DeadEarth: Mr. 44 Magnum

by Michael Anthony

  Chapter 4: ‘Use it to your advantage, but never become a victim of it.’

  A month and a half in the bunker was enough to drive Shade batshit. She took to pacing around the generators while Rikka and Lou played Mario Party on the PS4. She wasn’t a gamer, and Rikka and Lou were too far gone in a Mario competition for something like Monopoly. So that left her to her own devices. Or rather, walking around devices. And cleaning them.

  Shade took apart, cleaned, and reassembled every gun and rifle they had in the bunker. Every blade was made razor sharp as was every arrow and caltrop. Smoke grenades and flashbangs were all polished and meticulously placed back on the shelf. Everything Shade thought to do, she did. And after three weeks, nothing was left.

  “Dad’ll be back in a week, give or take. Just relax, Shade. This might be the last time we have to do so.”

  “Have you ever thought about what’ll happen if he doesn’t come back? What do we do then?”

  Lou slammed the PlayStation remote on the ground and darted over to her older sister. Before Rikka had a chance to reply, Lou began pounding on Shade’s chest and face while screaming incoherently. Shade tripped taking a step back and fell. Lou landed on top of her, still hammering her with unrestrained fists.

  Rikka was on them in a moment, pulling her flailing sister off as Shade slid back towards the bunk bed. Her eye throbbed and her nose was bleeding, but otherwise she was fine. She felt lucky considering the broken bones and concussions her sister usually gave when she had a violent episode.

  Rikka managed to pin Lou’s hands to her side. With a practiced technique, she tucked her face into Lou’s neck to thwart the head butts and fell back on the couch so she could wrap her legs around her thighs to stop the kicking. Lou still screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “We have a tranquilizer gun,” Shade suggested, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the bleeding.

  “No. No, I got her.” Rikka said. She took a breath. “Stop cry-ing. Thing with be-eee okay,” she sang softly. Her voice was like flower petals, delicate and smooth. “No need to fight. I’ve got you.”

  That was one thing Shade admired about her sister. She could make up a song on the spot and sing it angelically. Her melodies always calmed Lou down when she had an episode.

  Shade sighed and picked herself off the floor. She made her way to the medicine cabinet as the fringes of a headache settled behind her left eye. The cabinet was organized from left to right; weakest to strongest. She grabbed the Tylenol and swallowed two dry. She chewed a third for faster results. It tasted like vomit, but she was used to it. After she sealed it, she put it back on the far left, label out.

  Just to have something to do, she turned the rest of the meds so the labels were facing outwards. Vicodin and OxyContin stood at the far right. She paused with her hand on the OxyContin, wondering how she’d feel if she took one. Part of her wanted to try it, but a bigger part of her didn’t want to give up the clarity of a sober mind. She put the vial back on the shelf and closed the cabinet. She’d missed her chance for recreational drug use.

  “I’m going to take a nap before this headache gets any worse. Call me if you need me,” Shade said.

  Rikka didn’t respond, just kept singing.

  ***

  Anxiety hung in the air like smog as the time for their father’s arrival grew near and finally passed. Rikka cursed more, Shade cleaned and paced more, and Lou withdrew inside herself. Apart from the gentle hum of the generators, silence ruled every inch of the bunker with an iron fist. Entire days passed like that.

  When nothing was left to re-clean or reorganize, Shade pulled up a chair and sat in front of the stairs leading out of the bunker. Her companion, the suppressed M1911A1, sat across her lap. She wasn’t expecting any baddies to come bursting through the entrance. Rather, she prepared to charge up the stairs and take her home back. She couldn’t bear to be holed up in the bunker any longer. She had taken to staring at the medicine cabinet to pass the hours. She wanted to take something—anything—strong enough to make her forget she hadn’t seen the sun or taken a breath of fresh air in two full months. But she couldn’t. If something did happen, she didn’t want to be a liability.

