Mohan
These can’t be the people she was talking about. I should just keep moving,
He shook his head. His mood instantly flipped.
This must be some kind of sick joke. Dude, why did I do this? I had it good back in the church.
Mohan scurried down the steps, trying to keep quiet. With long strides, he bolted through the bottom floor of the bank building and out the back door. They might've been terrible shots, but he wasn’t about to let them get the jump on him. He could still remember the last person to get the drop on him, Colleen. The same girl who had sent him here to find The Hitchen’s. Maybe this was her getting the last laugh.
Right outside the backdoor, he could see a yellow, garish building announcing the availability of the 72oz steak Challenge. Mohan wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but if the faded image on the sign was any indication, it was massive.
This should work. I just need a place to hang out for the day. He shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. I’ll get something to eat, take a nap, and then find these people. I just hope those idiots aren’t supposed to be them.
The pain of Colleen leaving was still fresh, even 6 months later. In the following months, no one worth the effort had passed through. There had been a few swindlers selling broken solar generators and a family full of kids, who at first seemed entirely normal until they flipped out, wanting to ‘save him’ the moment he expressed any personality.
The worst of all were the people brokers, but he knew what to do when they came around. He found his spot and locked himself in. There was no fighting them, just hiding and avoiding. Mohan had seen them take kids before, kids who thought they could fight and escape; he could still hear their screams as they were torn from their parents kicking and screaming. Thrashing and clawing, the kids would try anything. Their bloody nails had dug into their captor's skin, but it only made the brokers angrier and more motivated. They learned the hard way resistance would only bring pain.
Mohan slid through the steakhouse's swinging slatted doors and headed towards the back. Most old restaurants had a big walk-in refrigerator in the rear. It was the perfect place to sleep when it was cold, but awful when it was hot. The heat would just fester with the smell of old rotten food.
“Hunt tonight or today?” He said to himself, putting his palms up, mimicking scales as he weighed his options. “You know what, scratch that previous plan. I’m tired, and hunting while exhausted just wastes ammo.”
He patted his stomach as if bargaining with it, telling it to hold on for a few more hours. There was a slight rumble in return that he took as a yes, so he dropped his pack, unrolled his blanket, and silently made his plan to eat well tonight.
Finley
“Oh, wow! He’s got some good stuff in here,” Toby briskly whispered.
Finley cut his eyes in Toby’s direction and put his finger to his lips, telling him to shush it.
“What? I’m not loud,” Toby huffed, then returned to searching through Mohan's things. “Let’s see here, he’s got a practically new Everspark, the Life Jug that—” he shook the plastic bottle next to his ear, “by the sound of it, is in perfect shape.”
Only a few yards away laid what they had claimed as, the sleeping mound of Mohan. Toby had brazenly taken his pack and decided to search it while the boy slept. His thinking was since Mohan hadn’t stirred, it couldn’t hurt just to comb through it. Finley disagreed, but he was too tired to argue.
Lily’s baby had cried all night, keeping everyone awake but Toby, the newborn's father. He was now a dad, and yet his sleeping patterns hadn’t changed one bit. He was a good dad, though, and often stayed up all night when the baby would take forever to fall asleep. But, once the infant was out, so was he, and he wouldn't wake up for anything.
“Would you look at this! Ain't she-a-beauty?” He held up a 4-inch titanium handle with a noticeable bulge at the end. With the flick of a switch, a thin purple line escaped with an almost silent wisp-like sound. “I can’t believe it still works.’
“What is that thing?” Finley said.
“Plasma knife,” Toby said proudly as he clicked it off and slid it into his pocket. “It cuts through almost any organic matter like nothing by heating up to a scorching temperature. The small versions aren’t known for lasting more than a few minutes before needing a charge. It’s military, well, was military, issue gear. It’s definitely seen better days, but the amazing part is that it still works. Why a kid like Mohan has it, I don’t know. Probably stole it from someone,” Toby said, geeking out.
“Just like you are doing right now?” Finley asked, gesturing to his brother's body.
