Random Survival

by Ray Wench

  They found the crash site. The pickup truck was still there, the contents hadn’t been removed. Once they had Lynn, they’d never bothered to check it. Mark was sure they would be back for the items later.

  He tried not to think about what Lynn was going through. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. He hoped she could survive her ordeal, both physically and mentally. The one thought he allowed to run through his mind was that they would pay for hurting her. Even if it cost him his life, they would pay.

  The downtown area of the small city was only a few blocks long. Mark took back roads until he came to Main Street. They approached from the south where the street was on a slight decline. It offered a full-length view down the street. What he saw surprised him; the streets were free of debris. What surprised him more was there was no sign of any bodies. Someone had cleaned up the street. His thoughts went immediately to the large man he had seen at Summer’s. Could he have somehow forced the insanity to stop? No sign of life showed anywhere. Maybe he just killed everyone off whom he couldn’t control.

  The thought of one person capable of doing that was scary. If he were that organized and wielded that much power, he would be difficult to take down.

  Mark got out of the van and walked up the steps of St. Joseph’s Church. It gave him a different angle. There, he discovered where the Horde was sheltered: in what had once been an upscale chain hotel. It stood eight stories high. Mark speculated that the top floor housed suites. If he was the man in charge, that’s where he’d be.

  What he didn’t know was how many members of the Horde there were. Mark had no way of knowing how many of the people he’d seen during his previous visit had survived. It appeared as though quite a few had, but they had taken some significant casualties in the past week.

  Could there be that many more of the Horde left?

  They sure didn’t seem to be interested in recruiting any new members. The Horde would rather kill than recruit. Mark remembered an old Stephen King novel that had an equal number of good and bad people at the end.

  Where are all the good people hiding?

  A concrete bridge crossed a small creek at the bottom of the hill. Just beyond that on the right was the hotel, less than a hundred yards from where he stood. Mark climbed back in the van and pulled across the street into the church parking lot. They were now on the same side as the hotel. Trees along the creek and the higher level of the lot hid them from view from the hotel.

  Mark got out and walked to the edge of the embankment that ran down to the creek. He stopped near the tree line and used the binoculars to scan the hotel grounds. Little of the parking lot showed. Most of it was on the far side of the hotel, blocked from view. However, a steady flow of vehicles pulled in and out of the lot. That didn’t bode well for making an undetected rescue attempt. He noticed men and a few women walking around carrying guns. Most of them had rifles or shotguns over their shoulders.

  Mark tried to see in the windows, but most had the curtains drawn. He scanned the entire height of the building, stopping at the penthouse suites. The question was: would the men who’d captured Lynn take her to the leader or would they keep her for themselves in their own room somewhere? Having to check every room would make the task more difficult.

  Mark pulled the glasses from his face and squeezed the bridge of his nose hard. He needed the pain to refocus. This was no time for emotions; that would do neither of them any good. This was time to put on his killing face.

  A face he had worn too much of late. A face he feared had become permanent.

  Mark raised the binoculars again and angled them to ground level. He studied the men to see if they had any kind of uniform, dress, or symbol that identified them with the others. It didn’t appear so. They were all dressed differently. He watched the one door he could see and noticed there were no guards or anyone checking ID. Unless someone was stationed on the inside checking, it should be easy enough to get in. The hard part would be getting back out.

  Below, he caught movement in the woods on the far side of the creek. A man was leading a teenage girl along the bank of the creek. She wasn’t fighting him, but he was all but dragging her. The man stopped abruptly and spun on the girl. He slapped her, knocking the girl to the ground. She screamed and covered her head expecting more blows to land.

  Anger shot through Mark. A red flash clouded his eyes, but he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Fighting to control his initial response to run across the creek and throttle the man, Mark went back to the van, trying to calm down. He couldn’t afford to feel. He just needed to react. He put the glasses back and picked up the shotgun. Everything had been reloaded. With one deep breath, he felt himself change like a man with two personalities.

  “Stay in the back and keep the doors locked. Do not leave this van.” His tone was harsh. Mark barely recognized his own voice. “I will knock on the outside five times fast to let you know it’s me. If I’m coming on the run, I will scream your name. If that happens, unlock the back doors and start the engine. As soon as I’m inside, you move. You got that?”

  “Shouldn’t I go with you? After all, she is my mom.”

  Mark softened his voice. The boy was hurting too. “I respect that you want to help with this, I really do. But you are not experienced at all and you will only get in my way. You can help me, and hopefully your mother, best by being our getaway driver. If we’re not back by morning, we won’t be coming back. Get out of here fast. Tell me you understand and can do what I asked.”

  “Okay, but you have to come back.” His voice cracked.

  Mark said, “Control yourself or you will be of no use when we need you.”

  Caleb nodded and dried his eyes. “Okay. Just please bring her back.”

  Mark smiled but there was no humor in it. “I intend to.” He slipped a ball cap on and turned to leave, thought for a second, then added. “I might be sending a teenage girl up to you. If she comes, it will be in the next five minutes. Be watching for her. Let her in if she wants, otherwise let her go her own way and lock back up.” He jogged off.

