by Stuart Keane
"Rule number five? Anyone care to tell me?"
"Never hesitate," the four men chanted in unison.
"Again," Xander asked.
"Never hesitate," they repeated, the words a fraction louder.
"Once more for posterity," Xander chimed.
"Never hesitate."
"Good. Alice, drive. Let it be known, men, that we lost three people today because they failed to grasp the basic concept of the fifth rule. I will not tolerate failure. They paid for it with their lives. Are we clear on that?"
"Yes, sir," the men chanted.
"Good."
Alice pulled onto the road, tension visible in her forearms. She steered the vehicle slowly, trying to remain calm. "Where are we going?"
Xander grinned. "We're going to do a spot of hunting."
*****
Emma emerged from the kitchen, her rucksack heavy on her spine. She moved to the counter and paused, using it for cover. The street outside the window was abandoned and empty. The shops opposite were dark and void of activity, their doors and windows untouched by any means of violence. No looters, no people, and no signs of life.
She shivered and dropped onto her knees. It's so eerie.
What happened to this town?
Where is everyone?
I need to get out of here.
I could go to Mother's. She lives in the middle of nowhere.
It would be safe.
I hope.
Emma put her plan into action. She moved across the shop and opened the door. She paused, took one more look at her store, smiled, and slipped out into the street. The door closed silently behind her. She locked it, to be safe. After a moment, she sidled down the street, and headed for Barrington Park. She turned left into a side street and crossed the road, her feet resonating on the warm concrete beneath her. A series of stores passed her by, a blur in her peripheral vision.
Not far to go.
Once I'm in the car, no one can stop me.
No one. The perfect way to describe this … bizarre event.
Emma emerged onto Fir Road and continued towards the park. Barrington Mall stood proud in the distance. She noticed the grand white entrance, the wide façade that welcomed thousands of people a day, a series of dark figures standing by its gaping double doors, the empty parking garage beside it.
Wait, what?
Dark figures?
Emma paused and pressed against a cool brick wall. Squinting, she studied the figures. She counted seventeen in total, all similar in appearance. There was something off about them, their crippled posture, their unusual complexion, but from this distance, it was uncertain. They seemed to be standing in formation, a staggered line, like a series of sentries on duty. They blocked access to the mall itself.
She groaned.
Shit.
Retracing her steps, she moved back towards her shop. "Shit, shit, shit," she whispered under her breath. She found her street once more and looked up.
A van was heading towards her.
Emma ran back into the side street and dived to the ground, landing in a pile of black rubbish bags. They exploded with a deep sigh, spilling debris and rotten food all over her. She rolled over them and into cover behind a row of Sulo bins just as the van whizzed by. She sighed.
I hope they didn’t see me.
Who is they?
It doesn’t matter. This place is messed up.
I need to do this alone.
The squeal of tyres pricked at her ears. Standing up, she made her way to the edge of the side street and peered out. The van had come to a stop in the middle of the road. The smell of burnt rubber lingered, tickling her senses. The stench was pungent.
Three men stepped out of the van, all brandishing firearms. Emma held her mouth, resisting the urge to gasp. Her stomach started doing somersaults. Her eyes scanned to the left, the destination of the men, and discovered something else.
Another man and a woman, standing in front of the armed men, as if they were the designated leaders. Neither held a weapon, but both exuded a level of power.
And …she noticed something else.
Someone else.
"Fuck," Emma whispered to herself.
*****
The silence in the van was palpable. Goodright gazed through the dusty windscreen, and watched as the roads passed by, her mind numb. The view was familiar—battered asphalt and beautiful foliage and abandoned cars, for as far as the eye could see. Barrington had once been a quaint village, but it had grown and developed steadily over the past twenty or so years and been named a town in the process. It was easy to see why. Even now, the roads seemed endless, a regular feeling for anyone trying to navigate their way out.
Until she realised.
She looked at Harrison. "We're back in town?"
