“Our lives are much more than just the baggage, love.” Devin winks at her, backing away toward the store. “Remember that.”
Devin’s smile and charm disappear once his shoes crunch over the fragments of broken glass littering the parking lot. “Speaking of baggage,” he shouts back to Abd, “well, come on then!” The fireman glances cautiously about. His hands tremble, holding the sharp metal door frame. Devin takes a deep breath before ducking into the darkening market.
* * *
Isabel sifts through the change of clothes and maternity magazines dumped out upon the black asphalt. She picks up her purple and gray University of Washington sweatshirt and pulls it on. A smile of immense satisfaction spreads across her face. The warm felt lining never felt so good.
The corners of an ultrasound photo flutter on the concrete, threatening to blow away in the wind.
“Congratulations,” Terra whispers, picking up the picture. Her voice is like the purest of music. Terra’s piercing blue eyes look hard into the high contrast image, wondering if one life can make up for so many others lost.
Isabel looks sharply back at her. Surprise at the mute woman’s words turns into a nurturing smile, so full of pride it almost glows. “Girl,” Isabel says, raising an eyebrow playfully, “after the first three, you don’t congratulate anymore. Trust me.”
The flight attendant peers over Terra’s shoulder at her baby’s first trimester. Looking at the tiny features in her ultrasound, Isabel’s heart aches to see her family.
“Boy or girl?” Terra asks.
“My husband and I want this one to be a surprise,” Isabel says. “This will be our fourth, so it’s about the only surprise we’ve got left.”
“Are you…” Terra begins, looking up from the photo with dread.
“Oh, yes,” Isabel reassures. She lays a hand on her stomach. “We’re fine, thank God. I can still feel the little rascal squirming in there. They like to kick your ribs and stand on your bladder for some damn reason. Adds to the mothering experience, I guess.” Feeling with her right hand to mark a spot, Isabel reaches out with the other to Terra. “Here.”
Isabel takes the hesitant girl’s hand and holds it to her stomach. Terra squints, trying to feel any signs of life. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. Delicate toes push against the teenager’s fingers.
“Feel that?” Isabel asks.
Terra smiles broadly, feeling the amazement of new hope growing inside.
BOOM!!!
Terra’s head snaps up as gunfire flashes from inside the store. The sound thunders across the parking lot. Crowds around them scatter, fleeing from the echoes of death.
Chris jumps up. Adrenaline instantly shoots through his athletic veins. He looks into the black just past the shattered door, pushing his own darkness down. His feet dig in, readying like a coiled viper.
“Don’t!” Isabel screams. She grabs at Chris’s arm.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Izz. Okay?” His dark eyes flicker, begging to prove themselves. “They need my help.”
“Chris…” Isabel starts. The stubborn resolve of his mother is etched into the 17-year-old’s face.
“I’ll be right back,” he says calmly. The basketball star loosens the fingers wrapped around his arm and backs away. He looks into Terra’s fearful blue eyes for just a moment, trying to reassure her. Without another word, Chris spins and lunges into the store.
Chapter 22
“Chris!” Isabel’s voice echoes from behind. The teen stops several feet inside of the store’s entryway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Broken glass sparkles back bright rays of light setting through the windows. All power is off within the building. Torn bags of food litter the slick linoleum aisles.
To his left, Chris’s eyes lock onto a body lying face-down by one of the registers. The contents of both now spread across the floor. He stares in dread at the murdered man and the forming pool of blood around him, quickening his pace down the front of the store.
Chris glances back and forth from the aisles to the glistening crimson. His eyes are unable to break away from the body, even as his long legs continue on. Gruesomely entranced, he doesn’t even hear the footsteps before it’s too late.
The basketball star slams headlong into two men turning out of the frozen food section.
“What the hell’s your problem?!” Derrick Leong screams, pushing the teenager back. Shotgun in hand, the ex-felon eyes Chris coldly. The Japanese symbol for war is stitched into the skin just beside his left eye. Light glints off the steel 12-gauge barrel in his hands.
