by catt dahman
“Oren says he is ready to drive out to Lydia’s, see how they are and bring them back. He says any dry ones he finds on the streets can come. We need someone in one more car to follow Oren and be there in case he needs help. The roads are bad, and no one needs to be out alone.” A man and woman with two teen kids, none of whom they knew, offered to follow Oren in their van.
A family of three was huddled in the break room, and they were terrified to go out into the rain. Coral hated to leave them all alone, but they would have food and items they needed and could stay there if they wanted.
He thought it was a bad idea to stay, but that was just a feeling in his gut, and he didn’t know anything for sure. He wished them the best of luck after warning them he didn’t like the idea of leaving them behind.
Katie whined as she looked at the family and looked to Coral as if she were asking him to make them go. She didn’t want them to stay behind, but they had made up their minds. With her ears perked up, Katie followed Coral.
“What about the violent people?” Ronnie asked.
Coral spoke to Oren again.
“He says to leave them tied,” Coral said, “he says we have enough going on without dragging around a bunch of crazies with us, and he doesn’t care who it is.”
“Daddy, I had to shoot Chris. He’s dead. Over,” Ronnie spoke into her radio now that her father could hear her and the reception was clear.
“Was it by the book? Over,” Oren hesitated only a second before asking her the question.
“Yes, Sir. Over.”
“Sometimes the job sucks, Ronnie. I’m positive you did things by the book and had no other choice. I’m sorry you had to do that; there’s nothing worse than having to take a life, but keep your chin up, and we’ll get the town settled; then, you can tell me what happened, okay? Over.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, “let’s hurry this up, okay, Daddy? Over”
“You got it. Oren out.”
Coral patted her back and flashed Oren an okay sign with his fingers.
It was a raggedy-looking group that pulled out from the diner, some dressed in baggies and trash liners with many loaded onto the school bus; behind the bus came Oren’s cruiser, Coral’s Explorer, Ronnie in the other cruiser, and last was the big RV.
Coral wasn’t sure why, but with a chief of police and two officers, he was the apparent leader, yet he took it in stride. If this were his road, then he would walk it as best he could.
Chapter 6
In the big bus, Ben only had to turn onto to 2nd, then immediately back onto Main, and a few doors down to Main Street Hotel’s portico. He would wait there for the others sure no one could get to them and attack.
Oren drove the same way but continued down Main to Farm Road so he could bypass most of Hickory. The van followed. As he passed the houses at this end of Main, Oren noted most homes were lit up and several had windows broken and front doors standing open or broken open, canting sideways. Light filtered out onto porches as rain drizzled into front hallways. It looked more like a war zone than anything else. A figure darted around a house and across the street ahead of Oren’s car, but it was too quick for Oren to see who it was or where the person went after crossing.
He made a right turn and looked at the corner lot; its fence was bashed in and trees and a swing set wrapped around a car. It looked as if the Miller’s son’s red sports car-go crash, as Oren always called them and thought of them, did go crash. Hadn’t he asked, “Now, Jim, why’d you wanna get that boy a sports car-go crash?”
Just as Oren was about to make the left onto Grande and a right into Lydia’s drive, an explosion behind him caused him to slam on his brakes.
In the T where Farm Road met Hickory, the van carrying the family of four was hit broadside by a car before the van could turn. That car had to have been flying south down Farm Road because the heavy van skidded for a second and then flipped over as the ram bar on the police cruiser hit it. It wasn’t a sports car, but it had gone crash for sure; it was a police car.
The Crown Victoria stopped in the middle of the T.
“ Damn,” Oren hissed, sick to his stomach. His father had been chief, and his grandfather had been chief, and Oren was chief, and one day his daughter would be chief. But damnit, there were days when he wanted to sit down and curse his profession for a good long time and then just quit.
Most days the job was nothing more than being a visible presence or chasing along some rowdy tourists, telling some kids to get their clothes on and to move to another place to park and neck, or telling some of the kids to move along and stop bothering people.
