The Raven Gang (Noble Animals Book 1)

by Brendan Walsh

  Gary cursed as he attempted to snap it open as if it were a coconut. “It’s locked! There’s got to be another way out.”

  “Let’s hurry.” Slate jittered. “They’ll be coming around here in a few moments!”

  “Guys, where’s Johnny?” Patrick asked.

  As if on cue, Johnny emerged from the opposite side of the shed wielding a large hammer over his head. Patrick had never seen something so pathetically majestic.

  “Out of the way!” he bellowed.

  He swung the hammer down with as much dexterity as Thor with Mjolnir. The cheap lock coiled on the metal hold snapped like a twig. Not even taking the time to thank him, they burst out of the private yard.

  Beyond the fence was a dark reclusive alleyway ornamented with empty lights. It was a narrow one-way street, probably used by people living in the less lavish apartments behind Dr. Black’s house to get to an adjacent parking lot. For a few seconds they were all frozen with uncertainty as they surveyed the unknown area.

  “Where do we go now?” Patrick asked.

  Behind them the sound of invading police sirens was getting louder. They could faintly make out the blue and red flashes reflecting off neighboring structures.

  “They’re coming. We need to hide!” Slate dashed towards the small tucked-away alley and excitedly gestured for everyone to follow.

  Patrick and the other two joined him. They attached themselves behind the brick wall just as the sirens reached their loudest volume. He peeked an eye around the corner, watching as two police cars hurled down the street past the edge of the one way. They hadn’t been noticed, and the cars drove away.

  “They’re gone,” Patrick heaved a sigh of relief. “I think we’re safe for now.”

  “Okay, now maybe we can talk about what the hell is going on!” Slate raged to the gang.

  Gary, who had finished looking around to make sure they were alone, combatted: “You idiots are what’s going on! If you didn’t show up to the party, we wouldn’t be in this crap whole right now. I almost died because of you!”

  “Hey, hey,” he approached, “We all almost died because of us, but we’re not in this that deep. I say we go to the police and tell them everything.”

  “And risk getting shot at again?” Johnny joined. “No way, we don’t need to do anything. They don’t even know who we are. I say we just walk away. They won’t remember us.”

  Patrick mentally kicked himself. His memory from being slightly hungover was coming back. “No. They’ll know who one of us is.” He guiltily looked at Gary, who was staring at him in suspense. “Gary, you left your shirt in his room. It has blood from your nose on it along with Dr. Black’s. They’ll come looking for you. I’m sorry.” Patrick was surprised that he meant his apology.

  His former adversary’s expression quickly turned to anger. “That’s the last thing I need you son of a-!”

  Before he could finish his curse a rustling sound nearby stole their focus. They all turned, finding it had come from deeper down the alley. An upward breeze seeming to originate from behind a dumpster swept up to the roof of the building as if someone had enough agility to make the full leap. The wind rose, changing the course of some stray leaves.

  The group subtly advanced.

  “Hello?” Patrick called. “Anyone there?”

  Johnny moved to his side, clumping everyone together. “Maybe it’s the police?”

  “The police wouldn’t hide. They’d just charge at us.” theorized Slate.

  They moved a few more feet forward until a rock large enough to crack a skull listlessly tumbled to the ground, nearly startling them to dust. A small slab of folded paper was snugly tied to a rope coiled around the stone. It was nearly impossible not to notice it.

  “Is anybody going to get that?” Johnny wondered.

  Gary was the first to move. The other three nervously judged his movements without blinking. Before picking it up he looked at the rooftop, where the rock surely had fallen from. There was no one there. Satisfied, he turned back to the gravel and tore the paper from the rope. He read it silently to himself, his eyes riddled with intrigue.

  No one interrupted him, not wanting to have any more angry outbursts. Without saying a word, Gary handed the note to the other three. The words were written in barely legible handwriting. Like a toddler had written with its not dominant hand. Slate raised it closely, so everyone could see in the dimness:

  People

  You have no idea what I am but I promise I am not going to hurt you. You do not know the full story behind what you just witnessed, and to be forthright, neither do I. It was not the police who fired the shot. The four of you have angered the wrong people, and now they want you dead. If you want to live, follow my instructions. You will need to defend yourselves. Sources on good authority tell me that 1352 Nickelby Lane is the closest place to find proper defense. I will write again once you have weapons. Hurry. Do not expect us to meet.

  Slate, stunned by the strange contents of the letter, dimly lowered the note. If what the mystery author was saying was true, pretty much any suggestion of turning themselves in was off the table.

  “This can’t possibly be serious.”

  “As crazy as it is, I think it’s true.” Patrick confessed. “When we were escaping the house I heard the police talking. They were just as confused as we were. They don’t know who fired the shot either.”

  “I can’t handle this. Someone actually tried to kill us!” Johnny began anxiously pacing around. “We gotta do something. What do we do?”

  “We do what the letter says.” Gary declared, turning back to them. “Whoever wrote this knows what they’re talking about.” He took back the letter from Slate, pointing to a small passage. “See that address? I know that place. That’s my uncle’s address. Or, I guess my estranged uncle’s address.”.

  “What?” Patrick and Slate exclaimed at the same time.

  “Why do we need to go to your uncle’s house?” the latter questioned.

  “I think it’s most likely because he has a very illegal arsenal of fire arms. Probably the largest anyone has in the state, believe me. It’s not that far, I say we go there. Are you morons in or out?”

  A silence swiftly swept over the other three. Emotions were running high. Patrick, Johnny, and Slate were eager to do anything not to get into another near death scene. They didn’t have to like him, but leaving Gary in the dust like that would be cruel. In front of them, Gary never turned his gaze.

  “Fine.” Patrick muttered without confidence. “Anything is better than waiting around here.”

