by Frank Cereo
Blood is beginning to paint the floor red. Steven continues to use his arms but he isn’t moving very fast. He grimaces with every movement he makes. That’s is when I stabbed the knife into the back of his left thigh.
“Why don’t you just kill me and get this over with.” Steven says.
“In time my friend. You know the saying, time is a virtue and we don’t want to rush a good thing.” I say followed by a laugh.
Then I stabbed him in the right bicep followed by the left bicep. Now Steven is flopping like a fish out of water because none of his limbs work. The floor is covered with blood and the time is nearing for my departure.
“Well it’s getting close to that time for us to say our adieus. I really enjoyed our time together. You know parting is such sweet sorrow.” I say as I stand over the top of Steven.
“Go to hell you fucking low life piece of shit.” Steven says.
“I tell you what, you go to hell first and I’ll meet you there later. Bless me father for I have sinned. My last murder is about to begin.” I say as I embed the knife into Steven’s neck.
Blood rushes across the kitchen floor like a river. I watch Steven as he starts to gasp for air. He fights so hard especially with the inevitable creeping up so fast. I watch as the fight goes away and everything becomes quiet. Steven exhales one last time as his body comes to rest. I leave his kitchen knife embedded in his neck. I grab my belongings and head out the door. I get into the pickup truck and drive slowly with no concerns. I drive out of the gated community and turn onto the service road. Then my cell phone rings and I see it’s that number again. I slam on the breaks and stop the truck. I get out and look around and I see no one. The call goes into voice mail. So I play the message.
“You need to come home now. Home is where the heart is. Come home, come home, come home, come home.” The female voice says as it fades away.
I get back into the truck and drive towards my car. I drive all the way to the end of the service road where is comes into a main road. My car is gone. It was either towed away or stolen. Then I hear sirens in the night air. This alerts me that they are on to me. I know I cannot drive this security truck much longer. The pickup is going to be real hot in a few minutes. So I drive the pickup past a freight train yard and I get an idea. I turn the truck around and park behind a shopping plaza. I jog back to the train yard which is about two miles away. When I get there I just lay in the tall dried grass and wait. I can hear all kinds of sirens ringing throughout the night. I look at my watch and it is almost two in the morning. I have no clothes to change into because they were in my car. I know the investigation would start as soon as they have a few leads. I wait and wait and soon it is three then four and finally five in the morning. I know I will not stand a chance unless a train arrives before sunrise. At five thirty two I hear a train whistle. I look down the track and see the headlight coming towards me. The freight train is moving really fast and I know I won’t be able to hop it. I back off the track and the train comes hurling by me. I stand off to the side as the train begins to slow down. It takes a few minutes but it slows down to about 15 miles per hour as if goes through the city of Houston. Each train car that passes by me is closed and locked. I look down the tracks and I see the training is coming to an end. I know if I stay here it’s all over. So I start to run alongside of the train and when I reach speed of the train I reach out and grab hold.
“Come on Freddy boy you can do this.” I say as I leap onto the ladder of a freight car.
At first my feet are dragging but I manage to pull myself up. I start to climb up the ladder to the top of the freight car. I look to the north and I can see many police lights flashing in the distance. This tells me they are finding my victims. I quickly try and find a place to hide on top of the freight car or until the train leaves the area. I crawl across the top of the train trying to open hatches on the tops of the freight cars. As the train leaves the city limits it starts to pick up speed again. I know I only have a few more minutes and then I am going to have to remain where I am. Then I find a cattle car. The hatch on top is open so I climb inside. There are no cattle in the car so I find a spot in the front corner. The wind is rushing through the open slats in the car. The colder it gets as the train starts picking up speed. I cover up with the manure smelling hay. I look back and I can see Houston’s lights fading away as the train heads east. I have a head start and I have to stay low and out of sight especially when the train stops.
“I need to get a little shut eye.” I say to myself as I close my eyes.
