by Leo Romero
“You enjoying the ride? Huh?” he asked him in between short, sharp breaths. “What d’ya think of my great escape?” He threw a hand toward the wall they’d just scaled. Drake just stared at him with his dead eyes and sunburnt face, his fangs poking out of the bottom of his blistered and melted top lip. “Yeah, speechless, huh, buddy?” Dom mumbled to himself as he turned to the wall, grabbed the end of the rug, and gave it a long, hard tug. It peeled away from the razor wire with relative ease, getting caught slightly, but popping off the tiny blades like they were clips. He didn’t waste any time in laying out the rug on the alleyway floor. He then went over to Drake and picked him up from under the armpits.
“Back in there for you, buddy,” he told him. “Snug as a bug in a freakin rug!” He went to drag him over to the rug when a weird sensation suddenly hit him. It was like... he was being watched. He frowned, then snapped his head to the right. His stare fixed on the upstairs window of a house on the other side of the alley. There was a wrinkled face in there. An old lady was staring back at him, her mouth agape. She took off her glasses, craned her neck forward, and then squinted her eyes to get a better look. Dom froze. He had a guilty glance from her down to the mutilated vampire in his arms. He looked back toward the old dear, who was now staring at her glasses in disbelief. She breathed on the lenses, wiped them on her cardigan, then put them back on; now she was scrutinizing him closer, her face literally pressed against the glass.
Dom nodded his head. “Hi” he said, with a toothy grin. He grabbed Drake’s arm and made him wave at her. “He says ‘hi’ too...”
She just carried on staring, her jaw slack.
“Holy crap, I’ve been caught,” Dom sang to himself through clenched teeth.
Forget her, dude! Just get the hell outta there!
He got to work. He dragged Drake over to the rug and dumped him down onto the edge of it. He then proceeded to roll him over just like back in the house. Once he was rolled up like a Swiss roll and snug as a frickin’ bug, he bent down, picked him up again, and hitched him up onto his shoulder. He didn’t even look back to see if Gramma was still watching him.
She’s probably on the phone to cops by now anyway, buddy...
Stop thinking like that!
He got going down the alley, staggering under the weight and pain, grit and bits of broken glass snapping beneath his sneakers. He headed for the end of the alley. From there, he needed to turn into the side alley that led back out onto the street where 1428 was located. He moved past derelict dumpsters, old shopping carts, abandoned kitchen appliances; ovens, refrigerators, and the like. The whole alley was like one big junkyard. It offered good cover. Anyone seeing him would just think he was adding a beaten rug to all the other crap. He didn’t have to worry about that; the place was quiet as a morgue.
The end of the alley came in sight and he upped his pace.
He grinned. Almost there. Almost there, buddy!
Excitement began to usurp any pain; his breathing became hot and frantic. He tripped on a bump in the concrete. He veered off to the left, reaching out to steady himself on a pock-marked wall. He didn’t wanna fall and injure himself at this late stage in the game. He steadied himself and got going again, this time at a steady, even pace. He reached the end of the alley. He looked left. He could see sidewalk at the end of the side alley. And that’s where he headed. He put his head down, not wanting to draw attention to himself.
I seriously hope no one can see this bastard wrapped up in this rug.
Relax. Have faith. Just a little…
He reached the end of the side alley and finally, finally, his sneakers touched sidewalk. Something he never thought could feel so good. He breathed a sigh of relief, then took a look up the street. In the distance, he could see the garage forecourt, his battered Ford sitting there waiting for him. He smiled. I’m coming for you, baby...
His eyes then focused in on the front yard of 1428. There they were. Sitting there. Watching the street. He still had to get past them before he could get to his car. The good thing was that they still hadn’t checked in on Drake. If they had, they’d be scouting the area for sure. So seeing their profiles siting there, catching rays gave him the small boost he needed to make it past them.
He looked both ways; the street was still quiet. He nodded. Let’s go, buddy...
He composed himself, then set off on the final leg of his mission. He crossed the street first, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the guards as possible. Besides, he didn’t think his heart would survive walking straight past them both...
