by Jon Sauve
She reached out a hand. Her fingers scraped across my chest, flailed around for a second, then gripped my arm decisively. She flung herself at me, pressed herself into my body. Feeling the heat and firmness of her, feeling her hair tickle my nose, and not knowing what to do in the slightest, I put my free arm around her and kind of held her there.
My shoulder was very quickly soaked. I could feel her shaking in my arms. Finally, when the initial relief of reestablishing contact had faded, she pushed herself back.
"Elden," she said. "He got Elden."
Picture falling naked through the ice on a Siberian lake and you will come somewhat close to the chill I felt at Mary's words.
"What?" I said. "How?"
She pushed further away, grabbed my hand, and pulled me with her. It wasn't hard to do, me being totally stunned and with a bad ankle that threw my balance off anyway. She steered me into the room behind her and shut the door. When she flicked on the lantern, I realized we were in the Chamber of the Secret Passage. Every spooky building should have one, really.
"What about Elden?" I asked.
"He..." Mary shook her head. The last stubborn tears were finally dislodged by the motion, and fell to the floor with an audible plip. "He tried to protect us... They were fighting, I heard him scream, I don't know, I was running away..."
I almost surprised myself by grabbing her arm, but stopped at the last second with my hand suspended between us.
"What about Beth?" I asked.
"She ran too. We both went different directions."
"Where?"
"I'm not... I dunno. Toward the kitchen, I think."
I shook my head. Mary frowned at me.
"I came through from there," I said. "Didn't see her."
Mary's brow pinched together. "Then she must have ran off, toward the road or something." She perked up. "Did you get the phone?"
I felt very weak at that moment, and it was easier just to shake my head. Mary stood up a little straighter, and there was a fierce sort of light in her eye. A sense of purpose, returning to her. I had to burst her bubble.
"No," I said. "I got it, but someone took the battery out."
She didn't seem to be fazed. "Then we have to get to the gas station. Beth must have gone that way. She's smart. And I think Elden... Well, we should just go."
I nodded and took out Ben's keys. "Maybe we should try the car anyway. Just in case."
Turns out Elden wasn’t lying. Neither Mary’s or Ben’s car would start.
The amount of time wasted on the car endeavor was in the magnitude of about two minutes. Realizing it was hopeless, we just sat in Ben’s old clunker for a moment, staring out through the dusty windshield.
"We have to go," she said, shoving her door open and stepping out. "I know your ankle hurts, but..."
It was a little bit worse than "hurts." I was starting to think I had really ruined something. Maybe just a torn ligament, maybe something worse. I had had to untie my shoe already, just to make room for the swelling, but it was only getting worse.
Our situation was not great. All this time having passed, and without any noises anywhere in the hotel, it was very safe to assume that Mary was right; Beth had fled toward the station and Shaun had followed, knowing that this tall, long-legged athletic chick gunning it for civilization was his biggest threat.
Now, me being slowed considerably by my ankle, there was little chance of us catching up to Shaun before Shaun caught up to Beth. The only hope was that Beth reached the station before that happened.
Any way you sliced it, we had to go. I used the ax as a brace, like before, and Mary stuck close in case I stumbled. We started across the lot, our shoes scuffing in dust, the tiny radius of the lantern light around us like the glow of angels. There was no sign of anyone.
I looked back at the hotel, just once. I knew that, either way this went, I very likely wouldn't be seeing it again. I guess I wanted to say goodbye. When I had first seen it, the place struck me as decrepit and vaguely gloomy. Now it looked like what it was - a place of death and nightmares. Just looking at it, great rotten hulk that it was, gave me the severe willies. So I turned back and looked out into the night instead. That wasn't much better. The nights here are always eerie. Add to that the fact that there was a psycho murderer out there somewhere. No imagination this time; there really, truly was.
For some reason, snakes and coyotes and sword grass didn't seem very scary just then.
