by Angie Morel
“Come on D, let’s grab your backpack and some extra clothes for you.”
As we were getting ready to leave around noon, gunshots sounded from outside the building. Rolo rushed to the window in D’s living room and pulled aside the curtain along the edge to peek out. He held his other hand out so we wouldn’t do the stupid thing and whip the curtains open to look. The sunlight seemed extra bright, and the vertical slice that illuminated Rolo as he looked out appeared to burn right through him.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Just a sec,” he replied as he closed the curtain and crossed to the other side of the window to view the scene from a different angle—no doubt one that wouldn’t give him retina burn from the sun.
“Looks like T-Boy and some other kid are makin’ a run for it. I see a few of the…fucked up people, kinda chasing ‘em.”
“Should we help out? Do you want to try and get with…who did you say?” I hoped not.
Even though having D and Rolo join forces with Mary and I wasn’t a connection I sought out initially, it was okay with me now. In fact, with regard to Rolo, it was nice having someone like him around to help with the decision making and protection. Mary and D were handling the situation well, but in no way were they able to defend themselves.
But that’s not to say I wanted random people hooking up with us.
“T-Boy. He’s G like me, but new. And no, he’s a fucktard,” he said casually as he continued to look out the window.
The breath I’d been holding released. “Good. And uh, that brings up something else I was thinking about. Maybe we shouldn’t add any more to our group. I mean, I don’t know if you feel the same, but the more people you add, the more chance there is of things going wrong. You know?” Yeah I had some trust issues. What I wanted was for our little group to make it to wherever it was safe, and as soon as possible. Who knew, maybe the entire Boston area had been quarantined or something.
As he backed away from the window he gave me a curious look. “Uh, okay. And maybe we should head out now while there’s some distraction?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I acknowledged, knowing the distraction was a blessing and a curse. At least the blessing fell to our side. “You guys ready?” I looked between Mary and D.
“No.” D said.
“Yes.” Mary said.
“Ok, so Rolo is going to go first, and then you, D. Mary, you’ll follow right behind D, and then I’ll be behind you. Got it? No screaming or talking loud. In fact, just whisper, and only when necessary. We’ll make it, just don’t panic,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “And I think to make it clear, instead of saying there’s one of those, uh, messed up people over there, or whatever, let’s call them bangers since that’s what most of them are, at least in this neighborhood,” I shot a glance over to Rolo. “It’ll be easier, don’t you think? That way we can say ‘banger on your left’ and stuff like that.”
What the hell did I just say?
He looked at me for a couple of beats before quirking his mouth and nodding. “Sure.”
Banger on your left…what the F.
I nodded back, pretending like I didn’t say something completely idiotic.
Earlier in the day, Rolo and I went over the best route to take. Deciding to head northwest, we’d go as far as we could, and if no help was to be found, we’d locate a church or something to take shelter in for the night. But surely help was near, and spending the night on our own wouldn’t be necessary. There had to be some type of law enforcement or National Guard out there, just waiting for survivors to find them. If not, in the morning we’d head northwest again until we got to the interstate, and then west out of town. If we didn’t find help outside the city…well, then whatever had happened was at a much larger scale than we thought.
Our plan also included checking out a vehicle. Rolo could hotwire an older model car, if one with keys wasn’t readily available. That way we could drive out of this mess.
The worst thing for me was the fact that I had no idea what to expect when we left the apartment. I was a planner and liked being in control of my world. The day-to-day routines I’d set up over the years were my security blanket. A cold feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that normalcy and routines and having control were a thing of the past.
Utter chaos was waiting out there for us—I understood that as a fact, the same way I understood that darkness comes at night.
Chapter 6
We made it to the ground floor before coming in contact with a banger. In this case it would be banger dead ahead as he was stumbling around the exit door, about fifteen feet away from the stairwell we exited.
I didn’t recognize him but thought Rolo did because of his mutterings when he saw him. The banger was tall and black and thick, and wore nothing but low-slung red basketball shorts. Black tattoos curled around his muscular arms like snakes, and there were symbols and words inked all over his chest and back in random patterns. Spikes adorned his head from his hair being gathered in one-inch sections and tightly braided to stick straight out. He appeared around twenty and looked tough.
Lucky for us the bangers seemed to be lacking full brain function. If they remained in this state, this stupor mixed with rage, we had a chance. If they regained enough coherent thought to remember how to use weapons, we were screwed. For one thing, based on what we’d seen so far, there were a lot more of them than survivors.
As Rolo grabbed the bat from my pack, I moved the kids back a few feet until they were against the wall. “Get a gun ready just in case,” Rolo said to me in a low tone as he moved towards him. “But only shoot if you have to.”
Dropping the pack at my feet, I snatched the gun from the side mesh pocket.
He walked over, swinging the bat at the perfect time, just as the banger came within striking distance. Bone snapped and gave way beneath the force of Rolo’s head shot. It struck the side of his face and the momentum cranked his head and body sideways, staggering him, but he didn’t go down. As he turned back to face Rolo, I cringed. How the hell was he still standing? How could anyone not go down after that?
