Randy squatted down in the hallway, shoulders slumped. He stared at Ally’s corpse, noting the bruises on her arms, though he couldn’t bring himself to look at her head again.
Ally had probably been eating and reading on the couch when the murderer broke in. She’d thrown off her covers and stood, lifting her left arm to defend herself against the bat swinging for her head. She’d retreated to her bedroom and tried to slam the door shut, only to have the murderer strike a blow that knocked her onto her back. From there, he’d finished the brutal job.
Rage swelled inside Randy. The last minutes of Ally’s life must have been terrifying. Randy had always thought Ally was a bit of an airhead, though she’d had a good heart. No one deserved to die the way she died.
But how had they known Ally was home? Had it been someone randomly raiding homes? It was possible.
After fifteen minutes, Jenny’s crying died down to a sniffle, and Randy stood.
“Come on,” Randy said, reaching out to his sister. She took his hand, and Randy pulled her to her feet. “I’ll take you back to the house,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything today. I’ll tell Sheriff Stans—”
“No way,” Jenny said, pushing him away. Her eyes were red-rimmed and angry as she glared at him, and a trail of snot leaked from her nose. “I will not sit in the house while you’re out risking yourself.”
Randy didn’t want to argue with her, so he kept his mouth shut until they were outside. It should have felt like stepping into fresh air, though all Randy smelled was the stale plastic of his mask.
“At least let me take you back to the house to get cleaned up,” he said. “You’ve got snot running out of your nose.”
Jenny tried to wipe it away with the back of her hand but her visor blocked it. Realizing she couldn’t make it through the day with a snotty, dripping nose, she nodded.
The twins got back in the truck and left Ally’s place behind.
Chapter 42
Randy and Jenny Tucker, Kentland, Indiana
The twins got cleaned up at the house, doing a partial decontamination just long enough for them to wipe their faces with fresh water. An hour later, they pulled up to the jail in solemn silence, unable to shake the specter of Ally’s death.
And, like with their parents, they’d faced a choice of what to do with her dead body. Randy suggested taking an entire day this week to put their parents and Ally to rest, and Jenny reluctantly agreed. There was a lot to consider. Digging holes in the ground would be back breaking work, and risky, even with their coveralls and air filtration masks on.
Secretly, Randy wanted to ask Officer Smith or someone else from the jail to help him with the task and spare Jenny that horror. She would be mad, but Randy would rather take her angry words than see his sister have to bury the people she loved.
Randy pulled into the jail parking lot, did his usual turn around, and parked with the nose of the truck pointed toward the street. He turned to his sister. “You okay?”
“Yeah, let’s do this,” Jenny said, and she got out of the truck and came around to Randy’s side.
Randy got out and took a quick look around. He was used to the quiet city streets and cars gathering dust in parking lots. He frowned.
“Where’d all the police cars go?” Randy asked.
Jenny scanned the area and her face went pale. “Do you think they left?”
Randy shook his head and peered at the front door of the jail. “Maybe Sheriff Stans sent them out for more gas and food. We are two hours later than yesterday. Come on, let’s check it out.”
Randy strode to the front door, eased it open, and stepped inside. He meandered to the service window and peered into the offices. Sheriff Stans wasn’t sleeping at the desk like they’d found him yesterday, and there were no signs of the other officers anywhere.
“They must be in back,” Jenny said in the eerie silence.
The twins stepped through the office door and strode past several desks illuminated by the building’s stark white halogen lights. Randy glanced down at the pen holders, computer monitors, and half-filled wastepaper baskets no one would ever use again.
They pushed through a door at the back of the office and stepped into a short hallway that required an ID to pass through. Randy couldn’t remember if the sheriff had used his, so he led Jenny to it and pulled the handle, expecting the magnetic locks to stop him. They didn’t, and the door flew open wide, the handle dented the drywall when it hit.
Stepping into an intersection, Randy remembered the kitchen and service area was straight ahead while the cells were halfway down the hall and to their right.