There was a hill or something between us and the station. In all this darkness, we should have spotted it straight away, but we saw nothing until we had gone about a half mile. And then there it was, a distant halo of light like a big brother to our lantern. I stumbled on like a man driven mad by thirst and sun, drawing toward a mirage. I almost expected the lights to just up and vanish when we got closer. But they stayed, and grew stronger. The big brother calling out to the little brother, beckoning him to safety.
In a surprising turn of events, it ended up being Mary who fell over. One second she was at my side, close enough that our arms brushed together with every step, then she just hit the dirt. She cried out in pain or in shock. I leaned on my ax and helped her up. She was picking cactus needles out of her arm for a few minutes after that. She said nothing about how she fell. Maybe her shoe had come untied.
There's a thing about distance on the plains, especially at night. Shit is deceptive. It almost is like a mirage in that way; things just seem so much closer than they are. Doubly so at night when there are lights and contrast with darkness involved. The gas station seemed very close in the minutes after Mary's fall. But then we got close enough that the building started to form itself from the blob of light, and we saw it was still a ways off.
In my usual state of walking, usually fueled by angst or some hyperactive glee, I could have reached it in no time. But things change, usually for the worse. Hell, almost exclusively for the worse.
We had some walking ahead of us still. I saw nothing up there, no blue and red lights flashing at the gas station. Mary kept moaning in despair next to me. I thought about giving her the ax and telling her to run for it, but she had an even smaller chance of taking Shaun out than I did, and my chance was near zero. Bum ankle, weak and tired. My adrenaline stores were sucked dry. Our only chance was together.
I looked over at her. It struck me, not for the first time that night, how pretty she was. Not hot, not sexy, not beautiful, just pretty. She looked like a real human, imperfections and everything, but there was something cute and girlish and innocent about her that really appealed to me. Just the way her hair hung in front of her eyes, crusty and matted as it was by this point. She reminded me vaguely of a girl I had been in "love" with over the internet when I was thirteen. The older version, of course.
"Are you OK?" I asked her.
She looked over at me, and managed a weak smile that looked a smidge ghoulish in the up-cast glow of the lantern.
"I guess," she said, the forced smile already vanishing. "How's your ankle?"
I shrugged. It wasn't terrible anymore. The swelling was uncomfortable, but everything else had gone kind of numb. Not a good thing in the long run probably, but for our current situation it was nice.
"Not terrible," I said.
"Maybe you strained the ligament. Like, you stretched it instead of breaking it. That will heal on its own."
I nodded. "Maybe. I'm due for some good luck."
She smiled again. It was more genuine this time but was gone just as quick, probably out of guilt. She turned away from me, and we kept walking. The interface was nice while it lasted.
The remaining minutes passed in silence. Eventually, without us even realizing it, we were suddenly walking over asphalt. We had reached the road. Both of us stepped back, and Mary immediately dropped the lantern and shut it off with a well aimed kick.
"Shit," she said. "Get down, Orin."
I got down. Mary was prone next to me, her rapid breath sending up flurries of dust. I felt the
heat of fear radiating off of her.
"Do you see anything?" she asked.
I looked at the gas station. At first glance nothing seemed very interesting about it. The pumps were on - I could see the lights from here - and all the inside lights were on too. I didn't see a clerk, but a lot of times you don't. He could be crouched under the counter, grabbing something, or could be in the bathroom.
There were no cars in the parking lot. There was a distant glow off to my left, in the direction I had come earlier on the bus, but it didn't get any brighter so it was probably just another building.
Then, while I was scanning the perimeter of the place, motion caught my eye. Mary saw it too, sucking in her breath and holding it.
It was Shaun. He came walking out of the desert behind the gas station, a confident swagger in his step and a grin on his face. He walked casually right up to the door of the station, pulled the door open, and stepped inside like just another customer.
Then we saw the clerk. He appeared behind the counter, ready to serve his unheralded customer. Shaun stopped at the counter, hands in his pockets, and chatted up the clerk for a minute. Then he turned and started walking around, pretending to peruse the selection of high quality goods. Or maybe he really was just looking for a snack. You never know with psychos.
