by Michael Bray
“You sprinted for the door like you were the only one who mattered. You left us to our own devices.”
Garrett wanted to argue, to fight his corner, but when he recalled it, when he took the time to replay the entire sickening incident in his head, he realized Mark was right. Garrett had seen the chaos, and he had seen the open door leading to freedom, to his wife and unborn child— and he had run. Run and hoped he would be spared, no matter what happened to anyone else. Ashamed, he stared at his feet.
“I’m sorry, I… I just reacted.”
“It’s fine. I get it. Just don’t play the hero card now that it suits you and expect me to like it.”
“Hero card?” Garrett spat. “You think I asked for this? You think I know what to do? By all means, feel free to take the lead here if you think you know how to deal with this any better. You came to me earlier tonight; you might want to keep that in mind.”
He looked around and saw the rest of the group was watching with interest. He lowered his voice.
“Look, I get it, okay? You’re scared. And you’re worried about Leena, but we’re all in the same position. And despite everything that’s happened, we need to stick together and get the hell out of here.”
Mark smiled, but there was no humor in it.
“You know, I think that Bernard guy might be right. Maybe, there is more to you than it seems. Maybe you are out for number one and are just keeping us on side to help yourself.”
“You came looking for me. You should keep that in mind.”
“Maybe, maybe not. However you look at it, you showed us a side to you that you had kept hidden. You can’t blame me for being a little bit pissed about it.”
“I get it, and all I can do is apologise. I reacted. I wasn’t thinking straight. Hell, is anyone?”
“You don’t have to explain. Either way, I think we should just keep our distance.”
Garrett knew then it was futile to argue. Mark had made up his mind, and it was obvious there would be no changing it.
“If that’s how you feel, then that’s up to you.”
“It is,” Mark said as he grabbed Leena by the hand, disturbing her mid conversation with Helen.
“The two of us will go our own way from now on. You do the same. Just to be absolutely clear, we’re square. Even. No more favours, okay?”
“Mark––”
“Okay? Don’t make this any more uncomfortable for any of us than it already is. I hope you get out of here, Ray. I really do, but I have to do things my own way now. I’ve made commitments to help people get out of here. I need to be able to trust people around me. I think for now I’m better alone.”
There was nothing more to say. Garrett simply lowered his head and looked at the floor. Mark looked at the rest of the group in turn.
“Good luck,” he said, then led Leena away. Garrett watched them go, trying to ignore the guilt that simmered in his stomach.
“Don’t worry about it,” Donald said, handing Garrett a beer.
“I let him down.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, son. The boy is scared that’s all. He’ll be back once he cools off.”
“He’s not the only one. I’m pretty terrified myself.”
Donald nodded, and the two men drank in silence for a while.
“You know, Ray, sooner or later we’re going to have to decide what we intend to do about this situation.”
“I know, but how can we possibly make a decision like that? People’s lives are at stake here. It’s not something we can just decide on a whim.”
“I know that, son, but if we don’t, you can bet your ass he will.”
Donald jabbed his thumb in the direction of Bernard, who despite his bloodied nose was still talking animatedly. Where there were only a couple of interested people before, he now had an audience of ten people hanging on his every word. Garrett felt a momentary flash of panic, although he wasn’t sure why.
“I hoped that punch he took might have knocked some sense into him,” Garrett said, taking a long drink of his beer. “If anything it’s charged the son of a bitch up. He has barely paused for breath for half an hour now.”
Donald smiled and took another swig of his beer. “He’s a sharp one all right,” the old man said, eyeing Bernard with contempt.
“What do you mean?”
“He has the same thing as my sister. The gift of the gab. The golden tongue. He talks, and people feel compelled to listen.”
“Great,” Garrett said as he watched Bo leave the door marked staff only and walk down the meat aisle. He was pleased to see that the bruise on his face had grown considerably.
Garrett saw the haze of fear and uncertainty that swirled inside the old man’s eyes. He chose his words carefully.
“Thing is, Ray, if someone like him is left to talk for long enough, and people are desperate enough… well, I wouldn’t like to think what could happen.”
Garrett nodded and took another sip of his drink. It was crisp and cool, and he hoped it would take his mind at least temporarily off the gravity of the situation; however, Donald was right, and he too found himself watching Bernard. He didn’t like the way he was talking— calm but animated and…confident. He looked at the people around him. They were watching and occasionally nodding in agreement as Bernard launched into yet another enthused dialogue. Garrett wondered what the hell he was saying.
“We need to shut that son of a bitch up,” Donald said, giving Bernard another cold stare.
“If either of us went anywhere near him, I can guarantee the bickering will flare up again.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I would suggest someone else go and try, but I think our entire group is on his shit list.”
Garrett nodded and then turned to face Donald.
“I’m going to speak to the manager. See if I can negotiate a deal.”