Toby forced a fake laugh, then frowned. “That kid shot at us today. I think it's only fair. It’s not like a twelve-year-old kid has any business with something this dangerous. I’m doing him a favor.”
A faint click could be heard as a long-barreled .22 caliber rifle rose and pierced the shadows behind them; Toby and Finely froze.
“Thirteen, and I’m no thief,” the young but leathery voice said. The fingers on his left hand cradled the forestock as his right index finger toyed with the trigger.
“What?” Toby said.
“I’m not twelve, I’m thirteen,” he said, the rifle pointed at the two men, “And I didn’t steal that from anyone.”
“Then where did you get it?”
“That’s none of your business,” Mohan said. He stepped down from his perch he had taken on top of some empty shelves. His slender frame had allowed him to squeeze into the tight space and wait.
Toby looked at Finley and nodded his head. "See, told ya he stole it."
“I knew I couldn’t trust you two. My dad always said not to trust anyone who can’t hit what they aim for,” Mohan said, ignoring Toby's comment and taking a step forward.
“We never shot at you,” Toby pled, “Those were warning shots.”
“Well, that might've been your first mistake.”
“You aren’t going to kill us,” Finley said, finally speaking up, “That’s not your nature, and stealing isn’t ours.”
“And how can you tell? You don’t know me. I could be a cold-blooded killer.” Mohan stepped forward and motioned to the two of them to put their hands up and walk. He kept walking, prodding them until they had reached the large, open dining area. “Oh, and that part about you not stealing? I think that knife of mine in your pocket says otherwise.”
Toby looked to the ground and shrugged his shoulders. He quickly put his hands in his pockets and feigned searching for something as he kept a hand wrapped around the plasma knife.
“Just give it to him, Toby. He’s not dumb,” Finley commanded.
With his back still turned, he bent down and slid the knife behind him, grumbling under his breath, “I wasn’t going to keep it…”
“You two can turn around. I assume if I check my bag later, everything else is going to be in there?” He looked at Finley and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “Is it?” Mohan asked again.
“It will. I think my brother here was just excited about seeing one of those for the first time. As you can tell, he has a habit of acting before thinking.” Finley relaxed, then lowered his hands and took a step toward Mohan.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mohand said. He pushed the small-caliber rifle’s barrel into Finley's stomach. Without thinking, Finley slapped the gun away with his right hand, then grabbed the barrel with this left and twisted. Mohan collapsed to the ground with his thumb caught in the trigger guard. Toby lunged to grab the boy, but Finley pushed him away. “You’ve done enough,” he snapped.
With the gun safely in hand, Finley reached out and offered a hand to Mohan. The boy glared at him as if trying to see if he could trust the two guys now that he was the one at a disadvantage. After a few seconds had passed, Finely pulled his hand away, looking nonplused. He dug his heels into the ground as he pushed himself up, creating some more space between the three of them.
“I promise I don’t wan
t trouble,” the boy said, “Just do me one thing, and I’ll be gone to my next place. I need some information about some people.”
“We’ll try to help, but I’ve gotta warn you. We don’t see many people passing through here anymore. This wouldn’t happen to be about that woman you mentioned earlier, would it?” Finley said. He rubbed his hand, looking down to see a gash where the front sight had dug into his palm. He pulled his bandana from his pocket and pressed it to the wound to stop the bleeding.
“Not really a woman. She was closer to my age than yours.”
“You got a name for her?” Toby piped in.
“Colleen,” Mohan said, “she had a dog with her, too. Real handsome fellow, but he really needed a haircut.”
Finley stared straight ahead, not wanting to react, How did he know Colleen?
“Hmm,” Finley said as he put out his bottom lip and nodded his head in agreement, “And did this Colleen say who you should be looking for?”
“The Hitchens,” Mohan said.
“The Hitchens? That’s—”, Finely cut Toby off and shot a stern look and pursed lips. As soon as Mohan looked away, Toby shot his brother a devilish smirk.
