by Meyer, Tim
The man whimpered.
“I asked...” Tina said quietly, “if you are alone.”
“Y-yes. Well, no. Th-there are others.”
“Where?”
“They're down by the cages. With the hostages.”
Sam stepped forward. “Is my son there?”
The bald man shook his head. “I don't know who your son is. I don't know who you people are.”
“What's your name?” Tina asked.
“Rollins. Malek calls me Rollins.”
Tina and Sam exchanged looks.
“Well, Rollins. Hate to crash the party, but you need to take us to your hostages right now. Got it?” Tina turned the man around, jamming the gun between his shoulder blades. “And no funny business. If you try to run, I'll put a bullet in your spinal cord. You'll never walk again.”
Rollins nodded and agreed to take them.
-7-
“Hold on one more second,” Chris said. He stood behind the six of them holding his hand in the air. “Not yet.”
“What in the blue fuck are we waiting for?” Mouth asked. “Fuckers are smashing the doors to shards.”
“I said hold on, Mouth.”
“He's right, Chris,” Shondra said. “If we wait any longer, they'll bust through. That safety glass is strong, but it's not that strong.”
Chris shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Soren gave me very explicit instructions.” He walked to the edge of the roof and looked down, watching Malek and his crew smash their bats, pipes, and axes against the sliding doors. The impact-resistant glass held, but it wouldn't last forever. “He wants them to enter. It's all part of the plan.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Brian said, stepping forward. “What do you mean 'he wants them to come in'? I thought the plan was to scare them off.”
“Look, broseph. I just do what the man tells me to do. Aight? Soren isn't some fucking slouch. The guy has this shit under control. So back off and do what I'm telling you. Wait a few minutes, then light this place up like the Fourth of fucking July.”
Brian looked down at the 16oz propane tank at his feet. He glanced at Mouth, who held another tank in his hands, ready to launch it onto the patio below. He held his gun in the other hand.
“No, we do it now,” Brian said. “Mouth, you go first.”
“No!” Chris yelled. “We have to follow Soren's plan!”
Brian grabbed Chris by his collar. “Listen to me, you little bed-wetting son of a bitch. I'm not going to let those things into my store. Understand?” His face twisted with disgust. “For God's sakes. Our women and children are in there. What's going to stop those fuckers from tearing them apart?”
“I told you,” he grunted. “Soren has a plan. You have to let it play out.”
“Well, excuse me if I don't exactly trust him. I mean, first he's all about Jesus and second chances and all that religious garbage—now, he's what? A fucking army commander? Gimme a break. Something about that guy doesn't add up.”
“He's a very complex individual.” Chris pushed himself free from Brian's grasp. “But seriously, he knows what he's doing. Everything's going to be okay.”
Brian looked to Mouth.
“Don't look at me, motherfucker,” Mouth said. “I'm with you. I trust that tall, lanky bastard about as far as I can throw him.”
Brian's eyes fell on Shondra.
“I don't see how we can trust anyone,” Shondra said.
He turned his eyes to Noah next.
“Don't bring me into this,” Noah muttered. “I'm two seconds away from heading to the greenhouse.”
Before Brian could comment, the sound of glass shattering interrupted their conversation.
“Now!” Chris yelled. “Do it now!”
Brian and Mouth ran to the edge of the roof. They held their propane tanks out in front of them and spun the gas valve on their heads. Shondra took the lighter to them until they sparked. A blue flame exploded from the tip.
“Now goddammit!” Chris yelled again.
Mouth and Brian tossed the tanks over the edge, aiming for the trail of gasoline they had spilled across the parking lot. When the tanks hit the pavement, a circle of fire erupted. The flames ran in opposite directions and encased the front of the store, so the cannibals could not retreat. The wall of fire burned higher than they had expected. The flesh-eating junkies were trapped, at least for the time being. Just the way Soren wanted it.
