***
Once they'd gotten past their laughing fit they'd been able to find their pace again with Richie taking the lead.
The road had become hilly, small inclines and declines mixing with short flat areas and blind curves. Normally curves were approached with caution and blind ones were avoided completely if it was possible. There wasn't much of a choice on their current route, so they'd started taking the blind turns, too.
The moon was full and the stars bright, so they didn't have flashlights on to show their position. Nothing made a sound as they came up on a turn that Richie didn't care for.
There were cars blocking the roadway, broken and dirty thanks to their environment, and a shopping center blocked the next stretch of asphalt from view.
Strip malls, like this one, were always frightening. There were plenty of places for someone to hide in the abandoned storefronts to go along with the fact that they were just spooky, like small ghost towns with broken windows and angry spirits.
They hunkered behind an old Buick with Montana plates and busted tail lights. Richie scratched at the stubble on his freshly shaven face, grateful for the grooming they'd all been able to do recently, and looked at the curve. Buddy's eyes were on the shopping center, magnified by thick lenses that were looking a bit worse for wear.
Richie wondered if he had an extra pair of the things or if he'd just be blind if they were destroyed. He thought about asking, but re-focused his attention instead. There were more important things to worry about.
Elvis had decided that a closer look was in order, shed his pack, and untied a pair of binoculars from the side of it. He'd picked the new pair up during their rest and had been eager to use them for something other than looking down long stretches of road at nothing.
The moment the lenses were to his eye lids, he sucked in a breath. Elvis handed the field glasses to Buddy and gave Richie a harried look.
"Somethin' moved." Elvis said as Buddy searched the area ahead of them, turning his head this way and that.
"Buddy?"
"I don't see shit, Richie," Buddy answered, "Where Elvis?"
Elvis duck walked until he was behind Richie and put his hands on the other man's shoulders, aiming him to the area he'd been looking at. A few seconds later Buddy handed the binoculars to Richie.
"Don't know, man. I don't see anything," Buddy told Elvis.
"Sure you saw something?" Richie asked as he scanned the area.
"Somethin' moved," Elvis reassured them.
"A person, you think?" Buddy asked.
"Don't know. Somethin' moved."
Elvis' face had gone pale, making his hazel eyes stand out intensely. Buddy was grinding his teeth and considering the situation. Richie kept looking, but saw nothing.
Finally, he took the things away from his eyes and looked down at this watch. They were two and a half hours away from sunrise, which made time and how they used it incredibly important. They would have to be quick about making a decision, or risk being caught outside.
The group liked to be secure and camping at least an hour before the day actually started. Delays were like flying bullets to them. Both could get a man killed.
"Here's what we have. If we keep walking, get past the curve with no trouble, we'll probably come up on a neighborhood in half an hour, but we'd have to get moving. Otherwise it's an hour back track to that place we passed earlier. That cuts it a little closer than I like, but it's doable," Richie explained, looking hard at both of his companions, "I'm for the easy walk if we can get by it. Buddy?"
"Shit," Buddy said, looked down at the asphalt for a moment in consideration, before looking back up, "The curve."
"Elvis?"
Elvis stared at the cars blocking the road ahead of them. This wasn't anywhere near the first time they'd come up on a road packed with cars, but it was rare. When people were afraid of going outside, they didn't really try to drive anywhere. He shook his head as if he was going to choose the house they passed, but looked at Buddy and Richie without saying anything for a full minute.
"Don't like it, but don't wanna get a sunburn," Elvis told them, "How do we get by, Richie?"
Richie looked at his watch again, followed the thin hand as it ticked seconds off of their lives, and began to talk.
***
It was surprising, to Richie at least, that they hadn't run into more trouble on their journey than they had. Sure there had been problems finding food, water, and shelter, but there hadn't been many people around them, so there hadn't been altercations for the most part. In fact, when they did happen the confrontations hadn't really gotten violent. Excluding what had almost happened at the Dundel home there hadn't really been much of a human threat at all.
Richie had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for their luck to run out for so long, that when it did he wasn't surprised in the least. Being prepared for such an event was another thing entirely.
The plan was simple. Richie would take point, darting between cars as he went, up to the open area just before the turn. Elvis and Buddy would spread out staying to either side of him without bunching up and giving someone an easy target on the three of them. They would continue this pattern, slowly, until they'd completely cleared the turn
. Weapons would be drawn and ready to fire, but they would leave their packs hidden under the vehicle they'd started out behind. Once all was deemed safe one of them, most likely Elvis, would go back for their supplies. If everything went smoothly, they wouldn't lose more than fifteen minutes of darkness.
It started out in just that manner, Richie jogging in a crouch along the center line of the road, taking cover from time to time at the front or rear of a broken down vehicle. Elvis and Buddy were doing the same along the shoulders and staying hidden well enough.
Richie was becoming more and more at ease. He was starting to believe that Elvis had been mistaken about spotting movement, as he rounded the first part of the turn. His coach gun was cocked and ready, but he didn't think he'd be firing it at anything.
