Chronicles of the Damned (Book 1): Lonely Girl

by Jeff Beeman

  Abruptly, the two motorcyclist roar around the curve before they realize we are stopped and not alone. The first motorcyclist tries to stop quickly but like us, he goes into a slide so bad he ends up sliding into the pack. Like a school of small fish after a piece of bread, they attack him as he fight to escape the sea of hands and mouths. The other rider doesn’t suffer from what I can tell. He tries to swing his bike wide of the pack but didn’t take into account our truck. He crashes into our fender at an angle, then gets wrapped up into it. Finally his speed allows him to rip it off the truck. I thought I could hear breaking bones as his mangled bike and body slide to the feet of part of the pack that was unable to get to his friend yet.

  Mr. Anderson is the first to act. He throws the truck into reverse but as we move, there is a grinding sound like metal into rock. Mr. Oliver moves to see what is going on and reports that the right tire is gone and we were riding on the rim. Mr. Anderson says another set of swear words about the situation and gets us loudly out of there. Since the pack is feeding, they don’t look our way as we limp towards safety.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Storm Warnings

  We nosily limp back a few blocks on Norwood till we reach the more residential area. We need to find a vehicle that can handle five adults, a big dog, our stuff and me. All those who had ridden in the bed of the truck, not counting the rider who jumped on board, are all beaten up in one way or another.

  I hurt so much I feel like adding to the vomit stain B.B. has left on me. Needless to say I am falling behind the group. Normally this would have been noticed sooner but it has been that kind of day. I think Officer Salazar is the first to notice I’m not with the group, which is kind of impressive since she has the rider in a control hold as she marches him with the group. Soon Mr. Oliver comes walking back to meet up with B.B. and me.

  “Hey Buckie” he says with his east Texas accent coming out strong so the “ey” part was longer sounding like “Haaaie”. I painfully look up from the street at him. I can see his one eye is looking me over. He takes my left wrist into his hand and checks my pulse. Then he bends over so he can put his whisker covered cheek against my forehead.

  “You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you.” He says more as a statement than as a question. I hurt too much to nod my head and my throat has gone really dry. Before I can work up enough spit to get my mouth to work, he gently picks me up and sets me against his chest so my head can rest on his shoulder. He tucks my body into his which seems to support my injured right arm and shoulder. It reminds me how I used to be held by Daddy.

  It is amazing how being carried seems to make what is going on distant as I fall into a sleepy state of mind. I have the impression everything took less time than what it should have from finding the right vehicle because the vehicle not only had to be able to carry us and our stuff but also be able to start and be driven off. I have the idea they found a dirty red six door truck that smelled funny. The smell was taken care of while we drove back to the old truck with the windows down. The reason we came back to the old truck was so we could strip it of what we would need. At one point I found myself sleeping on the car bench by myself. Not sure how I got there. When I slowly sat up, B.B. was sitting in the back bench and watching the others as they walked around a neighborhood street searching for something. I was too sleepy to care so I gingerly laid down and went back to sleep.

  I felt warmth and my head was gently rolling to left. When I opened my eyes again, I was being cradled by Mr. Oliver and we were in a neighborhood I didn’t recognize. I turned my head so I could look out the front windshield. We were going down a road towards a T cross street.

  Before making it to the cross street, Mr. Anderson slowed down, honked the horn once, then raised his hand high and outside the vehicle. He seemed to be waiting on something. Mr. Oliver and the rest of my adults seemed to tense up but then something happened and they relaxed. We kept going straight up to the house at the top of the T intersection.

  “How are you feeling Buckie?”

  I look back at Mr. Oliver and sleepily murmur, “Better”. He smiles as he opens the door and then helps me out of the new truck. Everyone is getting out of the truck, though B. B. is impatient and about knocks Mr. Oliver down so he can join me in the yard. Looking around, I realize that this is the front of the house we are staying at. Down the street to the right turns into a circle dead end with a house. It is also where the Bobtail truck with its hood open is. On the opposite direction vehicles have been moved a couple of houses down to act like a wall so traffic coming from the street Misty Glen runs into will be blocked. Looks like they used all the abandoned vehicles from the neighborhood to make it.

