Into The Darkness

by Doug Kelly

  “Kevin, please don’t leave—” Kevin pushed his wife away as she tried to hold on to him. “This is something I have to do. Nobody is going to stop me,” Kevin said, as he reached for his backpack and angrily thrust the red bandana into it.

  “I’m not going to stop you. I just want you to think about what you are doing,” said Dylan, in a calm voice. “You don’t have a plan. Don’t be foolish and get yourself killed.”

  Kevin’s wife stood behind him and gave him a hug. She could feel the tension in his body. Kevin turned and sternly put his hands on her shoulders. “I will come back...after I do this.”

  Mary stepped back and then sat in a chair. She leaned forward, put her face in her hands, and began to cry. “This is my fault…it’s all my fault,” Mary said, weeping.

  Kevin turned to Dylan and said, “I do have a plan. I am going to kill them…all of them. I know where they are. The men we captured told us they would be in those Amtrak cars. They won’t be hard to find, and when I find them, I’ll have a couple of presents for them.” Kevin tapped the backpack to remind Dylan of the grenades. “The rain is going to keep them inside, so they’ll be easy to find. I’m leaving now.” Kevin grabbed the backpack and turned toward the door. He paused by his wife on the way out and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be back when I’m done. I love you.”

  They heard his footsteps in the hallway fading as he left.

  “Damn it!” said Dylan, as he grabbed his rifle. “I’m sorry about this, Mary. I have to go with him. I’ll do my best to keep him safe. When we get back, we’ll make a plan and get out of here.”

  With tear-filled eyes, Mary asked, “Where will we go?”

  “With me, I’ll explain later.”

  “Don’t let him get hurt. Promise me you will not let him get hurt.”

  “I promise. You had better lock the door behind me. I need to run fast and catch up with him.”

  Dylan picked up the red armband he had thrown down earlier and ran as fast as he could down the dark hallway. The stench of death was still overwhelming and he tried to cover his nose with the red cloth to filter the odor. He descended to the ground floor through the stairwell filled with the horrendous stench, so thick in the air that its taste filled his mouth, gagging him once more. After he stepped over the corpse sprawled in the stairwell, he swung his rifle to his back and made a dash for the doors to the street, still covering his nose with the bandana. When he stepped through the broken doors, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. Dylan’s world spun around before him. His vision tunneled and began to slowly fade away as he landed on the concrete sidewalk. He heard the voices of several men laughing as he lost consciousness.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Dylan regained consciousness, he was lying face down on the concrete in front of the apartment building. A bag covered his head, blocking his vision. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. They had bound his wrists behind his back, but his legs were free. Dylan heard a distant clap of thunder and remembered that it had been raining. His clothes felt wet, but it was barely sprinkling now. He tried to get up, groaning from the pain in his head and wrists, and then he felt a kick to his ribs that knocked him back down.

  “Kevin, are you there?” moaned Dylan.

  “Yeah, they got me too. I screwed up.”

  “You were right. They followed us. Who are they?”

  “I don’t know. I have a bag over my head, but—” Kevin was abruptly cut off by a deep voice.

  “Shut up or we’ll gag you. Both of you,” said the deep voice. “Alright men, let’s get out of here. Stand these two pieces of shit up and let’s get going.”

  “Who are you? What are you doing?” asked Dylan.

  The deep voiced man pressed the end of his shotgun against Dylan’s neck and said, “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this my way. If it was up to me, I’d let you rot out here, but there are some people that want information out of you. That’s the only thing keeping you alive right now.”

  “We don’t know anything.”

  The deep voice replied, “That’s what the last guy said…before he died.” Dylan felt the barrel of the shotgun press harder on his neck. “Both of you get up, and shut up. We’re moving out now.”

  The men walked blind for several miles toward an unknown destination. Their captors were silent with the exception of a few whispers, occasionally prodding the captives with a rifle or shotgun to correct their direction. The only explanation Dylan could surmise was that the gang with red armbands had connected them with what they did earlier at the railroad hub, when they met Dorothy and her son. Was it possible that Dorothy had let the two men go? They could have gone back to their gang and organized a search party.

