by Meyer, Tim
Feeling weightless, Sam drifted to where Soren stood, screaming at the top of his lungs. Soren didn't flinch, didn't even try to dodge Sam's fist, which crashed into his jaw, turning his face sideways. His balance departed from him and he flopped onto the ground. Blood spat from his mouth, a dash of scarlet drool splashing onto the linoleum floor. Sam towered over him, his shadow menacing. His face burned with contemptuous ire.
“Don't you ever try to manipulate my family again, or I swear to God I'll kill you, you son of a bitch,” Sam grunted, kicking Soren in the ribs.
Air whooshed from his lungs. Soren flipped onto his back, writhing around the floor like a pig in the mud.
Before Sam could lay into him once more, Tina and Brian corralled him. They wrapped their arms around him, pulling him away from the crowd who looked at their leader like what the hell happened to you? Brian whispered something into his ear.
Sam ignored him. Instead, he yelled, “Stay away from my family, you motherfucker!”
The crowd gasped, unable to believe how far he had fallen. Three months ago, they would've followed Sam off the edge of a cliff; now, they weren't so sure if following him to the other end of the room was a good idea.
Soren wiped the blood away with his knuckles, revealing a sly smile.
Everyone turned to him once Sam's shouting could no longer be heard, contained inside the back stockroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Soren said, glimmering. “I think it's time we pack our bags.”
-10-
The charred bodies lay before them, frozen in their final pose. They were holding each other; true lovers until the final second of their lives. Their blackened statue brought tears to Becky and Matty's eyes. Even Lilah, who stood quietly near the court's gate, looked on somberly.
“Holy Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru,” Chris muttered beneath his breath.
“What did you say?” Matty asked.
“Nothing, All-Star,” he replied. “I'm sorry for your loss.”
Matty shrank, lowering his head. He sniffled softly, removed his glasses, and wiped away the tears stinging his eyes.
“Wait...” Becky said, approaching the crispy corpses. She expelled tears of her own while crouching next to the blackened bodies. Apprehensively, she reached for one of the lumps.
“What the hell are you doing, Becky?” Chris asked.
She removed something he couldn't see. Holding it in her hands, the three of them waited with anticipation. Lilah had stepped forth, standing behind Matty. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned to her; she offered a faint smile, one that failed to soothe him.
“It's not Bob,” Becky said.
“What do you mean?” Matty asked nervously.
“Whoever this person was, wore glasses.” She held the spectacles up in the air. A dried residue covered it, reflecting moonlight. “Bob didn't wear glasses. Refused to. Remember? He only wore contacts.”
“Mr. Robinson...” Matty trailed off, hope restoring his features.
“And I don't think Mr. R would be holding Mom like that. Even if they were about to die.”
Chris clapped. “Great job, detective.”
“Shut up,” Becky snapped, then turned to Matty. “You know what this means?”
“Mom is still alive?”
Becky nodded. “She's out there somewhere.”
“You think she's safe?”
Becky shrugged. “I don't know. I hope so.”
Matty swallowed that persistent lump. “Do you think we'll actually... find her?”
For a second, Becky didn't want to answer. Her lips parted, but no words escaped. Finally, she said, “Yeah, I think so. I can kinda sense it.”
Chris helped her to her feet. “Come on, kids,” he said. “Dawn will be here soon, and we better not be.”
-11-
The moon had about run its nightly course. Sunlight glowed across the horizon, but neglected to fully immerse itself in the day. In the pale, pre-morning sparkle, Malek walked down the path shrouded with overgrown foliage, two of his followers shadowing him. Rollins was among them, carrying a water bottle filled with his most recent concoction. Another pale-faced lad whose name was Jacobs dragged Marcus's corpse behind him, using a thick rope that one of the workers hanged himself with after day became night and night became day.
They followed the path to a sizable clearing. A single figure stood in the center, holding a giant spoon in one hand and a dirty metallic bucket in the other. He scooped something that looked like mud out of the bucket and placed the contents inside the cage to his right. The viscous slop landed in a bowl and two figures, raggedly-clothed and leaving little to the imagination, came forth from the shadows, scampering over to the toaster-sized bowl. They shoveled the stuff into their mouths greedily, groaning with satisfaction as their stomachs became nourished. The man with the bucket moved to the next cage and repeated the process. Two other filth-shrouded figures scurried across the damp pavement and fed themselves the foul-scented sludge. They ate every last bit, wiping the corners of their mouths and licking their fingers.
“New product?” the man with the bucket asked.
“Yes, Carp,” Malek replied. “And it's very good.”
“Is that Marcus?” Carp asked, pointing to the dead body lying on the ground behind them.
“Yes. Marcus died. It's quite unfortunate. Don't you think?”
Carp shrugged, returning to his work. “Figured it would happen. I guess you're here to kill me, too.” He slopped another spoonful into the cage next to him.
“No. I know what happened and why you did it. Truth is, I'm not mad.”
“You're not?”
“No. Curly told me everything. You had no choice. We're advancing a little more rapidly than I'd like. But, what choice do we have? Adapt or die. Isn't that right, brother?”
“That's right, Malek,” Carp said. “Brother.”
