Sound of Survival (Book 2): Fight or Flight

by Patten, Sean

  The man stumbled away from the van, trying to catch his balance and breath.

  “You fucking bitch!” he shouted. “I’ll kill the both of you, you motherfuckers!”

  That was all he managed to get out before Ed went after him again, slamming into him hard once more and bringing them both to the ground with a brutal tackle. My eyes flicked over to the gun, and I rushed over and grabbed it. The gun felt strange and heavy in my hands. I had no idea what to do with it other than point and pull the trigger.

  I raised the gun at the thug, my hands shaking. With his good eye, he saw what I was doing, his expression falling.

  “Don’t you do anything stupid,” he said. “Don’t you dare.”

  But I was done screwing around. I let all of the air out of my lungs, focused my aim, and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing.

  “Huh?” I said.

  The thug was shocked for a second, but soon broke out into hard laughter.

  “Dumb bitch!” he shouted. “You forgot the fucking safety!”

  Before I could do anything, Ed lunged over to me and grabbed the gun out of my hand. Then, with speed I didn’t know he was capable of, he flew over to the man, the gun raised in the air. He brought it down in a hard arc, connecting the butt of the gun to the man’s forehead.

  The thug dropped to the ground, but Ed wasn’t done. He climbed on the guy, smashing the gun into his face again and again.

  Soon the man was stone still. Ed raised the gun one more time, but before he could bring it down he let out a groan. He froze in place and rolled over, hitting the ground hard.

  “Ed?” I asked.

  He looked to be in severe pain. His face was bright red, his hand clutching his chest. I ran over to him and dropped to my knees, panic rising inside me.

  But he soon relaxed, the red vanishing from his face. He took in deep breath after deep breath, each one steadier than the last. Once he was back to normal, he rolled over to see the results of his brutal attack. The thug was lying on his back, face covered in blood, his arms and legs spread out. From where I was, I couldn’t tell if he was dead or not. And I didn’t care.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Ed.

  “Yeah,” he said, sitting up. “Just…just got a little carried away.”

  “I’ll say,” I said.

  He took another breath.

  “You still got the keys?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Because you’re driving. And we leave now.”

  20 Amy

  Ed didn’t need to tell me twice. I hurried into the driver’s seat and wiped the bit of blood and eye juice off the end of the key before sticking it into the ignition and bringing the car to life.

  Light flooded the garage as Ed lifted the door, and when it was high enough for the car to fit he grabbed the thug’s gun from the floor and hurried into the passenger’s side seat.

  “Okay,” he said. “How you feeling?”

  “I’m good,” I said. “Fine. I think. But what about you? You looked like you were—”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, cutting me off. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

  That sure would have explained what had happened. But I got the sense there was more to what he was saying, more than he was telling me.

  But there was no time to discuss any of that. We needed to move, and fast.

  “I drive around the perimeter, right?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “Bad idea. We drive out of here like that and we’ll have six bikes on our ass before we can even make it onto the road.”

  “Can’t we outrun them?” I asked.

  “You want to try and out-drive a bunch of motorcycles while they’re shooting at us?”

  “Good point,” I said, my hands gripping the wheel. “Then what?”

  Ed thought for a moment, my leg bobbing up and down in anticipation.

  “There,” he said, pointing back. “We drive through the arena.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “You want to go back?”

  “It’s the best shot we have,” he said. “We drive through some of the weaker fencing and then out through another section of it. Once people have a clear path out they’ll start running, and the perimeter guards will be so busy chasing them down that they might not even bother with us.”

  “It sounds totally insane,” I said.

  “That’s because it is,” he said right back. “But it’s the best chance we’ve got. We break through and get on the highway, burn rubber until we hit Sandy Vista.”

  “What about all the people in the arena?” I asked.

  “Easy,” he said. “Don’t hit them.”

  I took a deep breath, preparing for the insanity in front of me.

  “You ready for this?” Ed asked.

  “Ready as I’m going to be.”

  I gave Ed one last nod before putting the car into first gear and pulling out.

  I drove straight ahead at first, into the sand beyond the garage, towards the tall fences up ahead that blocked our way out. I shifted the car into second, then third, as we drove, turning around and pointing the vehicle towards the fence that bordered the arena.

  “Don’t be shy,” said Ed. “Get close. We need to see the situation in there.”

  I peeled out and pulled up closer to the fence. Through it I could make out the mess of the collapsed stage, thousands of people milling around. Through the dusty air I spotted flash after flash of gunshot, likely Dante’s men trying to keep order at gunpoint.

  “There,” said Ed, pointing ahead.

  I squinted to see what he was pointing at, soon realizing that it was a section of the fence that looked to be an exit the men had hastily barricaded. It was shorter than the rest of the barrier, and only one guard stood on the other side of it.

  “Shit,” I said. “I have to drive right through him.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, he’s probably going to shoot at us the second he sees us coming.”

  “Not really,” I said, my hands still gripping the steering wheel.

