The Killing Days

by Ronald Williams

  Jason was stunned. “You did it,” he said. “We're not going to be cavemen for the rest of our lives. We have knowledge. We have people like you, who know how to make things work.”

  “People who know how to hurt other people, you mean,” Harrison said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You asked how I got rid of those guys earlier.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember that grocery delivery from Murph and Pam Ingalls?”

  “The rotted lettuce? Yeah. Look, you don't have to clean that up...”

  “The Ingalls also grow scorpion peppers. Hot little suckers. We've never been able to move them, but Murph keeps bringing them by. Hoping, I guess.” Harrison shrugged.

  “What does this have to do with the people outside?” Jason asked.

  When Harrison replied, his voice was flat:

  “I took three crates of those peppers, boiled them in a big pot of vinegar and cooking oil over a few of those camping stoves, and took that pot up on the roof. I poured it all over them. You should have heard them scream, Jason...” Harrison trailed off, staring at the wall.

  “Like a castle under siege defending pouring hot oil on the attackers,” Jason said.

  “Except it was also concentrated pepper spray, essentially. I saw some of those guys' skin start to blister before I came back in.”

  “I'm surprised there wasn't someone waiting by the hatch on the roof,” Jason said.

  “There was,” Harrison said. His thin face was etched with pain. “I figured there would be. I had a cup of it ready when I first opened the hatch, still boiling hot. I threw it right in his face, then pushed him all the way back to the edge and threw him off. His head...he landed on his head. Jesus, Jason. I heard his neck snap.”

  It took Jason a second to realize that Harrison was sobbing quietly. He put a thick arm around Harrison's shoulders and pulled him close.

  “I killed someone, Jason,” Harrison quivered. “First the dead girl, then that...” he broke off, shaking silently.

  A little over an hour later, they went to bed. Nobody else had tried to break into the store. After a quiet dinner – nothing fancy like chicken and biscuits; just two cans of warmed beans each – they blew out all the candles and climbed into their sleeping bags. Jason fought to not cry out when a spasm raced across his chest as he lay down. He would have to tell Harrison the truth about the pills sooner or later...

  Chapter 13

  A soft rain began to fall around 9 P.M. that night, breaking the heat spell. Jason woke from fitful sleep to the sound of the soft drum of raindrops on the roof. He lay still for several minutes, his eyes adjusting to the dark interior, and then noticed Harrison's slight silhouette in front of the boarded window. His brother was peering through the slit again, just watching, watching the outside world.

  For several more minutes, neither of them moved, and then Jason asked what time it was.

  If Harrison had been startled by Jason's sudden question, he didn't show it. He stepped lightly over to the register counter and peered down at the notepad lying on its surface before replying: “Three, maybe three-thirty.”

  During his clean-up session the day before, Harrison had set up a simple timekeeping system for them. He'd lugged out a cheap KitchenKraft 120-minute mechanical timer, and as soon as the sun was directly overhead, he'd cranked the dial all the way back and let it go. When the buzzer sounded, he scrawled a quick “2pm” on a small stationery pad and cranked the sucker back up again. Every two hours, whoever was closest jotted down the time. The notepad now had a small, slightly leaning column of two-hour intervals. Three-thirty. Jason rubbed his eyes. Just as well that he'd woken up. In thirty more minutes, the timer's sudden bee-hive buzz would've jolted him out of sleep anyway. But still, it was better than nothing. And the upshot was that if anybody tried to sneak in, neither of them could possibly sleep through the entire burglary.

  “Come over here and look at this,” Harrison said. He'd turned back to the slit in the board and was staring out at the street again.

  “Mmph,” Jason said. He didn't move. He'd already sunk back into his pillow and let his eyes drift closed.

  “Come on, get over here,” Harrison insisted.

  “Fine, fine. It better be good.” Jason unzipped his sleeping bag and stood shakily to his feet. He winced and held his side as a sharp pain sliced through his right abdomen. He felt lightheaded, woozy. He was getting worse, and both he and Harrison knew it. He joined his brother at the front of the store. Harrison stepped aside to let him look through the slit.

