Sound of Survival (Book 2): Fight or Flight

by Patten, Sean

  None of the men said anything for several moments before one of them finally spoke up.

  “Dante,” said the man on the far right end of the line. “Is it…is it really an EMP or whatever they’re talking about? Is the power really out for good?”

  “Who knows?” said Dante. “I’ve got some solid sources that seem to think that’s the case. And they’ve been talking about it on the fucking news for the last day. I think it’d take more than a power plant or something breaking down to put the entire southwest in the dark.”

  “Either way,” he went on. “Doesn’t matter, because I want this shit locked down tight. We’ve still got millions’ worth of product on site, and tens of thousands of coked-up, drunk and panicked attendees out there. It’s chaos, and I don’t like chaos. Unless it’s chaos I’m causing, of course.”

  The men waited patiently for orders.

  “I had a feeling that shit was going to be out of hand when I showed up, and that’s why I brought nearly the entire fucking crew. And now there’s enough of us here to get this place under control. That means no fuck-ups, no excuses, and no incompetence!”

  Dante’s last words boomed through the warehouse, the men continued to stand as still as statues.

  “Now,” he said. “I want one of you to tell me how we’re going to play this.”

  “Secure the perimeter,” said the man with the red goatee. “Make sure no one comes or goes.”

  “Pre-fucking-cisely,” said Dante. “And as you all can see, that was the first thing I took care of when I decided to grace you all with my presence. I’ve got a few dozen men circling the place now sending the message that this place is locked down tight. Anyone tries to leave, they get warned. They ignore the warning and…they don’t get a second one.”

  He clasped his hands together and leaned back against the table behind him. “And what’s next?” he asked. “Come on, brainstorming time.”

  “We secure the warehouses,” said the short man on the end.

  “Perfect, perfect,” said Dante. “Imagine how upset I was to find out that Jason hadn’t managed to keep the merchandise away from the mobs. Well, you don’t need to imagine. Go take a look at him out there if you want to know.”

  “I’ll do it,” said the bald man. “I’ll secure the warehouses.”

  “Now,” said Dante. “That’s the kind of get-to-it-ness that I like to see from my men. And that’s right, we secure the warehouses.”

  He gestured to the space around him. “We lucked out with this one—doesn’t look like the teeming masses know about it yet. But they will soon, and I want to send the message right away that despite the EMP fuckery going on, backstage is still off-limits.”

  “Then we get the goods ready for the shipment,” said the bald man.

  “Exactly,” said Dante. “Power or no, the orders are for millions we’re on the hook for to go out later today. I want the distribution centers up and running, and I want the few cars that still work loaded up with that sweet, sweet white gold.”

  At that moment, one of Dante’s men hurried into the warehouse and stood still, waiting for his boss to notice him.

  “Speak,” said Dante.

  “The border’s secure,” the man said. “All the remaining attendees are on the concert grounds in front of the main stage.”

  “Excellent,” said Dante.

  The man cleared his throat and spoke again.

  “But…”

  “But?”

  “But…” the man said, going on as if he was afraid to say what he was about to. “It’s a bad scene in there. Place is a mess, and there’s only so much food and water. And more than that, the arena’s totally uncovered. Once the sun gets overhead those people in there are gonna get cooked alive, if they haven’t already killed each other getting to shade.”

  Dante didn’t hesitate before speaking.

  “As much as I admire your attention to detail,” he said, “I gotta be honest with you: I don’t give a fuck. We’re here for the product, not to make sure all the rich kids still here are nice and taken care of. We need to hold this place for a day, and the only way that’s going to happen is if we can get everyone in one place where they can’t fuck with our work. Got it?”

  The man paused for a moment, and I got the sense he was uncertain about his orders.

  “They’re going to die!” I hissed.

  But Ed only shot his finger to his mouth in response, making it clear that he didn’t want to hear another word out of me.

  “Got it, boss,” said the man before leaving, hesitation still in his voice.

  “So,” said Dante. “We’ve got a perimeter, we’ve got the masses nice and tucked away, and now we can start the process of taking back our warehouses. Just one more thing—we need some places to chill out while this all goes down.”

  He pointed to the bald man.

  “Take a team of men and head up to the VIP villas. We got any stragglers up there, you know the drill: one warning, and that’s it. Clear out a few of the houses and get some supplies ready. I’m going to take a little tour of the grounds and see just how fucked we are.”

  Dante clapped his hands together, this time loud enough for the echo to sting my ears.

  “Let’s move it people!” he said. “We’ve got millions’ worth of product that needs to be on the road by this time tomorrow! Sandy Vista crew report to me, the rest of you move out!”

  I froze mid-breath. Sandy Vista? He couldn’t be talking about…

  Ed grabbed my shoulder, taking me out of my shock. My attention turned back to Dante and his men, who were all in the process of heading out of the warehouse.

  “We need to move,” Ed said. “And get the fuck out of here before they build their base with us right in the middle of it. Come on!”

