by Dan Padavona
At the front of the ranch, Mickey walked past the living room window. Blake crouched within the darkness beyond the edge of light spilling out from the ranch. Cautiously, he straightened until he could see into the room.
At first, Blake only saw Mickey hunched over with his back to him, rummaging through a toolbox. But as he bent lower, Blake saw Tori.
His heart leaped between incompatible emotions—his joy that she was still alive and apparently unharmed, his terror that Tori was bound to a chair—
How am I going to untie her ropes before Mickey stops me?
—and that Mickey knelt before her, holding a curved hunting knife. The yellow-orange light caught the blade.
My God. He’s going to kill her.
Blake remembered hearing Mickey’s voice before he lost consciousness in the travel plaza parking lot.
Sorry, Sport, but I never liked you anyway. Gunshots. Something whistling toward his face. Hot pain searing across the side of his skull. Blackness.
Blake bit his tongue and drew blood. As his mouth filled with a coppery taste, anger thawed his frozen bones. His hands balled into fists.
Blake decided. Nothing would stand between him and saving Tori.
From the macabre toolbox, Mickey removed a pair of heavy-duty scissors with thick, sharp blades. Tori bent away from the scissors, her eyes bulging.
“These are post mortem scissors. They’re incredible, aren’t they?” He looked at his reflection in the steel and cackled. “Do you know what it sounds like when a pair of post mortem scissors cuts through the rib cage? Imagine yourself inside of a dark tunnel, cracking open the world’s largest walnut. Crunch! When these scissors cut through ribs, the entire rib cage flies apart like a butterfly bursting out of its chrysalis. It’s a beautiful thing.”
While Tori wiggled her ankles against the taut bindings, Mickey held a wicked-looking hunting knife before her. When the room light caught in the blade, it produced blinding flashes that left black holes in her vision, like storm clouds blotting out the sun. Mickey turned the blade over, pointing it over her groin. He licked his lips.
Slowly lowering the knife, he ran the tip along her skin from thigh to knee. Where the knife touched, it left behind a swollen, pink streak, like a bloody highway erected under her skin. Near the knee, the blade tip punctured her skin. Blood welled out of the wound.
“Oops.” Drool slithered down the corner of Mickey’s mouth. His eyes were wide, seeming to lack a grip on reality.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Yessss.”
He placed the blade over her right index finger. When she tried to move her hand away, he jammed the palm of his free hand down on hers, pinning it to the chair’s arm. He moved the blade in a sawing motion a millimeter above her skin.
“Please don’t.”
He’s really going to do it. He’s going to cut right through the bone so he can show me off to the next girl he catches.
Mickey moved the edge of the blade along her chest. She felt the deadly-sharp steel through her cotton shirt, moving along her breasts, moving toward her nipples—
The front door cracked open behind Mickey. As Tori stared wide-eyed over Mickey’s shoulder, she saw a hand slip around the jamb. In that moment, as she began to lose her own hold on reality, she imagined a boogeyman emerging from the black of night to kill them both.
The door opened wider. Blake’s face appeared along the border of room light and the infinite darkness of the night.
That’s impossible. Blake is dead. I saw him die in the parking lot. I saw him—
The door silently drifted open, and now Blake slipped into the room through the opening. Their eyes met, Tori’s infused with disbelief. Blake placed his index finger to his lips.
As Tori watched Blake edge his way along the front wall, Mickey traced invisible crosses over her chest with the blade tip. Mickey appeared lost in rapture. His grinning lips trembled. His face dripped with perspiration, drool pooling at the tip of his chin.
Mickey noticed her eyes following the walls behind him, and for a second his trance broke. Blake crept closer to the corner wood stove, his back pressed against the front window.
If Mickey turns around now, we’re both dead.
As though he felt a phantom floating across his back, Mickey started to turn his head. Panicking, Tori blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“You can’t kill me.”
Mickey’s eyes locked onto hers, and she exhaled.
“I’m not going to kill you yet, Tori. The game has just begun.”
