Charlie didn’t say anything. He knew he should apologize to Adam, that he was only snapping at him because he was stressed, but he was far too annoyed to fake an apology. So he kept driving, eyes peeled for anything familiar, anything that might lead him to the compound where they’d been held captive five months earlier.
“What if Boricio’s not there? And what if those people remember us?” Adam asked.
“I dunno,” Charlie said, not snapping, and actually considering the question. He reached into his jacket pocket, then ran his fingers over the cross that Callie had made for him.
“It’s for good luck,” she’d said. “I figured we could use that more than anything right now, right?”
“Yeah,” he had said, and hugged her.
Now, as he thought back on Callie’s gift, Charlie wished he’d hugged her harder, showed more appreciation than he had. He wasn’t used to getting gifts, particularly from girls, so he thanked her, said it was awesome, but felt maybe he should’ve said more, talked about how well it was carved, or something! He loved the cross enough to hide it so Vic, or anyone else, wouldn’t steal it. But he hadn’t explained that to Callie, nor did he even tell her he was hiding it. One day, for some reason, he simply thought to do so. Callie never mentioned the fact that Charlie had hidden the cross. He wondered if she had wondered where he’d put it. Maybe she thought he didn’t like it and threw it away. He hoped that wasn’t the case. He considered her now, prisoner of whoever took her, alone and thinking that Charlie didn’t like her gift. That image made his eyes water.
He blinked, refocusing on the task at hand — figuring out where the hell they were.
“She’s gonna be okay,” Adam said. Dumb as he sometimes was, he was intuitive enough to know what was plaguing Charlie’s mind.
“What is that?” Adam asked, pointing to a black van about a quarter mile ahead, pulled to the side of the road.
“Is that like the one that took Callie?” Charlie asked, heart racing.
“Hard to tell from here, but could be.”
“Get the guns ready,” Charlie ordered.
Adam grabbed a shotgun from the bag behind their seats. He made sure it was loaded, even though he’d done so at the beginning of the ride, then grabbed a rifle for Charlie.
As they drew closer, they noticed the back doors of the van were wide open. Snow piled and flowed into thick forest on either side of the road. Charlie wasn’t sure if the van on the side of the road with open doors was a good sign or not. He wasn’t sure if Callie would have fled into the snow-dense woods. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if this was the van used to abduct Callie. But it was a black van and there was no snow piled on it, so it was likely recently used.
Charlie eased off the gas as they pulled up behind the van, coming to a full stop about five car lengths back. Charlie analyzed the scene — the van, the road, the woods, everything. The back of the van was empty. A black wall with a sliding window separated the back of the van from the front. Charlie figured it made the perfect prisoner transport vehicle.
The distance made it impossible to tell if anyone was in the front of the van. He considered driving around to the front, but decided he’d rather be on foot so he could get a better shot off, if needed.
“See anything?” Charlie asked Adam.
“No, nothing. What should we do?”
“Let’s investigate,” Charlie said. He stepped from the van and onto the road. “I’ll take the driver’s side; you take the passenger’s. And check the snow over there for footprints.”
Adam stepped out and walked along the side of the highway, eyes alternating between the passenger door and the snow, approaching the truck directly opposite Charlie.
They walked together in tandem, guns raised. “Don’t shoot unless you’re sure it’s not Callie,” Charlie warned, voice low. “You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Adam said, eyes bolted on the van ahead.
Say what you want about Adam; in times like this, he was pretty fucking intense, and kept his eyes on the task at hand.
They were maybe 10 feet away. Charlie strained to see the mirrors on the side of the truck, to get a look at the driver’s side. The windows were tinted, almost black, making it impossible to see inside.
“See anything?” Charlie asked Adam.
“Nothing,” Adam said.
“OK, let’s go for the front. Remember, do not shoot until you’re sure.”
“Got it,” Adam said.
