Sound of Survival (Book 2): Fight or Flight

by Patten, Sean

  More laughs. I didn’t even know what these guys looked like and I already wanted to smash their fucking heads together.

  “It was me,” said Amy.

  Now it was my turn to get all wide-eyed.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It was me,” she said. “My fault. I wanted to sneak off and see if there were any painkillers in the first-aid tent. I was all ready to go by myself but my friends told me there was no way I was going alone.”

  Fucking kid. Fucking stupid kid.

  “That right?” asked one of the men.

  “It’s right,” she said. “So don’t punish them. They were just looking out for me.”

  Silence from the men behind. Cold fear ran through me as I imagined them deciding to punish Amy right then and there with a shot to the back of the head.

  “Penalty’s death for that kind of shit,” said the first man. “You all heard.”

  “Don’t do this,” I said. “No reason for anyone to die right now.”

  “Well,” said the second man. “Lucky for you dumbasses, it’s not our call.”

  “Yep,” said the other man. “Orders are to bring any rule-breakers to the boss. He’s the one who’s gonna figure out what to do with you.”

  Relief hit me at the realization that Amy wasn’t going to take the fall for our carelessness.

  “But first,” said the second man. “We gotta make sure you don’t have any contraband.”

  “That’s right,” said the other. “We find any of product on you and…well, you know what that means.”

  I didn’t need him to say a word. Easy to guess what the punishment might be for anyone stupid enough to try and steal any of the Black Mountain crew’s product.

  “We don’t have anything,” said Ramirez. “You don’t need to waste your time.”

  “We’ll be the judges of that,” said the second man. “And the next unwanted suggestion you make’s gonna earn you a gun butt to the stomach.”

  Ramirez wisely shut up, though I could tell he wasn’t the least bit happy about it.

  “Okay,” said the first guy. “Let’s frisk these clowns and get this shit on the road.”

  “Yeah,” said the second. “Get them back to the arena and get our reward.”

  “You three,” said the first man, putting a booming volume in his voice. “Reach your hands up into the sky and don’t make a move. We’re going to pat you all down, make sure you’re telling the truth about being clean. Stay still.”

  The soft crunch of shoes on sand followed, and soon I could feel the presence of the men right behind me and the other two. I was on one side, Ramirez on the other, and Amy in the middle.

  “Hmm,” said the first guy. “How about this. We start with these two, and then we work our way in.”

  I knew exactly what they were suggesting. The anger was immediate and enough to make me see red.

  “Fuck you,” said the second man. “I call dibs.”

  I quickly glanced over at Amy. She stood still, her hands in the air. No way she didn’t know what these assholes had in mind.

  “Whatever,” said the first man. “Let’s just fucking do this.”

  A hard jab hit me right in my lower back, the knuckle sticking right into one of my kidneys and sending waves of nauseating pain through my body.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, unable to keep in check. “What was that all about?”

  “Just giving you a little sample of what you’ll get if you try anything.”

  “Get this shit over with,” I said.

  Another blow hit my hard on the other side of my back, right in the other kidney. More sickening pain followed, this time nearly enough of it to drop me to my knees. But I stayed standing.

  “And you’ll get another one of those if you say another word,” he said.

  My heart pounded, black gathering in the corner of my eyes. At that moment I knew keeping my anger on lock wasn’t just a matter of playing it smart—it was a matter of not busting a heart valve right then and there.

  I took several slow breaths as the last traces of pain flowed out of my body.

  “Okay,” said the man behind me. “Stay nice and still.”

  “And pray whatever product you took managed to magically disappear,” said the other.

  A pair of hands clasped around my left ankle, slowly making their way up my leg. Once at my crotch, the hands moved over to the other leg and went down. I wasn’t too worried. After all, it wasn’t like I had anything on me that would land me in any hot water. Mostly it was just invasive.

  Then it hit me like a lightning bolt.

  Ramirez’s gun.