"Yes," he uttered, his eyes on the road. "We need those weapons."
Goodright shuffled in her seat. "We agreed not to overload ourselves."
"Yes, but that was before. Things have changed."
"How?"
"We have a casualty. We've lost people. We're leaving town and never coming back. Getting those weapons—this is our only chance. We might not have another elsewhere, and you only have the one key. We owe it to ourselves."
Goodright paused.
He was right. To ignore firearms, especially ones that were obtainable without conflict, was a huge mistake. She frowned. "Fine, but make it quick. Who knows how many of those things are out there."
"Naomi?" Morgan chimed.
"Yes?"
"She's awake."
Goodright leaned through the gap in the chairs and glanced down. The injured woman was staring at her, her eyes glazed over. Goodright studied her injuries, imagined her fall from … wherever, and winced at the thought of it. The fallen woman looked at her, her eyes focusing. "Where … who are you?"
She smiled. "Sergeant Goodright, ma'am. I'm with the Barrington Police.”
Her bright green eyes scanned the strange people before her. Her throat bounced as she swallowed and coughed. "This is Bruce and Morgan," Goodright continued. "And my colleague, Sergeant Harrison."
Harrison smiled. "Sergeant, eh? That’s a hell of a step up."
Goodright nodded. "Fuck it," she said. "Who's to know? In this profession, it's how you hold yourself, and you've done extremely well. We're all alive because of you."
Harrison smiled, said nothing.
Goodright turned back to the woman. "You landed on our van." She pointed to the dent above. "See?"
The woman smiled. "I … I survived?"
"Yes. However, we're not sure how. Did you jump from a rooftop?"
She nodded. "I was … shit." She sat up and winced, her eyes flickering in their sockets. "I was being chased by one of my patients … he was … I discovered he was a…" She glanced at Morgan and Bruce, noted their youthful appearances. She changed tack. "He was a bad man."
"One of your patients?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, I'm Dr. Melanie Bartram, psychotherapist."
"A shrink, eh?" Morgan asked.
Despite her hatred of the word, Melanie nodded. "You could say that."
"Why jump off the roof?"
"I had no other alternative," she chided. "Sounds harsh, right? When jumping off a building is the best available option."
"A little bit," Goodright uttered. "Well, we're glad you're alive. Do you want something to drink?"
"Water, if you have it."
Bruce handed her a bottle. Melanie smiled. "Thank you."
"What happened to your patient? Is he still out there?"
"No. He got attacked by … these things." She held off on the gory details.
Goodright nodded.
Melanie sipped her water. "You've seen them?"
Again, Goodright nodded. "In the flesh. Horrible things. We're on our way out of town."
"What are they?"
"Something created by Dr. Nichols."
"Nichols. The man in the house on the hill?"<
br />
"The very same."
"Impossible," Bartram concluded. "Well … if I hadn't seen them for myself. I thought the rumours and stories of his experiments were urban legends, not to mention exaggerated. Guess I was wrong."
"I was there when it happened … when the outbreak started. Trust me, impossible doesn’t even describe the carnage and chaos I've seen. This is very real."
Melanie sipped her water again.
"But, you're safe now. We'll get you fixed—"
"Goodright. Up front. Now."
Goodright held a finger up. "Excuse me." She shuffled around. "What?"
Harrison dipped his chin, indicating to the street. Goodright peered through the windscreen.
And saw the large blue van blocking the road.
The armed men standing by it, with two people before them. One was a young looking lad in smart attire, the other a woman showing the strains of a rigorous life. Neither were armed, but showed a level of competence. They were clearly in charge.
"What is this?" Goodright whispered.
"I don't know. Not good, though, I would guess."
"Out of the van," the man demanded, his voice dampened by the windscreen.
Neither Goodright nor Harrison moved. Bruce's head appeared in the gap between them. His eyes widened when he noticed the blockade in the road. "What the hell?"
