by E S Richards
Chapter 6
Doing as he had been instructed, Blake picked up the radio from underneath the counter in Vic’s little corner store. The shotgun that the shop owner had pointed at him earlier still lay across it, the barrel aimed directly at the door. For the millionth time in such a short span, Blake reminded himself how lucky he had been. He was in for the long haul with Vic now, just the two of them hunkered down in the old store for however long it took. Blake hoped it wouldn’t be forever, but he knew they had to do whatever was necessary in order to survive in the aftermath of what had happened. He was just making his way back to Vic when a flurry of loud bangs on the security gate outside echoed through the store, the noise drowning out whatever safety Blake had momentarily felt there. Someone had found them.
Vic swore under his breath in whatever his native language was, the Eastern European standing at Blake’s side before the bangs had ended. “Stay quiet,” he whispered under his breath. “They don’t know that we’re in here.”
“I know you’re in there, Vic!” A shout came from outside, causing both Blake and Vic to wince simultaneously. “I saw you close the place up. You’re not planning on staying in there alone this whole time, are you? I reckon you could do with some company!”
The man outside punctuated the end of his sentence with more bangs on the gate, the clanging echoing through the store and hurting Blake’s ears. He didn’t know what to say. Whoever was out there sounded dangerous and Blake definitely didn’t want to let them inside. He realized, though, that it wasn’t his decision at all. By coming into Vic’s store and choosing to stay inside, he was now at the mercy of the man’s decisions. Like it or not, Blake had to go with whatever Vic decided to do.
“Do you know who that is?” Blake whispered back, looking at Vic hopefully as he saw the man weighing up his options.
“I’m not sure,” Vic replied, “but I’ve got a pretty good idea. And neither of the men I’m thinking of are likely to go away without a fight.”
“Then what do we—”
Blake’s question was cut short by more banging outside, the outsider getting angry that he wasn’t being given what he wanted. “Come on, Vic!” The shouts came again, undoubtedly attracting attention outside if there was anyone else around. “Just let me in and that’ll be the end of it. You don’t want me to come back with all my boys, do you?”
Blake shot Vic a look of horror; he didn’t like the sound of that threat. He was certain that other people outside would have already gotten wind of what was happening. If even a dozen people decided they wanted a piece of what was inside the store then they didn’t stand much of a choice. Sure they were kitted out inside, but the security gate was just as old and basic as any other store’s in the city. Then, once they were open it was touch and go where the advantage would lie.
“Boys?” Blake whispered, trying to hide the fear from his voice. He was a big man himself, and while his career may have been one that pushed him into dangerous situations, they were all fabricated for drama and more often than not he chose to avoid conflict if he could. “Who are his boys?”
Vic placed a finger over his lips, indicating for Blake to be quiet. The man was clearly thinking of something, but Blake had absolutely no idea what. The mystery of it all made him even more nervous, his hands balled up into fists to hide the tremor in them. Looking around the store and knowing what was in the back room, Blake gave them pretty strong odds of surviving if this one man managed to break his way in. The entrance to the store was a bottleneck and theoretically they could pick people off one by one if they needed to. But there was still an element of Blake that was unsure.
Technically he had known Vic for several years and he interacted with him almost every day. He came in and bought the overpriced milk and bread, knowing he could save at least fifty cents at the chain store farther down the road but choosing to support independent businesses nonetheless. He had turned a blind eye when he became aware of the shady dealings Vic managed from the back room, not wanting to be involved or cause any trouble for any of the parties involved. But knowing all that, did Blake really trust this man? Perhaps he had acted too quickly in his decision to stay with Vic. Perhaps he had made the wrong choice after all. His apartment building might not be well protected or contain any necessary supplies to get through this natural disaster, but at least that would be the only problem he’d be dealing with. No one was hunting him down. No one wanted any of his hidden treasures. He may have been unprepared, but at least he wasn’t a target.
“This is your last chance, Vic!” the man shouted from outside again, anger rising in his voice as he slammed his fist—or something—into the gate again. “I’m giving you ten seconds or I’m going to get my boys and then we’re coming back here to take what we deserve.”
There was a pause, where Blake looked at Vic frantically, begging for him to say something.
“Ten… Nine…”
“What are you going to do?” Blake whispered anxiously, more than aware that they were running out of time.
“Eight…”
“Can’t you just let him in? Give him what he wants?”
“Seven… Six…”
Blake was at his wit’s end. He considered shouting out himself and interacting with the man, but when he opened his mouth to call, he found his voice had escaped him. He was ashamed. Why was he so terrified? This wasn’t how he had been raised to be. But with the countdown continuing outside, Blake felt like his life quite literally hung in the balance.
“Five seconds, Vic! Are you sure this is how you want things to go down?”
“Okay!” Suddenly Vic spoke, shouting the word so loudly in Blake’s ear that it caused him to stumble backwards. “Okay, Jenson, I hear you. What do you want?”
“Aha!” What sounded like laughter came from outside, Jenson clearly thrilled he had finally gotten a response. “I knew you were in there, Vic. What took you so long?”
