by Ray Wench
“Stop!” the woman on the bottom shouted, but she also seemed to be laughing.
“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” the man said.
He pushed his face toward the woman’s body. She dropped the dress over the man’s head and squealed. The laughter grew louder. Some of the men turned to look.
“Don’t do it, Becca. Don’t do it,” Bobby whispered, as he hurried to find a good shooting spot.
Becca rose from behind the squatting woman. She was in full view of everyone except the threesome.
Shit!
Bobby swung back to the men. They had yet to understand what they were seeing, but they were no longer target shooting. After his first shot, they would know where he was. He had to shoot fast. That would increase his chances of missing. He took a deep breath and lined up his first shot.
Three
Becca crept closer. Once the bitch who was wearing her dress – her favorite dress – squatted her nasty body down and covered the man and woman’s faces, she moved.
She pushed the laughing and body slapping and gurgling sounds from her mind and concentrated on her target. She would take the man first and then take care of the bitch in the dress. The woman had ruined it already by putting it on her skanky body.
Becca rose behind the woman, knife held high. She plunged the knife into the man’s back. His legs and head arced upward, his scream muffled. Becca repeated the process, cutting his pain short.
The woman on top started to scream. Becca backhanded her across the face, knocking her backward off the other woman and sent her rolling down the ditch. Damn, I wanted to cut her. Becca pulled out her gun, and as the other woman pushed clear of the man’s body, she brought the gun down on her head twice. The woman ceased to move.
Becca moved toward the car. Bullets whizzed around her as she refocused on her surroundings. Another shot rang out, and for the moment no more shots came her way. Bobby. She bolted for the car where the remaining two women huddled.
Bobby found the man shooting at Becca, sighted, and fired. The first man dropped. The other men became instant motion. Some ducked, two ran, and one stood there shooting at Becca. The two running fired in Bobby’s direction. The bullets were closer than he would have liked, but with one of them taking shots at his sister, he couldn’t move or take cover. He aimed and fired again. The shooter went down.
Bobby moved, wanting to stay away from the car. He wanted to keep some distance so they weren’t trapped in the same area. Ducking, he ran back then to the left. Twenty feet later, he stopped and sighted through the rifle’s scope. Several seconds later he acquired another target. One man ran toward the car, keeping low, an immediate threat to Becca.
He made some adjustments to account for the moving target, thankful for the training his father had given him years before when deer hunting. Bobby released his breath and squeezed the trigger. The man pitched sideways, but the way he fell led Bobby to believe he had either missed or only wounded him. He couldn’t dwell on it, he searched for another target.
Becca ducked behind the car. She waited while she caught her breath from the dash. For one instant she worried about confronting the two women, but then she remembered she wouldn’t be there at all if they hadn’t crashed into Bobby and her and stole their things. Anger reared up again and she moved. The two women huddled together, covering each other. Becca crawled to them.
“Hey, you stupid bitches, where’s my stuff?”
The women jumped and let out screams, clutching at each other for support.
Becca pushed the gun into the taller of the frightened women. Her eyes rolled up and she fainted. Becca turned to the shorter woman. “I need an answer.”
“We didn’t know it was important stuff. Honest.”
Becca felt a chill. Her stomach did a flip, threatening a revolt. Her voice hardened. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“The men took the boxes. They said something about using them to start a fire.” She ducked and covered her head. “Please, don’t shoot me.”
“Fire!” Panic set in. The bile rose. She lowered the gun as the first retch hit. “No!” Becca took rapid quick breaths then allowed the anger to take over. That quick her stomach settled. She reached up and opened the rear door. The back seat was empty save for a few loose clothes. Becca slapped the woman, grabbed her hair, and yanked her head up. She let out a scream.
“Where is it?” Becca moved within inches of the woman’s face.
“I-I don’t know,” she cried. “They took everything with them.”
Becca was a second from banging the woman’s head against the car when a noise drew her attention. Someone was on the other side of the car. She doubted Bobby would be there. He would know enough to keep his distance to avoid having two targets in the same place.
