Undeterred, he stopped next to her table, placing his feet shoulder width apart and hooking his thumbs into his belt. A gun rested in the holster at his waist, a recent upgrade for him and a sign of trust from Sheriff Halwell. He’d proven himself loyal, and Halwell’s decision filled him with pride.
“Can I talk to you?” He asked, smiling at her.
“Sure,” she replied without looking up, still focused on peeling the potatoes.
Slightly irritated by her lack of attention, Harold took a deep breath, then added, “In private.”
Wanda shook her head, sighing loudly. “I’ve got a lot of work to do here, Harold.”
Feeling his temper rise, Harold looked across the room until his eyes settled on an older white man. “You. Come over here and take over.” The man rushed over and stood next to Wanda. She finished the potato she was working on, then handed the peeler to the man, still not making eye contact. Standing there, looking at the table, she waited.
“Follow me,” Harold said. “We’ll go to my room.”
Wanda didn’t reply as she walked behind him, keeping space between the two of them.
Harold opened the door to his room and held it in place as she walked inside, still looking straight ahead. Confidence waning, he closed the door behind him and walked over to where she stood. “Did you see? Sheriff gave me a gun. He trusts me.”
Wanda’s eyes flicked down towards his waist, taking in the weapon’s presence. “I see.”
Irritated by her lack of appreciation, Harold asked, “What, don’t you care? I worked my way into his inner circle. Now we can be together and be safe.”
“I don’t want to be with you.” She replied flatly.
Stunned, Harold stepped back. “What? Why?”
Her eyes finally met his. In them, he saw anger. Her voice raised slightly, a loud hiss as she tried to keep from attracting too much attention. “Why should I? You took the cowardly way out! You took the easy way out! You think I respect that?”
“I thought - ”
“You thought what? That I’d fuck you now, just because you’ve joined these thugs? You think I’m some kind of ghetto hoochie or something? Fuck you!”
“But you’re my wife…”
“You think that means anything anymore? I had divorce papers on my desk at work, ready to be signed before all this happened.”
“You what?”
“My plan was to come here and see if we could work things out. I wanted to find out if you’d actually see me, appreciate me for who I am. Instead, you were focused on you.
“It’s all about you. You and your Goddamn insecurities.”
Harold recoiled as if slapped, his heart sinking in his chest. How could she?
Wanda glared at him, waiting for his response.
Desperate to take back control of the situation, Harold set his hand on the grip of his gun. “You’d better watch how you talk to me.”
“What? Now you’re threatening me? You’re a pathetic excuse for a man, Harold.”
Switching tactics again, Harold softened his gaze. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I love you.” He stepped forward, trying to take her into his arms. She stepped back, resisting him.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Please.”
“I don’t want you, don’t you get it? Sure, you’ve got a gun, and you’re part of this group of criminals now, so I guess you could probably force yourself on me, but I’ll never give myself to you willingly , Harold.
“Never again. I despise you.”
Looking at the floor, Harold fought the urge to hit the woman.
“Get out.”
Wanda turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
In the room, Harold’s heart raced as he fought the urge to fall to the floor and cry.
CHAPTER SIXTY NINE
“Hurry up. Get the lead out.” The man’s shotgun nudged him in the small of his back as he walked, carrying heavy, five gallon jugs filled with water. Each jug weighed over forty pounds, and the group had been walking for nearly half a mile. The excursions to find water had been taking them further and further from the lodge as resources were slowly depleted.
As the youngest and most fit of the group, Logan Matthews had been chosen to carry the heaviest jugs each time they went out, a routine that was tiring and left his shoulders, upper back, biceps, and forearms sore. The young girl with Down’s syndrome had been nice enough to give him a reusable ice pack yesterday, and he’d been tempted to hug her, but refrained from doing so out of concern for how the armed guards would react.
“Sorry,” he replied, keeping his eyes focused on the road in front of them. “Just tired.”
The greasy haired man, who went by the name of Ed and had a beard that looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in a few years, grinned back at him with a mouth that was missing several teeth. “Don’t worry, you’ll get stronger. We’ve got plenty of work for you to do.”
Choosing not to respond, he focused on simply putting one foot in front of the other, shutting out the groans of the people behind him, who were struggling much more than he was. The greasy haired man left him and went towards the back of the single file line he was directing towards the cabin. Profanity and the sounds of his rifle slamming into people’s bodies filled the mountain air, followed soon after by whimpers and moans from the other workers.
Logan put it aside. He couldn’t do anything about it.
He shouldn’t even have been in Big Bear, let alone at the lodge when the men showed up.
On his first day back in the States after six months in the desert, Wendy, his girlfriend of the last two and a half years, suggested they get away from the city and spend some time up in Big Bear. He’d agreed readily, and, having saved up a big chunk of money during the time in the sand, he’d decided to splurge, paying for a nice room at the best lodge in the small city, one located close to everything the town had to offer.
