by Connor Mccoy
The man nodded. “Yes…yes!”
“Then let’s see it, shall we?”
“Now keep going and don’t turn around,” Criver said as Cheryl aimed the pistol at the surviving invader, whose name was Chris. “Oh.” Criver dangled the car keys. “Thanks for the wheels.” He dropped his brief smile. “Now start walking.”
Their assailant complied. Cheryl kept an eye on him as he made tracks. With only a half moon overhead, he soon would disappear into the dark night.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer until morning. He’ll have a whole day of traveling,” Cheryl said. “Think this is going to work?”
Criver started down the trail to grab their gear. Thankfully, since they hastily had set up camp, it wouldn’t take long to get it all down. “We could have just killed him, but…” He hesitated.
There weren’t many good options, killing him, or tying him up until they left, but if Chris couldn’t get free, he’d be at the mercy of the elements, nature, or perhaps other marauders. He may have been scum, but he wasn’t necessarily on the level of The Coach. In the absence of the law, they were faced with these decisions.
Criver loaded up the car with their gear while Cheryl kept watch. Chris had left their sight completely.
“Looks like we got a first-class ticket to The Coach’s hideout.” Criver tapped the car.
The two piled into the vehicle. It was something out of the seventies, or maybe the early eighties, so it had no microchips to get fried. He checked the fuel gauge. About three quarters full. They’d have to ration their driving time very carefully. It wasn’t like they just could check into a gas station to refuel.
He jammed in the ignition key and turned. The engine started. It was not a sound Criver thought he would hear again. The car vibrated a little. The engine sounded fine, but the vehicle might need a tune-up.
“Looks like we’re set,” Criver said.
“Oh! One more thing!” Cheryl pushed on the air conditioning knob. The interior of the vehicle flooded with cool air. “Oh, God!”
Criver lay back and took in the sweet coolness. “I never in a million years thought I’d miss air conditioning.” He laughed. “Wow, it’s freezing.”
Cheryl chuckled. “I know. It’s not even on high.”
“When you’re outside so much, your body just adapts.” Criver wiped cold sweat from his forehead. “You just get used to it. Now we have air conditioning again, and our bodies are going nuts.”
He thought of something. “Hey.” He reached for the radio knob, first pushing the “on” button. It may have seemed like a vain hope, but he wondered if he would hear something, a song, a weather report, a DJ, anything. Of course, it was stupid to think of such things, but who knew? No, instead it was just static. He turned the knob. Station after station was dead. AM, FM, it was no use.
“Well, it was worth a shot.” Criver lay back against the seat.
“It’s like maybe we could wake up from the nightmare,” Cheryl said.
“It’s not going to go away. We just have to make a whole new life and try making things better whenever we can.”
Cheryl sucked in a breath. “We should…go. We need the night, and we finally can travel without having to actually…”
“Travel?” Criver gripped his legs. They felt like jelly. Perhaps since he knew he could make distance without needing to walk, his legs were all too happy to check out for the moment.
He turned the car onto the road and headed off. Criver’s motions with the wheel were a little wobbly. He hadn’t driven a car since the Darkness hit. He hadn’t realized how rusty he’d be. But he drove well enough to stay on the road. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to run into traffic.
After a short while, Cheryl slumped to her right, sound asleep. Criver nodded. She deserved it. She had been so wiped that she hadn’t even changed into her regular gear, still dressed in army shorts and Criver’s T-shirt.
Occasionally, he’d look over at her. Her face was serene, with no signs her sleep was disturbed by bad dreams. Thanks to her, his bad dreams had been banished. Perhaps their night of bliss had granted her that same serenity.
With this car, this lady and, as Criver hoped, their Amir with them, it seemed they’d get back a sense of normalcy after all.
Chapter Eighteen
Criver laid the large, leafy branch against the hood. That made probably the ninth piece of forestry he had laid against their vehicle. He backed up and gave his handiwork a onceover. From a distance, no one should be able to notice anything strange. Someone would have to come in pretty close to notice a car was underneath the greenery.