  The idea of slamming into some poor SOB didn’t sit well, but I knew we didn’t have another option. It was us or them.

  “Do it,” said Ed. “Only way we’re going to be able to get out of here.”

  He was right—no getting around it. I put the car into gear, pointed it towards the fence, and gunned the engine.

  We ripped through the empty sands, the car flying like a rocket, the dust filling the air behind us. We drew closer and closer to the fence, the guard still with his back turned towards us.

  Finally, he noticed. An expression of total panic formed on his face, followed by him raising his machine gun, or whatever it was, at us and taking aim.

  He didn’t get a chance to fire. The car plowed through the barrier, ripping the fence from the hinges. A split second later the car slammed into the guard, his body hitting the front with a thud I could feel in my bones, then rolling over the top and down the bottom, disappearing in a cloud of dust behind us.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “Do you think—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Ed as we kept on. “Worry about making sure you don’t hit anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

  I did as he said, keeping the car straight, people all around me noticing and fleeing out of the way like it was some kind of video game. I went left, then right, trying to cause as much chaos as possible without hitting anyone.

  “There!” said Ed. “Look!”

  He pointed in the direction that we’d entered from and I looked to see what he was talking about.

  Sure enough, the people had noticed the hole I’d punched in the fence and were taking advantage of the insanity, pouring out of the small opening and streaming into the other parts of the concert grounds. Guards flocked to the area, leaving their posts and doing whatever they could to keep order. But it wasn’t doing a damn bit of good. There were too many people for the guards to manage, a
nd some of the attendees were even fighting back, overpowering the guards and taking their weapons.

  “Fuck yeah!” shouted Ed. “Now we just need to find another way out.”

  I pulled a hard right, driving towards the wreckage, trying to cause as much confusion as possible. As I drove closer and closer to the stage, I spotted a familiar figure standing on top of the twisted mess. Dante.

  Like before, he was giving a speech to the people around him. The windows were up in the car, and I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. But unlike before, no one seemed to be paying him a single bit of attention—they were more interested in getting the hell out of there.

  “Fucking prick,” said Ed. “He’s lost control.”

  I turned to the left, spraying dust and sand into the air and blocking out my view of the gang boss. And as soon as I managed to get my bearings on what was up ahead, I spotted someone else I recognized, someone I was much happier to see.

  “Ramirez!” I shouted out.

  Sure enough, it was him. He was among a group, making his way towards the exit.

  “Let’s pick his goody-goody ass up,” said Ed with a grin. “Get him out of here.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I approached the group, slowing right down when we reached them. Ed rolled down the window and shouted in Ramirez’s direction.

  “You done being a Boy Scout?” he asked.

  At first, the cop looked totally confused. But after a brief moment he realized who it was that was yelling at him. He turned to his group and said something before hurrying over to Ed’s window. I kept the car moving slowly, just in case.

  “What the—” Ramirez started. “Where did you get this thing?”

  “Good to see you too, buddy,” Ed said with a grin. “Now get in.”

  “We decided to come say hi,” I said as Ramirez hauled open the back door and jumped in. “But we had to make our own entrance. Turns out that we caused a little chaos in the process.”

  “Holy shit!” he said, turning and looking through the back window of the car at the insanity unfolding behind us. “That was you?”

  I sped up, my eyes focused dead ahead.

  “That was us,” Ed said.

  “That was me,” I said, correcting him. “You just sat nice all nice and comfortable while I did the dirty work.”

  I flashed him a quick smile, one that Ed returned.

  “What’s the scene back there?” asked Ed.

  “It’s bad,” said Ramirez. “Shit went out of control the moment the stage went down. I think the Black Mountain crew panicked and saw that they were losing control of things by the second. Some starting shooting randomly for whatever reason, some ran off into the desert.”

  “Looks like Dante’s experiment in holding this place down didn’t go according to plan,” Ed scoffed.

  “Nope,” said Ramirez. “Too many people to keep in control. Too many scared, desperate people. And I had no idea what happened with you guys, just figured an entrance or something opened up when everyone started running in one direction.”

  “Word travels fast,” I said.

  “No kidding,” said Ramirez.

  “There,” said Ed, pointing to the westernmost entrance, the one where we were supposed to meet up after we jumped out of the van.

  It was abandoned, whatever guards had been posted up long gone. Only a gate locked by a single padlock kept it shut.

  “You want me to drive through that?” I asked, incredulous. “That fence’ll wreck the car!”

  “Shit,” said Ramirez. “That a gun?”

  I glanced over and saw that he was looking at the weapon we’d taken from the thug who tried to jump us. The black gun was resting on Ed’s lap.

  “Yep,” said Ed.

  “You got any bullets in it?” asked Ramirez.

  “Only six or so,” said Ed. “Why?”

  “Pull parallel to the fence,” said Ramirez. “And let me see that thing.”

  I glanced over Ed, trying to figure out what he made of this strange request. Ed simply shrugged, as if to say “do what he says, I guess.”

