Three Days To Die

by John Avery

  "My mom!"

  "What? Who will?"

  "Damn it, Willy… don't you ever listen? Johnny Souther! The guy I robbed the damn bank with. The guy who shot me for cryin' out loud." He coughed hard into his hand, and there was blood. "They're meeting at Sally's Diner tonight at 6:30. She's trading herself for me! "

  He pointed urgently at a small plastic trash can sitting on the floor under the table. Willy grabbed it and handed it to him. Aaron clutched the container to his chest and wretched. Then he continued.

  "She's seen his face, Willy. She saw him kill Tom. He'll hurt her. I know he wants to hurt her!" He began to shiver and Willy pulled the blanket up to cover him.

  "Here, try to drink," Willy said, trading the trash can for the glass of water.

  Aaron managed a few sips, then wiped his mouth and eyes on his sleeve and gathered himself for a moment.

  "I think we should take the son-of-a-bitch out," he said at last.

  "Whoa!" Willy coughed, unprepared for that one. "Let's slow down a minute…" He glanced around for Aaron's trash can, feeling a strong urge to donate some of his own vomit to the cause.

  Aaron looked at him, eyes full of fear, the pain intense. He couldn't think of any other way out of this. "What else can I do, Willy?" he argued. " What else can I do…? "

  Willy took a drink from the water glass, struggling to find his words.

  "Listen, mate," he said at last, placing his hand on Aaron's arm. "Try and get some rest, okay?" Then, with false confidence, he added, "I'll think of something…"

  Aaron nodded and relaxed a little, then laid his head back and closed his eyes.

  – Willy was at a loss. He wandered through the kitchen, absently opening cabinets in the hope of triggering an idea. He came across a large curious shoebox which he promptly removed from its shelf. He set the box on the table and pulled off the lid — it looked like the inside of a doctor's medical bag.

  Among the many items packed into the box were several small pill bottles. Willy picked one of them up and checked the label: Morphine Sulfate — Sustained Release Tablets, 15 mg.

  He recalled, as a child, seeing similar bottles in his mother's medicine cabinet, and had since read up on morphine's dangerous, yet superior pain-killing properties. He shook two tablets out into his hand, then went over and knelt next to Aaron.

  "Aaron…" he said softly, as not to startle him. "Put these under your tongue."

  Aaron opened his eyes and looked at the suspicious pills. "What are they?"

  "It's morphine."

  " Morphine? Where the hell'd you get morphine?"

  "Someone left a shoebox full of medical crap in the cupboard," Willy explained. "There's a ton of it in there. You've probably been whacked out on the stuff for hours."

  Aaron made a face, then placed the tablets under his tongue and took a sip of water.

  "Have a bit of a rest," Willy said, comforting him. "You'll be nickers in half an hour." He pulled up a chair next to his friend.

  Aaron closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Chapter 42

  Sand Castle Magic

  At 5:46 p.m. Aaron abruptly sat up, like an awakening corpse, scaring Willy half to death. He opened his eyes, but Willy wasn't sure they were seeing him. Aaron mumbled a few syllables of nonsense and flopped back down. Willy tucked the blanket up under his chin and waited.

  – Aaron's mother pulled back the lace curtains, letting the rising sun shine through his leaded-glass bedroom window. The sun seemed to shine right through her, and she glowed like something from heaven.

  He got out of bed and looked out across the rooftops of a strange but wonderful world. It was as if he'd gone back in time a 150 years — to old England perhaps — and yet he wasn't surprised by it. He felt refreshed and wonderful.

  His mother smiled at him.

  "Am I asleep?" he asked.

  "Only if you wish to be," his mother replied.

  He walked down a grand staircase into a spacious, marble-floored entry hall. Priceless antiques, furniture and paintings adorned the room.

  Aaron's father, Danny Quinn, stood by the hand-carved front door with the fingers of one hand tucked into his vest pocket and the other holding a gold pocket watch. The war medals around his neck gleamed as sunlight struck off of their polished detail.

  He smiled at Aaron and opened the door for him. "We've been expecting you," he said.

  "Am I dreaming?" Aaron asked.

  "Only if you wish to be," his father replied.