Chris and company watched one of the cannibals back into the fire. His baggy pant leg ignited and he noticed it too late. The flames climbed over the rest of his clothes, and before he could identify the putrid smell, his entire body became engulfed. Instead of the stop, drop, and roll procedure he had learned as a child, the kid flailed his arms wildly, trying to pat the flames free from his body. This only made matters worse, and the blaze quickly swallowed him. His allies turned in time to watch his skin blacken.
“Nice shot!” Chris said, watching the cannibal crumble to the pavement.
“How many bullets we have left?” Brian asked Mouth.
He checked. “Um. None. Shit.”
“What do you mean none?”
“I guess Sam and Tina took them. Unless Soren has a secret stash...”
“Fuck.”
“What do we do next?” Noah asked.
“We head downstairs, grab whatever weapons we can, and help the others.” Brian looked to Chris. “Isn't that what Soren wants?” he asked snootily.
Chris nodded. “Prepare to shed some blood.”
-8-
The entire time they followed Rollins, Sam and Tina thought they were walking into a trap. The anticipation of finding his son started to wear on Sam. The reality that they may not find Matty alive was dispiriting. “They could be eating him right now.” an unpleasant voice whispered in his thoughts. He twirled his finger in the air, eager to speed things up. Tina shook her head. She knew the slower they moved, the more control she had over the situation. This would give her the upper hand if any surprises came their way, like if a gory cannibal jumped out from behind them. She didn't write off any possibilities.
They had walked past the avian cages and the monkey section without spotting either. He assumed the animals had died during The Burn, or if they had survived, they had been released into the wild.
They continued on and finally reached a pair of plastic doors. Sam examined the little hut's exterior. It wasn't big, a total of twelve square feet at the most. It was too small to house prisoners, but that was exactly where Rollins had guided them.
“In there,” he said, stopping before the small structure.
“In there?” Sam asked. “That's where they're keeping my boy?”
Rollins nodded, swallowing the knot in his throat.
“Open it,” Tina said, her gun aimed directly at him.
Rollins hesitated at first, but after Tina jammed the gun into his back he slowly approached the doors and fumbled with the combination lock until the metal latch was released. He swung the doors open and backed away as the stench of animal dung and other unpleasant odors hit him like a brass-clad fist. Color immediately flushed from his face and he turned to puke in a nearby bush.
“Jesus,” Sam said, turning his head.
“It's where they kept most of the animals during bad storms or harsh winter days. It's climate controlled,” Rollins informed them, wiping a long string of vomit from his lips.
“We're not here for the fucking tour, buddy,” Tina said. “We're here for his son, and that's it.”
“Down there. Follow the steps. Leads to the cages.”
“Show us the way.”
“Please don't make me go down there.”
Tina shook her head. “You have two options, fuckstick. One, you come with us. Two, I blow your fucking brains out. Your choice.”
Rollins's throat knotted once again. He barely choked out the words, “Follow me.”
-9-
“Did you hear that?” Craig asked. He put the box
down on the pallet and turned to Joel.
“Sounded like broken glass,” Joel said, grabbing a roll of shrink wrap off the machine. “Don't worry about it. We have to finish doing what Soren asked. We're almost done.”
Slowly, Craig turned away from the sound and back to the pallet. He grabbed the next box and placed it on top of the other. Joel began wrapping the pallet.
Nervously, Craig looked around the loading bay. He located the fork lift and scurried over to it. It took him a moment to place his bulbous body in the driver's seat, but once he did, he turned the key in the ignition and cranked it to life. Joel directed him where the pallet needed to be moved. After Craig had followed his instructions, Joel gave him the thumbs up. He killed the engine and hopped off the lift.
“Good job, bub,” Joel said. “Now—”
A loud noise cut his words short. They craned their heads in the direction of the noise, toward the compactor. Their eyes locked on the access door protecting the garbage chute. In the stillness, they listened.
“What the hell was that?” Craig asked.
“Nothing. Probably the wind.” Doubtful that was the case, Joel tapped his buddy on the arm. “Come on. Soren wants another pallet to take with us. Don't forget, we still have to put them on the back of the truck.”