  Carefully, I pulled the car alongside the fence, around thirty feet from it. Ed handed the pistol back to Ramirez, who gave it a quick once-over and ammo check.

  “Now roll down the window,” he said. “And cover your ears.”

  Ed and I shared another look, then did what he said. My hands over my ears, I watched as Ramirez opened the passenger-side door, leaned out, and raised the gun. He squinted, the tip of his tongue stuck out between his teeth. Finally, he pulled the trigger, the pop soft and muffled through my ears.

  Off in the distance the bullet struck the lock, the thing falling to the ground and kicking up a soft puff of sand. Once it was done, Ramirez gave the gun a cocky little twirl before flicking what I assumed to be the safety and tucking the weapon into his pants.

  “Damn,” said Ed. “You drilled that thing.”

  “Told you I was a good shot,” Ramirez grinned.

  “I’m impressed,” I said.

  “What’d be more impressive is if we managed to get out of here in one piece,” said Ed. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m about done with this fucking festival.”

  “Here, here,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Ramirez. “Let’s get moving.”

  I pulled the car into a backing-up turn, pointing it at the now unlocked gate. After a quick engine rev I pulled forward, driving slowly through, the metal of the gate grinding against the car.

  “Damn shame we have to scratch up a beauty like this,” said Ed.

  Seconds later we were passed the gate and onto the rest of the festival grounds. I kept driving forward, following the road out.

  Eventually we reached the tall, arching gate that led to the highway. Without a second’s hesitation I gunned the engine and flew through, relief hitting me like a tidal wave as we officially passed through the border of the doomed Dead Air festival.

  And that was it. Just like that, we were free.

  21 Ed

  I let out the sigh to end all sighs the moment we were out of there. With a turn, I watched as we drove further and further away from Dead Air, the villas and gates and towers and everything else disappearing into the horizon.

  Part of me wondered what would become of that place. Even if Dante managed to get things back under his control, he’d only have it for as long as it’d take to pack up his drugs and get the hell out of there. Eventually the Black Mountain crew would be gone, and every last festivalgoer would either have fled or died.

  I imagined some group, maybe years in the future, brave enough to follow the highway into the desert to see where it led. They’d keep going and going, eventually coming across the ruins of Dead Air. By then it’d be nothing but sand-blasted wreckage and sun-bleached bones. And they’d give each other a look, one that suggested that they couldn’t believe there was once a time, way back when the lights still worked, that thousands of people would gather together in one of the most inhospitable places on the planet just to get drunk and high and listen to some music.

  “Look,” said Amy, snapping me out of my daydreaming.

  I was about to ask her what she was referring to, but I didn’t need to. All along the highway were hundreds of people, some alone, some in groups, all moving along the road with the same dazed, blank expression on their dirty faces. Many were so disoriented that they didn’t bother to look over at the sports car flying past them. They were the refugees of Dead Air. And I knew there was a good chance that many of them wouldn’t make it to see tomorrow’s sunrise.

  “We have to do something,” said Amy.

  “Like what?” I asked. “Stuff ’em all into the trunk?”

  “I don’t know,” said Amy. “But look at them. We set them free, right? They’re out here because of us. And if they die in the desert…that’s our fault.”

  There was some sense to what she was saying, but once again Amy’s soft heart was getting the bett
er of her.

  “We pull over and they swarm the car right away,” said Ramirez. “They won’t hesitate before pulling our sorry asses out and stealing everything we’ve got. And then we’d be in the same position they’re in right now.”

  There we go. I nodded at Ramirez’s words, happy that he was able to think rationally about the whole thing. While I appreciated Amy’s kind nature, in a world like this it’d be a liability. And one that might get us killed.

  As soon as Ramirez spoke, however, a cold silence returned to the car. I could sense that there was a heaviness to him, something weighing on his mind.

  “You okay back there?” I asked.

  More silence, then a sigh—a weary one.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “But my men…”

  Shit.

  “They’re back there somewhere,” Ramirez said. “I know it. And I abandoned them.”

  “There was nothing you could do,” I said. “You stuck around as long as could be expected, bud. You helped out where you could, and you left when you realized the situation was beyond salvaging.”

  “Maybe they left, too,” Amy suggested. “Maybe they’re headed back to LA right now. Maybe we’ll see them on the way back.”

  “No,” said Ramirez. “I know these guys. They were both good men, both the kinds of cops you’d have to pull kicking and screaming away from any situation where they thought they might be able to help. And here I am, safe in the back of a car surrounded by junk food.”

  His words cut to the quick, and I couldn’t help but feel for the kid. Both he and Amy had survived something hellish while their friends didn’t. I knew they’d spend the next years wondering why them, what the hell was so special about them to get to stay alive?

  One step at a time, I thought. Right now, the only important thing was to make sure they were both safe and as far away from Dead Air as possible.

  “Best you can do is recover and get your head back in the game,” I said, trying to appeal to his sense of duty. “You’re not going to do any good throwing your life away. And I don’t know your men, but I’d bet you anything that they’d want you to do the same.”