There hadn’t been a bathroom. No faucets. No toilet. But at least there had been privacy. Mandy was thin, but she’d had to squeeze to get herself into the cramped, dingy, dark space that approximated a shower stall.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” said Sadie. “They’ve been in that meeting for a long time.”
Georgia, Sadie, and Mandy were alone in the women’s quarters. Sadie sat on her mother’s bunk, and Mandy sat on her own.
Their meager possessions were piled up around them. It was the first time in a long while that Mandy had unloaded her pack. She gazed with some dismay at the dirty and stained clothing, at the battered things that amounted to all her worldly possessions.
The concrete building was even colder now that the sun had gone down. It seemed to suck the heat right from Mandy’s body. She hadn’t been able to get completely dry after the shower, and the damp chill seemed to reach her bones.
She was already hungry. The big meal had only filled her for about an hour, and now the hunger was back. Maybe it was because she hadn’t eaten properly in so long, and her glycogen stores were still perilously low. Or maybe because there hadn’t been any animal protein in the meal. It had tasted good, even though it was simple, but was that kind of food really enough to sustain someone day in and day out?
“What are they talking about?” said Sadie, repeating herself. “Didn’t anyone hear me?”
Her voice echoed a little in the large, mostly empty room.
“Sorry, Sadie,” said Georgia. “I was daydreaming, I guess.”
“I think Kara said it was just a routine meeting, right?”
“But it’s been a long time. Over an hour. What do they have to talk about?”
“I’m sure there’s a lot to talk about,” said Georgia. “They’re running a community here. And that means there’s more than just dealing with the practical things. They’ve got to figure out how to govern themselves.”
“It is a little weird, though, don’t you think, Georgia?” said Mandy.
Mandy didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she had been feeling a little uneasy since the shower. Something wasn’t right, but she didn’t know what it was.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought Kara would have come to talk to us or something, I guess.”
“She’s probably just busy with her meeting. She seems like an important person here.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I’m just feeling a little uneasy or something from the food.”
“From the food?”
“I’m not used to eating so many potatoes.”
Georgia laughed.
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” said Mandy.
“I’ll come with you,” said Sadie.
“Georgia?”
“I’m enjoying this bed too much,” said Georgia. “When was the last time we got to relax on a real bed?”
It wasn’t much more than a Spartan bunk, but Mandy knew what she meant.
Sadie followed Mandy to the door.
“I hope James is behaving himself and not getting into any trouble.”
“You sound like his older sister sometimes.”
“They say the brains of girls mature faster than boys’.”
“Wishful thinking, I’d say,” muttered Georgia.
“Mom!”
“Just kidding, Sadie.”
The door was metal, and of simple construction. There wasn’t a normal door latch. Just the type of latch you’d see on a shed door, with a hole to put a padlock through.
Mandy pushed on the door, but it didn’t open.
“It’s stuck or something.”
Mandy pushed again. The door felt like it was hitting something on the other side of it, as if someone had put something in front of it.
“Give it a good push.”
“I am.”
Mandy pushed again.
“I think it’s locked. Do you hear that rattling?”
“Locked? From the outside? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I remember there was a latch on the outside too. Maybe someone put a padlock through it.”
“What’s going on? Is the door stuck?” Georgia got out of bed and came over.
“I think it’s locked.”
“Locked? That doesn’t make sense. Let me try.”
Georgia pushed on the door.
“Shit,” she muttered.
She pushed harder.
“Here, give me a hand.”
Georgia and Mandy pushed on the door together, using all their strength, leaning all their weight on it. Sadie tried to help, but there wasn’t really enough space for her to get in there and push as well.
Georgia got down on her knees and tried to peer between the very small crack between the door and the frame.
“I can’t see anything.”
“They locked it,” said Mandy. “This isn’t good.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Georgia.
“We’re locked in?” said Sadie. “What’s going on?”
“Calm down, Sadie,” said Georgia. “Don’t worry. It’s probably a mistake or something.”
“Damnit,” said Mandy. “I knew I had a bad feeling in my gut, but I ignored it. I was feeling uneasy for a reason.”
“You’re not helping,” said Georgia, glancing over at Sadie, who was starting to breathe quickly, as if she might have an anxiety attack.
“There aren’t any windows,” said Mandy. “How are we going to get out? Can we shoot the lock?”
“Let’s not go crazy. I’ll call for help. Hopefully it’s a mistake. But it could be what I feared. I knew something wasn’t right.”
Georgia put her mouth near the crack in the door and yelled for help. “Help!” she cried out, loudly. “We’re locked in here. Someone get us out of there.”
Nothing happened. There wasn’t any sound outside. No footsteps. No voices.
“That’s it,” said Mandy. “I’m going to shoot this damn lock if it’s the last thing I do. I’m not going to be trapped in here like some animal.”
