by Chris Bostic
He quieted, as did the flock. I crept a little closer to the sign, constantly watching for movement on the ceiling.
“See,” I whispered back. “Nice and easy.”
In a few more steps, I was close enough to read the sign. Blackbird Creek Distilling.
“So much for Old Raven.”
I made my way back toward the group. On the way, I spotted a brand new double door on the adjacent wall. It lined up to where anyone entering would face skeleton bird and the sign head-on.
Crouching in front of the others, I motioned them forward, saying, “Let’s go. Take it slow.”
“Why?” Pete said.
“So they don’t freak out.”
“I meant why go?”
“You see how the room is totally rehabbed?” I asked. He nodded. “There’s a whole new door over there.”
“So?”
“New. Like not from 1988.” He remained unconvinced, so I said, “It’s worth checking out. Don’t mind the birds.”
On my periphery, I saw Vince clutch the umbrella tighter.
“Easy, killer. We don’t bother them and they won’t bother us.”
He relaxed somewhat. I looked to Pete. “Coming?”
Vic answered for him, saying, “And get attacked by the birds? No thanks.”
I could tell Pete had no idea what to say and wasn’t going to make up his mind without a push. Before I could deliver that verbal shove, Vic spoke up.
“Where’s that door go?”
“I dunno. Probably outside from the looks of it.” Then again, there weren’t any windows on ground level, just up on the second floor. So it was hard to tell.
Having not convincingly told Vic it was outside, I realized the error. She immediately jumped on that.
“I’m going back to the lobby.” She grabbed Pete’s wrist. “You two explorers do whatever you want. We’ll meet you outside.”
Pete looked at me for permission. I ignored him to focus on Vince. “Well, Diego, are we going back with them?”
He rubbed his head. “I’m just glad you didn’t call me Dora.”
“That can be arranged. So?”
“Might as well check it out.” He turned to Vic and Pete. “See y’all on the outside.”
They didn’t wait to say their goodbyes. While they hustled back toward the hallway to the lobby, I pointed out the metal sign to Vince.
“You ever heard of Blackbird Creek Distilling?”
He scratched his head, which elicited a scowl like he touched an open wound. “I don’t think so…but I’m not thinkin’ straight.”
“You ever do that?”
“Good point.”
“C’mon, Dora.” I shuffled into the room again, remaining hunched over farther than a calcium-deficient grandmother. “Stay low.”
“How low can you go?”
Not very should have been his answer to his own question. He leaned on the umbrella, but thankfully stayed low enough to not disturb the birds.
He kept singing that awful limbo song. Then he grabbed my ankle, nearly pitching me onto the floor.
“What the fuck? I’m not playing games.”
“Hey,” he said. “Your ass is glowing.”
“Say what?” I whirled around. “Don’t make me regret not sending you with the others.”
“The green,” he mumbled defensively. “There’s something, uhm, green in your…pocket. Yeah, that’s the word.”
“Oh.” I pulled out the glow stick. “I found this back in the lab.”
“Lab? I didn’t see a lab.”
I waved him forward, while answering, “You didn’t see much on your little quest to find water.”
“I wish I woulda seen some of that.”
“Yeah, me too.” I smacked my parched lips together and tried to imagine a cool drink. By that point, my clothes were practically dry, and the rain seemed to have stopped for good.
We reached the double door without incident. I pushed them both at the middle. They swayed a little but neither opened. With another glance at our feathery friends, I stood up enough to find a deadbolt. After a quick twist, the doors gave way.
No surprise, it didn’t lead outdoors.
“What?” Vince said in reaction to my groan.
“We’re not out of here yet.”
I shuffled into another large room, checking the ceiling before standing. It was a bird-free zone, and as clean as the temple.
“You can stand up.”
I stretched out my back and stared at twilight streaming through a restored stained-glass window. A hexagonal reception desk of polished wood sat bathed in the glow, right in the middle of the room.
