Sole Chaos

by William Oday

  “Come on, Emily,” he said as he squeezed her hand. “Fight, dammit! Fight!”

  Seconds passed as she slipped away.

  Or maybe she was already gone.

  A heavy darkness grasped at his chest. Reaching to suffocate and suck the life out of him.

  Emily shuddered violently and spewed out a shocking amount of seawater.

  Another convulsion and more water came out.

  She got the last of it out and drew a rattling breath.

  “I need more light over here!” the woman yelled.

  Someone obliged and Marco gasped at how white her skin was. How empty her eyes were. She whispered a word.

  Even in the chaos of so many people talking and shouting and helping one another, he heard it.

  And it lifted him higher into the sky than a hawk soaring over the swaying grass of his family’s ranch.

  “M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-arco.”

  50

  BOB had never been a fighter. He’d once had pretensions of being a lover, but that had turned out to be more of a delusion of grandeur than anything. So, if he wasn’t a lover or a fighter, what was he?

  A useless old man.

  That label fit.

  He hid in the shadows under the assembly line, staying absolutely still so his throbbing ankle wouldn’t make him cry out and give away his position.

  He pursed his lips and shook his head, disgusted with himself. Hiding under the bed like a child.

  Pathetic.

  Vehicle doors opened and boots smacked onto the concrete floor. “Hello! Anyone home?” Charlie yelled. His words echoed around the factory. He waited.

  Did he really expect an answer?

  Bob’s angle gave him a front row seat. He saw a slice of truck tires and the boots gathering inside.

  “Are we playing hide and seek?” Charlie shouted. “Alexei, take a few men to the upper level. The rest of you spread out. Search every dark corner! I want them found! And nobody better kill Bob! I’ve got a promise to keep to him.”

  Bob’s insides turned to ice. His bladder let go before he could stop it.

  Not a flood.

  He was too old and dried up for that. But enough trickles to wet the front of his pants and dribble down the inside of his thighs.

  If he’d felt pathetic before, and he had, he felt doubly so now.

  “Hours, Bob! That’s how long you’ll get to watch yourself die. Maybe more if the shock doesn’t get you.”

  Bob gulped and realized in a panic that he was losing feeling in his hands. He shook them out and tried to make fists, and maybe did, but couldn’t feel them enough to be sure.

  The clanking of boots on the metal stairs.

  Alexei and the others going up to the second level.

  “This is like hunting back home!” Charlie yelled. “Got my coonhounds on the trail. They’ll track you down and tree you. And then I’ll finish the job.”

  Bob looked up through the grill.

  Alexei and three men stopped at an intersection in the catwalk that connected three pathways. He pointed at two of them and one man chose the first, two men chose the second, and Alexei took the third.

  The second would eventually lead to Stuckey and Rome.

  The catwalk rattled as the men ran across with their rifles sweeping back and forth. They weren’t more than thirty feet from the hiding place.

  When were they going to—

  CRACK! CRACK!

  Bob flinched and cupped his hands over his ears. The noise was deafening. His ears rang as a frequency band of his hearing died.

  The first man dropped like a marionette with the strings cut. The second dropped to a knee and returned fire. Bullets pinged off the metal structure concealing Stuckey and Rome.

  One of them fired again and hit him.

  He collapsed and screamed in agony.

  “They’re on the second level. Behind that pillar over there!” Charlie shouted as he ran for the stairs. “The end of the chase is my favorite part!” He bounded up the stairs while the others ascended stairs in different parts of the building.

  Stuckey and Rome didn’t have a chance. They were pinned down and would run out of ammo long before their attackers did.

  And what was Bob doing to help?

  Nothing but getting colder in his damp underwear, doing his best not to gag on the rancid stench of rotting fish.

  Bob stared in numb silence as the firefight commenced.

  Charlie’s men advanced on the position, firing as they went. All of them sticking to cover wherever possible after seeing two of their own go down.

  The air shook with violence. A haze of smoke from expended gunpowder drifted toward the roof high above. The thunderous noise went on so long that when it finally died out, it took Bob a few seconds to realize it.

  “Wooooo!” Charlie yelled. “Now this is a proper gun fight!”

  There was no response from Stuckey and Rome. Were they dead?

  “Why’d you stop? Run out of ammo already?”

  “Come and find out,” Stuckey replied.

  “You, go,” Charlie said to one of his men.

  The designated volunteer stayed low in a crouch as he shuffled across the exposed catwalk.

  BOOM!

  THUMP, THUMP.

  His body collapsed onto the walkway.

  Movement by the trucks caught Bob’s eye. A pair of boots ran up the nearby stairs.

  Bob stared up through the grill and saw the man make his way to Charlie’s position behind the corner of one of the enormous holding tanks. He held something in each hand.

  What?

  Flames flared to life from the top of the bottle in the man’s hand. He used it to light the bottle in his other hand.

  Molotov cocktails.

  They were going to burn them out.

  And there was nowhere to run.

  Bob had to do something!

  But what?

  Something!

  He glanced around and an idea came to him. If it didn’t work and fast, his friends were going to be burned alive.