“Oh, I know the Hitchen’s. Fine people, if a bit insane,” Toby’s face looked like he could barely keep it together, clearly pleased with himself. ”The oldest woman is a bit weird though, I think she’s got a bit of the Terror. Don’t stare, or she’ll know.”
Mohan’s eyes grew huge.
“I can take you to meet them if you like.”
The boy let out an exasperated sigh, “That’s why I’m here. Let’s go.”
Toby remained quiet as Mohan gathered his belongings and tagged along. The trio made the quick quarter-mile walk to the front door of the freshly painted one-story home. Finley wrapped on the door a few times and backed up.
“Oh, I forgot to mention. You might have to speak up; the brunette, Amelia, is a bit hard of hearing—tragic rabbit hunting accident. I wouldn't bring it up if I were you,” Finley said, trying to hide the giggle that escaped.
Behind the door, a voice approached. “Who’s knocking? I hope it's not the boys again. It’s not a joke if you’re the only one laughing.”
The door swung open, revealing two women. The taller of the two, with her brunette hair hanging over her eyes, had her muddy hands firmly planted on either side of her hips. The blond was much shorter than the other, glared at all of them through her piercing blue eyes. Quickly, they narrowed their eyes in return, “What are you two doing?”
“HI, AMELIA!” Mohan yelled, stepping out from behind the men, “YOU WOULDN’T HAPPEN TO BE MRS. HITCHENS, WOULD YOU?”
“Yes…” she said, looking to Finley and Toby for a clue as to why the boy was yelling.
“WELL MA’AM,” he spoke drawing out his words, “I BELIEVE I AM SUPPOSED TO, UHH FIND YOU.”
Amelia squinted and tightly pressed her lips together. “Finley? Why is this boy yelling at me?” she finally asked.
Toby looked up and to the left. Mohan's eyes got wide, and his ears turned a pale shade of pink. “He said—they said you were deaf.”
She sidestepped Mohan and reared back, punching Finley in the soft area to the right of his shoulder.
“Ouch! That hurt,” Finley screeched.
“It’s supposed to,” Amelia said, glaring a hole through the two men. “and yes, young man, I am Amelia Hitchen’s, for now at least; And this,” she said, pulling the woman forward, “is Lily Hitchen’s. These two worthless souls are our husbands, the other Hitchens.”
“Wait,” Mohan stammered. “I thought you two were somebody else. You didn’t tell me you were related.”
Amelia exhaled through her nose and tapped her fingers along her skirt. “What did they say this time?”
“Oh, the short one—” Mohan started.
“Short?” Toby said, wearing a look of utter disbelief, “Well, your feet aren’t exactly touching the floor when you sit down.”
“That’s because I’m still a kid. What’s your excuse?” Mohan retorted.
“I’m compact, thank you very much,” Toby said. He playfully flexed his biceps and rolled his neck around. “There’s a lot stuffed into this total package. My wife likes it.”
Lily looked down and shielded her eyes while rubbing her forehead. “I mean, when the apocalypse happens, you can't be too picky,” she said with her thick accent.
“As I was saying. I told wrecking ball here,” Mohan said, pointing his thumb to Toby, “that I was looking for the Hitchens. He said, they knew them but wanted to know how I knew of them."
“How do you?” Lily asked, concern filling her face.
“My good friend Colleen sent me. She told me to search you all out if I ever got desperate. Well, here I am.”
Amelia and Lily’s faces lit up as soon as they heard her name. Amelia gulped and smiled from ear to ear, “Did you say, Colleen?”
Thirty-Four
Colleen
Marisha lay on the ground in a crumpled mess—her body heaving up and down with each heartbreaking sob. Colleen reached to console her, but so much of her was wracked with guilt that her own touch felt cold and detached. Marisha pulled away, a pool of tears forming on the soft ground.
Colleen walked up and kneeled down beside her, giving her space. She didn’t touch her or say anything; she just let her cry. Within a few minutes, the sobbing slowed as Marisha’s body looked no longer be able to keep up with what her heart was putting her through.
For what felt like an eternity, the women sat there. Neither one saying anything; their eyes transfixed on the view in front of them. As Marisha’s body relaxed, Colleen took this as an opportunity to do her best to salvage the tense situation.
