The Bug Out

by Nick Randall

The firelight didn’t reach here. I could see what was happening along the street, but I was well hidden. All of the people were kneeling, neatly lined up on their knees facing St. Joseph.

  He walked silently up and down the line, his hands clasped behind his back. Liza and Matthew knelt at the end of the line closest to me. I could see their packs still on.

  Good. It will be easier if we don’t have to resupply.

  Liza was shaking uncontrollably, probably in shock.

  St. Joseph began pointing to different people in the line. Every time he pointed, one of his men shot the person in the back of the head.

  Bodies fell to the pavement, spatters of blood and brain splashed across the sidewalk in the firelight. I swallowed the bile that threatened to force its way out.

  I held my breath, hoping and praying that Matthew and Liza would be spared. All of the men were facing Joseph now, their backs turned to the storefront.

  After several long heartbeats, it seemed like the carnage was over.

  I counted 15 no less than bodies lifeless along the pavement, face down, heads grossly misshapen from the close-range blasts.

  Joseph began talking to the crowd. I walked to the back of the buildings, and crept closer, silently closing the distance between me and the storefront. I wanted to hear what he was saying.

  “Okay!” his voice boomed. “Now that the useless people are out of the way, let’s have some fun. We are going to play a sorting game. Women on my right and men on my left. Hurry! Hurry! You don’t want to make me mad. Come on, quickly!”

  He aggressively patted one of the younger women as she rushed past.

  “Okay, George. I’ll take that one, that one, and . . . eenie-meenie-miney-moe,” he pointed to Liza. “That one, too. Okay, boys, lock up the men and the rest of the woman are yours. I expect to see some good fights for your favorites!”

  Joseph motioned to one of the guys, and they both headed toward an office building on the other side of the pizzeria.

  Liza and the three girls trailed behind them. The two girls with Liza couldn’t be more than 17 years of age.

  They were holding tight to one another’s hands, the older one stroking the younger’s long hair and murmuring into her ear.

  The younger one was crying uncontrollably and murmuring “dad, dad, dad” over and over. Her hands were working through her hair, pulling out chunks of bone and flesh.

  Liza stepped closer to Joseph.

  “I. . . I’ll go first if you’ll have me,” she stammered. “I can make myself very useful.”

  Liza tentatively reached out her hand and trailed it along Joseph’s thigh. Her movements becoming steadier as she glanced back at the girls.

  Tears gathered and spilled down my cheeks. She was taking the first shift to try to spare the girls.

  I was never prouder of her or more appalled that our survival had come to this in less than 48 hours. Joseph smiled before seizing her hand.

  “Oh, you’ll do nicely,” he purred. “I’m sure you’ll learn just how I like it, and I expect you to teach the younger girls because if I’m not happy with the services rendered, you don’t make the cut.”

  He snickered, took a fistful of her hair in his hands, and forced her lips hard on his mouth before dragging her by the hair into the building.

  I had to look away and hope that they would survive Joseph.

  I needed to free Matthew first. I would need him muscle to help me take out Joseph and his man and free Liza and the girls.

  Four of Joseph’s guys starting yelling at the group of men and prodding them with their guns towards a building across the street. It looked like an old factory repurposed as an industrial-themed pub.

  I’d bet they would put one or two men on duty while the others busied themselves with the rest of the women.

  The remaining men stood around the edges surrounding the cowering ladies Joseph had left behind; the men were like wolves licking their lips and looking starved for something more than food.

  There were only ten men and seven women left after the culling. Three women to Joseph, I assumed the men would be fighting for first and best pick. I shuddered at the thought of what would happen to each of them.

  I took count: Joseph and his one, four men with the group in the pub, and three men with the remaining women in front of the store.

  One was missing, the guy that had come up on us in the alleyway presumably. A tracker or lookout, maybe?

  He was eerily absent. My skin prickled and cold shot through me. Were there more out there? One man not present of the ten I had seen, a variable that unsettled me.

  I waited for some of the men to exit the pub after securing watch over the group.

  The door burst open as a slim, lanky man flew backwards into the street with arms flailing about in an attempt to soften his fall. He landed and slid roughly across the pavement.

  A big burly man stepped out after him, straddling him and pinning his arms down under his massive knees. He landed one punch after the other before the slighter man cried out.

  “You win, Patrick!” He turned his head to the side and spat out blood.

  “Thought you’d see it my way. Guess you’ll be missin’ out tonight, James.”

  Patrick laughed loudly, stood up, and helped the man up off the pavement.

  James limped over and entered the pub, hunching over in defeat.

