Constant Danger (Book 1): Fight The Darkness

by Westfield, Ryan

She tried twisting away, but she couldn’t. The hand was strong.

  Her dad was twisting in his seat, trying to get away. Someone was at his window. Two strong, long arms were reaching for him.

  12

  James

  It had already been an hour, and they hadn’t moved forward more than a foot.

  More cars had come in behind them, making the question of turning around or backing up that much more of an impossibility.

  “I don’t get this,” said Matt, who was still occasionally retreating to his professorial voice and tones, and then returning to talking once again like a normal person. “Everyone’s cell phones are out? It’s not like just the service doesn’t work ... the devices themselves won’t turn on. And people have tried charging them, obviously, so...”

  “Just give it a rest, would you?” said James.

  “What? What’s the problem? I’m just trying to figure out what the hell’s going on.”

  “And you’re doing a hell of a job,” said James sarcastically. “We already know all the facts. Bill in front of us and Jennie behind us both don’t have cell phones that work.”

  “If you’re about to say that it’s too small a sample size to accurately represent the state or nation as a whole, remember that both parties have confirmed that all their acquaintances, coworkers, and family have phones that suffered the same unfortunate fate.”

  “Just talk normally, why don’t you?” said James. “I’m fed up with all that kind of talk.... you’re giving me a headache.”

  “It’s probably all the exhaust. Just think how much of this junk we’re breathing in.”

  “No more than normal,” said James. “And just ’cause you can see it doesn’t mean it’s any worse. It’s just the cold air...”

  “I know that, I’m a...”

  “You’re a what? You’re a professor, after all?” James wasn’t bothering any longer to hide the annoyance in his voice. He could barely believe he’d consented to have Matt along as a passenger all the way down to Pennsylvania.

  Matt started to respond, but the car horns, which had been sounding sporadically yet regularly for the better part of the hour, suddenly rose to a crescendo that was barely tolerable.

  “Shit!” shouted James, the anger and annoyance feeling like a physical sensation that he could barely stand. He slammed his palms against his ears. That wasn’t nearly enough and he tried plugging his ear canals with his fingers.

  “What the hell?” mouthed Matt angrily, his own hands on his ears.

  James knew it would solve nothing, but he had to actually fight against the urge to jam his foot against the accelerator and smash his truck into the car in front of him.

  It was a pointless, violent impulse, and he was angry with himself just for feeling this way. But that was what road rage was, wasn’t it?

  After several deafening minutes of nonstop blaring, it seemed that people once again became tired of holding their horns down and they, perhaps fighting against their own anger, relented.

  Now it was just the hum of many engines, but it sounded to James like silence.

  “We’re never going to get anywhere on this highway,” he said, eyeing the fuel gauge, which was only about a hair less than he remembered it being when they’d gotten on the on-ramp. “We’re just going to run out of fuel along with everyone else.”

  “How long do you think you can idle for?” said Matt, finally saying something useful for once.

  “Quite a while,” said James.

  “That’s the sort of thing I’d normally just look up on my phone. Kind of funny how reliant we are on them.”

  “Yeah. Real funny.”

  Silence in the truck. The engine idled.

  Nothing was happening. Stagnation. Frustration. Anger.

  It was affecting everyone, not just James and Matt.

  Through the window, James could hear two drivers having an argument. He rolled down his window, braving the freezing air to hear what they were saying.

  It wasn’t that he was merely interested in overhearing an argument. Rather, he was interested in gathering any sort of information he could. Anything he could overhear was at least something. After all, it felt unnatural and strange to sit there without so much as a radio signal, not knowing what in the world was happening beyond what they could see and hear themselves.

  But, unfortunately, the argument didn’t turn out to be very illuminating. No information was exchanged. No points of view expressed. Certainly there were no facts present. It was just more typical Western Mass aggression. Just more of the same.

  “Hey, buddy!” one guy was shouting, over and over again.

  “What? What do you want?”

  “Why don’t you move, huh?”

  “Why don’t you move, buddy?”

  “What’s it to you? I’m trying to move, but you’re in my way!”

  After this uninspiring dialogue, they began exchanging a variety of unoriginal insults. They kept it up, their voices growing angrier and louder. The insults grew worse. They began insulting the other party’s family members, who they undoubtedly didn’t know.

  Now other drivers were jointing in.

  “Shit,” muttered James. “They really know how to go at it up here, don’t they?”

  “It’s something of a regional pastime. Getting the other guy mad enough so that he throws the first punch.”

  “Why not just punch him outright?”

  “It’d take the fun right out of it.... you have a lot to learn if you’re going to stay up here.”

  “I doubt that’s going to happen,” muttered James. “Hell, I might just transfer somewhere a lot more pleasant. Especially after all this.”

  A car door slammed. It sounded like the noise came from behind them. James peered over, glancing in his rearview mirror. The night was thick with white headlights, making it difficult to see

  But somewhere between the lights, James could see a big figure emerging from a vehicle.

