, this was great. He hoped that she would continue hollering.
Garth found it difficult to shake his thoughts of the sadistic young couple. There was something disturbingly wrong with both of them. In fact, their behavior was so disturbing that he didn’t want to know what was wrong. Obviously, they were dangerous. The farther Garth and Winny could get away from them, the better.
Twisting the doorknob, ever so slowly, Garth inched the office door open. When the space between the door and the jamb was wide enough, he slid through the small opening. He didn’t make any noise. The pressure from the door was uncomfortable and was squeezing his ribs. Garth’s hand was replaced by Winny’s, who then slid through the door. Once on the other side, they let the heavy door slide shut. It whined, ever-so-slowly, until the lock clicked, securing it. Garth flung the switch to the right. There wasn’t much relief that came from locking the door, but a secured door was better than an unsecured one. Given what had happened, nothing was very assuring when considering the madness on the other side of the door. Garth could only imagine the harm those bastards could inflict.
2
Cherri’s knees weakened with each step she took. She wanted to sit, but knew that she couldn’t. She was sick. Her head pounded and she was thirsty. She stopped in front of the cashier counter. She rubbed her damp hands together, frazzled, scared, and shaking. She wanted Timmy to hurry up. She wanted to leave.
Where was he?
She’d seen death before and didn’t like it. That was something that no normal human being could ever get used to. It was unnervingly frightening because she was in potential danger. The murderous psycho could easily kill her too. She wanted to vomit. Her stomach was flipping. She would do anything to be far away from here. Maybe, if given the opportunity, she’d turn herself in to the police. She hoped that they would come. Right now, she’d feel safe in custody. Better yet, jail was an even better place to be. She imagined that this was what waking up meant and she was certainly awake. She felt dizzy, but alert. If she could go back in time, she’d have jumped out of the stolen truck. She would leave Timmy and never look back. She’d never even cuss again if it meant that she could get out of this nightmare alive. But that wasn’t the case and she knew it. There was trouble ahead. The young psychotic couple that had come in from the cornfield was somewhere in this store. They were maniacal, deranged and they were shot, badly. They were nowhere in sight, as if they’d simply disappeared, but still, she feared them.
Where could they have gone? They’d both been wounded to the point they should be dead. Cherri didn’t understand how they were alive and she didn’t want to understand.
Feeling heavy as cement, her legs stiffened. She could barely walk but somehow she managed to step toward the restrooms. That’s where she’d last seen Timmy.
Why would he still be in there?
Maybe he was hiding.
The cops would surely be there soon. Too much time had passed and there had been quite a disturbance. There had been gunfire and screaming. Someone, somewhere, must have heard something, even if this was the smallest town in America. Someone had to have called the police—she hoped.
If Timmy didn’t come out soon, Terrance would leave. He was loyal, but not loyal enough to stay and see what happened next, not in a situation like this. Sooner or later the police would be here, and if not, they had other problems lurking in the darkness of this store. In the end, he’d play it safe. He would leave.
Cherri’s head was spinning. Her nausea was becoming uncontrollable. She wanted to leave, fast. She couldn’t take much more of this. Her anxiety had peaked. She had to stop and rest, catch her breath. She wondered why she even cared about Timmy, at this point.
Leaning on the snack rack—which held various brands of potato chips—she tried to breathe. Her lungs were restricted. Her breathing was raspy and short, which made her panic more. Death crossed her mind. The thought terrified her. Dying before she had a chance to turn her life around, that was her worst fear. She wasn’t a good person. Her upbringing had been traumatizing, but that was no excuse. She made poor decisions even though she knew right from wrong. Most of the time, she knew that the reaction to her poor actions was going to be bad. Still, she did what she wanted to do and didn’t care who got hurt. Maybe she did it for attention or maybe she just couldn’t help herself.
Now, scared out of her mind, she pushed herself up from the snack-rack and shuffled toward the bathroom. Something dripped on her. It was cold and wet and hit her forearm like rain drops. It was heavy, thick. It landed halfway between her elbow and her hand. She rubbed her finger in it, smearing it. It looked black against her skin. She brought her finger up to her nose and smelled it. There was a slight metallic odor to it. Maybe it was oil—no. Her eyes went wide. It was blood.
She slammed her eyelids shut and tilted her head up. Blood continued to drip on her. It fell on her other arm, her chest, the side of her face. It fell faster now, flowing like a stream. Once her head had completely tilted upward, she opened her eyes. Her lids peeled back. Hazy at first, her vision allowed her to visualize the thing hanging from the ceiling. It appeared to be about the size of a heavy duty trash bag and it was black. It started swaying.
Trembling, Cherri continued to open her eyes and then she saw it. The blood was coming from Timmy’s eviscerated stomach. A wave of red doused her, entirely causing her to scream. Timmy landed on top of her. Before her head was pinned to the floor, she saw something on the ceiling. Something else was holding Timmy to the ceiling. Then, it fell on her.