On the wall opposite the stained glass, I found an even larger bird mural. This one included the brand name along with Welcome to in giant black letters.
Vince wobbled trying to straighten up.
“What’s that say?” he mumbled.
I could read it plain as day. “Welcome to Blackbird Creek Distilling. You know? Like I was saying earlier?”
“Never heard of it.”
“Are you okay?” I turned back to him, and instantly recognized a problem. I grabbed his upper arm to steady him. “You really don’t look good.”
He blinked, slower than an instant replay. “You look…amazing.”
“Not now.” The situation was not good, and it got worse when he wobbled.
The umbrella fell to the floor, leaving me with all his weight bearing down. I staggered over toward the stained glass and deposited him on a waiting couch. He passed out before he hit the leather.
CHAPTER 20
“Great,” I muttered. “I guess it was only a matter of time. Now what?” I looked around the room and identified a couple different ways to head.
Past the stained glass was another newer looking door. Just beyond that, on the far wall, was another set of double doors. That hadn’t worked out so good last time, so I ruled them out initially. Then I caught the sign over the doorway.
Tasting Room. Next to that was another sign with an arrow noting Restrooms pointing in the same direction.
Spinning back around, I read the sign over the door we had just exited.
Tap Room.
Each side of the door had floor to ceiling built-in shelves that I could easily imagine filled with bottles and knick-knacks for sale. Whoever was in charge of restoring this place had done some nice work. It would be stunning if they ever got the rest sturdy enough to withstand the storms and some foot traffic.
Back under the mural, I spotted a final sign reading Museum Tour. Something told me that meant a way to the old lobby, perhaps back through the dusty, moldy areas we had already seen.
Vince snored on the couch, providing a gentle rumble that echoed through the space. I considered my three choices: an unmarked possible exit, the restroom and tasting room, and the museum.
Lots of things ran through my head. Flip a coin? Let’s Make a Deal. Finding help for Vince was clearly most important, but which one?
I cursed myself for wasting time. Also for allowing us to get split up again.
Vince rolled onto his side. He coughed to the point I thought he might throw up. That would get ugly.
I stepped to the reception desk to lean against it and was surprised to find a tablet computer and detachable keyboard. The tablet had been plugged into a modern outlet on the floor. A metal tumbler cup with a clear lid rested beside the keyboard.
I swished it around, but couldn’t tell if it had anything in it, even when I pulled out the glow stick to check. So I tipped it sideways and a solitary drop hit the floor.
Water.
I thought back to the restroom sign when Vince had another coughing fit. Some things worked here, evidently, and water might actually be one of them. How lucky if it was the one thing we needed, or so the cramping in my legs reminded me. We’d been too long on our feet without a drink.
“Drink first, help later.”
I grabbed the tumbler and strode for
the double doors. I shoved them open to find a clean, wide hallway—and a faint, somewhat familiar whiff of sweet cologne.
Another set of glass double doors stood at the end of the short hallway. Halfway there, off to the right, an overhead sign read Men. The opposite side, Women.
“Bingo.”
I pushed open the door to the women’s room. It was pitch black inside, so I took a second to fish out the glow stick before entering.
White light flashed under the door of the men’s room. I did a double take, wondering if the power was coming on, when the door opened. The stocky soldier, Gallow, walked out with a white glow stick in hand. The scent cloud followed him.
“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”
My throat tightened. I froze in place, my feet mired in concrete. He looked me over from head to waist. Then back to my chest.
“Come for a tasting, did ya?”
“N-no,” I stammered. “I’m just leavin’.”
I went to go back to the reception area, but he was faster. He stepped in front, keeping me blocked in the narrow opening to the bathroom. Even without touching me, I went on high alert.
“Come on,” he said with a crooked smile and gestured toward the tasting room. “Have a drink with us.”
Maybe that worked on other girls, but I was completely repulsed. Shaking too. But something about the way he had said us brought me up short. It had to be the other soldier.