“Just tell me what you want, Jenson. I’ll bring it out to you, but I’m not letting you come in my store. Okay?”
“Okay, Vic, you’re the boss. I’ll take the usual, except triple the order this time. And throw in a few of those special deliveries you received earlier this week. That should just about cover it.”
“You got it, my friend,” Vic replied. “Just give me a few minutes to pull it all together.”
“You’ve got five.” Jenson responded, banging on the gate five more times to get his point across. “I’ll be waiting.”
Blake looked at Vic in surprise after the exchange, increasingly curious about what the man was about to do. Neither of them said anything for several seconds, a fact that didn’t escape Blake considering how little time Jenson had given them to get everything together. What had he even wanted? The usual and the special deliveries. Shaking his head slightly to himself, Blake realized just how far in over his head he was.
“So?” the stuntman questioned. “What are we going to do? Are we giving him what he asked for?”
“Like hell we are,” Vic replied. “I’m not letting that thug order me around like he owns the place. He’s not getting squat.”
Blake paled. “Well, then what are we going to do? Surely if we don’t give him something he’s going to come back here with his boys?”
Vic laughed, turning away from Blake and making his way into the back room.
“Four minutes, Vic!” The shout came from outside, accompanied by four loud bangs on the security gate.
“I’m not afraid of his boys,” Vic sneered as he looked around the back room, choosing his weapon from the wall carefully. “I’ve had quite enough of them coming in here over the years and thinking they can underpay for goods. Just because what I do back here isn’t legal doesn’t mean it’s not still a business, my friend. There may not be laws involved but you can still have manners. Back where I’m from, that’s what is most important. Manners and your word. If you won’t give a man your word then you’re not a man at all.”
&n
bsp; Looking at Vic, Blake found himself agreeing with exactly what was said. They were the same values that he prided himself on carrying in his everyday life. He didn’t want any trouble, but he would still always stand up for what was right if he could. He would never let anyone walk over him or make him appear like he was less than he was worth.
“Okay,” Blake nodded. “I’m with you. But what are you going to do?”
The call for three minutes remaining echoed through from the front of the store, but neither of the men inside turned their heads. Vic had taken down a sniper rifle from the wall and was checking the weapon now to make sure it was functioning. Blake wasn’t an expert on weapons, but he didn’t think Vic needed anything that long-range if he was going to walk out the front and challenge Jenson to a fight.
“I may have misled you a little bit about the truth earlier my friend,” Vic spoke up, slinging the rifle over his back with confidence. “There is another way out of this store. Something I had designed several years ago when I first started this business venture.” Vic opened his arms wide and gestured to all the illegal contraband in the back of his store. Blake wasn’t surprised he had a contingency plan or an escape route, but from what he had seen so far, he had no idea where it might be.
“Give me a leg up, will you, my friend?”
Blake finally looked up above his head, noticing a small trapdoor in the roof. It was built into the corner of the room, nestled away so that it was easily overlooked, just as Blake had earlier. Furrowing his brow, he wondered where it led. The corner store that Vic inhabited was in the bottom of an apartment building. The building above it went on for roughly twenty stories; surely there wouldn’t be any way out until he reached the top of that.
“There isn’t,” Vic smiled, noticing the look on Blake’s face and understanding what he was thinking. “I need to climb. And climb high. But once I’m up on the roof I will be able to aim down and take out our little friend outside. Don’t you worry about that factor.”
“How long will it take you?”
“Ah,” Vic nodded at the question, Jenson’s shout of two minutes erupting at that very moment. “Longer than two minutes, I’m afraid. But don’t worry; I’ll be the only one coming into this store once I leave. I promise you that, my friend. You can trust me.”
Blake didn’t have a choice. It was exactly like he had realized earlier: by coming into Vic’s store and choosing to stay inside, he was at the mercy of the man’s decisions. Like it or not, Blake was going to be waiting inside while Vic scaled the building to the roof and tried to shoot down the madman outside.
“Okay,” Blake replied, knowing this was his only option, knitting his hands together to form a mesh which Vic could stand in. “Good luck.”
Using all his strength, Blake hoisted Vic up through the trapdoor above them and watched as he disappeared into the darkness. He could hear him for a short while, but quickly enough even that sound faded away and he was left in silence.
“One minute, Vic!” Jenson hammered on the gate outside. “You better not be playing around with me!”
Blake took a deep breath and moved out of the back room and into the main store again. Picking up the shotgun that lay across the counter, he pointed it at the door and waited. Listening to his own breathing and his heart pounding away in his chest. There was literally nothing else he could do now. He’d put all his faith and trust in Vic and he just had to sit and hope that the man who was scuttling up to the roof made it there before Jenson and his boys stormed the store. If they broke down the gate and found their way inside before it was too late, Blake was certain that would be the end for him.
“Ten seconds, Vic! You’re cutting this a little close, don’t you think?”
Blake swallowed. How long would it take for Vic to get to the roof? He’d admitted longer than two minutes, but how much longer? Three minutes? Ten minutes? Again, the uncertainty was killing him.