He wiped a layer of sweat off his forehead. It was a shame they couldn’t go any farther, but two things had happened to force them off the road. First, they had passed a sign that said WELCOME TO WESTOWN. The other was the breaking of dawn. A car driving on a road definitely would be noticeable, and if they were this close to The Coach’s hideout, they couldn’t afford to draw attention to themselves.
He trekked around behind the car. Cheryl, now fully dressed in her camouflage pants, green jacket and black army boots, was sorting out their attack gear. They’d have to leave their camping supplies inside the car. They had to plan on moving quickly, especially since battle was now close in their future.
“I think that should do it. I just hope Walker’s is close by. If we have to, we can make a dash all the way out here, jump in and zoom out onto the road. There should be enough gas in there to get us to the next state.”
“There’s probably other kids in there.” Cheryl held up her belt with a holster on it. “I don’t know if there’s going to be a quick escape. If we don’t kill all the bastards in there, we might not be getting out alive.”
Criver took up his belt. “Then I’ll cover your escape.”
“Don’t talk like that.” She pressed her fist against his shoulder. “We both come out alive, or we don’t at all,” she added softly.
He smiled a little. “Hey, if it was just you breaking in there, I imagine The Coach and his goons would piss their pants.” Of course, Criver had to entertain the thought that one of them might not make it out of there. It was smart to prepare for the worst.
Cheryl picked up her pistol and loaded the magazine. “Okay, between both of us we have four shots a piece.”
“After that it’s head banging and body smashing.”
She handed Criver his gun, already loaded. “Yeah.”
Criver put his sidearm into his belt’s holster. “We probably should save the ammo for The Coach. If his goon squad loses their leader, they may decide to give up.”
Cheryl slid her firearm into her holster. “Maybe. But the odds are better that we’re going to have to fight our way past all of them first.” She looked deep into Criver’s eyes. “So, do what you have to do, to stay alive.”
Cheryl peered into her binoculars. The building was old, with the windows bricked up and the outside wall’s paint peeling. It likely had been shut down already before the pulse hit. There were no signs of fresh looting or damage, but that was likely because few people figured ransacking and looting a defunct insane asylum was worth the effort. Thankfully, the building was just off the street leading to the highway. This had to be it. It was too perfect a location and too easy to get to if you took a beeline from Criver’s home city down the highway.
“It doesn’t look like it’s guarded on the outside.” Cheryl lowered her binoculars. “I can’t tell if anybody’s inside. There’s no open windows.”
Criver sat back on the grass. Once he and Cheryl recognized the street name from the map in the pharmacy’s phone book, they followed it until they spotted the hospital. Before they got close enough that they could be spotted, they retreated to a small alley, in the shadow of a bank across the street. They had checked out The Principal’s hideout, Eastown School, just like this and had expected a lot of company, but once they got inside they discovered nobody but The Principal and his two right-hand men. Would t
his turn out to be another ruse? Had The Coach already moved Amir and whatever kids he was holding prisoner?
“How about we go around the back?” Criver asked. “Hop the fence, go through the back door?”
Cheryl leaned against the side of the bank. “Probably as good a chance as we’ll get.”
The pair took a trip around to the back of the building. A fence cordoned off a large backyard, which was likely a place for patients to go outside and get fresh air. Although with no regular lawn maintenance, the yard was thick with tall grass and weeds.
They stopped short of the fence. “Think you can scale that?” Cheryl asked.
Criver eyed the top of the fence as if it was daring him to try. “Amir’s in there. I have to do it.”
She nodded. “Then there’s nothing left but to go in there and rock ’n’ roll.”
He turned. His eyes met Cheryl’s. He could see the fear in her eyes, but there was something behind it. It was in that moment that he shuddered. Reassurance hid in this woman’s beautiful green eyes. Though neither of them could predict the outcome of what was about to happen, she felt that with him she would be safe.
