by A. R. Shaw
One day, he’d found a live one there. He heard her screaming as she ran from a feral dog. He’d run over there and shot the damn thing, and then she invited him into her apartment to thank him. He thought at first that she would make a nice citizen, but as he got to know her he soon realized she wouldn’t. Daddy would call her sort the whoring kind, just like his own mama. She wore those short skirts and tank tops, not nice lady dresses like Mrs. Walker who had lived next door. Too bad she passed away.
He tried to tell the woman in the apartment that she could not stay for free, but she called him names—and no one could do that anymore. He told her she had to leave at once, but that only made her turn ugly. Then she called him a psycho and a crazy-ass bastard. After that, he remembered grabbing her by the arm, intent on walking her out of there like a gentleman, but she started screaming and hitting him on the chest. Then she took him by surprise and grabbed his manhood through his denim jeans, squeezing, instantly hardening him. He pushed her against the wall, but then he remembered Daddy said never to let anyone touch him there. So he grabbed her around the throat. And then he blacked out a little.
The next thing he knew, she sat leaning against the blood-splattered wall with her head off, neatly hacked from her neck. Then he found his bloody hatchet in his own left hand with her blood dripping from his clasped knuckles, staining the white carpet below.
He cried then, not for the girl but for himself. Now he knew for sure the voices were back. He hadn’t planned to kill her. In fact, he didn’t even remember doing it. He’d never murdered anyone before. He tossed her body in the burning Dumpster, like all the others. He went back to his own little house, still with the effects of her touch on him, to wash off the dried blood clinging to his skin. Daddy would be furious at him. He had really wanted to pull her to him, but Daddy’s voice grew stronger and he knew he watched him then. It scared him still.
Today Campos would work on pulling all the spoiled produce, meat, and dairy products out of the little grocery store down the street. He wished he’d gotten to it earlier, knowing by now how rank it had gotten in there. The maggots were gaining ground, and he hated maggots. That’s why he always made quick work of burning bodies. Burying them all would be impossible, so burning became his method of choice to stunt the maggot infiltration.
“Whew!” he said, and began to gag involuntarily after he’d open the door; he pulled his bandanna up over his nose and mouth to help block the stench. Having donned his work gloves, he grabbed a cart from the line and pushed it past the magazine racks to start with the produce. He would work his way around to the meat department in the back, and then to the dairy aisle.
He’d already taken the time to stoke the fire in the city’s Dumpster that he’d made into a portable incinerator by attaching a hitch and tow line to his father’s small backhoe. Day after day he towed it slowly to where he needed to work; this way he didn’t have to go far to dump the things he didn’t want to keep.
There was one loudmouth guy who’d called him Campos a nut job; he threw him in the Dumpster still alive after he shot him in the stomach. The screams lasted for longer than Campos had thought they would, but it served the vagrant right to try to pull one over on Campos. “Free gas is not possible here,” he’d told him.
He had a difficult time touching anything with his bare hands, but with long work gloves on he fearlessly plunged his hands deep into the slimy maggot-covered territory. After he had dropped the bundles of rotting produce into the cart, he strolled out the door and onto the asphalt parking lot holding the blazing fire. From there he tossed the bundles into the fire, letting sparks fly upward toward the darkening sky; it was a sight that brought him pleasure. Then he went back into the little market for another load.
The store, being so low on supplies since the pandemic hit, luckily still contained enough for him and maybe five more people through the winter. Then, come spring, he planned a large garden and would need workers to help him keep it going. There was more than enough work for more than one man to do here, and Campos hoped a few decent folks would show up soon so that he could get his plans underway.
9 The Confrontation
As he pedaled slowly, navigating through the stranded cars, Graham felt the hairs on his neck start to rise. He spoke in a hushed tone to Bang, telling him to stay quiet and to move over to Graham’s left side. Underneath the overpass, they could hear what sounded like a distant dogfight. Graham worried that Bang might become alarmed and yell out, exposing them.
Now that they were pedaling their way through the cars, Graham remembered the clump of bushes and evergreen trees on the left side of the shoulder; this would be the best place to stash the boy and their gear, and then he could get a better visual of the situation at the gas station. They descended the short decline and walked through the brush and trees to find the best cover.
Graham got out his binoculars and crawled on his belly in the damp grass on the adjacent incline. He peered down the road to the gas station across the intersection, but with so many cars parked on the roadway it made it nearly impossible to get a clear line of sight. Judging from the odor emanating from the cars, Graham guessed that some cars still contained their original owners. He reluctantly crawled back to where Bang sat guarding their belongings.
“You need to stay right here. I’ll only be gone a second so I can see which way we’ll go. Watch our stuff.”
Bang leaned against a tree that provided him some shelter and Graham assured him once again that he would return soon. The boy didn’t look happy with the arrangement, but he nodded and crouched down with his bow and arrow out before him.
Graham walked a bit, then stopped directly across the street from the gas station. He crossed the off-ramp along the way, and he ducked behind a truck, using it to conceal his position. He spied no madman, or anyone else, in the general vicinity. He resolved that since the Dumpster fire burned brightly in a parking lot down the road, the madman couldn’t be far away.