  He scooted out from the cover of the assembly line, gritting his teeth through the pain. A few more feet and he was out in the middle of the floor, looking up at the scene unfolding on the upper level.

  If any of them looked down, they’d see him plain as day.

  And he knew what would happen soon after that. The horrifying vision drove him to crawl faster.

  The man took aim and launched a bottle. It hit the pillar and shattered on impact. A burst of flame curled around the pillar into the hiding space. The second bottle followed and flew straight into the area behind the pillar.

  An explosion of flames and screaming. Stuckey and Rome darted out onto the catwalk with parts of their clothes on fire.

  Bob made it to the open door of the truck and climbed in. He glanced up through the windshield.

  Charlie and Alexei were already in motion.

  Alexei drove through Stuckey like a bulldozer, knocking him onto his back.

  Charlie landed feet first on Rome’s chest, driving him backward and down to the walkway.

  Alexei held the front of Stuckey’s jacket and slammed his fist into his face, again and again.

  Stuckey fought the first few, but then his arms fell to the sides and offered only token resistance.

  Charlie landed on Rome’s chest like a gargoyle guarding a rooftop. A blade flashed above his head as he cackled with glee.

  Bob shifted the truck into gear, clicked his seatbelt, and slammed his foot down onto the gas pedal. The pain in his ankle exploded.

  51

  The truck roared and leaped forward like a racehorse out of the gate.

  Bob saw Charlie look over before the truck crashed into the structure supporting the nearest holding tank. The framework caved in.

  Metal shrieked as the enormous holding tank peeled away from the remaining supports. It started slow but picked up speed as it went sending tens of thousands of gallons of filthy, stagn
ant fish guts and water sluicing through the ruined structure and over the floor.

  The catwalk carrying the four above jerked to the side and partially tore loose. Stuckey and Alexei fell end over end to the concrete floor. They landed hard and didn’t get up. Charlie was flung off of Rome’s chest and slammed into a rail.

  The tank continued pulling the connected upper level structure down with it.

  The catwalk twisted and bent, throwing Rome and Charlie onto one of the metal slides of the assembly line. Rome landed on top of Charlie as they skated down the smooth surface.

  Until they hit that cheese grater section.

  Charlie screamed as the back of his head and neck scraped across. As his coat and shirt were shredded. As the flesh of his back was flayed away.

  Their momentum carried them forward across the length of it.

  Across the length of Charlie’s backside.

  They slammed into a wall of ruined machinery at the bottom and came to a stop.

  Rome pushed up and landed short elbows into Charlie’s face. It only took a few blows before the smaller man had blood pouring out of his nose and cuts on his face.

  The holding tank groaned and finished its arcing collapse to the floor. A section of catwalk tore free and fell. The attached railing snapped leaving a long span with a jagged end jutting out.

  It tumbled as it fell, the span rotating down.

  Heading right at Rome and Charlie.

  Rome glanced up over his shoulder, saw the incoming mass of twisted metal and rolled over the lip of the assembly line as the broken piece crashed down.

  He hit the floor as it hit the assembly line.

  Bob climbed out of the truck and hobbled over to him.

  Rome lay face down in a few inches of repulsive water.

  Bob grabbed his arm and managed to roll him over.

  The kid coughed, blasting spray up into his face.

  Bob wiped his eyes clear. “Are you okay?”

  Rome blinked a few times and nodded.

  Charlie groaned in pain.

  Bob looked over and saw the man’s face screwed up in agony. The jagged end of the railing had pierced several inches into his stomach. The top of the section hung on the edge of a bent walkway.

  Rome stood up and smiled when he saw Charlie’s helpless condition.

  Charlie’s eyes flared with fury. He reached out and then screamed from the spear pinning him down.

  Footsteps from behind and Bob spun around, ready to see the gun that would end his life.

  Chief Stuckey limped over.

  Red hadn’t moved from where they’d fallen. A fall from that height meant there was a fair chance he was dead. It was a miracle Stuckey was up and moving around.

  Stuckey wrapped an arm over Bob’s shoulder for balance. It felt like a tree log settling across his back. He did his best to keep most of the weight off of his ruined ankle.

  All three stood above Charlie, watching.

  Rome reached down and slapped the metal.

  Charlie screamed as his hands gripped the railing perforating his gut.

  Rome hit it again and got the same response.

  “Let me have a turn,” Stuckey said. He leaned forward and punched the railing.

  The framework above creaked and the railing shifted half an inch, ripping through Charlie’s flesh.

  He howled in pain.

  Charlie’s expression shifted. “Please, help me. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll do anything you want.”

  Stuckey shoved a finger into the wound. “I want you to suffer and die.”

  Blood gurgled out of Charlie’s mouth and spewed out like lava as he screamed.

  Rome looked up at the hanging section of catwalk. “Get back.”

  Bob followed his eyes. “What’re you doing?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He helped Stuckey move back what seemed like a safe distance.

  Rome climbed up onto the assembly line, standing above Charlie. He stared down with a twisted, cold expression on his face. “This is for my mother.”