  After a brief moment, two men exited. Patrick and the other two joined the women, surrounding them in a wide circle, whistling, catcalling and whooping loudly.

  “Come on baby. I’m nice and gentle. You don’t want Patrick. He’ll rip you wide open.”

  “Now come on over, sweet thing. You look like your starving for a real man.”

  Their evil voices echoed through the night.

  CHAPTER 7 (Holly)

  I stepped farther into the shadows of the alley, saying a silent thanks to the universe.

  I crouched and flattened myself against the wall. One man guarding the ten. Sheer luck.

  I made my way down the backs of the buildings closer to the pub. I swallowed my nerves, attempting to gather my courage, but all I felt was fear.

  Hoping my adrenaline would kick in, I stepped forward to check the surroundings. The men were still preoccupied torturing the women further down the street.

  The fire was dimming, the edges of darkness expanding around the tightening circle.

  I slipped across the street, hiding in the darkness. The windows had no coverings, and I could see a lantern glowing in the front, near the bar as I crossed.

  A shadow drifted back and forth in front of it. The stores on that side of the street had apartments above them.

  I saw one very dim light upstairs, obscured by a heavy curtain. The visibility poor and non-intrusive. The second floor was a mystery.

  I cut behind the buildings next to the pub, cautiously finding my way to the back door.

  I tried the handle, but it resisted. An unlocked door - too good to be true. I reasoned out my next steps.

  I could make a small sound for him to investigate, try to bring him to me, or I could climb through a window.

  The window option might be too exposed, but what if he calls for backup when he hears something near the back door?

  I settled for trying to open the window and hoped he would think it was one of the men trying to escape.

  I tried to push the window up. My sweaty palms slipped and padded against the window pane, letting out a quiet thud and gentle creaking.

  I waited. No movement. I dried my hands on my pants and pushed harder. It shifted up slightly. The noise louder.

  A muffled voice carried through the pub.

  “Steve. Hey, Steve! You okay up there?!”

  James was yelling up the stairs.

  “Yeah,” a menacing voice growled down from the upper floor. “I’m checking the supplies. They’re all here, bound and secure.”

  “I heard a creaking or something at the back window. I’m going to c
heck it out!” James yelled up.

  Though tall and lanky, James had a young, fresh voice. Still a little bit of height and shrillness to it.

  He hadn’t quite grown into his arms and legs, which explained why he was the one stuck with the others, the weakest link.

  But Steve . . . his voice was familiar. The voice from the alley.

  The silent man that stalked the three of us and succeeded by adding Liza and Matthew to Joseph’s entourage.

  A hitch in the plans, and for some reason, he scared me more than Joseph did.

  His voice was gravelly and deep like the open sea, dark underneath, steady and unwavering, the waves crashing above never unsettling him where James was young and hopefully careless.

  Still, so young. In different circumstances, there could have been so much room for him to be a different person.

  “Just go out there. Join the fun. I can handle everything from here on out,” Steve added.

  “Okay, Steve. I’ll check it out. I’m sure it’s just the old building settling. Then, I’ll head out if you’re good?” His voice was unsure, the bloodied face from just minutes before wouldn’t be easy to forget.

  Patrick seemed like the typical schoolyard bully grown big and self-important.

  This was his playground, and he was a brute. I could still hear his booming voice harassing the women with a barrage of crude solicitations.

  James’ footsteps thudded through the bar, moving towards the back of the pub.

  I ducked behind the door, unsheathing my knife. His fingers fumbled at the window, flipping the lock back and forth and testing the window after locking it back.

  He opened the back door and stepped out into the alley. I peered from behind the door. His back was to me, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the area.

  I crept forward with my knife unsheathed, and just as he turned, I slammed the knife point up and deep into the side of his neck. He clawed at his throat and tried to yell out, but the only sound was a thick gurgling as he collapsed.

  I reached for my knife, tugging it out of the moist skin, and wiped the blade with James’ shirt. Blood bubbled out of the wound as his breathing shortened and eventually gave way to stillness.

  His arm was bent at an odd angle behind him. I quickly checked his pulse. Definitely dead. I slid his eyelids down.

  My second kill in two days. I gagged and vomited as a cold sweat broke out across my body. The convulsions gave way to tears.

  I gulped down the night air, slowed my breathing, and let the cool, night air bring me back.

  Swallow it and get going. Liza and Matthew need you.

  James’ gun lay underneath him. I grabbed it and slipped the strap over my head. Then, I hooked my arms under his and struggled against his awkward length, dragging him into the shadows next to the dumpster, tucking his legs and arms inward.

  He lay there, curled up, like he was sleeping quietly. Peaceful.