Mandy went over to her bed, where her pack was. She grabbed her handgun, and checked it.
“There’s no ammo,” she said, examining the gun.
“What?”
Mandy threw the gun down on the bed. She grabbed her rifle next. She checked it, and there was no ammo either.
She started rooting through her pack furiously, looking for ammunition. But it was all gone. And she’d had plenty of it.
Georgia rushed over and grabbed her own rifle. “Nothing,” she said.
“How could this have happened?”
There was nothing in any of the packs. Not a shred of ammunition.
“Those bastards tricked us. They knew we wouldn’t give up our guns. So they somehow took all our ammo.”
“Must have been when we were eating,” muttered Georgia. She was shaking with anger.
Mandy, on the other hand, felt suddenly defeated, drained completely of energy. She let herself fall onto the bed.
“Do you hear that?” said Sadie. “It sounds like the meeting let out.”
Sure enough, there was the dim sound of many voices outside, off in the distance. And the sound of footsteps.
“You girls all right in there?” came a voice from the door. It was unmistakably Kara’s voice.
Mandy got up, and all three women rushed to the door.
“We’re stuck in here,” said Mandy.
“You assholes stole our ammunition,” said Georgia.
“Let us out,” said Sadie. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry for this,” said Kara, her voice sweet and syrupy. “But it’s for your own good.”
“What the hell’s going on?” said Mandy.
Hearing Kara’s voice, now obviously fake and put on, angered Mandy. She felt an intense heat in her chest, and her hands were shaking.
“I’ll tell you all about it soon,” said Kara. �
�In the morning we can discuss the new plans.”
“You’re not going to get away with this,” said Georgia. “You can’t take our ammo like that.”
“It’s our property,” said Kara, her voice sounding suddenly more serious. “We can do what we want. We’re a self-governing community, and the community has spoken.”
“And what has this so-called community of yours decided?”
“You’re staying.”
“What do you mean we’re staying?”
“You heard me.”
“What does that mean?”
No answer.
“Hello? You still there, Kara, you bitch?” hissed Mandy.
No answer. She was gone.
“Shit,” muttered Mandy, sinking down onto the floor, her back slumped against the cold concrete wall.
“What did she mean we’re staying?” said Sadie.
“It means we’re screwed.”
“What do they want with us?”
“I can take one guess. You were right, Georgia. It’s too many men. They need more women.”
“They fooled me with the food and the showers,” said Georgia.
“What’s going on?” said Sadie, sounding terrified.
“It’s going to be OK, Sadie,” said Georgia.
“Not if we can’t get out of here, it’s not,” muttered Mandy.
21
Miller
There wasn’t much light, but Miller could see well enough. Well enough for what he needed to do.
The guy appeared on the top of the stairs. Miller saw the guy before he was seen himself. The guy had gone the wrong way, thinking Miller was in the other direction.
Miller opened fire. The guy fell, his body slumping down. But he didn’t fall down the stairs.
Milled moved quickly. He knew he’d be in the line of fire. But if he could pull it off, it’d be well worth the risk. He exposed himself, moving out in the open at the top of the staircase. He shoved his weight against the dead guy, sending the corpse crashing down the stairs.
Muzzle flash. Another shot rang out. It missed Miller. Maybe the bullet hit the corpse. No way to know.
Another shot. The noise was deafening. Pieces of the plaster wall broke into chips, flying through the air.
The guys running up the stairs yelled as the corpse crashed into them. Miller didn’t have time to look to see if they’d get knocked down the stairs or what.
Miller was out of the way now. His little trick would only buy him a few seconds.
He sprinted into a bedroom, the farthest one down the long hallway. He slammed the door closed behind him. He fumbled for the lock, and finally got it, setting that little mechanism to the vertical position.
But the lock wouldn’t be enough.
It was harder to see in this room than in the hallway. But by feeling around, and seeing the dim outlines of things, Miller identified a large dresser. He pushed all his weight against it, sliding it across the floor until it blocked the doorway.
He wasn’t running. He wasn’t trying to merely hide. He just knew that he’d do better if he wasn’t in a direct confrontation against them all at once. The best thing to do was pick them off one by one. Creating obstacles for them was the best way to facilitate those advantageous scenarios.
Heavy footsteps on the floorboards. The guys were already upstairs, checking the rooms.
“He’s in this one.”
There was a kick against the door.
“You can’t hide forever, asshole.”
Miller said nothing.
Suddenly, Miller had an idea.
He glanced at the window, and then at a small nightstand next to the bed. He knew right away it would work.
Another kick against the door.
Miller stood out of the way, in case they shot through the door, and fired two shots in quick succession through the wood.
No screams. He hadn’t hit anyone. But he hadn’t thought that he would. He was just trying to keep them scared, keep them from getting too complacent and being able to break through his barricade easily.
