by Lukens, Mark
Ray slid his backpack off and then crept toward the windows, moving quickly around the display mattresses laid out throughout the showroom. At least the mattresses were built up on platforms that were high enough to conceal him as he made his way toward the front of the store.
He got to the windows and stayed low, watching the street, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to spot any movement. It seemed darker out there now, later in the afternoon, like time had slipped by quickly. But it was just the cloud cover making everything out there murky and gray.
The line of cars and trucks parked along the sidewalk in front of the store all had flat tires. Now that he had more time to look at the vehicles, he noticed how bad the damage to them was: dents and smashed windshields, some of them were wrecked, front ends or rear ends smashed in.
Ray’s heart sank. These cars and trucks had all run across the spike strips in the road. Some of them had lost control and wrecked, smashing into other cars. But someone had positioned each of the vehicles up and down the street to make it look like they were parked there. The contents from inside the cars and trucks had most likely been stolen. There would be no vehicles nearby that Ray could take; they had no choice but to cross the street and get to those houses up in the hills.
Still no sign of rippers; he hadn’t even heard their howls or screeches in the distance. This was a small town, but even a town this size should have at least a few hundred rippers roaming around. The farther they got from the populated areas, the fewer rippers they saw, but there should have been some here.
Ray was about to take a chance on going to the door to check outside when he caught some movement out there, a flash seen from the corner of his eye. A tall man stood next to their SUV. He wore a cowboy hat pulled down low over his brow and camouflage jacket over a mishmash of clothing. The man wasn’t inspecting their SUV, or the damage done to it. He wasn’t peeking inside the windows to see what was inside. He just stood next to the SUV, staring right at the windows of the mattress store. And he had a pistol in one hand.
CHAPTER 2
Ray
The tall man stood right beside their wrecked SUV. Only one man, but Ray knew there had to be more of them. He watched the tall man for a moment. The man hadn’t moved a muscle; he just stood there staring at the mattress store, like he already knew they were inside.
They couldn’t go out the front of the mattress store now, not with that man out there waiting for them. But maybe they could go out through the back—there had to be a back door to this place.
He hurried back through the maze of mattresses to Mike and Emma, crouching down next to them. He slipped his backpack on again.
“What did you see?” Mike asked.
“We need to go out the back.”
“They’re out there, aren’t they?” Mike asked.
Once again, Ray wasn’t going to sugarcoat things for Mike, or even for Emma. They were going to be scared, but maybe they needed to be scared right now. “I saw a man standing by our truck.”
“Does he have a gun?” Mike asked.
“Yes, Mike. We need to go now.”
Just then Ray heard a noise from deeper in the darkness, from the back of the store, a foot crunching down on a piece of glass or trash.
Ray froze. Mike’s breathing was loud in the silence.
“Hey, chickies,” a man’s voice sang out from the darkness of the back of the store. “Here, chicky, chicky.”
Ray looked at Mike and put a finger to his own lips, signaling for him to be quiet. He slipped his backpack off again. If they needed to run, he wanted as little weight as possible holding him back.
Mike stayed quiet and copied his father’s movements, pulling his backpack off. Emma did the same, shedding her backpack, perhaps hearing their movements and knowing what they were doing.
“Come on out, chickies,” the man from somewhere in the back of the store sang out in a long southern drawl. “Come on and talk to me, chickies.”
Ray glanced back at the windows at the front of the store. He’d only seen one guy out there on the street, and it seemed like there was only one other guy in this store, somewhere back there in the darkness. But there were surely more of them.
He only had a split second to make a decision. He couldn’t go out through the back of the store now; it was too dark and that man with the southern drawl was hiding somewhere back there, most likely with a gun. The man would already know the layout of this place better than Ray would, and he might even have some kind of night vision goggles; he might be watching them right now.
No, Ray would have to take his chance at the front of the store. They would have to get out onto the sidewalk again and then move north away from their vehicle. They needed to get across the street and up into those hills.
“You’re in our town now, chickies,” the man said. “You need to pay the tax. You can’t run from the tax man. You know that, don’t you?”
The man didn’t sound like he was getting any closer.
“We need to know what kind of weapons you got,” the man called out.
Ray wished to God that he had a gun right now. He caught Mike’s terrified eyes for just a second. He leaned toward his son and pulled his head close, his lips right up to Mike’s ear. “We’re going to go out the front,” he whispered. He was sure that Emma’s sensitive hearing was picking up his words. “You just get ready and do exactly what I tell you.”
He was afraid Mike was going to question his orders, but he just nodded as unshed tears formed in his eyes.
“We’ve got two guns,” Ray yelled from where they were crouched behind the bed. “And we don’t want any trouble.” He hoped he sounded strong and confident; he hoped he was selling this lie.
The man in the back of the store didn’t say anything for a moment, perhaps thinking things over. The man was being cautious, so he already suspected them of having at least one gun. Maybe Ray could use the man’s caution against him.
“We’ve got a truck full of supplies out there,” Ray yelled, still trying to sound strong, trying not to let his voice waver or crack. “You can have all of it. Just let us walk out of here.”
