There was a moment of shock as his head was slammed back and his senses were a jumble of spinning lights, horns, and screaming.
Chapter 44
Erica Chapman
Thanksgiving Movie Madness
“I’m in hell,” Erica thought. “That’s the only logical explanation.” Less than an hour earlier, she’d been opening a box of candy with her teeth while her movie started. Now, she lay face down in a puddle of soda, stunned and wondering why her elbow hurt so much. Maniacal laughter from behind reminded her, and she turned to look over her shoulder as the tittering lunatic climbed over the rail below, all the while chewing absently on what had only moments before been part of a screaming man’s face. The only thing that kept her from gagging was the near certainty that if she took the time to vomit, she would be the next victim of the clambering clown.
There was a split second of despair as she contemplated her fate. No! This is not how I am going to die!
With that galvanizing thought, fear turned to anger and she rolled onto her back to face her attacker just as he stepped over the seat. Laughing maniacally, cheek eater leapt at her as she raised her leg to kick him. At the same time, a deafening clap of thunder sounded, and the man’s head blossomed a slick, wet geyser of gray matter. He fell on forward lifelessly, and she scrambled out from under his body, trying her best to ignore the sticky wetness leaking from his head.
Another boom, and one of the other laughing maniacs dropped. Erica looked to the source of the noise and saw a man three rows above her with a pistol braced in both hands. He fired again and the laughing woman who had driven her heel through the first victim’s eye dropped where she stood. The final attacker stood, pointed at the man with the pistol and laughed louder than ever. “Hey!” he guffawed. “Guns don’t kill people! People ki…”
The pistol boomed again, proving him wrong. “Ma’am? You all right?”
Erica sat up from the sticky floor and felt a wet patch on her back where the spilled soda had soaked through her shirt. There was more stickiness on her arm and face, and she wiped it absently, only realizing when she looked down it wasn’t soda. That realization instigated a rebellion somewhere in her digestive tract, and she barely managed to lean over the seat in the row below her in time to heave her IHOP Thanksgiving Special all over it. She found herself having a hard time absorbing everything that had happened in the last few minutes, and she could only imagine how she looked as she scrambled to her feet, wide-eyed and blood-spattered, wiping vomit from her chin.
The theater was utter pandemonium, with people screaming and crying. Through it all though, Erica heard a voice behind her, closer than the others. “Ma’am?”
“What!” She spun so quickly she nearly fell again. The man with the pistol was climbing carefully over the seats toward her.
“What? I mean, that man was… you just shot…” She stopped for a second, realizing she wasn’t making any sense. But people were still screaming, and it was distracting her. “But you killed… he was chewing someone’s face!” Nope. Still not making sense. Get it together. See if you can’t make a complete sentence. Erica took a deep breath and found something she could wrap her head around. She glared at the man who had just saved her life. “What are you doing with a gun in a movie theater?”
“I beg your pardon?” He stopped on the aisle one level above her.
“You have a gun in public. Isn’t that illegal?”
The man looked at her like she was crazy. “You mean the gun that just saved your life? That gun?”
She looked down at the pistol in question, idly noting that his finger was now off the trigger, lying flat above the trigger guard. She pointed at the weapon in question. “Yes! You just shot those people!”
“Jesus H. Christ, Lady! I just saved your damned life!”
He was right, but she was trying to process too many things at once. People were beginning to calm down some, at least no one was still screaming, though there was still plenty of sobbing and shouting. Erica saw three men running down the aisle toward the bodies on the floor. And through it all, Matt Damon calmly beat his way through yet another assassin. It was all simply too much to take in.
Realizing she was approaching overload, she decided to focus on one thing at a time. She whirled back to her rescuer. “Why do you have a gun in a movie theater?”
“Jesus, lady. You’re welcome!” The man simply shook his head and turned away, walking down the aisle toward the group gathering around the bodies. She heard him muttering to himself as he passed, but all she could hear for sure was “…ungrateful bitch.”
At that point, another man jumped up from his seat a few rows back. “You wanna know why he has a gun? ‘Cause this is Texas, bitch!” The man was obviously impressed with his own wit, because he bent over and slapped his knee, hooting at what he apparently thought was a hilarious joke.
When he looked back up, he was still laughing, but there was horror in his eyes.
A woman sitting two seats down from him started to laugh at the same time, and a similar look of terror hid behind her eyes as well. Erica barely had time to scream a warning to the man with the pistol before they were on him, chuckling and punching and kicking. She saw the pistol go flying as he fell to the floor, and Erica slipped her purse strap around her neck and climbed over the seats into the next row without thinking.
The aisle was narrow, and the attackers were having a hard time finding room to really lay into their victim. The woman was in front kicking and giggling, while Mr. “This is Texas” was behind her, trying to get his shots in as he could. Erica ran up behind them and found her opening. Without hesitating, she kicked the man from behind… as hard as she could… directly between his legs.