It’s been a long exhausting night and the rickety and racketing sounds of the train quickly puts me to sleep.
Chapter 20 – The Train Ride
The train ride is long and I am sleeping so sound. I am physically and mentally exhausted. Then I feel a shutter and I am pushed forward against the slats. I hear the brakes screech and I slam my head against a wooden slat. I look forward and I can only see the brown box car in front the car I’m riding in. I look around and see its daylight. I take peek at my watch and see its ten minutes after two in the afternoon. Being proactive I climb back to the top of the train. I climb out and over the top of the car and look towards the front of the train. I can see the city of Atlanta and the train is slowing down upon arrival. I quickly climb down inside the rail car and grab my knife, handgun and rifle. Everything else I had on this journey was left inside my car. The police have to be examining everything if they were the ones that confiscated my car. I know my identity has now been breached.
“You need to move and find shelter.” I say as I ride on the side of the rail car.
I wait till the train comes to a complete stop. Then I climb down off of the train and run into the trees and brush. I remain inside the brush for cover and wait for the safety of nightfall. To pass the time, I count how much money I have left.
“$127.52 remaining and I need new clothes. I am going to have to find a way to improvise.” I say as I put my wallet back in my pocket.
My next task is to count how much ammo I have left for both the rifle and handgun. One by one I count the bullets in each magazine. The rifle has sixteen bullets left and the handgun has twenty three. I know this is all I have left to get by on. The police will be looking for any type of purchase of my ammo to track what direction I am traveling. Just knowing I am in Atlanta I have created a safe buffer zone between me and the Houston Police. I know I have to make the next move after dark because the Houston police will be checking every type of transportation that moved through the area during the morning. They will put some feelers out in the Atlanta area and someone will check this freight train. As evening falls I make my move scavenging through the suburbs. I take my weapons with me just in case I am identified on the street and because I don’t want to go back to the train yard. The first thing I need to do is find some clothing and ditch the clothes I am wearing because they have blood from the victims on them. Then I need to get some food in me because I have not eaten in about 24 hours. I am very discrete by walking in people’s backyards. It’s not as dark as I anticipated because many people have already put out their Christmas decorations. The lights reflect into the backyards and help me to maneuver in the darkness. One good thing about this time of year, the sun sets early. After an hour or so I get the biggest break I could imagine. I make sure I take off the blood covered black hooded sweatshirt. I drop the jacket into the dumpster and I walk towards the store. I set my guns and knife out of sight behind the dumpster.
“Are you kidding me?” I say as I walk into a thrift store.
“Sir we are closing in ten minutes.” The woman cashier says as I walk towards the men’s area.
“No problem miss, I will make it quick.” I reply.
I grab a pair of Levi blue jeans in my size. A large green sweatshirt, and an Atlanta Braves jacket and baseball cap. I find a clean pair of New Balance walking shoes and a package of white socks and Hanes boxers. I also find a luggage bag that I need for my weapons.
I rush towards the front of the store and get in line. There are only two registers open and five people cashing out. I am the third in line in the second checkout lane and there are only two people in checkout lane number one. The line in checkout lane one is moving faster than the line in number two.
“I will take whoever is next in line.” The heavy set female casher says.
“You can go next I have like twenty five items to buy.” The black woman in front of me says.
“Thank you,” I respond.
I move into the line and put my purchases on the belt. The girl starts to ring me out. I can see by the look on her face something is not right. I hope she didn’t recognize me but there is only way to find out.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” The girls says.
“Well your facial expressions aren’t telling me that? So what’s bothering you?” I say.
“You don’t smell very good.” The girl says as she put her shirt over her nose.
Then it dawns on me that I was riding in a cattle car. I have manure all over my clothes. So I think fast and answer with precision.
“Oh I’m sorry miss, I work on a farm and I don’t even smell the shit anymore.” I reply with a smile.
“I kind of figured that out. Your total will be twenty two dollars and seventeen cents.” The girl says.
