Dead Highways: Origins

by Richard Brown

  The next moment I wake up and find all of those things circling the drain. The world as I once knew it is gone, over, finished, like Harrison Ford’s career. I’m in a strange place with strange people, making the most unlikely of friends. I have a newborn baby to protect. I’ve got a gun in my hand, and I know how to use it. Or I think I do. I’ve spent countless hours shooting at paper targets, mere outlines of people, trying to improve my aim. I hope it’s good enough, cause if it’s not, I might die, and dying sounds rather displeasing.

  How things change.

  “What’s the plan?” Aamod asked.

  He was walking a few steps in front of me. Understandably, he was in more of a hurry than I was. We were about halfway down the block, halfway to the perp’s—or perv’s—house.

  “What happened to rushing in and killing him with your bare hands?”

  “If I get the chance, believe me, I will do it.”

  “Great. Anything to get me out of shooting somebody.”

  We stopped at Jerry’s next-door neighbor’s house and hid behind some bushes.

  “Give me the gun,” Aamod said.

  “How about no. You’re likely to do something stupid and get us both killed. And Naima.”

  Aamod tried to threaten me with an angry stare, but I wasn’t having any of it. After a moment, he let it go. I think he realized I was the one with the gun, and he needed me more than I needed him.

  “What do you suggest then?” he asked.

  “I say we split up.” I thought about the last time I’d suggested splitting up. At the hospital. How great that turned out. “There’s two of us and one of him. I say we ambush him. He probably has her in one of the back rooms. I’ll sneak around the side of the house and see if I can locate her, maybe find another way in. You go knock on the front door. That will hopefully draw his attention long enough for me to find her. If he comes to the door, talk to him. Ask him if he’s seen Naima. Be calm. Play dumb. Don’t give him any reason to suspect you’re up to something. Can you do that?”

  Aamod said nothing. I could tell he was analyzing the plan in his head. He wasn’t an idiot by any means, just bullheaded sometimes. Finally, he sighed and said, “I guess I can do that.”

  “You guess?”

  “I will do it.”

  “Good.” I switched off the pistol’s safety and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. I had fourteen more ready to go after that, even though I hoped I wouldn’t need the first one. “Ready?”

  Aamod nodded.

  We left our hiding spot behind the bushes and went off in different directions, Aamod toward the front door, me toward the side of the house. There were two windows on the right side, both still blocked out by curtains. I got in position between the windows with my back against the wall, waiting for Aamod to knock on the front door. I heard no sound coming from either of the rooms. Then I heard a doorbell.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Aamod was one of those people who didn’t understand proper doorbell etiquette. He was impatient, and that made me nervous.

  Thirty seconds passed before Jerry came to the door. They began talking. I could hear both of their voices, but I couldn’t make out much of what they were saying.

  I lightly tapped on each of the windows with the edge of my fingernail and whispered, “Naima, are you in there?”

  If she was, she had no way of responding to me, and there was no time to wait around. Aamod still had Jerry successfully engaged, so I lightly sneaked into the backyard.

  Jerry’s backyard looked as though it hadn’t been tended to in quite a while. There were weeds up to my knees. Scattered anthills. Piled up garbage bags with rat holes in them. Moldy patio furniture. On the far side was a rusty old shed, probably where they stored the lawn equipment they never used. Might also be a good place to store the latest victim. With most of the world asleep, who would hear her scream?

  I stayed close to the house, being as quiet as I possibly could. I could no longer hear Aamod and Jerry talking, but as I made it up to the sliding glass door, I could see them talking. No curtains blocking the view here. I saw straight through the living room and down a short entry hall to the front door. Not surprisingly, Jerry hadn’t invited Aamod into the house for tea and crackers. But his body language told me he wasn’t at all concerned about Aamod showing up at his door either.

  That’s odd, I thought.

  Once Aamod mentioned Jerry was a registered sex offender, I was certain he had kidnapped Naima. Aamod was certain. Peaches was certain. Jerry worked at the hospital. He knew his way around, most likely had keys to back doors and other service entrances. And for no discernible reason he had lied to us. All strikes against Jerry. Yet, for the first time, I considered the possibility he might not have done it. Maybe we misjudged him. Maybe Jerry was as harmless as the garter snakes that sifted through the tall weeds in his yard. I’ve heard you can be listed as a sex offender for masturbating in public. What if that was all he did—a little alone time with himself on a park bench? What if Aamod was wrong about him being in prison? Aamod certainly never gave me the benefit of the doubt. I don’t know how many times he’d followed me around his store like I was gonna steal something. Was it possible his daughter was still at the hospital trying to look for a way back? I wasn’t going to put holes in someone unless I knew for sure, definitely not in a man’s back.

  I continued peering through the glass, examining the living room. There was no sign of Naima or anyone else hiding under all the dirty laundry. I started to wonder if it would have been smarter to have gone to the front door with Aamod. I could have stuck the gun in Jerry’s face while Aamod searched the house. It was easy to second-guess the plan now that it was in motion.

  I went to the shed on the other side of the yard. There was a lock on the doors as big as my fist. But like with the windows, if Naima was in there she had no way to alert me, not even by stomping her feet.