He’d intended to make the first night in the cabin a special one, one that would culminate with a proposal on the balcony overlooking the lake, but the candlelit dinner, during which he’d consumed steak, a baked potato, and several glasses of red wine, combined with the fatigue his body felt as it struggled to adjust to the time difference between the West Coast and Iraq, was too much to fight off. As Wendy had disappeared into the room’s spacious bath to ‘freshen up’, he’d kicked off his shoes and socks before relaxing on the bed. Within seconds, he’d fallen asleep, rapidly descending into a deep slumber.
At some point, Wendy got into bed next to him, snuggling tightly against him. She slept by his side for over eight hours and laid there awake for another two, but when nine a.m. came and went with no sign of him stirring, she’d decided to head into the Village area to get some breakfast and coffee, leaving him a note on the nightstand before slipping quietly out of the room.
Sweetie,
You’re really tired! I decided to let you keep sleeping, but I’m soooo hungry. I’m going into the Village to find coffee and something to eat. I’ll bring you back some of both, ok? Maybe this afternoon we can do what we wanted to do last night….
XOXO
Wendy
P.S. it’s 9:30 AM
She hadn’t come back.
It was after eleven when he’d woken up, slightly disoriented and wondering where she was. After reading the note, he got up, showered, and dressed before grabbing the ring from the pocket in his ‘bug-out’ bag. Pausing to pop open the box, he admired the two carat stone before closing the box and shoving it into his pocket. Waiting for the perfect time and place to ask her to marry him was no longer an option, and he didn’t care. He’d pull her aside, under a tree in a park, and pop the question.
Smiling to himself, he headed to the lobby to see if she was waiting there. She’d probably finished eating and didn’t want to wake him by re-entering the room. Her face would light up when she saw him, that beautiful smile greeting him as he walked towards her...
Instead, he�
�d been greeted by the clerk, whose eyes were filled with panic, darting in every direction as he tried to watch the windows and doors. “Sir, I have to ask you to stay inside! Everything’s gone crazy out there!” He pointed towards the lodge’s massive front doors. As if on cue, a truck barreled into the lot, swerving wildly as it struck several cars, including his brand new Dodge Challenger. Bodies hung from the sides of the truck, arms reaching inside the truck as the figures tried to pull the driver out of the vehicle.
“What the fuck?”
The clerk’s eyes widened as he watched the melee in the parking lot. The driver, a large man wearing a button up shirt, jeans, and hiking boots, was pulled from the truck by three much smaller people, including a teenage girl and a short Asian man. The three figures overwhelmed the man instantly, their hands and feet pummeling him repeatedly as they beat him unconscious. They didn’t stop there, though, continuing to beat him until blood splattered with every strike.
When the man was clearly dead, his face caved in like a smashed watermelon, they turned on each other, attacking in a crazed frenzy, filled with rage. Within minutes, the three were dead, the last one stepping back in a daze before collapsing, its left eye dangling loosely from the socket.
Silence filled the lobby as he and the clerk tried to process what they’d just seen. After a minute, the clerk stammered, “That’s h-h-how it-it is everywhere. The Sheriff and his men responded to a disturbance in the Village, and now they’re all dead.”
Turning to the pimply-faced clerk, he asked, “How do you know this?”
The young man pointed towards the front desk. “Police scanner. We keep it for the winter, in case they need to advise people of closed roads, heavy snow, or avalanches.”
Feeling his heart sink, Logan asked, “The Village, you said?”
“Yeah. Apparently it was a bloodbath. Dead people everywhere, including Sheriff Sanderson.”
“My girlfriend’s there…”
The clerk’s eyes were filled with compassion as he regarded Logan. “I’m so sorry, Sir.”
“I’ve got to go see if she’s okay.”
“Sir…”
Logan held his hand up, quieting the clerk. “Which exit is closest to the Village?”
The clerk pointed towards the far end of the hall opposite the one his room was in. “At the end. It opens out onto the parking lot, close to the sidewalk.”
“Alright.” He pointed towards the front doors. “Those locked?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Keep them that way, don’t let anyone in.”
“Okay, what about you?”
“I probably won’t be coming back. If I do, we’ll talk about it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I can’t leave her out there.”
“Okay.”
The two of them walked to the end of the hall, passing a few of the lodge’s guests along the way, who they told to remain in their rooms.
Reaching the door, Logan looked through the windows on the upper half of it, evaluating the situation he’d be going into.
What he saw made his heart stop.
Wendy was atop another woman, clawing at her wildly, pulling out hair, tearing at the woman’s flesh with her long, manicured nails. Her favorite shirt, the one he knew read Cal Poly Pomona Alumni, was torn, hanging askew on her torso, revealing the light blue lace bra that he’d bought her. Her face was covered in blood, both her own, from a number of open cuts and scrapes, and that of strangers. As he watched her, she snarled wildly, continuing to attack the woman beneath her.
Another figure, a Mexican woman, who looked as if she’d already been beaten repeatedly herself, barreled into her, knocking her aside. The woman and Wendy struggled against each, hitting, kicking, biting, clawing, grabbing, pulling, desperate to get the upper hand.
Feeling the urge to help her, his hand crept down and wrapped around the doorknob. Before he could turn it, he watched as a massive bottled water delivery truck sped down the street, swinging from side to side, smashing into the cars parked along the street. It didn’t slow as it reached the place in the road where Wendy and the woman fought with each other. The vehicle rocked slightly as it drove over them, leaving them a bloody, still mess in the road before crashing into a storefront.