His jaw was definitely broken. The bone was crunched where the bat had hit and his mouth dropped down and to the side, hanging like it was on broken hinges, unable to close properly, although he grotesquely kept trying.
The motion of his mouth, oddly enough, brought to mind the image of the toothless derelict that loitered in front of the drug store I passed on my way to school. He was there every morning, lounging on the litter filled sidewalk, his skin and bones contained in the same filthy flannel shirt and brown pants, day after day. The gestures of his hands were synchronized with the opening and closing of his gaping maw as he carried on continuous, unintelligible conversations with himself. Wrinkles, chiseled deep from a lifetime of smoking cigs and crack and whatever else, radiated out from his mouth. The only recognizable word that came from his puckered pie hole was Gawyam. Goddamn mumble mumble this, Goddamn mumble mumble that. Gawyam.
The homeless man’s image dissolved as the banger took a jarring step towards Rolo. A tooth fell out of his unhinged mouth. Blood dribbled out a second later, chasing the tooth. My gaze was held captive by the absolute clarity of it, following the arc of the white enamel down to where it hit the floor and bounced twice before settling next to the wall, red drops peppering the dirty cement around it. A silver filling winked at me, catching the light.
My attention returned to Rolo as he attempted to swing again. The banger was too close for him to get good momentum with the bat, so he dropped the bat and punched with his left fist, followed by an uppercut with his right. The banger’s head turned a fraction with the first hit and the uppercut caused his jaw to snap shut on impact before it dropped open again, dangling crookedly.
Even though the blows staggered him a bit, he recovered quickly, grabbing Rolo. Caught off-guard, Rolo was thrown into the cement wall, where his head smacked into the solid surface with a distinct thud. I cringed
as he dropped to his knees, the breath and awareness was knocked from him for a split second. The slight break was all the time the banger needed to fall on top of him, driving him to the floor. The heavy body laid Rolo out, and before he could do anything, the banger sat on his torso and wrapped thick fingers around his neck, squeezing hard.
Oh shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen, I thought in panic.
My eyes dropped to the gun in my hand as indecision froze my muscles. Should I chance the gun or use the knife? The sound of the gun might attract other bangers. Visions of the mob scene outside my bedroom window flashed through my mind. We wouldn’t be able to handle a group like that. Plus, with my lack of experience with guns I’d probably end up shooting Rolo by mistake.
Decision made, I set the gun on top of the pack and dug the switchblade out of my pocket. Locking the blade in place, I gripped it tight, moving towards the banger’s back. Where should I stab him? Head, neck, or back—head, neck or back. By the time I got to him my heart was racing triple time.
His neck. That’s the spot I picked first.
I had to drape myself over his back to be able to reach around, and then be careful to avoid his hanging jaw. The blade slid in with no problem, finding the path of least resistance. I jabbed up twice. In and out, in and out.
Just like butter.
I dismounted, reversed my grip on the knife, and started stabbing again—his back, his arms, his head a couple of times—anything I could reach. Not dwelling on how odd it was that he didn’t seem to notice the mortal wounds being inflicted, I kept going. Time had sped up, but at the same time the movement of my body seemed sluggish, like time and motion were at odds with each other. My arm felt automated, detached from my body. Up down, up down, over and over again.
Until the blade got stuck in a rib.
As I was yanking it out, the banger tipped over, his slack hands no longer gripping Rolo’s neck. Rolo managed to push him all the way off and sat up, gasping, looking at me with huge eyes.
Unwillingly, my mental camera clicked and captured him in that exact moment; the red neck, purple face, and the way his body—from the chest up—was completely drenched in crimson from the banger’s neck wound spraying out like a watering hose…
And the fear fighting with shame in his eyes.
It was a look I never wanted to see again.
Jelly legs hit me as I took a couple of steps back, forcing me to sit. Going down hard, my teeth clacked together when my butt hit the floor. For some reason, all I could focus on was how lucky it was that my tongue hadn’t been between my teeth just then. I would’ve bitten it clean off. It would’ve plopped right out of my mouth and landed in my lap, pink and curling and squirming like a worm.
Do people still talk the same when missing part of their tongue? Would there be a lisp? Or maybe if you bit off too much, you’d talk like toothless-homeless guy. Gawyam.
On the verge of hysterical laughter, I focused on my breathing. While I fought for control, my eyes followed Rolo as he made his way to his feet, holding his neck gingerly. When fully upright, he stared at the body of the dead tattooed banger. As a final show of disrespect, he spit on him, and then turned and made his was over to where I sat on the floor. He crouched in front of me. I was confused when he picked up my hand—until I realized I was still holding the knife, gripping it so hard that my hand was numb. With an effort I unclenched my fingers and relinquished the knife. I looked at him, shock in my eyes.
I’d been in plenty of fights growing up, and was certainly no stranger to violence. Hell, I’d even threatened someone with a knife once. But I’d never stabbed a person—never punched a knife into flesh over and over again with the sole intention of killing them.
Against my will my eyes were drawn towards the prone figure. The blood pool surrounding his body was expanding, almost touching my foot. My breath held, watching the dense liquid as it crept closer.