  Then I heard shouting.

  I ran back up to the sliding glass door. Aamod was attempting to force his way through the front door, while Jerry was trying to close it. Aamod eventually won the struggle, but as the door fell open, Jerry landed a clean right hand to the side of Aamod’s head, dropping him. Then Jerry proceeded to kick and stomp him from above.

  So much for Jerry being harmless.

  I threw open the sliding glass door, amazed it wasn’t locked. Jerry heard me and fled out of sight around a corner, while Aamod lay on his back in the entryway, barely moving. Suddenly, everything got deathly quiet.

  I gradually moved through the living room, making extra sure there wasn’t a second pervert hiding behind the couch. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the interior looked worse than the exterior. In fact, it was filthy. There was trash everywhere. Empty cans of beer and soda. Open bags of potato chips. Paper plates with food stuck to them. All manner of dirty dishes. It was a cockroach’s paradise. But the worst part was the smell. It was like someone had stuffed a dead rat into a dirty sock, let it heat up in the dryer for an hour, and then hung it under the ceiling fan as an air freshener.

  I made it down the front entranceway to Aamod. He was trying to roll over on his side, groaning the whole way. Before leaning down to help him, I checked around the corner where Jerry had disappeared. The room was a small dining room that led into an equally small kitchen. Jerry was in neither.

  “Are you okay?”

  The left side of Aamod’s head looked a little swollen, but nothing that a little rest wouldn’t heal. He seemed to be more concerned with his ribs, where Jerry had kicked a series of field goals.

  “I am fine.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  From somewhere beyond the kitchen came a scream.

  Help!

  It was a female voice; one Aamod instantly recognized. He tried to get up, but I pushed him back down.

  “Stop,” he growled.

  “I’ll go check. You stay here.”
>
  “No. She is my daughter,” he said. “Give me the damn gun. I will take care of him.”

  “You had your chance,” I said, standing back up. “Now it’s my turn.”

  I left Aamod in the entryway and hustled through the dining room and kitchen. The kitchen led into a narrow hallway with three doors, all on the left side.

  The first room was an old couple’s bedroom. I could tell because of all the fake potted plants, wicker baskets, matching plaid bedspread and drapes, pictures of family and friends proudly displayed on every inch of wood and wall, and of course, the two old people lying in the bed facing the ceiling, resting their eyes. Jerry’s parents. His mom’s wheelchair was in the corner. She’d never have to sit in it again. This was where she would die, in bed, next to her husband. Just where her son had posed them.

  The second door led to a bathroom. Nothing special. Toilet. Bathtub. Towels on the tile floor. A dozen empty toilet paper rolls nestled amongst them. The usual.

  Naima screamed for help a second time, pulling me from the bathroom onward to door number three. Jerry also made his presence known. I could hear him tell her to shut up or he’d slit her throat. He tried to say it quietly, but it carried out into the hall.

  I stopped outside the last door and took a deep breath. I checked to make sure Sally was ready to fire. Round in the chamber. Safety off. My hands were shaking more than Shakira’s hips.

  While it may not sound like good news, the fact that Jerry threatened to slit her throat instead of shoot her was good for me. Jerry may have come to a gun fight armed with a knife. One more deep breath, then it was time to find out.

  I turned the knob and shoved open the bedroom door.

  Jerry stood behind Naima on the opposite side of the room, clutching her with his right arm, using her as a shield. He had tied her arms and legs with some kind of twine. In his left hand was a knife. He held it up to her face, his hand shaking more than mine.

  I pointed the gun at him, wondering if I had the skill to pull off the same shot as Liam Neeson in Taken. Fuck it, who am I kidding? I knew I didn’t. I’d have to wrestle him away with words.

  “Jerry . . . why are you doing this?”

  “Put the gun down, or I’ll cut her face off,” he shouted. “I swear I will.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Naima said.

  “Shut up,” Jerry said, pulling her tighter.

  “I’ll put down the gun when you put down the knife.”

  “No way.”

  “I just want to talk. No reason anybody has to get hurt.”

  “You’ve got five seconds to put down the gun. I’m serious.”

  “How do you think this is going to end, Jerry?”

  “The way I want it to end,” he replied, pressing the blade against her cheek. “Now put down the gun. Five. Four. Three. Two . . .”

  “Fine, you win,” I said, surrendering my hands. “I’m putting down the gun.”

  “No,” Aamod yelled, interrupting us. He had come up behind me in the doorway, hunched over holding his side. “Give me the gun.”

  “Daddy,” Naima said. “You’re alive. I thought you were—”

  “Didn’t I tell you to shut up,” Jerry snarled.

  Aamod snarled back. “Let go of my daughter.”

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands,” Jerry said.

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Nobody needs to die,” I said. I slowly stood back up but kept the gun lowered. “We can settle this peacefully. Somehow.”

  Aamod shook his head. “There will be peace when he’s dead.”

  “You always have to be in the way,” Jerry said. “You couldn’t let Naima make her own decisions.”

  “Is that what you’re doing right now Jerry?” I asked.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Give me the gun,” Aamod said again.