  “Looks like a big guy,” he muttered. “Kind of overweight, but can probably still fight.... I hope the other guy’s up to the task.”

  “You just described half the population here,” said Matt, peering over on his own side to try to get a look. “I think I see the other guy. No, wait, it’s just a shadow.”

  James shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. At first, it was nothing but headlights. But then he saw another car door open.

  But, to his surprise, no one stepped out.

  Then he realized what was happening.

  The big man he’d seen get out of the car was there, and he was pulling someone else out of another vehicle.

  This wasn’t a fight that two people were entering into willingly. This was a fight that the big guy was starting, forcing the other guy to enter the ring, so to speak.

  “At least we’ll get some entertainment,” muttered Matt, peering over at James’s mirror.

  “How can you say that? Someone’s about to get seriously hurt and you just think of entertainment?”

  “Dunno,” said his professor, peering far enough over to annoy James.

  James shoved him gently out of the way. “Get off me,” he said. “Aren’t you always going on and on in class about the detrimental effects of a culture that is so severely and sharply divided between work and entertainment?”

  “Eh, that’s just class,” said Matt, who had turned himself almost all the way around, trying to get a view through the back of the truck, which was difficult, considering the tint on the sliding rear window.

  “This isn’t good,” said James, watching as the big man pulled a much smaller man out of the vehicle.

  He could just see the shadowy outlines of the individuals.

  “This is going to be good,” said Matt. “That guy’s really going to get his ass handed to him.”

  “There’s something seriously wrong with you,” said James. “Remember how you were in the same situation earlier today?”

  “Eh, whatever. What’s the d
ifference?”

  “The difference? It’s like you’re two separate people in the same body.”

  “If you don’t like it, why don’t we just leave? You keep saying we’re not going to get anywhere. You’ve got this big truck, so why don’t you just do a little off-roading and get us on a road that isn’t so jam-packed with cars?”

  “How am I going to ‘off-road’ over that concrete wall over there?”

  “I dunno. You’re the one with the truck.”

  “For a professor, you’re really pretty dumb most of the time.”

  “At least I’m getting paid.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Money makes the world go round, kid. You’ve got a lot to learn.”

  The night outside the truck was anything but silent. There were various car horns blaring, as if they were trying to create an atmosphere for the fight.

  People jeered and shouted out their car windows.

  Suddenly, someone shone a flashlight on the pair.

  For the first time, the two became not just silhouettes but actual people.

  And, for the first time, James saw that one of them wasn’t a man at all, but a woman.

  The small “man,” was actually a woman.

  And the large man, who was just that, a man, was whaling on her, pummeling her with punches that she likely could barely withstand.

  “Whoa, did you see that? It’s a chick,” came Matt’s professional analysis of the situation.

  “Shit,” said James. “That’s not good.”

  “Isn’t anyone going to do anything? Isn’t someone going to intervene?”

  But as they watched, no one did.

  The hoots and jeers and howls just got louder and louder. The car horns just blared more. The huge man just kept beating on the small woman now. She was crying out in pain.

  What the hell was wrong with people?

  No one was going to intervene.

  James was going to have to do it himself.

  Seizing the flashlight once again from below the seat, he flung the truck door open.

  It seemed only a fraction of a second later he was marching toward the huge man, flashlight heavily in hand.

  James’s strides were long.

  There was anger in his chest.

  Anger at this man. Anger at the faceless crowds, hiding in their vehicles, unwilling to do anything.

  “You’ll think twice next time before...” the huge man was growling.

  James said nothing. He just swung the flashlight, having to angle it upward, since the man was much taller than he was.

  Hard.

  The metal connected with the man’s skull.

  And he went down.

  In almost any other situation, it would have been a dirty trick. It would have been unfair and certainly it was illegal.

  But given the circumstances, James felt it prudent. Necessary, even.

  The man went down like a brick, collapsing to the ground.

  “I’ve got to stop getting involved like this,” muttered James, dropping immediately to his knees to help the woman.

  She was moaning in pain.

  Her face was rough. Blood all over the place. Her mouth hung open, slack. Teeth were all out of place, sticking out at odd angles, slick blood covering them.

  The woman lay on her back, one arm in front of her, the arm that she’d been trying to protect herself with. Her other arm was behind her torso, against the ground, sticking out at an impossible angle. Clearly it was broken.

  “Don’t worry,” said James to the woman, looking her in the eyes.

  There was terror there. Terror and pain. It was too much, all that was apparent in just her gaze and James immediately felt the need to look away from her eyes, as if it would protect him from the pain she’d experienced.

  Not just pain. But humiliation. Embarrassment. Distress. Distress at knowing that there were those out there who would do nothing but try to hurt her.

  “It’s going to be okay,” repeated James. It was more as if he needed to hear the words. As if they were more for himself than her. After all, what good did words do in a situation like this? He knew she’d never be the same again. Neither physically nor emotionally.

