by Jack Hunt
“What?”
“Why did you decide to turn against us?”
“By us, you mean when I was a skinhead?”
“You aren’t too bright, are you, Frost?”
“Bright enough to know that you aren’t getting out of here alive.”
Bryan leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. He shook the gun a little. “Come on, tell me.”
“I was wrong to think that there isn’t good in people. There is, and that includes those who are different. Different skin color, different culture, different outlook on life.”
Bryan laughed. “It was that guy, wasn’t it? What’s his name? Scot Murphy, that’s it. He brainwashed you, didn’t he? Fuck, I feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t. Maybe he can help you.”
“He tried.”
Sam frowned. Bryan chuckled, got up and went over to the window to check on things. He kept looking back. He wouldn’t tell Sam but he was intrigued by the fact that he changed in such a small amount of time. He wasn’t lying when he said that he thought he had found a like-minded friend in Sam back when he first met him. Back then they had a lot in common. They had both been abused, mistreated by those who were meant to care, and looked upon as troublemakers by society. They had both found a sense of brotherhood among the white supremacists. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t understand why Sam had turned on them.
“You know, I once had the chance to meet my biological father. Did I tell you that?”
Sam snorted. “Let me guess, he was an asshole like you.”
Bryan twisted around, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Sam. Sam’s eyes flitted to the pack and then to him. He took one and Bryan lit it. For a brief few seconds it felt like the way it was back in the day.
“I was curious. I got in contact with social services once I was eighteen and they released the details to me. You know, I sat on that information for over a year. My whole life I had wanted to know who my parents were and now I had it, I couldn’t look at it.” Bryan sat down. Ash fell from his cigarette.
“When I finally summoned the nerve, it wasn’t what I expected. My mother had died three years prior. Bronchitis.” He breathed in deeply. “Anyway, my father was still alive. Living over in Colorado. He ran some sleazy little bar in Telluride. So I decided to go pay him a visit. You know, scope out the place. When I got there, I just ordered a beer and sat at a table watching him from a distance. He didn’t even recognize me. How about that?”
Sam didn’t take his eyes off him. Bryan sucked in his lips and stared up at the ceiling as he recalled that day as though it was yesterday.
“I eventually get up the nerve to go and speak to him, and you know what he said?”
There was a pause.
“‘What do you want from me?’” Bryan said.
He chuckled. “Imagine that. You get to meet the son you never held or saw and the first thing you say is, ‘What do you want from me?’”
“What did you say?” Sam asked.
“Nothing. I told him I wanted nothing. I just wanted to meet my father, perhaps have a beer with him. Shoot the breeze. Let him know what I had done with myself.”
“And?”
“He looked at me like I was trash. Came up with some cock-and-bull story about how he was too young to have taken on a child. Then he said he couldn’t speak with me as he was busy but if I left my number he would phone me in a week.” He breathed in. “In a week? I believed him.” He inhaled hard on his cigarette and let the nicotine awaken his senses. “So a week passed and lo and behold, no phone call. I gave it another week before I tried phoning him. I just got his message machine. You know, I left eight messages over the course of that week. He didn’t respond to any of them. So… I went back down there.”
Bryan got up and went over to the window again. He turned sharply seeing Sam rise to his feet. Sam raised his hands. “I just need to move the leg. It’s seizing up on me.”
He watched him pace back and forth.
Bryan continued. “When I got back to his bar, he wasn’t around. The guy who was on that night told me that he had gone on vacation for a month to Bermuda.” Bryan glanced back at Sam. “I spent the rest of the day in that bar and returned to my hotel that evening. The next day I visited again but this time I waited outside in the car. Sure enough, bright and early he shows up. Of course he doesn’t hang around. He was there no more than fifteen minutes before he left. So I tailed him back to his home. I waited outside for two hours, watching him mow his lawn, talk to his neighbors and work in his yard. So you know what I did?”
“What?”
“I got out of my car and went over to his house. I knocked on the door. When he opened, you should have seen the look on his face. Really. He looked mortified. I asked him, ‘When were you planning on leaving for Bermuda?’ He didn’t even deny it. He said right then and there that he didn’t want anything to do with me. It was his past and in his mind, I was dead and buried.” Bryan snorted, and then sniffed hard. “He slammed the door shut. I stood there for a while contemplating going back to my car. Instead, I busted that door open, took a hold of that asshole by the throat and beat him until he was unconscious. I can still smell his blood on my hands. And you know what he said all the time I was hitting him?” He glanced back again. “‘Please. I have a wife and son.’ A wife and son?”
“That’s harsh.”
“It is, isn’t it?” he muttered before turning back to the window. No sooner had he turned when he felt a sharp thud to the back of his head. He fell forward and the room around him turned black.
21
Frantically Corporal Stigers pulled out the container with grenades. He couldn’t get Michaels to snap out of the shock he was in. Stigers thumbed the clip on one, twisted and pulled the pin and slid it out the narrow opening that the blood had seeped in. It clattered against the steel, then he heard it land and felt the entire vehicle shake as it exploded. He repeated this four more times on either side of the vehicle. After two tours in Iraq, there was no chance in hell he was going to die inside his own vehicle.
