by Joshua Gayou
We made it back to the front room, turned right, and exited straight out the front door. Outside on the doorstep, Billy leaned over and placed his hands on his knees while coughing violently. I leaned against the wall of the house and tried to teach myself how to breathe normally again.
A few minutes later, still bent over and panting, Billy said, “That was pretty much the worst thing ever. Can we just leave now?”
“I’d love to,” I said, “but we haven’t seen inside the garage yet.”
“Ah, God damn,” he coughed and spit into the bushes. “Excuse me,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Ready?”
“No,” he grumped, and walked through the front door.
We both engaged the safeties on our weapons and let them hang as we walked in. Billy indicated off to the left and I followed. I could smell that rotting odor as soon as we stepped in this time; subtle but still there. I don’t know how we missed it the first time around.
Once in the hallway, Billy tried the handle on a door on our immediate left - what we were both sure was the garage access. It opened into a dark garage with the bumper of something large and grey just visible. There was a spool on the front of the bumper with a coil of steel cable.
Billy pulled a flashlight out of his back pocket, turned it on, and shined it at the vehicle. It lit up what may have been the most gorgeous Jeep I’ve ever seen. Along the side of the hood in black and red letters was the word “RUBICON”.
“Holy shit,” Billy whispered. “Jackpot. Nice wor...hey, where are you going?”
“Keys!” I called back as I went back inside the house. I had a panicked image of having to go back to the master bedroom to fish in someone’s pants to get the keys - I didn’t think either of us could do it. Luckily, I found a set of keys hanging from a wall hook in the kitchen. Confirming that the largest one on the ring said “Jeep” on the side, I grabbed it and returned to the garage.
Billy was just rolling up the exterior door as I came back out. When he took his arms away it began to roll back down so he pushed it back up into place. “Good, you’re back,” he said as I approached. “Would you look around and see if you can find anything to wedge this open? There isn’t enough tension on the springs to hold it in place.”
I started digging around, conscious of the fact that he was standing there exposed to the outside world with his hands extended high in the air. After what seemed like way too long, I said, “I’m not finding anything.”
“It’s okay, take your time. This thing isn’t heavy; the springs take up most of the weight of the door. I can hold it here with a finger. Look for something like a long piece of wood, or maybe even some rope.”
A few more minutes and I finally found an orange extension cord. “I found this,” I said, holding it up for him to see. “Does that help?”
“That’ll do.” He pointed up at the top corner of the door where it connected to the track. “You see how the top of the door has a wheel that rides inside the track?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, now do you see how the track is suspended from the ceiling by that support bar?”
“Okay, I see what you mean,” I said. I put the cord aside and found a step stool. I positioned the stool under the top corner of the door, grabbed the cord, and climbed to the top step. I was just able to reach the door. I threaded the extension cord up over and around the wheel that road in the door track and tied it off. I then took the other end of the cord and wrapped it a few times around the track’s supporting frame and tied that end off as well. “Okay, let it go.”
He did and the door stayed open. “Nice one,” Billy said, and approached the driver side door. I went to meet him.
At the door, Billy held the key up in the air between us. “Let’s keep it under a hundred, okay?” he smiled and handed me the key. I couldn’t help but grin back as I took it from him and opened the door.
I slid into the leather seat, which was much more comfortable than I expected, and inserted the key into the ignition. I turned it to the right without actually trying to start the engine. The dome light and instrument panel lit up. It had a touch screen integrated navigation and radio system in the center of the dashboard that was set to the radio tuner. I could hear light static over the speakers.
“That’s a good sign,” I said and turned the key all the way forward. The engine started right up, smooth as silk, and ran much more quietly than I expected a badass, ruggedized Jeep to be. The fuel gauge needle indicated three quarters of a tank.
“Jesus, we caught a break,” Billy said as he looked the whole situation over. “It won’t be much for hauling weight but I don’t think I care. Go ahead and back it out and we’ll go get you topped off.” He began to chuckle. “I’ll be damned - just like that! I guess we were just due for some good luck.”
8 – Carjacked
Jake
We had been sitting in the van for a while now, chatting about various things - mostly the kind of things that your average seven year old finds to be intensely interesting. A lot of this involved me explaining to her how characters like Big Bird and Kermit were actually the main stars of Sesame Street instead of the supporting cast when I was a kid. It seemed that this had changed and the producers of the show were highlighting characters that skewed more infantile like Elmo, Abby, and Baby Bear.
Our conversation began with her asking me to explain how Chess worked, which ended up being much more difficult than I had imagined. In the end, we decided we needed an actual board in front of us before I could start teaching her the rules to the game - it was just too abstract otherwise.
The conversation had hit a lull and I was just contemplating getting out of the van to fix us something to eat. I looked over at her and said, “You hungry?”
She looked back toward me and froze. I noticed she was actually looking past me. I turned to look out the side window and saw the barrel of a revolver pointed at my face.