His deep chortling laughter momentarily turned to shrieks a full octave higher as he doubled over and grabbed his crotch. Still crouched in pain, he nevertheless turned and reached toward her. She kicked again, this time introducing his teeth to the sole of her tennis shoe. His head snapped back and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. In the meantime, her erstwhile pistol-wielding rescuer found himself with one less attacker and managed to power back to his feet. The laughing woman clawed at his back and he cold cocked her, dropping her beside her companion. “What the hell is going on here?” he screamed. He looked as freaked as Erica had felt just moments before, and ironically, she finally felt more sympathy than animosity for him.
“I wish I knew.” She looked around at the bodies, both unconscious and dead, with a growing sense of dread. Other than the sound of Jason Bourne making a motorcycle perform gravity-defying stunts, the theater was finally relatively quiet. There were no more screams or shouts. So why did she suddenly feel the chill of death crawling up her spine?
Looking up, Erica saw nearly all the other moviegoers staring at her and her guardian angel. Almost as one, they began to chuckle. Mr. Pistol and Erica looked at each other. She pointed to where his gun had fallen. “Now might be a good time to pick that back up.”
He ran to scoop up the firearm from the floor, and she was right on his heels. Looking back, she saw the horde rushing them, their insane laughter like nails on the chalkboard of her sanity. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!”
Pistol Pete grabbed Erica’s arm and pulled her along. Together, they sprinted down the steps to ground level and turned the corner to run toward the lobby. Just as they turned the corner, a mob crashed through the theater entrance—all of them laughing. Mr. Pistol raised his arm and fired three times into the crowd. Three bodies dropped, but the others didn’t even pause. Erica looked back up at the other pursuers swarming over the seats in the theater behind her. “This way!” She pulled Pistol’s arm to get his attention.
He looked at her over his shoulder, and she pointed to the emergency exit under Jason Bourne’s right foot. Pistol led the way, crashing into the door with his shoulder so hard that Erica was convinced that it would have buckled even if it had been locked. The door slammed open with a hollow boom and the two of t
hem burst free into the open air of the parking lot. They didn’t slow for a second, determined to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the insane laughter behind them. “Where’s your car?” he asked.
“Across the parking lot, in front of the IHOP. Where’s yours?”
He shook his head. “I rode with a friend.”
“Well, where’s he?”
“Chasing us. You kicked him in the balls while he was trying to kill me.”
“Shit. Follow me.” She sprinted across the concrete. Her stride ate up the ground, using muscles conditioned by years of lacrosse, and she reached into her purse as she ran. Not daring to slow down and look, she felt around in the bouncing purse until she found her keys. Don’t drop them! Don’t drop them! She held firmly onto them as she found the door remote. “Still with me?” She didn’t turn to look.
“Still… here,” he panted. It sounded like he was only ten or fifteen feet behind.
Erica pressed the unlock button on her clicker and the parking lights of her van blinked twice. “See the car?”
“Yeah.”
She hit the door opener and the side door slid open. “Take the back seat on this side. I’ll drive.”
“Got it.”
Seconds later, she slammed into the door, jerked it open, and threw herself inside. She hit the close button for the side door, and her new companion dove inside as it began to shut. She looked beyond him and for a second she froze. There must have close to a hundred of those… things chasing them. Must be everyone from the whole damned theater. There was a click as the door behind her closed and a shout from the back seat. “Lock the doors! Lock the doors! Lock the doors!”
His shout shook her out of her stupor, and she hit the lock button just as the first of the crowd hit the van. The first one at her door slammed his hand into the window hard enough to cause her to shriek, but it held. He shoved his face up to the glass and tittered wildly. The next arrival behind him, grabbed him by the head and smashed it into the window hard enough that both cracked. The first attacker slid to the ground unconscious, leaving a trail of blood on the now cracked window.
“Start the car, lady! Start the damn car!”
She jerked, then fumbled the key into the ignition just as the bulk of the crowd got to them. They wasted no time slamming the old van, slapping it with open palms or fists. Several of them used their neighbors as makeshift battering rams, smashing them into the windows in an attempt to break in. Within seconds, they had the entire vehicle rocking back and forth, and it suddenly occurred to Erica that if they manage to roll the van completely over, they would be dead shortly after. She cranked the engine and put it in gear, but hesitated. There were several people, or whatever they were, in front of the van.
There was the sound of breaking glass and the volume of the laughter increased. “Floor it, lady! Get us the hell outta here!” That was followed by the deafening boom of his pistol.
Erica’s ears rang as she closed her eyes and hit the gas. And nothing happened. There were simply too many of them pushing back against the hood. She slammed the van into reverse and punched it again. This time they moved, and she felt the wheels roll over something that felt like a bag of mud. Looking into the rearview mirror, she saw Pistol Pete taking aim at another of those laughing monstrosities as it began to pull itself through the broken back window. “Save your bullets,” Erica told him, and accelerated backwards, slamming into a pickup truck in the row behind us. The creepy crawlie’s laughter stopped as his body was crushed between the rear hatch and the pickup. She threw the stick back into drive, slamming her foot to the floor. This time, they had momentum on their side, and the mob never had a chance. The van plowed through them, and she tried not to think too much about the lurching of the van as the tires rolled over several bumps.