“I'm being sincere here, Carp. In fact, I want you to be in charge of the meatlockers from here on out.”
Carp peered at him dubiously. “Why?”
“You're qualified. Marcus is dead. And I want you to have the responsibility. I can trust you.”
Carp's eyes locked onto Malek's. “Why now?”
“I don't follow.”
“Cut the shit, Mark.”
Malek looked at his brother like a knife had been run through him. “You will address me as Malek. And Malek only.”
Carp shook his head. “You're taking this too far.”
Sneering, Malek shook his head. “I guess you're not ready. Jacobs! Take over feeding responsibilities while I sit my little brother down and have a talk with him. In private.”
Carp raised his hand. “Fine. I'll protect your stupid meatlockers.”
“That's better.”
“But what are we going to do about them?” Carp pointed beyond where they could see.
Malek snapped his fingers. Jacobs walked over to the cage furthest from where they were standing. Unlocking the cage, he swung the metal door open. The squealing hinges dispatched shivers down Carp's back. The two figures—one man, one woman—resting inside backed themselves into opposite corners. Jacobs went straight for the man. He grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him to his feet. Escorting him out of the cage, the woman remained in the corner, huddled into a ball, her arms and legs shaking uncontrollably.
Jacobs walked the prisoner over to Malek, who waited anxiously. A grin spread across his face when Jacobs sat the prisoner down before him, pushing him onto his knees.
“What's your name, rat?” Malek asked, grunting.
“Maurice...”
“Maurice. Do you have any friends in the warehouse of yours? Any loved ones? I want to know their names.”
Maurice kept his mouth sealed.
“Answer me, rat!” Malek growled.
Lips tightly closed, tears formed in the corners of Maurice's eyes.
“You know when I found you that day in the woods, you were so hopeful. You
invited us in. Invited us to take part in your little community.” Malek made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue. “You didn't even know us. Didn't realize we had been hunting you. You walked right up to us, extended your hand, and invited us in.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks. “You looked like a bunch of lost kids.”
“And now what do you think of us?”
Maurice shook his head.
“Tell me. Honestly. What do you think of us and our community.”
Maurice stared his captor in the face. “Animals,” he whispered.
“Exactly. Except, you got it wrong, rat. We're both animals, you and I. And in the animal kingdom, only the strong survive. Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed.”
Maurice averted his eyes, unable to look at the crazed twenty-something's face.
“Tell me, rat.” Malek grabbed his chin, forcing his focus forward. “Who in that warehouse do you love?”
Clenching his teeth together, Maurice grunted, “My wife.”
“And what's her name?”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
Jacobs took a knife out of his pocket, unsheathed it, and dug it into Maurice's back. He yelped like a dog catching a beating from an abusive owner.
“Her name?” Malek asked, smiling.
“Sherry...” he breathed. “Her name is Sherry.”
Malek leaned in. “When I find that cunt wife of yours, I'll be sure to tell her how delicious you tasted.”
Before Maurice could brace himself for what was coming, the knife entered his throat, along with severe pain he had never known before. He started coughing as the blade slid deeper. He fell forward, onto his hands, and saw his reflection in the shiny red pool before him.
“Clean this mess up,” Malek told Jacobs.
“You never answered my question, brother,” Carp asked. “What are we going to do with them?”
“The same thing I did to Maurice.”
“What about our sister?”
Malek groaned. “She made her choices.”
“That's not an answer.”
“Well it's all you're going to get.” Malek turned to leave, but something caught his attention. In the cage Maurice had been plucked from, something shiny sparkled at him. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at the woman in the cage.
“What's what?” Carp asked.
“Her. What's she wearing around her neck?”
Carp squinted. “It's a necklace, brother. Have you forgotten what a necklace is?”
“It would be unwise to speak to me that way, Carp. Unless you wish to die along with all the other rats in this place.”
“Of course, brother.”
“After you finish helping Jacobs dispose of these corpses, I want you to bring that woman to me. She looks very interesting and you know how I like interesting things.”
“Yes, brother.”
Malek blew the woman a kiss before fading into darkness.
The woman shook uncontrollably, clutching the St. Christopher pendant with both hands.
-12-
Sam sat on the loading dock, his feet dangling over the edge. He sipped from a bottle of cola while Tina and Brian discussed their future behind him. He barely heard a word. Lost in his own thoughts, Sam peered at the horizon. Partial daylight broke across the parking lot, but it would be hours before the sun forced them inside. Setting the Coke down, he removed the icepack from his knuckles; they swelled to twice their normal size. Sam grinned, not caring about the consequences his actions would bring. Bastard got what he deserved, he thought, massaging his wrist. He hoped Soren's jaw broke on impact, although he doubted it; Sam felt like he had punched a steel wall.
The parking lot drew Sam's attention. A car zoomed across the pavement, barreling toward the store at top speed. He recognized the vehicle immediately; it was the black Charger with the red racing stripe down the hood, the one that had always been parked in the “preferred customer” spots, despite the driver being told numerous times that he must park in the employee lot around back, no matter how inconvenient that might be.
No...