  Aaron shook his father's hand firmly then stepped through the front door to the outside.

  – Where his front porch and the crumbling concrete steps should have been there was now a stretch of beach running right up to the threshold. Aaron stepped out onto the warm white sand and enjoyed the sensation as it moved between his bare toes. He scooped up a handful and let it run slowly through his fingers.

  A young black boy was sitting in the sand nearby. He was building a fantastic sandcastle. Aaron had never seen such wonderful attention to detail. The stone walls and corbeled corner turrets looked stunningly real. The boy had even dredged a moat around the perimeter of the castle and filled it with sea water to slow marauders. The drawbridge was a chunk of flat driftwood, and the boy had fashioned an iron gate from a piece of an old picnic basket. Aaron was drawn in by this amazing work of art.

  "Am I alive?" Aaron asked the boy.

  He looked up at Aaron and smiled. "Only if you wish to be," the boy replied, and Aaron started down the sandy road leading to the front of the castle.

  – Before him, Aaron saw the thick wooden drawbridge, its heavy chains arching gracefully up into the stone gatehouse wall. He started across… but as he stopped to look over the edge, a feeling of unease chilled him: Far beneath him, like an opaque ribbon of glaucous jello, the forbidding moat wrapped the castle. Largely smothered by thick vegetation, the moat was undoubtedly home to an odious assortment of grotesque creatures — each doggedly waiting to administer a fabulously hideous death upon anyone unfortunate enough to take a plunge.

  Aaron shuddered… then he stepped back from the edge and walked on under the massive iron gate and into the castle gatehouse, where hidden pulleys and counterweights stood ready to help raise the drawbridge in the likely event of an attack.

  – Beyond the gatehouse Aaron entered the inner ward of the castle, which in this case was a vast inland ocean. The air was warm and soft. A sparkling ground-coral beach stretched a hundred yards in front of him and as far as he could see to his right and left. Puffy, cartoon clouds arched across the sky — like a great cotton canopy — forming the distant ceiling of the cavern.

  The little black boy had followed him. Aaron turned and waved to him; the boy smiled and waved back.

  Aaron walked slowly out to where the ocean waves were breaking and running up on the sand. The cool sea-water washed over his ankles and splashed up his legs.

  He continued on, deeper and deeper into the water. It was fresh, invigorating and exceptionally clear. Soon his head was completely under — yet he had no trouble breathing. Rainbow schools of shimmering fish flew over the coral sculptures surrounding him.

  A large, colorful grouper swam up to Aaron, its pectoral fins oscillating like a pair of silvery, Japanese hand fans.

  Aaron looked at the fish curiously and asked, "Am I in Heaven?"

  "Only if you wish to be," the grouper replied, its big, fish lips puckering as it spoke. Then it turned and slowly swam away.

  Aaron smiled and continued on his wondrous journey.

  – He came upon a pirate ship with its Jolly Roger flying in the swift current flowing by the masthead. A badly decomposed, wooden CONDEMNED sign was nailed to the side of the ship above a gaping hole in the hull, where the ship, no doubt, was rammed during a desperate sea battle. Aaron stepped through into the darkness of the doomed ship's bowels.

  – Great stacks of supply barrels and coiled rope lined the inside of the vessel's hold, along with several swo
rds, flintlock pistols, and automatic rifles. A store of green duffel bags filled a corner, stacks of $100 bills spilling from a split in one of them. A black plastic trash bag lay open, revealing its cache of treasure; Aaron reached in and found a leather wallet, but as he lifted it out it crumbled to dust.

  Sprawled in every bearing, the skeletal remains of the unfortunate ship's crew. Inky eye-sockets followed Aaron as he moved through the sunken cemetery, their alabaster skulls grinning as if the scavengers feeding on their trailing flesh tickled.

  Aaron noticed a plastic name tag stuck between the ribs of one of the corpses. It read BANK MANAGER.

  Hanging nearby (with no apparent means of support), Aaron found a rope macrame hammock, and suddenly he grew very tired. He climbed into it and fell deeply asleep.