  Finally, the familiar deep voice sternly said, “Hold it, we’re here.” They all stopped walking and the two men were pushed next to each other. They were positioned shoulder to shoulder, and heard the faint voices of their captors talking to one another. Then they heard more voices, and the murmur became a growing crowd of voices.

  “Just shoot them,” was said in the distance.

  “We should hang them,” was yelled from the crowd.

  The captors grabbed the men by their arms and led them away. “We’re going inside. Start walking.”

  As the crowd grew louder, they forced Dylan and Kevin to walk faster. When they finally stopped, they heard creaking hinges that indicated that they were going through a door. The door shut behind them, and seconds later, they could see the flickering of an electric light filtering through the bags that still covered their heads. They were shoved into chairs, and their arms and legs were strapped down.

  Dylan and Kevin were sitting next to each other when the man with a deep voice pulled the bags off their heads simultaneously. He was a large man with a scar on his face. A thick scar ran across his left cheek, and appeared to be from a deep knife wound. His eyes were hollow and absolutely void of emotion.

  They were on a concrete floor in an unfinished room. The studs were visible in the walls and the construction looked unprofessional and haphazard. Both Dylan and Kevin stared at the glowing light bulb in amazement. It had been months since the grid went down, and they had often wondered if they would ever see anything like that again. It was only a single light bulb, just enough to barely illuminate the room. There were several wooden chairs, a few cots, and boxes of medical supplies stacked around the walls.

  Dylan caught himself in a trance, staring at the electric light, and shook his head. He turned to look at his abductor and asked again, “Who are you?”

  “Your worst nightmare. Don’t piss me off.”

  Dylan turned his head and looked at Kevin. He slowly shook his head with a defeated look on his face. Kevin nodded his head. When Dylan looked back at where the man had been standing, he had moved. The big man had the door open, and was waving toward someone in the distance. The two captives noticed that their backpack, pistol, and rifle were set against the far wall, partially concealed in the dimness.

  The door creaked open and a small man stepped into the room. “Good evening, Bull,” said the frail man, as he pushed his thick eyeglasses back up the bridge of his nose.

  “Evening, Doc,” replied Bull, as he nodded his head. He then put a black leather glove on his right hand. Bull pulled the glove on tightly and made a fist. He rapped the back of his fist against the table and it made a hard thump on the tabletop. The glove was filled with lead pellets.

  “Are you ready, Bull?” asked Doc, looking over the top of his glasses and lifting an eyebrow.

  “I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.” Bull repeatedly made a fist to feel the leather stretch snugly around his hand. When the leather felt right on his hand, he wrapped the red bandana around the glove to make it tighter. He did this as he continued to stare at the captives tied to the chairs.

  Doc pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Dylan and Kevin. He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose again. “I will ask
you some questions, and if you do not cooperate, Bull will administer discipline. All I need is some simple information. For example, tell me how many of you are there now, where your gang is staying, and if you are all armed this nicely?” Doc pointed to the rifle and duffle bag. They had also found the hand grenades.

  “What are you talking about? We’re not in a gang,” said Kevin.

  “Really?” said Doc with a smirk, as he looked at Bull and rolled his eyes. Doc stood up and walked over to Kevin’s backpack. He put his hand in the backpack and pulled out the red bandana Kevin had placed in it before he left his apartment. He held the bandana by pinching it with two fingers. With a disgusted look on his face, he waved the red cloth in front of Kevin. Kevin felt the anger rising up inside him.

  “There you go. You can have your colors back,” said Doc, as he dropped the bandana on Kevin’s lap.

  “That’s not his,” said Dylan.

  Bull stepped forward and leaned into Dylan’s face.

  “I’m not stupid. We saw you coming from the direction of the railroad hub. We followed you, and both of you were wearing these,” Bull said, as he held his fist, wrapped in the bandana that he had taken from Dylan, close to Dylan’s face.