Sam spotted his eldest daughter immediately. Her eyes found him, too. He didn't know why, but Sam saw Brenda's eyes glistening back at him, not Becky's. In the backseat, Matty waved to his father. Chris parked the car a few feet away from the truck bay. Matty exited the vehicle first, running toward his father. Becky followed her brother closely.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Sam asked.
“Dad! You'll never believe where we were!” Matty said. Sam noticed a thick book tucked underneath his arm. The word SCIENCE was clearly listed on the cover.
Sam shook his head. “No, but you're going to tell me. Right now.”
Lilah approached hesitantly, stopping a few feet from Matty. Chris immediately pulled away once everyone stepped outside. He drove around the corner and Sam watched him park in a handicapped spot near the entrance.
“We went home!” Matty shouted. “And guess what?”
Sam gritted his teeth. The shooting pain in his wrist temporarily subsided. A new pain entered him, targeting the bone between his eyes.
“What?” he grumbled.
“Mom's alive!”
Sam's heart thudded. “She is...”
“Yes!”
“Where... is she?” he asked, confused, glancing around, thinking maybe he missed something.
“Well, we didn't find her. But, Becky thinks she's out there somewhere! Dad, we have to set up a search party!”
The words fell out of his mouth so quickly that Sam had trouble keeping up.
“Slow down, son,” Sam said. “Becky, what the hell is going on?”
“It's true, Dad,” Becky said, sniffling. “Mom—she's out there somewhere. Grandma D's necklace was gone.”
Sam remembered the necklace well, recalling the place she kept it hidden in the old house—the top shelf of her closet. She had cut a hole in the drywall and stuffed it behind there. That way, in the event of a robbery (something Sam told her was utterly ridiculous), no one would find it. Sam laughed. The necklace was worth maybe one hundred bucks. Tops. But the attachment Brenda had to the crummy piece baffled Sam, had throughout their entire marriage.
Sam nodded. “Becky, we'll find her. I promise.”
“Okay...” Becky said.
Sam waited for her argument, complaining that time was a factor, that each moment not spent looking for her brought them closer to never finding her. But no such tiff came. Instead, Becky shuffled over to the truck bay and offered Sam her hand. He reached down and pulled her up onto the loading dock. Matty and Lilah followed Becky, and Sam helped the two of them up with relative ease, using his good hand.
“You're not mad?” Becky asked her father.
“About you four sneaking off? Yeah. But I'm too tired to fight with you, Becky. You're a grown woman,” he said. “You make your own choices from here on out.” Sam nodded at Matty. “But you—I expected more from.”
“Sorry, Dad.” He clutched his book tightly.
“It was my fault, Mr. Wright,” Lilah said. “I told him it was a good idea. Don't blame Matty. Blame me.”
Sam nodded. “Lilah, why don't you head to your room. I'd like a few moments alone with my family.”
Lilah turned, winking at Matty before she pushed through the plastic doors that led back to the sales floor. The second she left, Dana entered. Her face lit up when she saw her siblings.
“Where were you two?” she asked. “You left me all alone.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Becky said. “But good news—we know Mom is alive.”
Sam put his hands up. “We don't know everything yet.”
Sam's swollen red hand caught Becky's eye. “What the hell did you do to your hand?”
Before Sam could answer, Dana piped up. “Dad punched Soren in the face.”
Becky's mouth dropped. “You didn't.”
“I don't know what came over me.”
Tina shook her head. �
��I warned you, Sam.”
“I know you did. And I didn't listen.” Sam turned to his two most trustworthy friends. “Why don't you two see if you can solve the case of the missing walkie-talkie while I finish up here. I'll be fine.”
Tina rolled her eyes. Brian followed her out of the loading area without looking back, without telling Sam how much he fucked them—something Sam already knew.
“Some very bad things are going to happen over the next few days,” Sam told his children. “I need you to stay strong. And no matter what, I need you to stay on my side.”
Becky strolled over to her father, placing her palm on his shoulder. “Of course, Dad. We're your children. We'll always be on your side.”
Sam felt like someone had reached into his stomach and pulled a handful of his guts out. “Really?” Tears needled his eyeballs. “You mean that?”
“Of course.” She knelt down next to him. “Fuck this place. Fuck Soren. Fuck everybody here. We need to find Mom. You're right, things are going to go very wrong here. I can feel it. Everybody can. Everybody's on edge. No one feels safe. You tried your best to protect this place, Dad—I get that. Most of us do. But others don't. They're scared out of their minds. They're looking for an alternative. And that means they're going to follow Soren, whether you like it or not. You can't stop them.” Becky sighed. “But we can find Mom. We went to Bob's—it's in relatively good shape. We can hold up there. All of us. We can be a family aga—”
“No,” Sam said bluntly. “Not yet.”
Becky's brow bent. “What do you mean?”
“Becky, this place is still our number one priority. It's the only thing that matters. It's the only safe place to be. We can't go out there, hoping to stumble into your mother. Use your head. We have everything here. Water. Tools. Heat. Becky, this is our home now. You need to realize that.” He looked to Matty and Dana; they gazed at him like he were a stranger trying to peddle useless products. “You all need to come to terms with that.”
Becky's head drooped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”