  James was looking at her, searching her body, as if there would be something easy that he could start with. He needed something to latch onto, some task that he could complete that would help her. But the truth was that he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t an EMT and he knew almost nothing, unfortunately, about first aid.

  He frantically started searching through his memories, trying to find something that would somehow help.

  Was there bleeding that he could stop? No, it didn’t seem like it. Most of the blood was on her face and most of it seemed to come from her mouth. How could he stop bleeding in her mouth?

  Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind.

  A hard grip.

  A strong hand.

  “What the hell did you do to her, you bastard?” came someone’s gruff voice.

  James was forcefully spun around by strong hands.

  “I didn’t...” he began to say.

  But the punch to his face prevented him from saying any more.

  Whoever it was, they’d already made up their mind that James was the guilty party.

  And now he had no way to protest.

  13

  Tom

  Tom came to in the darkness. He was shaking violently from the cold. It felt like he’d woken up in an industrial freezer.

  He’d never been this cold in his life. In fact, he was so cold that he couldn’t feel much of his body.

  And what he could feel hurt like hell.

  He’d never been in this much pain either.

  He had the absolute worst headache of his life. It was probably fifty times worse than any pain he’d ever felt.

  The only thing that helped him get himself off the ground, and the only thing that helped him fight through the pain, was the anger.

  He felt it like he’d never felt it before.

  And he’d felt some strong anger before.

  But now it was even worse.

  He didn’t remember who had done this to him. He didn’t remember why they’d done it to him. But it didn’t matter. What mattered to Tom was that someone had to pay. And he didn’t even care who.

  He was going to get even with someone.

  Tom looked around, his body swaying as he tried to keep himself upright. His mind was intensely cloudy. Something had happened to his head and it had affected his thinking and perception. But he was only vaguely aware of that fact.

  There was something wrong with his vision. Something strange going on. Everything looked blurry, as if he were looking through a piece of fogged glass.

  The darkness didn’t help his vision.

  What was that over there?

  “Someone crashed a car,” he muttered, his words coming out strangely slurred. “Some idiot couldn’t drive.”

  And with that, he turned on his heel and began marching the other way.

  He walked swiftly. It helped the cold. And, more importantly, he was anxious to find someone that he could make pay for whatever it was that had happened to him.

  The road was so dark that he stumbled many times, and fell on several of those occasions.

  He fell flat on his face, tasting more blood, but the pain didn’t faze him. The pain was already so intense that what did it matter if he found himself feeling a little bit worse?

  He didn’t care. He just didn’t care.

  “I can take it,” he muttered to himself. “I can take whatever they throw at me ...but this damn world ... these pieces of ... I’m going to get them ... I’m going to make them pay.”

  He was slurring so badly, his mouth so full of blood and broken teeth, that he didn’t even understand what it was he was saying. But it felt good to say the words. It felt good to let them roll off his tongue, no matter how much blood he swallowed and spat ou
t.

  Tom didn’t know for how long he walked, and it seemed that the more he walked, the more confused he became.

  But with each step, without fail, his anger grew.

  It grew to the point where he wasn’t even the same man that he’d been earlier in the day. Maybe the anger was exacerbated by brain damage, or maybe it was exacerbated by pain. Or maybe it was just something that had been lying dormant for too long. Those little outbursts he’d had now and again, they were just that: little. This was the real outburst. This was the big one.

  Headlights in the oncoming lane blinded him momentarily.

  Tom didn’t shield his eyes. Instead, he gritted his remaining teeth and made tight fists with both hands.

  If they came at him, he was ready.

  His whole perception of the world seemed to hinge on fighting and only fighting. The possibility of fighting and destroying was all that he could conceive of. There was nothing else in his mind.

  The headlights slowed down. The vehicle was slowing to a stop.

  Gradually, Tom’s eyes were beginning to adjust.

  “Hey, buddy, everything okay?”

  It was a man’s voice.

  A man’s voice that he didn’t recognize.

  “What’s it to you?” growled Tom.

  He was ready.

  His heart was pumping fast.

  His fists clenched tighter.

  “You don’t sound so good ... do you need help? It’s too cold to be out here like this.... what happened to your head?”

  It was almost unthinkable in Western Mass, where people generally either minded their own business or adapted an outright hostile attitude to strangers, but the car slowed to a complete stop, the door opened, and the driver got out.

  The driver began approaching Tom, who stood still, quaking with rage, rage that he’d direct at anyone and everyone.

  “Whoa there, buddy, you’re not looking so good there.... I think you might have been in an accident.... hey there, buddy. Why don’t we get you to a hospital.... I can take you there.”

  The man was talking to Tom as if he were a runaway cat that he was trying to coax back into its basket.

  The stranger was demonstrating kindness and compassion. He was acting ethically. He was trying to help someone he didn’t even know. He must have been from out of state.