by Lukens, Mark
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the leader said. He raised his gun and aimed it right at Ray. “Where’s the other guy?”
“I . . . I don’t know what other guy you’re talking about.”
The leader stared at Ray with his cold, light blue eyes for a long moment. A sudden wind swirled down from the mountains, disturbing the dead leaves all over the street and ruffling their clothes. The only other sound was the junkie fidgeting and giggling. But Ray could hear other sounds now: his own heavy breathing, his thudding heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears.
“Which one should I shoot first?” the leader asked, but he didn’t seem to be asking anyone in particular; it seemed more like a rhetorical question.
“The kid,” the junkie said. “Save the girl for us. Please. She’s so pretty.”
Ray moved in front of Mike, stepping between his son and the gray-haired man, his mind clouding over with a sudden anger. “He’s just a boy,” Ray said through clenched teeth. “What’s wrong with you? Take our stuff and let us go!”
“We want the guy that’s with you,” the leader said.
“There’s nobody with us. You saw the three of us get out of the truck. You can check it. There’s no one else in there.”
“He didn’t ride with you,” the tall man said; he seemed annoyed that he had to explain himself. He hadn’t moved away from the rear of the SUV, his gun down by his side now. “He came about an hour ago. He was driving that electrician’s van over there.” The tall man nodded toward the van they had just walked past with the DA symbol painted over the cartoon electrician with the gigantic smile, a smile that said there was nothing in the world he’d rather be doing than repairing the wiring in your house.
Ray looked back at the van. “I don’t know who drives that van.”
“He’s with you,” the leader said, turning Ray’s attention back to him. “That’s what we were told.”
“Who told you that?”
“Shoot him,” the junkie said. His eyes bulged from his dirty face and he licked at a cold sore at the corner of his mouth constantly, leaving shiny spittle behind. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his skinny neck as he giggled. He shuffled back and forth from foot to foot, unable to keep still. “Shoot him in the kneecaps. Every time he doesn’t answer, shoot him. You don’t have to kill him, just fuck him up a little.”
The leader ignored the junkie, but he still hesitated as he kept his gun aimed right at Ray.
Ray was sure the leader was hesitating because they were supposed to be kept alive for some reason. But the junkie was right—just because they weren’t supposed to be killed didn’t mean that the leader couldn’t start blowing out kneecaps and other parts of their bodies.
But Ray wasn’t going to let that happen. If these three had orders not to shoot them, then he would have to take advantage of that somehow. But no ideas were coming. His mind felt like a spinning wheel right now as he tried to think of something he could do.
The leader’s eyes shifted over to the tall man next to the SUV, nodding at him. “Tie them up.”
The tall man slipped his pistol into a holster inside his camouflage jacket. He pulled out some plastic zip ties from a pants pocket and started walking towards them as the leader backed up a little out of the way.
Ray couldn’t let the tall man tie their hands together. It was now or never. Only two of them were armed now. He would have to be quick. He would have to take the gun from the leader somehow.
Before Ray could even move, the tall man was rocked back from a fiery streak that had just hurtled through the air, and then the man burst into flames.
CHAPTER 5
Ray
The fire was so sudden that just for a second Ray froze and stared at the tall man as the flames engulfed him. For those few seconds everyone froze. Everyone froze except the tall man who screamed and tried to swat at the flames burning his body and face.
Ray was at least ten feet away from the burning man, but he could feel the heat of the flames from where he stood. And he could already smell the burning clothes and flesh.
For just those few seconds as the man screamed and burned, everyone else was motionless and paralyzed with shock. But then everyone exploded into movement. The junkie ran towards his burning comrade, pointing his gun across the street from where the Molotov cocktail had come, shooting five times in that direction as he got closer to the SUV.
Emma grabbed Mike’s hand, yanking him back as Ray rushed the leader, who had turned towards the direction where the fireball had come from, aiming his gun that way. Ray crossed the distance between the two of them in mere seconds, and the leader had only been able to squeeze off two shots before Ray chopped his fist down on the man’s forearm like a linebacker trying to jar a football loose from a quarterback he was blindsiding.
The junkie backed away from the burning man, who was still wailing out a high-pitched scream, the howl of a dying animal. The junkie crouched down by the front of the SUV for cover, still aiming his gun across the street as the burning man collapsed down onto the road, rolling around, trying in vain to put the flames out.
The leader turned towards Ray just as the gun was knocked loose from his hand. Ray threw a left hook, connecting with the man’s chin and dropping him with the punch. The man was down and Ray had to force himself not to kick and keep punching the man, force himself to rein in his anger at this man who had just threatened his family.
Instead, Ray went for the gun, picking it up before the leader could collect his wits enough to scramble for it.
The junkie turned towards them, suddenly aware of what Ray and his leader were doing. He aimed his gun at Ray.
“I’ll kill him,” Ray told the junkie as he pointed the gun at the leader on the ground. “You drop your gun this second or I’ll kill him.”
The tall man’s screams had faded away now. He had stopped rolling around on the street. Now he just lay there, burning. The flames had died down a little, but they were still cooking the man’s flesh. The pungent odor was heavy in the cold air.