  He lifted his huge foot and kicked the railing.

  Charlie wailed louder than before as the metal screeched and moved.

  Rome kicked it again and the section came loose. He leaped off the assembly line as the piece of catwalk fell to the other side like a cut tree.

  The jagged end tore across Charlie stomach before ripping free and arcing through the air. It bounced as the section hit the floor and then came to rest leaning against the assembly line.

  Charlie groaned.

  Bob, Stuckey and Rome gathered around him.

  Gruesome didn’t cover it by half.

  Bob grimaced and was close to vomiting.

  Charlie’s middle was sliced open. His intestines spilling out like slimy, overstuffed sausage links. Mottled purple and red and slipping through his fingers as he tried to stuff them back in.

  They watched him struggle for a while.

  No one spoke.

  It didn’t take hours. Not like Charlie said it might.

  But it did take more than a few minutes.

  When his fingers finally stopped moving and his head slumped to the side, Rome spoke first.

  “He deserved worse.”

  “Yes, he did,” Stuckey replied. “And if there’s any justice in this universe, he’ll get it in hell.”

  52

  EMILY flinched as the first drop of rain hit her cheek. She lay on the deck of the boat covered in a mountain of blankets and still shivering like she was standing naked at the North Pole. She had a fold of cloth in her mouth to keep the jackhammering from cracking a tooth. Her insides swung from numb nothingness to sharp pain and back like the jagged lines of a polygraph test.

  She’d been miserable before. Plenty of times. Misery was her default state.

  But this was something new. Something violently inescapable. It shook her limbs with uncontrollable quaking in fits and starts.

  But it wasn’t all suffering.

  Because he was here.

  Inside the burrito of blankets with her.

  His bare chest against hers.

  The hard planes of muscle pressed against her softer curves.

  There was nothing sexual in the embrace. Her body was too ravaged and cold. Like she’d taken the ultimate cold shower.

  The connection was deeper than that. It was nurturing. It was loving. It was literally life-sustaining.

  His heat burned her skin. A barely endurable pain that was all she wanted in the world.

  “The rain’s coming,” someone nearby said.

  “We’re almost there,” another replied.

  Marco glanced down and smiled. There was masked pain in the curvature of his mouth. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. His lips felt like a hissing brand touching her skin.

  But she didn’t pull away.

  She wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by his heat. To burrow into his core and hibernate there until Spring came and the world again filled with sunlight.

  “H-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.” She tried to speak, without success. The shivering made the words stutter to a stop on the first letter.

  “Shhhh, just rest.”

  She wanted to know how it happened. How she’d gone under. How she was pretty sure she’d died and yet somehow woke up with him hovering above her.

  Like a guardian angel.

  Her guardian angel.

  They lay there as the rain picked up. Not talking. Just looking into each other’s eyes. Just sharing space and heat. Sharing life.

  Someone came by with a plastic tarp. “Keep this over you. This rain could be radioactive.” The dim figure spread it over their exposed heads and then tucked it underneath to keep it from flying away.

  When she could feel her stomach, it twisted in knots every time the boat dove into another trough.

  The wind ripped through harder and faster. Gusts that chilled her through the many layers of blankets.

  An overwhel
ming drowsiness came over her. Her eyes started to droop shut.

  “Emily,” Marco said and his warm breath tickled her neck. “Emily.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “Hmm?”

  “Stay with me. Okay?”

  She nodded, more from the happy surprise of seeing him than understanding and answering the question.

  “There’s the harbor!” someone shouted.

  “I see them!” another shouted. “Look at all those trucks!”

  Another few minutes of zooming up and down the roller coaster of waves and the motion began to settle.

  Blinding light lit up the plastic tarp. “They’ve spotted us!” someone yelled.

  The wind continued howling but the motion of the boat had calmed. The engines slowed to a low throttle.

  “Get those lines out!”

  “Sounds like it’s time to go,” Marco said. “I’m going to carry you, okay?”

  She nodded. “O-o-okay.”

  The word stuttered out, relatively uninterrupted by chattering teeth.

  He wriggled out of the blankets and she gasped as his skin pulled away. It felt like duct tape peeling off a bleeding wound. He wrapped the blankets around her and lifted her into the air like a child.

  Like a bride on her wedding night.

  She noticed Oscar for the first time, wrapped like a fur scarf around Marco’s neck. The little weasel’s fur wet and matted and his surprisingly lean body shivering.

  Marco managed to keep the tarp wrapped over their heads. He turned as the boat bumped into the dock and a cacophony of voices competed with the howling wind.

  “Get her to the nearest truck. I’ll bring your bag.”

  Marco nodded and stepped over onto the dock. His shoulders rippled with lean muscle as he carried Emily along. He turned to leave the dock and she wondered if she was hallucinating.

  There were ten or so boats already moored at the dock. Most of their passengers already climbing into one of five military style troop transports. The kind with giant knobby tires and green canvas covering the back where the people were loading up. Their headlights cast a harsh light into the surrounding darkness.

  It looked like nothing so much as refugees fleeing their homeland and making it to the safety of a neighboring land.