Fear begins to churn deep inside Chris. The man’s eyes aren’t just vacant. They’re terrifying—empty of any doubt or restraint.
Behind Derrick, a heavyset black man with a barbwire tattoo encircling his neck adjusts the large bag over his shoulder. His hardened face looks like it was carved with a hatchet.
“No worries,” Chris mutters in a shaking voice. Slowly, he raises his hands.
Derrick’s blinding white eyes flash. Shadows surround them, swallowing the black void around the Asian’s tattoo.
Chris moves to the side. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to block the intense smell of gunpowder and death from the body 20 feet behind them. But it lingers, ravenously beginning to feed upon his courage.
“Oh, there’s reason to worry,” Derrick sneers. He loudly cocks his shotgun, advancing on the teenager. Even though Chris stands more than a foot taller, his large body shrinks away. The tattooed Asian smiles wickedly. “Just a little bitch.” Derrick takes a quick, provocative step towards Chris, grinning as the basketball star flinches again from the sound. “Aren’t you?” Derrick leans close to Chris and lays the cold barrel of the shotgun on his shoulder. “You scared?” he whispers.
Gritting his teeth, Chris’s 6’7” frame stands frozen. His muscles refuse to move.
“You should be,” Derrick continues softly. “Just give me your money and this will all go away.” The stink of hard alcohol on the man’s breath burns in Chris’s nose.
The intimidating teen is silent. His mind races. The fearful doubts of courage and consequence blur together into immobility. He finally opens his eyes, trying to summon strength from his trembling body.
Derrick leans back and crushes it instantly. He smashes the butt of the shotgun hard into Chris’s right shoulder. “Are you stupid?!” Derrick shrieks. The shrill sound is like a sharpening knife. He viciously grabs the back of Chris’s head and forces it down, screaming each deafening word into his ear. “Do…You…Have…Money?!”
“No,” Chris spits out. His throat tightens. The muscles in his shoulder start to throb, shooting pain all the way down to his fingers.
“You better hope so.” Derrick flings Chris’s neck away and grabs at his pockets. The tattooed Asian rummages into the back ones, tearing out a wallet. His evil eyes narrow.
“No…No…No!” Derrick says, throwing plastic card after plastic card at the teenager’s face. He hurls the wallet down the aisle and pushes the gun barrel up into Chris’s cheek. “Well, what good are you then?”
Derrick’s index finger settles eagerly onto the curved trigger.
Chris’s knees buckle as he realizes he’s going to die. Thoughts and prayers for his parents are irrevocably forgotten, replaced with his own burning appeals to survive. Please, God…
“Oh, I think you’re scared now.” Derrick leans closer. Chris can feel the Asian’s drunken voice on his skin. “Aren’t you?”
Derrick smiles, his face barren of any control. Only rage flashes from his black eyes. Slowly, his finger squeezes the trigger.
A group of looters come around the corner of the front walkway. They stop, looking with concern at the confrontation. Several other hungry bodies climb through the broken door and begin into the store unaware.
“Come on, man,” the barbwire thug grunts out, adjusting the heavy strap slung across his shoulder. “It’s gettin’ busy in here.”
Unconcerned, the tattooed Asian s
tarts to pull the trigger again. But the black man suddenly grabs his arm. Derrick spins, glaring back with fierce eyes.
“Let’s get the hell out of here! Okay?” The hulking black man pushes past him and heads toward the front.
Derrick hesitates for just a moment before thrusting the gun barrel back into Chris’s face. “Be seeing you later,” he spits. The Asian raises the weapon up to his shoulder, slamming it into Chris as he passes.
Glass crunches under their savage feet. It sounds like bones cracking in the distance.
Chris collapses to a knee, his breath roaring out. The teenager coughs and gasps for air. The sick twisting in his stomach almost makes him gag. He glances fearfully behind him before forcing his shaking legs to stand. “Devin,” he shouts weakly. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is sand. “Devin!!” Chris yells louder. He stumbles forward in search of the fireman.