"Where's Beth?" Mary whispered.
I didn't answer. I was thinking, visualizing. I wouldn't call any of it planning, just me trying to wrap my head around what might happen.
"What should we do?" Mary asked. Right on cue. I had already chosen a course of action, but couldn't figure out how to tell her.
"Go inside," I said. "I don't think he'll do anything with the clerk there."
Mary sucked air through her teeth. "I dunno..."
I had my doubts as well, so I decided to wait until either something forced our hand or Mary came up with a better idea.
Shaun spent plenty of time admiring the goods. Then, without grabbing anything, he went back to the counter and talked to the clerk for another moment. Then he disappeared deeper into the store. We were on a bit of a rise, poised slightly above the station, and it was a bad angle for looking into the place.
A minute passed, and Shaun didn't reappear. Mary started to shift beside me.
"He must have gone to the bathroom," she said.
I nodded, and we stood up together. I kind of kept the ax hidden behind my leg as we walked, just so it wouldn't freak the clerk out. You see a bloody, tired looking guy walking with a limp, you think "he might need help." But you give him an ax, and put an equally bloody woman next to him, and suddenly you're in a Rob Zombie movie.
I gotta say, the high point of that night was stepping into that gas station parking lot. Just the brightness of it. And the familiarity. The smell of gas. The faint but lingering odor of car exhaust. The cigarette butts and plastic wrappers underfoot. God, it felt good. The strongest relief I have ever experienced.
Mary held the door for me. The clerk turned at the sound of the electronic ding-dong and started to smile. When he saw us, his expression took a sudden and very understandable turn.
"Hello," he said. "Can I help you?"
"Cops," Mary said. "Call them, right now. Do you have a gun here?"
"Uh..." The guy started looking around, seemed to realize that grabbing the aforementioned gun might be a swell idea, and crouched to do just that. We heard a few clicks, a latch popping, and he stood back up with a pistol in his hands.
"The guy in the bathroom is a psycho," Mary said. "Call the cops, right now."
The clerk nodded, reached into his pocket, and brought out a little walkie-talkie. Before I had a chance to realize how strange that was, he aimed the gun straight at me.
"Don't move," he said.
"Oh," I said. Just that. "Oh." It's kind of funny now, thinking back.
Mary, whose spirit I will always admire, immediately defied his command. She lunged for the counter, hit it, and flattened herself against its array of hanging snack bags. The clerk adjusted his aim, too slowly, and let out a shot. It found its home in a big stack of Honey Buns on a nearby shelf, impregnating their cakey goodness with bullet fragments and bits of plastic.
In these kinds of situations, your reflexes tend to take over completely, while your conscious mind moves on to other thoughts. For instance, holy fucking shit I'm going to die, what the fuck am I doing?
The gun was not aimed at me anymore, so I made for the spot next to Mary. The little curved metal arms that held the snacks jabbed into my back, but I barely felt it. Barely felt my ankle either. I guess my body had one last spurt of adrenaline left in it, and had been saving it for the right time.
At first I feared the clerk might jump over the counter. But what he actually did was far worse. I saw movement, I looked up, and the muzzle of the pistol was pointing straight down at me. He had stuck his arm out, twisted his wrist to try and blind-fire at me. I screamed, at least internally, and flung myself to the side. The floor had apparently just been polished; I slid across it like an Olympic figure skater, graceful as a swan.
Until my head hit the door. I looked back, feeling dazed. Mary was outside of my view, but then so was the clerk. Bad news, good news. By the smoke rising off the floor where I had been sitting, it was obvious that the gun had been discharged, though I hadn't heard the shot at all. Fear is loud, I guess.
The counter was tall. The clerk had probably seen the ax. He didn't come jumping over like I thought he might, nor did he try and blind fire again. I heard his footfalls as he retreated through his little behind-the-counter alcove, possibly headed for the little flappy door that would let him out into the rest of the store.