Once in a while, there might be a shoplifter or a few drunks raising hell or a loose bull running down the road, but they didn’t get trouble like this.
Oren’s bad days were cursing the bull and yelling at the drunks and wondering why city kids came around, causing trouble. He had often followed teenagers to the bridge, warned them not to come back over, and asked himself why he went into law enforcement.
Oren tightened the slicker around himself, checked the extra baggies, set his hat on securely, and prayed for the courage to get out of his Crown Vic and go assess the damage. He thought of how brave Ronnie was and cursed himself a few times before opening his car door.
He unsnapped his holster strap, his gloves making it awkward.
Oren avoided the deeper-looking patches of water on the road and watched the other cruiser. Rick, the fourth officer on his force, got out of the cruiser, unfolding his tall, thin frame. He wasn’t wearing a slicker or bags and was messy and damp looking.
“Rick?”
Rick stared at the van a few seconds and dragged his gaze towards Oren. He didn’t respond verbally, but he seemed aware of his boss.
Oren unholstered his Colt Python and pointed it
some where in front of him but not at Rick yet. “You hit them with the car.”
“Did I?”
Oren noted a bundle smashed into the ram bar and cracks in the windshield, laced with gore that the rain hadn’t fully cleaned. He knew what Coral had told him. “I guess you did. Have you been running people over, Rick?”
“I guess. I don’t know. Maybe.” Rick let the rain pour over him, and he leaned back against his ruined car as if he hadn’t a care in the world but was here for a nice conversation. [About the weather}?
“Why the hell are you running people over?”
“I don’t rightly know.”
“You’re about a dumb ass, Rick. Did you know that?”
“Okay.”
“Dumb as dirt.”
“Yes.”
God have mercy, Oren thought.
“Rick. I want you to take your cuffs and cuff yourself inside the cruiser and sit there. I want you to stay there. You do that, you hear?”
“Okay.” Rick stood straight and reached for his cuffs. The rain poured down his face, and he didn’t brush it away.
“Wait; set your gun down first, and kick it over to me. You know how I want you to do it.”
“Sure.” Rick casually took his gun with two fingers and dropped it into a shallow puddle. He used a boot to kick it, clattering and splashing towards Oren.
With his gun trained on Rick, Oren watched Rick curiously. The man he had worked with for the last twenty years would have been almost dancing with nervous energy, pulling at his hair {And he always needed a haircut, and didn’t Oren have to bitch about that all the time}, and cursing a blue streak over the crash. The jittery behavior was gone.
In Rick’s eyes were recognition and maybe a faint recollection of his life, but there was no interest at all. No anger, no fear, no emotion remained.
Oren carefully got the handgun and set it on the back of his own car. Rick opened the car door of his wrecked cruiser, got inside, and complacently snapped his handcuffs on his wrists.
“Why did you hit them?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I was watching.”
“Watching what?”
&
nbsp; “The rain,” Rick said.
Those two words chilled Oren. He kicked the door closed and noticed that Rick sat there in the driver’s seat and would not move an inch until he was told to.
He thought Rick had been violent earlier and run people down, but this had been an accident since Rick didn’t seem to care about anything, now. He hadn’t been really thinking as he drove along the road too fast and with blown-out headlights. {He kind of wished Rick hadn’t had his legs in the cruiser so that when Oren kicked the door, it would have bruised the man’s shins, but that didn’t happen}.
When Oren finished being angry about what was wrong with Rick, he would be sad and would mourn the man who used to be.
Oren was way too old to climb around on a rain-slicked van, but he managed to get up onto the side since part was crushed. The window was broken, and rain pelted the interior of the vehicle. Carefully getting his flashlight out and aiming it, Oren looked into the van. “Hey, Hey, are you okay?”
The man was missing from his seat, and his wife was crumpled in the passenger seat, wedged against the broken window on her side. Oren knew she had died when the van flipped since she wore no seatbelt and was flopped over in a boneless-looking way. Her face and head had bled a lot.