A quick flick of the woman’s eyes looking past Becca told her a lot. She jumped past the woman, turned, and fired. Repeated shots exploded from both directions. The woman let out several screams, and then the firing stopped. Becca was sure she’d hit the man, but couldn’t tell how bad. The woman lay in a bloody heap in front of her.
Becca backed to the front of the car while watching near the trunk. She risked a peek around the front bumper. It was clear. She hugged the bumper and looked in both directions. Nothing moved. Everything had gone still.
Four
Bobby moved. He was afraid to lose sight of his sister, especially now that shots had been fired from her area, but to stay in one spot would allow his opponents to pin him down and flank his position.
He crawled faster than intended, farther to his left until he came to a tree. Shots had been fired near the car. Bobby had to find Becca. Staying prone, he scanned the car through the scope. No air escaped his lungs until he found her. Nothing. Anxiety built. Bobby swung the rifle toward the other side of the car. He almost jumped to his feet as she came into view. Becca was at the front bumper. Her gun was pointed down the driver’s side, but her face and knife were facing the other way.
Bobby let the crosshairs play down the length of the car. Maybe he could take the threat away from Becca. Movement off to the side made his heart jump. He swung toward it. One of the women ran away for cover. By the time he had moved back to Becca, Bobby had almost missed the action.
Men popped out from both sides of the car, trying to catch Becca in their crossfire. Becca’s gun bucked in her hand. The bullet flew wild. She dived to the ground facing the passenger side. Bobby watched as she stretched her body to see around the tire.
Bobby fired in haste and missed. The man at the rear bumper flinched and ducked. Where was the second man?
In a panic, Bobby moved his sights. The second shooter peeked around the front bumper. He was behind Becca. Bobby shifted the rifle, sighted, then a bullet struck the tree inches from his face. His chest tightened: he was too late. Without taking aim, he fired a hasty shot hoping to distract the shooter. The bullet pinged off the hood two feet in front of the gunman, but had the desired effect. He shrugged downward, ducking any further shots, his own shot forgotten.
Bobby took the chance to line up a better shot. The shooter at the rear of the car exchanged shots with Becca. To his left, someone was running, perhaps looking for a better angle from which to shoot Bobby. To protect Becca, Bobby pushed the danger aside. As the gunman behind Becca lined up a shot, Bobby pulled the trigger. The shot was not fatal. Bobby had little to target. The impact threw the would-be assassin forward. He hung over the fender.
More shots drew Bobby’s attention. Becca was on the ground firing. Using both hands now, she pulled the trigger in a steady cadence, one after the other, until the second shooter fell back on his butt. He looked from his bloody hands to Becca. Seconds later, his face erupted as Becca’s next shot tore through it.
More movement to his left forced Bobby to focus his attention there, Becca safe for the moment. He snapped the rifle in that direction. Running figures headed away from the battle. Bobby let them go. He would not kill if there was no
threat. This new, more violent, world had not corrupted him that badly, yet. Besides, so few people were left in the world now, how many more had to die before they neared extinction?
Becca crawled around the car, but Bobby stayed on vigil in case another threat appeared. He waited until Becca called to him.
“Bobby. I need your help here. They’re all gone. Give me a hand, would ya?”
Bobby waited a few more minutes to make sure her calls hadn’t attracted a hidden assassin. In a crouch, he made his way to the car.
“Most of it’s still here, but those bastards scattered a bunch.” Becca gathered the spilled family mementos and replaced them in the boxes. Then she found the smoldering remains of the fire. Small whimpers came from her as she clawed at the ashes. “Aw, no!” Becca wailed. “No! No! No! No!” Becca wrapped her arms around her torso and cried.
Bobby’s heart ached, but for his sister’s agony, not the loss of the pictures. His eyes moistened. How much more could his sister endure? Using a sleeve he wiped his eyes.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me collect the rest of it.”