Logan’s hand released the doorknob. He slowly backed away, stunned at what he saw.
Of course this would happen.
Happiness is not for you, Logan.
Never has been.
Never will be.
He turned away from the door, looking back at the clerk. “No reason for me to go out.” He walked past the teenager and headed for the bar in the lodge. The clerk double checked the lock on the door, then followed behind him. “Sir, the bar isn’t open right now.”
“Yes it is.”
“I’m sorry?”
Logan cocked his head to the side as he regarded the clerk, finally noticing the kid’s name tag. “Look, Dylan, it’s the end of the fucking world out there, and I need a god damn drink. I can pay you now, or you can charge my room. I don’t care, but I’m having a drink.” He looked at the top shelf. “Matter of fact, I’m having some of the Macallan 18 year Scotch.”
The clerk shrugged, relenting. “Okay. Whatever. The manager left a while ago, and I don’t think he’s coming back.”
Logan sat down at the counter and had a drink.
Then another.
Then another.
He sat there, filled with sorrow over the loss of his girlfriend and the realization that he was destined to be alone. His father had died in an accident at the construction site where he worked when Logan was only twelve. His mother had died of pneumonia, left undiagnosed until it was too late due to their lack of health insurance, when he was seventeen. After that, his older brother had cared for him until he’d died two years later, killed by the irresponsible actions of a drunk driver.
Leaving him alone in the world.
As he was now.
Eventually Logan decided that all he wanted to do was lie down. He went to his room and crawled back into his bed, not bothering to remove his clothes.
The next three days were a study in depression and seclusion. The guests of the lodge, along with the two workers, Dylan and a young blonde girl named Heather, were stuck there, afraid to leave, waiting for the authorities to arrive. Dylan and Heather did what they could to feed the guests, cooking simple meals in the kitchen with the available food, wanting to use it before it went bad. The power went out on the second day, leaving the building hot, stuffy, and dark.
It also meant that Logan had to drink his scotch neat.
He managed.
On the evening of the fifth day, he went to bed early, having long since finished the 18 year and 15 year scotch, settling on the 12 year single malt to help ease the pain in his soul.
When he heard knocking on his door, he’d been tempted to tell the visitors to fuck off, but chose to rise from the bed instead, figuring there was always a chance that it might be good news.
It wasn’t.
Of course not.
He opened the door to find himself face to face with a tall blonde man and a stocky black man. “Help you fellas?” He’d asked, feeling groggy from the alcohol.
“Sheriff’s here. He wants to talk to everyone in the lobby. Mind coming with us?”
“Thought the Sheriff was dead?”
The blonde man grinned. “No, he most certainly is not. Come on, you can meet him.”
After four days of being cooped up in the lodge, he felt desperate to get out, so he went with the men, following them to the lobby, where he’d watched the man who called himself as Sheriff Halwell give what he clearly thought was a moving speech.
‘This man isn’t the Sheriff,’ he thought, wondering what was really going on.
When the old man challenged the self-appointed Sheriff, Logan wanted to smack him. The man, who introduced himself to the Sheriff as Alfred, didn’t realize he was messing with a s
nake in the grass.
One that was about to strike.
Seemingly cordial, the Sheriff offered to let anyone who wanted to leave do so, and though Logan could see it was a ruse, he was powerless to warn others, save the girl Heather, who was seated nearby. A subtle nudge with the side of his foot kept her in her seat.
Feeling helpless, he watched as the handful of people who chose to leave and were taken outside through the exit on the back of the building. When gunfire erupted, it became clear that his instincts were correct: the Sheriff and his men were rotten to the core.
Having stared brutal, ruthless men in the face before, when he saw the smile that crossed the Sheriff’s face as the shots rang out, he knew the man was evil; someone willing to do anything to get what he wanted. Feeling the girl’s eyes boring into the side of his face, he turned his head toward her slightly, making eye contact through the corner of his eye. He put his left hand out below his thigh, palm facing down, signaling for her to stay calm. The girl swallowed and nodded slightly, looking down at the floor as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.
Having no weapon and no opportunity to escape, Logan went along with their instructions, falling in line compliantly, doing their bidding. The Sheriff looked at him curiously, measuring him, but when the attractive woman in the floral dress broke free from the men who held her and charged him, his attention was torn away. The Sheriff backhanded the woman, the sound echoing throughout the lobby, sending her to the floor.
The Sheriff’s men searched his room, taking everything of value from him, including the ring, which the blonde man mockingly put on his finger, smiling and laughing. Watching the blonde man, he’d felt a fire burning in the pit of his stomach, a fierce desire to tear the man apart with his bare hands, something he knew he could do with relative ease - if the guy wasn’t armed and accompanied by the black man, who seemed to follow along like a puppy. Setting his anger aside, he allowed himself to show just enough emotion to be believable, then went along with their orders, taking his clothing to a smaller room with two beds, which he was forced to share with an old man.
Surviving Rage | Book 1 Page 67