by D. J. Molles
Charlie’s eyebrows knit. She looked off into the middle distance. Processing.
Then she glanced at him. “Anything else?”
Shit. That’s not enough?
He shook his head.
She nodded. Reached out and took his hand, and he thought, Ah, now she’ll relax…
But she just gave his hand a squeeze, and then released him. “Okay. I gotta go.”
He felt a wash of disappointment. He wanted to spend more time with her. He thought quickly, trying to prolong their togetherness. “Do you have anybody to walk with you?”
She looked up at him like he was stupid. “What?”
He felt his cheeks redden. Luckily, she wouldn’t see that in the dim woods. “To the house. Or at least out the drain gate.”
She shook her head dismissively. “I’m not going out there tonight. No one is.”
“What? Why?”
“Spotters caught a pack of primals in the area. Too dangerous for now. You hadn’t heard?”
“Oh. That. Yeah.” Sam nodded, like he knew, but he didn’t. It was news to him, and he felt silly for his ignorance. He guessed they’d mention something to him when he got to roll call.
Charlie offered him a bright smile that seemed to wipe away all the unsureness. It seemed to tell him that they were still…what? Together? Boyfriend and girlfriend?
“Thanks, Sam. I appreciate you meeting me. Just keep your eyes and ears open. You know?”
“Yeah.” He smiled dopily back at her.
“I gotta go,” she repeated. “See you soon?”
“Sure,” he replied, in what he thought was a pretty suave manner.
Then she turned and left him, disappearing into the woods.
He stood there in the little clearing for a minute, feeling anti-climactic.
“Well, shit,” he mumbled to himself. He checked his watch. He had thirty minutes to get to roll call. Which was ten minutes more than he needed. He supposed he’d just walk slowly.
***
Charlie walked about twenty-five yards through the woods. Soft feet quiet across the pine needle carpet. She stopped at the stump of an old pine that had rotted and fallen. She looked behind her. She couldn’t see Sam anymore, but she could hear him walking away.
She waited for a minute or so. Until she could no longer hear him.
Then she whispered, “It’s clear.”
Claire Staley stepped out from behind a tree. She gave Charlie a smirk. “Have a good talk with your lover?”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “He’s not my lover, Claire.”
Claire shrugged. “Why not let him think it?”
“I’m not gonna have sex with him, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Claire shook her head. “No, I’m not asking you to do that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to piss you off. Just teasing.”
“Well don’t,” Charlie said. “I’m just doing what you asked. And I feel bad about it.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s not your fault he’s just another horny boy.”
Charlie crossed her arms and jutted her chin. A study in teenage petulance. “You want the information or not?”
Claire reached out and gently squeezed Charlie’s shoulder. “Yes, of course. I’m only trying to make you feel better about it.”
Charlie nodded. “Right. Well. He said your dad was at his house last night with Angela. They were having some sort of talk. Your dad was leaving just as Sam got there. He said they didn’t seem very happy.”
“I’m aware they had some sort of meeting last night,” Claire answered. “Did he tell you what it was about?”
“Sam said he’d heard there were some Marines that were gearing up today. Supposed to head south in the morning. He wasn’t sure how many Marines. Said he heard it was something like a squad or two.”
Claire drew her head back. Considering. “Okay.”
“Does this help?” Charlie asked.
Claire nodded. Smiled. “Yes. It helps a lot. Thank you.”
Charlie’s lips quirked, just slightly, like she wanted to smile, but then decided she was too irritable for such a display. She nodded once, as though to conclude the conversation and started to turn away.
“Wait,” Claire said.
Charlie stopped. Looked back at Claire. “What?”
Claire shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket and fixed Charlie with her halting green eyes. Her mouth, stern. “I didn’t mention it the other night. It wasn’t the right time. But…don’t ever let me catch you taking a drink from Ben Sullivan again. Do you understand?”
Charlie frowned, and pulled her head back, both irritated at being ordered around so blatantly, and confused as to the nature of the order. “Why would you even say that? I didn’t get drunk. I had, like, two drinks.”
“I’m not worried about you drinking too much,” Claire said. Then she paused for a moment, looked around the woods and found it predictably empty. Back to Charlie. “You remember the girl he was with? The one that was sitting next to him on the couch?”
Some of the irritation melted off of Charlie. Replaced with mingled curiosity and reticence. “Yeah. I remember her.”
“Yeah? Well, she only had a couple drinks too. But Ben put something in hers.” Claire rolled the final words around on her tongue, then spit them out. “And he raped her.”
Charlie’s mouth dropped. “What?”
Claire just nodded in confirmation.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I fucking saw it. And took pictures.”
“You…you saw it? And took pictures?” She took a step towards Claire. “But you didn’t do anything to stop it?”
Claire didn’t move an inch. Didn’t even bother to take her hands out of her pockets. She simply looked Charlie in the eye, then down, then up, as though taking her measure, and finding her wanting. It doused the indignation burning across Charlie’s face, and made her feel like a silly little girl.