“Nine… Eight…”
The countdown had started again. Just like it had before Vic had finally spoken. Just like it had before Blake’s panic almost got the better of him.
“Seven… Six… Five… Four…”
This was it. The moment of truth.
“Three… Two… One…”
Blake squeezed his eyes closed and held his breath as he heard a single gunshot erupt and then nothing. Silence. Was it over? Or were things about to get a whole lot worse?
Chapter 7
Dropping the planks of wood and the rolled-up tarp on the kitchen table, Chase tugged off his Re-Breather and inhaled a large gulp of clean air. He was impressed by how well the device Riley and his grandma had made worked, but there was still a funny taste to it and he felt a little like a cartoon villain with it strapped to his face. The main thing was that it worked though. He was back inside after venturing out to the barn for supplies and his airways hadn’t been contaminated with volcanic ash or whatever else was floating around out there. He’d heard his pop’s cough earlier and saw how frail the old man looked. The last thing Chase wanted was for that to get any worse.
Scooping up his armful of supplies, Chase did one last check to make sure he’d gotten everything before heading back upstairs to Riley’s room. There wasn’t much, really, which made him a bit worried about how well it would hold up, but like everyone else, he knew it was all they could do. Dumping it all on the floor in his sister’s bedroom, Chase noticed that his grandfather had gotten to work on sanding down the edges of the water-beaten hole.
“How’s it going?”
“Not bad,” Pop nodded in reply. “I’m just trying to straighten these edges out a bit so it’s easier to nail the planks in. Did you find everything we need?”
“Wood. Tarp. Hammer. Nails.” Chase listed everything off matter-of-factly, the simple DIY job not posing much of an issue for the two men.
“Great,” Pop smiled. “Pass a couple of them here and I’ll check the sizing.”
Handing his grandfather some of the materials, Chase took a step back to watch him work. The old man had always been brilliant with his hands and even in his old age, his fingers seemed to move quicker and more precisely than Chase could ever manage. In minutes he had the area measured and had selected the correct planks they would need to nail across.
The plan was to affix three boards across the hole on the outside of the roof—as best they could without physically going outside. Then they would stretch the tarp over to act as the waterproofing element, and nail more boards in place inside the house for support. In theory, they figured this should stop the water from leaking into the house any further and keep the tarpaulin from blowing away.
“Okay, Chase,” Jerry started to speak, the two of them moving into position below the hole. “If I hold this in place here, can you reach around and hammer the nail in?”
After a bit of twisting and turning, in addition to Chase pulling over Riley’s desk chair so he could stand on it, they had the first plank of wood attached. It wasn’t the most magnificent piece of carpentry that had ever been performed, but as long as it did the job that was all that mattered. Both men pulled their Re-Breathers from their faces—Linda brought them up a few minutes into their task—and congratulated each other.
“One down, five more to go,” Pop smiled. “We should have this done by dinner time.”
Getting back in the zone and concentrating hard, the task quickly became quite enjoyable to Chase. He was able to switch his mind off and avoid thinking about his parents or the volcano or where Mia was. It was just him, his pop, a hammer, and a handful of nails. It reminded him of when he’d built the old tree house back at his parents’ house a few summers ago. It had taken him and three friends nearly a whole month, but once it was completed it was worth it. That had always been their base to catch up after practice or during the holidays. He hoped whoever had bought the house after they moved out had children who would enjoy it just as much; it’d be a shame for all his hard work to go to waste.
“L
ast nail, kid,” Jerry smiled at his grandson. “Do you want to do the honors?”
“Sure,” Chase grinned and took the nail from his grandfather, hammering it dramatically into the final piece of wood and stepping back to admire their handiwork. It wasn’t the prettiest design they’d ever seen, but it was working exactly as they’d planned it in their heads. The tarp barely flapped in the wind due to the wood on either side, and no water was seeping through into the bedroom. In both Chase and his grandfather’s eyes, that made their work a success.
“Fantastic,” Chase remarked after a few seconds of observation. “That was a lot easier that I’d have thought.”
“I told you son,” Pop placed a hand lovingly on his grandson’s shoulder. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Pleased with themselves, they both made their way downstairs to the smell of freshly cooked food, Riley and Linda working in the kitchen to get dinner ready for when they were finished.
Riley was elated to learn that her bedroom was repaired and that—if things went well—she would be able to move back in there once everything had dried out. She didn’t have anything against the spare back bedroom, but when they’d come to visit their grandparents in the past that had always been where her parents had slept. Call it superstition or whatever else, but Riley didn’t want to stay in there for too long. The memory and ghost of the scent of her parents lingered on everything in there, bringing back memories that were too painful for her to think about.
The four of them were sitting around by the fire in the kitchen after dinner just doing their own things when a strange sound caught their attention. Chase looked up from the book he was reading and furrowed his brow, trying to determine first of all what it was, and second of all, where it was coming from. Everyone else did the same as soon as they noticed it, turning their heads and sharing confused expressions with one another.