MUSICAroLina

by Daniel William Gunning

  “Were they hostages?”

  “No, sir; we’ve compared their faces to the photos we’ve got of all the known hostages. None of them are a match. Well, one of them is missing most of his face so it’s kind of hard to tell, but the other two are definitely not matches.”

  “Well, then, who are they? Are they our bank robbers?”

  “That is unknown at this time, sir.”

  “Then where is everyone? There’s no bad guys, no hostages, just three guys we didn’t even know were here in the first place. For heaven’s sake! I’ve seen more people than this in line at the premiere of the latest Uwe Boll movie. I don’t think everyone could’ve just disappeared into thin air, so where on Earth are they?”

  “Um, sir, I think we just found some pieces of a fourth guy here,” another voice on the radio crackled.

  “I’m sorry; did you just say pieces of a fourth guy?”

  “Yes, sir, that is correct; pieces, sir...a lot of them, in fact. Scattered all over the manager’s office.”

  “And just how did this unfortunate gentleman end up in so many pieces?

  “That is unknown at this time sir, but my preliminary assessment would be that he had a bomb strapped to his chest.”

  “And who was that, exactly?”

  “Unknown at this time, sir; there’s not really much to work with here. It’s pretty disgusting, sir. Officer Neill threw up all over the crime scene.”

  “Okay, let me get this straight; so far we’ve got no perps, no hostages, three unknown dead guys, and bits and pieces of an unknown fourth guy?”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “Oh, that’s real helpful, that is. Hang on; I’m coming to check all these bodies out myself and get ready because we may be finding pieces of a fifth guy real soon,” he shouted angrily into the radio. With that, Sergeant Carpenter started toward the back of the bank. Even through the smoke and crackling lights, he could see the trail of blood on the floor that led off toward the back room, but as he began to pass the vault he suddenly stopped. A faint noise caught his attention. It was a soft banging sound that was muffled, but rapid; it came from inside the vault. He walked over to the vault door, pressed his ear to the side and listened. Frantically, he grabbed his radio and yelled, “Get me someone who can open this vault NOW!”

  “We’ve already got someone coming in to do that, sir, but there’s something else you need to see.”

  ***

  Sergeant Carpenter stood in the tiny utility closet near the back of the bank. The carpeting had been peeled up and thrown to the side; the floor panels, which formed a small trap door, had been lifted up. He stared down into the gaping hole it had revealed. He knelt down and pointed his flashlight downwards into the tunnel it had concealed.

  “So, let me get this straight; they used the explosion to distract us and then used the time it took for our fire experts to realize the building was not about to completely collapse to make their escape. Oh, that’s annoyingly clever. Where’s the tunnel come out at?” he asked into his radio.

  “It comes out in an empty building across the street. We’ve already checked; they’re long gone, sir. At least, I think so. There’s several unknown bodies over here too, but they’ve been dead awhile. One guy’s even missing his head,” the voice on the radio said.

  “Of course he is,” Sergeant Carpenter muttered to himself.

  “We pulled all the files on this place and here’s the kicker: the bank actually owns the building. They foreclosed on it years ago and they haven’t leased it out even once since. We’re pulling every traffic cam and anything else we can think of to see if we can pick up what they got away in, but it’s going to take some time,” the voice on the radio responded.

  “But who would have a tunnel to a bank if it’d never been robbed before? They couldn’t have dug the tunnels. I’m pretty sure someone would’ve noticed some sort of noise or perhaps, I don’t know, some massive vibrations if someone were tunneling into their bank!” Sergeant Carpenter yelled, frustrated, at the officer nearest to him.

  “Maybe the tunnels were already there, sir.”

  “Oh, gee, you think? But what on Earth for?”

  “That’s un...” the Officer started to say, but was instantly cut off.

  “Don’t say unknown to me right now; just don’t,” he said menacingly to the officer. He then said into his radio, “Has anyone gotten that vault open yet?”

  “We are getting it open now, sir. We had to bring in a specialist, the codes the bank’s home office had on file didn’t work. It seems the bank manager changed them manually somehow.”

  “And just why would he do that?”