“No, I didn’t do anything to stop it,” Claire said, as though such a thing was foolish even to consider. “Listen. I’m only going to tell you this because I think you need to know it to get your head on straight: Ben Sullivan’s mother is a nurse. She works in the Medical Center. I’m assuming that’s how he’s managed to get his hands on drugs. But in any case, there’s no point in outing him right now, Charlie. The dumb bitch he fucked probably doesn’t even remember it, and she put herself in that situation to begin with. But since I have the photographs, I have the evidence that it happened. And maybe that’ll be useful in the future.” Claire narrowed her gaze at Charlie, like you might if you were trying to ascertain whether a foreigner understood what you’re saying. “Are you getting what I’m trying to explain to you, Charlie? There are bigger things at stake here than some little girl’s first fuck gone awry.”
Charlie didn’t realize that she was still capable of being shocked. But she had to come back to her senses after a moment, and remember to close her mouth. She had a dozen things to hurl back at the young woman standing across from her, but all she said in the end was, “What the hell did they do to you?”
Claire’s nostrils flared, but that momentary fire was snuffed out quick, and she was back to being cold. She gave a soft chuff through her nose. “Let’s just say I would’ve been thrilled if they’d drugged me before they did the things they did.” Claire leaned slightly closer, and lowered her voice. “You need to start thinking like an adult, Charlie. I like you a lot, but you need to grow up.”
Charlie didn’t say anything. She was just a cauldron bubbling over with hurt feelings and resentment. Claire cast a glance of pity at her, like she wasn’t sure she could save this one, and then she just turned and started away.
She called over her shoulder, “Thanks for meeting with me.”
***
Sam took his time walking through the woods.
This was an unusual move for him, because he didn’t like the woods, and it was getting dark now. But it was almost a ment
al game.
He walked slowly not because he wanted to, but because he hated it. He wanted to inoculate himself to it. He wanted to be cool about it.
He saw the beginning of the neighborhoods, peeking through the trees, and he disliked how relieved he felt when he saw them.
You’re in the Safe Zone, he told himself. The Safe Zone is safe.
He continued walking at this controlled pace.
Something rustled in the woods to his left.
He glanced in that direction, but couldn’t see in the dimness.
His heart beat faster now. He forced his steps to remain even.
It’s nothing. Just an animal. You’re in the Safe Zone.
But it had sounded big.
He reached the edge of the woods and came out of them onto the street.
He’d never been so glad to hear his heels on concrete.
The neighborhoods stood before him. The houses lit invitingly.
A woman pushed a stroller along the sidewalk on the other side of the street, lighting her way with a flashlight. Heading home, or maybe taking a short walk around the block. Getting some fresh air for her and her baby.
It seemed so normal. He felt his heartrate slowing.
“You really need to get over this,” he said aloud to himself.
He crossed the street to the sidewalk. Turned left. Heading for work now.
He passed the lady with the stroller.
By the glow of her flashlight he saw her face. She smiled at him. He smiled back.
“Evening,” she said as she passed him.
“Evening,” he replied.
Kept walking.
A whippoorwill urgently called out its name from the trees to Sam’s left. Three times, as though announcing itself, and then it fell silent.
The night was getting cool. His fingers were starting to feel the chill. He shoved them in his pockets where they felt marginally better. The friction of his movement warmed them.
Some of the other soldiers had told him that back in the day—which meant back when they worked for the actual United States Army—you couldn’t be caught with your hands in your pockets while in uniform. Nowadays, it was one of those things that had gone by the wayside. Sam was glad for that. Not that there was anyone around to catch him and berate him anyway—
A scream.
Sam’s stomach jumped at the sound of it.
In the time it took his head to turn, he thought that it was probably just the kid, the kid in the stroller, got upset by something stupid…
Thirty yards behind him, the stroller hit the ground on its side.
The flashlight was turning circles, spinning alone on the concrete, creating a strobe effect.
The woman was screaming.
Sam could make out her light-colored sweatshirt in the darkness. She was halfway across the road. Someone had her by the foot. Someone was dragging her across the road. Someone who was just a hunched, shadowy figure.
“Hey!” Sam yelled, but his feet didn’t move. He was too stunned to move.
What the fuck was he even looking at? Was she being robbed? Raped?
The flashlight spun and strobed.
The child in the stroller wailed.
Sam realized that his feet were moving, his mind caught in a loop: Do something! Do Something! DO SOMETHING!
His limbs felt like rubber. His legs ran awkwardly like they were stilts.
He became aware of more shapes. He couldn’t count them, it was just more, and they were coming out of the woods, more attackers, a whole gang of them. The woman was screaming without words, clawing at the concrete as she was pulled violently towards the woods.
One of the dark shapes leapt onto her. Like it was trying to kiss her. Trying to kiss her throat…
Her screams were cut off.
The flashlight spun.
Strobed.
Lit the attackers for a fraction of a second.
Naked. They were all naked.
Thickly-muscled necks and shoulders.
Wild eyes that sparkled in the night.
Open jaws, too wide, far too wide...
