by Connor Mccoy
There was a water cooler with a half-full bottle of water sitting in it. The water had gone cloudy, Mia thought, but then she saw that it was the dust coating the water bottle that was tinting it. Still, she wasn’t interested in drinking it. She was happy to stick with the water in her canteen. No point in taking chances.
Sally picked up a magazine from the coffee table and flipped through it. She gave a cry of delight and sank down into one of the orange waiting room couches. “I haven’t read this one,” she said. “I used to love this magazine.”
Christian and Mia looked at each other and shrugged. If an old magazine could keep her happy for a while, that was good news. The longer they waited to leave here, the safer they would be. At least theoretically. They sat together on another orange vinyl couch, and Mia rested her head on Christian’s shoulder, wishing the world away.
How long could they survive in this world? Stealing their way from town to town? Could they go back to the house in the woods and stay there for a while? Would they be safe? She was just so tired, and she knew Christian need to rest so he could heal properly. And Sally? She was retreating into her head. Less and less communicative and never smiling. She remembered Sally as she had been in college, laughing and carefree. The memory caught in her throat and she was afraid she was going to cry.
A bang came from within the warehouse, and Mia sat up straight. Sally was already on her feet, looking at the door back into the storage area with big eyes. Christian was up now too, moving to the exterior door. He stood to the side, looking out through the window.
The noise got louder and closer. Mia had the impression that people were banging metal spoons on baking pans, trying to spook them into running into the street. “Wait!” she said to Christian, but it was too late. He had unlocked the door. The door was pushed open from the outside, and a person filled the frame. A brute of a man, with a rifle in one hand and a military-style machine gun in the other. Bullet belts crossing his chest and a manic grin on his face.
People had begun filtering into the barn while Glen had been speaking to Jonno. A number of them sat on the hay bales and listened to them talk, while others stood at the edges of the barn, or leaning against stall doors, chatting in groups of twos and threes. Glen tried to count without being obvious, but he kept losing track. People moved, and others came to sit or stand in their places, but he thought there must be at least thirty people in the barn.
Beckett, the young man who’d questioned Jonno when they’d first met, came back with a tall, bearded, middle-aged man. He was graying at the temples, but he still was in excellent shape. Jonno stood and shook his hand.
“Glen,” he said, “this is Eric Wheeler. He’s our de facto leader. He was the sheriff in the town that was.”
Glen stood up and shook Eric’s Wheeler’s hand. He had a good grip, firm but not crushing, and he looked directly into Glen’s eyes. A straightforward man.
“Nice to meet you, Glen,” Eric said. “I understand you spent some time as an unwilling guest of the town? Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”
“Not at all,” Glen said. “I understand the need to know who you are talking to.”
“Sit back down,” Eric said, and he followed his own advice, sitting on the end of the bale next to Glen’s. Jonno flanked him, and Glen sat back down where he’d been.
“What can you tell me about the organization, hierarchy of power, if you will, in the town at this time?” Eric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and listened carefully.
Glen explained about Terror, his three thugs, and Angelica. He wasn’t sure if the thugs were ‘generals’ as such, but Angelica definitely was. He told the story of the attempted heist at the pharmacy and his reasoning behind sneaking in versus just asking for help.
“You were right, of course,” Eric said. “He never would have given you supplies, and he may have shot you on the spot. But I’m interrupting. Go on.”
Glen told the story of Mia’s escape, his hope that Christian had found the medicine and lived, and his stay in the closet in what he assumed was Angelica’s home. He talked of the people in line to be seen by the doctor, and his fear of being shot in the back as he walked away.
Eric nodded throughout and then sat quietly for a moment. He raised an eyebrow at Jonno, who nodded and then turned to look past Glen at a black woman who was sitting behind him. “They keep me honest,” Eric said. “Monitor my instincts. They think you are honest, and I tend to concur. So, I’ll tell you my story, and we’ll see where we’re at. Does that sound alright to you?”
“Sure.” Glen gave one short nod. “I’m okay with that.” His instinct was to like the man, and trust him. The fact that he relied on others to help him reassured Glen. There was something about Eric that reminded him of ordinary life. Steady and reliable.
“When Terror, I believe his real name is Tyrell Moore, came to town and started killing people, I smuggled out my family, and anyone else who wanted to come, to my grandparents’ farm. This is one of their barns you’re are sitting in. It’s at the far edge of the property and makes a convenient meeting place. Anyway, I brought my family, my sisters and their families and a few others who could see the writing on the wall.”
“Thank God you could see it,” Jonno said, “or all of us would be dead.”
“That may well be,” Eric continued. “I got them here safe, and then I went back to see if this Tyrell could be reasoned with. I sat with him an entire evening and what I saw terrified me. There was no method to his madness, no reasoning behind who he killed and who he spared. At least none that I could see, and none he was willing to tell me. He offered me a place as one of his generals, but as he’d killed most of the first responders of every possible description, I didn’t think the offer was genuine. But I asked him to let me think about it, and he agreed without reservation.