“Ray, you do that and you may as well paint a damn target on your back. Killing yourself won’t solve anything.”
“I don’t have any intention of killing myself. The truth is, I feel responsible and our options are limited.”
“Still, I think it’s better if we keep as far away from those…things who are in charge of this place as possible. I don’t see any advantage to marching in there and potentially making things worse.”
“Look, I know you don’t agree with me, and I respect your honesty. Either way, my mind is made up and I intend to go ahead with this. I can’t do it alone, though. I could really use your help.”
Donald sighed and finished his beer. “Hell, for the record, I think it’s insane, but I would never tell another man what to do with his life, so if you need my help you have it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“You might not when you get in there. Now, what did you have in mind?
PACT
“Will you come to help me find a new magazine?” Ellie said to Leena.
“Uh, yeah, of course, I will, Honey,” Leena said, getting to her feet and stretching.
“Is that okay?” she said to Sally.
“As long as you don’t mind, it’s more than fine with me.”
Leena slid her eyes to Mark then back to Sally.
“I won’t be long,” she said as Ellie grasped her hand.
“Come on, I want to get a good one,” Ellie said, somehow still unharmed by everything which had unfolded.
“Take as long as you need,” Sally said. Leena nodded. Unlike her daughter, Sally seemed to be struggling to keep a grip on her sanity. Her eyes were dull and devoid of all hope.
“We won’t be long,” Leena repeated as she was led by the hand by the anxious child.
“You okay?” Sally said to Mark as they watched them disappear out of sight.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
“I’m just trying to figure out the best thing to do about this situation.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. We’re all relying on you.”
“That’s what I was thinking about.
I really don’t know how to get us out of here,” he said, shaking his head and staring at the floor.
“You don’t owe us anything, you know,” Sally said quietly.
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean the stuff we talked about earlier. Things are different now. You don’t have to feel responsible for me or my daughter.”
“I told you, I’ll get you out of here. I was always brought up to stick to my word.”
“I’m sure you were,” Sally said, forcing a smile. “You remind me of my eldest son. He’s about your age. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Oh, he’s a little younger. He just turned fourteen.”
“I will get you out of here.”
“No, you won’t,” she said. Holding his gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you want to, and I appreciate what you tried to do.”
“And I still will.”
“You can’t make that promise,” she said, reaching out and touching his hand. Her skin was cool, and even though it repulsed him, he imagined some of the packaged meats would have the same sensation against his skin.
“I won’t give up on you.”
“Things are different now. When we first talked… None of us could have known how things would turn out.”
“You have to stay strong. They might not choose you or any of us, we might be okay.”
Sally smiled and released his hand. “Do you really think they intend to let us go?”
“They said they would.”
“They sell dead human beings.”
He could only nod and avert his eyes. He was also starting to think none of them would ever see outside the store again, and had half an idea the promise of freedom was nothing more than a tool designed to keep them calm (or the meat fresh) until they were disposed of. It wasn’t something he was ever willing to articulate until Sally had put it out there and ensured it would have to be dealt with.
“I know what happens here. But we have to try. We have to hope,” he said, his voice close to cracking.
“There is no hope. All of us in here are already dead. We just don’t know it yet.”
“Don’t say that. Think about Ellie.”
“I am. I have. I don’t want her to have to experience this.”
“To me, that’s every reason to keep strong. You have to fight,” he said. “She’s a strong kid.”
“She’s smart, too. She pretends to ignore what’s happening, but I know different. I can see it on her face. She knows exactly what’s happening here.”
Mark chose not to answer, trying to figure out exactly where the conversation was going.
“If it gets to that point where we lose all hope. Will you take away her suffering?” she asked.
“What?”
“I don’t want her to see any more of this. Every moment we are here, another piece of her childhood dies.”
“Are you saying you would rather her be dead? You’re her mother, you have a responsibility to protect her.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she spat as tears rolled down her cheeks and streaked her makeup. “Do you have any idea how helpless I feel?”
“You can’t just give up on her!”
“I don’t want those things to cut her up and put her on the shelf!” she said, her voice breaking as the floodgates opened.
As horrified as the entire conversation made him feel, Mark could understand where she was coming from. He wasn’t a parent, however, he could understand Sally not wanting to see her child displayed and sold. He couldn’t believe the words were about to come out of his mouth even as he said them.
“Okay, if it gets to the point where there is no hope left, I’ll do it. I’ll do what you ask.”
“You have to promise. I would do it myself, it’s just….” Sally lowered her head.
Mark felt sick and realised with dismay this conversation and what he had been asked to do was more horrifying than even the awful things on the store shelves.
“How do you want me to do it? When…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“When the time is right. When there’s no hope left.”