  Abruptly the front door opens with Mrs. Kevins-Stahls and Mr. Kevins coming out quickly to greet us. It takes a moment before I realize Baby Michael is in a backpack baby carrier on her back. Mrs. Kevins-Stahls comes straight over to me, kneels down next to me and starts looking me over.

  “I am just a little tired and sore” I say as I try to smile, but I can tell my smile isn’t making her a believer. She shoots a not so happy glance over to Mr. Oliver and then a longer one at Officer Salazar who is taking the rider towards the backyard with Mr. Kevins help.

  “We ran into gangbangers on bikes that Isabel said are called True Sons of Texas. And before you ask, yes we got in a fight with them and no, no one was injured other than some bruises and knots.

  Seeing how upset she is becoming again, I play as my uncle called it, my trump card. “I found a stuffed toy the size of Bouncy Bouncy and another one that is a squeaky plastic toy the same size for Baby Michael but I lost them when it went “Hot”. I am sorry” I told her with my head hung low.

  “No you had brought them to the truck when we bugged out and I packed them in your backpack while you rested in the truck” explained Mr. Oliver, then he added with some relief to have an upset mother’s attention off of him, “Let me go get you backpack” and there he went like he had business elsewhere.

  Looking a little off balance, Mrs. Kevins-Stahls turns her blue eyes to me, “You got gifts for Michael at the vet’s?”

  “Well I couldn’t think of a way to get the others to agree to go to the baby or toy store down on the far end of Pipeline due to the need to get back, it was the best I could think of. I noticed he had a book but no toys to play with. I thought he might like one.” I recounted.

  Mrs. Kevins-Stahls knelt there for a moment looking at me, then unstrapped the baby backpack carrier so she could bring Baby Michael around to look my way also. Mr. Oliver arrived with my backpack about then, opened it up and handed the stuffed toy to me after unwrapping it. Being respectful, I handed it over to Baby Michael’s mother so she could judge if it was okay for him to have. B.B. trotted around us in a circle all the time just watching. As Baby Michael catches sight of the first toy, he becomes excited as he kicks up his legs and wiggles in an excited dance, all the time his eyes glitter with joy.

  After receiving both toys, she inspects them by trying to pull of the eyes or other parts and then twisting them, which of course made the plastic toy squeak. B.B. stops and does a double take. Coming over to see what made the sound, Baby Michael suddenly says out loud, “Ba BA ma”. All four set of eyes goes towards the baby who is leaning forward in an attempt to reach one of the toys.

  “Is that the first time he has said something?” asks Mr. Oliver in awe.

  “Yes” replied his equally shocked mother.

  “Ba ba ma ma mmmm” advised the straining baby.

  B.B. has come over to him but I am able to divert the wave of wet sloppy kisses.

  Mrs. Kevins-Stahls hands the stuffed toy to his eager outstretched hands, which is grabbed and pulled towards his face. He looks long time at it before he begins to softly babble to it. I guess babies only make sounds like words at his age.

  On the spur of the moment, Mrs. Kevins-Stahls turnes towards me and knelt down again to not only grab me by the waist but B.B. by the neck to give us a
long hard hug as she cries. All the time Mr. Oliver just smiles really big.

  “Thank you so much for being you” she says with tears falling. I didn’t exactly know what to do so I just hugged her back because it felt like the right thing to do at that moment. B.B. did the second thing he likes to do, give really wet doggie kisses. The side of her face was dripping with kiss spit in but a few seconds.