As he nears the far end of the store, Devin emerges from the last aisle. Isabel’s black bag is slung behind him, stuffed full of food. Abd soon follows, his sling now bulging with bags of wheat crackers and water bottles. Devin’s grin fades when he sees the shaken look in the teen’s eyes. “I’m fine,” the fireman says reassuringly. “That gunshot was up front somewhere.” He looks around for Isabel and Terra. “Where are…”
“We need to get out of here,” Chris interrupts hoarsely. A silent panic screams from his eyes. “Now.”
“Okay,” Devin says, his own eyes narrowing. There’s something in Chris’s face that worries him. The kid doesn’t scare easily, but he looks terrified.
Devin opens his bag and digs through it as they set off towards the front. “There wasn’t a lot left. I got some snacks, a couple of drinks, and some signal flares if we need them.” His hand shakes. It pauses as he touches the gentle curves of another pleasure, slipped casually into the bag. “That was about it,” he hurriedly continues. “Abd grabbed some health crappers and bubble water.”
“Wheat crackers,” Abd corrects, “called Tasaly. And carbonated water. It helps settle my stomach.”
“Whatever tugs your sails, mate,” Devin says. He looks questioningly back at the 17-year-old. A strange fear is growing in the basketball star’s usually frightening eyes. “What’s going on, Chris?”
Chris strides faster and faster past the aisle mouths. His athletic limbs speed by the firefighter, angling toward the broken doorway’s light.
Shouts of survival break out from behind them. The store’s shelves are almost empty. Hands claw and fight for the scraps of food still left, the battle of need over civility reducing man to his truest form.
“Chris?” Devin asks again. The redhead’s shorter legs quicken into a jog, struggling just to keep up.
As they duck through the shattered glass door, Chris’s heart stops cold. Isabel’s horrific screams echo back across the concrete. The sound sends tremors into the frigid air, and anyone still alive to hear it.
Chapter 23
The pregnant flight attendant lies in a daze. Her body writhes in pain upon the cracked asphalt. The blooming white dots in her eyes slowly fade from glowing snow back to the colorless reality all around her. “Terra!!” Isabel shrieks. She rolls to her side, breathing deeply. Thoughts swim in a sudden sea of confusion.
Groggily, Isabel gets to a knee. She puts a hand up to the right side of her face, feeling it begin to bruise. “Terra!!” she screams again. Isabel looks with blurred eyes at the blood on her hands. She presses against the gash pulsing from her cheek.
Devin and Chris hurtle through the parking lot toward her. There’s no sign of the dark-haired girl she was with. Terra is gone. Isabel’s ultrasound photo sits in a dirty puddle, the image wrinkling away in the water.
“What happened?” Devin yells. His own hands tremble as he tries to steady the pregnant woman. Her eyes flicker across the parking lot, searching for any glimpse of the traumatized teen in her care.
“They took Terra! I couldn’t…” Isabel stammers. Her head whips around.
“Who?” Devin yells, grabbing her shoulders. “Who took her?”
“Two men with tattoos and a shotgun,” Isabel gasps. Her body begins to shake.
The words discharge like a gunshot through Chris’s stomach. The basketball star doubles over, his body heaving.
“They just…” Isabel fades off. She winces, feeling the shotgun handle slamming again into her face.
“Where?!” Devin shouts.
“I don’t know!” She points to the side of the store. “I think they went around!”
The innocence in Terra’s sapphire eyes burns into Chris’s mind. Unquenchable anger at his own cowardice builds with it. The thoughts feed—igniting into a violent rage.
Chris lunges forward and roars toward the back alley of the grocery store. Like a runner launched from the starting gate, his long legs quickly begin to blur over the uneven ground. Cars and people scream past.
“Chris, wait!” Devin shouts. He takes off after the basketball star just as the sun disappears below the horizon.
* * *
“No!!” Terra screams. Her melodic voice cracks in horror. The terrified cry bounces back across the alley, its naivety shattering into thousands of irreplaceable pieces.