Cheryl leaned forward and snagged her arm around his neck, pushing him in for a passionate kiss.
With their lips parted, she said, “I love you, Thomas Criver, with all my heart.” Then she pushed off of him, turned, and ran for the fence.
Criver dashed after her. She was already at the top by the time he started climbing. When he got to the top, her boots had touched down into the grass. As he jumped down, she was dashing for the building, fighting the thick grass, leaping to launch her through the wild vegetation. He ran as fast as he could to catch up to his partner.
Cheryl was the first to the hospital’s side door. She turned the knob. It wasn’t locked. She waited until Criver had caught up with her.
Criver drew his pistol. She nodded, then flung the door wide open, permitting an open view of the hallway beyond.
The place reeked of hot, stagnant odors, with mold trickling down walls and stains covering the floors. Doors to patient rooms lined the walls. Nobody was inside. No guards at the door. Not even a soul wandering the hall.
Maybe we actually took the bastards by surprise, Criver thought.
By now, Criver and Cheryl had their act down pat. Guns dawn, each took one side of the wall and scouted inside the doors. Since each door held a glass window, it was easy to see inside. The first few rooms were bare. No signs of life.
Criver resisted the urge to call out for Amir. He had no idea if the boy was even in this half of the building. The Coach or any of his followers could hear Criver and take the boy hostage, or rush in and take out him and Cheryl before they knew what had hit them.
If he’s still alive…
Dammit, don’t think that way. Stay focused. He’s in here. You’ll find him.
What they did find in the next second was trouble. A muscled man in a torn shirt and dark pants suddenly tore into the hallway from around a corner. His eyes widened and he uttered an obscenity. The man’s hands reached for a baton on his belt.
“Criver!” Cheryl already had spotted the man and fired. The man ran two steps and then ran no more. Cheryl’s shot tore through his eye and spat out the other side of his head. The man slammed flat on his back.
Cheryl – One.
“Damn, they’ll hear that,” Criver said under his breath. Still, he remembered Cheryl’s admonition, to do what they must to stay alive. One less goon was one less thug to stop them from rescuing Amir and any of The Coach’s other prisoners.
The pair quickly scrutinized the other rooms. Still nothing. Then they passed into the hall from which the brute had entered, where more trouble was already on its way. From the left side, a man in dirty coveralls rushed at them with an iron crowbar. From the right charged a thin, dark-skinned man with a rusty machete.
Both were fast. It was a miracle that Cheryl and Criver turned in opposite directions and shot each attacker as they approached. Both thugs lurched backward and collapsed, with the man in coveralls sliding down the hall, and the man with the machete hitting the floor. Neither got back up.
Cheryl – Two.
Criver – One.
No shots wasted.
Criver wasn’t going to hold back now. The noises surely were alerting everyone in the building to their presence. “Amir! We’re here! Call for us!”
“Amir! Call for us, baby!” Cheryl cried as she jogged down the hall to the right. After quickly peering through the window of the doors, she hurried back to Criver. “Laundry room. Janitor’s closet. No patient rooms.”
“Then we’ll go this way.” Criver already was rushing to the left. Display signs marked where the hall would lead. Another ward was ahead, followed by the cafeteria.
But as they approached another juncture, a loud bang cut past Criver’s ear. He ducked, Cheryl diving with him. They quickly scooted flat against the wall, with Cheryl aiming her gun at the hall corner. But nobody appeared. Damn. This wasn’t what they needed. A prolonged gunfight could empty their guns before they got to The Coach or Amir.
“Who’s there?” Criver shouted.
A creaky, high-pitched voice curled through the air. “It is not logical. No, it is not logical to be shooting guns in a hospital. Hospitals are for healing. Yes, they are. Healing and doctors, and medicine. Oh, yes.”
Criver winced. This guy sounded as though he belonged in this place. Actually, he belonged in one of these cells, not in the hall with a gun. “You’re holding our boy. Give him back to us!”