Timmy’s blood created a pool on the tile floor. His guts spilled on her head. She lost her footing and slipped backward, smashing her head against the floor.
Looking to the right, she saw Timmy’s innards spreading out toward the bathroom door, waving through the blood puddle. Whiteness flashed before she fainted.
3
Garth and Winny stood, silent, in the back office. They slowly slid through another door, to the next room which was more of a closet. Garth grabbed the cordless phone as Winny locked the second door. Space was limited. They could hear each other breathing.
The cordless phone sat on the desk near the filing cabinets. A terrifying realization struck Garth after he’d punched 9-1-1 into the keypad. Only silence came from the other end. He set the lifeless phone down and grabbed the back of Winny’s shirt.
“We
need to get out of here, now. Screw it. Let’s just get as far away as we can, and fast.”
Winny stood with his ear pressed against the office door. He turned toward Garth, his eyes squinting. He was annoyed as he asked, “What do you mean?”
“Take a wild guess.” He was being sarcastic. “I want to take a walk, get some exercise. Winny…the fucking phone is dead.” Garth barked back. “I say we shift into holy-shit-mode and get the hell out of here.”
“Okay.” Winny returned. He was unfazed by Garth’s snide remarks and frantic plan. But it was true...they needed to get out.
He reopened the office door and slid into the backroom. He stood next to the cooler entrance, the refrigerated room where they stored beer and soft drinks. The cooler stretched all the way to the back of the store. They headed through the cold dark tunnel. The frigid air oddly soothed them.
They moved past the chilling rows of bottled beer. There were no more screams. Shadows danced in front of the frosted glass doors as they hurried forward. Whatever was going on in the store had gotten worse. Nothing about this night or the last customers was good.
When they reached the back, Winny pumped the latch up and swung the door open. A quick breeze of humid air snuck in from outside. They were ever-so-silent as they exited. They both halted when a deep voice spoke to them.
“You’re not leaving now, are you? The party just started.” It was the psycho blonde. She cackled in a childish, maniacal fashion.
Disturbed, wanting to run, Garth took a quick glimpse at the woman. The strange blonde lady that’d come in with the psycho guy, Sammael.
Hadn’t she been shot?
There was a hole in her stomach. The outer ridges of the hole were peeled back. Her shirt was burned and dry blood crusted around the hole, but no blood flowed out. Somehow, she’d stopped the bleeding.
Who the hell are these people? Garth wondered as he shoved the back door open.
Winny ran outside.
Garth felt Jezebeth’s cold hands wrap around his neck. She pulled him backward, digging her fingernails into the soft skin of his neck. Her grip was intense and it wouldn’t be long before he’d be bleeding. Watching in horrified silence, Garth witnessed Winny round the corner of the store taking-off into the parking lot. Garth was alone.
Winny stopped. Garth was terrified. He wanted Winny to keep going. To run until his legs quit. Winny’s life would be endangered if he came back to help. As much as Winny annoyed Garth, the thought of harm coming to his brother was devastating.
The last thing Garth witnessed before he was snatched through the door, with superhuman strength, was Winny’s face. Winny had spun around and was running back toward the rear entrance. But it was too late. The door didn’t open from the outside.
4
Crickets chirped, loons cried, signifying the night was alive. The cornfields held the night’s critters. Breathing heavy, heart pounding, Winny skidded to a halt near the rear entrance. He was sweating. The night air was warm, humid. He grabbed the metal door-handle and attempted to pull it open. He yanked hard, but the door didn’t budged. It was locked, impossible to open from the outside and he didn’t have his keys. The latch locked from the inside. Still, he made an attempt—and failed.
Without hesitation, he sprinted to the front of the store. He slowed when he got to the corner. He didn’t know who or what would be on the other side of the building. It might be an armed robber or it might be a sadistic freak. He didn’t care to meet either, but he needed to get his brother out of trouble. Adrenaline controlled his thoughts. Scared as he was, he wouldn’t let his brother fight alone, even if it meant dying.
The confusion as to what these people were and why they were here had diminished. Survival was all that mattered and not just for him. Winny and Garth would leave this hell together, or not at all.
When he rounded the corner into the parking lot, Winny’s first sight was Terrance, crouched behind the wheel-well of the pick-up truck, near the back of the lot. The truck had to belong to the armed robbers.
On bent knees, he held his pistol between his legs. He was scouting the area. When he saw Winny, he raised the gun, aimed it, but didn’t shoot.
“I need to help my brother!” Winny called out. Winny could tell that Terrance was contemplating a return into the store too. His friends were still in there. Whether they were alive or not: Winny didn’t think it looked good. But still, wouldn’t he want to know?
Terrance lowered his gun. He shuffled toward the front doors, gun-in-hand. His strides were hesitant, his legs shaky, and without saying a word, the past—the robbery—was let go. Winny harbored no anger toward Terrance and was relieved that he was joining him. They weren’t alone. They had each other. Terrance had a gun and two were better than one. There was strength in numbers.