They reached the back of the van, then fell from one another’s sight, each on one side of the van. Charlie kept his eye on the door as he closed in, gun aimed straight at the window. He hoped he wouldn’t accidentally shoot if Callie was in the front seat.
He was about five steps from the front passenger door when Adam screamed from the other side, and then fell quiet, his scream muffled.
“Adam?!” Charlie called out.
No answer.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Charlie backed away from the van, rifle raised squarely at it, hands shaking, waiting for someone to run from Adam’s side and hoping like hell he didn’t accidentally shoot Adam or Callie.
He never saw the shooter that hit him from behind.
* * * *
DESMOND ARMSTRONG: PART 2
The Sanctuary
March 25
5:47 p.m.
Desmond stared in the mirror. It was hard to believe it had been just months since he left his home in Warson Woods forever. He looked like he’d aged a half decade, if not the full 10 times around the sun.
Desmond was fine living life without luxury. He’d lived plenty of his early years going without. But he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit to missing some of the finer things from the yesterday now gone forever. From the scalding shower in his finely tiled bath, to the L’Occitaine shaving bar and brush, to the ridiculously thick towels.
Hell, he’d gladly settle for the wine cellar and nothing else. Looking like shit was fine; feeling like shit, not so much. And he’d love nothing more than a bottle of Pinot.
Desmond combed his hair back, which was longer than it had been in forever, put on some fresh clothes for dinner, then, like clockwork, raced downstairs and joined up with Mary, Paola and Luca, as they walked toward the main house for dinner. Linc was a few paces ahead, walking beside two brothers from the congregation.
Before Desmond had a chance to wish the group a good evening, Linc broke rank with the brothers, then fell back and into step with the Drury Crew. “Did you hear?” he said, addressing them all at once.
“Hear what?” Mary asked.
“Will is leaving tonight. Not sure what’s going down, but apparently he talked with Brother Rei, and words were said, I dunno.”
Desmond said, “Who told you that?”
“Brother Reginald. But Brother Mark told him.” Linc’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If Will leaves, does that mean we’re leaving, too?”
Desmond wasn’t sure if Linc was asking for himself, or if someone had sent him to find out. And really, Desmond didn’t trust him either way. Linc had gotten too friendly with the others during their short time there. He’d steadily drifted to his own side of The Sanctuary from Day One forward, and wasn’t really talking with the Drury Crew as much. Desmond felt bad for not trusting him since Linc had always been so nice to them, and had saved their asses more than a few times in the prior months. But survival meant staying alive, and that meant keeping watch over both sides of your shoulder. Linc was so spooked by what happened at the farmhouse, he was more than willing to trade freedom for safety. If Linc was comfortable living with a cult, he had to be willing to pay the rent, even if that meant turning on his old friends.
“I don’t know,” Desmond said. “Mary thinks we’re safer staying here. Why is Will leaving? Are they forcing him out? Isn’t there anything you can do to get Brother Rei to change his mind?”
Desmond didn’t think Linc had a shred of influence over Brother Rei, or any of the brothers fo
r that matter. But this could provide a good indication of Linc’s loyalties.
“Would if I could, believe me,” Linc said as they entered the house and walked to the dining room. “I like the crazy old coot as much as you, but from the way I hear it, Will wants to leave. Was his idea to go. Said he had itchy feet and wanted to get to someplace where the spring would come up pretty.”
“I haven’t seen Will since this morning, and he didn’t say anything about leaving, so I’m pretty sure that Brother Rei must have something to do with this,” Desmond said.
Luca said, “That will be great when Will’s gone.”
Linc raised his eyebrows. “You know something I don’t?”
“I’m using sarcasm!” Luca said.
Everyone laughed and Luca blushed. He’d been trying to use sarcasm for the last few days, but had yet to properly use it a single time. Desmond put his arm around Luca and pulled him close. He wanted to ask the boy if he was okay, dig deeper to see if he knew anything, since he didn’t seem particularly surprised. But he didn’t want to do it in front of Linc.