“Oh, but that’s not good. Everyone is sick. Oh yes, we are sick. We need treatment. Treat…ment.” He elongated the word as if it was a precious thing to him. “I am The Hall Monitor. The Coach named me. Came down as if he was God. Gave me name. Told me to watch the little ones.”
It was then that he poked his head out from behind the corner. A lanky man, he was a twitching mess, his head and shoulders jerking back and forth, his eyes blinking rapidly under a mess of long, silvery hair. When he spoke, he puffed out his lips from his chin of white stubble. Criver wouldn’t have been surprised if this guy had been in this hospital before the pulse hit and been released to serve The Coach’s needs.
“The little ones.” Criver scooted a little closer. “Are they alive?”
“No. They are dead.”
Criver’s heart could have stopped in that instant.
“We are all dead!” Then The Hall Monitor let out a loud laugh. “Dead! Dead! Dead! No one left! No one left!” He threw his head back and cackled, showing off a mouth with sizable gaps between his teeth.
Criver let out a breath. Thankfully, this asshole was too screwed in the head to accurately say whether Amir was alive or dead. Hope remained alive.
“Hey!” called a voice from ahead. A tall bald man jogged into view from the forward hall, shirtless and carrying a metal rod. “You shithead! What’s going on? Is that you shooting?” Then he spotted Criver and Cheryl crouched along the wall. “Shit!” He raised his bar.
That was just the distraction the pair needed.
Criver aimed and fired at The Hall Monitor while Cheryl shot at “Rod.” Criver’s target fell backward and yelled loudly, perhaps in pain. Criver must have got him, but he heard fast retreating footsteps. He may not have been wounded badly. Cheryl, however, wasn’t so lucky. Rod had leaped to the side, slamming against the wall and taking himself out of the path of Cheryl’s bullet.
Criver – Two.
Cheryl – Three.
One shot wasted, perhaps two, if The Hall Monitor was still alive.
“Save your shot!” Having holstered his gun, Criver ran in while Rod was turning back around.
Criver grabbed Rod’s right elbow, locking his arm from swinging the rod. Criver then slammed Rod hard in the face. Criver’s adversary jerked back, muttered an obscenity, but quickly straightened his posture. This guy knew how to respond to martial arts moves, so he had to be a fighter. Rod came bac
k with a kick to Criver’s leg, not delivered well under Criver’s strain, but enough to sting. Still, Criver kept on his feet and slammed Rod backward with his body weight.
“You’re going to tell me…” Criver gritted his teeth as he pushed against Rod’s strength. “…where The Coach is hiding the kids!”
“Go to Hell!” Rod let out a roar and pushed back, hard enough to dislodge Criver from his elbow and nearly trip him over completely.
But in the process, Rod left himself wide open. Wide open for Cheryl’s boot to slam right into his head. The soldier’s powerful jump kick knocked out a tooth and launched Rod into a spinning spell. Criver’s sweep kick to Rod’s legs finished the job. The brute was now flat on his back, coughing and spitting out blood.
Criver flashed Cheryl a smile. “I knew those legs were magnificent.” Cheryl smiled in return with a slight chuckle. The former security guard then turned his attention to their vanquished foe on the floor.
“Okay, Sunshine, let’s try this again.” Then he pressed his boot on Rod’s neck, not enough to crush it, but to apply some needed pressure. “Where are the kids?”
Though coughing, Rod was still audible. “Oh-kay! Okay! The kids are in the next wing past the cafeteria!”
That was all he got out before his face exploded.
Criver leaped off Rod’s body, fearing for a moment that his leg was blown off. Instead his boot and pant leg were covered with Rod’s blood. Criver could see what had happened. Rod’s face had taken a direct bullet hit, shattering his nose and smearing his eyes with blood.
The culprit was in the hall corner, waving his pistol around. Blood trickled down his left ear. So, Criver had nailed him, but not in any place important. “Now, now. No room for heretics in the church of The Coach!” The Hall Monitor bellowed.