My right hand was resting on my knee about a mile away from the Glock, which was propped up behind my back against the seat. I began the process of moving my hand back towards my hip when I heard a squeak from Lizzy and looked back her way. There was another gun being pointed in through her window as well. I moved my hand back to my knee.
A head began to manifest from the side of the window past Lizzy’s face, so slow that I may have laughed under other circumstances. First an ear, then an eye, half of a nose and mouth. The eye locked onto mine, widened, and the rest of the face came into view quickly after. The face was all beard, greasy dirt smears, and a ratty brown beanie.
“Jake…”
“Calm down,” I said. “Panic will make the outcome certain.”
There was a hard clicking sound on my window. I turned back to see the other man, not all that distinct from the first with the exception of flat, matted down hair in place of a beanie. His other hand came up and beckoned at me. “Out of the van - both of you,” he said, his voice muted through the window.
I had half a moment where I thought of just grabbing the pistol to start shooting but Elizabeth was halfway out of the van with a gun on her. I reached back and pinched the grip of my gun between thumb and forefinger. I held it up in the window so the man could see it, then opened the door and got out.
“Put it on the ground and back away.”
I complied. He bent over to grab it, craning his head hard to keep me in view while holding the gun in a bizarre position above his head. The more natural way to do it would have been to just squat down over the gun, keeping the torso vertical and thereby keeping me (the target) in sight from a much more natural angle. The guy either had joint issues in the hips or knees or he was just an idiot.
As he straightened up with my gun, I saw Lizzy and the first man moving around the front of the van and back toward the southeast corner of the warehouse building. She was looking at me as she was dragged along by the arm, eyes wide and frightened. I watched her until she disappeared aro
und the building.
I looked back to the man holding the gun on me. “Where is she being taken?”
“Don’t worry about that now. No one will hurt her.”
“What is this about?” A third person was coming out to us now, having emerged from the spot at which Lizzy and Brown Beanie had disappeared a moment ago.
“Keys in the van?” Number three asked. It was a woman.
“I don’t fuckin’ know!” said the man. “Have a look in there. I’m a little busy.”
She opened the door and looked inside. “Bingo,” she said, and swung herself up into the seat. She slammed the door, turned the key to start the engine, and rolled the window down.
“I’ll take this back, unload it, and then come back to pick the rest of you up.”
“Yeah, don’t be long, Molly.”
“What are you gonna do with this one?”
He looked at me. “Don’t know yet.”
She gave it a beat, and then nodded. “Anyways, I’ll be back after sundown.” She put the van in drive, did a U-turn, and drove it back onto Cross Hollow road. She turned due south and was soon lost to view. All of the artillery from Vegas left with her.
“Is this just about the van; that’s all you want?” I asked.
The guy clenched his teeth. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, fine,” I said. “Just let me have the girl back and you guys can be on your way. Take the van.”
“Nope. Holding onto her ensures you play nice.”
I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I felt something like rage at his blithe response. Struggling to keep my voice steady, I said, “Give her back. Either that or plan on killing me.”
“Hey, exactly who the fuck do you think you’re talking to here?” he said. He began to physically expand like a balloon. He took a step closer to me. The gun was a foot away. “The only one making threats around here is the guy with the gun. Me. The fuck is she to you anyway? Daughter?”
I didn’t say anything. I just kept my eyes locked on his.
“Listen, fuckstick,” he shouted, “the way it works is I ask questions and you...fucking...answer them.” As he said the last part, he closed the remaining distance between us and put the barrel up to my forehead.
This felt like as good a time as any. I mentally said ‘screw it’ and went for it. I jerked my head to the right out of the path of the gun. At the same instant, I clapped both hands on his wrist and pushed the gun out to the left. The gun went off well after I had it safely away.
“You fuckin…” he grunted. I didn’t give him any time to fight for control. I pulled him towards me to get him off balance and then swung the gun and his hands in a massive arc over my head, ending with the revolver down by my right knee. His lack of balance plus the speed of my pull meant that he ended up on his back. I planted a foot on his chest and began to bend the revolver backward, rotating it around in his hand to point at him. His finger was bound up in the trigger guard and he began to growl in pain as I forced it back. I resolved either to break his finger or rip it off and yanked the gun away from him hard.
The gun went off, (which I had not actually intended) the bullet driving into the man’s jaw and blowing out the top of his head. There was a sudden intense and throbbing pain in my right hand (my smart hand); it felt as though someone had driven over it with a car or slammed it in between two massive books. I didn’t understand what the cause was at the time - I guessed it was just the kick of the revolver. Later I would learn how a percentage of the explosive forces of a fired bullet escape out the sides of a revolver in the gap between the cylinder and the barrel; the place around which my right hand was firmly grasping when it discharged. Not having the benefit of this knowledge at the time, I knew only that it hurt terribly and my hand had gone numb shortly after.
I retrieved my Glock and patted the man down, finding nothing useful outside of a nearly empty cigarette pack and lighter. I kept the lighter.