Terrance and Winny shared a quick glance, and then entered the store. There were no words said, there didn’t need to be. Both Terrance and Winny understood that what they needed required partnership. It amazed Winny how quickly two people who had wanted each other dead less than twenty minutes ago, could so quickly unite in the face of adversity.
Chapter 9
1
Garth flailed tirelessly at the amazingly strong hold around his neck. He was being pulled through the cooler between the store area and the office. He fought with all his strength. Kicking and thrashing, he pried at the blonde woman’s fingers. Her fingernails finally ripped through the skin of his throat. Cold streams of blood trickled down his neck and soaked the collar of his shirt. It was cold in the cooler. The stinging pain on his throat was intense, and it was uncomfortable. This woman’s strength was unbelievable. If she applied anymore pressure, she’d rip his head off.
She dragged him through the large wooden office door and into the store area. His feet slid on the rubber heels of his shoes. She began laughing while she pulled him, effortlessly, toward the front entrance. Garth saw his brother and Terrance, enter together through the glass doors.
He couldn’t believe it.
How stupid could Winny be?
“Run! Get the hell out of here!” Garth screamed before the woman clamped down on his throat. His screams were cut short, turned into muffled winces, gags. She was going to crush his larynx. Her strength was unimaginable.
Garth watched Terrance raise his pistol, with shaky hands. Garth closed his eyes. The gun fired, seconds later the blonde woman’s grip loosened, her hand falling from his neck.
Garth dropped to the floor. He scrambled forward, darting away from her. Looking back, he saw that she’d been shot in the shoulder. With wide eyes, he watched as her hips began to sway in a fluid manner. Was she having a seizure? She looked like a snake as she slithered down the fourth aisle. She rounded the corner near the cooler like a fish in a fresh water stream, and then she was gone again.
Terrance fired his weapon at her until the chamber was dry.
“What the fuck is going on! I shot that bitch. She can’t be moving,” Terrance screamed. In a fit of rage, he threw his gun into the back aisle. As if hitting her with his pistol would stop her. The gun arched upward, fell from sight but it didn’t hit the ground. There was no crash. The gun didn’t hit the floor because there was only silence. It was as if it was suspended in air. Everyone stood silent, continuing to anticipate the crash of metal on tile. It didn’t happen.
Scrambling backward, Winny, Garth and Terrance attempted to run. They stopped when Sammael lurched up from behind the last aisle. He lunged across the store. Garth watched, amazed, as Sammael leapt nearly twenty feet and landed, on his feet, in front of Terrance.
Sammael stood, smiling at the three of them. They tried to back up. They reached for the front door. A shuffling sound emerged from in back. Barely visible from behind Sammael, Cherri emerged, sliding, belly down, across the tile. Judging by how fast she’d slid, Garth assumed that someone had thrown her. She was covered in blood. Terrance stepped forward, his focus directly on her.
“Cherri?”
>
“Help! He killed Timmy. They’ll kill us too.” She sobbed while prying herself off the floor. “We need to get out.” She’d gotten to her feet quick enough, but her balance was off. Her whole body quaked. Her feet slid on the blood soaked tiling. She slipped then caught her balance. Her knees knocked. She didn’t see Sammael standing in front of her.
Sammael turned, laughing, while he watched Cherri stumble forward. He winked at Winny, shook his head, and slowly stepped toward Cherri.
“I’m sorry, was that your boyfriend I split in half? Don’t worry, you’ll get over him soon enough.” He turned, smiled, and winked at Terrance, Winny and Garth. Then, he swung back toward Cherri. “You’re too good for him. He was a loser and you knew that. You’ve known that for a long time. Hell, you’re kind of a loser too. Technically, I shouldn’t kill you. I’m going to…but that’s beside the point. You’re a dumbass, a loser, and a guy like me…likes a gal like you…to make the world a shittier place. So, actually, I’m doing a good deed here, by killing you. I should be rewarded somehow…you know what I mean?”
Garth couldn’t move. He was frozen and he was disturbingly intrigued by Sammael’s maniacally deranged charm as he spoke to Cherri. His humor was offsetting.
Garth turned. He was about to slam the front door open, when he stopped, looked in the reflection of the glass. His mouth drooped into an O-shape. He was terrified. Jezebeth was crawling across the ceiling. She moved fast and gracefully . The ceiling tile broke and fell as she pumped her arms and legs forward. Garth spun around. Before he could look up, Sammael smiled at him and said, “Her name is Jezebeth. Isn’t that a pretty name? Almost as pretty as the girl who’s body she took.” He broke into a fit of mad laughter.
Garth took off. He ducked behind aisle one. He dove. When he came up, he was holding a can of baked beans. He drew his arm back and lobbed the can at Jezebeth. It soared toward her as she crawled toward the window, then down it. The can smashed into her face. There was a hollow sounding thump. She fell forward, smacking the top of her head on the floor.
The Last Customer Page 8