Randy paused, holding his hand up to Jenny. “You hear that?”
Jenny tilted her head forward, listening hard. She shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Right. No prisoners yelling or screaming,” Randy said. “No one causing a ruckus.”
“Jenny peered down the shorter hallway that led to the jail cells with a grim expression. “The cars and van are gone. Maybe they moved the prisoners to the FEMA site?
Randy shook his head. “They wouldn’t be able to fit all of them in that one van.”
“Maybe they made multiple trips?” Jenny suggested, her voice sounding hopeful.
“Maybe,” Randy replied, though he got his gun out, anyway.
Randy ignored the small part of himself that told him they needed to get out now. There was no sign of the sheriff or any of his men, but the gun in his hand gave him confidence.
They still hadn’t seen a single prisoner running loose in the hallways.
“Are we going to check it out?” Jenny asked.
“I’d be more inclined to do it if you weren’t in here with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jenny said.
Randy adjusted his grip on the gun and looked back and forth between the passage leading to the kitchen and jail cells. “I’d be willing to check the kitchen to see if any of the officers are there, but I’m not going anywhere near those cells.”
Randy strode down the hallway with Jenny close behind him. Several doors lay along the left side of the hallway marked as restrooms and janitorial storage, though Randy didn’t stop and check any of those. He quickly led Jenny past the jail cells and continued to the end of the hall where they took a hard right and entered the kitchen area.
In most respects, the kitchen looked clean. The walk-in coolers hummed, and the faint smell of cooked food lingered in the air. However, the tray carts were pushed back against the wall and there were no signs that Smith had put together a big meal for the prisoners.
Peering through the prep area at the industrial-sized dishwasher, Randy saw most of the dirty dishes from yesterday were done.
“It doesn’t look like they made the prisoners breakfast,” Jenny said.
“What in the world is going on? Maybe you’re right. Maybe they did just up and leave.”
A clinking sound reached their ears from out in the dining area, and Jenny turned and walked over to the buffet bar. Randy followed her over and stared along with her at two men sitting in the middle of the dining room sharing what appeared to be an apple pie and a small decanter of coffee.
“That’s Jones and Bickens,” Randy said.
“Who?”
“The old guys from yesterday,” Randy reminded her. “The ones in for drunk and disorderly.”
“But what are they doing out?”
One of the old men looked up from his pie and grinned at Randy, holding up his fork in a salute. “Hey there, you two,” he called out. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“What are you guys doing out of your cells?” Randy called back, enunciating every word so they heard him through his filtration mask.
“We’re having a piece of pie.” Bickens leaned back and sighed, his hand thrown over his paunched belly. They’d already eaten half the pie.
“Did the sheriff let you out?” Randy asked.
Jones shook his head.
“No, Sheriff Stans...” The older man hesitated a moment before he turned to Bickens with a wide-eyed expression. He pointed at the twins with his fork. “Hey, you kids need to get out of here right away.”
Jenny leaned forward across the food bar. “Why? What happened? Where is everyone?”
“You don’t want to know,” Jones spat, then he jabbed his fork at them harder. “Just get the hell out of here. Trust me. You don’t want Krumer to see you walking around.”
“You don’t have to tell us twice.” Randy grabbed Jenny by the hand.
“Wait!” Jenny yanked her hand free. She ran over to one counter, tore open a drawer, and snatched out a wicked looking butcher knife. Her face was back to pale and drawn. She looked terrified.
Randy led the way, gun raised, barrel pointed straight ahead. He turned the corner to the long hallway leading back to the offices and started down it.
He took two more steps and froze. Jenny stumbled into him.
“Hey, what the—” she started but then saw why Randy had stopped.
Krumer stood in the hallway junction, blocking their escape. He looked like something out of a nightmare, a gleaming white smile spread across his blood-splattered face. A jail security ID hung from his clenched fist.