  Time as I pointed out earlier is broken. I think it has always been a bit out of whack due to how things go so slow when things are boring and so fast when it is not. For example, when everyone but Mr. Kevins, Nguyen, and Officer Salazar went back into the house, things seemed to really speed up. The Sergeant went off to the part of the first floor I hadn’t been in yet, Mr. Oliver took the backpacks with the medical stuff upstairs so he could set up in the entertainment area, while Mr. Anderson began putting out the electric cords to bring the electricity Mr. Oliver would need up there. Mrs. Kevins-Stahls helped get me get the last of my clean clothes, assisted taking the B.B. puked stained clothes off (I was relieved to find Bouncy Bouncy had safely made it without getting messed up with all the flowing puke, flying bullets, sliding bodies, falling glass, splattering blood, just to mention some of the mess of that trip. He really is a remarkably fortunate bunny, which means as I understand it all four paws are lucky), clean up before putting on my clean clothes. Mrs. Kevins-Stahls said it was okay to do this in the kitchen because we need the room and sometimes one has to work with the room one has in times like these. Funny though, B.B. never joined us in the kitchen. He just sat at the base of the stairs and looked up at them.

  Eventually Sergeant Kasprzak returned just as I was getting my arm harness back on. Her ear must have been bothering her because she seemed a little unsteady on her feet and her eyes were redder than earlier. I was going to ask her if she was okay but Mrs. Kevins-Stahls turned my attention to something else. I sort of felt like she didn’t want me to bother the Sergeant.

  “Why don’t you go outside with B.B. hmmm. I bet he might want to go potty again” suggested Mrs. Kevins-Stahls.

  “Marking things is his is his favorite thing” I said with authority. I called him and here he came and off we went to go outside also known as Parent Tactic Number Seventeen.

  Mr. Kevins, Mr. Anderson, Mr. Nguyen, and Officer Salazar were outside between the house and garage talking. They seemed pretty into it as they didn’t notice us.

  “...and they are low on food and gas. They have been living on bags of pinto beans they raided from a deserted mom and pop tacueria.” Explained Mr. Kevins.

  “Flatulent fool” spat Mr. Nguyen

  “He is from Puerto Rico, though he is trying to hide it” calmly advised Officer Salazar.

  “Why would he want to hide that?” asked Mr. Anderson

  “Probably to fit in more with the gang would be the best guess” responded Mr. Kevins. “What else could you tell from the way he spoke?”

  “Probably high school education at best. He has been state side for a while since he uses words correctly. It is more how Eric’s accent slips out when he is stressed. In his case, his words sound less Tex-Mex and more Puerto Rican.”

  “Well let’s let him sweat it out in the garage for a while. He might be more willing to talk then. We need to find out how many there are and where they are located. That way we can make better plans” advised Mr. Kevins.

  “Why not let the solders interrogate him. They will have more “convincing” methods than two former cops” retorted Mr. Nguyen.

  “We are not going to torture that man, Frank” fired back Mr. Kevins. “Whether he is a gang banger or just a desperate survivor, he is due his rights and by God, Isabel and I will make sure he has them!”

  “Just keep in mind that whatever he does next is on you, Tom, it is on you” coldly replied Mr. Nguyen as he turned and walked off back into the house.

  I have moved to the other side of the big vehicle. Yes I know that means I was spying but I needed to know what the adults where doing. After a moment Mr. Anderson said to no one in particular, “He’s such a schmuck!”

  “Si” agreed Officer Salazar.

  “All right then, we all agree on that. Dean take the new truck to its hiding place. Isabel, have Amanda look at your face and I will take the next sentry duty.” With that, they all went their separate ways.

  Maybe kindness would work. I went into the big vehicle, found something to use as a cup and put some water in it. Then we headed to the small door we had used early this morning. Opening the door, I found a couple of electric lamps. I put the cup down, turned on the lamp, all the while keeping B.B. from the water. I heard what sort of sounded like chains clinking. I turned to see the rider was sitting in an old swivel chair. His legs were bent back and had a board tied between them. This was all so that the board wouldn’t let his legs past the swivel part of the chair. His wrists were handcuffed to the arms of the chair. He had a rope around his neck. It was not so tight to keep him from breathing but it was tied to the back of his chair so that if he moved too much, it would tighten.