  Mark tried not to hurry to save the girl from her ordeal. He had to remind himself not to react blindly and give himself away. Rescuing Lynn was still the mission and he couldn't accomplish that by drawing attention to himself. He kept his head down and walked across the bridge. Once on the other side, he stepped off the sidewalk and down along the ridge of the bank.

  Mark spied them through the trees. He slid down the slope of the bank, watching the man pull the girl through the trees. Mark had made a decision. He couldn’t let this brute abuse the girl. Up ahead the man stopped. He flung the girl in front of him. “You wanted to be outside, we’re outside. Now get that dress off.”

  Tears streaming, she offered no protest. Her fingers fumbled down the buttons of her dress. Her abuser stood watching, so absorbed in his victim’s progress he was unaware of Mark’s advance.

  With the dress open, hanging from her shoulders, the man stepped forward to fondle her small breasts. The young girl looked over the stocky man's shoulder, his way, but Mark wasn’t sure she really saw him.

  Mark hoped to be able to sneak up and drive his knife into the man, but when he got about ten feet away, the man turned his head.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he bellowed.

  Mark tried to sound calm. “To see if I can have seconds.”

  “Fuck you. Get out of here and find your own woman.” He never stopped thrusting.

  “Had one. I just brought her in, but they took her from me.” Mark stepped closer. The girl’s eyes flicked to him then away. There was a spark still there, he thought.

  “Ain’t that a shame? You know all the new women gotta be cleared by the boss before they get divvied up. Go complain to him. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Sure, man, I’m going.” Mark backed away. As his target swung back to the girl, Mark stepped forward, his knife down along his right leg. A snapping twig under Mark’s foot turned the man to pro
test again. Mark lunged and drove the blade deep into the man’s gut. He slapped his left hand over the man’s mouth and allowing all his fury to release, drove him backward, lifting the blade to the man’s sternum. Mark pushed him up against a tree and held him there as the life drained from him. He let the body slump to the ground.

  The girl never moved, as Mark stepped toward her. Her eyes changed from wide-eyed shock, back to a glossed over blank stare. She shivered visibly then, perhaps thinking she was now Mark's property, dropped the dress from her shoulders to the ground.

  “I’m not here for that,” he said, looking at the hotel to see if the killing had been witnessed. “If you want to be free from all of this madness, cross the creek and climb to the top of the hill. There’s a boy in a van there. Get in and wait. No one will hurt you or try to do what that man was doing. Do you understand me?”

  Her nod was slow as if only doing it because she was asked to. Fear shone in her eyes, the kind of fear you get when you dare hope for something only to find out it’s a different sort of hell.

  “Get dressed and cross the water ‒ don’t use the bridge. If you don’t want to get in the van then just keep going. Find someplace to hide.” He tried to sound like a father instead of the cold-blooded predator who had just killed a man in front of her.

  As she dressed, Mark rolled the dead man’s body down the bank into some long grass near the creek. The girl stood there waiting. “It’s okay, you’re free to go.”

  She started to sway, trying to get up enough courage to take the first step.

  Just as she did, Mark said, “Wait.” She deflated, as if any hope had been snatched from her. “Can you tell me how they get into the hotel?”

  Tears ran down her face. Her body began to shake.

  “I’m sorry, you’re free to go. I just need to know how to get in. There’s someone inside I need to rescue. Can you tell me anything that would help?”

  The girl’s lips trembled, attempting to form words, but nothing would come.

  “It’s okay, go now. And whatever you decide, good luck.” With that, he turned and headed for the hotel. He didn’t want her to think it was a trick, so he didn’t look back. Then he heard, “There’s a key.”

  He stopped and looked at her. She pointed to the dead man. “He owned me and has a key … for his room.” She covered her face and sobbed. Her whole body convulsed.

  Mark wanted to go to her, to hug her and comfort her, but he decided that after what she had been through, touching her might not be the best thing.

  “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Mark slid down the bank and searched the man’s pockets, finding a key ring with three keys on it. One looked like a car key; a second one looked too small to be a room key. He held up the third one and the girl nodded.

  “Do you know what room?”

  “428.”

  “Thank you.” He turned to climb the slope towards the hotel.

  “Did you really mean what you said?” He stopped again. “About being free?”

  “Yes. But there are others like me and you are welcome to join us. You will be expected to do your share of the chores, but you will never be owned by anyone. It’s up to you. If you don’t like it, you’ll be free to leave at any time.” He gave her what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile. “Go.”

  She took two steps toward the water and stopped. “She has to go upstairs,” she said. “Your friend, she has to go to Buster first, before whoever brought her in can have her. He will … he will do things to her … then give her away. If she hasn’t been here long, then she will be there.” She sidestepped carefully down the side of the bank. Before stepping into the water, she looked up at Mark.

  He nodded and turned. Mark hoped she would take his offer and go to the van. He hoped he would be alive to know if she had.