As he maneuvered the flashlight farther back, Oren saw the man had been alive after they were hit, had disengaged his seatbelt, but had been dragged into the back by his teen son. Maybe the man had intended to try to help his family or to get away from the rain.
The boy’s face was terrifying in the small light. Somehow, the boy had become soaked with rain and dragged his injured father to the back of the van where the boy killed him, or maybe they had fought. Probably both. The boy had been a nice-looking kid, but now his hair was wet and frizzed and his eyes feral; he was hissing and snarling like an animal would over a fresh kill, warning Oren away.
The boy’s lips and teeth were blood covered as were his hands, chin, and chest; he snapped at his father’s neck where he had already opened it up and ripped at the flesh with teeth and fingers. No longer moving, the father lay on his back while the son dug at his father’s throat, and his blood poured out. It was a pitiful sight that Oren knew he wouldn’t soon forget.
If the boy made a move towards him, Oren would shoot him deader than dog shit. Oren shook and struggled to get himself under control.
Before he pulled his light back, a slight movement caught his eye. There was a soft whine. “Someone down there?”
The boy snarled, clawing at his father’s eyes as if he were rooting for something deep within the sockets or the brain. Oren thought again about shooting the kid, and if he licked his fingers or ate anything, Oren was going to fire. Some things were not to be allowed.
“Please, help me,” At the edge of the light, a teen girl cried as she peeked up at Oren. She was mostly covered with boxes and bags that had scattered everywhere inside the van. Her face was scratched, but her eyes looked sane and very afraid.
“What’s your name?” Oren asked, keeping the boy within his sights.
“Amanda. Mandy,” she whimpered.
“Hi, Mandy, I’m the police chief here in Cold Springs; I am here to help you, okay? Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there fast,” Oren reassured her.
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I think some bruises. My head hurts a little,” She said as she turned sad eyes to Oren.
Oren took a few seconds to think about this problem and how he was going to get the girl out and to safety.
He had a crazy idea, but with the state of things, it hardly mattered how outlandish his plan was. “Mandy, I’m going to get my umbrella and some tarp so we can get you out without your getting in the rain. You stay back there, and don’t get wet, okay?”
“Uh-huh. The blanket is wet.”
“Push it away slowly with your shoes. Very slowly.”
Mandy pushed at a sodden mess of rags and adjusted her position. Her brother growled and snapped, but the agitation seemed less violent than it had been; however, she still jumped and made a soft keening sound until he looked away from her. “Please don’t leave me,” she cried louder.
“I won’t. I’m going to get that stuff, and I’ll be back fast. I won’t just leave you. I have a daughter named Ronnie. Did you see her back at Coral’s? She was the perky red-headed cop? That’s my Ronnie.”
“I saw her. She’s pretty.”
“Yep, takes after her momma. God rest her soul. Ronnie is a good cop. Mandy, she’s smart and patient and notices everything. She can get a little lazy, but you know how that is.”
Oren could tell the girl’s heart rate had slowed a little, and she was listening to his voice. “You stay still and quiet. I want you to count slowly and see how long it takes me. Let’s see, can you start at a one hundred twenty? Go backwards. Go slow ‘cause I’m an old man.” {And my, didn’t he feel twice his age right now with his joints aching and his body exhausted}?
“One hundred twenty.” Pause. “Hundred nineteen….”
Oren slid off the side of the van, almost falling into the water and breaking his neck. {What would happen to the girl then when she was finished counting}? He caught himself and concentrated on walking quickly but carefully to his patrol car. A glance to the other car reassured him that Rick hadn’t moved a bit. Oren grabbed an umbrella and a tarp he had tossed into the back and one more thing he knew he needed.
At the other car, he took a huge breath. “Rick, get out here. I need your help.” Oren was more than a little angry at the situation.
“Okay.” Rick climbed out, and Oren uncuffed him. Perps always immediately rubbed their wrists where the cuffs chafed, but Rick didn’t. He didn’t do something as simple and universal as that. He kept his hands down. The behavior was so out of the normal that Oren paused for a second, puzzling it out. Rick not only had no emotions, but he didn’t care about himself or anything around him either. Everything was fine.