  “See that?” Harrison said. “On the left, on the sidewalk in front of Milligan Mortgage.”

  Jason squinted, ignoring the lightness in his head. He pressed his hands against the rough pallet wood so he wouldn't give away how bad he was by swaying. The street outside was all but pitch black with only the slightest sliver glimmer of moonlight cutting through a thin section of clouds. He looked where Harrison had indicated. At first he didn't see anything. Slowly, he saw a slightly darker spot of black materialize in the shadows of the surrounding street. Then the spot formed into the shape of a hunched human being. The person squatted, stood, then took a step and squatted again. It seemed to Jason that they were placing something on the ground each time they squatted down.

  “What's he doing?” Jason asked.

  “She,” Harrison corrected quietly. “It's Sarah Milligan. She's collecting rainwater.”

  “You mean she never went home?” Jason stepped back, surprised.

  “I guess not,” Harrison said. “Maybe she couldn't. Maybe she lives too far away. She must be surviving on what's in the machine. That's the best I can figure. Maybe a few leftover lunches from the staff refrigerator, if they have one.”

  Jason had only been inside Milligan Mortage three times, but now he remembered the vending machine in the front lobby, right beside a small table covered in business cards from local businesses. The vending machine had always been barely half stocked, just a few rows of Lays potato chips and single-serving packets of cookies and cheese crackers that got pushed out with a spiral arm when you put in seventy-five cents and pushed the right combination of buttons. Not exactly a feast.

  And she'd been right across the street for the last two days. She wasn't what Jason would call a friend, but they were agreeable. They couldn't let her starve, that was for sure.

  He turned toward the front door.

  “Don't,” Harrison said, just as quietly as before.

  “We have to help her.”

  “Look again,” Jason said. “Look up the street to the right this time. It's hard to see that far through the slit, but look right past the intersection.”

  Jason studied his brother for a moment, just standing back in the shadows beside the shelf of canning supplies, practically a shadow himself. He sighed, and wedged his face back up against the slit.

  Maybe it was because his eyes had better adjusted to the darkness, or maybe it was because there were more of them, but Jason immediately saw what Harrison was talking about. A cluster of shadows were grouped at the corner of Burke and Main, just behind the white Chevrolet that had crashed on the first day. As Jason watched, they crept along the face of the building and began slipping, in twos and threes, across Main and onto the adjacent sidewalk.

  “Is that...?” Jason began, and Harrison grunted confirmation.

  “The same group from earlier. And there's more of them.”

  “And you weren't going to warn her?” Jason stepped back from the boards and turned toward his brother.

  “I don't know what they want, okay?” Harrison said. “And I'm sure as hell not going to risk exposing us anymore than I need to.”

  “I thought you were better than that,” Jason said, almost sadly. He took a deep quavering breath. The right side of his chest ached. “Well, to hell with that.” He went to the front door and shoved at the wall of boxes. They slid a few inches, and Jason began to pant with the effort. Harrison
put a hand on his shoulder.

  “It's not worth it,” he said. “They'll kill us.”

  Jason shrugged off his hand and twisted the deadbolt latch. He could see the shadows through the window. Moving faster now. Sarah Milligan was still completely unaware that they were coming for her. He tugged at the door, making the brass bell jingle overhead. The door opened two inches, then bumped up against the boxes. Harrison was back at the slit, watching the street. Several of the shadows stopped and turned toward the sound of the bell. The rest of them broke into a sprint toward Sarah, who squatted and set another bucket down on the sidewalk. The rain had picked up; it was now thundering against the pavement. Jason's voice cut through it like a knife.

  “Sarah! Get back inside! Now!”

  Through the crack in the doorway, Jason saw the woman jerk with surprise and look toward the general store. She stood up...too quickly. Her foot slipped on the slick pavement and she dropped heavily down to her knees. A male voice whooped out of the rain, and Sarah twisted in that direction. Jason knew later that he couldn't have seen it in the low light, but he could have sworn her eyes widened with fear as she saw the men sprinting toward her through rain. He imagined that to her, it must have looked like they just appeared, coming out of the downpour like ghosts, armed with bats and clubs and pipes.