“Well, see ya,” Linc said, then took his seat at another table beside Brothers Reginald and Mark.
As soon as Linc was out of earshot, Luca whispered. “Will told me to tell you all to let him go. He has a plan and he said you have to trust him.”
Desmond had to swallow every one of his 17 questions as John approached the table, pulled out a chair, then sat directly across from them. John never sat at their table. “Good evening, Brother Desmond,” he said.
Desmond nodded, and even managed to speak without gritting his teeth. “Good evening, Brother John.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the news,” John said. “Brother Will will no longer be with us here at New Unity after dinner. He has decided to leave the safety of The Sanctuary to embrace the unknown beyond our walls.”
Desmond didn’t have time to respond. John had barely shut his mouth when Rei commanded the head of the main table, hands folded and head bowed, patiently waiting to make his announcement.
With every set of eyes upon him, Rei parted his arms and raised his chin to the sky. Desmond made it through the prayer with gritted teeth, then chewed his bottom lip as Rei went through his song and dance of an announcement, spilling nothing but the scum on the surface of empty lies.
“I regret to inform you that tonight is our final evening with Brother Will,” he started. Will entered the dining room with two brothers a little too close behind him. Escorts for the prisoner. Will smiled, then took the seat closest to the door. Rei smiled at Will, then continued. “I have begged and pleaded with Brother Will. I’ve practically fallen to my knees to keep him here with us. But he must heed the call of his heart, even if it sends him into the foaming mouth of Satan himself.”
Rei stared at the floor, as though Desmond’s decision was breaking his heart. “But we will wish him well on his way, and pray for him daily. Perhaps our collective spirit here can help to quell whatever unfortunate calamity awaits our Brother on the other side of The Sanctuary walls.”
Rei shook his head and hovered in silence, like a televangelist’s pregnant moments, just before he asks for the sale. If Rei was auditioning to take over The Prophet’s role, he’d nailed the performance. When he raised his face to the crowd, Rei said, “There is no solace beyond our walls. But the Good Lord does, and always will, see fit to protect the soil of our Holy Land. We pray he sees fit to protect one of our Brothers, too.”
Rei raised his glass in the air. “We wish you well in the world outside!”
“We wish you well in the world outside,” the room repeated, glasses in the air.
* * * *
BORICIO WOLFE
The Sanctuary
March 25
6:40 p.m.
Dinner tasted about one short and curly better than a sack of fresh mildew and old pussy, but what the fuck did you expect from a bunch of cornbread eating Bible fuckers? Boricio had offered to go into their kitchen and turn their slop all sweet and spicy, but the Bible fuckers had declined. They liked their food like they liked their lives, boring.
Just one of the billion and one dumbfuck decisions they seemed to specialize in, here in Bibleburg. The place had approximately dick in common with what Boricio had expected to see. It was nothing like it had been the previous fall, enough to make Boricio figure Bibleburg was under new management. The motherfuckers in Round One had meant business. And while there was business going on up in here – that you could guaran-fucking-tee,– but what it was, Boricio didn’t have a goddamn clue.
He’d figure it out, though. And he wouldn't waste his fucking time looking for a needle in a haystack. Best way to find a needle was to torch the entire fucking haystack, then come back with a magnet. So as soon as Boricio figured out what sort of needle he was looking for, he’d come back with the flamethrower.
Of all the dumbfuck decisions Boricio had seen so far in Bibleburg, the inconsistent guard shifts and unlocked houses were by far the dumbest. He would have little problem ruling this roost. But for now, he’d examine the situation.
Patience wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in Boricio’s box. And while he liked playing character, and watching gullible fucks suck on his lies like they were the throb of a cock, he’d waltzed through the front gates looking for answers. But he had yet to find a single fucking one. No Charlie, no Adam, no Vic. And the bitch he killed back in New Orleans on October 14, the one he’d seen two times since, both up in that window in the house across the way, and on the side of the road – both places fucking with his ability to see shit clearly – well, she was nowhere to be found either.