The leader stared up at Ray like he wanted to take a chance at rushing him.
Ray took a step back, still aiming his gun at the gray-haired man. “Mike, take Emma back by those cars,” Ray said without looking behind him at Mike and Emma.
The junkie looked like he was going to aim his gun at Mike and Emma.
“You move an inch and I’ll kill him,” Ray warned.
“Don’t listen to him,” the leader said. “He ain’t got it in him. He ain’t never killed before. I can tell.”
Little did the man know, Ray thought. He had killed before, killed to protect his family; he had beaten a guy to death with a golf club right in the middle of his bedroom floor.
The junkie still hesitated. He glanced over at where Mike and Emma had been a few seconds ago, but they were out of sight now, hiding behind the parked cars; he’d lost his chance to shoot at them. He concentrated on his leader again.
“Shoot him,” the leader said. “He can’t get us both.”
“What about his friend?” the junkie asked, glancing across the street at the line of vehicles and the businesses behind them. “He’s over there somewhere.”
Ray didn’t know who this guy was that they were talking about. The leader had said that the man was someone Ray knew. Even though Ray didn’t know the man who’d thrown the Molotov cocktail, he wasn’t going to contradict them now. He wanted them to think that he was working with that man out there. He wanted them to think all of this had been coordinated. He wanted them to be afraid of them right now. And he would take any advantage he could get right now.
“That guy could have a rifle,” the junkie told the leader. He looked ready to bolt at any second. He looked up the street at their box truck parked a few blocks ahead. “He might have us in his sights right now.”
Ray kept shifting his eyes from the leader to the junkie, and then back again.
“Shoot him,” the leader said
. “That’s an order!”
The junkie moved a few feet away from the SUV, away from the smoldering man on the road. He was inching past them, moving down the road a little, getting ready to run down the street.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the leader growled at the junkie.
The junkie didn’t answer. His eyes were back on the buildings and cars across the street, his pistol aimed that way now.
“Where were you going to take us?” Ray asked the leader, but then he looked at the junkie. “Who are you working for?”
The junkie looked scared now. He shook his head. “He’ll come for us. He’ll find us and get us.”
The leader jumped to his feet and rushed at Ray.
It all happened in a second. Ray pulled the trigger twice, shooting the leader in the abdomen and the chest. The impact of the bullets rocked the man back and knocked him down; he sat down hard on the street. Ray turned to aim his gun at the junkie, but the man had his weapon aimed right at Ray.
“You’re right,” Ray told the junkie. “That guy out there’s our friend. We sent him ahead of us. He’s got a rifle on him, and he’s a damn good shot.”
The junkie twitched a little, but kept his gun aimed at Ray. But Ray could tell the junkie wanted to turn, wanted to look for the other man.
“Put your gun down,” Ray told the junkie. “It’s over now. If you don’t put that gun down, you’ll never even hear the sound of the rifle. You’ll be dead before you even hit the ground.”
The junkie still hesitated. His eyes shifted to his leader on the ground.
Ray glanced across the street while the junkie’s attention was still on his leader—he saw what was coming.
The junkie just had time to turn as another fireball sailed through the air at him.
For just a second Ray thought the junkie had managed to move out of the way of the incoming fiery missile, but it hit him on his hip, exploding, the flames spreading amazingly fast.
The junkie dropped his gun and swatted at his clothes, screaming and jumping around as the flames shot up that side of his body. He dove down onto the road, rolling around, trying to smother the flames.
Ray looked back at the leader. He was sitting up on the road now. Blood dribbled out of the bullet holes in his chest and stomach, staining his clothes dark, pooling underneath him. He sat there on the street with his dull blue eyes on Ray the whole time. Ray kept his gun aimed at the man, not sure if he might have another gun on him somewhere, but the man remained motionless, his arms hanging limply at his sides, his hands resting on the blacktop like he knew he was defeated, like he knew it was all over.
The junkie had managed to put most of the flames out, but he just lay face down in the middle of the street, rolling back and forth, crying and moaning. Half of his body was still smoking, the clothes burned, the skin scorched and charred.
Ray hurried over to the junkie and kicked his weapon away from him. The gun skidded ten feet down the street. Ray heard movement from the leader and turned to him, aiming the gun at him again.
The leader had a hunting knife in his hands.
“Put it down,” Ray told the man.
“He wants you,” the gray-haired man said. His skin looked pasty-white now, like the blood was draining from it quickly. The DA symbol on his forehead was dark red against his pale flesh. “He won’t stop looking for you.”
“Why does he want us?”
The man didn’t answer. He raised the knife up to his throat.
“Don’t—”
The man slit his own throat, opening up a wound straight and deep across his flesh. The blood poured out. He stared at Ray the whole time, never looking away. He sat there for a moment with the bloodstained knife in his hand, then his hand relaxed and he dropped the knife onto the street. He leaned slowly to one side as a river of blood poured out of his throat, and then he fell over onto his side, still looking right at Ray.
Emma and Mike walked up to Ray.
“You got him, Dad,” Mike said, hugging him.
