Chewy stumbled as the force pulled her across the seat. Once she found her footing she barked another disapproving woof.
Jerry straightened the car out and reached for the radio on his shoulder. He had been listening to the chatter on the radio for twenty minutes and risked an impersonation.
“Report in,” he ordered, doing his best impression of a man talking through a mask.
An orderly stream of men and women responded with their locations and status. The one he was looking for was in the middle.
“Northbound, 77. En route to rendezvous.”
The streets were too short for fifth gear, but he used all four eating up the residential streets and small-town roads making his way to the state highway. He was almost there when the Skinners caught up to him.
Two cars fell in behind him. Another two appeared ahead. Driving side-by-side they formed a rolling barricade of metal lances and tell plows that blocked the whole street.
Jerry cut right and heard Chewy scrambling to keep her balance in the backseat. He watched the mirror and saw the vehicles turn to follow as the radio burst to life giving away his position to everyone who’d listen.
Drivers replied with confirmations and more exuberance than he expected. Behind him, more cars joined the chase.
Jerry turned left onto a broad open street and mashed the accelerator. Sixty came and went in a blink, and he hit the top of fourth gear once more before an oncoming pickup forced him into a shopping mall’s parking lot.
He let the ridiculous engine loose and sped through the empty lot, leaving the Skinners behind. There wasn’t a car in their fleet that could touch the Challenger if it was given the room to run.
The radio continued to update the small army on his whereabouts, and over time as he left a pair of headlights in the distance, more vehicles joined the chase ahead of him.
They converged on the mall from all directions. As they came, they did their best to intercept his car with their own. They charged at full throttle looking to spear the Dodge and disable the driver. Quick brake work and the responsive gas pedal were the only things keeping him out of their path as they crisscrossed the open lot.
An old Corolla with a skull-shaped battering ram on the front end came out of nowhere and nearly clipped the front of the car. The Librarian veered left into a skid and the Toyota followed. The Hellcat’s back end broke out and sent the car spinning. The Toyota flipped and rolled across the parking lot while Jerry worked the gas to keep the wheels from spinning free.
Chewy whimpered from the backseat as the car came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot. What was behind them, now lay ahead. More than a dozen deadly hot rods roared toward them.
Jerry traced the silver SRT on the steering wheel in front of him. He reached into the backseat and opened a duffel bag he had pulled from the truck. Chewy stuck her head under his hand, and he scratched behind her ears. “That’s a good girl. Don’t you worry. We’re going to get her back.”
He pulled a short-barreled automatic rifle out of the duffel bag and rolled down the windows. “Now grow some thumbs and hold on.”
He put the Hellcat in first and launched the vehicle toward the oncoming cars. Sixty came in 3.8 seconds. One hundred would only be a couple of seconds behind. All of this happened before a quarter mile.
The Skinner patrol cars aimed for him like he knew they would.
His speed would scare off most of them. No matter what they built onto their cars, a head-on collision at this speed would kill everyone involved and probably cause a few spectator heart attacks.
Several cars began to peel off once they realized he wasn’t going to stop. Or slow. Or turn. Some held on longer and kept their vehicles steady. These drivers weren’t suicidal. They were just confident that he wasn’t suicidal, and held their course.
But their confidence waned and even they began to veer away as the Challenger screamed at them. Only three cars remained ahead of him as the others slid to a stop or struggled to turn around and resume their pursuit.
And that’s what the gun was for.
The speedometer reached one hundred, and he jammed the rifle out the window and pulled the trigger. If he hit anything it would be a miracle.
The weapon bounced in his hand as the muzzle flashes threw a reflection across the outside of his windshield.
Two of the cars turned aside. One remained and hit the gas.
The quarter mile came and went and the speedometer continued to climb. The distance between the two vehicles disappeared as each driver ate up the blacktop parking lot.
Jerry knew the man or woman behind the wheel was vicious and cruel. But he was counting on it. The vicious and cruel were generally cowards. They volunteered for these sadistic services to protect themselves. They were afraid and hid their fear in numbers and brutality. The person behind the wheel was not willing to die for a cause.
The gun was empty. The pedal was planted. There was nothing left but hope and the horn. He laid into the wheel and the car horn squawked.
The sudden blare was enough to shake the chicken’s will and the Skinner cranked the wheel to the right.
The Challenger shot through the edge of the parking lot and into the road as the enemies’ cars did their best to regroup.
THIRTY-ONE
“Wake up, Coy.”
He could smell a fire. Not a dangerous fire like the ones they liked to make, but a reasonable fire with just wood and such. No gas or gunpowder. No fun. So, it wasn’t Willie that was calling his name. He decided not to open his eyes.
A hand grabbed his shoulder and rocked him back and forth a couple of times. “Come on, Coy. We don’t have all night. And you’re a terrible faker.”
Coy rubbed his eyes knowing this would convince the strange voice that he hadn’t been faking at all. He stretched his chest and yawned. Terrible faker, my ass, he thought as he opened his eyes.
The old man from the minivan was standing over him with a smile on his face, and it made Coy jump.
“There’s no need to be startled, son. The name’s Henry.”