“We shook hands, and I headed in the direction of home, planning to head out to the farm as soon as I was sure no one was watching me. But it was clear within five minutes of leaving the library, that’s where Tyrell had set up his war room, that someone was following me. So, I didn’t go home, even though I would have loved to grab some of my gear. Instead, I dodged around a few buildings and hid in a shed.
“A few minutes later three armed men went by my hiding place. They didn’t find me because they didn’t know that I’d realized I was being followed. They moved on, and I slid out of town like a shadow. And two years later, here we are.” Eric gestured to the people around him.
“But you attacked them today,” Glen said, carefully not mentioning his part in the killing. “Why was that?”
“I think Jonno already told you that,” Eric said. “There are certain things we need, and we go there to get them. It was our town, after all. And they are able to keep things fresh. We don’t have electricity, and food spoils. What Jonno didn’t tell you is that there are people still living in that town who’d rather have us back and Tyrell and his minions gone. They put food in caches in the forest for us. And they do what they can to fight on our side when we raid them. One of these days we’ll figure out the best way to retake the town, without getting our townspeople killed.”
“My God,” Glen said. “I hate that Terror more with every word. If you want my help getting your town back, you’ve got it.
Chapter Eleven
Mia glanced around the room looking for a way out, but there were only two exit doors. One led through the warehouse, where there was a hoard gathering, and behind them, an area filled with families hanging from their necks. The other was an interior door, but she’d have to pass in front of the thug standing by the front door to get there. She wondered if it would be worth it to take the chance.
Christian moved slightly, blocking the line of sight between the thug and Mia. She took the chance, sliding behind a stack of tires and around a group of waiting room chairs before ducking through the doorway. It was a standard automotive office, an inexpensive metal desk, orange plastic chairs w
ith papers scattered on a table in the corner. In the other corner was a ladder. Mia crossed the floor in three strides and scrambled up the ladder, pushed up the hatch and crawled into the space above the office.
She had thought it would be a low attic space, but of course, it was part of the larger building, so it really was quite tall. The office was a box topped by a platform that was used for tire storage. She stood and moved carefully to the edge, where she could peer around a stack of tires and see down into the warehouse. A dozen or so townspeople were converging on the office.
Then she took a few steps and looked over a row of tires balanced on their sides, a display for the shoppers waiting in the showroom. The thug had moved into the room and Mia finally could see him. He was big and hairy and dressed like a bandit from an old Western, bullet belts crossed over his chest. Christian was facing him, gesturing with his arms. Mia couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Sally was cowering in the corner, hiding behind a stack of shelves. Mia tried to get her attention, but Sally was focused on the thug in the room. She left for a moment and went back to the warehouse, where the townspeople were beating and kicking the door to the office. Well, she could put an end to that.
She had planned to dump a single stack of tires on the people below, but the feeling she got when she shoved the first stack off the roof surprised the people below and was so satisfying she dumped all the tires she could reach. The cries of surprise and pain and the subsequent retreat down the aisles made her wish she could do it again. But she had to rescue her friends in the office.
Sally still was oblivious to Mia’s efforts to draw her attention. So she snuck to the line of tires closest to the thug and pushed them with enough force that they flew through the air and struck the man. Sally and Christian ducked back behind a shelf at the far end of the office, where they were out of the way of the flying tires.
Mia would have tossed every last tire off the edge into the showroom, except the thug regained his composure and opened fire on her. She dropped to the floor, hoping the sheetrock and plywood would afford her some protection from the bullets. Scurrying away from the edge on her hands and knees, she noticed a hand grasp the side of the platform from the warehouse below. She maneuvered herself, staying low until she could kick the fingers with the heels of her boots. The result was a satisfying yowl, followed by a curse and a thud. The would-be hero had fallen to the floor. “Take that,” she said and scanned the roofline for signs of any others foolishly trying to reach her.
Another hand came up, followed swiftly by a face, and she put a boot in his mouth. She was trapped. She knew she couldn’t win, but she couldn’t stop fighting, trying to get the three of them free. And maybe if she attracted enough attention the other two would get away. Two people vaulted onto the roof at once. Mia stood and ran through the tire racks to the far end of the platform.
She reached the far wall and scrambled up the metal ladder that made it possible to get to the uppermost tires. The warehouse was noisy now with gunfire and shouts, so she didn’t bother creeping around. She swarmed up to onto the top-most row of tires. She flattened herself along two sets of truck tires, hoping they would conceal her from the search below.
A loud clunk reverberated through the air and the tires Mia was lying on began moving. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t screech, and looked around, trying to see what was happening. She realized the entire rack was built to rotate so that tires could be accessed from down below. It wasn’t that her tires were going to roll out from underneath her, but that someone knew how the mechanism worked and was rotating the racks so they could find her.
As she came even with the roof of the office again, she rolled off the tires onto it and slithered away on her toes and elbows. She looked around for an escape route and realized she’d squirmed through the dirt and dust for nothing. She’d crawled right into the thug’s trap, and he was looming above her, looking down. A scar above his left eye gave him the illusion of inquisitiveness, like he perpetually was asking a question.