Once more, he worried about his sister’s state of mind. “Becca,” he said, his voice soft, “we need to go before others arrive.”
“I’m not leaving these things here. If you help me, we can get away faster.”
Bobby scanned the area through the scope to make sure no one was lurking, waiting for them to let their guard down. He squatted next to his sister. “Becca. Becca!”
She finally looked up. A brief flicker of red ignited her eyes. Bobby flinched. The devil? He let out a breath. Only a reflection of the setting sun behind him.
“You keep gathering whatever you want to take with us. I’m going to see if I can get the truck started.”
Her smile was suddenly angelic. “Okay.” She dropped her head and continued crawling around, picking up her belongings.
Bobby prayed they would find his parents alive. He feared for Becca’s sanity if they were … not.
He walked to the truck.
Five
No one else arrived to take shots at them. Becca collected the majority of her precious things. The rest they found in the fire pit, blackened corners of photos and ash all that remained. The keys were still in the truck’s ignition. They packed up the truck, gathered whatever weapons and ammunition they could from their attackers, and drove off without headlights, away from the ambush site.
Darkness had fallen by the time they left. Driving on the unlit country roads was difficult. Unable to see for any distance, the driving was slow.
Less than an hour later, Bobby pulled into a long driveway that wound through trees. He stopped in front of a large house that appeared deserted. He got out, checked the area, and decided to stop there for the night.
“Let’s get some sleep. If we don’t have any more delays, we should be there early tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Becca’s voice was that of a child. She crawled through the seats and spread out in the extend-a-cab back seat. She had brought a pillow from her dorm. One side was smudged with grass stains now. She fluffed it a few times, snuggled her head into it and said, “Goodnight, Bobby. I love you.”
“Goodnight, Sis. Love you, too.”
Bobby lifted his legs and stretched them across the front seat. He replaced the missing bullets and slid the magazine back in place. He set the rifle, stock first, on the floor so it stood next to him. He placed his handgun on the dashboard. Sleep for him was not in the plans. Bobby could not shut his mind off. Too many thoughts. So much had happened in such a short time.
He let out a deep breath and allowed the now familiar pictures to play past his eyes like some bizarre drive-in movie theater. For Bobby, sleep wouldn’t come until the movie ran out. Each day created a new chapter. It had become a nightly routine, a pre-sleep nightmare. Bobby kept the movie playing in his head. Maybe somewhere in there were answers to their current situation.
Less than a month ago people started dying. With no explanation and no help, the local population dropped in massive numbers. Panic spread as answers never came from those in positions of power. The survivors went crazy. Looting and violence took over as people struggled to survive, the battle for food and water fiercer than the oil wars ever were; the cities to be avoided unless desperate.
Before the TV stations shut down, reports spoke of possible terrorist action involving some deadly virus. Flu-like symptoms occurred first, followed by painful cramping and vomiting. Within two to five days, the victim would succumb. Whatever happened the powers-that-be were caught unprepared with no way of stopping the germ’s progress. The disease struck too swiftly. Health care providers were overwhelmed and not immune to the virus’s effects. With their numbers dwindling, no one was left to treat the patients or do the research needed to combat the disease.
Bobby had been a second-year architecture student at the University of Cincinnati. Becca was a senior in the musical theater department at Ohio Northern. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She had been such a snobbish priss.
Talented, Becca might have had a career in the theater or movies. Now she was a hard-assed killer with a confused, embattled mind. She looked nothing like his sister anymore. Again Bobby prayed his parents were still alive. He feared she would be lost forever if they finished their journey only to find they had died.
With the world around him crumbling and becoming more deadly, Bobby had left Cincinnati in hopes of finding Becca. Why did some die and others were spared? If genes played a part, maybe Becca was alive.
The trip that normally would take an hour and a half at best had taken three days. The highways were clogged with crashed and stalled vehicles. People had tried to flee the city. Many perished along the way, their bodies still behind the wheels of the wall of cars.