Coy crab walked back several feet and got to his feet. It wasn’t until this that he realized he wasn’t bound.
Henry took a seat and sat down on a fallen tree near the fire. He picked up a stick and started poking in the fire. “You’re free to go if you like. But before you’d go I’d like to apologize for that bit of rough stuff back there. You startled us and, well, I guess old habits die hard.” He tapped his Navy cap. “They train you for life, you know. I hope there are no hard feelings.”
Coy looked around the area. They weren’t far off the road. He could see the minivan. Inside were two more figures. They were just shadows at that distance.
“Where’s Willie?” Coy asked.
Henry hung his head. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, son. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Coy hesitated as he feared the worst. Bad news meant Willie had left him. News couldn’t get any more bad than that. He started to panic so he asked again hoping for a different answer, “Where’s Willie?”
Henry sighed and poked at something in the fire with a stick. “Have a seat, Coy. You’re going to want to be sitting down for this.”
There was a little voice inside Coy that spoke to him sometimes. Sometimes it told him to stay quiet, sometimes it told him to burn things, and right now it was telling him to run, to do anything except sit down and let this man talk. This voice was so wrong so often that he never knew if he should listen to it or not. All he knew was his head was screaming run, but his stomach was saying I smell food.
He stepped closer and saw a metal grill across the campfire. Henry was poking the fire, he was cooking what looked like bacon. “Is that bacon?”
“Sure is. Have a seat. We’ll eat and talk.”
Coy’s head made one last plea, but his stomach won and he took a seat across the fire from Henry. In a compromise with the voice, he asked, “It’s not poison, is it?”
“So
n, you’ve been out for a couple of hours now. We didn’t kill you then. Why would we kill you now?”
It was a logic that he couldn’t argue with. Thinking about it, he should have been tied up, but he wasn’t. And the man said he was free to go.
Henry pulled a piece of bacon from the grill and took a bite. He smiled as he chewed and offered Coy a strip.
Coy took it and turned it over in his hand. It wasn’t like any bacon he’d seen before, but it was meat, and he took a bite.
“There you go,” Henry pulled another piece off the grill for himself. “Now, before we all had our misunderstanding, you mentioned something about a girl and some skinners.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Wanna tell me about it?”
“You haven’t heard about the Skinners?”
“We’re new to these parts.” Henry cracked open a can of beer and took a sip. He looked at Coy who couldn’t help but stare at the beer. Henry smiled and tossed him a can.
“But surely you’ve heard of the Skinners. They’re Alasis’s special killers. Even they’re afraid of them. They keep them locked up until they’re needed to do a job. Then, when they’re done, they lock them back again and throw away the key.”
“Coy, you don’t think that’s true, do you?”
“Well, I guess they don’t throw away the key. If they did that, they’d have to spend time looking for it whenever they needed to let them out. Or waste time making a new one. Oh, maybe they have a lot of copies.”
“I didn’t mean the key, Coy. These Skinners can’t be that bad, can they?”
“Sure they are. They’re mean and really scary, I’ve seen them.”
“You have?”
“Yeah, just today.”
“And you’re still here. So I don’t think they’re as bad as you’re making them out to be.”
Coy looked over his shoulder as a tingle grew up his spine. There wasn’t anyone there except for him and the old man. It must have been his thoughts making him nervous. Just to be safe, he spoke the next part quietly. “They’re cannibals.”
“Oh, I doubt they’re cannibals,” Henry said as he turned another piece of meat.
“That’s what people say. They say the Skinners will skin their victims alive.” Coy grew quieter. “And eat them alive.”
Henry cocked his head. “Which one is it?”
“What?”
“Well, they couldn’t do both. I imagine skinning someone alive would kill them.”
“I don’t know the particulars. That’s just what people say.”
“Yeah, but people aren’t that bright, Coy. I’m sure it’s just a myth. Think about it. What’s scarier than a cannibal?”
“Not much that I can think of.”
“Exactly,” Henry said. “It’s a great way to scare people. Cannibals are terrifying. And do you know why?”
Coy shook his head and took another bite of the bacon.
“I’ve thought about it, and I realized it’s not the being eaten part that’s so bad. Sure, it’s bad. But the worst part is being judged.”
“Being judged?” All Coy could picture was a man in a judge’s robe chewing on someone’s severed arm.
“We go our entire lives shaping who we are to make sure no one judges us. We try our best to dress so we won’t be judged. We choose our words so we won’t be judged. Sometimes we even change our opinions on things so we won’t be judged.”
“So what?”
“So, what happens when someone says something about you that isn’t true. What if someone calls you a coward, or a moron, or an inbred hillbilly?”
“Then that someone is getting a punch in the eye! Maybe both eyes if they hold still long enough.”
“Exactly. You stand up for yourself. You defend yourself, because you’re an honorable guy, Coy.” Henry pulled another piece of meat from the grill and took a bite. “So, that’s what’s so scary about being eaten. It’s the thought of being judged and not being able to stand up for our self. And what’s even worse, we’re being judged on something we have no control over. Like how we taste. How do you think you taste, Coy?”
“I have no idea.”