I did that. I caused that leak out of him…
“Hey.”
Suddenly there were fingers on my chin, pulling my face back to center. Rolo was looking at me, concern showing in his dark eyes. Scanning his face, I found that I could breathe again.
“Don’t look there, look at me,” he said hoarsely. “Listen, you did good.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. No words. However, I was glad there wasn’t much in my stomach, because that probably would’ve come out. Swallowing down the sour taste, I blinked a couple of times. Taking a deep breath, I gave Rolo a nod to let him know I was good—or would be soon, at least.
“He’s the fucker that killed Julio last year. Pinche mamon,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. Clearing his throat a couple of times, he then tugged on my hand, pulling me to my feet. “You did good,” he assured me for the second time. His eyes dropped to the floor before finding mine again. “And, you know, I don’t think I could’ve broken his grip on my neck. Fuck, I thought I was gonna die. So, ah, good job.” Abruptly he turned and walked to the door, checking to see if we’d drawn any attention.
It was shocking to hear him admit that. He probably wasn’t familiar with someone getting the better of him. Of course, killing someone wasn’t a familiar feeling for me either. Shaking it off, I moved to where Mary and D stood, both still pressed against the wall where I left them; fear making them stick there. My presence was enough to peel them off.
Unable to help myself, I pulled Mary into a hug and squeezed hard. My lips found the top of her head and planted a kiss. And then my gaze ran into D standing beside me. The need to be held and reassured practically radiated from him. Coming from the loving family that he did, I’m sure he was used to physical contact. Plus, it wasn’t like he could help it. Happily living with four females, coupled with the fact that he lacked violent tendencies, made him what we call a “softie” in our part of town.
Although not in the habit of touching or hugging anyone other than Mary, I gave into the urge to invite him into our hug. As soon as my arm opened, he was in—rushing so quickly and with such need that we got knocked back a step, almost like when I stepped into his apartment two days ago. I gripped him tight, and after a slight hesitation, rested my cheek on the top of his head. After a mental count to ten, I rubbed their backs and then gently disengaged myself.
“It’s going be okay,” I said quietly, surprised that I meant it. The hug must’ve been something I needed as well.
Rolo appeared. “We need to get goin’. Here,” he said, his voice still a little raspy. Harvey’s knife was handed back to me, nice and clean. “It looks mostly clear out there, so let’s just start walkin’, like casual, until we get to some cover. Got it?”
All three of us nodded. Back to business.
Picking up my pack, I noticed the bat was back in, sticking up and ready to go.
Efficient Rolo, always prepared.
Chapter 7
We made it almost two blocks before needing to hide. Off the main street, we were in an alley behind a Chinese restaurant. Up ahead, where the cracked and tilted cement of the alley met the tar spotted cross-street, a group of about ten bangers slowly walked our direction.
The only viable option was to smash ourselves behind a rusty royal blue dumpster next to the building. Unfortunately it was piled high with nasty garbage, some of which had boiled over the edges of the coverless bin and was now on the ground, the gutted bags revealing a plethora of rotten food waste. That’s where we crouched, barely breathing, until the bangers walked past.
I couldn’t look at D during that time. He had his nose pinched shut and his cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk as he tried to make frantic eye contact with everyone, having the dire need to let us know exactly how bad he thought it smelled. For some odd reason, I found this to be hilarious and had to concentrate on smothering the giggle that wanted to emerge.
Throughout the day we moved like that. Clearing a block or two, and then taking cover. We got pretty good at detecting the bangers before being seen. What we didn
’t detect, however, were other survivors. Sporadic gunfire decorated the afternoon, but it was never close enough for us to see who was shooting. The bangers though, we were definitely close enough to see them. It was eerie the way they were completely silent except for their shuffling feet, and they all walked at the same slow pace. Another peculiar thing—they all seemed to be walking the same direction. South, I determined.
Late afternoon, we were hunched over, creeping through a parking lot, when screams erupted nearby. Looking at each other we froze before darting between the nearest parked vehicles, which happened to be a black conversion van with “Calz Custom Carz” airbrushed on the side in rainbow colors, and a redneck pickup truck with orange rust eating into the metal surrounding the wheel wells. As we crouched down, Rolo poking his head up near the bed of the truck to investigate. The screams were getting closer. After a few seconds he came down fast, pushing D and Mary under the van and shoving me under the truck, scraping himself in right after. He held a finger up to his lips as D and Mary looked at us with saucer eyes from the undercarriage of the van.
Legs. As we hid, the view limited by our observation point beneath the rear end of the vehicles, we saw legs. Lots of them—all bangers judging by their stiff, stumble-running motion. Our view expanded as they moved away from us, hurrying towards whatever mayhem was occurring. And mayhem ended up being hauled right out into the center of the parking lot, directly in front of us.
Two girls, both looking a little younger than me, had been trying to outrun a large group of bangers and got caught in the parking lot. This was due in part to the sheer number that had been drawn in by their screams. But they were screwed once they stopped and let themselves be surrounded.