Several times, Bobby had left his current ride and hiked to the front of the traffic jam to find another. He dragged the bodies to the side of the road, said a silent prayer over them, and drove off.
Twice along the way, he had been attacked. The first had been only ten miles from the city when he had just cleared a massive traffic jam.
The stench of the bodies was enough to make him walk a wide berth from the road until he reached the front. He hopped in a newer Cadillac and was still in rearview mirror sight of the cars when a man stepped out from behind a metal guardrail and waved him down.
“Hey, Bud, am I glad to see you. How ‘bout giving a fellow survivor a ride?”
The man wore a big smile and a baggy shirt that covered the gun behind his back. Relieved at first to see another live person, something in the man’s demeanor set off Bobby’s internal alarms. Confusion slowed his reactions. Before Bobby could answer, movement from the opposite side of the road caught his eye.
Two more men, guns in hand, emerged from the drainage ditch and ran to the car. The passenger side door was already being opened by the time he moved. A fist seemed to grip his heart and squeeze. Turning back he caught a glimpse of a gun moving toward his head. Without freezing in panic, he floored the accelerator, throwing the man off balance. The shot that would have ended his life blew through the roof. The man tried to hold onto the door, but as the heavy Cadillac lurched forward, he was dragged a few feet before falling along the roadside.
The other two men opened fire and drilled numerous holes in the car’s frame. Unfortunately, several had a fatal effect. Less than a mile farther the car slowed, sputtered, and died. Bobby leaped out of the driver’s seat in a flash. He grabbed the backpack he had brought with him, keenly aware that the men were giving pursuit. He slipped his hand inside, wrapped it around the revolver that only held six rounds, and pulled it free.
Hesitating a few seconds, he wondered whether he should he use the car for cover and try to pick off his assailants. He wasn’t sure he could kill another person. Perhaps if he fired a few warning shots, they would see he was armed and would back away. In the end, as they drew nearer, he turned and fled.
T
wo of the men continued the chase. The only things he had in his pack were some clothes, a few bags of snack foods, and several bottles of water. The monetary system had changed. Food and water were the new currency.
Bobby considered shrugging out of the backpack and letting them have it. The granola bars and water bottles weren’t enough to die for. Inner anger triggered within him. A snarl grew deep inside and rose to his throat. They would have to kill him to take what was his.
Now he was willing to kill to keep what was his.
As he passed a short bridge over a small creek, Bobby ducked behind the far cement guardrail. Trying to force his breathing under control, he placed his hand on the rail for support and leveled the gun at the oncoming men. They were either unaware he held a gun or didn’t care, because they kept coming.
The distance grew shorter and the men screamed like attacking barbarian warriors from long ago. Bobby had to let them get closer for the handgun to be effective. The seconds dragged. As the men advanced, they began shooting. Even with bullets flying around him, Bobby still hesitated. These were living men. But when a bullet threw stone chips between his feet, Bobby pulled the trigger.
His first two shots missed. He had snapped them off too quickly, panicked by the shots landing around him. He hesitated, fear mounting, allowing the men to get within twenty feet, before exhaling slowly and squeezing off his next two rounds. The man on the right stood straight up with a jerk as if he had run face-first into an invisible barrier. He took two more steps before falling over.
The second man screamed again and leveled his gun, now only ten feet from Bobby. Bobby fired his last two shots. The man kept running, hitting the cement rail inches from Bobby. The man flipped over to the bank below.
Bobby couldn’t move. The hammering in his chest made him think he had been shot – it became difficult to breathe. A full minute later, his breaths were not as ragged or pained. He chanced a body scan. He was unharmed. He sat on the railing, sweat pouring down his face, and tried to recover from the fear. He slapped his hands to his face. He should be overwhelmed with emotion, having just taken two human lives, but no tears came. The two men were no longer human. They had attacked like living zombies. Bobby was now living in a war zone. Kill or be killed was the new law.