“No, thanks.” I took a step and he closed the gap. I pushed against him, not overly aggressive, but enough to let him know I wasn’t sticking around. “C’mon, man. That’s not cool.”
“No, it’s really fucking hot. Like you.” He licked his lips. “Sure you don’t want a taste? I’d like to taste you.”
“Like hell you will.” I rocked my weight back on my heels, raising the tumbler to strike.
“I’m just jokin’.” He backed off slightly and gestured for me to leave. “Go on. Go find your boyfriend.”
“I will,” I said but remained planted, watching his every movement. There wasn’t enough space to leave anyway.
He closed back in and put a hand on my hip, saying, “You need a real man, darlin’.”
I shoved his hand away. “Looks like you do too.” His eyes narrowed to slits, but I kept going. “Where’s your fuck buddy at?”
“Oh, you’re asking for it.”
“Asking and getting are two different things.” I stood my ground, debating if I should retreat to the bathroom or strike first. Either way, this wasn’t going to end well.
“And here I was gonna let you go.”
Blood rushed, brightening my face. First strike it was.
I brought a knee up to his groin.
The impact was hard, but more flesh than my intended target.
“You bitch!” The creep grabbed at his thigh but used his body to keep me from slipping past.
“Vince!” I screamed.
Limping, the creep reached for my mouth. I brought the tumbler down on his arm. It bounced off his forearm. I knew it hurt him from the growl, but not enough to slow his progress.
“Vince! Goddammit!”
“Shut up.” The creep shoved me against the wall. I twisted to soften the impact, only losing half the breath from my lungs. As I slumped, trying to keep a fighting stance, he charged.
I ducked as he leaped. I would have slipped right underneath him if it hadn’t been for a tight grip. He grabbed my tank, and a good chunk of skin, on the way over and practically ripped my shirt in half.
I fell to the ground with the guy still hanging on. Propping myself up on my elbow, with a bra strap off my shoulder and a boob about to pop up, the guy leered.
“Vince!”
I kicked, but the guy knew a thing about wrestling. He pushed my feet away, climbing on top of me as I clawed back like a wild animal.
I got him good somewhere, eliciting a yelp. But it only pissed him off. That wasn’t a reason to quit fighting back, though.
When he tried to pull down my shorts, I got in another good scratch. That earned me a solid backhand across the face.
My vision blinded like lightning. The sting equally as sharp. With tears filling my eyes, I screamed bloody murder.
He jammed a forearm across my mouth and I bit. I would’ve torn a chunk of flesh if it hadn’t been for another flash of pain across my cheek.
I screamed one last time before he put both knees on my chest and crushed the air out of my lungs. At least I couldn’t smell that damn cologne.
I gasped, lips moving like a fish out of water. My head pounding. Chest aching.
Then I got a breath.
The creeper went flying, slamming into the wall. All I saw were shadows. A mighty swish cut through the air, stirring a breeze, immediately followed by the undeniable sound of wood cracking.
A body slumped to the ground, head smacking the floor with a sickening thump.
CHAPTER 21
“Grace!”
I couldn’t sit up. Too tired and sore, too out of breath.
“Grace.” Strong hands shook me gently. Tried to lift me. “Talk to me.”
“Vince,” I croaked.
“You’re fine. I’m here.”
He cradled me in his arms. I slumped back.
“He’s…out.” Vince brushed the tears away from my eyes, his thumb hitting a bruise that made my eyes pop open. “You okay?”
“Fine, I guess.” I struggled to sit up. I turned enough to where I could see a lump of tan and camo against the far wall. Blood gushed from his head across the tile floor. “Him?”
“Fuck, I dunno. I mighta killed the bastard.” He looked back at me, eyes narrowed. “That’s not important now.”
“I thought you were unconscious.”
“Same,” he said with a soft smile. “Guess I was for a while.”