When the first burst of gunfire filled the air, cutting the wind around Richie's crouched form, he just stopped. He stood for at least three seconds, not comprehending what had happened. The only thing that saved him from being mowed down on the spot was their attacker's inability to aim. If he'd been a little better with his rifle Richie would've ended his journey abruptly.
Instead of dying, he dove back and to his right to the cover provided by an old Toyota Corolla. He could only hope that his friends had been so lucky, or hadn't been fired upon as he had.
The sound of semi-automatic gunfire stole the silence of the night. The only other thing that could be heard was the impact of the bullets on vehicle bodies and the breaking glass of windows.
For the moment, Richie could only make a smaller target of himself. He crouched low, covering his head with his forearms and praying not to be caught by one of the fired rounds. He'd closed his eyes at first, but soon opened them to look for signs that his friends were okay.
He thought to shout for them, but knew that they wouldn't be able to hear him over the barrage that was being laid down before them.
All at once everything was quiet. Whoever had been shooting at them had either stopped to inspect the damage they'd dealt, or was reloading. Richie's mind was whirling with the possible actions to be taken along with the need to know if his group was safe. He chose to believe that Buddy and Elvis were fine, but couldn't be sure since they'd decided to stay quiet along with him.
He heard something hit the ground, a hollow metallic sound, from far in front of his hiding spot. He braced himself without thinking as bullets started flying again.
Fucking waste of ammo, a part of his mind scolded the person or people firing on them.
He didn't think they were doing anything other than destroying busted down vehicles and hoping for a lucky hit on them. Richie was proven wrong when the asphalt next to where he was standing seemed to come alive.
He wondered h
ow in the hell they were doing that from their position and promptly stopped worrying about it. Richie ran from his spot behind the Toyota, past the empty area between cars, and to the front grill of a BMW. He looked back as the ground exploded in the exact spot where he'd been squatting.
The firing stopped again, but he was sure he didn't have long to act this time. Richie stood up, his head popping up over the top of the hood to look for his friends. Looking to the right paid off with the image of Buddy hauling ass toward him. Looking left didn't help him to see Elvis at all.
Buddy stopped, abruptly, looking with wide eyes to where the attack had come from and fell backward on purpose to avoid a few badly placed shots. Richie and Buddy could at least see each other now. Elvis, though, was Richie's new concern. Where in the hell was he?
They waited through another burst of enemy fire, watching the ground for signs that their aggressor was firing low again. No asphalt was eaten on this round before the weapon ran out. Buddy ran toward Richie, his boots sliding along the pavement when he came to a crouch at the hood of the BMW.
"The fuck, man?" Buddy whispered, "Can you see em' anywhere?"
"Can't look for long enough to spot the pricks. They must have an armory up there to be shooting like this."
"Yeah," Buddy said, "What ever happened to conservation?"
"You see Elvis anywhere?"
"Was going to ask you the same thing."
They looked at each other for a long minute, neither of them wanting to think that Elvis had been caught off guard. They said nothing of the sort, choosing instead to figure out a next move.
"Try to flank them or run like hell?" Buddy asked.
"If we run it'll take too long."
"Yeah, but if we flank we might get dead quicker."
As if Buddy had told their assailant the same thing, more bullets came at them. It seemed that whoever was up ahead had an infinite supply and was intent on target practice.
"I think it's only one guy," Buddy said.
"Why?"
"Because if there's more than one of them we're fucked. Flank him."
Richie nodded. As soon as the shooting stopped again both he and Buddy stood and bolted for the outer lanes of the road. They stayed low enough so as not to be easy targets, but were both moving too fast to be completely safe.
When the gun started up again, they didn't dive for cover. Richie heard it, but didn't hear impacts near where he was, so decided that Buddy had been right. There must've been only one person shooting, or only one gun working. He risked standing up to his full height to see where the source of all the noise was standing.
He did catch sight of the person with the rifle, noted his general area, and ran for it. The rifle went silent just as Richie was coming within range of the man and he took advantage of the situation.
Richie pointed the miniature shotgun at the guy and almost yelled for him to stop what he was doing and put the weapon down. He immediately thought better of it and fired both barrels.
Flames licked out of the front of his weapon, lighting up the night for a moment, and the man who'd been trying to replace his ammunition clip and throw the rifle bolt, fell hard to the ground.
Buddy ran up to the other side of him, aimed, and put two more shots into the guy for good measure. Their eyes met for a second, both knowing that their actions had been the only chance at survival, and they nodded to each other. Job well done.
More gunfire erupted behind them and they turned, both hoping that there wasn't someone else with a long range rifle targeting them. Three more shots sounded, but no impact noises were evident near them.
"Elvis," Buddy said, turning to run.
Richie followed, cracking open the breech of his weapon and reloading as he went.
***
Elvis had been thinking clearer than either Buddy or Richie. All they'd been able to focus on was getting past the turn and had panicked for the first few moments of the attack. Elvis had no trouble understanding what was going on, though he couldn't have been sure that he was right without checking.