“How do you know you’ll ever see another girl again? What if I’m the last one, Mickey?”
His grin contorted. The confidence in his eyes wavered.
“What do you mean?”
“If you kill the last girl on earth, what will you do? And even if I’m not the last one, what are the chances another girl will come anywhere near your house?”
On the periphery of her vision, she saw Blake bending toward the fireplace tools behind the wood stove.
Hurry, Blake.
Mickey’s eyes shifted toward the corner again, and she distracted him.
“Think about it. What other girl have you seen besides me since Saturday?”
Blake hoisted an iron fireplace poker.
“You could be waiting a long, long time before someone else wanders through town. Maybe forever.”
Mickey’s lips quivered. “Stop talking. You’re not getting out of this. Not until we finish our game.”
Blake moved on cat’s paws across the living room, angling behind Mickey, away from the corner of his vision. He crept closer, closer.
Mickey’s eyes flared with rage. Now he turned the knife edge down, gripping the hilt with both of his hands. He poised the blade tip over her heart.
Blake raised the poker over his head.
Mickey pulled the blade back, as though nocking an arrow.
“No more games tonight. I think I’ll kill you first, and then cut you into pieces.”
Blake was two steps away from Mickey. If he swung the poker now, he could reach Mickey’s skull. If he hurried—
The floorboards groaned under Blake’s weight.
Mickey bellowed a lunatic scream. He spun around, flashing the blade at Blake. As Mickey thrust the knife toward Blake’s stomach, rage overcame Tori. She cried for Blake to watch out, but it was too late. The knife would gut him, and then Mickey would turn the blade on her.
Tension, like an overabundance of static electricity, filled the air. Tori cried out, and the mug of tea shattered. As Tori watched the hot tea pour over the floorboards, a strange thought occurred to her—somehow I caused the mug to break.
The distraction caused Mickey to miss his mark with the knife. The tip ripped across Blake’s shirt, drawing blood. Screaming as though charging into battle, Blake swung the fireplace poker. The fire iron slammed squarely into Mickey’s skull.
Mickey’s eyes rolled back into his head, and in that moment, he was an eyeless zombie, risen from the dead. He muttered something indistinguishable, his tongue lolling uncontrollably in his mouth. As Mickey fell onto his hands and knees, Blake slammed the poker down on the back of his neck.
Mickey collapsed onto the floorboards, his neck cocked at a grotesque angle.
His eyes closed. Blood poured out from his nostrils, streaming onto the floor like a river out of its banks. For good measure, Blake slammed the poker down on Mickey’s back. Mickey convulsed and then lay still.
Blake threw the poker aside and picked up Mickey’s knife.
“Get us out of here, Blake.”
As Blake sawed through the ropes, Tori watched Mickey’s prone body the way a mouse crossing the kitchen floor watches a sleeping cat.
“Hurry.”
He freed her hands first and then her ankles. The knots around her waist took longer as he couldn’t cut through the ropes without risking that the blade would slice into her stomach. He circled around the back of the
chair, keeping one eye on Mickey as he sawed the bindings.
Mickey lay motionless. Was he breathing? Tori couldn’t tell for sure.
The final knot came loose with a loud pop. She sprang from the chair on the legs of a newborn calf. Wobbling, she started to fall onto Mickey.
Blake grabbed her from behind, steadying her. “Take it slow. Can you walk?”
Her legs seemed to be filled with pins and needles. With painful slowness, the feeling came back to her legs, starting at her thighs and working past her knees to her feet, like ice water pouring through her tendons.
She nodded that she was ready to walk. Blake placed her right arm over his shoulder, and as he supported her, they moved around Mickey toward the front door of the ranch. She kept expecting the floorboards to creak behind them and to hear Mickey’s deranged scream. But they made it to the door, where the dewy night air met them at the threshold.
She kept asking Blake, “How did you know the travel plaza was dangerous? How did you know where to find me so quickly?”