  Just then, another voice on the radio cut in, “Sir we’ve got the vault open and uh, you’re gonna want to see this, sir.”

  “Be right there,” he replied and hurried off toward the vault. When Carpenter arrived at the bank vault, the door was now wide open. Officers stood on each side. Some peered in; some looked back at him, as if they expected him to offer some sort of explanation for what they saw inside. He walked into the entrance and shined his flashlight around the room. He froze. He stood there, rooted to the spot, perplexed, and finally in bewilderment said, “Huh?”

  CHAPTER 2

  THE WRONG SIDE OF THE TRACKS

  John had their getaway car pulled over on the side of the road with the engine still running. Inside, the trio of bank robbers sat nervously, waiting. Parked directly behind their vehicle was a police motorcycle with its lights flashing. Its rider, the agitated-looking cop, stood by the front window of the car, pad in hand. He tore a sheet from his pad and handed John a freshly written ticket. “No, you have a nice day, officer. Thank you so much,” John said, while sheepishly taking the speeding ticket from the motorcycle cop.

  “Just do me a personal favor; will ya, pal? Try to pay a little more attention to the laws ‘round these parts,” the cop said smugly. He then turned and sauntered back to his motorcycle.

  “Yeah, um, we’ll be sure and do that, officer. We always strive to uphold the law; this won’t happen again, I promise you,” John called out after him, almost managing the appearance of sounding genuine. They waited until the cop got back on his bike and drove off past them, waving while he did. John waved back enthusiastically and muttered, “Idiot.” He then pulled the car back onto the highway and they continued with their escape.

  “So, that was pretty funny. I rather enjoyed that; nice going, boss. Excellent work,” Mac joked from the back seat, while he grinned from ear to ear.

  “You know, John. I don’t want to be the overly nitpicky guy who plays Monday-morning quarterback here; maybe, just maybe, I could make a suggestion for when you’re trying to inconspicuously flee the scene of a bank you just robbed: Perhaps you should try to follow the rules of the road during the getaway. You know, so you don’t draw any undue attention to yourself. I’m just saying that perhaps now really isn’t the best time to make new friends in the police department. I know you’re a jolly, devil-may-care, risk-taking, son-of-a-gun and all that, but come on, man! There’s such a thing as an acceptable risk,” Kurt jabbed.

  “Yes, thank you, everyone. I’m so glad you’re so very amused. I’m just thrilled that I could do my part and contribute to the betterment of your day by injecting a moment of pure lighthearted fun and frivolity into our rather dull, daring escape,” John replied, mildly perturbed.

  “Hey, look on the bright side. At least it means we got away clean, or at the very least they have no idea what kind of vehicle we’re driving yet,” Mac said.

  “Yeah, that may be true, but I’ll still feel a whole lot safer when we switch vehicles,” John stated.

  “Are you absolutely sure your brother is all ready for us?” Kurt asked.

  “Yeah, I talked to him yesterday afternoon. Everything is set; he’s got a new van waiting for us along with our shiny new IDs. He’s staying in some two-bit bed and breakfast with his girlfriend in some little tourist trap called—get
this—Musicarolina.”

  “I’m sorry, wait. Back it up for me just a li’l bit. Did you just say Musicarolina?” Kurt asked quizzically.

  “Yeah, you heard me right. Musicarolina.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be difficult here, but I just want to be absolutely certain that I’ve got this straight. Someone actually named their town Musicarolina? You are really telling me that, in all honesty, some person actually thought up the name Musicarolina in their head and the entire—I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt here and assume at least partially sane—population of that town said, ‘Yeah, dude; that’s a great idea. Let’s do that!’”

  “No Kurt, I’m making the whole thing up. The God’s honest truth is that what I’m really doing is I’m driving us to the state capitol, so that we can drive the brand spanking new Bank Robber’s Pride float in the Thanksgiving Day parade.”

  “Dude, it’s nowhere near Thanksgiving,” Mac replied. John just glared back at him in the rearview mirror. Mac quickly pulled his hat down over his eyes, slumped back in his seat and grumbled, “Oh, sorry! I had no idea Mr. Criminal Mastermind had gotten all cranky, now that all the super-fun crime capering and fantastic explosions are over with.”