  But Jesus Christ she was bored out of her mind. And those fucking generators…

  Shade disengaged the safety, stood, and ascended the stairs in one swift motion. She wasn’t thinking. It was like her body was on autopilot, and she had no desire to stop herself. She flipped over the cover to the keypad and punched in half of the exit code before Rikka took note and called out to her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she said sharply. She stood and crossed the room towards the stairs.

  Shade didn’t answer. She knew if she did, Rikka would find a way to talk her out of it, or get close enough to stop her by force. One button, ENTER, was all it took for the main staircase to rise, releasing her into the foyer.

  A gust of air tickled her face. Shade closed her eyes for a brief moment and inhaled. She nearly gagged. It smelled like ball sweat and urine—the last thing she wanted to smell after two months.

  The house was silent. The sun set six hours ago and Shade figure if anyone was still in the house, they’d be asleep. She climbed the last few stairs with her weapon drawn. The staircase closed as she stepped into the foyer. The suppressor of her weapon glided to the right and to the left as she aimed the gun at each of the entrances. She took a gentle step forward. The floor groaned. She paused.

  Nothing moved. The house was as quiet as it was moments before. If anyone heard the noise, they showed no sign of it. Shade eased off the spot soundlessly. She placed her back against the wall and eased down into a crouch. With the pistol pointed at the ceiling, she took a breath and waited.

  This was the waiting game her father told her about. ‘When you hear a noise in the night,’ he said, ‘don’t investigate. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Wait. Wait for the intruder to make another move. No matter how long it takes, you wait. If you move first, they’ll know your position and attack while you’re trying to prepare yourself. On the other hand, if you make a sound while you’re sneaking up on someone, you wait as well. You wait for their nerves to settle, for them to convince themselves that the noise was nothing or that they didn’t really hear anything at all. Silence plays tricks on the mind. Use it to your advantage, but never become a victim of it.’

  The stairs opened again, spilling a little light out into the foyer. Rikka stepped out with two guns drawn and aimed at the doorway to the office and family room. Even in the dim light, Shade could see the lifeless glint in her eyes as she glared at her. With the grace of a feline, Rikka closed the few yards between them, easily avoiding the creak in the floor. Shade stood and lowered her weapon. When Rikka was near enough, she lifted one of the pistols and thrust it harshly against the soft under Shade’s chin.

  “Get your ass back in the bunker. Now,” she hissed.

  There was no doubt in Shade’s mind. Rikka would kill her if she didn’t cooperate. But she wasn’t afraid. Her sister showed that side of her too often for her to still fear it. Without so much as lowering her gaze, Shade pushed the barrel of her weapon against Rikka’s stomach.

  “Who’s going to take care of Lou if we’re both dead?” she whispered.

  The lifelessness in Rikka’s eyes faded for a single second. That was all it took for her to lower her weapon and step away from her sister. Shade lowered hers as well, but questioned the gesture once her sister’s soul evaporated in a blink.

  Rikka stared at her for a full minute before finally signaling her to hold at the entrance on the other side of the stairs. Shade complied, making sure to avoid the creak in the floor. With her weapon at the ready, she stepped past the stairs and peeked into the small office that connected the foyer to the living room. A hefty, middle aged man sat at the desk. His shoulders rose and fell evenly as his head rested on his double chin. The computer screen illuminated his unshaven face and the thin line of drool that dribbled o
nto his tank top.

  Shade held up a finger, signaling that the room had one occupant. Rikka dragged her finger across her neck then put it to her lips. The order was clear: kill him. Silently. Shade swallowed. She turned and peered back in the office. With a sigh, she slowly eased inside, praying to every god she knew that the floor wouldn’t groan underfoot. It didn’t, but that didn’t lessen the tension gathering in her chest.

  Though she kept her footfalls light, Shade was sure the man would awaken from the thunderous hammering of her heartbeat. She raised her pistol. She knew she couldn’t shoot him—even with the suppressor, the noise would be too loud—but having her weapon trained on him was the only way she could keep her courage from abandoning her. When she was within striking distance, she lowered the pistol and pulled a small knife out of her side sheath. Putting it through his cerebellum was the only completely silent way to kill him.

