He caught himself checking his side mirrors every few seconds to see if he were being followed. After a mile or two down the road, he relaxed, and settled back in his seat. His tension drifted away. The swelling feeling of victory put a grin on his face so wide he thought the corners of his mouth would split.
He was finally happy. It had been so long since he’d been happy he had forgotten the euphoric highs it brought.
The disruptive effects of The Dark Times still had their hooks into normal daily life. For pedophiles more than most in society.
Chapter 23
The car radio belted out an ad for Republican Joel Spencer. The deep, ominous voice of the narrator began. In times like these, one man can make a difference.
Spencer’s voice faded in. We stand at the edge of extinction.
The narrator continued. A man willing to risk his reputation, his wealth, even his own life.
Spencer’s voice: We must end the rise in population of the Non-Dead.
The narrator: To save the County, to save mankind.
Spencer: We must return to the values of old. Husbands and wives must have more children. These children will determine mankind’s future. We must retire the Non-Dead to the ground where they belong.
Narrator: Joel Spencer, for Congress.
Lisa was so caught up in her thoughts she did realize the radio had been playing a political ad until the very end. Otherwise, she would have changed the station.
Nothing in her life was going as planned. Her hopes for meaningful employment had died in one last blow.
The job interview a half hour earlier had gone the same as the previous one she had tricked her way into. It ended abruptly when she had been asked to produce her National ID, and she’d been forced to admit she was Sub Y.
The job was for a phone sales position at an insurance company. Lisa maintained she was more than qualified for the job, and argued that no one would know she was Sub Y, because she was only a voice on the other end of a phone call. She even offered to work for a lower wage and take cash to keep it off the books.
The manager was less sympathetic than many others she’d talked to. He became belligerent for wasting his time.
Lisa nearly slapped his face when he accused her of being part of the nation’s problems. “You and your kind,” he said, lumping her in with the Sub Zs. Ironically, an older Sub Z wandered in right at the end of his rant and emptied his wastebasket. Lisa screamed, “Hypocrite!” and stormed out the office. She found herself overusing that word lately. It would be a lonely drive from Fort Worth back home to Dallas.
She could be in Houston right now with Rebecca, spending the weekend in a nice hotel and hitting the town. Rebecca didn’t have class today and offered to take her away—just to put a little fun back in her life. Lisa couldn’t remember the last time she could say she had fun. Certainly not since her change. Days not spent job hunting had her at the NAAND working the phones. Rebecca would take her out to eat sometimes. The two had become close. She was a great friend but couldn’t fill the void left from losing Bob. The physical and emotional needs Bob provided left a gaping hole. This was the longest period of time she had gone without being in a relationship since high school. Even during The Dark Times, there was always a man to take her by the hand, and face the challenges of life by her side.
A blue Ford pickup truck pulled up to the driver’s side of the car and slowed to match her speed. She glanced over and saw a bearded man wearing a cowboy hat with a cell phone glued to his ear. Not in the mood for some hard-leg gawking at her, she put her foot to the gas, and sped away.
The sun dipped slowly behind the horizon. The truck turned on its headlights while Lisa glanced at the side mirror, prompting her to do the same. The streetlights lining the winding highway ahead blinked on, making the drive home seem farther away.
The truck eased its way alongside her again. Because it was darker, she could barely see inside the cab. She eased up on the accelerator, as she was already speeding fifteen miles an hour over the limit.
The truck slowed again, matching her speed.
“Slime bucket, leave me the fuck alone,” she said aloud and removed her foot from the pedal. The car slowed, and the truck maintained its pace, letting her drift behind.
In the rear-view mirror, Lisa saw a fast approaching car with its headlights still off. She put her foot back on the accelerator and brought up her speed to five miles under the posted limit—wanting to keep her distance from the truck—but not wanting to be a hazard on the highway.
The car pulled to within an uncomfortable distance, and then slowly eased closer.
“What the?” The car was so close she couldn’t see the front grill. “I’m in the slow lane. Go around, asshole.” A passing streetlight brought just enough light to the driver’s face for her to recognize his identity. It was the creepy guy she had spotted at her first NAAND meeting.
When she turned her eyes back to the road, the car bumped her. The Ford truck was still in the other lane but in the process of slowing down.
Her heart pounded. She needed to pull into a public place as soon as possible and get help, but there was nothing but trees lining the roadside as far as she could see.
Mashing the accelerator to the floorboard surged her ahead of the car. When she caught even with the truck, the driver hit his gas pedal, and swerved into her lane—bumping against the driver’s side, and snapping off the mirror.
The car behind closed in fast. Soon she would be trapped between the two.
The car bumped against her again. The truck pressed into the side of her car. Lisa felt the truck power her toward the side of the road. She thought about hitting the brake, but knew that would only snare her in their trap.
“If you want to play chicken, motherfucker, let’s play!” She turned her steering wheel—pushing back against the truck. Sheet metal grinded metallic songs as the two vehicles fought for dominance.
Up ahead, the rear lights of a car came into view in the truck’s lane. She needed to maintain control for a few seconds longer before a chance to get out of her hopeless position would present itself.