“We’ll let you walk,” the man called back, “but you’re going to have to give up those guns first.”
Emma moved closer to Ray and whispered into his ear. “They won’t let us leave. They’re with him.”
Ray felt a shiver dance across his skin. He didn’t need to ask her who she was talking about, he already knew—the shadowy man they’d seen in their dreams, the man with the shining eyes. She was right, these men would never let them go, and if the men let them live, then it would only be so they could take them to the shadowy man.
“You give yourselves up now and we’ll be easy on you,” the man from the back of the store said. He still sounded like he was in the same place, like he hadn’t ventured closer at all.
Ray looked at the front windows again, looking for the tall man he’d seen by their SUV. But the man was nowhere in sight of the windows from this vantage point. Maybe the tall man was still standing beside their SUV, not willing to come any closer. But the tall man was waiting for them to leave, ready to shoot at them as soon as he saw them.
It was probably a suicide mission to go out the front, but what else could he do?
Ray had an idea. The tall man outside would be watching the door at the other end of the store, expecting them to go back out through the door, not the window at the other end of the store. Ray saw something he could use to shatter the window—a heavy end table next to one of the beds up there.
“Come on,” he whispered to Mike.
Ray led the way. Mike and Emma followed.
He got to the front of the store by the windows and darted out around the bed, standing up so he could grab the end table. The piece of furniture was even heavier than Ray had expected, but he was strong and he had more than enough adrenaline running through his veins at that moment. He hurled the end table at the window and it shatt
ered the pane of glass as it crashed through, landing on the sidewalk outside and rolling away.
Ray grabbed his golf club from the floor. “Come on!” he yelled at Emma and Mike, but they were already running forward. He expected to hear gunfire from the back of the store at any moment, or gunfire from the street. But no one was shooting yet.
“Go!” Ray yelled as he swung the golf club at the bottom of the window, knocking the last bits of jagged glass out of the way. Mike was up and over the bottom of the window frame, and then he turned and held his hands out to help Emma. Ray hopped out through the window and onto the glass-littered street.
Neither of the men had fired their weapons yet. The man at the back of the store had yelled something at them after Ray had shattered the window, but Ray hadn’t heard what he’d said.
They’re not shooting at us. That means they don’t want to kill us, or maybe even wound us. No, they’re saving us for something else . . . something much worse.
Ray grabbed Emma’s hand and ran down the sidewalk, heading north to the next cross street. He wanted to get across the street and head to the hills, but first he wanted to get as far away from the tall man with the gun as he could. Mike was beside Ray and Emma, and then he was a step ahead of them as he bolted down the sidewalk.
A gunshot rang out from behind them. Then two more shots. It had to be the tall man shooting, but he’d never yelled at them to stop, he’d never said anything.
For a second Ray was afraid one of them had been hit, but he still ran, doing his best not to drag Emma.
The tall man isn’t shooting at us; he’s firing at the air.
The three of them made it to the end of the block where a small street intersected with the main street of the town. There were more cars and trucks lined up beside the sidewalk on the next block, all of them with flat tires.
How many people had these men robbed? How many people had they killed?
They had no choice but to keep running up the street. He wanted to get across the street, but he still wanted to get farther away from the men behind them. As they crossed the small street to the next block of businesses, Ray risked a glance back behind them. He saw the tall man running down the middle of the street after them.
When Ray turned back around, he felt Emma’s grip tighten on his hand. Mike skidded to a stop.
A man dressed in camouflage fatigues stepped out from the doorway of a business and aimed his pistol right at them.
CHAPTER 3
Ray
Ray’s heart was thudding as he stopped on the sidewalk, still holding Emma’s hand. Mike was two steps ahead of them. Ray could hear the other two men running up the sidewalk behind them, their footfalls echoing throughout the silent town.
The man in front of them smiled. His long gray hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, his stained baseball cap on backwards. His camouflage clothes didn’t seem to go together, a mishmash of stuff he’d picked up while looting stores or robbing the owners of these cars and trucks at gunpoint. He wore black combat boots and fingerless black gloves. But the most disturbing thing about the man was the two letters carved into the middle of his forehead—an A with a D around it.
“Chickies,” the man from behind them called out in his southern drawl. “Where you running to?”
Ray didn’t bother turning around. He kept his eyes on the man in front of him, the man aiming his gun at them. The symbol carved into the man’s forehead was red and puffy, possibly infected. It was the same symbol Ray had just seen spray-painted on a few of the vehicles and businesses in this town.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Ray said, still trying to sound strong. He still had his golf club in one hand and Emma’s hand in the other. She hadn’t let go of his hand, and now she was squeezing it hard. “We have a vehicle full of supplies. You can have everything. Just let us go.”
The gray-haired man stared at Ray, locking eyes with him. The man’s dull blue eyes were darkened under his thick brow. He looked beyond Ray at the men behind them. “Pat them down.”