  Twenty-Four

  While he approached the hotel, he reviewed what he’d seen from above. He estimated seeing about twenty people come and go from the building and parking lot, although he had no way of knowing how many were inside. He'd also seen a few women moving among the men. They looked like they were part of the gang and not just property.

  Mark kept his head down and his eyes up and moving, analyzing the changing scenario before him. As he drew nearer the side door, he wondered if the key would open that too. Most hotels used a key or key card to open any door other than the main one. He doubted any electronics were still working, so key cards were out. However, hotels wouldn't use a key rather than a key card. Someone must have retooled the doors to take keys. If he had a choice, he much preferred going in the side door rather than walking around the building and entering the front.

  Ten feet from the door, two men came out. They paid him no attention, turning toward the parking lot. Mark jogged a few steps and managed to catch the door before it closed. He stepped through and let it shut behind him. He stood there, taking in the surroundings. Stairs ran up to his right. A heavy fire door stood in front of him with a small window giving him a view down the length of the first-floor hall. Several people moved to and from rooms. He tested the door to see if it would open from his side. It did. Mark hoped that meant the ones above him would open as well.

  He looked up the stairs to make sure they were clear then started up. At each floor, he peered through the window. He saw very few people, which made him think maybe there weren’t as many enemies as he’d feared. Above him, Mark heard a door open, Footsteps descended. He hesitated. Looking through the fourth-floor window he saw one man walking toward him. Mark was hoping to get to room 428 without being seen.

  The man coming down the stairs was only one flight away. The man on the floor stopped at the second door down from the fire door. He slid a key into a padlock attached to the door. Mark could now see how the rooms had been altered. A hasp had been screwed into the door above the knob with a corresponding hook on the frame. Making a snap decision, he drew his knife and pushed through the fire door looking down at the key in his hand. He had to time his attack right.

  He could feel the man look up as the lock snapped open. Mark dropped his key and bent to pick it up as the man pushed his door open. As soon as he saw the door ajar, Mark sprang at the man, crashing him into the door, slamming it hard against the inner wall. He brought the knife up. The blade dug the man’s belly, but he was both quick and strong. His powerful hands wrapped around Mark’s wrist preventing him from pushing the blade any deeper.

  Fearing the man on the stairs would hear, Mark went into a frenzy of motion. He head-butted the man, brought a knee to his groin, and then kicked him on the side of his knee. As soon as he felt his opponent begin to tip in that direction, Mark pushed hard, toppling him into the room with Mark landing on top of him. The momentum and force of Mark’s weight jammed the knife into the man’s stomach, causing a cry of pain that Mark could not prevent. The man’s legs thrashed and Mark used every ounce of strength to push the knife in deeper.

  Keeping one hand on the knife, he covered the man’s mouth with the other. As the man weakened, Mark reached a foot back and kicked the door closed just as he heard the fire door open. Mark pressed his weight down, trying to control the man’s efforts to dislodge him. Muffled cries seeped out as the man threw his head from side to side. Mark had to let go of the knife so he could use both hands. He held him down for several minutes until the man stopped moving.

  Rolling off the body, he lay on his back to catch his breath. After a minute, he stood and searched the man’s room for a shirt to replace his bloody one. Finding an old Harley T-shirt he slipped it on then grabbed the man’s key. Peeking into the hallway he saw that it was clear. Mark went out, locked the door, and pocketed the key.

  The window in the fire door showed the landing was empty, so he stepped out and started up the stairs again. However, the higher he climbed, the more populated the floors seemed to be. Even if he did manage to get to Lynn, it would be impossible to get back out again if the alarm went up.

  Mark
reached the top floor and paused to catch his breath. Glancing through the window, he saw several men down the hall. There appeared to be only six rooms on this floor. Two of the men were guarding a door. Two other men were in the hall farther down. One sat on the floor while the other paced in front of him. Mark couldn’t be positive, but the man pacing looked familiar.

  Mark leaned against the wall and tried to think of a plan that would not get him killed. He was falling short of ideas. In his mind, he went through the motions of an assault. Walk through the door at a quick pace, shotgun in my hand pointing down at the floor in a casual, non-threatening manner. I’ll head straight for the guards until they react, hoping I can get close enough to blast them before they can move.

  In his vision of how things would go, he’d pump two rounds at the guards, swing toward the other two, and fire two more shots. He would then turn the barrel to the door and blow it open. Whoever was inside would be prepared by then, so he would kick the door open but stay back. Dropping the empty shotgun, he would pull out the 9mm. He would toss one guard’s body through the door first to draw fire, then follow it in.

  From there, without knowing the layout of the room or how many people were in there, things got sketchy. Regardless, even if he were successful, the shots would alert everyone else in the vicinity, making the trip back down suicide. There just wasn’t any way for that charging scenario to play out with both Lynn and him walking away. He had to find another way.

  He thought about just going to the guards and offering to buy Lynn back. Maybe he could pretend to need to talk to the big boss, to gain entrance to the room and go from there, but neither idea had any real chance of success. In the end, he’d have to shoot it out with somebody. He supposed he could go with the first plan and just barricade them in the room. They would live longer; but, eventually, the result would be the same.