I pay for my purchases and head out of the thrift store. I go back by the dumpster and put my weapons inside the bag. I break down the rifle and put that into the bag with the extra socks and underwear on top. Before I change into my clean clothes I find a truck stop that has a shower. I walk in with my bag and head right for the bathroom. I find an open stall and head inside. I make sure my bag is located on the floor in front of the shower curtain. I turn on the water and use the small piece of used soap in that is melted in the tray. I use the soap to lather my hair and body and then I rinse off. I make sure I keep looking towards the bag just in case someone picks it up. When I finish my shower I look into the mirror. I haven’t shaved in a few days and it’s a good disguise. So I decide to leave the bearded barley look. I use my fingers to brush my hair in place. Then I get dressed into my new clothes. I carefully place the dirty black clothing into a garbage bag and then place that bag into my luggage bag. I put on the braves coat and hat and walk into the restaurant located inside the truck stop. I grab a seat in a booth and place my order. I place an order for the special which is beef tips over rice with corn and a buttered roll. I order a glass of water to go with it. When the food is served I scarf it down like a starving child.
“Will there be anything else?” The waitress asks.
“No, that will be all thanks.” I reply.
The waitress brings the check and sets it on the table. The total is eight dollars and fifty cents. I leave eleven dollars on the table and head for the door. When I get outside I take a deep breath as I put my bag over my shoulder. Then I happen to look down and see my picture on the front page of The Atlanta Sentinel. I put seventy five cents into the newspaper vending machine and get a paper. I find a spot under a street light in the truck parking lot and start to read the article. I am amazed on how much of the article is untrue. Then I see a quote from the FBI agent in charge. “I don’t know how he fell under our radar. We have all the routes of transportation under surveillance and all the roads are blockaded. We figure he is still in the Houston area hiding and we should apprehend him in the near future.” I figure it’s just a ploy to made me drop my guard and to feel comfortable. I know they had to find the security guards pickup truck behind the plaza and the freight train yard isn’t far away. They had to put two and two together.
“Hey what are you doing on the side of my rig?” A big black truck driver yells at me.
“Just minding my own business reading the newspaper and trying to bum a ride off a trucker going north.” I ask.
“Where are you heading?” he asks.
“Pennsylvania.” I lie in my reply.
“I can get you as far north as Baltimore. I could sure use someone to talk too” The trucker responds.
“Sounds good to me, when are leaving?” I ask.
“I just need to piss after sleeping for ten hours. Do you want a coffee?” The trucker asks.
“Yes please with cream and sugar.” I reply.
I figure I have about ten maybe fifteen minutes until the trucker returns. I still have dirty clothes in my bag and I need to discard them. I look around and see a dumpster but there are too many eyes watching. Then I see the perfect spot to dispose my dirty clothes and shoes. Parked next to my ride north is a large trash hauler. I know it is hauling trash because even though the temperatures are cold, I can smell the reek of rotting trash. I walk around to the rear of the trailer and climb up the ladder. The closer I get to the top tarp the aroma starts to turn my stomach. I get to the top and I pull the tarp back. I turn my head away when I get a strong whiff of the trash rotting in the trailer. The smell is so bad I can feel my stomach beginning to turn. Being proactive I unzip my bag and begin to throw all the clothing into the hopper. First is the pants, then the shirt, followed by the socks and finally the black sneakers. I close up the tarp and climb back down the ladder. When I reach the ground I tuck the newspaper under my arm and carry the bag over my shoulder. Now my bag is only carrying my knife, handgun, and rifle with extra socks and underwear. As I am walking towards the front of the tractor trailer, the truck driver is walking back with two large cups of coffee.
“Here you go man.” The truck driver says as he hands me a cup of coffee.
“How much do I owe you?” I ask.
“You get the next one and I will call us even.” The truck driver replies.
