Hitchers

by Douglas, P. A.

  “Nope, sure didn’t,” one the females called out.

  “Oh, so you think you can take a crack at me, is that it?”

  “Suppose I do? You deserved a good ass whoopin’ for some of the shit you’ve pulled around here.”

  Brian laughed, stepping closer to the young man before him. “And what do I get if I win?”

  “You ain’t gonna win, punk,” one of the others called out. “He’s an ex-boxer!”

  “Is that right?” Brian grinned, rubbing his chin eagerly. “Well then, if I win; I’m sorry, when I win, I want both of those bottles.”

  “The hell with that,” one of the women disagreed. “Took us all day to save up for these.”

  Brian gingerly paced around the young man wanting to fight him. Eyeing the rest of the group, he ran his fingers though his hair. He glared at them, the adrenaline rush easing back into his veins from earlier. Sizing up the man before him, waiting to throw down so to speak, he felt like he could take him. And if he couldn’t, he would just pull out the gun. Show them all what for. Although this was a sidetrack from his current mission of finding Elliott, one never passed up the opportunity to score free liquor and fifty bucks worth of already crushed aluminum. No matter how outnumbered you were.

  Brian didn’t even give the kid time to respond. He sidestepped the young man and faced him. Reaching out a hand as if to suggest no hard feelings, he shook the man’s hand. Before he even saw it coming, Brian pulled him in as they embraced. With his free hand, Brian swung hard. The loud crack of his fist as it collided with the man’s face reverberated off the darkness. Not letting go, he pulled him in again, throwing another series of punches to the face. Standing limply and in a state of shock the man took each blow to the face without making any effort to block. The first hit must have jarred his senses and Brian knew it. Taking advantage of the surprise attack, he hit the man one last time square in the jaw as hard as he could. The guy’s head kicked back and as he released his punch, Brian let the man’s hand go. Brian wasn’t surprised when the man fell to the ground instantly. He was unmoving. Unconscious.

  “What the hell, man,” the other young man said, dropping his bag of cans.

  From what he could tell, this guys was about to give Brian a go too. He was ready. His left fist stung from pummeling the hell out of the other guy, but he could manage a few more rounds.

  “Look, we ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” one of the old men said.

  “Me either.” Brian tossed both hands up, his left covered in blood. “However, I will be confiscating that booze if I do say so myself. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “I don’t think so!” The old man lifted the bottle in his hand then slammed it as hard as he could into the ground. The glass shattered, spilling the contents all over the ground. The air filled with the aroma of Jack.

  “Now, what would have made you go and do a thing like that, old man?” Brian asked, stepping forward and leaning down over the broken glass.

  “We don’t want any trouble. Now leave us alone!”

  Brian reached down, touched the spilled contents of the Jack and touched it to his lips. The taste was just what the doctor ordered, and he was getting that other bottle. No if ands or buts. He wasn’t even sure how or where the small metal pipe came from. All he knew was that the rage had risen inside again and that the pipe felt good in his grip. Chances were the pipe was on the ground right next to the busted bottle, but it didn’t matter. What did matter was what was happening with said pipe. He was up and on the old man for throwing the bottle on the ground before even he realized it. None of them did anything to save the old man. They didn’t do anything at all. They just stood paralyzed in shock and fear. Brian didn’t feel any of those things. He felt powerful. No one was going to tell him what he could or couldn’t have in life. He wanted those two bottles and this old man took away that right.

  What the hell was he thinking for busting up one of my bottles?

  The old man’s face was a mush of pulp in seconds. The metal rod was doing a number on him. Unlike just using his fists to show someone who’s boss, each strike sent blood into the air and more and more of his face deeper into his skull. He wasn’t sure how many times he had hit the old man before he stopped moving, but it wasn’t many.

  Brian thought he heard both of the women screaming, but he wasn’t all that sure. The sound of the old man’s grunts and gurgles were about all he could focus on. When he finally quit swinging and actually looked down at the old man before him, he was unrecognizable. The only thing that was left to resemble him was the little lines of gray hair among the blood all over his head.

  “What the hell did you do,” the other old man shouted.

  Brian looked up at the people around him. They were all staring down at him in horror. Bunch of scared little hack-jobs. They didn’t have the balls to do anything. There was nothing they could do. He could take them all. He was ready. Ready for anything. That was why he pulled his gun when he did. One of them stepped forward and Brian reacted. The gun was pulled from his back and in the young man’s face instantly. Everyone froze where they stood.

  “We’ve got to get him to a doctor,” one of the women said.

  Brian aimed the gun at them all. “Shut the hell up! You brought this on yourselves. All I want are my bottles. And the old man on the ground did this to himself. Now, if you don’t want the same thing, Pops, pass me that bottle!”

  The old man shivered, afraid. He set the bottle on the ground then stepped back, his eyes never leaving his brother’s unmoving body. “You…you killed him.”

  “That’s right,” Brian laughed. “And unless you hand over those two bags of cans, you might end up in the same boat as your two friends here.”