  Altering her grip on the knife, she crept behind him. The angle of his head resting on his stomach gave her a perfect shot at the area just above the nape of his neck. She stared at it, willing herself to be cold and emotionless as she plunged the knife in. But then the blood came to mind. It wouldn’t be much if she didn’t pull the blade out, but what if she needed to make another silent kill? Sure, she could probably do so with her bare hands, but they weren’t squirrels or chickens. They were real people. She didn’t know if she had what it took to kill a person with her hands. Hell, she didn’t even know if she had what it took to kill a person with a knife. She wasn’t Rikka. She wasn’t that strong or sure of herself. The only reason she mustered up the courage to leave the bunker was because the hum of the generators and the eternal exhale of the exhaust fan were driving her mad. And she didn’t even want to get started on the tasteless MREs

  Now, here she was, standing behind a sleeping man, seconds away from ending his life. That wasn’t what she had in mind. She just wanted some fresh air—a change of scenery.

  Shade closed her eyes and shook her head. She lowered her knife, and in one quick motion struck the man across the back of the head with the butt of her pistol. It was a better fate than death, and one Shade could live with.

  She made her way back to the entrance and poked her head out. Rikka was still holding her ground a few yards from the staircase. Shade rejoined her sister, nodding that the deed was done. Rikka returned the gesture, then turned to face the entrance to the living room. Shade took her position directly behind her. She placed a firm hand on Rikka’s left shoulder and, before she had a chance to think, squeezed. Immediately, Rikka stepped into the room and pivoted left once she was through the doorway. Shade was on her heels, covering the right side of the living room. Two shots rang out from Rikka’s unsuppressed pistol followed by two pffft from Shade’s.

  “Clear left,” Rikka called.

  “Clear…” Shade’s voice faltered. She caught sight of the man she had shot. The bullet holes in his chest were illuminated by the flickering light from the TV. His eyes were opened, staring in shock as blood dribbled down his chin. She made the mistake of locking eyes with him. She watched the struggle in his gaze as he clung to life with every fiber of his being. His short and labored breaths filled her ears, reminding her of the senseless murder committed by her father two months ago.

  Shade’s vision blurred as she let her pistol fall to her side. She was no longer in the house. Instead, she was back in the barn, watching with fervent hope as Puppy galloped across the grazing field.

  Then the gunshots sounded.

  Puppy screamed. His legs gave out and he collided with the ground with an audible thud. His legs kicked and his body bucked as he tried valiantly to climb to his feet. But the pain was too great. He fell back to his side and lay there, panting heavily.

  “No,” Shade murmured as she took a hesitant step towards the fallen horse. “Puppy!”

  She sprinted across the barren field, falling to her knees when she got to Pup. With wide eyes, she looked him over. All three bullets struck his stomach. Blood oozed from the wound and pooled on the ground, soaking the knees of Shade’s pants. He’s going to die, she thought. What do I do? I can’t save him. I can’t…

  Shade shook her head, banishing the fear that entranced her. She eased closer to Puppy and cupped her hands over the wound. Warm blood oozed from between her fingers and down her wrist as she applied pressure. Puppy whined, but didn’t move. Shade looked at him. His deep brown eyes were focused on her, silently pleading for her to make the pain go away.

  Staring into his eyes, Shade lost it again.

  She turned back to her dad and sisters. “Call the doctor,” she screamed, her voice shrill and coarse. “Please. Please. We can still save him. Call the…”

  She snapped out of her daze and searched the room. Rikka was saying something to her, but all she could hear was Puppy’s scream. Dropping her weapon, she ran over to the man still fighting for his life.

  “Just hold on. Everything’s going to be…”

  Bang.

  Blood and brain matter splatted up on Shade’s face and in her mouth as the man and the chair he was sitting in flew backwards. Startled, she jerked back, tripping over the corner of the ornate rug. She hit the floor hard and scurried away from the man and the gaping hole where his left eye should have been.

  Shade backed into a pair of legs and stopped. She looked up to find the barrel of a .44 Magnum revolver aimed at her.