  The lone cry spread like a virus and the whole group began to shout, screaming and catcalling as they streamed toward the lone woman. Sarah's hands and feet scrabbled against the pavement, knocking over one of her rainwater buckets. After what seemed like ages – although it must have only been two or three seconds – Sarah made it back to her feet and lunged toward the front door of Milligan Mortgage.

  The lead shadow of the group was already passing Double Donuts, right next door. Somehow, Jason heard Sarah grunting with effort over the roar of the rain and the screams of her pursuers. Their screams sounded insane, almost bloodthirsty. Sarah's grunting was a sound of panic.

  Sarah reached the heavy wooden door of her building just as the first pursuer reached her. He grabbed her waist. Jason saw an elbow flash back at the man's face, and then he was cartwheeling back into the empty street. With a final grunt – practically a shriek – she wrenched the door open, slipped inside, and slammed it closed. The small mob of shadows slowed to a stop outside the closed door, defeated.

  Jason felt his breath whoosh out of him all at once. He suddenly couldn't remember breathing once over the past thirty seconds. He also became aware of the pain arcing from his abdomen to his chest, of the pins and needles in the soles of his feet. The air was still hot, but the cool spray of rainwater splashing off the sidewalk felt good on his face.

  The cool spray...

  He still had the door open. The mob was milling in front of Sarah Milligan's building, sending out stray calls – “Hey, why dontch'a come on back out?” “Have some fun with us, hon.” “This water sure is geee-ood.” – and he was still there standing like a jackass with the door cracked open.

  Jason began to ease the door shut. Now he was worried about drawing attention.

  Harrison, who'd also been watching the drama unfold, suddenly swore. Jason looked at him. Harrison took a massive step in his direction, arm stretched out...just as Jason turned back to the door and saw a flash of black metal swing through the tiny opening between the door and the jamb.

  It crunched into Jason's forehead, sending him reeling backward. He crashed against a shelf and slumped to the floor. Something wet trickled over his eyelid, and he blinked at it. It was hard to concentrate.

  Harrison had the shotgun in his hands...he seemed so tall now, the way he'd seemed when they were kids...Harrison had the shotgun and Jason watched him shove the barrel through the slit in the door. He saw a bright flash, but barely heard the gun go off. He saw Harrison pressing his back against the heavy stack of boxes...saw him straining against it...saw him shouting. But he couldn't hear the words.

  Just before Harrison got the boxes shifted back into place, Jason saw the man with the twisted lip peering in at him through the glass door, smiling.

  Chapter 14

  Harrison saw the man's face, too. He saw how it had been blistered and burned by the hot pepper vinegar he'd poured onto the group of marauders the previous day.

  He finally got the boxes wedged back against the door, then dropped beside Jason. His brother was bleeding heavily from a gash in his forehead, but the wound didn't seem to be deep. Harrison ran across the store, grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a pack of gauze, and ran back to his brother. Jason's eyes were half shut, the lids heavy.

  “Stay with me, Jason,” Harrison urged. He pressed a pad of gauze to Jason's brow to protect his eyes, then splashed some rubbing alcohol over the cut on his forehead. The alcohol cleared away the blood for a second, and then it began oozing thickly from the gash once more. Harrison pressed a square of gauze to the cut with his palm, and used the other hand to wrap a crazy strip of medical tape all the way around Jason's head, securing the gauze in place. The white pad was already turning pink with blood.

  “Come on, Jason....” Harrison said. Jason's eyes sank lower, and Harrison slapped him across the cheek. Jason's eye shot open.

  “You might have a concussion,” Harrison said, slowly but clearly. “Don't close your eyes.”

  He dug Jason's heart medication out of his chest pocket, twisted off the child-proof cap, and shook two pills into his palm. He stared at them. No. That couldn't be right. Leaving Jason, Harrison sprinted across the store and flipped the switch on his makeshift flashlight. It shone dimly, already losing power, but Harrison could clearly see two small round tablets in his hand.

  Aspirin.

  He grabbed the flashlight and sprinted back to Jason and poured the rest of the bottle out. Red, round tablets skittered across the floor.

