The Maddening: Book 2 in the Terror Saga

by Nicholas Head

  Out of the corner of her eye, Marisha spotted movement skitter across the roof, but it was gone in a blink of an eye. She passed it off as nothing, her mind playing tricks on her. Thirty seconds later, she saw it again, only this time she got a better look. It wasn’t an ‘it,’ but rather a person, and this time something was in their hands. They took cover behind the AC units that were perched on the warehouse roof.

  As the group came into view, the mystery person ran forward again, crouched down, appearing to watch everyone walk towards him. She got a closer look at what they had been holding, and a sickening feeling developed in the pit of her stomach.

  “Oh, please, NO!” Marisha yelled out. “RUN!”

  She screamed at the top of her lungs, but no one would have heard her this far away. She ran towards the group, screaming and waving her hands, praying she would get at least one person’s attention.

  BANG!

  Colleen

  Colleen was inches away from Joel when his leg flew back like it had been smashed with a hammer. He staggered forward from the momentum of the bullet striking the outside of his thigh. The blossoming wound exploded in a puff of blood and tissue as the round passed through and into the dirt, nearly clipping their horse.

  Crack! The next shot was lower and came before the reality of the first one had set in. Joel fell to the ground, screaming in pain, his kneecap hanging on with tendons and muscle.

  He was a sitting duck.

  The rest of the group scattered as the shooter emptied more rounds in their direction. Dirt flying up like small mortar fire. The rat-a-tat-tat of the automatic weapon drowning out everything else.

  Joel remained on the ground as shots fell all around his twisted body—some landing only inches from his head. If the shooter wanted Joel dead, he would be, but this was a game. The sadist was toying with him. Colleen hit the dirt and crawled toward him on her belly, never stopping.

  “Joel,” she said, in between his cries of agony. “Listen to me! We have to get you out of here—” Another shot slammed into the dirt, inches from her head. Colleen grabbed his arms and pulled, dragging him behind cover, gunfire still pelting the ground in their trail.

  “Let me look at the leg,” she said, removing his hand, trying to assess the damage. With all that blood, it was hard to tell. His knee couldn’t be saved and he might never walk on it again, but she likely could slow the bleeding if she tied on a tourniquet.

  The others, northwest of Colleen, huddled behind an axle-less tractor-trailer that had been converted into a funhouse. Washed-out paintings of clowns covered outside, appearing more frightening than fun now. No one else seemed to have been shot. She grabbed her knife, sliced some fabric from his shirt, “This is going to hurt like hell.”

  “Wait—” Joel tried to protest, but before he could continue, she packed the wound to the sound of his screams. Colleen unbuckled his belt from his jeans and wrapped it above the highest wound, synched it down, and buckled it as tight as she could. She waited a moment, watching the bleeding slow—it was tight enough to cut off the blood supply to the rest of his leg. She hoped it would be enough to save his life, and maybe, just maybe, they could save his leg if they got help soon.

  When she was sure that Joel was stable, Colleen devised a plan to get out of there. The shooter had cut off almost all of their routes out. Unfortunately, from their location, the gunman had no blind spots. If Colleen and Joel moved out from behind cover, the only thing protecting them would be a Carousel in the middle of the park, and that wouldn’t stand up to a high-powered rifle. Shooting through it would be like shooting through Swiss cheese. They needed a diversion. If she could get to the other side, to Cooper and Chenoa, maybe they would make it.

  With horses, they had speed on their side; the only problem was getting over there. Colleen grabbed her weapon from her holster and told Joel the quick and dirty plan. “On the count of three, we run. Run harder than you ever have in your life before. Do not stop and don’t look up. Leave everything else to me,” she said, staring into his fading eyes, “Got it?”

  She took his silence as an agreement. Colleen crouched down, threw Joel’s arm around her neck, and lifted him up. “Push!”

