Dead Tide

by Stephen A. North

  “That’s bullshit!” shrieks Natalie. “What gives you the right to even think something like that?!”

  “Am I wrong?!” he shouts right back in her face. “You’d like to take her place wouldn’t you?! Tell me I’m wrong Natalie! I can see it in your eyes!”

  Natalie leans back against the seat and headrest. She won’t look Sam in the face, but also seems unable to speak.

  “Okay Sam,” says Kathy. “You won. You made your point, now can we go?”

  Sam ignores her. He turns back to the now weeping Natalie. “Nat, Nat,” he says. “Do you care about me that much?”

  “Always,” she replies.

  “I’m confused but glad you told me. I care about Liz, but I… its too late. Whatever happens…”

  Kathy can’t stand it, knowing the big firefighter may be in trouble. “Please, we must hurry. Liz might be okay, and that firefighter, Adam might need us.” This is worse than Days of Our Lives. Still, Kathy, admit your heart rate didn’t pick up. Tell us how it meant nothing and you felt nothing when he held you close. “Just my hormones and natural loneliness making me weak,” she whispers under her breath.

  “You got it Kathy, we’ll go get him now,” says Sam as he puts the key in the ignition and starts the car. Someone nearby shouts and there are several bangs. Gunshots, maybe? “Must be your Goth friends,” mutters Sam as he throws the car into gear and spins out of the parking space to the left and away from a number of onrushing black-clad figures.

  They clear the main body of cars after only thirty or forty feet and he steers left onto the road that circles the mall parking lot. Kathy fastens her seat belt and holds onto the back of Sam’s chair.

  “I hope he’s waiting for us outside,” says Natalie.

  Me too.

  T HE THREE PEOPLE are about to enter the S-10 pick-up truck when he pulls into the parking lot. There are at least ten propane tanks in the truck bed and one of the two men is already sitting in the bed. The woman is standing by the cab with the passenger door open and the other man is opening the driver’s door.

  Dodd hits the lights on the roof rack, but refrains from turning on the siren. Just to shake them up. The woman flinches. She has her blondish hair in a ponytail and is wearing some brief canvas shorts and a peach-colored top tied up below her breasts. The sight of her smooth, tanned stomach and her perfect breasts almost push him over the edge. I’ll just shoot the two men and take her. Law of the fittest… and meanest now.

  Play it cool and take them off-guard. I can do this . When he exits the cruiser his reflective sunglasses are on and he is wearing his best stone face. “Want to tell me what’s going on here?” he asks.

  The driver, a guy in his thirties wearing a black t-shirt, blue jeans and a Devil Rays cap, is the first to speak. He has a square jaw, dimples and a mustache that dips down just past his mouth. “Name’s Mitch, Mitch Fallon. I own this place. I just came by to get some supplies for myself and my neighbors to get us through this crisis.”

  “Is that so?” Dodd has his hand on his pistol butt.

  “Yes officer,” says the woman. She smiles politely and he thinks: Closer to forty than thirty, but still good. At that very moment the door to the building swings open, revealing a broken and splintered jamb, but nothing happens. Somebody used a crowbar on that. “All of you need to step away from the truck and into the parking lot away from the building.” For emphasis, he draws his gun, but doesn’t point it. Yet.

  “I can explain, sir,” says the man.

  “They all say that,” says Dodd and grins at the guy. “Now move your ass.” “And what if I don’t. My friend Carlos over there has a gun. One or two shots into the propane will blow us all over creation. Or maybe he’ll just try his luck shooting you.”

  Without moving his head, Dodd looks over at Carlos, glad that he has the shades on. Carlos looks like a Mexican or something—He’s Latin for sure, darkly tanned with jet black hair. Carlos is wearing a denim shirt, a headband and holding a large revolver that is pointed his way.

  I’m fucking up . How can I get out of this? He struggles for a moment to keep himself still, to not lose control and run.

  “The way I see it Officer is this: I think you are an opportunist. Maybe you drove by and thought: ‘Criminals! I must do something’ but I think what really happened is you saw some sort of opportunity. What do you think?”