Pulling up his binoculars, Graham watched the entrance, but heard the man before he saw him. Hyun-Ok had described him well: this guy sounded like he was short a few marbles. As Graham followed the voice—or voices, because there seemed to be more than one—he saw a man pushing a squeaky-wheeled shopping cart, often stopping, shouting as he made his way toward a blazing fire.
Graham tried to make out the conversation the man was having with himself. The guy talked mildly under his breath, then abruptly turned his head, completely changing his persona and the timbre of his voice, and roared, “I knew you were a fucking wasted sperm! I was right, you little bastard. Admit it!” Then another, in a feminine tone, shrilled, “Stop picking on him, you ass! He’s working, can’t you see that?”
Watching the scene sent chills up Graham’s spine, and he started scouting around with the binoculars for an alternate route to safety. He needed to get himself and Bang through this place and far away from Campos.
Graham thought himself a fool now for having thought he might be able to talk reasonably with this guy. What the hell had he been thinking? This guy was dangerous as hell. His dad had told him he’d have to make new rules for himself, and this one came easy: stay away from the crazies. There was no doubt that Campos presented a physical risk; he was heavily armed. He also had a gnarly looking hatchet dangling from his back belt loop. Clearly this guy wasn’t to be reasoned with.
Unfortunately, the road ran straight past the store where the man was currently working; the first left turn off that led around and back to the main road. If they went that way, he would still have a clear line of vision if he heard the man coming. If they crossed the street toward the gas station, they could take the first right and then go several blocks around the grocery store. Then they could meet up with the main road farther down the way. In either case they would have to take the chance of being seen, but the second path posed less risk than the first.
Graham thought it would be best to observe Campos a few more minutes to see how l
ong it took the man to go inside the store before he ventured out to unload his cargo again, realizing that the man’s mental state made him unpredictable. Dusk had come and gone, leaving them with the light of a full moon. He had hoped the man would just give up and head in for the night so that he and the kid could slip through undetected. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, making the hair stand up on his arms: what might happen to the boy if Campos got his hands on him? Then Graham remembered his promise to Hyun-Ok. Whatever it took, he would get the boy through this unscathed.
As Campos once again entered the store, presumably to reload, Graham lowered his binoculars and fell back. Then he sucked in his breath as he noticed a figure standing right beside him. Having never heard Bang approaching, he wondered how long he’d been standing there. With adrenaline racing through his veins, Graham covered his chest to calm his pounding heart. “Jesus, Bang! Don’t do that!” he whispered.
Bang ignored the admonishment and pointed with his little finger down the ramp behind them. Then Graham heard the noise, too, and it was getting closer to their position. He pulled Bang behind him, lifted his rifle, and peered around the bumper to see the culprit.
“It’s girls,” Bang whispered into Graham’s ear from behind.
“How many are there?” he whispered back.
“Just two, but they’re the same kind,” Bang said.
Graham made a quizzical face at that comment, though Bang couldn’t see it. He looked through his binoculars at the pair now walking openly up the off-ramp in their direction; a dog followed close behind them. They didn’t seem to be afraid of the dog, though, so Graham guessed it wasn’t one of the feral ones. The girls looked to be teenagers; both wore jeans and T-shirts, they were skinny, and they carried backpacks. With shoulder-length light, wavy hair bobbing, they traversed the vehicle-packed road. They looked to be twins, so Bang’s comment made sense now. But the fact that they were singing did not.
Graham knew that in another minute the girls would pass right by his current hideout. Knowing they might possibly walk right into a death trap if the madman spotted them, he didn’t know what to do, but he did know he didn’t want any more responsibility. Still, he had to warn them off this path. He reasoned they might turn right at the intersection and go over the highway, and that would be fine, but if they went left they were in for some trouble. There was no telling what would happen to them with this guy Campos around.
What do I do? I can’t let them just walk right to their own deaths, but I also don’t want to take on two more. “Shit,” he said under his breath, then hoped Bang hadn’t heard the expletive.
Gauging the girls’ advance, he lifted the binoculars once again to check the madman’s position. He hoped the guy would be too preoccupied to hear the voices of the singing girls as they approached.
10 Through the Darkness
Macy enjoyed driving. Maybe because she got the hang of it before Marcy had. In any event, she thought she would like to do it more often in the future, but from the looks of the traffic jam up ahead, her short experience behind the wheel would soon end. “There’s no way through that mess.” Macy nodded toward the tangle ahead. “You know what that means. We’re almost there, but we walk from here.”
“Well, just get as close as you can. Go up the off-ramp there,” Marcy said, pointing.
Macy noticed that Sheriff sat up in the backseat as she slowed the vehicle. The dog looked out the window at the unfamiliar surroundings.
They could see smoke and flames flicker through the evergreen barrier up ahead, but it didn’t seem like the big spreading fires they could see far off to the west. This one looked more like a burn pile, the kind their grandpa had when he burned brush out on his property. That made her think about her grandparents and hope they were all right.