  “Great! You went and upset the man with the explosives; are you happy now, John? Hm, are you?” Kurt snapped with a grin.

  “You know, this is why I love you guys so much. You’re the jolliest band of ne’er-do-wells that ever graced the criminal underworld. You make even the most ordinary, boring ol’ crime positively, downright fun!” John replied with a smirk.

  “Seriously man, who talks like that?” Kurt asked.

  “Who talks like that, seriously? Um, I’m pretty sure that I heard you say something along the lines of ‘jolly, devil-may-care, risk-taking, son-of-a-gun’ not two minutes ago.”

  “Oh! Touché, Mr. Grumpy; so how far away is this mystical land which the natives have seen fit to bestow the name Musicarolina upon?”

  “Yeah, and I’m the one who talks weird, riiiiight.”

  “Hey, I always just assumed you were copying me. I mean, I am your role model, after all.”

  “You’re my role model? Kurt, harsh reality check, bro: you’re in your thirties, you still live in your parent’s basement, you haven’t held down a steady job in the last decade, and—oh yeah, I forgot—you just robbed a bank!”

  “Well, so did you!”

  “Oh, well! Who’s copying who now?”

  “I hate you; you know that, right?”

  “Oh now, that’s simply impossible; I’m a jolly, devil-may-care, risk-taking son-of-a-gun! I’m adorable; no one could ever hate me.”

  “You’re also just a wee bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, now just sit back and relax. We’ll be there in about an hour.”

  ***

  John seemed to have drastically underestimated their time of arrival in Musicarolina, to say the least. Night had long since fallen as they began to drive through a remote, tiny town; the last town on the map before they reached their destination. Truth be told, it wasn’t much to behold; there were only a few clusters of tiny rundown houses, a lone gas station, and a small ramshackle bar and grill with a wooden sign outside that said “Piper’s Place”. It was the type of town where if a person blinked, he just might pass through it without ever knowing he had been there. They didn’t have this problem, however; as they were forced to pull to a stop at some railroad tracks at the far edge of town, as a train slowly ambled across.

  “Is this the place, John? Because if it is, then we need to have a rather serious talk. I was really hoping that you’d come through this year and take me someplace a lot nicer for our vacation. I mean, I think I deserve it. I am pretty great, but you know, whatever. I don’t care,” Kurt said, with mock sadness.

  “No, this isn’t it, Mr. Funny Guy. For the record, I ain’t taking you anywhere nice until you purty yourself up a bit. Maybe put on some makeup, a pretty floral bonnet, or something; good heavens, you’re a disgrace, man.”

  “You are so not the man I first started committing felonies with.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Deal with it, Cupcake. Seriously though, it should be just the next town over, according to the map. In fact, it should be right across these railroad tracks here. Relax Kurt, we’re almost home free,” John responded. “How’s Mac doing back there?”

  “Oh, he’s been asleep for miles, poor li’l guy; seems he’s plumb tuckered out from a rich full day of crime, car rides, and blowing crap up.”

  “Well, that has been known to tucker a fellow out,” John said grinning. As John checked the rearview mirror, he saw someone leaving one of the small houses nearest to them and walking out into the road. The person continued walking directly down the center of the road, following the yellow lines as he proceeded toward their car, not even looking for any other traffic on the road, just moving steadily toward them. John looked around, peering off into the darkness, straining his eyes, trying to see the end of the train. “How long is this train anyway?” John asked, nerves ever so slightly beginning to set in.

  “I don’t know; but it sure is taking its sweet time, isn’t it?” Kurt replied, as the train continued as it was, moving at an almost glacial pace down the tracks. Kurt noticed John checking the rearview mirror nervously. “What are you looking at? Am I missing something cool?” He asked while turning, and looked out the back window. By now, it seemed people were coming out from every house in the tiny town, and each and every one was plodding methodically toward their car. A couple at the head of the pack had begun to congregate in a group just a few feet behind where they were parked. “Um, John, what exactly is happening here? Because I’m pretty sure this ain’t normal, like at all.”