  Chapter 43

  Sally's or Bust

  Ashley lay across the bed in Room 107, staring at the TV. The local station's weather man looked if he had been through the dry cleaners along with his suit. His forecast was for rain and high winds throughout the night.

  NEWS FLASH:

  A hostage was reported killed today during an armed robbery at the downtown branch of Community Plaza Bank. The murder took place at approximately 9:30 this morning. Witnesses said the gunmen wore the same brightly painted ski masks and carried assault rifles similar to the ones used in a series of robberies that took place in the city yesterday. Police have initiated a citywide manhunt.

  Ashley took no notice of the report. She checked her watch. 6 p.m. She stood and turned off the TV, slipped the gun into her purse, grabbed her car keys, and stepped outside.

  – She paused on the sidewalk for a moment, scanning the parking lot as leaves and bits of trash bounced by on a wind gearing up for a heavy storm. Darkness was approaching and a light rain had begun to fall — and it was very cold. Ashley buttoned her light jacket, pulled up her collar, and turned to lock the door.

  Suddenly a voice said, "Going somewhere?"

  Ashley whirled around, expecting Death himself, but it was only the pint-sized proprietor of the Sands Motel: Doolin Mars, in his print pajamas.

  " Doolin! " she cried, staggering back a step. "Damn you! Don't do that!"

  She moved toward her Nova, favoring her ankle as she leaned into the wind, each step hurting. She could feel the loathsome creep following her.

  "Can't talk now, Doolin," she said over her shoulder. "I'm in a hurry…"

  Doolin called after her into the wind. "I was hoping you'd have dinner with me tonight, Arlene."

  My God, she thought, this guy's unbelievable. "Can't tonight… I really have to go."

  With a surprising burst of speed, Doolin ran around her and blocked her path. "I worked real hard preparing a special dinner for you," he said, breathless from the effort. "I expect you to show me the courtesy of — "

  "Screw you, Doolin, you freaking weirdo. You're insane! Get out of my way."

  Doolin stood firm, looking at Ashley with a puzzled expression on his face, as if surprised by her attitude.

  Ashley shoved him aside. "I said move, you little fly!"

  Doolin grabbed her arm with a grip that would leave a bruise, but Ashley twisted free. She fell back a step and pulled her gun, gripping it with both hands, aiming at Doolin's crotch.

  "Keep your filthy paws off me, you slimy little bastard!" she screamed. " Or I swear — I'll blow your fucking balls off! "

  Doolin stumbled backward, hands in the air. "Okay, okay," he said, "I get it. It's cool. I get it."

  Ashley sighted on him as he moved away from her. "And stay away, you maggot! Leave me the fuck alone!"

  She jumped in her Chevy, tossed the gun on the passenger seat, and started the engine. Then she slammed it in gear and floored it out of the parking lot — swearing never to return.

  Chapter 44

  Rather Dapper

  Aaron jolted awake, terrified: One of the pirate skeletons had leaned over him and was shaking him by the shoulder with an osseous hand.

  " Aaron…" it hissed through gnashing teeth. " Aaron, wake up…"

  A cold, deep-ocean current moved through the ship like a limpid sea monster, rocking Aaron's hammock and sending a shiver through him. He cried out, delirious, clawing desperately at the hand on his shoulder.

  "Aaron," the voice repeated, but sounding different. "Wake up. It's Willy. It's time to go."

  Aaron gave a deep shuddering sigh and opened his eyes. Willy's familiar face emerged.

  "Oh, man…" Aaron said, looking around to get his bearings. "You wouldn't believe the weird dream I had." More like the fantasies of a lunatic, he thought.

  Willy was torn between relief and anger; it hadn't been easy for him either. "It was weird, all right," he said. "I thought you were OD-ing or something. You were flying all over the couch, waffling on and on, and I couldn't understand a bloody thing you were saying. You really put the willies up me, mate."

  He walked over to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face, then returned with some damp paper towels and used them to cool Aaron's forehead.

  "We need to go," he said. "The morphine should help for a few hours. Can you walk?"

  Aaron pulled back the blanket and slowly sat up. "There's one way to find out," he said confidently. Then he carefully swung his feet out onto the floor.