As Macy came to a complete stop on the inclining ramp, she kept her foot on the brake and turned off the engine. But when she lifted her foot off the brake pedal, the car started sliding backward, so she depressed the brake again, a little too hard this time. It caused all three of them to dive sharply forward. Hearing a scramble behind her, she said, “Sorry, Sheriff, I guess I don’t quite have the hang of this yet.” Macy was sure the dog had seen better drivers in his day.
“Not so easy, is it?” Marcy said.
Macy sat there wondering which lever she needed to push or pull. There were other cars parked like this in the same position uphill, so it was possible to do, but so far, she couldn’t figure it out.
“I think you have to move it off of D, to start with,” Marcy offered.
Macy moved the stick to P, and then lifted her foot off the brake. The car still slid a little, but then it stopped. “Okay, I guess that’s it,” she said.
Sheriff poked his head forward, between them, as they looked around at their new surroundings, each searching for danger in the discernable darkness. “I really don’t want to go out there,” Marcy said.
“It’s okay, Marce,” answered Macy. We’re only a few blocks from Dad’s now. It’s just up to the intersection, two blocks up and two blocks over. We have a guard dog with us now, so don’t worry.”
She tried to make light of the situation, but Macy knew the dog packs were likely out there, and she was scared too. Knowing it was her sister’s favorite, Macy started to hum the pop song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” to calm her.
They exited the car as quietly as any two teens with a German shepherd could. At first Sheriff just sat in the backseat when Macy opened the back door. He didn’t seem to want to leave, so she patted her thigh and whispered, “Come on, boy.”
Seeing the invitation, he jumped down and immediately started sniffing the burning smell in the air. With his ears twitching, Sheriff tried to take in the sounds. Keeping pace slightly ahead of the girls, he ventured forward cautiously. The girls quietly picked up their tune again, bobbing along behind him.
There were many intermingling smells, and the girls watched as Sheriff’s nose worked overtime. They smelled a strange barbeque odor from the fire beyond the trees. But their biggest threat would be any wild dogs. As if sensing it, Sheriff quickened his pace, then after a few minutes, as they rushed to keep up, he stopped suddenly in front of them. He growled in a low menacing tone, warning of something ahead.
The girls both stopped singing at the same time, and crouched behind the German shepherd. “I told you we should have stayed in the car!” Marcy hissed.
Macy grabbed hold of Sheriff’s collar and tugged him over to the side of the road that met the tree line. “What is it, boy?” she asked.
Sheriff kept his low growl up while Macy petted him. He whined a little, then repaid Macy for the attention with a lick to the face, but went right back to growling in the direction ahead. “There’s something up there, said Macy. “He’s warning us.”
“I don’t care. I’m going up to Dad’s,” Marcy said loudly.
“Shut up!”
After a few moments of panic Marcy said, “We’ve got to go up there. It’s the only way through.”
11 Regrettable Decisions
Graham hesitated. His intention was only to get Bang and himself through this stretch of town. He didn’t want to intervene where the girls were concerned. They would only slow him down. But he didn’t want to see them fall into the hands of the madman, either.
After debating his options he decided to wait and see where the girls were headed. He watched them as they stopped because of the dog. Smart dog, he thought. Graham knew the dog could probably smell him and Bang.
But at least they were hidden by other vehicles on all sides where they hid behind the truck. The girls could pass them by and never see them. After much internal struggle, Graham fell to his third option of just waiting to see if the girls veered left or right as they proceeded up the road. That would probably tell him which way they intended to go and would buy him some time to decide whether—or how—to intervene.
Just twenty feet away from them now, the girls started to veer lef
t. “Damn,” Graham said, because now he knew they were headed for trouble. They suddenly stopped singing when the dog halted their progress. The German shepherd started growling, and the girls bent down behind him. They seemed more cautious now, and that was probably a good thing.
Wanting to make sure of the madman’s position, Graham turned his head to bring up his binoculars, but before he even got them to his eyes he noticed an armed silhouette coming their way against the light of the burning fire beyond. The singing had probably alerted the man. Graham and Bang were concealed, but the same couldn’t be said for the unsuspecting girls.
Options flashed before him. He couldn’t startle the girls into running, which would cause Campos to fire out into the darkness, likely killing at least one of them. If he fired his own weapon to warn them, he’d give away his own position and jeopardize the boy whom he’d sworn to protect. What the hell do I do now?
Graham knew what his father would do. He’d take Campos out, here and now. He had a clear shot, after all, and the man posed a threat to the living. Graham’s father would do what he thought was best, and for the greater good he would get rid of Campos. Graham lifted his rifle but just couldn’t do it. Maybe it’ll be all right, he thought. As Campos came closer, approaching the intersection, Graham ran out of options.
He made a sign to Bang to stay quiet and motioned for him to crawl under the truck. He crawled in behind Bang, over the pavement gravel, and pulled his rifle in along with them. He would be of no help to Bang dead. He needed to see what would happen, hoping Campos would see that they were just teen girls and probably run them off. That’s all Graham had now—hope: he had wasted all other options in those few precious moments of indecision. He felt ashamed as, from under the truck, he saw Campos’s boots getting closer.