  As if on cue, the man behind Ramirez let out an impressed noise.

  “Oh-ho-ho,” he said. “What’ve we got here?”

  “What?” asked the man behind me, stopping mid-pat around my belly.

  “A fucking piece,” said the other.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Check it out.”

  I glanced over to see the other man holding a pistol, what looked to be Ramirez’s Glock 19. Ramirez’s shirt was pulled up and hanging over the holster, exposing his trim belly.

  He looked equal parts pissed off and scared. And Amy looked white as a sheet. She seemed to know that this likely meant trouble. If Ramirez was exposed as a cop…

  “And shit,” said the other man. “Fucking badge in here, too.”

  This was bad. Really bad. Not a chance the Black Mountain crew would let a cop walk.

  I glanced over to see the man behind Ramirez click the safety of the gun and jam the end into Ramirez’s back, just behind his heart.

  “LAPD, huh?” he asked. “You’re a long way from home, buddy.”

  Come on, Ramirez, I thought. Don’t do anything stupid.

  I imagined a new recruit like him proudly fessing up to being a cop, thinking that going down representing his crew was a better call than playing it smart and thinking on his feet.

  “No,” said Ramirez. “Not a cop. Just found a dead one.”

  Good man, I thought, relieved. Smart man.

  “That right?” asked the guy behind me. “Found a dead cop?”

  “Yeah,” said Ramirez. “Officer Hernandez or some shit.”

  “Yep,” said the man behind Ramirez, the badge in his hand. “That’s what it says.”

  “So,” said the man behind me. “You just randomly happened across a dead cop, and what? Took his shit?”

  “He got killed when the shit went down last night. Mob pulled his ass apart like something out of a fucking zombie movie. Sick shit. His partner fired off a couple of shots and they left him alone. Chased him off though. Probably means another dead one’s around here somewhere.”

  I had to admit, I was surprised at how deftly the kid was able to whip up such convincing bullshit. Hell, he almost had me wondering if he was actually a cop.

  “And you picked him clean after? Took his piece and strap and badge? Why?”

  “You need me to tell you why I took a gun?” Ramirez asked.

  “The badge, smart-ass,” said the first guy.

  “I dunno,” said Ramirez. “Thought it might be a useful thing to have.”

  “Fucking stupid thing to have,” said the first man.

  I glanced over enough to get a good look at the guys. Sure enough, they were just how I’d pictured them—ugly as shit, clad in denim and leather, tattooed and armed. Only difference was the guy behind Ramirez, the first of the two men, had a wild mane of blond hair, the other a horseshoe pattern of shaved, balding hair.

  “What do you think?” asked the bald guy behind me. “We believe his ass?”

  “I dunno,” said the blond guy. “Sounds out of our pay grade.”

  “We could always beat it out of him,” said Baldie.

  “Yeah,” said Blondie. “But if there’s the slightest chance we got a cop, boss is gonna want to see him.”

  “Good call,” said Baldie. “Let Dante figure this shit out.”

&nb
sp; “I’m keeping the Glock, though,” said Blondie. “These things are badass.”

  “Whatever,” said Baldie. “See if I give a shit.”

  My gut sank. I knew there was a good chance that pistol might make the difference between life and death in the hours ahead. Gone, just like that.

  “Come on,” said Blondie. “Let’s finish this shit and get back to base.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  “You want to take the water?”

  “Nah, let ’em have it.”

  Baldie moved his hands over my body, from my waist to my gut to under my pits. When he was satisfied that I didn’t have anything, he let out a grunt before stepping behind Amy.

  “Dibs!” he shouted.

  “Aw, man,” said Blondie. “Fucking prick. I’ve got a potential goddamn cop taking up my time.”

  “Whatever,” said Baldie.

  Out of the corner of my eye I watched as a shit-eating smile formed on his ugly face. His eyes moved up and down Amy’s body, and I got the sense there was going to be more than just a simple pat-down happening.

  Easy, Ed, I told myself. Play this smart.