The noise was deafening. After the fourth time he grabbed a hold of Michaels and told him to get his ass in the driver’s seat and get them the hell out of there. He turned over the ignition. It spluttered and coughed before finally rumbling to life. He revved it a few times and then smashed his foot against the pedal. Stigers jerked backwards as they rolled forward.
“Head back to the lumberyard,” he hollered.
The crash of wood, followed by the pounding against the bathroom door meant they had breached the room. Billy closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He then squeezed himself as far back as he could into a corner and waited. He was going to shoot through the door but he didn’t want to waste a single bullet. For all he knew there may have been thirty of those freaks outside.
“Come on, you bastards.”
If he was going to die, he planned on taking as many of them with him as possible. He raised the Glock and the assault on the door continued for a few more minutes until it exploded inward. He fired round after round. As one dropped and the next launched itself over its fallen comrade, he unloaded six bullets. When the room went quiet and he peered over the mound of dead, he couldn’t see any more. Even then he was nervous to move. He gave it another minute before navigating his way over the vile mass of bodies. He was careful to not touch the doors, which were covered in blood. When he made it back into the lobby, he headed straight for the door. Sweating hard, and thanking whoever was upstairs looking after him, he charged out into the day hoping to find the others.
Ally had been pacing the room for the past twenty minutes, trying to think of any way out of the mess. The insane could still be heard above them, and outside the door. Why hadn’t they tried to force their way in? Luke sat in the corner of the room with a somber look on his face. He wasn’t drinking just staring down at the dirty concrete.
“Help me find a way out of here.”
I
t was so dark. Though there were two narrow windows, it was hard to make out anything even after her eyes adjusted.
“Why does it matter?”
“Listen up, you might have given up on life but I want to live. So get your ass off the floor. Stop moping around and help me out.”
Luke got up and went over to the shelving unit and began pulling out bottles.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.
“Helping us get out of here. Eighty-proof should do it.”
“What, by picking out what you’re going to drink?”
He screwed his face up and pried the top off one and then went over to the door and began covering the door and floor in rum. Ally looked on with a confused expression.
“Well, don’t just stand there, give me a hand.”
“You want to explain?”
“There’s an exit at the far end of the room. It’s where they roll the barrels in, however the moment you open it we are going to be overrun with them, so we’re going to attract them to us first and…” he kept pouring. “Well, you’ll see.”
They drenched the door, walls and most of the ground in some of the finest whiskey, rum and vodka around. Ally took a sip as they finished up.
“Now let’s raise a little hell.”
Luke went over to the far side of the room and fumbled with a lock on a set of metal doors. The reason she hadn’t been able to see these doors was because they were above them. There was a concrete slope that went up and was used for barrels to be rolled down from the outside. Luke stepped back, fired at the lock and then it dropped to the ground. He raced over to the door they had come in through and began beating on it.
“Hey! Hey! Come on you assholes.”
Ally went over and helped. With both of them beating on the door the noise on the other side got louder. Slowly they stepped back and then moved quickly over to the exit, all the while Luke was pouring two bottles of rum and creating tracks on the concrete floor.
“Once they burst through that door, head out and run south towards the trading store.”
The noise of the insane grew louder as one by one they began beating on the door. When it burst open and they raced in, Luke fired twice at the floor covered in alcohol. A flame ignited and like a Molotov cocktail the whole floor, walls and door went up in flames along with the insane. Ally pushed up on the door and it flipped open. Both of them raced out onto the side street and didn’t stop running.
Aaron had heard the noise of the grenades going off. After exiting the rear of the building, they were heading south when the eruption caught their attention. Immediately they shifted direction and headed east on Cedar Street.
The insane were all over the place. They jumped out of windows, appeared from side streets and climbed down from roofs. There had only been one other time that Aaron had been afraid he would die and that was when he was hunting elk. He had been four miles out in the middle of Idaho’s roughest terrain with a buddy when they came across a grizzly bear and her cubs. He knew better than to run. He had bear spray on him and a Smith & Wesson Model 317 revolver. The moment they turned to walk away, the mother charged. He’d been taught to play dead, cover his neck and hope to god that he didn’t get torn apart too badly but instead he ran, along with his buddy. His buddy was soon taken down. He heard his screams even as he turned and fired two rounds at the bear but it didn’t do anything. It only pissed her off even more. Even though he knew better than to try and climb a tree, in that moment logic went out the window and he was up the nearest oak tree faster than he’d ever climbed before. Some might have said he was stupid for climbing a tree but the way he saw it, the chances of him actually being mauled were far less than being on the ground playing dead.
Bears could climb, but he thought he could hold her at bay with the gun.
Now, it felt unreal to be running through his hometown shooting at people he knew. These were good people at one time and yet now they were violent, uncontrollable maniacs.
When one of the three men that he brought out was taken down from above, he told the others to keep running. There was no hope for him. No matter how much they wanted to stop, he would change in a matter of seconds.
His screams filled the air before they were silenced.