There seemed to be more cars in the parking lot than there had been when she’d first gone into the theater, and she realized that people were starting to gear up for the Black Friday sales at the mall. She accelerated down the lane at what would normally be considered an unsafe speed, trying to gain enough distance to safely turn and head toward the street exits. She glanced into the rearview and saw that the crowd was about fifty yards behind us and smiled. We’re going to make it. “Hang on to something back there. I’m gonna have to make a sharp turn ahead.”
“Do whatever you need to do. Just get us the hell out of here.”
She slammed on the brakes as she approached the end of the row of vehicles, and yanked the wheel to the right. There was a crash of falling boxes and breaking glass from the back of the van, followed by some inventive cursing. “Holy shit, lady. What the hell is all this crap back here?”
She’d forgotten about all her belongings from Uncle J’s house, but she didn’t have time to worry about it at the moment. Her braking and the turn had let the throng behind them regain some ground. Erica watched in the mirror as they cut across the parking lot at an angle to intercept the van. As she watched, they swarmed like a rushing tide over and between the vehicles that she’d had to maneuver around, and for a moment, she feared they were going to catch up.
Then she hit a straightaway and punched the gas. Taking a deep and shaky breath, she steered toward the main exit from the mall.
Chapter 45
Lesslie Lamphere
Eat at Joe’s
“You folks have a great Thanksgiving, okay?” Lesslie Lamphere handed the customer his order and turned to look at the last sheet on the pickup list. It was six thirty, and they were supposed to have closed Joe’s at six, but there was still one order waiting on a customer pickup. She figured she would give the guy until seven to pick it up. Joe had given her and Barry permission to take the extra overtime, and it wasn’t like she had anyplace she needed to be. Neither did Barry, evidently.
He poked his head out from the back. “That the last one?”
“One more.”
The man sighed. “Well, hell.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and leave? I can cover this last one.”
“Nah. I still have a little bit of cleaning I need to do.” He turned, heading back out of sight. “Besides,” he called over his shoulder, “I couldn’t deprive you of my sparkling personality.”
Lesslie smiled. Barry Begault had been flirting with her for weeks now. He presented it as if it were all a joke, but she could tell. He was about as subtle as a hand grenade. And if she was honest with herself, she was flattered. The problem was that she just wasn’t ready for another relationship. And she definitely wasn’t ready to start one at this time of the year. The holidays were always a tough time, but this was going to be her first season without Gabe, and it was all she could do to keep from melting into a puddle of tears at the thought.
Barry knew this, and was enough of a gentleman to keep his distance. She appreciated that about him. And it wasn’t like she wasn’t attracted. But it was going to be at least a few more months before she could even look at him without comparing him to Gabriel, and that wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to her either.
The jingle of the bell told her another customer had come in. She looked up to see a young couple walking toward the counter. “Welcome to Smokey Joe’s. You here for a pickup?”
“Yes,” the man spoke for them. “We’re the Rileys. The order is under the name of Doug Riley. Sorry we’re so late, but the traffic out there is unbelievable. We passed four different wrecks on the way here.”
She raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? Big pileup?”
This time it was the woman who spoke. “That’s the weird thing. They weren’t anywhere close to each other. It was really four wrecks in four different places. There’s just all kinds of craziness out there.”
“Oh man, that sucks. I guess that just shows you, no matter how bad you think the holidays are, it can always be worse.” Lesslie pulled up the last ticket and rang it up on the register. “Okay, Mr. Riley, I show you ordered one smoked turkey, a spiral cut ham, two orders of
yeast rolls, half a pound of fried okra, six baked potatoes all the way, and two cherry pies. That sound right?”
“Sure. What’s the damage?”
“It’s gonna be one-thirteen, twenty-seven.”
The man handed her a credit card.
“Will there be anything else?” She asked it automatically, hoping he would say no.
“No thanks. Dinner’s already gonna be late. I just hope they have the wrecks cleared on the way home. If it takes me another hour to get home, my wife’s gonna cook me!” He laughed.
Lesslie handed his credit card back to him, along with a pen and receipt. “Well, let’s get you out of here and on your way.”
But Mr. Riley didn’t take the pen. He simply stood there, looking at her, chuckling. “She’s gonna cook me!”
His wife also seemed to think that was funny, and the couple turned to Lesslie, as if waiting for her to get the joke. Brows furrowed, Lesslie saw something in the man’s expression that was off. His chuckle turned to a laugh, getting louder as he stood there. But it never made it to his eyes. She looked at the woman, and saw the same expression of humor below the eyes, coupled with terror deep within them.
She drew her hand back from where she had been trying to hand him his receipt. “You all right?”
The man shook his head once, as if trying to clear his thoughts, then grabbed at her hand as he giggled.
“Barry!” Lesslie yanked her hand back out of the man’s reach.
Chucklers: Laughter is Contagious Page 19