“Lost and now found,” I mumbled.
“Blind and now see.” His brow furrowed deeper. “I’m sorry.”
I had him help me up to my feet before saying, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I shouldn’t have passed out on you. Goddammit.”
I shook my head, which only proceeded to bring back the stars. I groaned and tried to straighten up my clothes. Looking down, I saw my boob hanging completely out of my bra. I twisted away from him to tuck it back in the cup, and pulled the strap over my shoulder, wincing as the fabric came in contact with fingernail scrapes.
Though surely having noticed but not making any indication that he had, Vince said, “Let’s get outta here in case he wakes up…if he ever does.”
“Watch him?” I said, and pointed to the bathroom.
“Yeah.” Vince leaned over to pick up the shorter part of the broken umbrella. He grabbed the end with the hook, which he brandished like a dagger.
He picked up the green glow stick too and handed it to me. I opened the bathroom door and stumbled inside. It didn’t shut behind me.
My blood pressure spiked. Anxiety crashed like a wave. I whipped around, pain stinging my neck. “What the fuck, Vince?”
He stood blocking the doorway, but stared out toward the body in the hallway.
“I’m not leaving you alone again.”
“Oh…okay.”
I looked into the mirror and nearly puked. My hair was a mess, but the welts on my cheek were the real eye catcher. Or so I thought at first. Then I adjusted the light and saw the fingernail gouges over my collarbone, leading to a missing tank top strap on my right side. It hung down like a pair of half buttoned overalls.
I thought back to my boob hanging out and would have blushed, only I was too rattled to care. Instead, I readjusted the strap and ran my hand over the scrapes, wincing again. Then I adjusted the bandage on my palm, which had shifted during the melee. Thankfully no blood leaked out, but yet another stab of pain.
“Oh, fuck,” I moaned.
“You okay?”
“Good as I’ll ever be.” I flinched as I ran a hand over the bruises on my cheek. A hard
lump had formed under my eye. No doubt it would be an awful shade of purple soon.
“Don’t say that.”
I turned the faucet handle, but nothing came out. “I think so…at least for a while. There’s no water to clean up.”
“You look fine,” he said without looking and stepped back into the hallway. He held the door open with a hand, while I stayed in the threshold, trying not to look at the culprit on the ground.
Vince made that difficult. He stooped over the soldier and said, “He hasn't moved.”
I didn't know what to tell him, but I felt like we needed to know if he was alive or not. I wasn't particularly rooting for life at that moment, which wasn't something to be proud of, but fear had a way of pushing forgiveness to the back burner.
Vince touched the man lightly on the shoulder, while brandishing the sharp umbrella fragment in the other.
No reply. No reaction.
“Asshole,” Vince said, shaking him harder. “You awake?”
Still nothing.
He picked up the man's arm and felt around his wrist. Then dropped it limply back onto the ground. I wasn’t sure what that meant as I watched numbly from across the hallway.
When he reached for his neck, it became more obvious.
“He's dead,” Vince said.
“Oh, shit,” I mumbled.
Vince stood up, grimacing. I wasn't sure if it was from the pain in his ankle, or headache, or what had just transpired. Rather expired.
I didn't know what to say, so I said the only thing that came to my jumbled mind. “I'm sorry.”
“You are?” he said. “I killed the bastard.”
“For me.” A tear broke loose.
“You're not gonna cry over him?”
“No. I dunno.” I exhaled deeply. “Maybe I should?”
“I wouldn't.” He spread his arms wide, and I fell into them, nearly knocking us both over. “He deserved it...for what he did to you.”
I sobbed. Never had I cried that long or hard. Certainly not in front of anyone else. Vince rubbed my back the whole time, and kept saying, “I'm sorry.” Occasionally, he threw in a heartfelt, “It's okay.”
“We're a sorry bunch,” I said when I finally cried myself out. “And I don't know that it will ever be okay.”