“So imagine someone took a bite out of you and said ‘oh this guy tastes like he slept with his sister.’ How would that make you feel?”
“I’d punch him in the eye!”
“But you can’t, because you’re dead.”
Anger rushed over Coy before he finally saw what the old man was saying. For someone to talk shit about you, not only behind your back but behind your dead back about you and your sister like that and not being able to punch anyone about it was frustrating. “Man, that is scary. I never thought of it that way.”
Henry shrugged. “I’m no psychologist, so I don’t know for sure, but that’s what scares me about it. Do you like the bacon?”
“I’ve never had bad bacon,” Coy said.
“I think it takes like shit, myself.”
The meat suddenly tasted rotten in his mouth. Coy’s stomach turned cold. “Where’s Willie?”
“That’s the bad news I was talking about. I’m afraid Willie didn’t make it, Coy. He got shot during our little misunderstanding, and I feel just awful about it.”
“Where’s Willie?” he asked again. Willie didn’t die. It just wasn’t something he did. At least, he’d never done it before.
“Now, before he passed, we asked Willie to help. You see, we’re looking for a man named Mr. Christopher and someone called the Librarian. We thought maybe he could help us.” Henry stirred the coals and sent a flame up to kiss the meat on the grill. “He couldn’t.”
“Where’s Willie!?” Coy’s stomach was turning against him. He felt the cool chill of oncoming nausea.
“Now, I’m going to say lucky for you that since that time we’ve found some of the folks were looking for. But, I’m still going to need your help. Do you know why this Librarian fella is so dangerous?”
Despite the cold air, Coy began to sweat. His mouth filled with moisture like the inside of his cheeks were crying.
“The Librarian has a really dangerous reputation. It’s causing all kinds of trouble for some friends of mine. Funny thing is, he probably doesn’t even know it. But that’s the power of a reputation, Coy. It’s always working whether you’re there or not.”
Coy leaned forward and took several deep breaths, figuring he could blow the nausea away.
“And that’s where I need your help, Coy.” Henry stood up. “Now, I’m not asking you to do anything wrong. Judging by your wheezing there, my guess is you’re catching on. I just want you to tell people what happened here. I’ve got a reputation to think about as well.”
“Where’s Willie, you bastard? And what was in that bacon? I feel like shit.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “My, my, my, you really are that stupid. Have all the bacon you want, Coy. Just don’t judge your friend too harshly.”
It all came rushing together, and Coy threw Willie up all over the campsite as Henry walked away. Coy caught his breath and screamed. “Who are you sick bastards?”
“We’re the Skinners, Coy. Henry and Marilynn Skinner. Be sure to tell everyone.”
THIRTY-TWO
The car didn’t move like a bat out of hell. It was the cat the devil sent to chase the bat down. The Hellcat engine would push the car to two hundred miles an hour if threatened with enough throttle and a straight enough stretch of road.
The only thing moving faster were the screams on the radio as the Skinners did their best to coordinate a trap.
There were dozens coming from behind him and several ahead that were on their way to rendezvous with whoever had Erica. He caught up to this group ten minutes out of town. They were going to slow him down a bit.
He blew past four of the cars before the call came over the radio.
It simply said, “He’s here.”
The Skinner convoy went into action as four of the menacing vehicles formed a line across the road from sho
ulder to shoulder and began to slow. Two others backed off the lead to intercept the Challenger and pulled along each side of him. The ones he had passed closed the road behind him in another rolling blockade.
Chewy began to bark. Not at the cars but at Jerry.
“I know. I see them.”
A car on his left cut right, aiming for Jerry’s front quarter panel. He smashed the brakes for a brief second and the vehicle shot past him on the road. He mashed the gas and swerved left as the car from his left slammed into the car on his right and spun both vehicles into a twisted wreck.
The barricade at his rear continued on. With no room to maneuver, the right side of the formation couldn’t avoid the wreckage. The outside car swerved into the ditch. The inside right car plowed into the crash scene.
Flashes of gunfire burst ahead of him as the blockade opened fire and peppered the car’s hood with sparks and the windshield with a few cracks.
Jerry rolled down the window and returned fire to little effect.
Chewy barked again.
“I know! I see them!”
Chewy growled in his ear.
“Do you honestly think I don’t see them?!” He found the dog in the mirror and yelled. “Don’t bark at me. Bark at them.”
Chewy gave a softer bark and lay down in the rear seat revealing the oncoming reinforcements in the review mirror. Another dozen chase vehicles had caught up to him.
“Fine. I guess you had a point.” Jerry dropped the pistol into the passenger seat. The Librarian gave the Dodge more gas and roared into the rear end of the blockade. He would push his way through.
He hit the middle left car square across the bumper and drove it forward several feet before the driver locked up the brakes.
The Hellcat roared with the increased drag and his view became clouded as the Skinners’ tires turned to smoke.
The car on his right cut into him and forced him into the car on his left. This did several things at once. The car on his left rode off the shoulder and shot down the embankment. The car in front of him began to turn as its rear end was forced into a slide. The car on the right T-boned the vehicle that was suddenly in front of it. Chewy barked.
Pursuit of the Apocalypse Page 19