  He pushed up, finally standing. Colleen didn’t delay, she counted to three, and they ran. She sprinted ahead, dragging Joel behind her, as he pushed along with one leg. Colleen made diversionary shots in the shooter's direction; any distraction was worth it. They zig-zagged as much as was possible, making them hard targets.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Joel said, tears streamed down his face.

  Crack!

  “Shut up; you can apologize when we reach the other side.”

  For a moment, Colleen thought the shooter was out of ammo, but as she reached the middle of the Carousel, a shot slammed into one of the wooden horses, splintering the wood. They momentarily flinched but kept on, pushing the last hundred yards to the other side. She didn’t think she could go on. Her muscles ached, nearly collapsing under his weight.

  Just a little further.

  A few more shots rang out, kicking up dust in front of them, blurring the path. Colleen covered her eyes and ran. She could almost taste safety, and Joel had stopped trying. His head hanging down. Colleen was spent, but they were almost there.

  “I said push, let’s GO!” she roared, narrowing her eyes to focus through the dust. She heard the other two, Chenoa and Cooper, shouting and encouraging them. They were off their horses with hands held out, ready to grab them. They were going to make it. She looked down at Joel’s leg. Blood seeped from the wounds and soaked his jeans. The tourniquet wasn’t tight enough.

  Then, Thump. Colleen didn’t even hear the shot before his head whiplashed back, then sunk to his chest. The force nearly spun her around, but adrenaline carried her the rest of the way. She didn’t stop but kept pulling, finally collapsing as they reached her friend’s outstretched hands. She let go, with eyes wide, staring straight ahead.

  I could’ve saved him.

  Colleen was frozen, unresponsive. She felt Chenoa and Cooper's hands lift her body up as they hoisted her onto the waiting horse. They galloped away, leaving Joel’s lifeless body behind.

  Five

  Marisha

  All Marisha saw was the impact, and Colleen’s limp body pulled onto the horse. The panic choked off her air, squeezing her lungs from the inside. She wasn’t sure if Colleen had taken a bullet too, since it was hard to tell with her face and shirt covered in blood. She watched them weave through the park, in between rides, booths, and buildings. What seemed like a short distance felt like it would take an eternity for them to cross.

  The shooting had stopped, as the group made their way west. Marisha decided to try and cut them off at the west exit, not even bothering to take the carts. She looked to the warehouse, fuming about being set up and the possibility that they had wounded Colleen. She couldn’t help but believe that Joel had something to do with this. Why else would the shooter only take out one person, leaving the others to ?

  She looked at the roof and noticed it was empty again. They had bolted as quickly as they had arrived. Chenoa slowed, looking back as she saw the vacant roof. Marisha was almost to them now, and all she wanted to do was embrace her girlfriend. To take her in her arms and take her pain away.

  Colleen slid off the horse and collapsed to the ground, muttering to herself, “He… said… he was sorry.” She said softly, “Why?”

  Marisha reached out and hugged her, pressing against her blood-soaked clothes, “It was a setup; they knew we were coming.” She snarled, pursing her lips, “They took out the only person who knew why we were there.”

  The journey back was a slow, lumbering slog. Even the horses felt like they were trudging through a field of tar. The excitement was palpable before they left, everyone excited to scrimp by a little less. But now, the feeling had been replaced with dread, fear, and apathy as they walked home. They had known Joel for less than 24 hours, and he was already dea
d, ubdoubtedly murdered by someone who knew him. Not only that, they knew that the others at the hospital would feel just as defeated when they realized it had been for nothing—even if he set them up.

  Clouds had rolled in behind them, blotting out the sun. Cooper looked up, squinting his eyes at what bit of light was left. “So, who would want us dead?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  I don’t know, but—” Colleen said, pausing while she gathered her thoughts, “I think they could have killed us all if they really wanted to. Which tells me that whatever they are planning has only just begun.”

  Chenoa pulled the reins on her horse, stopping almost immediately. “What do you mean? I think we all saw the bullets flying, and they peppered the ground. He, or she, had it out for us. I could have died; we all could have died. Just because they failed doesn’t mean that they weren’t trying,” she said, then looking at Cooper.