The truck driver slammed on his brakes moments before rear-ending the car he was overtaking. The tires squealed like a wicked banshee as black smoke rolled out of the swaying rear end.
Lisa jerked the wheel to get in front of the car after she passed. With both lanes opened, she was free to maneuver from lane to lane, hoping to stay ahead of her pursuers.
The car Creepy Guy drove was faster. She kept him at bay by switching lanes just when he made a move to get an advantage on the lane she wasn’t in.
A police car traveling the opposite direction on the highway turned on its emergency lights and let out a series of high-pitched warnings. Lisa was never happier at the thought of getting a speeding ticket.
Her eyes followed it as it passed, Was his radar on? Was it me he was warning, or is he chasing after someone in his lane? The distraction gave Creepy Guy an opening to maneuver alongside. He turned his steering wheel and sent his car into hers with a teeth jarring thud. Lisa’s car careened to the side of the road where it smashed into a wooden road barrier with a flashing yellow light. The sign, warning of a pothole, cut through the grill, crippling her car. The airbag slammed her into the seat as she rode the brake pedal with both feet. The anti-lock brakes rattled her knees until she screeched to a halt.
The airbag instantly deflated and left her disoriented over the impact. She turned her gaze to the side window when her head cleared and saw Creepy Guy get out of his car. He raced toward her.
The blue Ford pickup skidded to a stop beside him. “Come on, man! Let’s get this thing over with!” the driver yelled after lowering the passenger window.
Creepy Guy jerked the door open. Lisa slapped at his hands as they pulled at her shoulders. The steering wheel mechanism had broken and it was nearly lying in her lap. The seatbelt held her locked in the seat.
Creepy Guy disengaged the seatbelt
and struggled to free her from the cab. Lisa dug her fingernails into his left forearm, breaking two nails off to the quick as she peeled skin back.
Cursing a blue streak, he smacked her nose with a backhand. Lisa’s vision went black around the edges.
A fast approaching police siren wailed up the road.
“It’s too late! Get back in the truck! Get your ass in here now, or I’m leaving you!” the truck driver hollered.
Creepy Guy shouted, “Damn!” He slapped the roof of the car and sprinted to the truck. The truck’s tires spun loose gravel before the passenger door had closed all the way.
Shortly, the police siren powered down, mimicking a dying goose as it pulled up behind Lisa’s car.
The final nail had been driven into her coffin.
Chapter 24
Mack Teller drove in his 2017 Ford Mustang given to him when he was hired to manage Joel Spencer’s ten-acre estate. Spencer proved to be difficult at times—downright unreasonable—but he offered Mack the best paying job once out of the RY program’s rehabilitation center.
Mack was no longer physically handicapped from the childhood accident but now was handicapped in a different sort—prejudice because of his Non-Dead status. Most employers would rather hire three Sub Zs than one Sub Y. Wages for Sub Zs being that much lower. Spencer’s was the most respectful offer to come his way.
The hiring didn’t go unnoticed to the outside world. A news crew visited the estate that day. Mack had imagined the reporter was there to do a human-interest story on him—to highlight the success of the government’s RY handicapped program. What a fool he was. The reporter didn’t give two shakes about his success story. A story of a paraplegic walking again had become common. The program’s success was old news. The benevolence of Joel Spencer hiring a Non-Dead in Texas topped the headlines.
As important as it had been to find employment, it didn’t compare with the treasure he found in Margaret’s love. She had been afraid to step out of the imaginary line Spencer drew around her. The beginning of her fear’s death was the day she was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
With the certainty of an early death, the bonds that held her back started stretching. As each link weakened she spent more time outside in the gardens, enjoying the simplicities of nature’s beauty. For once in her life she took time for herself and started to truly live.
Mack would keep to himself when she was outside—it was Mr. Spencer’s orders. But it was she who approached him. Shyly at first, but she became more comfortable with each passing day. His words of consolation opened her heart to him.
A flashing sign on the side of the road for ‘Kent’s Auto Repair’ brought Mack’s mind back to the present. He slowed the Mustang and turned in to the parking lot, then drove past an open gate leading to the back.
A slim man—his skin a pale white under the noon sun—waited in front of a lime green, single cab truck, complete with a camper shell and the words ‘Sewer Rooter’ in large block letters. He was appropriately dressed in a grease stained, dark-gray jumpsuit—with ‘Jarvis’ embroidered in red script above his left front pocket.
Mack parked the Mustang in the next available spot and got out the car.
“Hey, Jarvis. It’s good to see you.” Mack firmly grabbed his friend’s hand and gave it a couple of pumps.
“You too, brother. Been almost a month. Too bad we don’t have meetings more often.”
“I hear you. I’ve been thinking about that too. We could get twice as much accomplished if we met two times a month. Plus,” Mack smiled, feeling embarrassed, “it makes me think I make the world a better place to live in. I need that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not all you need.” Jarvis laughed. “I feel you, though. As membership increases we might be able to pull that off. We’ve got to be careful. We don’t want to draw too much attention from the Living.”
“Yeah. Okay man, we’ve got a job to do. Give me the story on this one.”