Nicu
Twenty minutes had passed since Garrett and Donald’s conversation. Even so, such a short space of time felt like a lifetime for those trapped inside the supermarket. People had started to form into small groups, pockets of two or three who stood around, watching nervously and waiting for something to happen. Others like Bernard tried to be proactive and continued to talk to anyone who would listen to what he had to say. He now had fourteen interested listeners to his seemingly never-ending sermon. For as much as the ordeal in the supermarket seemed to be draining the will from many who were trapped, for Bernard, it seemed to be energizing him. Donald crossed the room, flashing Bernard a stony glare as he passed juggling two sandwiches, a beer and a can of soft drink in his arms. At seventy four, he was the most senior member of the group, and yet he didn’t quite fit into the typical ‘pensioner’ stereotype. He had made sure over the years to look after himself, determined to do anything he could to keep father time at bay for a little longer. It dawned on him this was the first time he had truly been frightened in a long time, and had to go back to when he was a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old G.I in the army— something that at the time seemed like a fun thing to do instead of getting a real job, or at least it was until he was shipped off to Vietnam and experienced things so terrifying, so horrific it changed him forever. He discovered that war really was hell, so much so it didn’t take long to make him a statistic.
He had been on patrol, walking through the intense, overbearing heat of the jungle with a platoon of fifteen other fresh-faced and frightened soldiers, all of them tense, all of them holding their breath whenever an animal moved in the undergrowth. It was during their third patrol since being sent over that they were ambushed, the jungle exploding in gunfire and the air filling with smoke as they scrambled for cover, not even sure where the enemy was It had all become real to him then, and he truly understood his life was very much in danger. He supposed he was one of the lucky ones. He was shot twice, once in the thigh and again in the shoulder, both clean wounds. Later, he was told by the doctor treating his injuries he should consider himself fortunate the bullet went straight through and out again without ricocheting off a bone and making mincemeat out of his innards or embedding itself in his brain.
His buddy, Johnny Grimes, a twenty-year-old kid from Ohio wasn’t so lucky; he took one to the head. As Donald stood shaking and covered in Johnny’s brains and fragments of his skull, he couldn’t get the image cleared from his mind of the Polaroid picture of the pregnant wife Johnny had so proudly shown them not an hour earlier. You could tell he was proud that he was about to be a father. He brought it up in almost every conversation. As Donald had looked at the pulpy mess which was all that remained of his friend’s head, he had made a promise to himself to get out of Nam alive and in one piece and to live a good, worthy life away from such horrors.
By the time he had been classed as fit to return to duty, the war was over anyway. Even so, he felt ashamed at the bitter irony that he had escaped with nothing worse than a slight limp, whereas poor Johnny’s widow would have to face up to a life as a struggling single parent. He sometimes wondered what happened to her, wondered how she got on in life and what that kid of hers might be doing now. He hoped both had done well, and wished he’d looked them up before little by little he started to forget. In fact, he hadn’t really thought about it for years until the horrors of the supermarket had made him drag up those old memories.
The rest of his life he lived as carefully and as risk free as possible. People thought of him as a soft touch, and because he was quiet and often preferred to watch a conversation unfold rather than take part in it, he was underestimated. Nobody knew that underneath the laid-back exterior was a man who had seen the worst side of the war and lived to tell the tale. It was later
during his life, as old age finally reared its ugly head and started to onset him with aches and pains, that he was at a loss for something to do with his days, something to keep his brain stimulated and active.
He decided on a whim to join an amateur dramatics group. He knew from the start he was never going to trouble the Oscars or find he was some undiscovered natural talent, but he enjoyed it immensely and was competent enough to get by and take part in a few local theater productions.
These were the skills he used now as he dropped the sandwiches and clutched at his chest, letting out a pained cry as he fell to his knees. All eyes were on him, and he knew this would have to be the performance of his life. He could hear Helen, his precious loving Helen, fretting as people circled him and assisted. He felt bad for not telling her, but making the entire thing as realistic as possible was the key. He writhed and gritted his teeth and allowed his eyes to roll back into his head. He could see the people only as ghostly figures through the top of his eyelids.
Away from the commotion and the circle of onlookers who had formed around Donald’s distraction, Garrett walked quickly down the store towards the manager’s office. He didn’t look back, and tried to keep his pace as casual and steady as he could. The nearer he got to the door, the more his stomach vaulted and tumbled. The chubby employee, the one who had earlier chased the girl to her death was standing outside. He was now dressed and had thankfully cleaned the blood from his hands and face. He watched Garrett with a cold blue stare.
“You can’t come in here,” he barked, holding a podgy hand out in front of him. Garrett saw he hadn’t done such a thorough cleanup job as he had thought. He could still see the blood under his fingernails.
Come on, Ray, don’t lose your nerve now.
With as much bravado and confidence as he could muster, he batted the hand aside.
“I want to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey.”
Anger and surprise flashed across the man’s portly face and then was gone.
“Mr. Nicu is busy. He will not see you.”
“I think he will. I want to talk about this little situation we have here.”