Boricio also wanted to know how many of the motherfuckers behind the walls were sipping the Kool-Aid because they liked the sweet taste of the sugar, and how many of them were pretending to like it since they weren’t serving it outside The Sanctuary, where the “demons crawled through the forest.’” Boricio smiled. To hear the folks in charge tell it, the world was crawling with monsters like crabs in the cunt hair of a French Quarter whore. But that was bullshit. They were out there, sure, but any cocksucker with a few full clips had little more than dick to worry about. Boricio could smell bullshit, whether it got flushed or not. And it was ripe as a maggot covered body behind the gates of ye ole’ Sanctuary.
Of course, the place did have a few amenities.
Even though he’d been close enough to smell the slick of a slit, he’d not tasted the dew. And there wasn’t much worse than getting clearance from Mission Control and losing the blastoff. Fortunately, The Sanctuary had a few women Boricio could split right open. Even better, they were the sort of bitches Boricio liked. Churchgoing chicks were always the biggest sluts in the bedroom, down and dirty, and ready to do the kinkiest shit. Took them a while to start, but once you got them going, well ye-fucking-haw!
Boricio figured he had everyone’s number, except the fucker with the quiet eyes full of ideas, the one who knew Boricio was beer battering a pan full of bullshit. Boricio had played the I should’ve known there was evil in the house, what with all those Demons circling their part of the woods banshee ripping off a bandaid bullshit with just about every fucker in the place. Quiet Eyes was the only one who’d stared right through it.
The one fucker, John, he knew Boricio was full of shit, too. His eyes said so. But whatever his game, Boricio’s seemed to fit in with his plans, whatever they were.. That wouldn’t keep John alive forever, but it would sure as hell keep him alive for now.
The Sanctuary seemed to be split into three camps. Those with The Prophet, which Boricio hadn’t seen hide nor hair of yet, and those with Brother Rei. There was a revolution coming, Boricio could smell it like a rotting corpse. Then there was the third group, led by Quiet Eyes. The fucker with the quiet eyes had a few other fuckers in his group, though Boricio couldn't tell exactly who all quite yet. The Godfather had taught Boricio a helluva lot of shit worth learning, but none more important than keep your enemies closer. He h
ad a lot of shit to figure out before he burned the haystack to ash. Who better to ask than the one fucker in the place who probably wouldn’t want him to know shit.
Boricio slid between Quiet Eyes and the stuck-up looking bitch, who were knee deep in private conversation. The two of them had been trying to grab some minutes together all day, and you’d have to be retarded, blind, or all of the above not to notice. Boricio wedged himself between them, then pointed out the window toward the large wooden box it seemed like everyone inside Sanctuary was trying too hard to ignore. Boricio knew what it was, figured it was the same box Dead Guard Walking had been talking about when he had ‘ole Boricio on his knees, just before Boricio made him eat the fat side of his baseball bat.
“What’s in the box?” he said.
“What do you think it is?” Quiet Eyes didn’t turn from Stuck Up Bitch.
“I think it’s a punishment box,” Boricio said.
Quiet Eyes moved from Stuck Up Bitch to Boricio. “A punishment box? You say that with familiarity.”
“Oh, yeah,” Boricio nodded. “I went to school up in Arkansas. Was a small school that my daddy said would give me a good education, of the sort that came with The Good Lord’s blessing. I never had to do no time in the box, but my friend Jimmy Appel had to do a full day on account of him taking the Lord’s name. And my other friend Robby did two days for taking Sleazy Suzy off-campus without a chaperon.”
Boricio wanted to laugh out loud at how Quiet Eyes wasn’t buying a syllable of his bullshit. Boricio almost took it for granted, how easy it was to fool the foolish, since 49 out of 50 fuckers would believe whatever shit you told them, so long as you stared ‘em in the eyes when you said it, and made sure to throw in an ‘aw shucks’ every once in a while.
Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) Page 39