He walked at a faster than average speed, wanting to get to his car quickly, but not too fast that he looked out of the ordinary. He was just some guy carrying a rug home from the store, that’s all. Just a normal guy. Just going home. So look the other way.
He brushed past the trash in the street, getting hit with blasts of paranoia. He felt exposed as if a million eyes were on him. He could see wrinkled faces in dirty windows pointing at him. ‘Look, everyone, there’s a man with a dead vampire on his shoulder. Call the cops!’ Butterflies floated freely in his belly. Comeon, comeon, comeon, keep it cool! He soldiered on, every step closer to safety. He hit the sidewalk again and turned to the left. The rug was on his left shoulder, meaning it obscured his face from the guards. On the one hand that was good, meant they wouldn’t be able to read anything on his face like terror or paranoia. On the other, it meant he couldn’t see them. Couldn’t see if they snuck up on him...
Stop thinking that stuff, buddy!
He puffed his chest out as best he could, trying to look natural, nonchalant, easygoing even though he felt like he was being watched under a microscope, or like he was completely naked and people were lined up, gawking at him. He was sure he’d reached level with the front yard of 1428; he swore he could feel their eyes on him.
Look the other way, he urged. The other way. Hey, isn’t that Michael Jordan over there?
He put his head down, staring at his sneakers, Drake riding with him on his shoulder. He prayed that he was still as snug as a bug in his rug and not about to give the game away.
Just get past them and we’re in the clear, buddy. This ain’t nothing, just a stroll in the park, that’s all. Just treat it the same as that. They don’t know shit and they won’t find out shit either!
He knew he was now going past 1428 and he couldn’t turn back. This was it. He made sure to keep his head down, not to give them a hint that he was even aware of them both sitting there. He kept his mind focused on his car, just forty, fifty yards away. The sound of the crows punctuating the silence became his friend and he listened to it, concentrating on it and not those two in the deckchairs. Those butterflies whipped up again and began fluttering like crazy in his belly. Keep cool. Keep cool. He could feel their eyes on him. Feel their stares burning into him like x-ray vision. They’d be looking right at him, right now. Wondering who he was and why he was carrying that rug on his shoulder. They’ll know straight away it was the rug from upstairs, the one they most likely laid down. ‘Why’s it on this guy’s shoulder?’ they’ll ask. ‘And what was that wrapped in it?’
A loud caw cut through the air and Dom flinched. His heart leapt up into his mouth and his feet screamed ‘run’.
Keep it cool, they don’t know shit!
Silence took over again. It was just one of those damn crows flying overhead.
He managed to resist the temptation to run and instead hitched Drake up again, his mind itching him to turn and check the guards; make sure they weren’t looking at him, just to put him at rest. But that would give him away. It would destroy everything. Even just a glance. He strained to keep his pace even, feeling their eyes burning into his side, hearing every one of their negative thoughts aimed right at him. They know. They know everything.
They don’t know shit!
His heart was thudding against his ribs one second, then he could taste it in his dry throat the next. Bile was shooting up and down from t
he bottom of his stomach. He wanted to collapse.
Hold it! Almost there.
He took another few steps on jelly legs; he could see the garage forecourt was near, meaning he’d likely passed 1428.
Almost there. Almost there.
Straight away, his heart began to ease, his paranoid thoughts melting like ice in the desert.
Almost there...
He didn’t dare look back. Instead he looked straight at the garage, and more specifically, his car. It was now just a few meters away. He wiped his clammy face and allowed himself a smile. Almost there. His heart began to flutter.
Almost.
There.
*****
Some dirty, sweaty guy carrying something on his shoulder came into Craig’s view from across the street. Craig frowned. What was that he was carrying? Craig waited till the guy was closer and squinted his eyes to try and get a better look. A rug? What the hell? There’s all types of nutballs around here. And he looked like a real dirtbag as well. Filthy, sweaty, and messed up. I mean where the hell is he going? And why is he carrying a rug? He was walking funny too, kind of too upright and unnatural like he was trying not to attract attention. Craig knew all too well about that kind of walk from his bad days, carrying all kinds of illegal substances around while out of his gourd. The sort of stuff that could get you a long jail sentence. Nah, this guy was definitely up to something.