  His face was really puffy, bruised and hard to look at. Both his eyes were black and swollen and his nose had bandages across it. I knew why. A little bit of drool was dangling from the left corner of his mouth. At first he didn’t seem to notice I was there. And it smelt of farts also.

  B.B. circled him in a curious sort of way though not getting to close.

  “I am sorry about your nose!” I felt that was important to say first.

  He passed a loud and long fart. In a moment B.B. and I both cringed from the foul smell.

  He then began to make a croaking sound that took me a moment to realize he was laughing at us.

  I brought the lamp closer to him. He had dirty sand color hair and a tan. His skin hung on him like he had been bigger once. Like me, his clothes looked like it was something he had found.

  One blackened eye opened more to look at me. Speaking more like a whispering frog, he said “You’re the brat that kicked me in the face!”

  “I said I was sorry”

  “And are you a girl?!” he rasped like a bullfrog.

  “Yes”

  The next was a string of Spanish words which I feel were naughty ones.

  “A little girl did this to my nose” he hoarsely exclaimed.

  “Yes and a bigger girl did the rest to you, except where my dog got hold of you. Now you better be nice because he is not looking nicely at you” I advised him.

  I could see his one eye look around till B.B. trotted into his view. Then he froze. Softly he said, “Okay kid, I’ll be real nice, just keep that...” before he could call B.B. a bad name I said in my scary Daddy voice, “Don’t call me or my dog any bad names. It makes us unhappy!” That seemed to do the trick.

  Silence took over the room as he licked his cracked and blood lips.

  “I have water for you. If you will be nice, I will help you drink it.”

  “I am all chained up but sure, I promise to be nice. Want to pinkie swear”

  “Nice try but I think I will let B.B. be the judge of how nice you are.” As I walked over to him, so did B.B. who arrived just before I did. He looked the rider right in the face real calm but really intense until the rider looked away. It took some tries but most of the water was drunk by the rider.

  I stepped back and waited but he said nothing. Finally I said, “When someone does something nice, you should say at least thanks”.

  “You broke my nose” he replied with more of a normal voice but more whiney than before.

  “And you shot at us and kicked Officer Salazar in the face!” I retorted

  B.B. got closer to his face and did a low throat woof in such a way that his teeth got real close to the rider’s face.

  “Thanks...thanks... now please call off your dog.”

  “B.B.” was all I had to say. He turned and trotted over to me but instead of getting next to me, he turned and sat in front of me so that he was between me and the rider.


  “I just wanted to show you we can be kind if you’re nice” I simply said then turned, went back to put the lamp back after turning it off. With that done we went back outside.

  Coming back from the garage, I happened to look north and saw what looked like two skies. The one I was under was the typical blue with a bunch of lines of skinny clouds heading south, I always forget what type of clouds they are called much to the annoyance of my troop leader and Earth-science teacher.

  The other sky at the far north is bluish black from one end of the horizon to the other. The air was still but those skinny clouds were sure moving fast. The closer northern ones also were more bunched up than the southern ones. I really want a better look so I decide to climb the ladder to see what the northern sky looks like from there.

  Carefully I climbed up the ladder, making sure I felt confident to take the next rung. This was made harder because B.B. was trying to climb the ladder but found it too frustratingly difficult and so started barking at me. Finally I made it to the top of the ladder and was able to get onto the roof. This in turn made B.B. trot worriedly back and forth the length of the house.

  Still being careful, I started working my way to Mr. Kevins who had taken position next to the peak of the roof. It took a few moments of my working my way to him before he noticed I was up there with him. He had a look of first surprise then what looked like an unhappy parent but he moved to help me over to him.

  Once sitting near him, he in his deep voice sternly asked “Young lady, what made you come up here?”

  “I wanted to get a clearer look at the sky,” I respectfully responded.

  “So you see it too. Looks like we have a true Blue Northerner headed this way.”