I ran to the wall of the warehouse, stuffing the hand murdering revolver into my back pocket. I fumbled the Glock into my left hand. As I made my way along the wall to the corner, I shook my right hand vigorously and rubbed it on my leg, trying to get some feeling back into it. I looked down at my palm. There was no permanent damage that I could see but there was a black line running along the padding of the inside knuckle joints peppered with numerous black specks. I flexed it several times. It moved the way I wanted it to. Feeling was coming back slowly but only pins and needles so far. I contemplated holding the pistol in my left but soon abandoned that idea. I trusted my right hand with reduced feeling better than my left with clumsy mobility.
I peeked around the corner of the wall and, seeing no one there; put my head out far enough to see that there was a door leading into the warehouse at the corner opposite mine. There was also another building extending further south that seemed to be attached to this one. I suffered a moment of indecision: take the door or continue searching along the outside of the building? If I was wrong, I could end up burning a lot of time on a fruitless search while Lizzy was taken further out of reach. I was also well aware that standing there would eventually result in the same outcome. I decided to flip a mental coin and take the door.
As I entered, I heard a voice close by say, “Had to shoot him, huh?” I put eyes on the speaker - it was Beanie guy. “Oh, shhh-!”
I shot him twice in the chest. He leaned back into some vertical storage racks, alternating between looking at me and looking at his chest with a very confused expression on his face. I shot him in the forehead and made my way deeper into the shop floor.
To my right were roll up doors leading out to loading docks. Some of them were opened, allowing light into the area and making it possible to see rather well. There were a number of line machines arranged at regular intervals along a mirror smooth concrete floor covered in dust. Ringing the line machines were more storage racks loaded with various kinds of packaging material; rolls of plastic and cellophane, small black plastic containers and clear plastic lids. They all looked to me like little single-serving food containers.
I scanned the area, which appeared to lack any other people besides me and the man I had just shot. On the far side of the room, there was a dividing wall anchored to a huge glulam beam spanning the warehouse. From the columns I could see running vertically down the length of the wall, I assumed the wall was structural.
I went through the door without even slowing down. This new room was much darker; anything I could see was only shapes and shadows. I had the impression of more storage racks. I fumbled in my pocket for the lighter and started thumbing the wheel. I don’t remember anything immediately after that moment.
-
The next thing I remember was an all-consuming, throbbing ache in the back of my head, demanding attention and lifting me up into consciousness. The more awake I was, the more it hurt. I groaned and tried to find my way back to sleep.
“There, see? He’s coming around. I told you I didn’t kill him.”
Now in chorus with the ache in the back of my head, there came a familiar throb and pressure centered at my sinuses. I found it was impossible to breathe except through an open mouth. Tremendous. Someone had smashed my nose in again.
I levered my eyes open and was met with the low light of a gas lantern. We were in some kind of office, the walls on two sides (to my left and ahead of me) housing large picture windows looking out onto the shop floor. I was hunched over in a rolling chair with my hands bound behind me. I looked up and had to fight through a wave of nausea as the room tilted on its side. I ground my teeth while I waited for the feeling to subside.
“Jake!” I heard Lizzy call from somewhere ahead of me. I looked out and squinted. She looked shorter than she should have been and her body looked wrong; it was reflecting the light of the lantern in strange patterns. I was confused. Clothing is not typically reflective.
I looked around and just made out three other people; a woman and two men. I
couldn’t tell for sure if it was the same woman who drove away with our van but I thought this was a new person I hadn’t seen before. About all I could tell from the low light and my swimming vision was female, neither young nor old. The two men were a mystery; I had killed all of the men I had encountered so far.
“Easy, there, fella. I hit you pretty hard,” one of the men said.
I tried to speak, coughed, and then spit out angrily, “The fuck is going on here?”
“Whoa, whoa,” the woman said indignantly. “You just killed two of ours, buddy. Maybe you want to rethink your tone.”
“Killed two that were stealing my van! Drug the girl off to God knows where. What did you expect? High-fives and fist bumps?”
There was silence for a few beats. Finally, she said, “Donny, cut his hands loose.”
“The fuck you say?” exclaimed someone (presumably Donny).
“Cut him loose, damn it. You have him covered with guns from two different directions. Look at him; he can barely breathe.”
I had my head down again as it was taking a lot of energy to keep it up and the strain along the back of my neck was aggravating the migraine. I saw a pair of feet in sneakers come around from the side and move behind me. There was a sharp tug at my wrists and then my hands were free. I was able to sit up fully.
I sat up too fast and was struck by another wave of vertigo. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. When I opened my eyes again things were better. I looked around and noted that this was definitely a different woman than the one who had driven off with the Ford. I looked over at Lizzy and saw that she had been shrink-wrapped to a chair.
“Look, about your van? I’m truly sorry about that. Our people need what you’re carrying. This was a simple case of you versus us.”