  He stood, pausing with his hand on the arm of the sofa, waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass. The table with the medical supplies was a few steps away, and he marked it as a goal. Then, with considerable effort, he shuffled to it and leaned on it for support as another wave of dizziness came and went.

  His tongue was puffy and sticking to the roof of his mouth. "Can you get me some water?" he asked. "My mouth tastes like a handful of dried cat turds."

  Willy laughed, happy to hear Aaron's humor returning. He poured him another glass. "Are you gonna be okay, mate?"

  Aaron took several delicious sips of water, with short breaths between. Though still in considerable pain, and in spite of his dizziness, he was thinking clearly, now, and he knew what had to be done. "I have to be," he replied.

  Willy found a black wool overcoat draped over a chair and picked it up; it hung thick and heavy in his hands. He carried it over and showed it to Aaron.

  "Look what I found," he said. "Try it on for size." He held the coat for Aaron as he slid an arm into one sleeve.

  "It's warm," Aaron said, running a hand over the thick weave. The coat draped nearly to his ankles. "Thanks, Willy."

  Willy rolled up the bulky sleeves for him and straightened the lapels. "I should say, old chap," he remarked. "You look rather dapper."

  He shoved the bottle of morphine tablets into his pocket and picked up the lantern. "Are you ready?" he asked.

  "Ready," Aaron replied bravely. "But there's some stuff we need to do on the way out."

  "No problem," Willy said. "Lead the way."

  Chapter 45

  Not a Good Hideout

  Aaron leaned on Willy as they made their way to the cannery's main-floor store room. Rain drummed the metal roof high overhead, and multiple streams of water poured through gaps in the sheeting and splashed on the floor below.

  Aaron winced as a stab of pain cut through the morphine. "I'm sorry I was an asshole earlier," he said. "I don't know what happened to me."

  Willy had to agree with him. "You really were being a shit, you know."

  Aaron smiled and leaned on Willy a bit more.

  The store room was full of loaded duffel bags. Aaron ran his hand over one of them and then sat down on it to rest.

  "Check the other bags," he said. "We're looking for the one with guns in it."

  "Guns?"

  "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto."

  One by one, Willy opened the bags. The first contained white painter's jumpsuits, others miscellaneous gear.

  He found a bag full of cash and held the lantern high above it, using his free hand to wipe his glasses on his shirt. "Check it out," he said, excited.

>   "Guns, Willy," Aaron said. "We're looking for guns."

  Willy reluctantly closed the money bag and continued searching.

  He located the armory bag, reached in, and pulled out a shiny, black assault rifle. "Bloody hell, Aaron," he said, turning the weapon over in his hands. "You'd probably blow your damn willy off with one of these."

  "Yeah — or yours," Aaron said. "Here, I'll take it… the ammo should be in the same bag."

  Willy handed him the gun then found a loaded magazine.

  "Now, pay attention," Aaron said, and Willy watched in amazement as his friend demonstrated proper loading technique.

  – "… then insert the magazine into the slot below the trigger, here," Aaron continued, "and push it up from the bottom till it clicks. Give it a good smack to make sure it stays in, then yank on it to be sure." He showed Willy how to set the safety, then like a hardened soldier preparing for battle, slung the loaded rifle over his good shoulder.

  "Okay… now do yours," he said.

  Willy pulled another rifle from the sack and did as he had been instructed. Aaron showed him how to hold the gun and release the safety.

  "Okay, there's one more thing we need to do," Aaron said.

  Willy held Aaron's arm over his shoulders, and they made their way outside to the boiler house.

  – "I remember this place," Willy said, adjusting the lantern's twin mantles for maximum light. "It's creepy in here. And it smells funny."

  Aaron wrinkled his nose. "You're right, it does."

  "Bring the light over here," Aaron said. "I helped Tom repair one of these once."

  Willy held the lantern high. "So, what are we doing?"

  Aaron located the boiler's valve cluster. "We're going to blow this place to hell."

  Willy thought about that for a moment and decided it made sense.

  Aaron reached in and turned the pressure regulator adjustment knob all the way up. Then he disabled the pressure relief valve with a wrap of wire. The needle on the steam-pressure gauge started to rise.