  Doc motioned with his hand for Bull to step back.

  “You should understand something immediately. Bull would prefer to kill you right now. I would prefer to get information from you. Bull doesn’t care for people like you, and I understand that. The fact that both of you are still alive tells me he has exercised some considerable restraint in this matter. But every man has his limitations, so don’t test our patience.”

  Kevin turned to Dylan and said, “They think we’re in that gang, with Cyrus.”

  “Cyrus! Now you’re talking. Tell me more about your leader,” spat Doc.

  Neither man replied.

  “I need answers. Start talking. Don’t you understand?” Doc demanded impatiently.

  “No, I don’t understand,” said Kevin.

  “Wrong answer,” said Doc, as he motioned for Bull and pointed a wagging finger at Kevin.

  Bull had taken only a step toward Kevin, his clenched fist raised, when there was a knock on the door.

  Doc gestured toward the door and Bull turned away to see who was knocking.

  “We are trying to tell you that we’re not mixed up with Cyrus’s gang,” said Dylan.

  “It’s not working.”

  Bull yelled toward Doc from the open door, “We’ve got a gunshot wound. They need you.”

  Doc stood up and tied the red bandana around Kevin’s arm and said sarcastically, “Don’t go anywhere.”

  Doc pushed his glasses up again and cast them a final glance before he left the room with Bull. After the door shut, Kevin looked at the red bandana tied to his arm. His anger turned to rage. He began to pull at the ligatures on his arms and legs by twisting his body. The chair began to move. It was an old wooden chair and he could feel the weakness in the chair’s wooden joints.

  “I’m going to try standing up and crashing this chair on the floor. The joints are weak. I think it’ll break,” said Kevin.

  Kevin awkwardly stood, still bound to the chair. He threw his body to the concrete floor hoping the impact of the chair on the hard surface would break the wood. Kevin landed hard on his side, but the chair did not break apart.

  “Damn it! I can’t get back up,” said Kevin. He struggled with the chair as he tried to shift his body. “It did something; I can feel the joints trying to give. Get up and fall on the chair, Dylan. I think that will do it.”

  Dylan stood and slowly hopped his chair over next to Kevin. He twisted his body and threw his weight against the back legs of Kevin’s chair. There was a resounding crack, and Kevin’s chair broke apart. Kevin stood up and brought his hands forward. He could move, but he was still tied to wooden fragments of the chair. Dylan was still bound to his chair and now lay on the floor.

  “Get my knife. They left our stuff against the far wall. Hurry, cut me loose,” said Dylan, in an urgent but hushed tone.

  Kevin got the knife and brought it back to Dylan to cut his bindings. Both men dashed back over to the far wall and grabbed their weapons. They quickly checked their firearms and went over to the door. Dylan opened it just enough to peek out. They were in a concrete parking garage and he could see several people, who had apparently been living in the parked cars. There was no way out without being seen. They decided to wait for someone to return. This room was where the medical supplies were stored, so they would have to come back here. When someone returned to this room, they would take them as hostages and use them as a ticket out. Dylan and Kevin stood behind the door, and waited for it to open.

  Through the thin walls, they heard the familiar voices of Bull and Doc, getting louder as they approached the door. They were speaking with a woman, and Doc opened the door. He entered the room backwards, as he spoke to Bull and the injured woman. Bull was helping the woman, and was not paying attention to the room as he walked into it. He looked down at the woman’s bloodied leg. An instant after they entered the room, it was too late. Dylan kicked the door shut.

  Doc spun his body around and faced the two armed men. With a terrified look on his face, he held up his hands and said, “Just hold on. We can work something out. Think about what you’re doing now. This woman is hurt and I need to help her.”

  The woman was weak, pale; she had lost blood, and was dehydrated. Bull was supporting her meager weight, or she would not have been able to stand. The woman slowly lifted her head. With a shaky hand, she pushed her long hair back from her face and stared at Dylan and Kevin. At that moment, both men recognized her, although she looked different with the coal dust washed off her face by the rainstorm.