  “I think your idea stinks,” Dodd snarls.

  “I think you saw a nice piece of ass and wanted some, but hey, I can’t blame you. My Suzy is a hot bitch. I’m an opportunist too, Officer…”

  “Dodd.”

  “Yes, Officer Dodd. Maybe we can work a deal to work together? We take things slow. I pretend and you pretend that we don’t want to kill each other and we see what working together can do? What do you say?”

  Suzy leans against the truck and toys with one of the tied ends of her shirt. “Yeah, what do you say? I think we could be good friends.”

  “Call me James.”

  “Say James,” she says, and he notices her eyes are focused just below his gun belt, “Why don’t we go back inside? I have something to show you.”

  He raises the back of his right arm to his forehead. Cold sweat is gathered at his temples and the back of his head. He glances up at the sun briefly, then to the two men. Neither of them appears to take exception to her invitation.

  Suzy turns around, toward the door, not waiting for his answer. He takes a long, lustful look at her ass as she walks back toward the store’s entrance. God, that’s fine!

  He grabs the door, holding it open long enough to follow her and enters some sort of office reception area. There is a long counter just across from the door, some chairs and a couch to his right and two propane tanks sitting on the floor. They tried to take too many.

  With her back still toward him, she places her hands against the counter and leans forward in an exaggerated pose as if ready to be searched. She looks over her shoulder. “I think I need to be searched, officer.”

  Unbelievable. This isn’t happening to me.

  Dodd stops and takes a deep breath. Realizes he’s still holding the pistol.

  “Not here, go back behind the counter,” he says, voice thick, almost guttural, feeling blood rage through his veins, giving rise to a painful erection.

  Suzy turns around, and her right hand is unbuckling her belt. “Come on, I just thought you’d like a quickie and then we could all be on our way.” She smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear.

  “What’s the deal with Mitch? Is he just gonna have a smoke outside while we fuck? Or maybe when my pants are around my ankles, he and Carlos will come in here and waste me.”

  “No, that’s not it at all, James-baby. He doesn’t own me. Now come over here and let me help you relax…” She takes a half-step toward him and he notices that her belt is undone, and two buttons are undone. Also, most of her smooth tan belly and just a hint of bright pink panties are now visible.

  “Time to make a decision, James. Trust me or not?” Suzy steps closer, pulls on the tie holding her shirt together. Fingers on the zipper of his pants tugging, pulling. Warm breath and soft lips on his neck, kissing downward.

  Dodd makes a decision.

  H E WANTS TO LOOK, but can’t. Every time he looks in the rear view mirror he catches the woman, the short guy Barney’s wife or girlfriend, looking at him. Her eyes are gray, he thinks, a sort of steely blue gray with a nice oval face and a lot of brown, unruly hair.

  I wish I had my sunglasses . It would be a good alibi. Keller squints his eyes in the bright sunlight, although there is the feeling of impending rain in the air.

  118

  Keller lets his foot off the brake and the cruiser edges a little closer to Talaski’s. Better put it in park, he thinks and does so. A barricade has been built across the bridge and a tall white guy with broad shoulders is approaching Talaski’s car. He’s wearing blue jeans, a green shirt and boots. A small carbine with a white clo
th tied to it is in one of his hands with the butt on his waist.

  “Got a cigarette Barney?” says Lionel. He is turned sideways in his seat, seat belt off, his suit coat gaping open and his tie hanging loose around his neck. The air conditioning is going full blast, but Lionel is sweating and he smells rank, like dirty gym clothes. His dress shirt is undone to his navel exposing a lot of pale, saggy skin covered in coarse black hair.

  From the corner of his eye, Keller sees Barney fumble in a shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Barney’s wife is sitting on his lap. Lionel’s two kids are crammed together next to them and Lionel’s wife is directly behind Keller. Before Keller can say anything, Barney’s wife explodes, yelling at both Lionel and her husband. “You aren’t smoking in this car! Put those cigarettes away right now Barney or I swear to God, I’ll—”

  “Shut up Helen, you mouthy bitch,” says Lionel. Lionel takes the cigarettes and lighter from Barney. Keller is surprised that Barney says nothing. Helen meanwhile has apparently had enough. “Let me out of here!” she shouts. Her hands scrabble for the door handle, while Barney tries to stop her. “I don’t want to go with these people.”