  "She’s right,” Cooper said, “We were all in the crosshair—”

  Colleen cut in, “If they had the mind to kill all of us, they would have, but that’s not what happened. They surgically placed the first shot that hit Joel, precisely where he wouldn’t bleed out. Then, another was to maim him, and the final one came at the precise moment we thought we had escaped. That wasn’t a coincidence. The shooter could’ve shot me and didn’t, they either purposely missed or solely aimed at Joel.”

  "She’s right,” Marisha said, her words coming in short bursts. One hand tightly gripped the reins while the other erratically fidgeted with her shirt’s hem. Her mind was going a million miles an hour, and she felt helpless to tame it. “I could see everything back there. The shots to the ground, they were toying with us. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”

  “But it’s one guy—or girl," Cooper said, “It’s not like they can kill us all.”

  Colleen stared right into Cooper’s eyes, “It’s one person as of right now. That doesn’t mean the shooter doesn’t have friends,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “They can kill us, and they will if given a chance. Whoever they are, has a considerable advantage over us with their scoped rifle and knowledge of our location. We don’t know what other weapons they have, but we certainly don’t have that.”

  “So, someone has to say it… Are we just going to leave Joel’s body there?” Marisha said. “To rot in the sun?” She looked at Colleen, only to have her glance away. Turning the question to Chenoa and Cooper, they silently responded the same. It was quiet for a moment; only the thumps of hoofbeats and birds singing filled the air.

  Cooper looked to everyone then stiffened his back, sitting erect the saddle. His hand raised to his face, harshly kneading his jaw. “We have to. If this person is as deadly as you say. It would be suicide to go back in and get him.”

  “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him—the shooter, that is,” Marisha bit her bottom lip. Wincing from the pain, she closed her eyes, “We’ve all passed through here a million times and never had this happen before. This wasn’t a defense. This was an attack. I just wish I knew where they were going to hit next and why they targeted us in the first place.” A hush fell over the group; they were being hunted, and they all knew it.

  Chenoa and Cooper had taken the lead again, scouting almost a hundred yards out in front, as Marisha and Colleen brought up the rear. The two women were physically in the same place, but in reality, they felt hundreds of miles apart. The chilly fall air held tension thick enough to cut it with a knife. As Marisha reached up to grab Colleen’s hand, she pulled away, clenching her fist.

  Her girlfriend had said little since last night. Only talking in quick phrases, never going out of her way. Marisha hated it. How were they supposed to work through things if Colleen wouldn’t even give her the light of day? They felt like strangers. Granted, what had been said was cordial, but there was nothing else. The usual flirty banter had stopped; the loving looks held malice, and the tension was coming to a head.

  Marisha took a break from looking back and keeping an eye out for anyone approaching them. The silence was killing her. She drew her lips into a line and spoke, “Who do you think has it out for us?” she asked.

  “It could be anyone.” Colleen’s gaze stared straight ahead, unwavering.

  “Well, no—I know that,” she said, trying to push down the frustration boiling inside her. “I just wasn’t sure if you had a hunch as to who the more likely suspects were.”

  Her foot stepped on the starting edge of the bridge and the hollow sounds of hooves against asphalt echoed through the valley below. They had made it back.

  “Take a number,” Colleen said shortly.

  Even though their bodies were pressed against each other, she had never felt this far from her before.

  ‘This,” Marisha said, motioning back and forth between their bodies, “isn’t helpful for anyone. I need to know if we are putting anyone else in danger, and they—” she said, pointing up ahead at their friends, “need to know too. I think we’ve all got a pretty good idea of what’s going on here. I just need you to be honest.”

  “Honest? What do you know about honesty?” Colleen snorted, “I told you I don’t know. I would tell you if I knew something. That’s more than I can say about you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean,” Marisha said.