Craig scrutinized him closer.
His pants were scuffed with dirt and what looked like grass stains. But it was that damn rug on his shoulder that was bothering him, there was something…
…yeah, something familiar about it.
He stood up from the deckchair and walked to the end of the yard, his eyes fixed on that guy. By then he’d gone past the house. Craig squinted his eyes. Was there something wrapped in that rug?
He recoiled in horror. Jesus Christ, I think there is!
His jaw dropped. It was a... pair of feet? What the hell?!
Craig’s mind began working crazily.
Then, a terrible reality hit him; his eyes widened in terror. “Get the hell outta here!” he growled to himself in total disbelief.
He raced over to his deckchair, bent down and picked up the flashlight he kept beneath it. He then ran toward the house, racing past Jeff, who was now sitting up in his chair.
“What’s wrong?” he asked Craig in a concerned voice.
“That dirty guy!” Craig shouted over his shoulder before shoving open the metal shutter. He stood in the doorway and stared, frozen. His eyes locked onto Marlon’s body at the foot of the stairs. “What the...” he gasped. His senses slammed together; he made for the stairs. Nothing better have happened to Drake, his mind feared. Christ, how could we have been so stupid to leave him? I thought he was just being paranoid the whole time…
He raced up the stairs, flicking on his flash.
By then Jeff had entered the house. “Marlon!” he snapped. “Jesus Christ, what happened?”
Craig just shook his head, dumbstruck. He reached the top of the stairs where his flash lit up bare floorboards on the landing. In his mind’s eye, he could see the rug on that guy’s shoulder. Then, he could place it. That rug, it used to be here! It’s supposed to be right here!
His wide eyes flicked over to Drake’s bedroom door; it was open, light was spilling out from inside. Craig’s mouth suddenly went dry; dread rose rapidly inside him. He darted through the corridor and jumped into Drake’s room. He pulled up and scanned the place with frantic eyes; they locked onto Drake’s bed.
It was empty.
“Drake? Drake?”
There was no answer.
Jeff then came to the door and looked around, a puzzled expression on his face. “Where is he? What’s going on?”
Craig turned to face him. His eyes were wild with concern “That guy!” he exclaimed, pointing at the door. “The one with the rug on his shoulder. He killed Drake!”
*****
Dom licked his lips in anticipation; a smile spread across his cheeks. The sanctuary of the garage was within his grasp. He thought about making a dash for the final meters; he was nearly there, why not? The two assholes in the deckchairs was why not. If they saw him suddenly start making a break, they might get suspicious. No, it was best to stay cool, keep the steady pace going. He’d get there before he even knew it. But it wasn’t easy to stay cool. His legs were itching to run, so was his heart. Just a little more, buddy. You’ve come this far, just stay cool for a little while longer.
He puffed his cheeks and stayed focused, ignoring the threat of the fangheads, ignoring the burn in his shoulder, ignoring the itch in his jelly legs. It was a test. All a test. And, man, he was passing with flying colors. Just a little more to go...
He brushed past more litter on the sidewalk. His Ford drew closer...
Come on, come on. He felt like a dog that was having a fat steak dangled over it just high enough that it was out of its reach. He was so close, so close, so—
“HEY! YOU! ASSHOLE!”
Dom’s heart kicked. He spun toward 1428. His eyes bulged. The two guards were running his way. They were in a mad panic, their faces twisted in anger.
Oh, crap...
Dom didn’t hang around. He immediately turned and began pumping his legs. It wasn’t easy; Drake’s weight was slowing him down. There was no way he could hit top speed. In no time, his legs and chest were burning, and he’d hardly got anywhere. He pushed on as hard as he could. Just one final effort, buddy! Just make it to that car! JUST MAKE IT!