  A nice, but probably unintended elbow to the face takes all the fight out of Barney. Helen pulls the handle and the door is open. She squirms out and slams the door on him as he tries to follow her.

  She sprints around the front of the car and runs toward a yard full of tall shady oaks, dead or dying shrubs and fallen leaves.

  “Let her go, Barney,” says Lionel. “I’ll find you something better… something more grateful and willing, eh? Maybe more than one?” He flashes a quick fake smile and pops open his door.

  The smaller man slumps back in his seat.

  What the hell is Lionel going to do? Keller pulls the keys out of the ignition and opens his door. Lionel shouts, “Helen!” There is a gun in Lionel’s hand. Keller spots it immediately, but can’t react fast enough. Lionel runs around the cruiser after the girl and stops short to aim the pistol with both hands. The gun looks strange with something attached to the barrel.

  119

  Keller is out of the car and closing when Lionel squeezes off a shot. The sound is muffled, and he realizes it is because it has a silencer. Keller doesn’t stop but instead runs on. Lionel hears him, starts to turn with the gun clutched in his left hand. Then Keller crashes into him in a vicious tackle. Both men go down but with the far heavier and stronger Keller on top.

  Lionel is stunned but has enough presence of mind to try to get his gun hand free but Keller is forcing that arm up and away from both of them with a death grip on his wrist. “I shot over her head, you asshole!” Lionel shouts.

  All reason gone, Keller can feel the anger course through his veins, something primal and demanding. He lifts a ham-sized fist and punches Lionel in the face.

  And again.

  Lionel spits out blood and what look like fragments of white porcelain. His eyes are fluttering. A moment of lucidity produces the thought: One or two more punches like that and no more Lionel. In that moment, he hears a sniffle. Keller lowers his fist and looks back toward the car. Lionel’s wife and kids are watching him and the younger child is crying. The expression on the wife’s face is hard to fathom. Barney is there also, but he looks paralyzed, standing with his door half open and a shocked look on his face.

  Keller climbs to his feet, and jerks Lionel’s semi-comatose body up also.

  “Oh Jesus,” says Barney, “you knocked out one of his front teeth.”

  “He’s lucky that’s all I did. Everybody back into the car.”

  Keller manhandles the guy back into his seat and straps him in with a seat belt. He then locks the door and shuts it. He takes a moment more and retrieves the silenced pistol. Some kind of automatic by Beretta. Drops the magazine and examines a bullet. Nine millimeter. I’ll keep it.

  One of the kids starts to say something.

  “Hush now,” says the wife, “your Daddy’s sleeping.”

  Keller settles back behind the wheel and closes his door. He puts the pistol on the floor near his feet. He looks in the rearview mirror at the backseat. Meets her eyes.

  “Sorry about that.”

  120

  IN THE SHORT INTERVAL between his sprint toward the exit and actually reaching the exit doors, he is already missing the axe. It doesn’t make a loud noise when used and generally it kicks ass! He barely checks his speed as he hits a set of the double doors and explodes out onto the sidewalk and into the sauna heat of the parking lot. He bends over a moment, hands on his knees gasping.

  To his right is one of the large chain bookstores and slightly behind him to his left is another entrance to Penney’s. In front of him the parking lot is mostly empty but there are a few parked cars and… a few shambling figures.

  There! Is that it, an Acura? Must be! A white car comes around the corner from the bookstore and heads straight for him!

  He windmills his arms. Feels awkward in his soaking wet bunker suit and boots. Knows he must be a bloody mess. The car slows and behind him he hears the doors open. Sees Sam’s youthful face behind the wheel, the other cheerleader beside him, and Kathy in the back seat throwing open her door and sliding over. A feathery barely felt touch on his back and he stumbles over into the car.