“I know. I don't know how we're going to—”
Something clanged from inside the compactor again, like a body had been hurled against the metal chute.
“Shit, man, I think someone is in there,” Craig spoke softly.
“Knock it off.” Joel shook his head. “No one can get inside the compactor.”
“I don't know, man. I heard there was something wrong with it. Brian told Sam there was a hole in the bottom of it or something. It was messed up before we got here. They were waiting on a replacement compactor, but it never came that week of The Burn.”
“You're just making shit up. Nothing's wrong with the compactor.”
“Uh-uh. You can even ask Matty. He was right next to me when I heard.”
The noise continued, louder this time.
“Look, it's probably an animal. A fucking squirrel or something.” Joel charged forward. “I'll prove it to you!”
“No, man!” Craig said. “Don't!”
Joel unlatched the sliding lock on the access door. He pulled it open and stared into a black void, squinting his eyes to try to make out the source of their worry.
“See?” He turned to face Craig. “Nothing to wor—”
A long blade emerged from the darkness and pierced Joel's throat, sending a long stream of blood gushing from his body like water from the end of a garden hose. He flopped on the floor, squirming around, reaching for his punctured neck. Scarlet leaked through his fingers in squirts. As two figures appeared in the mouth of the chute, Joel's muscles twitched spastically. Seconds later, his body lay still in a pool of blood.
“Holy shit!” Craig screamed.
“Mmmmm,” the figure holding the bloody sword said. “You're next, fatboy!”
“I love a little extra meat on my bones!” the other hollered, jumping to the floor. “Ain't that right, Holland?”
Holland flaunted his pointy pearls.
Craig turned and tried to bail, but managed only three steps before something sharp tore through his midsection and divided his body in two.
-10-
The glass wall crashed to the ground before Soren's feet. Glancing up at the epic feat, he smiled. Malek and his gang advanced, shards crunching beneath their black boots. Soren folded his arms across his chest, impressed by their accomplishment.
“I told you,” Malek said, drawing the knife on his hip. “You wouldn't keep me out.”
“I underestimated your strength.”
Behind Soren, Brian and the rest of the group approached from around the corner holding hockey sticks, tennis rackets, kitchen blades, golf clubs, and screwdrivers. Chris Atkins clutched a pipe wrench with his trembling fingers, ready to swing at the first available target.
“I see you have friends,” Malek said. “Have they come to join you in death?”
Soren turned and noted Chris. He winked.
“Let's not shed more blood than necessary,” Malek continued. “I will accept your surrender. You'll all be escorted safely to our domain where you can be our slaves.”
Soren turned. “I don't think that's going to happen.”
From his peripherals, Malek spotted shadows. He turned and saw three men running at him, armed with blunt weapons. At the last possible moment, he turned and drove his blade into the first attacker's stomach. He heaved the knife deep into his body and watched the tip poke through his back. As he dropped him to the ground, he prepared for the next assailant. The next one received the knife with his throat, a quick slice across his jugular. Blood exploded from the widening gash. The self-proclaimed Master reveled in the crimson shower, trying to catch the spray in his mouth. The third attacker might have had a shot at evening the score had he not hesitated. Malek used those precious seconds to reestablish his position. He crouched and swiped the blade across his target's stomach. The blade, although worn, was sharp enough to split open his belly. From the wound, the man's innards escaped and dangled like an assortment of Ball Park franks before splashing onto the floor.
Malek stood over the three decimated bodies, breathing heavily. A bloody smile fixed his lips. His brethren admired his handiwork, applauding the murders, clapping victoriously.
“Was that your big plan?” Malek asked. “Grade school trickery?” He laughed. “I actually had myself convinced this was going to be a challenge.” Chuckling, he stepped toward Soren. “Silly me. Oh, I'll take that white flag now.”
Before Soren could reply, he felt something cold press against his throat.