“Hey, kids,” he growled. “I hoped you’d swing by.”
“Where’s the sheriff and Officer Smith?”
“Officer Smith is only here with us in spirit. His body gave out. Sheriff Stans is a different story. Tough old guy. Used to coach me when I played high school football. He was a real bastard then, and he’s a real bastard now. We’re working out our differences, and I think we’re on the right track.”
“Shoot him, Randy,” Jenny hissed. “We’ll ask questions later.”
Randy nodded and fired. The shot sounded like a bomb in the enclosed space of the hallway. When the smoke cleared, Krumer was gone.
“You’re too slow,” Krumer shouted from around the corner. Menacing laughter echoed around them.
“Give us the sheriff,” Randy called, “and we’ll be on our way. You’re free to go anywhere you please once we’re gone.“
“I’ll tell you what you told me yesterday,” Krumer yelled with a short, harsh chuckle. His massive hand appeared from around the corner, middle finger raised.
“Let’s just go in there and get the sheriff out,” Jenny whispered to Randy. Her eyes stared ahead as she gripped the butcher knife. “We’re the ones with the gun.”
“If the officers and sheriff are all down, he’d have weapons in there with him, too. Not to mention more of his buddies.”
“He didn’t have a gun when he was standing out here.”
Randy shook his head. “Let’s just get out of here. We can’t take that guy on.”
Jenny glared at her brother. After a moment, she glanced down the hallway where Krumer had disappeared. She looked back to her brother and nodded. “You’re right, let’s go.”
They backed up the hallway to the door that led into the offices. The ID scanner beside it glowed red. Randy could see the dent in the drywall through the glass. He pushed against the door. It didn’t budge.
“What the...? It’s locked.” Randy’s gaze flashed down the hallway and back to the drywall dent. He shoved the door again. He threw his shoulder against it. Nothing.
“Looking for this?” Krumer chuckled.
Randy stiffened. He and Jenny turned to face back down the hallway.
Krumer leaned against the corner holding up the jail security ID. It swung from his bloody fist. The insane smile played across his face again. “Come and get it.”
Chapter 43
Randy and Jenny Tucker, Kentland, Indiana
Randy whirled around the corner, side-stepping as he brought his gun to bear in case Krumer waited. The big man was nowhere to be seen, and Randy noted the first control room door standing wide open. Randy indicated for Jenny to follow, then he strode carefully ahead.
When he reached the open door, Randy leaned left and right, peering into the room on either side of the door. Convinced the man wouldn’t surprise him, Randy stepped forward into the room and rotated his torso to point the gun back and forth like he’d seen them do on television shows.
Randy had never taken part in advanced military maneuvers, though he was a dead shot at twenty-five yards. With nothing to see in the first control room, Randy looked ahead to the next. That door was open as well, so Randy stepped into the three-way intersection marked as cell blocks A, B, and C, moving his sights from side to side.
Blocks A and C’s windows were still blacked out, and likely would be forever. The door to cell block B was wide open, and Randy saw the blood bath inside.
The white tile floor was slick with red, and one of the sheriff’s men was dead on his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. A shotgun lay nearby along with a scatter of used shells. Three inmates lay in pools of blood, blown to pieces by the shotgun.
A man coughed in the cell block, followed by another. It was the kind of lung-wracking cough only BD caused.
Randy approached the door and then looked back at his sister. “He could be anywhere in there.”
Jenny’s expression wavered as she stared at the blood on the other side of the door, then her eyes shifted to Randy. “I don’t think we have a choice. He’s got the ID. That’s our way out of here.”
“Come on in kids!” Krumer shouted, “the sheriff needs your help! We’ve got some sick people in here, too! You kids are so helpful!”
The man’s voice echoed ominously in the concrete cell block. Randy couldn’t pinpoint his location. He did the same leaning maneuver to check either side of the door, then he crossed the threshold, leading with his gun.