Slowly the truck pulls out of the truck stop. The trucker hits the on ramp on I-85 north towards Charlotte, North Carolina. I figure the further I move away from Houston the lesser chance I have of being caught. The ride is relaxing as the trucker and I talk about football and the economy. The night is cruising by as we drive into South Carolina and then North Carolina. The trucker then pulls into a gas station just off I-95 north. I recognize the stop because I had stopped here on the way down.
“Why are we stopping here?” I ask.
“I drank that large coffee and now I got to piss again.” The trucker says.
“Oh okay,” I reply.
“You can buy me that cup of coffee you owe me.” The trucker asks.
“Sure no problem.” I reply as I get out of the truck.
The trucker jogs towards the door as I walk at a good pace. I look towards the window and see there is a guy and a girl working. The trucker runs into the restroom inside the convenience store. I look down at the newspaper vending machines and see the front page of the USA today. The headlines reads FBI Manhunt Underway and there is a large picture of me. I quickly pull the baseball cap down over my face. I pull the door open and walk inside. I walk towards the coffee counter that is self-service. I pour two large coffees and wait for the trucker to emerge from the restroom. As I am waiting I look behind the counter and recognize the punk kid that I ripped the ring out of his lip. This is all I need, to be recognized at the one stop I made on the way down. I take my time as the trucker walks out of the restroom.
“Do you want any cream or sugar?” I ask.
“Yes please two creams and three sugars. I’ll be out in the truck. I have to update my logbook.” The trucker says.
I pour the creamers in the coffee as the trucker walks out towards the truck. I pour the three sugars in and stir the coffee up. I put the lids on the cups as I walk up to the counter. The kid is working the register as I set the coffee on the counter. I keep my head down and avoid eye contact.
“Will that be all?” The kid asks.
“Yes that’s it.” I say in a low voice trying to disgui
se my voice.
The kid rings up the two coffees as I take a quick peek at him. He is wearing a regular pair of jeans and a plane t-shirt. All the jewelry in his face is gone and his hair is short and cut to his head. I can see the scab still on his lip where I tore out the ring. It looks sore and painful but I cannot help myself from looking.
“That will three dollars and thirty two cents.” The kid says.
“That looks awful sore? What happened?” I ask the kid as I hand him a five dollar bill.
“I fell down and hit the corner of a countertop.” The kid says as he counts out my change.
“Be more careful next time.” I reply as I put the change in my pocket.
During the entire conversation I never lifted my head up to make eye contact. I grab the two coffees and start walking towards the door. I wait for the kid to say something but I guess he didn’t recognize me. I say to myself, did our little confrontation last week change his demeanor in life. I walk towards the truck and figure maybe something good came from this. The kid is all cleaned up and is acting like a professional with a bright future ahead of him. When I reach the truck I get inside the passenger side. I hand the trucker his coffee as he writes into his logbook.
“What the hell took you so long?” The trucker asks.
“I had to finish mixing your coffee and the cashier couldn’t count the change.” I reply in laughter.
The trucker continue to drive north on I-95 and I fall asleep somewhere in Virginia. Then I am awakened by the truck roaring as the Jake-break is applied. As the truck begins to slow down I feel myself pushing forward from the braking motion. I look up and see flashing lights ahead.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It could be an accident.” The trucker says.
I start to get a little nervous with the flashing lights. I keep thinking to myself did the kid at the convenience store recognize me. The closer we get to the lights the more fidgety I get. I can feel myself beginning to panic as I reach over for my bag. I slowly start to unzip the zipper and slide my hand inside the bag. I feel around inside the bag until I find the handgun. I put my finger on the trigger as we approach the flashing lights. Then I see the fatal accident ahead in the median. A car has flipped over and the firemen are using the Jaws of Life to get the driver out. The police ahead have the passing lane closed down while one trooper is directing traffic. Slowly we pass the accident and I turn away to avoid being seen. So I pull my hand out of my bag and quietly close the zipper.