“Move,” a voice whispered in his ear, “and I cut your shit wide open, bitch.”
-11-
As he descended the stairs, Sam's stomach spiraled. He had never been one to panic, but over the past few weeks his anxiety had heightened. He worried about everything. Worried about his children's safety. Worried about the safety of the store. Worried about the safety of the people he had sworn he'd protect. Worried about what people thought of him after the lies they had discovered. Everything replayed itself in his mind. It started with The Burn and the argument with Becky, the backhand across her face. The images skipped ahead to his confrontation with Soren and the tussle with Brian, the only person in the whole store he completely trusted. Sam felt alone. Scared and alone. He thought about what he might do if Matty were dead. How would he deal? He wouldn't, he imagined. His mind would crumble, erode into nothing. There'd be no going on, no way he could live with himself.
His mind generated images of Matty being tortured and eaten alive, a crowd of hungry cannibals circling him, sharing his organs like a family buffet. His son's mouth lay open, screaming silently, looking on as the monsters ripped into him, greedily shoveling his slaughter into their mouths.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?” Sam slipped out of the graphic reverie. He found himself at the bottom of the stairs. Ahead lay a louvered saloon-style door. Tina had the gun pressed against Rollins's neck. The cook's body quivered. Sam could tell he wasn't like the rest of them. Surely not like the kids from the pizzeria. They had been savages, afraid of nothing. Rollins was terrified. “What is it?”
“Look.”
Sam peered over the doors. A small clearing lay ahead, several cages forming a circle. He squinted, trying to make out the shadows within the cages. He scanned the area for Matthew, praying he'd find him untouched. Each shadow filled his heart with hope, but the inability to see clearly toyed with him.
“I see people. One of them could be Matty.”
“I know,” Tina said. “We should be careful. We don't know how many are guarding—”
“Holy shit. Brenda?”
In the cage closest to them, Sam spotted his ex-wife. Without thinking, he pushed through the doors.
“
Brenda?” he repeated.
“Sam, wait!” Tina yelled.
Ignoring her, he sprinted toward the cage.
“Brenda is that you?” he asked, dropping to his knees.
She peered up at him. Dirt circled her eyes. Dried blood crusted around her nose. Her eyes were bloodshot from the constant flow of tears.
“Sam?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “Sam, they drugged me...” Her eyes rolled back, and her head tilted sideways, resting against the iron bars.
“Jesus.” Bob's unconscious body lay sprawled on the floor next to her. “Is Bob...” He swallowed hard. “Dead?”
She shook her head as she closed her eyes. “I don't think so. They gave him drugs, too.”
“Dad?” a small voice called from the opposite end of the room.
Sam turned, his heart skipping. “Matty?”
“Dad, is it really you?” He stood, rising from his nap. “You found my pages?”
“Of course I did, son,” Sam said. Warmth flooded his veins.
Instantly forgetting about Bob and Brenda, he scampered toward Matty's cage. Five steps into his heroic moment something struck his bad ankle and sent him to the earth. His face planted in the dirt. He spat brown grit from his mouth and flipped onto his back.
“Remember me, bro?” the shadow standing over him asked. Sam couldn't make out the bastard's face but recognized the bow and arrow in his hands. “I see your ankle healed nicely. Shit, man, that must have really hurt. Sorry about that.”
“You,” Sam huffed. “From the pizzeria.”
“Ba-zing!” Bow-and-Arrow shouted like a game show host. “You got a good memory, bro. It really pains me to do this. Especially in front of your kid and all. But, Malek's instructions were very specific. Kill all who enter. So...”
Bow-and-Arrow raised his weapon and pulled back on the bowstring. Sam shielded his eyes just before the gunshot roared. Cherry droplets drizzled on his face. He lowered his forearm from his eyes in time to see Bow-and-Arrow flounder on the ground. Sitting up, he glanced at the cavity in the kid's forehead. Smoke rose from the wound and a small trickle of blood oozed from the bullet hole.