  I stepped softly into the open doorway, closing it behind me. Steve won’t be so easy. My best bet would be to start a panic.

  The storeroom and kitchen were dark and foreboding. I slipped past them, ducking into each doorway briefly to make sure they were empty.

  The bar was intact. Stools all pushed to the side, and crates of liquor and food stockpiled in the corner. Wrappers and leftover food strewn across the tables.

  The lantern cast an orange glow.

  I stole across the room, slowly pushed the front door open, and hoped that the noise would be mistaken for James rushing to join the “fun.”

  The group had dispersed, most of them in surrounding buildings, not even bothering to close the doors. Some were out in the open, inside abandoned cars or tucked into alleyways.

  The sounds of whimpering and crying and screaming mixed with the unmistakable grunts of fulfilled lust reverberated throughout the street.

  I slipped further down the street, a couple of buildings down from the pub, raised the gun, and let out a volley of bullets.

  Swiftly, I bolted into the nearest alleyway and ran to the back of the pub as I heard the yells of men, caught in the middle of their debauchery and slow to move into the street.

  The first one out would probably be Steve, I prayed. He was the only one on his game, the only one smart enough to keep careful watch, to not participate.

  If he’d secured the men well enough, I was hoping he would feel safe leaving them for a moment.

  My bet paid off, as I slowed and crept through the back door of the pub, I saw the front door swing wide.

  Steve ran through it and out into the street. The firelight from the storefront was a warm, campfire glow, and cast long shadows, perfect cover.

  I dashed upstairs. The men were bound and gagged, zip ties cutting into their wrists and binding their ankles.

  I searched in the faint glow of the lantern, looking for Matthew’s unmistakable black curls.

  “Matthew,” I breathed out, crouching down and gazing into his eyes.

  I sawed at the ties that bound him, gently kissed his forehead, and moved on to the next person.

  “One of you needs to go look out the front and see what’s going on,” Matthew hissed as he grabbed his pack from across the room, unzipped the pocket, and then grabbed his knife. “We don’t have much time until they figure it out.”

  One of the liberated men scurried down the stairs.

  Matthew joined me, helping me free the prisoners. I cut the last one free. We all nodded at each other and headed down the stairs.

  “Hey,” the lookout whispered as we gathered in the bar, “they are up and moving around. One guy pulled the truck down the block, and I heard them yelling to each other to gather down there. It looks like they’re starting to go building by building, opening doors and clearing each building. I think some of the women ran into the shadows, but they dragged a couple of them along with them.”

  “Okay, the best bet is that we scatter,” Matthew instructed the men. “We’ll go out the back.”

  “Matthew and I are going to find our friend, good luck to you all,” I added.

  One by one, the men cleared the alleyway and exited into the darkness.

  Matthew and I waited for everyone to clear the pub.

  Before we walked into the darkness, I grabbed two bottles of rum. From behind the bar, I plucked a hand towel and a matchbook. I drenched the cloth in the rum and stuffed the tip into the second bottle.

  Matthew caught on to my plan and started pouring alcohol out over the crates and the bar. We backed out of the bar area. I lit the hand towel after a few tries and tossed it into the bar.

  We turned and ran into the alley. Flames igniting the bar behind us.

  We ran away from the blaze, turning right and heading toward the building Joseph had led Liza to.

  We silently cleared each alleyway, the blaze burning hotter and bright, flickering shadows across the street front on the other side of the buildings.

  Their supplies were compromised, so they would be slow in following us. They’d have to restock first.

  We had used the darkness to flee, and now, the bar fire exposed them as they searched each building from the front, and we cleared each alleyway that led to the back.

  I knew it couldn’t last long, though. They would start canvasing the streets behind the buildings soon. We finally came to the back of the office building.

  We cut along the side street next to the building, hiding in its shadow. The truck was parked in front of the alley across the street.

  One man stood watch over several of the women. I could just pick out the two young girls holding onto one another. I heard a voice rise above the night.

  “Here piggy, piggy, piggy. Holly? Holly? Where are you? You’ve been a naughty little girl. Oh, yes. I’ve got your friend here.”

  Joseph joined the man at the front of the truck, Liza at his side.

  He continued:

  “Come on, sweet Holly! I knew you would come for her. Sweet little girls, can’t leave
your besties behind.”

  I could hear the sneer in his voice, the oily darkness oozing out of him.

  He kicked Liza in the back. She yelped and landed on her hands and knees. I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms to help sharpen my focus.

  He twisted Liza up by her hair, forcing her to face the building.

  “Tell her what I told you, Liza. Tell her, sweetie.”