“It’s a beautiful place. I can only imagine what it looks like in the spring,” she said, hoping her girlfriend would at least speak.
“Yeah, it really is,” Marisha said as she loudly sniffed her runny nose.
“I think my mom would have liked it too,” Colleen said. As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back. She didn’t want Marisha to think she was making it about her. “I’m mean, I have a feeling both of our moms might've been friends if the world wasn't so—” Colleen gestured to everything around them, "and had they met before the shifting."
“Maybe, but my mom’s English wasn’t always the best. I liked to tease her and tell her she spoke fluent Russ-lish, which would only make her mad. She was a woman who always cut through the crap people tried to pull over on her. Tough as steel, almost unbreakable, and saved my dad’s butt more times than he would ever admit. The proud Russian alpha male he was.” She trailed off, “That is until...you know.” Her back tensed up like a cornered animal.
“My mom got along with almost everyone,” Colleen said. “that was until you gave her a reason not to. Then, there was no mercy, even for her own daughter. She could run with the toughest of them and taught me everything I know, and I was still learning until the day she…she died. I think you and I have a lot to thank our moms for,” Colleen looked to Marisha gave her a flat smile.
“My memories are flooding back into my mind and somehow, have become more vivid than before. I feel like when we first met, I remembered nothing about my parents, and now...” Marisha said quietly.
Colleen moved in closer, “Like what?”
"Mama was a fantastic cook. My last good memory of her was the last chance she got to make us a home cooked meal that wasn’t just whatever we could scavenge for." A smile formed on Marisha's face, the first Colleen had seen since they arrived at the atrium.
"It was the end of a long winter day, and we’d been going in circles for months, trying to stay one step ahead of bandits. I saw a cabin, maybe a half-mile off. With snow blanketing everything, every house looked the same, but not that one; the roof was bare. All the snow had melted. So, I had started heading in that direction, saying nothing. Dad had already had his first few spells of the Terror; he’d been so mean and hateful that
we’d decided I should lead. I told them to wait outside while I took a look around. As soon as I stepped through the front door, I felt at home. But, in a way, it felt too perfect. The cupboards were stocked with beets and onions. The lamps were still burning, the stove was still smoking, and…"
Marisha reached her hand across her stomach, grabbing the opposite arm. "Then I saw them. A man and woman, barely older than my parents, were laying in the bed, cuddled up in a blanket. Each of them had a gunshot wound to the head."
“They—” Colleen's words caught in her throat as she trailed off.
Marisha closed her eyes and let her left hand slide down her face, revealing a pained smile. “I told my parents I needed to check it out some more. So, I went inside, wrapped each of them up, and pulled them outside through the back door, and buried them in the snow. Not well, but far enough to keep the wolves at bay. Ironic, I guess.”
“Marisha, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful,” Colleen put a hand on her shoulder, letting it slide down to interlock with her trembling fingers.
“Russian people are strong as nails. They’ve been through a lot, and the cold shouldn’t be one to break them, yet we were at the end of our rope. Mom would say ‘Smert' zabirayet ne staroye, a speloye’. Death doesn't take the old but the ripe. I told myself that they left this world before the Terror could truly destroy their lives. My mom, for the first time in ages, made something resembling borscht. We laughed, we cried, and our bellies were full. I’m not sure if what I did was right, but it helped me sleep that night.”
Colleen didn't have a response. She’d never had to do anything even remotely close to that. Her world was spinning. Why didn’t she know any of this?
“Do you believe they could be looking down on us, smiling, or I don’t know, cursing at us under their breath? I can guarantee my mom would be telling me what a dumb idea all this was.” Colleen saw Marisha let a smile crack her red, tear-stained face.
She shyly looked down and kicked the ground. “You don’t want to hear what I think about that.” Colleen wrapped an arm around her and squeezed hard enough to hear Marisha gasp for breath and stumble. All she wanted to do was take her pain away.
The Maddening: Book 2 in the Terror Saga Page 18