  Brian looked down at the unconscious young man and the old man’s obliterated face. His stomach churned at the sight of what he had just done. What was happening to him? He used to be a good man. Used to work for a living. This wasn’t anything like his old life. These things were much worse than he used to be. Cheating on his taxes, beating his wife, and drawing a knife on his co-worker to prevent them from getting the raise he deserved were nothing like what he was doing now. In time, the sickness would pass. Besides, he liked it. The rush. The feeling of control. He swallowed hard to fight the sickness and smiled.

  “We better do what he says,” one of the women quivered.

  “Listen to her. She’s the kind a lady who knows how to stay alive. Now drop the cans and start walkin’.”

  “But, Steven and…we can’t leave them.”

  Brian cocked the gun and aimed it. His face was stern.

  “Let’s just go. We can call for help.”

  “That’s right. Now get the hell out of here and call the damn Sheriff. That fat bastard could use a workout tonight,” Brian laughed.

  Unhappy with the fact that they were all just still standing there watching the old man bleed out on the ground, Brian aimed the gun into the air and fired. Everyone jumped, and when he aimed the gun at them again, they started to move.

  “Now go! Go get some help for your friends,” Brian commanded.

  Leaving the two bags of cans and the other bottle of liquor behind, they all took off running. Brian stood there for a while with the gun still pointed toward the darkness and the direction they ran off into. After the sound of their footsteps faded into the night, Brian waited a little longer. He shoved the gun back into the small of his back, lifted the white shirt up over it to hide it some. He looked down at the dead old man, blood pooling around his smashed in head. The metal pipe lay on the ground beside his unmoving corpse. He was disgusted with the gore that now covered his new shirt. When he was smashing that old man’s face, blood had splashed all over it. A stinging pain started up in his left hand. It wasn’t until then he remembered the blood and cuts all over the knuckles on his left hand, which led to him remembering the younger man still unconscious on the ground not even five feet away from the old dead bum. Only, now he wasn’t unc
onscious. He was starting to come back around. He breathed out of his nose and Brian laughed when blood shot out from it. He had hit the young man pretty hard. That was one thing construction workers had going for them. Muscle.

  The man groaned as he tried to sit up. He managed to sit all the way up, but before he even realized what was happening or what had happened, Brian was on him again. With his left hand, Brian grabbed the man by the shirt. With his other hand he pulled the gun back out putting it under the man’s chin. He pushed hard, forcing the man’s neck back in an awkward position.

  “What the…” the man said, spitting up blood, unable to really see. His left eye was already swollen shut, the other filled with blood.

  “Your friends done left you here, buddy.” Brian said. “They were some real nice people too. Gave me a few bottles of booze and some cans. I kind a slipped. I got butter-fingers, you know. One of the bottles busted all over the ground. Ain’t that a shame?”

  “I…I…d-d-don’t understand.”

  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to.” Brian said, slapping the young man with the barrel of the gun. “This here’s my friend mister pistol. You two are gonna be acquainted real fast unless you start givin’ me some answers. You understand that?”

  The man started to speak, but Brian shoved the gun under his chin again forcing the man’s mouth closed. The man nodded, whimpering in fear.

  “Okay, good. That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Brian couldn’t help but giggle.

  This man looked so pathetic whimpering in his boots. At any moment, he would be ready to start pissing his pants. If he did that, Brian wasn’t sure if he would be able to contain himself. He would probably end up pissing himself too, but with laughter rather than fear.

  “Please, why are you doing…”

  “I’m the one asking the questions.” Brian slapped the man, and then grabbed him by the shirt again. “Now, you know my good friend Elliott? Elliott Racca? He’s my best friend. We go way back. I’m looking for him because I’ve got a present for him.”

  “I…it…”

  “That’s right,” Brian smiled. “Today is Elliott’s birthday. I’m really excited about it. You know where I can find him?”

  “H-h-he s-s-sleeps under the patio behind the Chinese Restaurant on M-m-main Street.”

  Brian smiled. He already knew that. He had been sleeping under that stupid patio ever since he ran Elliott off. He thought back to the first time he chased Elliott down Main Street to that stupid restaurant. He couldn’t even remember why he was chasing him to begin with, come to think of it. Probably just fucking with him. When they reached the back of the Chinese place, Brian was scratching his head for a while trying to figure out where Elliott disappeared to. It took him a minute to figure it out, but the large opening under the patio had given it away. Elliott had climbed under the patio to get away. Brian wasn’t eager to get on his hands and knees to climb under there and get the crazy guy. But he had chased him this far and Brian wasn’t a quitter. After getting a little dirty, easing his way onto the ground and under the Chinese Restaurant’s patio, he was shocked at what he found. The space that Elliott had found for himself was huge. It was dark and damp at first, but after finding the light switch everything was out in the open. For a super crazy guy like Elliott to have rigged up the lights like that under the patio, Brian was impressed. That was why he decided right then and there that this place was his now. It was perfect. Elliott must have been living there for a long time too, because it had practically everything you could need. A sleeping blanket, lighting, four walls, and surprisingly . . . a desk, chair, bookshelf and even a small refrigerator that was running off of the restaurant’s power. How Elliott managed to get all of that down there was a mystery, but Brian wasn’t complaining. The living space was incredible. Hidden. He liked that about if most of all. Would Elliott really try to revisit the—

  The man moaned and tried to pull away, which caused Brian to pull away from his thoughts and back to the situation at hand.