“Shut up!” Derrick shouts into her face. The waning light disappears into his black war tattoo. He rips at Terra’s thin upper arm. His fingers pierce her skin like talons. The sun’s fading rays swallow them whole, forcing her unwilling body to succumb to their shadows.
“Help me!” Terra shrieks as loudly as she can behind her. Someone has to help. Someone has to come and stop this horror before it has begun. But people just walk by the alleyway, looking sympathetically toward her before moving on.
“Shut the hell up!” the Asian screams, slapping Terra with the back of one scarred hand. Derrick throws the young woman down on the ground and stands over her in the darkness.
She crawls back, eyes filled with panic. The predators tower over her. Unleashed. Ravenous.
“Don’t…” she cries. Her pure blue eyes beg them to stop.
“Shh…” Derrick puts a finger suggestively to his mouth. The ex-felon smiles, handing the shotgun to his partner. He drops to his knees and forces her hands away. Derrick tears the letterman jacket buttons apart, pushing her blue blouse up. The pink lace bra shimmers in the darkness. Savagery spreads with the grin across his face.
Derrick unzips his pants and climbs on top of her shuddering body. His partner watches on, his own eagerness growing. Only the barbwire tattoos around his neck and the whites of his eyes shine back from the shadows.
“Please…God…” Terra pleads softly. Tears run down her beautiful face. Hands full of scars and purpose rip at the buttons of her pants. She pushes them back with all of her strength. But the pulsing weight continues to crush down upon her.
“Shh…” Derrick whispers into her ear. His hot breath burns on her skin—like prey at the kiss of a dragon. “He can’t help you now.”
The Asian pulls her jeans down and shoves the front of her silk underwear aside. Derrick’s body quivers. His barbarous lust overpowers everything but itself. Begging. Commanding its release…
A brilliant, red flare flies over their heads like a flaming arrow of hope from the heavens. It illuminates the colored silhouettes of all three figures, bouncing and hissing behind them.
Derrick spins toward the sound of uninvited footsteps. The urges inside shriek at the delay.
Enraged screams grow louder and louder from the darkness. The deep sound is chilling. Primal. Derrick’s eyes widen, doubt suddenly coursing through him. Long legs blur up the alley and into the red light.
Chris’s wrath grows with each rapid step. His eyes are steel. The basketball star viciously smashes the thug in the face with a two-by-four at full sprint. Derrick’s head snaps back, his limp body arcing off of Terra. Chris instantly reverses his swing and slams the board into Derrick’s tattooed face again. And again. The wood finally shatters in his bloody hands.
Devin struggles against the much larger man, feeling his muscles crumple under the thug’s brute strength. Flickers of Terra’s mother flash in his mind. The loving hands of mother and daughter are ripped apart, replaced by a look of horror as the flames consume every life left in its path… The anger inside him explodes.
Devin digs and tears with a fury he’s never known before. He wrestles the gun away, slamming the end of it into the tattooed man’s neck and head, over and over.
“Please…” the thug chokes.
Without hesitation, Devin cocks the weapon and leans back, firing it pointblank into the black man’s face. Echoes bounce all around the bloody fireman. He can still feel the vibration in his ears as he fires it again. His arms pump and churn from atop the mutilated body, firing the shotgun once more. Devin cocks and squeezes the trigger again. But the weapon’s fatal fury is now only a meek and empty sound in his hands.
CLICK…CLICK…CLICK…
Chris tries to lift Terra up. Her hands scratch and fight against him. She backs away into the darkness, cowering in victimized shame.
“It’s okay,” Chris says. The exotic woman’s face is streaked with dirt and pain. “They can’t hurt you now.”
He holds his arms out, leaning down to look into her haunted blue eyes. Tenderness and immeasurable loss flicker just below the surface of their fading sapphire color. The shadows around them seem to envelope even the smallest tints of hope. Terra buries her head into Chris’s shoulder, beginning to sob uncontrollably.
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