  Without waiting for me, Ed turned and moved down the platform above the warehouse floor. I followed close behind, the words “Sandy Vista” still ringing in my ears.

  I had to say something.

  “Ed!” I hissed quietly as we moved. “Dante said something about Sandy Vista!”

  “So?” he asked. “And keep your voice down!”

  Engines revved outside of the warehouse, giving us a little space to speak without worrying about being heard.

  “That’s where my mom lives!”

  He glanced back at me over his shoulder for a moment before continuing on.

  “What, you worried they’re going there?”

  “Exactly!” I said. “If any of Dante’s men are going to where she is, that means she’s not going to be safe!”

  “None of us are safe right now,” Ed said as we reached the far end of the warehouse, beams of morning light shooting in through a rectangle-shaped slit of a window. “And all we can do is take care of ourselves before we start worrying about other people.”

  I hated to admit it, but he was right. It wasn’t like I could look out for mom when my own life was in danger. Still, it was a cold comfort.

  Ed and I stopped at the window and looked out. Down below I spotted a few members of Dante’s gang making their way around the warehouse, the same expression of intensity on all of their faces.

  “How are we going to get down without them seeing us?” I asked.

  “We jump,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “That’s got to be a dozen feet!”

  I wasn’t exactly an expert on such things, but even I knew that was enough to do some damage. And getting even something as simple as a sprained ankle was the last thing I wanted in the middle of the desert.

  “Come on,” said Ed. “You never jump down from trees when you were a kid?”

  “Not really the outdoors type,” I said. “I was more the ‘sit inside and read books’ type.”

  He let out snort through a smirk. “It’s easy. First thing you do is climb out and hang down. Then, just let yourself drop. Keep your knees loose and sit into the drop. You’ll be f
ine.”

  “What about the guards?” I asked.

  “Look,” he said, pointing down. “We’re dropping down behind some crates. We hide there and wait for the guards to move past, then we run for it.”

  “Then where?”

  “Then…we figure it out. But first thing’s first, we need to get the hell out of this warehouse.”

  He was right about that. And what was more, with each passing second this area became less and less safe. We needed to move, and fast.

  Ed went to work on the window, turning the small crank and opening it enough for both of us to slip through.

  “Watch me,” he said.

  Without saying another word, Ed slipped his body through the cracked-open window with surprising fluidity. Once out, he carefully took hold of the edge and hung down for a moment before dropping down to the sand, hitting it with a crouch. The whole thing had to have taken less than ten seconds.

  “Now you!” he said.

  Shit. I hadn’t been lying—I’d never been the athletic type. When other kids were out playing, I was indoors practicing bass or watching some old art-house film. Anything that required muscles—other than those in my fingers—wasn’t exactly my wheelhouse.

  “Come on!” said Ed.

  I took a glance down, my heart beating faster at the sight of the drop down. Another glance around revealed that the coast was clear, that if I were to move right then I wouldn’t be spotted. If I was going to do it, I had to do it now.

  I took a breath and then slipped out of the window, the warm air outside a stark contrast to the cool interior of the warehouse. I did my best to do what Ed had, letting my legs drop down and taking hold of the ledge. But the moment I was forced to support my weight my muscles began to cry out in pain.

  “Now drop!” said Ed. “Hurry, they’re coming.”

  My head knew to let go, but my body was afraid to do it, afraid to risk fracturing a shin or coming down right on a toe with all my weight and turning the bone into paste.

  “Hurry!” said Ed. “I’ve got you!”

  He didn’t have a say in the matter.

  As soon as he said the words, my fingers slipped from the ledge and I fell down, hitting Ed with a thud. The two of us fell into the sand, a cloud of it kicking up around us. My lower back throbbed from where his knee drove into it, my arms still weak and sore.

  “Get over here!” Ed said, not giving me a second to recover.

  He scrambled to the containers nearby and pressed his back against them right as footsteps sounded out on the other side.

  My eyes went wide and I moved over just in time to watch two guards emerge from both sides of the crates, my heart still as a stone as they both appeared to consider checking out where we were hidden.

  But they didn’t. After a brief pause, they moved on.

  “Let’s go,” said Ed. “We don’t have a second to waste.”

  4 Ed

  It was a mess, all of it. Guards were pouring into the place by the second, and my little tagalong wasn’t exactly pulling her weight. We were barely a few hours into our partnership, and Amy was already proving to be a burden.

  And on top of the armed gang members, it was barely morning and the sun was already beating down on us, hot beams that covered my skin in a sweaty sheen. I was dog-tired from my sleepless night and doing my best to ignore the hunger gripping my belly.

  “Now where?” asked Amy.

  It was a damn good question. Backstage was by then the territory of the Black Mountain Mob, and if what Dante had said was true, the main concert area was being turned into an internment camp.

  The plan was still to find a car and hope to make a break for it, but Dante hadn’t messed around in getting the grounds locked up tight. He was here to restore order, and he was doing a damn good job of it. Too bad it was the kind of order enforced at the end of a gun.