Randy turned left and right, eyes searching every corner of the cell block as his nerves tingled and his heart pounded. It was an open area, marked only by some tables and chairs and one food cart. He didn’t see Krumer anywhere.
Boots squeaking on the bloody floor, Randy stepped over the dead guard and moved further into the chamber, convinced Krumer must be hiding in one of the cells. A quick scan showed Randy that there were at least a dozen men still laying in their bunks, all of them sick with the fungal infection.
A man was sitting on his bunk in the cell across from Randy. The man stared at Randy with sick, haunted eyes. Traces of fungus peppered his lips and nostrils, and a thin line of bloody drool ran down the man’s chin and dripped onto his coveralls.
His eyes fixed on Randy for a moment before they slid upward as if he were looking at the ceiling of his cell. The sick man’s eyes lowered again, and his expression sent a spike of panic shooting through Randy’s limbs.
Randy turned just as a pair of sneakered feet swung down and cracked him in his visor. He flew backwards and landed hard, smacking the back of his head on the tile. Krumer hung from pipes that ran across the ceiling. The inmate let go and hit the floor with a heavy sound. Then he strode forward in two quick strides, grabbing for Randy’s gun.
Randy took a fraction of a second too long to aim and fire, and Krumer ripped the gun from his grasp. He straddled Randy and slammed the butt of the gun down on Randy’s visor.
Throwing up his arms, Randy blocked the strike. He kicked and twisted, punching at the big man as his own rage rose to the surface. Randy landed a shot to Krumer’s stomach, drawing an angry grunt. Then he bucked his hips and almost tossed the man off. But Krumer rebalanced himself, raised the gun again, and slammed it down on Randy’s visor.
The visor held strong, though the mask skewed even farther, partially blocking Randy’s vision.
Krumer suddenly stiffened, dropping the gun as he yowled in pain. He half twisted, showing Jenny hanging on to the knife she’d slammed into the man’s back. Krumer threw his elbow backward and caught her in the jaw. Her head rocked to the side, and she stumbled two steps and fell on the blood-slick tiles.
Using Jenny’s distraction, Randy bucked his hips again, this time tossing Krumer off and allowing himself t
o scramble out from under him. Mask twisted on his face, Randy got to his feet and spun in a circle, trying to find his gun while moving out of Krumer’s range.
“Randy!” Jenny called.
Randy spun just as Krumer’s meaty fist swung in his direction. As a tight end on his high school football team, Randy had spent hours drilling on whether to dodge a blocker or run them over. He leapt back from the punch just before it would have knocked his head off.
Jenny ran up behind Krumer and tried to grab the knife that was still sticking out of his back. Krumer turned and swiped at her again. If Randy was quick, his sister was even quicker. Her long legs and thin frame allowed her to keep her distance as she drew Krumer away from Randy to buy him some time.
Randy’s eyes darted all around, but he couldn’t locate the gun anywhere.
The huge inmate chased Jenny off before he reeled back in Randy’s direction, arms wide. Randy backed up until something touched his hip, and he glanced down to see the sheriff laying on the table. The man’s hands were handcuffed above his head, his face horribly bruised.
He tried to speak, but all that came out were bloody bubbles in the corners of his mouth.
“The sheriff lost his gas mask,” Krumer said with an apologetic tone, then he lurched forward to grab Randy.
Randy danced backward and slid to the side, putting the sheriff’s table between him and the insane inmate.
Krumer grinned over the moaning sheriff at Randy. “You know, I’m not sure what happened out there, but I’m glad it did. I haven’t felt this free in a long time.”
“It’s a fungal disease,” Randy spat. “And you’re going to die from it.”
“I’ve got news for you, buddy,” Krumer sneered. “We’re all going to die, someday.”
The big inmate put both hands around Sheriff Stans’s neck and squeezed. The sheriff fought back feebly, his handcuffed fists swinging down with the strength of a child while Krumer laughed and wrung his neck.
Spore Series (Book 1): Spore Page 24