His intuition, though simple, had always been trustworthy. When Richie and Buddy started running toward the man in front of him Elvis had reversed toward their supplies. When he got back to their starting point it was just in time to see their packs being stolen.
A young girl, probably in her early teens, and a boy of about the same age as Elvis were doing their best to pull the supply packs from the underside of the car where they'd been left. The only thing that had slowed them down enough for Elvis to catch up was the band on his slingshot.
He'd stowed the thing in a side pocket on his own pack and somehow the rubber sling had bound up on the bottom of the car. He almost laughed at his good fortune.
"Wait!" he yelled, “Leave that alone!"
They couldn't have heard him over the gunfire, but he yelled twice more as he aimed his revolver. On the third yell he must've been louder, because they both turned their heads toward him.
Behind him, the roar of the coach gun canceled out all of the other noise. He knew that Richie had probably gotten to the person who'd been shooting their way. He wouldn't have fired if he could miss. Elvis knew that.
He held his aim on the two thieves, walking toward them, and remembered what all of the TV show cops usually said. He didn't want to shoot these two. They didn't look like bad guys to him, so he wanted to let them go if he could.
He wasn't above killing them, not even Elvis could pretend to be so innocent in these times, but that didn't mean that he would like it.
"Hands up," he told them, thankful that the noise had stopped and that he didn't have to yell, "And step away from the backpacks. Don't make me shoot you."
They did as he'd said without hesitation. These strangers had noticed the silence and had an idea that they wouldn't be getting any help from the man at the curve. It wasn't their plan to hurt anyone. All that they could do was hope no one would harm them.
These were the thoughts that Elvis imagined that they were having. He couldn't have known what they were thinking at all. When a stream of sweat filled his left eye and he raised his left hand to wipe it away, all hell broke loose.
The girl was the first to jump at him and the first to be shot. Elvis hit her twice in the chest before she could get to him, but didn't wait to see her fall before targeting the boy who'd been with her.
Elvis took aim as the boy tried to hide behind the open car door of the Buick and fired three times at the skin of it. The boy fell without ceremony. There weren't any last words from either of them. They were just dead now.
"Why'd you make me?" Elvis asked the dead boy, before turning back to the girl who was very close to dead, "Why'd you make me shoot? All you had to do was listen!"
Elvis abruptly emptied his gun into the girl, ending her life before she could answer him. He threw the revolver to the ground, tears dribbling down his cheeks, and walked over to the boy he'd killed.
"Stupid fucker!" he shouted, kicking the body hard in the ribs over and over, "Stupid fuckin' asshole!"
When Richie and Buddy arrived, he was still kicking the dead thing, screaming at it as if the boy was still able to learn something. Great streams of saliva and snot were running down Elvis' face as he raged at this person who'd made him do something he didn't want to do.
His friends turned away, both to leave him to the task of getting his anger out and to cover their backs in case the noise alerted anyone else to their presence. Richie looked at his watch and then up at Buddy.
"He's going to need to hurry this up," Richie whispered, "Two hours."
"Let him go. We'll make it," Buddy said, his eyes wet and shining in the dark, "You can't always hold it in, so let him go."
***
They spent the day in a den of ghosts.
The house they came to after leaving the newly dead group to rot on the road behind them had obviously been the place where those people had been living. There wasn't any food, which was probably why
Richie and his friends were accosted, but there was water and the blankets they'd been using for beds. Buddy and Richie drank the water, but Elvis refused.
They kicked the dead's sleeping garments into a corner and spread out their own. They slept in shifts, as they'd been doing more often than not before their little vacation in the Walmart basement, and both of Elvis' friends knew that he wasn't sleeping well. He asked to take the second watch for them, admitting that he wouldn't be able to sleep at all.
"I don't like bein' stared at," Elvis told them.
"We aren't staring at you, kid," Buddy assured him, "It's too dark to see you, anyway."
"Not you guys," Elvis said and would say no more.
Richie was pretty sure that he knew what his friend meant and accepted it. He and Buddy laid down and dozed, but didn't truly sleep. The temperature wasn't any worse than it had been in any other basement, but it was stifling in a very different rite.
Later, when Buddy and Richie talked about the place, they both agreed that it felt haunted. They'd all killed at some point, but none of them had really accepted it as a normal turn of behavior.
When night fell and they'd given the outside world enough time to cool off, they left, clearing the entrance in the same way they'd grown accustomed to.
The only difference was Elvis' weapon. Buddy had picked up his revolver from the road, but Elvis told him to keep it. He wanted nothing to do with it. Instead, he'd retrieved the rifle, one Richie thought might be an M14, along with ammo for it from beside the dead rifleman. He aimed it along the length of the road, nodded, and slipped the shoulder strap onto his arm. He would use this from now on.
"It's better anyway," Elvis said, "Don't gotta be so close."
His friends nodded their agreement.
Chapter 5
Basin, MT
February 19, 2021
4:32 AM 95*F
Richie's stomach was tight with worry. They'd been walking for most of the night without seeing any sign of former civilization other than service stations speckling the roadside. No houses or factories meant no basements and no way to get underground.
The Dark Roads Page 6