Blake didn’t answer. He pulled her into the black pit of night, and they hobbled down the embankment, away from Mickey’s ranch.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Signs
When most of the darkness had gone out of the sky, and an eruption of clementine bubbled up from the eastern horizon, Darren and Carina exited from the Prius along I-95 near Daytona Beach. Within the grassy median, Carina held a stake and white board, upon which was painted—
WE’RE ALIVE
FLORIDA BLISS
THIS EXIT
—while Darren pounded the stake into the loamy earth. The air held the suffocating humidity which never evaporated in central Florida this time of year, even during the hours straddling dawn. They drove north along the interstate, stopping every fifty miles to pound another sign into the median, with a goal of placing signs as far north as Savannah.
Once, near St. Augustine, Darren found an upscale housing development where he siphoned enough fuel from a Ford Mustang to fill the Prius’ tank.
As the car rolled northward past billboards advertising fast food and hotel chains, Carina peered out at the never ending green along the thoroughfare. She didn’t like heading north. A voice in the back of her mind pleaded with her to turn back, that she was driving toward danger. She tried to shake free of the voice, but it clung to her like damp clothing. Metal kept flashing behind them along the distant ribbon of interstate highway, and though she figured it was just the sun reflecting off abandoned vehicles, she continuously watched the mirrors, a growing feeling that someone followed.
A little after midmorning, they reached the exit for Savannah, Georgia. A week ago, they would have passed thousands of cars over the four-hour trip. Today, I-95 stretched away as desolate as the surface of the moon. Shoulders slumped and sullen, Carina hoisted the remaining sign and carried it to the median where Darren stood waiting. Rogue switchgrass invaded the median, choking off competing vegetation. The blades curled down from the smothering heat, making low whistling sounds as they strode through.
When Darren began to pound the final sign into the earth, Carina stopped and shouted, pointing toward a shooting star of light approaching from the southbound lane. As the light drew closer, she identified the vehicle as a silver Chevy truck. Darren watched the truck, his mouth hanging agape. When the vehicle was close enough to recognize its South Carolina plates, Carina kissed Darren on the cheek and hugged him.
Hank Jenner was the first to step out of the Chevy and introduce himself. When Viper rounded the front of the truck, a worried expression came over Carina’s face.
“Don’t worry. I don’t bite,” Viper said. Viper extended his hand to Darren, and Darren shook it. “My buddy here is Hank Jenner, and you can call me Viper.”
“I’m Carina Fortin, and this is Darren Emerson. Viper, eh?” Carina cocked an eyebrow. “Like the snake?”
“Hell, yeah. You aren’t the first person to ask me that.”
“I’ll bet not.” She fanned her face with her hand. “This heat. I’m going to melt if I stay out here much longer.”
“We haven’t seen anyone since Saturday. Where did you folks come down from?” Darren asked.
“I came out of Missouri on Saturday, then traveled down from Indiana to South Carolina, where I met Hank. We were headed in this direction when we blew a gasket near Hilton Head. Took a couple of days to find the right part and get her installed, since there ain’t no computers left to tell you exactly what part you need. Probably would have been easier just to get another truck, but Hank’s kinda attached to the Chevy. Helluva job he did. He don’t boast, but he’s quite the repairman.”
“Have you seen anybody else on the road?”
Hank gave Viper a sidelong look.
“One kid,” Viper said. “But he was a bit of a free spirit. We decided to go in opposite directions.”
“Geez. Nobody else?”
“Last night we saw a few headlights moving along the highway, heading south. Every now and then, I see a car or two in the distance. But not many. It’s pretty damn desolate.”
Neither Hank nor the man who called himself Viper shed any light on where all the people had disappeared to. After a bit, Hank wandered to the eastern-most shoulder, where he stared off to the northeast, like a boy searching for a lost dog.
“Is he okay?” Carina asked.
“It’s his daughter,” Viper said. “She lived up toward Atlanta way. He doesn’t want to let go of the idea that she might still be out there, and I’ll be damned if I can blame him.” Viper pointed to the sign in the median. “Florida Bliss. Never heard of it.”