He saw a small trash bag at the last second. He managed to hop over it just in time, clipping the top of it with the front of his sneaker. If he’d tripped...
Forget that!
He regained his balance with his next stride, fear and adrenaline juddering through his veins. Behind him, he could hear their rabid panting, their feet beating on the sidewalk like a tribal drum.
He kept going, that garage drawing tantalizingly close.
“Stop! Hey!” he heard one of them shout in between breaths. “Stop!”
Dom didn’t stop. Instead, he pumped his legs and free arm ferociously, his own breathing hot and ragged.
“Come on, Jeff!” Dom then heard one of them say.
“I’m tryin’, dude!” Jeff said back in a wheezy voice.
Dom realized Jeff wasn’t up to the chase. It gave him hope.
He put more juice into his limbs. He groaned under the strain, then hit the glory of the garage forecourt. His heart jumped into his throat again. His car sat there, waiting for him like a long lost brother. He pulled up, throwing out a hand. He managed to pop the trunk; the lid flew up. The empty trunk was waiting.
Dom went to dump the rug in there when the horror of a hand landed on his shoulder. He yelped. He spun instinctively toward it. For a split second, he was fronted by the guard that wasn’t Jeff, his face pinched in anger. That changed once the rug swung around and smashed into the side of his head with a dull thud. The fanghead grunted; the force of the blow sent him reeling across the sidewalk. He smashed headfirst into a streetlight with a comical dang! sound. He hit the floor in a painful heap, groaning, and rubbing his head.
Dom grinned at the irony. “Nice one, Drake!” he said to the rug, giving it a quick pat with his free hand. His eyes then zoned in on the street; a huffing and puffing Jeff was making his way up to them both. He held out a tired hand. “Hey!” he managed.
Dom didn’t wanna give him a chance. He dumped Drake into the trunk. One end of the rug stuck out the side. Dom huffed. He squashed it in with his hands, then stamped on it with his foot, squeezing it in as best he could. He brought the lid of the boot down. It wouldn’t close. “Come on! Come on!” He stammered through clenched teeth as he pushed it down a few times. Then, finally, it clicked shut. “Snug as a bug!” Dom said as he made a dash for the driver’s seat. Before he got in. He checked on the guards. The one he floored was making his way back up to his feet. Jeff was now a few yards away. H
e seemed to be picking up a second wind. Dom threw his car door open and jumped in. His keys fumbled in his hands; he almost dropped them and if he had, they would’ve got him. Instead, he got the final bit of luck he needed. The key jabbed smoothly into the ignition. He yanked it around; the engine jumped into life. He cranked into reverse and slammed the gas; the tires squealed. The car shot back onto the street, the unnamed fanghead now on his feet. He jumped out of the way in the nick of time. Dom spun the wheel; the car swung around with a screech. He hit the brakes. He came to an abrupt stop. Jeff had finally caught up. He was in the middle of the road, fronting Dom. He stood with his arms out to the sides like a Sumo wrestler about to lunge.
Dom honked his horn. “Get outta the road!” he screamed. Jeff stayed where he was.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dom saw the other guard heading toward the car, rage stamped all over his face.
Dom slammed the gas. The tires screeched across the tarmac. He shot forward, playing chicken with Jeff. “It’s you or MEEEEE!” Dom shouted, pushing his foot down harder.
He saw the whites of Jeff’s eyeballs before he chickened out and jumped out of the way. Jeff smashed the side of Dom’s car as he shot past. There was a loud crack. Dom flinched. He hit the gas harder, switching through the gears, picking up speed. He checked his rear view with frantic eyes to see both fangheads, Jeff on his ass in the middle of the road, getting smaller and smaller. He checked the road ahead, then checked his rear view again. Now they were tiny specks in his mirror.
And he’d made a clean escape.
A wave of relief surged up into his chest, almost causing him to collapse back in his seat; he just about held on. He wiped the grimy sweat from his face as he shot through the streets. That was so freakin intense, I think I’m gonna have a heart attack! He let out a rueful chuckle and his heart calmed to a normal beat.