  “We need to regroup,” I said. “We need to get someplace where we can be out of sight for a few minutes.”

  The two of us were crouched among a half-circle of crates, mostly useless band gear that had been abandoned when the power went out. The guards wouldn’t be able to see us there, but it was only a matter of time.

  “Sounds good,” said Amy. “But…you have any ideas on where that might be? All the warehouses are getting taken over by the gang.”

  She was right. A quick glance over the crates showed that the guards had broken up into teams of six or so, all of the groups sweeping through the backstage area and checking out the warehouses one by one. Every now and then the chatter of gunfire would sound out and Amy and I would share a look, knowing that this almost definitely meant that one of the gangs had “taken care of” someone that they’d found poking around where they shouldn’t have been.

  And we’d meet the same fate if even a single guard were to catch us sneaking around.

  “The prep areas,” I said.

  Amy cocked her head to the side, clearly confused.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The prep areas,” I repeated. “You know, where all the food stands get their stuff ready. They’re not backstage in the band areas, and they’re not part of the main concert grounds.”

  “Won’t people be there?” Amy asked.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But if Dante’s getting everyone corralled where he can keep track of them, there’s a good chance that he’s not going to be letting any wander around. We can sneak in, hide out, and get a few minutes to put together a better plan, at least.”

  Truth be told, the only thing I cared about at that moment was getting clear and finding a place to catch a few hours of shuteye. But the odds of getting even a few minutes of sleep were slim to none, at least until we got clear of the festival grounds.

  “Okay,” said Amy. “Whatever gets us away from backstage.”

  Right at that moment, a shadow darkened the both of us. I whipped around where I was crouched, worried that I was about to be face-to-face with a gun. Instead, I saw a guard posted, a compact, black submachine gun in his hands. He was dressed in the same denim-and-leather get-up as the rest of the guys, like a tatted-up biker from hell.

  I glanced over at Amy, who appeared to be totally paralyzed with fear. My finger shot up to my lips like I’d done in the warehouse, and thankfully she managed not to let out a scream without me having to clamp my hand down on her mouth again.

  My eyes stayed locked on the guard, who stood about seven or eight feet from us, blocking the only way through the crates that led ahead. Before too long, another guard approached.

  “You hear anything yet?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said the first guard. “Dante’s been keeping in contact through text. Got this new tablet that we’ve been video-chatting on, actually.”

  “Smart-ass,” said the other.

  “I’ve heard the same shit as you,” said the first guard. “Just what Dante said, and the shooting off in the distance.”

  “Fucking bullshit,” said the second guard. “He put a bunch of newbies on warehouse duty and they’re the ones getting some target practice in with these festival idiots. Meanwhile we’re standing around staring off into the fucking desert.”

  “No kidding,” said the first guard. He patted the submachine gun that hung down at his hip. “Maybe if we’re lucky he’ll let us do some crowd control with these things.”

  “Hell yeah,” said the first guard. “Imagine pointing this bad boy right into the middle of the crowd and just letting loose.”

  The conversation made me sick to my stomach. There we were at the end of the world and all these assholes could think about was opening fire into the middle of a helpless crowd like it was all some stupid video game.

  “Maybe get into a little of the product beforehand,” the guard went on, “make the whole thing a little more fun.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the new guard said. “You hear what Dante did to Marx?”

  “No, what?”

  “Marx
got into the supply back in LA, took a couple of grams for him and some online chick he was trying to hook up with. Dante found out, and when he did he told him that he was going to make sure he, in his words, had a permanent reminder of how his nose got him into trouble.”

  “Shit,” said the first guard. “What’d he do?”

  “Sliced open his nostrils and took off the tip.”

  He waved his hand through the air as if cutting with a knife, making the appropriate “whip-whip-whip” sound effects to go along with it.

  “Damn,” said the first guard. “Good luck with the online girls when your face is messed up like that.”

  “No kidding.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  “All right,” said the first guard. “I need to take a leak. You know where the toilets are?”

  “You kidding? Just piss outside.”

  “Where?”

  “Uh, the place you’re standing right in front of.”

  “Right,” said the first guard. “I’ll catch up with you at break time.”

  “Yeah,” said the second guard. “Later.”

  My gut sank like a stone. I shot my glance over at Amy to see that she was terrified out of her mind with fear. There wasn’t any time to waste—I had about three seconds at most to think of something, anything.

  As quickly as I could without making a sound, I sprang from my hiding spot, grabbed Amy by her skinny arm, and pulled her into the shadows of our little crate hideaway spot. We moved just in time to prevent the guard from seeing us as he turned and stepped where we’d been only seconds before.

  There was barely enough space for me in the little nook made up of stacked crates, and Amy’s body was pressed against mine. I looked over at her, my eyes wide as I tried, without words, to say “keep your fucking mouth shut!”

  She nodded, getting it. Ahead, I watched carefully as the guard turned his back to us, spread his legs, and unzipped his pants. Seconds later, a steady stream of piss cascaded down into the sand, forming a dark, spreading puddle.