“Okay, chickies,” the man said from behind Ray as he patted him down roughly, searching for weapons. He tore the golf club out of Ray’s hand and tossed it away behind him, chuckling as he did it. The golf club landed on the sidewalk a few feet away. “Where’s all the guns you said you had?” the man asked, his rotten breath washing over Ray’s shoulder.
Ray didn’t answer.
“He’s clean,” the man told the gray-haired man, and then he moved to Emma, patting her down more gently than he’d done to Ray, taking his time with her. Ray felt her hand stiffen in his a little with tension while the man touched her.
“She doesn’t have anything on her,” Ray told the man.
“Shut up,” he said as he pulled Emma’s folded-up cane out of her hand and tossed it to the side.
“She needs that. She’s blind.”
“I said shut up,” the man growled at Ray, leaning close to him for a second. Then his attention was back on Emma. “That true? You blind?”
Emma didn’t answer.
“Answer me!” the man yelled.
Emma nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.
The man sighed and backed up a step away from Ray and Emma. “They’re both clean,” he said.
The gray-haired man gestured with his gun at Ray, pointing it at the street.
Ray hesitated, but then he felt a shove from behind him. “Get out on the street.” This was a deeper voice, not the man from the mattress store, but the tall one who had been waiting by their SUV. “We’re gonna see what kind of goodies you’ve got in your truck.”
Ray nodded at Mike and he still held Emma’s hand as they walked between two vehicles into the street that was littered with trash and dead leaves.
“Yeah, let’s see what they’ve got,” the man who’d been inside the mattress store said and sniffled.
Ray looked at the two men, finally getting a good look at them. The man who’d been in the mattress store was younger than the other two men, maybe only in his late teens or early twenties. He was scrawny and jumpy, twitchy. He had a few days’ worth of stubble on his face and unruly curly hair poking out from underneath a baseball cap. His eyes were wide, and he was constantly licking his lips. He looked like some kind of junkie who needed a hit of meth. Like the other two men, he wore a mishmash of fatigues, black and camouflage clothing that somewhat resembled military attire, but more of a hobbyist’s attempt at assembling combat gear. And like the other two men, the junkie had the same symbol carved into his forehead.
“What’s that symbol on your forehead mean?” Ray asked the junkie as they walked down the street towards their wrecked SUV. He still held Emma’s hand as they walked.
“Shut up,” the tall man said. “Keep walking.”
Ray was trying to get a reading on these men as they walked down the street together. He was sure he could take the junkie, but the other two men seemed like they’d had some kind of training, possibly military training.
They walked past the white van with the smiling cartoon electrician on the side of it with R&M Electrical stenciled above him and the contact information below. But the advertisement was covered over with the DA symbol, painted in bright red paint. Ray had a moment to study the symbol. The letter D and an A. “D A,” Ray said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I said shut up,” the tall man growled again. He led the way with the gray-haired man behind them with his gun aimed at them. The junkie walked beside them, hopping excitedly from one foot to the next as he walked.
Ray looked at the junkie.
The junkie grinned at Ray. “You guys must be pretty important.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Shut up,” the gray-haired man behind them snapped at the junkie.
The junkie looked suddenly frightened, his eyes bugging out even more as he nodded.
“We’re not important,” Ray said. “We’re nobody. You can have our stuff. Just let us be on our way.�
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“We’re gonna see what you got,” the tall man said as he walked towards their SUV. “See if you got any weapons inside.”
“We don’t.”
“Or medicine,” the junkie said.
The tall man turned around when he got to the SUV, the front end rammed into the side of the Ford Taurus. He moved towards the rear of the vehicle, peeking in the windows as the gray-haired man came around from behind them and stood in front of them—he seemed to be the leader of this group.
“Where’s the other one?” the gray-haired man asked, staring at Ray with his dull, lifeless eyes.
Ray shook his head slightly. “What other one?”
CHAPTER 4
Ray
The gray-haired man stared at Ray for a few seconds, then asked his question again in a monotone voice. “Where’s the other one?”
“What other one? I don’t know who you’re talking about?”
“The other one with you,” the gray-haired man said in a calm voice. Even though his voice was calm, Ray could feel that the man was going to explode into action at any moment now.
“There’s no one else with us,” Ray told him. “Just us three.”
The leader let out a long sigh. The junkie was still off to the side, a gun in his hand now. He was fidgeting and smiling. Ray was sure the junkie was going to start jumping up and down and giggling with excitement any second now. It was like the junkie had seen this expression on his leader’s face many times before, and he knew what was coming next—violence.
Yes, violence was coming next, and Ray needed to think of a way out of this. There was obviously no talking their way out of this, so it was going to come down to violence.
One good thing, at least it seemed like there were only three of them. The bad news was that they were all armed with guns. If he could just get to the leader, disarm him somehow, or create some kind of distraction. Maybe when one or two of them started looking through the stuff in the SUV, he would have his chance. But the tall man hadn’t even opened the back door yet, even though he stood near the rear of the vehicle; he didn’t seem very interested anymore in what they had in there. None of them did.