“We’re gonna use the umbrella and tarp and keep the window area dry for that girl to climb out. I want you to stand on the side and hold the tarp up so she has cover. Got that, Rick? You don’t let one drop get on her.”
“Okay.”
Oren wanted to scream at the man. Rick normally would have been excited, would be asking a hundred questions, and would have been nervous as hell, but he was little more than a robot, now. Oren never thought he would be missing Rick’s endless energy. He wanted to punch Rick until his teeth broke and eyes puffed black and purple.
Oren ordered Rick to boost him up onto the van, hating the man’s hands on his slicker, but it was easier to get up there. Next, he told Rick to climb up.
Again, the teen boy snapped and hissed, protecting his kill. He had dug fingers into his father’s eye sockets more and torn off the eyelids so they lay against the man’s cheeks like fat, red tears. Oren gagged and called out, “Mandy?”
“Seventeen. I made it to seventeen,” she said accusingly.
“But I’m back.”
Oren told Rick to hold the tarp over the window, and Oren used a gloved hand to knock glass away so the girl wouldn’t get cut. Oren, explaining to Mandy that Rick was what Coral had called Rainies, began to make plans. “Mandy, we don’t have a lot of time. If we wait, you will get wet and turn into a Rainie. Now, I am gonna be giving orders, and you can either follow them, or I will not stay and help you. I can’t help if you don’t do everything I tell you when I tell you.” {He was going to try, but if she didn’t do what he said, then, yes, he was going to leave her to her fate because he had more things to do this night}.
“Okay.”
“You cover your face and look away; curl up and away from your brother, okay? Do it now.” Oren saw Mandy did as he said. Barely hanging on to the top and staying on the outside, Oren had to stretch as he brought around the heavy tire iron he carried. With all his strength, Oren slammed the tire iron into the boy’s head several times, poking, hating the noise of the wet thud and
groaning of the boy. In a few seconds, the boy’s head was a messy pulp, and he lay next to his father, unmoving. {Maybe he was dead, but maybe he wasn’t}.
Mandy whimpered; she knew what Oren was doing.
“Mandy, stay as dry as you can, and don’t touch things unless you have to. Get up. Okay. Now, what you’re going to do is take my hand and pull yourself up here. The tarp will help, and I have an umbrella, too. There’s some wet spots but keep going, and we’ll dry you as soon as we can.”
Mandy was thin and small in stature, so Oren thought he could pull her up. She whimpered as she saw her father and brother but did as she was told, taking Oren’s hand and kicking her legs up to climb. Oren pulled her upwards.
Mandy’s whimpering faded, and her eyes began to fill with anger as she struggled to pull herself up. Her other arm was clamped onto Oren’s arm like a vise. With a huge surge of strength, Oren yanked her up to the edge and through the broken van window so that she was on the side beside of him, but she was tossing her head and hissing at him.
His stomach in knots, Oren realized that his glove was soaking wet with rain and that was what she was clinging to. Mandy growled at Oren, angrily raking a hand alongside his face. Oren punched her in the stomach so her air whooshed out; she sagged. Oren took the tarp and wrapped it about her and slung her over his shoulder.
“Rick, you get down, and help me to the ground. I’m gonna be carrying her, so you have to take all my weight and lower me down.”
“Okay,” said Rick as he climbed down.
Tossing the umbrella to the ground, Oren slid to his butt and waited until Rick was in place to help him.
Rick reached up and pulled Oren down gently and sat him on his feet. After ordering Rick to follow and get into the back seat, Oren put Mandy into the passenger seat, sliding the handcuffs onto her wrists. She rolled her eyes, barred her teeth, and moaned, but she didn’t act out anymore. She was somehow caught halfway between being herself and being violent.
Chapter 7
Oren didn’t have far to drive. Telling them to stay in the car, Oren parked in Lydia’s driveway, hoping that after all of this, they were there. He beat on the front door, announcing himself.