  “You think I know?” John shot back, still looking out into the night for the end of the train. What must have been the entire town’s population had now gathered in one large group behind their car. Now they began to stretch out in a line across the road, holding hands, forming a human chain stretching as far as they could see into the pitch black night. Every head was bowed, as if in prayer. Their faces were eerily illuminated by the faint reddish glow of the tail lights. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that whatever this is, it ain’t good,” John said. Fear was beginning to creep into his voice, though he tried his best to hide it.

  “Do you hear that? I think I hear banjo music.”

  “Yeah, that’s not helping at all, Kurt.” One member broke away from the group and started to amble slowly toward the side of the car. He didn’t walk normally, but shambled forward, zombie-like. John reached his shaking hand over and locked the car doors.

  “Yeah, that’ll help.”

  “Shut up, Kurt.”

  They could hear, though muffled by the car windows that the man was trying to say something to them as he approached. He was muttering loudly and finally he raised his face to them. They could see that his eyes were rolled up into the back of his head, leaving just the milky whites glowing a menacing red from the tail lights. “Oh yeah, that does not look good at all; in fact, that looks super creepy,” John said. The man had almost reached the side door now and was still trying to speak to them, to deliver some form of message as he moved forward, muttering, but they didn’t stick around for one second to find out what it was.

  As he approached the driver’s side door and reached his unsteady hand out toward the door handle, the train finally completed its slow trek across the tracks and John stomped on the gas as hard as he could. He swerved wildly between the still-lowered crossing arms, before they had a chance to even begin their ascent, and he sped onto the narrow dusty road beyond. They left that eerie crowd in the dust behind them. The last thing they saw in the rearview mirror was the man who had approached them, holding out his hand toward them as if gesturing for them to stop. They did not even consider it.

  ***

  Over an hour later, they were still driving on that same, desolate, dust
y road; their nerves well beyond frayed. The road was barely wide enough for one vehicle to travel down it safely. They had not the slightest idea what they would do if another car came down it from the opposite direction as either side dropped off precipitously into utter blackness.

  “Seriously man, how long is this road? This is literally impossible; we’ve been driving for over an hour and there hasn’t even been a place to turn off,” Kurt said, nervous and frustrated.

  “I don’t know; this is ridiculous. It didn’t look this long on the map.”

  “You realize that maps aren’t to scale; right, John?”

  “Yes, thank you Kurt, I know that; and let me just say you’re being sooooo helpful today, but I’m telling you it should’ve only been about a couple minute’s drive.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve never seen a road this long before, especially with no place to turn around. Are you sure we’re even on the right road?”

  “Seeing as it is the one and only road that leads to Musicarolina, and as you’ve already so correctly pointed out there are absolutely no turn offs anywhere; then, yes, I’m reasonably certain that would make this the right road. Anyway, we couldn’t even turn around and go back if we wanted to now; there’s not enough room.”

  “We could always just back up.”

  “You want to drive, in reverse, for an hour or so to get back to the creepy mob back there?”

  “Hey maybe we judged them too harshly is all; maybe they were a nice creepy mob, a friendly creepy mob, a helpful creepy mob and anyway they can’t be any creepier than this. I can’t even see what’s on either side of us. It’s just a giant black abyss.”

  “It must just be water. I mean, what else could it be?”

  Just then, the road suddenly and without any warning split into two paths; one heading straight upward and the other dropping straight down; with no time to properly think over the two options, John quickly jerked the wheel to the left and headed toward the lower path. They skidded over the middle between the two roads, dropped hard down onto the lower path, and John struggled mightily to hold onto control of the car to prevent them from careening into the abyss on either side of them. He mashed down on the brakes as hard as he could and turned the wheel sharply. They skidded safely to a stop on an old stone bridge. The bridge led over a large lake, which seemed to appear, as it stretched out in front of them, simply out of nowhere. Across the bridge, they could see an old cobbled stone road winding through an ancient-looking village nestled—or perhaps, more accurately, hidden—in the woods. “Where in the world did that come from?” John wondered aloud. It was then that they noticed the sign that stood beside the bridge, now lit up brightly by their headlights, that proudly proclaimed “Welcome to Musicarolina.”