  “No, you could accidently shoot her.”

  “Better listen to him, old man,” Jerry said.

  Aamod looked at me and said, “I’m not going to shoot her. And I’m not going to shoot him.” Then he looked back at Jerry hiding behind Naima. “I’m going to shoot his parents.”

  “What?” I said, shocked Aamod had gone to such a dark place, though I couldn’t really blame him. He had just learned this morning his wife was infected, and now a maniac was holding his daughter hostage, threatening her life. He would sacrifice anything and everything to save her, even if it meant throwing his morals into the abyss.

  “The hell you will,” Jerry said.

  “Watch me. Give me the gun.”

  “No. For the last time, I’m not giving you the gun,” I said. “This is getting out of control.”

  “Fine. I don’t need a gun to do it,” Aamod replied, and took off down the hall.

  “Where is he going? Tell him to come back.”

  “You brought this upon yourself,” I said.

  “Tell him to come back here now!” Jerry yelled. He took the knife off Naima’s face and was now waving it at me as if it were some magical wand that could make me do things. Turns out, it was the moment Naima had been waiting for.

  She bowed her head and then quickly threw it back in Jerry’s face. I couldn’t remember seeing a more perfect reverse head butt. It didn’t break his nose or even split open a lip, but it gave her some room to wiggle out of his grasp. He stumbled backward against the wall, rubbed a small amount of blood away from his nose. It wasn’t anything like the time I was hit with the soccer ball, the gusher from seventh grade, but it still had to suck.

  Naima fell to the floor in front of him and tried to crawl away, made difficult by the rope on her hands and feet.

  Jerry shook the cobwebs out of his head and wiped the blood off his free hand onto the curtain behind him. The other hand still held the knife.

  I pointed the gun at Jerry and yelled, “Drop the knife!”

  I felt like I was on COPS, barking orders at some poor white trash, only no one was here filming it.

  Jerry didn’t listen. He didn’t think I’d shoot. I didn’t think so either.

  Then he made a move toward Naima, and I pulled the trigger.

  At first, I didn’t know if I hit anything; all I could think about was the intense ringing in my ears. I had never shot Sally before without ear protection, and never in such a cramped space. I’d be lucky if I didn’t have permanent damage to my hearing. But I was still glad I pulled the trigger. Naima crawled up next to me, out of harm because of my swift action. She looked up at me and said something, but all I heard was ringing. Aamod came up behind us and began untying Naima’s hands and feet. Jerry, on the other hand, fell onto his side, dropped the knife, and with both hands applied pressure to his right leg. That’s right, I shot the bastard in the leg. I kept the gun on him just in case he wanted to make a second go at it. He curled up against the wall and whined in pain.

  After being freed from the twine, Naima ran out of the room. Aamod stood beside me watching Jerry unsuccessfully try to stop the blood from exiting his thigh. Finally, Aamod said, “Finish him.”

  Finish him?

  What was this Mortal Kombat?

  “Get out of here,” I said. “Go get your daughter.”

  “Not until you—”

  “Go. I’ll finish it.”

  Aamod left. Once I was sure he was out of the house, I slowly bent down and picked up the knife off the floor. I set it down on Jerry’s messy twin bed. It looked like he hadn’t washed the sheets in many months.

  Jerry looked up at me and said, “Are you gonna kill me now?”

  “I probably should.”

  But I’d already made up my mind. I grabbed one of the pillows, placed the muzzle of the gun into it, and fired a shot through the bed. The pillow muffled some of the sound, but not as much as I had hoped. Again, my ears cursed and complained.

  I looked back at Jerry. He had a confused look on his face.

  “That was for Aamod,” I said. “I’m not a
killer.”

  “Thank you.”

  I shrugged. Then I turned and began walking away.

  “Wait, aren’t you gonna help me?”

  “I just did,” I replied, not looking back.

  “Please. You can’t just leave me here,” Jerry pleaded.

  As I reached the doorway, I finally looked back at Jerry lying bloodied and defeated in the corner. The look in his eyes was one of mounting desperation. I pitied him.

  “There’s a hospital just down the road,” I said. “Maybe you can find help there.”

  Then I left the house.

  That was the last I saw of Jerry.

  Chapter 20

  Outside, I saw no sign of Aamod or Naima, so I jogged back down the street to where I’d left my grandma’s car. Dark rainclouds hovered high above, small webs of lightning flashed among them.

  Peaches and Olivia were in the driver’s seat when I arrived back at the Buick. I opened up the passenger door and got inside.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I shot him.”

  “So he had her?”

  “No, I just felt like shooting him,” I said sarcastically. I placed Sally back between the seat and the center console.

  “Well, is she okay?”

  “Yeah, I think. She’s been reunited with her father.”

  “Thank God.”

  “How’s Olivia?”

  “She missed you.”

  I smirked. “Sure she did. She’s probably been asleep the whole time.”

  “I can be sarcastic too, ya know.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me hold her.” Peaches carefully handed Olivia over to me. She stirred a bit then quickly fell back asleep against my shoulder. “Drive us back to Naima’s.”