“Well, shit,” she said.
“Well, shit,” he agreed, reaching down and hoisting her upright by the back of her shirt.
Her feet back underneath her, she yanked her clothes back where they belonged and glared at him. She was not going to show this yahoo fear, damn it all. She’d been through too much shit today. She put her fists on her hips and sneered at him.
“So, what are you going to do now?” she asked. “Handcuff me? Knock me over the head? Shoot me? What’s it going to be?”
“Aren’t you a little wildcat?” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, like you might expect a devil to have.
“I have no interest in carrying you out of here. So, no, I’m not going to hit you over the head, or shoot you. I don’t have cuffs, so that’s not an option. What I’m hoping is for you to walk over to the ladder, get yourself down it and join your friends out on the street. Do you think you can manage that without pelting anyone with tires? You flattened Dave, he hit his head on the cement floor and had to be carried to the infirmary.”
Mia didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded and marched in the direction the thug indicated. If she opened her mouth, she was bound to say something to provoke him, and as much as mocking him seemed the thing to do, she really didn’t want to get the butt of a gun to the back of her head.
She climbed down the ladder and followed a relatively typical looking townsman out through the office, which now was littered with tires they had to pick their way around, and out into the street. She went to stand with Christian and Sally, neither of whom looked any worse for wear. Something she couldn’t say for herself. Her clothes were covered in dirt, and she was glad she didn’t have a mirror. She was sure her face was a mess.
The thug barked an order, and the three were herded down the middle of the street toward the center of town. When they reached Main Street, they turned left, and Mia realized they were headed back to the library. She wondered why Terror hadn’t taken over Town Hall instead of the library. That would be more official, wouldn’t it? She supposed he had his reasons.
She took Christian’s hand and linked arms with Sally. They may be down, but they still were alive. She had escaped Terror before, and she would do it again. She only hoped they could find Glen and take him with them. She realized she was exhausted. It had been a long day of walking, climbing trees, hiding, and running. What she’d really like now was a bath, some food, and a nap.
But those luxuries were probably hours, maybe days, away. They were prisoners, and the defiance that had filled her while standing on the office drained away. She kept up pretenses, not wanting the thug to see what a coward she really was. She kept her head high, her footsteps energetic, and her face in an attitude of anticipation, as if she was going to a Fourth of July parade and fireworks. She steadfastly refused to think of Terror.
The walk down Main Street seemed interminable, but eventually, they turned again and shortly after that they were coming up on the street with the library. She guided Sally and Christian up the walkway without being told. She’d been here before, and everyone knew it.
They marched into the marble hall and then through the door to the library. Mia immediately noticed that the exit through which she had escaped the last time she’d been in this room had been blocked by a table. Still, given enough time, that might be a viable avenue for escape. But if she was honest, she didn’t think they’d be given the opportunity to escape. That ship had sailed.
Terror, who was standing in the raised portion of the room, turned as they entered. He watched as they were shepherded toward him and brought to a halt just short of the steps. Mia kept her face carefully neutral. She had the feeling things would not go well if Terror got the impression she was gloating over her previous escape. When his head turned in her direction, she cast her eyes downward, examining the floor in front of her. She must not antagonize this man.
“Mia,” Terror said, “how interesting that you have
come back. Did you miss me? And this must be Christian, the young man who was wounded by a bear, and your friend Sally. Too bad you didn’t get here earlier, you could have said goodbye to your friend Glen.”
“You let him go?” Sally blurted out, clapping a hand over her mouth. Mia thought that Sally had resolved not to speak to Terror at all. But Sally was closer to Glen than the others. She’d probably been unable to stop herself.
“No, girl, I did not let him go,” Terror said. “He proved himself unwilling to become an asset to this community, so I had him executed.”
Tears sprang from Sally’s eyes and Mia bit back a retort. So they were too late after all. Had they come to their death as well? She bit her lower lip to keep from joining Sally in her grief. Damn it. If they’d only found Glen earlier, they could have saved him.
Mia noticed the thug looking her way and lifted her chin. She refused to let these people see her beaten. Remembering how her father had taught her to stand up to bullies, Mia straightened her back and strengthened her resolve. She stood a little taller and glared at the thug. The corner of his lip twitched, and Mia silently dared him to smile. Just try it, buddy, she thought. I will wipe that smile right off your face.
But Terror was talking again, and she turned her attention away from the thug and focused on his boss. Terror was ranting on about loyalty and obedience, and Mia noticed that his right hand was wrapped in gauze. He’d been injured, and she hoped it was his dominant hand. He’d be a lot less likely to shoot them if he couldn’t pull the trigger. Then she realized that every person in the room had a firearm. All he’d have to do is give the command, and the three outsiders would be dead.
But it didn’t seem like he was interested in killing them at the moment. His words were akin to a recruitment speech. Was he going to ask them to join his community? He was going on and on about how he had built up this town, when Mia knew for sure that he had invaded it. She supposed he meant the power grid and the gardens. And possibly the hundreds of bear traps tossed in that ditch. All that work for nothing. She sighed.