  “Jason!” Harrison shook his brother. Jason's eyes were slits now. “You idiot! You stupid, stupid, idiot! Why didn't you tell me you were out? COME ON, WAKE UP!” Harrison shook Jason again, and his brother's eyes flitted open slightly.

  “I meant to...tell you,” Jason muttered. His head lolled to his shoulder. His eyes were glassy. “Didn't want...didn't...you worry.”

  “I could have got you more.” For the second time that night, Harrison was close to tears. All these years later, and he was still caring for his big brother like he was six years old again. “Stay with me, Jason...”

  A heavy knocking sound came from the ceiling. Almost simultaneously, something heavy crunched against the wooden sign across the front window. The entire building seemed to shake. Plaster snowed down over Harrison's head.

  “You screwed up, boys,” called a reedy voice from outside the store. “Before, we was hungry. That was bad. But now we're angry.” A chorus of spitfeul cheers sounded out. “Call the cops, smart guy. Huh, no answer? That's right. Ain't nobody out here that can stop us from coming in. This is our world.”

  Jason gasped. His eyes were rolled up in his head, his pupils barely showing. Harrison clenched his fists.

  “LEAVE US ALONE,” he screamed.

  He was answered by raucus laughs.

  “We'll leave your bodies alone, sure,” the reedy voice called again, “after we cut 'em up.”

  More laughter.

  Harrison stood up abruptly and grabbed the shotgun off the counter. It was an old Remington 870 pump-action that his grandfather had bought to keep behind the counter. Shaking, Harrison fed shells into it to replace the ones he'd already fired. He pumped it once, feeling the smooth slide of metal on metal work down through his arms. Then, he jammed another handful of shells into his pocket.

  Another thump shook the building, and Harrison saw brick dust flutter down from one of the bolts holding the sign over the window. They must have some kind of battering ram out there.

  He knew he couldn't go up through the roof hatch again. They'd be expecting that. He'd seen them go after Sarah Milligan. They were much more organized now than they had been the day before. He al
so couldn't go out the front door. They'd see him immediately and beat him to a pulp, leaving Jason defenseless. That left one option. He hoped they didn't know about it.

  Harrison slipped through the swinging door into the loading bay. He could smell the woman's corpse rotting already, sweetly pungeant in the nearly sealed room. The shotgun was sweaty in his palms. He quietly pulled up the levers that loosened the ratched straps Jason had installed earlier, then dug in his pocket for the key to the aluminum roll-up door that opened out of the storage bay. He'd just slip through the alley, line up his shots, and take them out one by one with the shotgun before they had a chance to react.

  He dug his keychain out and found the key. He knelt and held it to the padlock that locked the aluminum door to the floor...

  ...and something crashed at the front of the store, followed by the light tinkle of glass.

  Harrison whirled, standing as he turned, shotgun pressed against his shoulder. Someone yelled in triumph.

  They were inside the store.

  Jason!

  Harrison sprinted across the storage bay and burst through the swinging door. His flashlight was flickering, still on the floor beside Jason, revealing a stack of boxes sliding slowly away from the front door.

  Harrison crossed the store in two seconds flat, then came to an abrupt stop beside the counter and fired the shotgun. A hand that had been curled around the boxes erupted with blood, sending three fingers flying across the room. Someone screamed and what was left of the hand disappeared through the doorway.

  Harrison walked the last six steps to the door, shoved the shotgun barrel between the boxes and the now-open doorway, and pulled the trigger four more times, pumping the slide between each shot. Another person (or was it the same person?) screamed again, their cries cut abruptly short on the last round Harrison fired into the night.

  He stepped back, pulled more shells from his pocket, and began feeding them into the bottom of the shotgun.

  In the sudden silence, someone else lunged forward and pushed against the boxes in front of the door. Before Harrison could finish reloading, a man slipped in through the gap. Harrison pumped on reflex and pulled the trigger, putting a hole in the man's torso. He slumped to the floor, and another man started to push through after him, then retreated as soon as he saw Harrison level the shotgun in his direction.