"Get in back, Bruce," Goodright demanded, winding down her window.
He didn’t need telling twice.
"Get out of the van. Now. I won't tell you again," the man threatened.
"How do you want to do this?" Harrison whispered.
"You go. I can take them out from here. I just need a distraction."
"You think they're going to rob us?"
"No."
"Worse?" Harrison queried.
Goodright nodded. "We're the law, but there's no law in this society, not anymore."
Harrison groaned. "I'll be right back, I guess."
He opened the door and slipped out into the street. Goodright levelled her rifle onto her lap, out of sight of the people on the street.
*****
Emma rubbed her face.
Mr Harrison.
She watched as her friend emerged from his vehicle, his hands high in the air. Tucking herself behind the lip of the wall, she watched with a curious eye. Rifling through her rucksack, she retrieved a kitchen knife.
Who are these guys?
What gives them the right?
Whoever they are, I'm ready to help him.
SIXTEEN
"Guys, I'm Sean Harrison with the Barrington Police. I'd advise that you put your weapons down and leave while you still can. No one needs to get hurt here." He placed his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers. A signal to Goodright.
The lead man stepped forward. "Hello, Sean, my name is Xander."
"You need to stand down, Xander."
"I don’t need to do anything, and no one tells me what to do."
"You're aiming live weapons at members of the Barrington Police. That's an offence in itself. Considering the circumstances of the day, I'll let it slide. But, please, don’t make it any worse."
Xander grinned. "You think I care about your rules and regulations. After all, the police are nothing but a corrupt organisation at the best of times. Why should I obey you when my life mission holds a higher credence?"
Harrison averted his gaze to the woman beside Xander. Her eyes were looking at him, brimming with regret and anger. Her small frame shivered. Her folded arms and negative body language told him everything. "Is this woman a prisoner of yours?" Harrison asked.
"I don’t have prisoners, I have followers."
"So you're the leader here?"
Xander nodded. "Obviously."
"And these people are what … your minions?"
"My followers."
"Followers. Sounds like a cult, to be fair."
Xander chuckled. "Call it what you want, Sean, I expect nothing from the filthy masses of this town, people whose brains are riddled with disgusting cliché and sheep-minded apathy. It doesn’t change the fact that we're taking over. Barrington is ours."
"I can't let you do that."
"Oh really?" Xander mocked. "We outnumber you."
"I doubt that," Harrison uttered. "We're trained and armed. You look like a bunch of scouts on a hunting trip. I bet your daddy bought you those weapons. Am I right?"
"My daddy?" Xander spat, his eyes widening.
"Yeah, you have this … uppity bullshit persona; one that you think puts you above the rest of us. That can only come from complete delusion or money. To be fair, it could be both at this precise moment."
Xander said nothing.
"Now. Let us go."
Xander nodded. "As you wish." He flicked his hand into the air. The men behind him lowered their weapons.
Alice pulled a Beretta and fired.
The bullet shredded Harrison's leg below the knee. Ripped flesh and torn trouser leg flapped into the air. He yelped and collapsed to the asphalt with a gritty thud, his hands releasing from behind his head. Pain began to stab at his brain.
"Not bad for a scout, huh?" Xander chimed. "Alice is a mighty fine shot. It's one of her … better qualities." Alice smiled and handed the weapon to Xander.
A gunshot cracked on the air. A head exploded behind him, and one of Xander's men collapsed to the ground with a bloody hole in his face. A second shot fired and a second man died, his body smashing against the side of the van with a loud crash. Xander glanced around and aimed the pistol at Harrison. "Stop. Now."
Goodright slipped back through the passenger window and lowered her rifle.
Xander smiled. "I do love a woman who can shoot."
She said nothing.
Xander poked the pistol into Harrison's forehead. "Out. All of you. Or I shoot this fuck in the face. And trust me, I will not miss."
Goodright placed the rifle on the seat and exited the vehicle. She emerged alone and walked towards them. She didn’t raise her arms.