“Frost!” Bryan’s voice became a distant noise as Sam hobbled away. He’d been eyeing him, waiting for the right moment to strike. He knew he was looking at his reflection in the window even while he was giving his sob story about his father.
The guy was a fucking lunatic. Who in their right mind beats their father just because he never wanted to be in their life? He thought he was fucked up, that was taking things to a whole new level.
He had only minutes before Bryan would be on his tail. As hard as he had struck him with that bar stool, it wasn’t going to keep him down. He had taken his weapon and burst out one of the side doors heading east on Bank Street. He was halfway down the block when he heard his voice. Sam ducked into one of the storefronts. He stepped through the shattered glass window of an antique store and waited.
“Screw this,” he was tired of hiding. He stepped outside again and cast a glance down the street. On the far side he saw the insane on the buildings looking towards where the Motor Vehicle Department was. He winced as pain shot through his leg again. He looked down to see it was bleeding even worse than before. Gripping the Glock in his hand he eased out onto the street and continued hobbling east.
“Frost!”
A shot of cold fear ran through him as he turned to see Bryan sprinting. Sam fired a round in his direction causing him to duck into one of the stores. He kept running, realizing that the noise was going to attract them. He could already see them coming around the east corner by Sixth Street. He popped out the magazine while continuing to run, and checked how many rounds he had remaining. At a glance it looked like it was half full. He slammed it back in and could see that Bryan was pounding the pavement and gaining on him. As much as he wanted to fire another round at him, four of the insane were coming his way and they didn’t look like they were going to be easy targets. All four of them ducked behind cars as he fired their way. They were learning from past experiences. Sam tried to enter a florist shop to his left but the door was locked and the shutter was down. He moved down to the next store but whoever owned it must have barricaded themselves in. While the door was open, shelving units and all manner of shit were blocking the way. He turned in time to see a young male launch himself in the air. There wasn’t any time to fire his gun. Sam slammed into him and knocked the guy through a window. It smashed and before he could fire a round, a second one came up and took him down. Sam dropped the gun and grabbed the thing’s neck forcing its mouth away from his face. Saliva and blood dripped onto his outer coat as he smashed its head against the sidewall. He could hear the next one coming in even as he stretched for the handgun. It was nearly upon him when he fired the round. It landed on top of the other. He fired another round, and then another. He tore of his jacket, which was covered in droplets of blood and saliva and tossed it. He didn’t want it seeping through. Panting hard he stared at them. One of them was a young kid that lived five doors down from him. In all the commotion he hadn’t heard Bryan coming up. Before he could get to his feet he felt the full impact of his body slamming into him and knocking him inside the store. Sam flew over the shelving unit and collided against the store counter.
“You just couldn’t stop yourself, could you?”
Glass cracked beneath Bryan’s feet as he made his way into the store. His eyes scanned the floor and in that moment both of them searched for the gun. Bryan saw it first and went for it. Sam picked up a ceramic vase and tossed it at him. It smacked him in the side of the face just as he was reaching down. He let out a yell, and his nostrils flared.
Before Sam could get up, Bryan launched himself and grabbed Sam by the throat with both hands. His face was going red from putting so much effort into trying to strangle him. Sam beat at his wrists but they woul
dn’t release. Out the corner of his eye he saw a shard of a flowerpot. He stretched for it but his fingers were just out of reach. Behind them, in the distance they could hear the sound of the insane heading in their direction. The noise of the gun, the yelling and screaming of the others had acted like a siren.
“Fucking die!” Bryan yelled
Sam shifted his body and drove his knee twice into Bryan’s groin making him yell and loosen his grip. As he did, Sam stretched again for the shard. His fingers scraped the hard floor. C’mon. C’mon, his mind screamed. His index finger touched it and pulled it back. As Bryan began to apply pressure, Sam grasped the shard and jammed it as hard as he could into the side of his body.
Bryan let out a scream and instantly released his grip. Sam balled his fist and gave him a right hook to the face, knocking Bryan off him. Both of them were coughing hard and spluttering. He knew he had only a minute before the insane swarmed the place. Sam hobbled over to the gun, and picked it up.
When he turned back, Sam was up and trying to get out of the store. He knew that his opportunity to kill him was gone, and if he didn’t get out now he would be dead anyway.
As Bryan gripped his side that still contained the shard of pottery, he turned and looked at Sam. Sam raised the gun and Bryan continued to stumble out. He followed him out, and watched him try to cross the street. He lifted the Glock and fired a round into Bryan. It struck his side and he collapsed in the middle of the road.
Sam wandered over to him. Bryan looked up at him with a pitiful look on his face.
“You really shouldn’t run from a man with a gun. What did you think would happen? You can’t outrun a bullet,” Sam said, tossing Bryan’s own words back at him. He turned to walk away and Bryan mumbled something.
“Don’t leave me here.”
Sam kept moving
“Frost!” he yelled. “Don’t leave me.”
His words fell on deaf ears. The last glimpse he got of Bryan was when the insane came around the corner on the west side. He turned back to see Bryan staggering to his feet. He made it a few steps before they landed on him. His muffled cries were lost in their screams.