“This guy moved into the area two months ago. According to the newspaper announcement, he relocated from Chicago. He was originally born in Texas. The State of Illinois kicked him back here after he finished his last stint in the pokey.”
“How long was he in?”
“Paper said two years. Didn’t list his priors. No way that was a first time case. He’s in his forty’s. He must have a history of doing this shit for them to ship him back to his home state.”
“Okay, what’s his routine?” Mack asked.
“He leaves his house every weekday around three o’clock and usually returns around five. We can get you inside and ready for him when he gets back. The syringe is in the van. It’ll knock him out like that,” Jarvis snapped his fingers near the end of his sentence.
“Yeah, I know. This is my second time to do the honors. That stuff works real good,” Mack said.
Jarvis handed him a piece of paper with an address written on it.
“You sure the guy in the paper is the same guy at this address? We’ve made mistakes before. I wouldn’t want to grab an innocent person.”
Jarvis waved a hand. “No worries, bro. The information in the newspaper and the mail going to this guy’s house are a match. He’s same sorry son-of-a-bitch all right. If we don’t take him out now we’re going to wish we did later.” He handed Mack the keys to the truck.
“Where’d you get the truck?” Mack gave Jarvis the keys to the Mustang.
“This old thing? It was in the shop for repairs when the business went belly up. It’s been in the back so long no one even remembers it’s here. I put on a new distributor cap and some fresh fuel in the tank. It cranked right up.”
“Okay, we can switch vehicles after the meeting tonight. Anything else I need to know?” Mack asked.
“Oh yeah, the most important part, the house is wired with a burglar alarm. The backdoor code to bypass his alarm system is two-three-five-two-three-five. Enter that on the keypad less than a minute from the time it’s tripped and it’ll disarm.”
“Man, you guys sure do your homework,” Mack said.
“There are Sub Ys everywhere. We’re getting a pretty good web of contacts out in the workforce. The Living don’t pay us a whole lot of mind as long as we keep to ourselves and do what we’re told. They don’t know what we do when they’re not watching. Our network is growing more powerful. One day the Living will have no choice but to treat us like equals.”
“Jarvis!” A fat, old man by an open bay at the shop called out. “Get your dead ass in here and get these tires on this car.”
Jarvis shook his head. With a scowl on his face, he said, “We’re nothing but niggas in the Living man’s world.”
Chapter 25
Smoke curled from a Partagas Black Classico, the maduro wrapper offering a mélange of complex spice and ripe fruit flavor. Normie Cantrell leaned back in his chair, his feet on the desk, and the phone in his hand. His face beamed like the cat with a full belly by an empty aquarium.
“Hey, Rex. Normie. You’ll never guess what I got.”
“I’m busy, and I don’t have time to play games. Just tell me,” Rex said, sounding tired.
“I’m a busy man myself. In fact, I never stop working for something I want until I get it. I’m the busiest man I know. That’s a quality of mine you don’t always seem to appreciate.”
Rex huffed out a breath of air. “Okay, I can tell you’ve got something to say, and you’re about to burst to get it out. Please Normie, pretty please with sugar on top, tell me what you have.”
“I got it!”
“You got it?”
“Her! I got her!” Normie pulled a deep draw off the cigar, made an O with his lips, and blew another stream of smoke into the air.
“What? Goudard? You have Lisa Goudard? You better not get us into any trouble.”
“Keep your shirt on. This isn’t some two-bit operator you’re talking to. I’m a professional. I’ll have you know, she’s here of her own free will. Thanks to me and the opportunities
the fine establishment of Dancing Bare has to offer.”
“She signed up to dance? She must have hit rock bottom financially.”
“Yeah, that sums it up pretty good. I put three grand in her checking account and sprung for a cab to drive her up here. She took the driver’s keys and made me pay him while he waits to take her back. She’s not the trusting type.”
“Are you going to get the blood samples like we talked about? We really need those samples as soon as we can get them.”
“I’m getting those as we speak. She fell for it. I told her before she could dance fulltime she had to pass a state health exam, which included drawing a blood sample. It just so happens the blood wagon was going to be here today to test the girls. I told her it wouldn’t come back for another month, and if she wanted to go to work now, she needed to get it over with. Genius, if I say so myself.” Normie knocked an inch-long ash log in an empty highball glass.
“So, what kind of deal did you make with her?”
“Seems that she ran into a bit of bad luck. Her car was damaged in an, eh, accident. The cop at the scene ended up driving her home. She didn’t have enough cash to take a cab and doesn’t have enough to pay the deductible to get the car fixed.”
“Car accident? What happened?”
“She had some cockamamie story about some guy trying to run her off the road. You know how chicks have such wild imaginations. She’s probably paranoid about all the negative attention she brought to herself with the church.”
“So, the real story is that you tried to have her abducted. It went bad, you almost got her killed, and you got lucky that she called you because you were her last option.”
“Uh, well, I wouldn’t have put it in those exact words, but—”
Rex interrupted, “Can it. What’s done is done, and we came out ahead in the game. Get the blood—as much as you can. I’ll send someone to pick it up when it’s ready.”
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