  “Dorothy?” asked Dylan.

  With a weak voice, Dorothy replied, “I know you. What are you doing here? Why are you pointing those guns at us?”

  While still staring at the loaded weapons pointed at them, Doc tilted his head toward Dorothy and asked, “How do you know these men?”

  “I would have to say they saved me. I mean us. My son was there, too. That gang back at the coal cars was waiting for us. They started shooting at us and we ran away. I was hit in the leg, and these men helped us hide. I saw them capture two of Cyrus’s men, and they gave us a shotgun and rifle.”

  “But we saw them wearing the red bandanas around their arms,” said Bull.

  “I watched them take the red bandanas off Cyrus’s men,” said Dorothy, as the weakness in her legs began to overcome her. “They put them on as a disguise. I told them it was a bad idea.”

  Bull glared at Dylan and Kevin with anger and confusion, and began to ask of the two men, “Why would you—”

  Bull was cut off abruptly when loss of blood and fatigue overcame Dorothy. Her knees buckled, and she would have collapsed to the floor if Bull had not quickly swept her off her feet. She lay unconscious in Bull’s arms.

  “Get her to the cot,” said Doc, his attention directed toward Dorothy.

  Bull gently placed her on the cot. Her pale skin reflected a yellow tone from the single incandescent light in the room. Shadows cast from the same light enhanced her sunken facial expressions.

  Doc felt for a pulse and found that it was racing. This confirmed what was already obvious to him. She had lost a lot of blood, and now her blood pressure was collapsing. Her heart was trying to compensate for the lack of volume in her circulatory system by beating rapidly, to quickly move the remaining oxygen left in her blood. He knew what he needed to do and quickly went to a stack of boxes containing IV bags of saline solution, near a table with medical instruments. He reached out to get a small knife on the table to open the cardboard box that held the bags of saline. With his hand halfway to the knife, Doc looked at Dylan and Kevin, and asked, “Are you going to kill us? If you are, just do it now.”

  Dylan slowly lowered his rifle and said, “No, patch her up.”

  With a quick slice of the tape, the box wa
s open. Doc tossed a bag of saline solution and some plastic tubing to Bull, who spiked the IV bag with the plastic tubing as Doc felt for a vein in the woman’s arm. Doc wiped her upper forearm with an alcohol pad and inserted a needle into a nearly collapsed vein. The tubing to the IV solution was connected to the needle and the bag began to drip fluid back into Dorothy’s body. Bull placed the bag on a pole and stepped back just as Doc stood and faced the men again.

  With irritation Bull asked, “Well then, what do you want? If you’re not going to kill us, just leave here, just go away.”

  “Listen to me, asshole. It wasn’t my idea to come here,” said Dylan sternly to Bull, and also casting a critical glare at Doc. “My friend was on his way to settle a score and I was right behind him. As a matter of fact we would’ve been taking care of business by now if you hadn’t interfered.”

  Doc tilted his head forward submissively, and his thick glasses slid lower on his nose. “What’s your business? Revenge? Extortion? Robbery?”

  “It’s Cyrus. I’m going to kill him,” stated Kevin. “I’m fine with leaving now and doing that.”

  “Do you know where he is?” asked Bull.

  “There’s an Amtrak train stuck at the railroad hub, and his gang is staying in the sleeper cars. We guess that the rain will have driven them inside, and that’s where we’re going to hit them while they sleep.”

  Doc’s face broke into a slow smile. This was the information and the opportunity he was looking for. Bull showed no emotion, but they could see that his mind was savoring this information, as his glance moved slowly toward the far wall and the ceiling, looking at nothing in particular.

  Doc pushed his glasses back up again and said authoritatively to Bull, “Go get Hector. I’ll stay with Dorothy.”

  Bull immediately turned and opened the door. He was halfway out when Doc had one more request. “Please explain to the men our…shall we say…misunderstanding with these gentlemen.” Bull nodded and left the room.

  “We are going with you,” said Doc.