“You’ve heard of Florida Coasters?”
“The amusement park. Sure. But you aren’t getting me on one of those roller coasters.”
“I work for…I used to work for their company. They built an experimental neighborhood in central Florida, and Darren and I sorta moved in.”
“It’s perfect. The whole neighborhood is solar-powered,” Darren said. “AC in the summer, and it stays warm in the winter.”
“So the two of you are planting signs to steer folks toward the development,” Viper said. “Pretty smart.”
“We were just about to head back,” Carina said. “Why don’t you and Hank follow us?”
Viper looked off toward Hank, who couldn’t take his eyes off of the northeastern horizon. “I can’t say I’m much for neighborhood barbecues and community living, but it would probably be good for Hank. I’ll follow you back and help Hank get set up.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Hank. You ever been to Florida?”
Hank shook his head. As Hank walked back along the highway, his hands were buried in the front pockets of his jeans. “This is as far as I’ve been from home.”
Viper swatted at a fly buzzing past his face. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go talk to him.”
Hank stood gazing in the direction of Georgia when Viper walked over.
“Hey, man. This Florida Bliss deal sounds pretty good. They got electricity, and you can be the best damn handyman in the sunshine state.”
“I want to go back to Chardray, Viper.”
“Chardray? Two days ago you couldn’t wait to leave. Now you wanna go back?”
“What if Amy comes looking for me in Chardray? If I’m not there, she’ll think I vanished and give up.”
“Hank, you’re livin’ your life based on a lot of what-ifs.”
Hank picked up a stone and skipped it into the meadow, watching the rock cut erratic parabolas through grass and weed.
“If I go south, I feel like I’ll be leaving her behind, like I’ll be giving up on her. I’d never give up on her, Viper.”
“From everything you’ve told me, Amy’s a helluva smart girl, Hank. If she’s out there, she’ll see these signs just as sure as we did. The best bet is to go where you think she’ll head next. Why don’t you come back to the truck? Let’s follow these folks back to Florida.”
“
What about you, Viper? You want to live in this community they’re talking about?”
“Hell, no. I’ll follow you back, get you set up, and get the lay of the land. Can’t say I’m not a little intrigued, but I figure I’ll grab a little place on the coast nearby. If community living don’t sit right with you, you’ll know where to find me.”
Hank glanced back at the vehicles, then stared regretfully toward the northeast.
“Okay, Viper. If you think Amy will follow the signs, I’ll give it a try.”
Lonely at high noon, a line of wrecked and abandoned vehicles sat along the south-bound shoulder of I-95, winding like a train under mottled sunlight beaming through slash pines. The station wagon hid in plain sight amid the vehicles, as its occupants watched the Prius pass, followed closely by a Chevy truck.
Will crouched low in the driver seat, his head bent under the steering column as he listened to the two vehicles buzzing past. Lorna sat casually across from him, leaning against the passenger door and twirling a strand of chewing gum around her finger.
“They’re going to see you.”
“You worry too much, Will. Besides, you completely missed who was in the Chevy.”
Scowling at her, Will pushed himself up. “So they found a couple of rednecks to live next door to them in their precious community. Big deal.”
“Not just anyone, genius. The big guy who Lupan told us to look out for was driving the Chevy.”
“You’re eyes were playing tricks on you. He’s supposed to be somewhere in Missouri, remember?”
“Well, he’s not. He’s on the east coast, and it looks like he has company.”
Will rubbed at his temples, trying to massage away a migraine as the Prius and Chevy disappeared beneath a dip in the road. “So what do we do now?”
Lorna shook her head disapprovingly, and Will bristled. “Do what we were ordered to do. Follow him, find out what he’s up to, and when the time is right, kill him.” She cackled and slapped him on the shoulder, knocking him out of his headache-induced stupor.
He started the engine and pulled onto the highway, driving slowly at first to allow the two vehicles to put a few miles between them. Then they followed the Prius and Chevy back toward Florida. Lorna slipped a switchblade out of her pocket, humming as she polished it on the leg of her pants.