Sam tried to yell, but the air wasn’t in his lungs.
He almost stopped running, but the child screamed again. That momentary pause, like a building storm, and then the child’s scream became hysterical—ragged and terror-born.
Sam’s eyes fixed on the overturned stroller.
The kid. Don’t let them get the kid.
He skidded to a stop on one knee, the concrete ripping the cloth of his pants, and then the flesh underneath like a cheese grater. Sam felt nothing. Nothing but panic like a lightning strike, overloading his entire system.
He grabbed the stroller and jerked it upright.
It flew out of his grip. No weight in it.
The toddler was on the curb. Hadn’t been strapped in. It was clambering up onto its hands and knees, its entire small body shaking with its shrieks, its hands reaching out for nothing and finding nothing.
Across the road, the woman disappeared into the woods.
Two more dark shapes emerged.
Low on their haunches.
Sidling forward.
Sam couldn’t tell whether they were moving to attack him, or to cover their retreat with their prize. He reached out, grabbed the child in his hands, hugged its struggling form to his chest and then he turned and ran, finding enough air in his lungs now to scream.
“Primals! Primals in the wire!”
TWENTY-SIX
─▬▬▬─
RUN
Sam’s feet pounded through the sandy soil of Fort Bragg.
Shadows whipped past him.
He didn’t dare look back—it would only slow him, and he had twenty pounds of screaming child already weighing him down. He didn’t call out the warning anymore either—he couldn’t waste the breath. His chest was heaving, and his legs were already burning from the dead sprint.
You can’t outrun them!
He knew it was true, but panic was his engine right now.
He didn’t think about cover until he saw the lights of someone’s dining room straight ahead of him, and he saw them at their dinner table and he thought safety.
He didn’t slow down. He angled his body and tried to shield the child from the impact as much as possible, then hit the door at near full speed. He crashed through. The impact rattled his teeth and shut down the kid’s siren screech.
He stumbled into their dining room, barely keeping his feet.
“What the fuck?” the man yelled at him, standing still in shock, not able to compute what he was seeing.
“Primals!” Sam gasped, then thrust the child into the man’s arms, turned on his heel, grabbed the door and slammed it shut on its splintered jam. “There’s primals inside the Safe Zone!”
“What?”
Sam’s face was pressed against the small glass window of the door, peering out into darkness, but the light from inside was making it hard to see. He caught a view of the street beyond the houses. Saw dark shapes moving along it.
He gulped a breath.
They weren’t pursuing him. Not immediately, anyhow. But he’d seen them be cunning about this before. He’d seen them circle around before trying to get in.
“Guns,” Sam panted. “Do you have guns?”
“What the fuck?” the man demanded again, a broken record of shock.
Sam turned his head and yelled at the man, just as the child started bawling again. “Guns! Fucking guns! There’s primals outside right now! Do you fucking have guns?”
The man’s wife, obviously more clear-headed than her partner, grabbed the child out of his arms and pushed him by the shoulders. “Get the rifle, Ben!”
Simple commands were best to people who were in mental vapor-lock, and it worked.
Still looking confused, the man turned quickly and ran deeper into the house.
Sam glanced back through the window. Couldn’t see any movement. He planted his foot against the d
oor, knowing it wouldn’t hold for very long. He gulped air, his thoughts moving at a thousand miles an hour, bouncing off of each other like pinballs in a machine.
How’d they get in?
Shit, you gotta tell somebody!
Oh, God, that poor lady…
The door. Secure the door.
Sam looked down at his foot. A meager stopgap. Then he looked to the dining room chairs. He waved his arms. “Gimme a chair.”
The woman was bouncing the screaming child on her hip, holding its head and shushing it. She grabbed one of the dining room chairs and shoved it towards Sam. He caught it, then used it to brace the door under the knob.
“That’s not gonna hold very long,” he said. He backed away from the door. “Get the kids. Kids, get away from the window.”
The family had a boy and a girl, both around Abby’s age. They stared at Sam like he had two heads, then looked at their mother. She hurried over to them, pulling them out of their seats. “Come on. Get away from the window. Do what he says.”
The kids started to whimper in fear.
The toddler in the woman’s arms was starting to quiet now, the piercing screams fading to a sobbing whine.
As a group, they backed their way out of the dining room and towards the center of the house, as far from any entrances as they could get. Sam was the last out of the dining room, uselessly using his body as a shield, as though that would do any of them any good.
“Do you have a phone?” he stammered. “Or, like, a radio or something?”
The woman’s wide eyes crinkled at the edges, like he’d asked for manna from heaven. She shook her head. “No.”
Of course they didn’t. It was a stupid question born out of panic. Nobody had fucking phones. They had power, but they didn’t have active phone lines. And why would a random family have radios that reached anybody of importance?
Sam let out a string of curses, and then somehow felt bad because there were children present.
They were in the living room area now.
The man appeared, holding a pump-action shotgun.
What the hell did that thing even hold? Four shots? Maybe five?
Like bailing out the Titanic with a teaspoon.
Sam kept that to himself.