  The cheerleader, Natalie is shouting, “He’s in, go, go, go!” The car lurches as Sam floors the gas pedal and the door isn’t even closed yet and Kathy is hugging him tight, her hair a fragrant tumble around his face, one hand stroking his cheek, murmuring something about, “You made it, you’re okay…”

  “Where do I go now?!” Sam asks, shouting in a shaky voice. “Where to Mr. Firefighter?”

  Mills slams the door shut and struggles upright into his seat, but Kathy remains close to him.

  “I have a few ideas, but we need somewhere safe to talk. Drive around to where my engine… my truck is, okay Sam? Park on the edge of the parking lot. If any of those things are near, we’ll change plans.”

  “Gotcha.” Sam circles around the nearest formation of cars and takes the road that loops around the mall’s periphery.

  121

  The last minute nature of his escape has revived him for the moment. There are plans to make, things to do, and incredibly a real reason to live. All of it, though, hinges on one thing. He leans forward on the seat and says, “Kathy, do you see that tear in my gear? Can you check it for me?”

  She looks into his eyes, and he can tell she is almost as terrified as he is. “Sure Adam, lean forward some more.”

  He closes his eyes, feeling her cool fingers pull the material to the side and explore the wound.

  “Looks like something sharp got you, but it doesn’t look like a bite. There’s some blood, but I think you’ll be fine.”

  He relaxes back into the seat, and leans toward Kathy. “Thanks, and that was a nice greeting you gave me. I got the idea you were glad to see me.”

  A flush is already in her cheeks, long before the smile. She bats her eyes. “Yeah, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Humph!” he says, feeling a big dumb grin on his lips. “Most people are grateful when we save them, but I want you to know that I’m touched. I needed to feel needed right then. I shouldn’t have gone further into the mall…”

  “Looks quiet for the moment, Mr. Mills,” says Sam as he brakes the car next to the looming bulk of the fire engine.

  “Good,” Mills replies. “I have a plan, but I’m not sure what’s more important at the moment?”

  “Did you find her? I have to know,” Sam says. “Please don’t lie to me.”

  Mills stares at the kid. That’s all he really is, a kid. “Yeah, Sam, I found her.”

  “Was she…?” The boy can’t finish. Natalie puts her arms around Sam and pulls him to her chest, and rests her head on top of his. Mills notices tears well in Sam’s eyes. The whole truth isn’t going to help here. That’s certain.

  Natalie is watching him, with some unreadable emotion in
her expression. Expectation?

  Mills makes himself go on. “Liz was already dead, don’t worry,” he says, and something strange happens. Natalie looks startled, almost as if she knew what happened. She recovers quickly, but too late.

  And she knows I know.

  She knows I lied. How?

  She won’t meet his eyes.

  122

  “Hey Kathy,” he hears himself say. He opens his door and swings his feet out.

  “Yes, Adam?”

  “Why don’t we check around the engine and give Natalie and Sam a moment?”

  The two of them exit the car. A little heated breeze is blowing. For just a moment, all he can hear is that breeze blowing through some nearby palm tree fronds. He helps Kathy out, and they walk toward the fire truck. Mills starts to search his pockets, then blurts, “Oh no, I think I lost my keys.”

  O NCE INSIDE, the décor of the room isn’t very impressive. Hardly a romantic or stylish place. Perhaps in a minimalist way it has style. Basically, it’s just a glorified beach bar. There are some nice paintings and an impressive mahogany wood bar counter. The only thing missing from the scene in his memory are the people, the fresh flowers on each table, the music and his wife. There might have been a live band…

  He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent of a cigarette. Pathetic, but almost comforting. Almost as good as having one myself. “Bullshit,” he says, without thinking.

  The woman looks back over her shoulder, gives him a brief smile and exhales a stream of smoke. “You got that right,” she says, oblivious or uncaring of what he just labeled bullshit. “Always a fucking line, no matter where I go. Oops, sorry about the language. This situation… and now I’m smoking again.”

  “I quit yesterday.”

  “Really?” she sounds bored. He falls silent, but looks her over. She is a tall slender woman in her late thirties with a mass of curly