"And the rest of you."
"No," Goodright said. "They have nothing to do with this."
"You continue to defy me. You either have balls of steel or stupidity up to those beautiful eyes of yours."
Goodright held her ground. "They aren't armed. They're innocent people, survivors of this chaos, and one is injured."
"I don’t give a shit. As far as I am concerned, you belong to me now. You and the van, and anything inside it. It's that or death, and I like to think you prefer to avoid the latter. I could do with some more followers since you just ran ragged on my men."
"We'll never join you," Goodright uttered.
"Then you die." He cocked the pistol and pushed it against Harrison's skull.
Goodright bit her lip and hissed through her teeth. "Fine. You want us to join you. We'll follow you, in the van. Standing out here on the street, exposed, is helping no one."
Xander raised the pistol upwards. "That's not going to happen. As your friend so rightly insinuated, my daddy has a lot of money. He paid for these weapons and that van, but he also paid for the best education money can buy. I know what you're up to. Next time you try to prove me stupid, think again, okay?"
Goodright said nothing.
Xander turned to his one remaining man. "Tim, go get the rest of them. Be gentle with the injured one, we don’t know their skill set yet. If they're seriously hurt, leave them in the van for now and drive it home." He turned to Goodright. "No skills, and they die. We can't be hindered by a sack of useless shit."
Goodright stared at him, saying nothing. Xander glanced at her and smiled. "A woman of few words. Just how it should be."
Xander struck her across the face, knocking Goodright to her knees. Her cheek exploded with fire and pain. A small yelp escaped her lips. Xander stepped back. "Two of Barrington's finest … reduced to nothing by a young boy with a hefty inheritance. What a headline. It's almost shameful."
Alice smile
d. Tim walked towards the van, his eyes lowered to the ground.
Xander circled the two police officers, his feet loud on the asphalt. "Let me tell you something about me, and I want you to explain this to your comrades when we get home." He glanced up and looked around, nodding to Alice. "I'm a guy who was perceived as something I was not. Through school, through college, I was the kid with more money than sense. People latched onto me and benefitted from my wealth and generosity, but would return home and badmouth me behind my back, share their stories. I had friends, or so I thought, friends who turned a blind eye to me when something better came along. Money only talks for so long."
Harrison groaned, clutching his shattered leg. Blood seeped through his fingers. His forehead glistened with perspiration. Goodright placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, but Xander kicked it away. "No. He'll have help in due course. We have a great doctor in our group. He'll be okay."
"We need to go. Now."
"We'll go when I'm ready. I'm aware of the imminent threat, the creatures that hide until beckoned or persuaded. Now, where was I? Oh yes. So, I had 'friends'," he said, air quoting the final word. "People I relied on. Then, one day, my father died in a brutal car crash. The only man in my world that mattered. His money ended up with me, as per his will, but my friends saw it the other way around. They thought the money would disappear with my father's legacy, and with his death, so did they. I grieved for my father alone. His funeral was one of sadness. No friends showed their faces at my time of need, only colleagues of his, people listed on the will, leeching cunts who wanted my dad's millions and went away with nothing. That day was an eye opener, I'll tell you."
Goodright sighed. "Really? Daddy issues? That gives you the right to be like this?"
Xander smiled. "Yes. I tried to be nice and it didn’t work. Lesson learned. However, I found that fear, and being a contemptible arsehole, worked wonders. I took over his business straight out of school. People, his colleagues from the funeral, started to respect me, and strangers followed my every command without hindrance. No one took advantage of me from that day forward."
Goodright nodded. "So you tossed your money around and hired a private army."
"Yes. Those people who meant something on a professional level. I recruited my doctor, my vet, my dentist, my bodyguards, people who would become useful. I traded their lives for my crusade; they will survive as long as they serve me." He chuckled. "My, my, it seems I'm saying that a lot today. My life story is never boring. People are so nosy."