Emma turned to the other side of the street, and then Ray heard what had alerted her—footsteps. He aimed his pistol at the man approaching them.
“Don’t shoot!” the scrawny man said. He had a shotgun in his hand, but his hands were raised high in surrender. He was dressed in a dark blue hoodie, baggy jeans, and dark brown hiking boots. His long hair was as scraggly as his beard and mustache.
I’ve seen that man before.
The man stopped in the middle of the street, ten feet away from the junkie who still laid face down in the street, not dead, but not moving anymore.
“Don’t shoot,” the man said again, his weapon still raised. “My name’s Josh.”
“He’s one of us,” Emma said.
Josh looked at Emma and his face went slack with shock. He lowered his arms and the shotgun like the strength had just washed out of him. “You’re . . . you’re her.”
“You know Emma?” Ray asked.
“I’ve seen her in my dreams.”
And that’s when it hit Ray; he knew where he’d seen this man before, in his dreams. He’d seen Josh walking down a wooded road. He had tried to call out to him, but Josh hadn’t heard him in the dream. And Ray had seen another man in his dreams, a muscular man with a crewcut. And last night Ray had seen others, a woman and a little girl.
Emma smiled at Josh. “My name’s Emma. I’m so glad you found us.”
CHAPTER 6
Josh
Josh couldn’t believe he was staring at the woman he’d seen in his dreams. Her name was Emma, that’s what she’d just told him; Emma, his angel, the one who had visited him in his dreams, the one who had told him to travel south and find her.
He looked at the father and son. He’d seen them in his dreams, too. And he saw their recognition of him.
We’re meant to be together: Emma had said that in one of his dreams, and then she had told him to travel south. She told him he would find them. And he had traveled south, escaping Pittsburgh in the electrician’s van that he’d found on the side of the road in front of his sister’s apartment building. He had gotten into that van, started it, and left the burning city behind, escaping the army of rippers that had been fleeing the massive fire. He had driven south, down here into West Virginia, choosing this route because it seemed the most remote on his journey south. He had slept in an abandoned house one night and then in the back of a looted bakery the next night on his way down here. He had found a vehicle to siphon gas from. He could have taken that vehicle and left the electrician’s van behind, but he wanted to keep driving the van. The van felt like a good luck charm to him, the talisman that had helped him on his journey to find these people. The van had been his salvation when he had needed help the most, and he didn’t want to just ditch it unless he absolutely had to. But the van’s tires were slashed now, the front end smashed in—it was time to let it go.
Emma hadn’t told him in those dreams how to find her and the others she was with; she’d only told him to go south. After he was sure that his sister and nephew had been killed, he knew he had to leave Pittsburgh. Even if he would have never seen Emma in his dreams, he would’ve gone south, anyway. To Florida. It was warm down in Florida, and it was a place he knew well. That was probably where Debbie and her invisible husband Brad were planning on going before the rippers got to Brad and Debbie had gone crazy.
Josh thought back to when he had gotten to this mountain town. He had just entered the town, driving over the strip of spikes hidden under the leaves on the road, flattening all of the tires on the van, blowing them out. The van skidded down the road on the carpet of wet leaves, but he managed to keep control of it, afraid for a few seconds that it was going to tip over. As soon as the van smashed into the back of a pickup truck, coming to sudden stop, Josh had time to think. He knew right then that he had just run across a trap set in the road. He grabbed his backpack and his shotgun and got out, leaving his lucky van behind.
As he ran across the
street to an alley between two brick buildings, he heard the pinging sounds of bullets bouncing off of his van. Some of the bullets hit the corner of the building, spraying bits of brick. But he made it around the corner of the building, and then he had made it past the buildings and up into the hills where the houses were, where the cover of trees was better.
The three men in the street yelled at him as he ran. They threatened him. He stopped running for a moment and watched them from the corner of a house two streets up the hill from the main street. They looked like three homeless guys to Josh, but they were dangerous, and they were intent on killing him.
One of the men, the gray-haired man, came after Josh, leaving the other two behind.
“We know you’re with them!” the man yelled as he continued to look for Josh.
With them? Josh couldn’t help thinking that the man was talking about the blind woman from his dreams, and the father and son.
Josh waited by the house as long as he could, but he had to keep running, he had to keep going higher up the hill and into the next neighborhood. He still had to keep an eye out for the rippers, but for some reason he hadn’t seen a single ripper in this town so far. It was like the rippers were staying away from this town, staying away from these three men.
The rippers are getting smarter.
Isaac’s words echoed in Josh’s mind as he climbed the hill through the trees. Isaac had been right about that, like he’d been right about so many other things. Josh still had Isaac’s notebook in his backpack; it was one of his most prized possessions, right up there with Kurt LaRose’s shotgun and the photos of Marla and Kyle.
After half an hour of running, Josh had decided to hunker down inside a house and wait for a while. The gray-haired man hadn’t found him, and Josh hadn’t heard any sounds from down in the town below. Maybe the men had given up looking for him. Or maybe they had left. But for some reason Josh didn’t think that was true. It seemed like these men weren’t going to leave this town, like this was some kind of post they weren’t allowed to desert.