They fired four shots back. A fifth. Then a sixth. But they weren’t overly stupid. They knew not to waste their ammo.
Miller seized his opportunity. While they were still figuring out what to do, Miller ran to the window and opened it. It was difficult to open, one of those old wooden frames that decides to swell at inexplicably inconvenient times. And it was hard with his missing finger. But he got it, pulling up with all his strength.
Miller had to put his handgun down on the bed to pick up the nightstand.
His plan was to throw the nightstand out the window. They’d hear the noise, and think that Miller had jumped out the window in an attempt to escape. They’d either send one guy outside or they’d both go. Miller would shoot them from the window above. And then deal with the one that remained inside, if there still was one.
He thought it was a good plan.
His finger was throbbing as he pushed the nightstand out the window.
Just as he got it out, another two shots blasted through the wooden door. One bullet embedded itself in the wall right next to Miller. The other hit him in the back, off to the side. The pain seared through him.
It happened so fast that Miller wasn’t sure whether the nightstand hit the ground outside before or after he’d been shot.
His vision became even more of a tunnel as the adrenaline coursed through him.
Miller gritted his teeth, trying not to make any noise, as he fumbled for the gun on the bed.
“Did he jump?”
If Miller could just keep silent, they wouldn’t know he was still in there.
But as he reached out, extending his arm, trying to get the pistol, he groaned in pain. It was simply too much, and he couldn’t keep silent forever.
“He’s still in there.”
They started kicking the door. And slamming their bodies into it.
Miller didn’t have much time left. His plan had failed, and he was badly injured. He didn’t know how bad the bullet wound was, but he knew from the pain that soon he’d be too incapacitated to fight.
Miller looked around the room, a quick, sweeping glance. He needed somewhere to hide, or something to get behind. But there wasn’t much there. No closet. Just the bed, and the dresser that was now jammed against the door.
The only strategic advantage he had, aside from being a good shot, was being in the room before them. They were the ones who had to enter.
Standard practice for Miller would be to stand to the side, back against the wall next to the door. But they’d be expecting him. They’d know he’d be there. It was too obvious.
Miller’s heart was pounding like it never had before. He had mere seconds before they came in.
The dresser against the door was inching its way back, tap dancing across the hardwood floor, as the militia guys slammed their bodies into the door.
Miller’s sweat was ice cold. He felt it on his skin. The pain in his back roared, so intense it completely eclipsed the pain from his missing finger.
This was his one chance.
His last chance.
22
John
Cynthia was feeling better. She was finally not just paralyzed by fear and misery.
“We’ve got to do something about your wound,” said Cynthia.
“We need to get the packs first. We’re not going to last long without them.”
“They also have the medical supplies.”
“Let me just look at it. We might need to stop the bleeding now.”
Truth be told, John was feeling a little weak. He could feel the blood flowing out of his arm. His heart was beating in a strange way. He could feel his blood pulsing. His feet, nose, and hands felt freezing cold, as if they’d been dipped in ice water.
Cynthia cut aside the sleeve of John’s shirt.
“It’s not lodged in there or anything. It grazed your arm.”
John nodded without looking at the woun
d. He didn’t want to see it.
“You’re really lucky. Took away a good bit of flesh, though. And it’s bleeding a lot. I’ll tie this around it.”
“A tourniquet?”
“I don’t think that’d be good for this situation. Let’s just tie it around the wound, to create some pressure.”
John nodded. He was gritting his teeth against the pain.
Cynthia twisted the shirt around the wound. She took a small stick from the ground and used it to tighten the cloth. She twisted it all around on itself, locking it in place.
“That should hold for a while.”
“Good enough,” said John. “Let’s get those packs.”
“Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk.”
John had been sitting down while she’d worked on his arm. He stood up quickly, and he felt dizzy as he did so. His vision seemed to swim before him.
“You don’t look good. Are you dizzy?”
“I’m fine. Come on.”
They set off. Cynthia led the way, since John was a little disoriented. He didn’t know why he was feeling that way, since it didn’t seem like he could have lost enough blood to cause those symptoms. But then again, maybe he had. He’d kept moving after receiving the wound, and who knew how much he’d bled without realizing it in that time.
The going was rough for John. His legs felt like lead, but he kept going.
“I think it’s this way,” said Cynthia, turning back to address John.
As John looked to where she was pointing, he tripped over a thick root in the path, lost his balance, and went tumbling down.
He hit the ground heavily, and Cynthia rushed over to him.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Maybe I should go get the packs myself. We can make camp here.”
John shook his head. “Those others might be around. They’ll find us if we stay here.”
“They’re probably long gone. They just want to get out of here with the loot.”
“Maybe they want more,” said John. “We’ve got to keep moving. Help me make a crutch and I’ll be fine.”
Getting Out Page 12