I heard it swing open, the hinges squeaking, the clerk stomping out. Mary came crawling frantically along the red floor, sans lamp, looking like a baby learning to crawl on a slick surface. She was skidding this way and that; her hands kept trying to flare out from under her. Using the ax handle like a ski pole, I shoved myself toward her and reached with my other hand. We stood up together, sliding around like we were on ice.
The gun went off again as we went through the door. I don't know where the bullet went, but I heard it go ping! somewhere dangerously close. A fourth shot came as the door swung shut behind us. This one I did see hit, although it was so fast I caught nothing but a blur. It ricocheted off the handle, went through the glass, and flew off into the night far above our heads. The glass itself was suddenly opaque, a crazy spider web of white cracks.
I went right, Mary went left. I being heavier, she was pulled along with me. I barely felt the tug. I was no longer set on saving anyone. I just wanted to get away.
My ankle felt strangely hot. I took a quick look at it as we ran along the wall of the station. There was a curious amount of fresh blood soaking my pant leg, and I was leaving a trail of huge drops behind me which Mary was treading through. No wonder the floor had been so slippery; I had been bleeding all over it. Hadn't even seen the blood, though I had registered the color red.
Two words popped into my head; femoral artery. I knew from movies that a severed femoral artery will kill you real quick. Just another thing to worry about. Not like I had enough of them.
“Orin,” Mary said behind me, a warning in her voice. I looked back. She was pointing at my leg.
Over her shoulder, I saw the door open. It was Shaun who came out, armed with a machete that was already adorned with someone's blood. The same machete Oogie had. I'm not sure how or when he found the thing, but there it was. And here he was, staring right at me with a grin on his face.
We only made eye contact for about a second, and then Mary and I were around the corner. We were beyond the range of the station lights here, but there was enough residual glow to give us an idea of the area. A pair of dumpsters against the wall, surrounded by a fence with a gate that was latched shut. Not a good spot; too noisy, too obvious. Right next to the dumpsters was a metal door, leading into the back rooms of the station. I headed for it, walking like a c
onstipated sailor with a peg leg.
I looked back as I approached the door. No Shaun, yet. He was being cautious I guess.
The door banged open while I was still looking behind me. Mary screamed. I turned my head. The clerk was coming out, his head craned to his right, apparently on the hunt for us. He saw me at the same time as I saw him; his eyelids fluttered and he lifted his gun.
Through some miracle, I was faster, and I instinctively knew what to do. I executed some ninja move that I would never be able to replicate in a million years. Using the ax handle, I swept the pistol away. His finger squeezed reflexively. The bullet hit the wall and went screaming off behind me. Shrapnel bit my cheek and right arm.
The clerk tried to get his arm back but I followed its movement even as I drew closer to him. Mary was already gone somewhere, which was probably for the best, because a struggle ensued that lasted a good ten or fifteen seconds, during which time the pistol danced all over the place. It was constantly just a millimeter off from killing me. The clerk let out three or four more shots, each one missing me by probably the width of a hair. Both of us were shaking, sweating, grinding our teeth.
The guy was in the midst of a stupid panic, but he was still bigger than me, stronger than me, fresher than me. Each time he tried to aim at me he got a little closer. Meanwhile, I had no moves. Now that I was here, locked in this graceless dance with him, I had no idea what to do next. I was fucked.
The clerk lunged again, shoved the ax handle away, and pulled the trigger. We both heard the click, and stared at each other for a second. He was out of bullets.
He let the gun fall and swung his fist at me. This time he achieved a direct hit. I reeled back, holding my face. I was seeing double. There was a howling, reverberating pain in my skull and blood in my mouth. The ax fell and I followed it down almost immediately, skidding through the dirt.
I think that might be the second closest I came to dying that whole night. I was hurt in three ways, without a weapon, and all my senses were scattered. The clerk was moving. At first I thought he was coming to finish me off, but then I saw Mary. She had come up behind him, and was now swatting him over the head with some random piece of wood she had found.