  “It means exactly what I said,” Colleen gritted her teeth. “If it’s anyone, then it has to be Truthmore or Killian and her wacko family come to find us. Is that what you want to hear?”

  Marisha rubbed the collar of her shirt, nearly pulling at the seams, “That’s all I was asking.”

  “I’m not feeling well. I’m not in the mood to argue, okay?” Colleen said, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut as they walked.

  “What’s wrong?” Marisha asked, trying to calm herself. Even if Colleen didn’t answer, she could easily guess that the increased hormones didn’t help.

  “I’ve felt nauseous all day, and it’s not getting better. That’s all. I don’t need someone to take care of me.”

  Marisha felt Colleen try to push her away, building that wall between threm brick by brick.

  “Hey, look at me,” Marisha said, grabbing her arm and stopping her in her tracks.

  Colleen looked up to Marisha, her face as white as a patch of Blackfoot daisies. Her pupils like saucers and dark circles hung under her eyes.

  “Are you ok? You look like—”

  Colleen heaved to the left, throwing up everywhere. She bent over, sweat poured down her face. Marisha reached out, steadying her from fallgin off.

  “I must have caught something,” Colleen said, wiping her mouth. “Or…. what did we have for dinner last night? You don’t think that Joel would’ve put anything in the soup he made, do you?”

  Six

  Marisha

  Colleen rode on the back of Chenoa’s horse the rest of the way back to the hospital. They had to stop off no less than three more times for her to further rid herself of the contents of her stomach. In hindsight, they had all decided that riding on a horse might not have been the best idea for someone who kept throwing up.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time they arrived back at the hospital; everyone going their separate ways. Chenoa took the horses to the stable, while Marisha helped Cooper carry a sleepy and weak Colleen up to see Dr. Vasquez.

  “Good gracious, she’s heavy,” Marisha sighed, setting Colleen down. “I may only be carrying the legs, but I swear. It’s got to be the height.”

  “Maybe,” Cooper said, shushing her. “You better hope she’s too weak to hear you. The last time I said something like that, Chenoa darn near tore me a new one.”

  Marisha wrinkled her brow, “Sweet little Chenoa?”

  “I’ve never really thought about it—except for her just being tall—Colleen’s got to be what, nearly six feet?”

  “She’s gonna… hear you,” he said between breaths as he helped situate Colleen.

  “Nah, she’s zonked,” she said,
grabbing her ankles lifting, “She’s all legs, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice legs. I’m pretty jealous, to be honest.”

  “Do you always talk this much?” Cooper asked, checking to see if Colleen was coherent. He mimicked like he was digging with a shovel, “It’s your grave. When she gets her energy back, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “It’s fine. See, she’s asleep, ” Marisha said, as she reached down to pinch her girlfriend’s earlobe. Colleen’s hand popped up, grabbing her hand and stopping her.

  “You know I hate that,” Colleen said as she momentarily opened her eyes with narrow slits, “You’re lucky I’m tired. Keep digging yourself deeper.”

  They moved her to a bed on the 2nd floor, letting her rest as Cooper went to get help. Dr. Vasquez ran a few basic tests, but with limited options at his disposal, all he could do was give her fluids and tell her to rest. Once he had left, Marisha crawled up into bed and held Colleen’s hand until she fell back asleep.

  As soon as she was sure she was back asleep, Marisha slipped out, intending to find Vasquez; she needed to figure things out. All this secrecy had gone on long enough, and keeping this secret was going to eat her up inside. She found him in his office, pouring over some notes, his head buried deep in concentration.

  “Dr. Vasquez,” she said, barely above a whisper. He continued on as if he was unaware of her presence.

  “Dr. Vasquez, do you have a minute?” she repeated, a bit louder this time. He spun around in his chair, nearly losing his balance.

  “You scared me half to death! I didn’t see you there.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—" she said, keeping her head down

  “Don’t apologize. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in what I am doing. I forget the world is spinning.” He put everything down and gave her his full attention, “I’m all ears.”