  “Look mister, just let me go, please,” the young man said, finally finding confidence in his voice. “You can have the cans. I just…”

  “Don’t worry, friend.” Brian’s voice calm and inviting. “I’ll let you go.”

  He leaned in, kissing the young man on the forehead, smiled, and then pulled the trigger.

  The bullet punctured the lower part of the man’s chin exiting the top of his head. As the loud report filled the air, the top of the man’s head blew out. Blood, plasma and meaty pink chunks splashed across the ground as the man fell limp. A small line of smoke rose from the large opening in the man’s slit skull. Blood spilled out, soaking into the grass.

  Picking up the bottle of liquor with one hand and both bags of cans with the other, Brian left the scene as if nothing had happened. As if, nothing was wrong. As if, it was natural to murder three people in a single day. Strolling away from the coffee shop toward the Chinese restaurant, he began to whistle something familiar once again. If there was anything he missed about the construction jobs, it was the classic rock they listened to on the radio while they worked.

  After he dropped off the cans and downed the bottle, he’d figure out what to do next. As he whistled, his poor rendition of Wish you were Here by Pink Floyd filled the night air.

  He stopped and opened the bottle. Chugging half of it in one long drawn out gulp, he put the lid back on and continued on his way.

  The buzz was kicking in; the memory of the things he had done today already starting to blur from the wafting smell of Jack. The two bags of cans rattled as he walked and whistled. The restaurant wasn’t all that far away.

  Chapter 13

  Greg finally found the light switch, which was illegally rigged from an extension cord that ran through the floorboards of the restaurant. The orange cord had been spliced at the end and connected a dimmer switch to a small light bulb that hung freely in the air above his head. Whoever this Elliott guy was, he was pretty smart.

  Greg was blown away at how large the living space was hidden beneath the restaurant patio. The small light illuminated the dark damp space as it swayed back and forth in midair. Greg looked around in wonder.

  How in God’s green Earth did he get all of this stuff down here?

  The small space that he had to crawl through to get down there was barely big enough for him to fit. He got dirty doing it too. The dirt floor squished between his toes as he ambled around.

  After running through the neighborhood wearing only soaked socks, a shirt, and boxers, Greg eventually stumbled upon Main Street. It wasn’t all that hard to find. It was the only street in Grayson that stayed lit up even after everyone had gone home to call it a night. The illuminated new plaza and streetlights had helped guide him in the right direction. When he had first made it to the plaza, a few people strolled out from the new diner. Greg first planned to approach the couple leaving the diner when he thought about it. How would he feel if a crazed middle-aged man ran up on him and his date while not wearing any pants? He would have lost it. Possibly beat the guy to a pulp for scaring his date.

  Luckily, the next person he came upon was homeless. Acting as if she saw this kind of thing daily, she didn’t flinch as Greg frantically asked questions about Elliott. She was wearing a large overcoat and only had one shoe on. Her other foot was just as exposed to the elements as both of Greg’s. The lady smelled pretty rough, but at this point Greg didn’t care. He felt like he was being followed. Peggy Ann was in danger and there were fucking monsters running around controlling the damn town. Apparently, the homeless woman knew Elliott well enough to know where he stayed and that was how Greg found himself under the Chinese restaurant. Only, it had cost him to find out. Giving up both of his socks was all it took for the stinking woman to tell him where Elliott lived.

  At first, he wasn’t sure about the location and just assumed that the crazy one-shoe-wearing lady was pulling his leg. Apparently, she was telling the truth. After scanning the patio
a little further, he noticed an area where the wood was pulled back at the base. The hole was just big enough to slip in. He first called down into the darkness. Only his voice echoed back. No one replied. He stood for a while contemplating what to do next when some people started walking toward him. Only these people weren’t just people. They were infected. Controlled. They had Hitchers on their shoulders. Not wasting any time, Greg slid down the dark hole to hide from the new on-comers. Surprisingly, he was able to stand once inside. He turned himself around in the dark space under the patio and watched as the passers-byers moved closer. For a moment, he feared that he had been spotted. They walked right onto the patio. He stepped away from the opening that he had crawled into so that they wouldn’t see him. He listened as the wood above him groaned and stretched under their weight. He looked up trying to gauge their exact location, but it was impossible to do in the dark. One of them must have stepped directly over him. Dust and dirt fell from overhead and hit Greg in the face. His eyes stung as he wiped at his face.

  Greg stood still in the darkness and silence for a while. He wasn’t sure how long it was, but it felt like more than ten minutes before the people on the patio decided to leave. The entire time they were up there he didn’t hear the people say anything. All he could hear was the clanking and clicking of monstrous teeth. The whole time they were up there, Greg was sweating and afraid. He feared that they could tell that he was near, by smelling him, or tasting his fear in the air. He didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out. Fear gripped him as his imagination filled with the idea that the people on the patio would find him. Corner him and eat him, or worse, convert him. Whatever it was they did to their prey.