  Baldie stepped behind Amy close enough that his crooked nose sank into the back of her blond hair.

  “Gonna take my time with you,” he said. “Make sure I check every last nook and cranny.”

  I couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “You’d better be really fucking careful, asshole,” I said. “Or—”

  He was on me before I managed to finish, the cool metal of his gun’s barrel jammed into the back of my head, right at the base of my brain.

  “Or what?” he asked. “Or what?”

  “Ed,” said Amy, her tone one of pleading. “Don’t.”

  I took a long, slow breath, my blood roaring in my veins.

  “That’s what I thought, dumbass,” said Baldie.

  He gave the gun one last jab into the back of my head before going back over to Amy.

  “Stay put, sweetheart,” he said. “Try to enjoy yourself.”

  I watched as he started his pat-down, beginning at Amy’s ankles and slowly, slowly making his way up her legs. The expression on Amy’s face was one of pure rage, like she was doing the same thing I was—doing everything she could to back her anger.

  Baldie’s hands went up to her waist, moving carefully over her hips and sending another pulse of rage through my body.

  “Very nice,” he said. “So far, so good.”

  His hands made their way over her belly, then he stopped. A look formed on his face, one that suggested he’d just gotten an idea that he liked. His hands then moved down, below the hem of her shirt and into the waist of her pants, his thumbs disappearing below the denim.

  They didn’t stay there for long.

  “Fuck you!” shouted Amy as she spun around where she stood, her hand moving in a wild blur and connecting with Baldie right square his face. A crisp “smack” sounded out as she connected hard.

  “Ah, shit!” he shouted, his hand moving to his face as he stumbled back, reeling from the blow.

  He looked up, pure hate in his eyes.

  “Fucking bitch!” he shouted.

  He lunged towards Amy, and I moved on pure instinct. I rushed in, positioning my body between him and Amy, my hand forming into a fist that I drove hard right into his jaw.

  The last thing I remembered before I went out was the solid “thwack” of the butt of a gun into my cheek, followed by my face slamming into the sand at my feet.

  Then black.

  12 Ed

  Between the rumbling of the car as we drove along and the pain in my head, it felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through my forehead. For a second I didn’t want to open my eyes.

  But then I remembered where I was, and what was going on.

  For the most part.

  “Hey!” spoke Amy, her voice excited. “Look!”

  “Oh, shit,” I heard Ramirez answer. “Is he up?”

  “He’s moving, thank God,” she said. “Ed, can you hear me?”

  “Ugh…” I groaned, rolling over on my side like I was in the grips of a particularly shitty hangover.

  “Ed!” spoke Amy, her voice now low and sharp. “Say something!”

  Whatever had happened to my noggin was no joke. It was like someone had drilled a hole in my temple, stuck their finger inside, and just sloshed things around until my brain was good and soupy. In those first few moments I could barely think a coherent thought, let alone speak one.

  “Shit,” said Ramirez. “He looks bad.”

  “Oh, no,” said Amy. “No-no-no.”

  They were starting to get worried, which made me realize that I didn’t have the luxury of rolling around on the ground in pain. I had to get up and at it.

  And as if whoever was driving the car felt the same way, we hit a bump and my head slammed against the ground. Another fresh wave of pain blasted through my body.

  “Fuck!” I shouted. “Who’s driving this goddamn thing?”

  “Shh!” spoke Amy. “Quiet!”

  “Open your eyes if you can, bud,” said Ramirez. “We need to know you’re okay.”

  “Hardly,” I said, rolling over in the direction of the two of them talking.

  I heard Amy let out a sigh of relief as I opened my eyes. But relief was hardly the emotion going through me. My vision was blurry, and each bump of the drive made things worse.

  “Take it easy, big man,” said Ramirez. “You took a hell of a hit back there.”

  Second by second my vision cleared up. When the film on my eyes finally went away I was at last able to get a sense of what was going on, and where I was.