  “I’m afraid you’re not clear on the right, doll.”

  Chapter 5: “Every three days, someone disappears.”

  Mr. .44 Magnum’s cowboy boots hammered the hardwood floor with every step he took. He paced back and forth, occasionally rubbing his hand across his greying, stubbly chin as he considered the situation. He was old—late fifties, at least, but wore it well. Despite the times they found themselves in, his eyes were bright and blue, though could turn cold in an instant, much like Rikka’s. His face was caked in sweat and dirt, extenuating the deep wrinkles of a rough life. His most notable feature, however, was his left hand. It was arthritic and gnarled so completely that it would have been less of a hindrance if it was amputated. Shy of the wedding band looped around his finger, there was no reason to keep the hand.

  Shade couldn’t help but stare at it as she kneeled in front of him, completely stripped of weapons. Rikka was beside her. Two men and two women wielding guns surrounded them. They had been circling the perimeter of the house when the shooting started.

  “The million dollar question is why you tried to save a man you just shot?” Mr. .44 Magnum asked in a deep, country drawl that didn’t seem to match up with his persona. He stopped pacing and kneeled down in front of Shade, his thick eyebrows raised in curiosity.

  Shade opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She glanced at her sister for any amount of reassurance, but she found none. Rikka didn’t even cut her eye in her direction.

  “The answer’s not over there, darlin’.”

  Shade snapped her head forward, meeting the man’s eye. “I… I didn’t have a reason to shoot him. If he died because of me, it would have been murder. I don’t want to be a murderer.”

  “That… is a good answer.” He nodded slowly as he stood and started pacing again. “I have a rule. I can kill for one of three reasons, and only three reasons. One—” he held up a finger—“family. Like the lovely people you see around you. Two, mercy. Like you saw a little while ago. Or three, revenge.”

  He looked pointedly at Shade, his eyes turning icy. Her breath caught in her lungs as she imagined her head exploding under the power of the magnum he wore on his hip.

  “Now, you broke in and start shooting up my house. You knock out one of my guys and killed two others. And though it was admirable that you tried to save one—a gunshot wound to the chest is not something we’re equipped to handle. That being said, you should consider yourselves lucky you didn’t kill anyone else. Derek and Jeremy—the corpses in the living room—were lazy cunts who ate twice as much a
s they were worth. I was thinking about shooting them myself, but…” he shrugged, “they’re family. Well, they were, anyway.” He took a deep breath and poked his lips out as he looked around at his comrades. “I know most of you barely knew them, but any hard feelings?”

  Before they had a chance to answer, Rikka interjected. “You’re wrong about one thing,” she said in a calm but chilled voice. “This isn’t your house.” She glanced over at the bookshelf to her right and nodded towards one of their only family photos in existence. “Take a look.”

  Mr. .44 Magnum followed her gaze over to the bookshelf and plucked the picture off, knocking down some of the trinkets beside it. “Huh. Well, I’ll be…” he said, holding the picture so he could glance from it to the sisters with ease. “Where are the other three? Your mom, dad, and little sister?”

  “You tell us,” Rikka seethed. “You’re the ones living in our house.”

  “Hey, this house was empty when we found it,” one of the guys said. “There was food in the fridge, meat in the barn, and not a soul to claim it. The world may be going to shit, but we still have our morals, unlike some.”

  “Morals?” Shade questioned, following her sister’s lead. She craned her neck to look at the man who spoke. He was younger than she expected—twenty or twenty-one—tall, and had a runner’s body. His eyes were a soft brown, and his chin and cheeks were littered with wisps of hair that only just started coming in. The tattoo on his forearm was a hideous prison tattoo that read MING, as if to pay homage to the Chinese basketball player he only resembled in ethnicity. “I just saw him put a bullet through a man’s eye. You call that moral?”

  “I told you, doll,” the man with the magnum said, “we don’t have the resources to deal with a gunshot wound. Better his death be quick and painless than slow and painful. Just remember, two of my guys would still be alive right now if all you did was knock on the front door.”