  Exactly as I’d expected, the three of us were in the back of a van. And not a nice van—more like one of those big, shitty ones that parents would warn their kids to stay away from. The interior was rusted, the fabric of the small seats against the wall worn and cracked. But the car ran, and that was all that mattered. Ramirez and Amy were seated across from me, their hands behind their backs—likely bound up.

  With a major amount of effort, I was able to heave my body up and sit back against the wall opposite them. And that’s when I realized that my hands were tied, too.

  “They figured it was too much trouble to tie you up against the wall,” said Ramirez, apparently realizing what I’d noticed. “Just zip-tied you and tossed you in like a sack of beans.”

  “Who did?” I asked. “How long I been out?”

  “Shit,” Ramirez murmured. “They really did a number on you.”

  “Not long,” said Amy. “Ten minutes or so.”

  I was surprised to hear it—it felt more like I’d been in a year-long coma.

  Amy nodded towards the front of the van.

  “And it was those two.”

  I glanced in the direction she was nodding and as soon as I laid eyes on the two men in the front of the van the memories came flooding back.

  Blondie and Baldie.

  I remembered it all. Getting held at gunpoint behind the first-aid tent, the threats, the “pat-down” they gave Amy. And, of course, the fight afterwards that ended with me taking the butt of a machine gun to the face.

  The rage returned, too. It looked like a sheet of glass separated the front of the van from the back, and I was getting all sorts of fun ideas involving smashing it open and putting the jagged shards to good use.

  As nice as that sounded, I knew I needed to play it smart. I needed to know what was going on, what we were up against. Rash decisions made in anger would be a good way to get killed.

  “Okay,” I said, the pain finally fading enough for me to think somewhat clearly. “What’s the story?”

  “They’ve got us tied up,” said Amy. “And they’re taking us to Dante.”

  “You know where that is, exactly?” I asked. “Where Dante’s at right now?”

  “Said something about the arena,” said Ramirez. “Said Dante was gonna ‘lay down the law’ for the people there,
whatever that means.”

  “Whatever it means,” I said, “I sure as shit don’t like the sound of it.”

  “Same here,” said Amy. “We need to figure something out, and fast.”

  “Arena’s where they’re keeping everyone,” I said. “Maybe if we can get out of the back of this damn van we could get into the crowd and disappear.”

  “You want to risk that?” asked Amy.

  “No other choice,” said Ramirez, agreeing with me. “Either that or we take our chances with Dante and the rest of the gang. And I don’t like our odds with that plan.”

  “Still the matter of the zip ties,” said Amy. “They’ve got us fastened to the damn walls.”

  “Yeah…” I said, my voice trailing off as I looked around the rusted interior of the van.

  My eyes moved here and there as I tried to figure out some way to get us out of our predicament. Finally, I spotted something. A piece of the interior frame of the van had become twisted somehow, the rusty, jagged bit of metal looking particularly sharp and deadly.

  “There,” I said, nodding in the direction of the metal.

  It took the two of them a few seconds before they noticed. And when they did, both of their eyes went wide with surprise.

  “Are you serious?” Ramirez asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I can still move around. If I can get over to that thing and position myself just right I can use it to cut through my zip tie.”

  “You’re not lying about the ‘just right’ part,” said Amy. “If we hit a bump or something that thing will go right into your wrist.”

  “Slice you open and make you bleed out on the spot,” Ramirez went on. “Hell, even a little prick from that might be enough to give you tetanus. Dead one way or another.”

  “Damn,” I said with a wry smirk. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.”

  I was being a smart-ass, but I knew they were right—in a day full of risky moves, this was definitely one of the riskier. Getting poisoned by the rust was a real threat—things now weren’t as simple of a matter as going to the hospital and getting a shot.

  For a brief moment, I considered just how many people were going to die in the next weeks and months from infections or the flu or snakebites or any number of causes that we’d thought we’d wiped out. A second later the van lurched to a halt.