  “Time for a little family reunion.” Johnny remarked.

  At the agreement, the four trekked the rest of the way down the empty alley. As he passed the final building Patrick peered up at the roof where the rock had been tossed. All was quiet up there. They got to the main street, making sure to keep camouflaged until confirmation of no onlookers. The coast was clear. Their only company was a black coated Volvo nudged up against the edge of the tiny intersection. The next thing he saw was Gary skillfully bashing an elbow through passenger seat window. Shattered glass fell down to the curb while most were forced. A startled car alarm echoed through the clear street.

  “Gary, what the hell are you doing?” Slate panicked, nervously observing every angle of nearby civilization.

  “We’re taking this car.”

  “What about the one you came with?” Patrick fired back “I’m not stealing someone’s car!”

  “It’s parked right outside the house and we’d have to pass by the cops. Plus this guy was asking for a carjacking by leaving the keys in the ignition like that. Look, guys, do me a favor, and quiet down. It’s the least you could do. I know what I’m doing.”

  Johnny shrugged. “Fine. Just turn off that alarm before the owner comes back.”

  Gary agreed and hopped d
own into the passenger seat. With the turn of the key, the alarm was killed. He unlocked all the car doors as Patrick and Slate hopped into the back. With a shove of the gearshift, they quickly blended in with every other car on the road. Patrick and Slate stirred anxiously in the back, looking behind at the following cars with increasing paranoia. Minutes later they were on the freeway. Once they merged into the congested traffic, it was clear that anyone following them would have a difficult job.

  Back in the alley, between the apartments, two men dressed as officers held their pistols tightly in their hands, looking for the clueless runaways.

  8

  Traveling for half an hour in mystery felt more like two hours to the crew. According to Gary, their main eyes for the journey, they were only five minutes from his uncle’s house. Few words, not counting a couple irked grunts, were spoken. Patrick and Slate were locked to their seats with anticipation while Gary and Johnny appeared comparatively at ease. They obsessively glared behind for anything on their tail. Considering the high concentration of drama they’d experienced just within the last four hours, they would have killed for a dream filled eight hours of rest. But that offer was long swiped off the table.

  A slight decent into a two-lane road marked their arrival in a residential area. They caught a red light, and Patrick could see two cozy looking coffee shops on their left. But they didn’t make that turn. Instead Gary veered right, forcing them into a sinister looking clump of acres that anyone familiar with cheap horror films would know to stay clear from. Tree branches loomed lowly, as if waiting for the right moment to drop and crush the life out of foolish adventurers. Johnny clearly felt it too.

  “You might want to slow down, Gary. Last thing we need is to be pulled over for speeding.”

  “Right. Not to mention I technically shouldn’t drive by legal standards.”

  “You don’t have a license?” Patrick sprang up. “Then what are you doing driving?”

  Gary shifted into a lighter gear. “I had a permit once, I figured what’s the difference? I know the basics.”

  “It’s illegal!” Slate agreed.

  “Hey, we’re driving a stolen car,” Johnny pulled his eyes off the road to face them. “None of our names are on the registration. If we get pulled over we’re screwed either way.”

  As minutes went by the distance between each spooky home grew. The term “neighbor” was probably not something the residents of those homes often used. Lawns stretched more than six hundred feet across with each one as unwelcoming as the next.

  Patrick observed the stark change in scenery. “We’re not in San Francisco anymore.”

  The sound of an incoming call melodiously chimed in the back seat. Slate adjusted himself to pull out his phone. After seeing the name on the screen, a defeated look was stuck on his face.

  “Crap! It’s Lindsey. What do I tell her?”

  No one replied. Deciding that it would probably look worse if he ignored it, he accepted the call.

  “Hey, Lindsey,” he started slowly. “Ha?...How are you doing?”

  The voice on the other side was rapid. “Slate? Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m uhh still at the party. Can’t you hear the music?”

  “No you’re not!” her voice boomed furiously. “The news is everywhere! The host was murdered! My dad is in charge of the case, so I think I know what’s happening!”

  Slate cursed himself for his stupidity. “Well..uhm, listen,”

  “Look.” Lindsey sighed. “I don’t care where you are, please just come to my house. I want to see you. Plus, I told my dad you were at the party. He may want to ask you some questions.”

  As his lips were twitching for words Johnny reached into the back and yanked the phone from Slate’s ear, promptly hanging it up.

  “What did you do that for?” Slate whined, quickly snatching the phone back.

  “That conversation was going nowhere fast. Anyway, the less anyone else knows about what we’re doing, the better.”

  They sat the rest of the drive lost in their own thoughts. Outside the creepiness of the houses were increasing by the second. After another sixty seconds they reached what was surely the last house on the block. It bore an expansive lawn and a dominating facade, as if it were puffing out to deter a threat. Patrick felt he now knew why kids didn’t go trick-or-treating as much as they used to.

  He was so deep in his own head that he almost didn’t hear Gary say, “Alright. We’re here.”

  Reluctantly, they pushed their ways out of the car, eyes locked on the house. The night had gotten twice as dark since leaving the more urban part of San Francisco. The last street light was three driving minutes behind, leaving their only source of lights to be the solar reflections off the full moon which lightly seeped through the forest of immense trees, giving a spotlight to their destination.

  As they approached the outside features seemed to come to life. The two curtained windows on the second floor glared down at them, and the roof arched inversely to create angry eyebrows. Beneath the disturbing top a round doorway presented the illusion of someone screaming in terror. Patrick was spooked, and thinking the home probably looked better during the day didn’t help.

  Above them movement shook the trees. They stopped, giving a quick look around. Nothing, once again.

  The frightening features were getting under Johnny’s skin. “Good lord, I thought it was Christmas time. What are we doing celebrating Halloween?”

  The tall grass wreathing the home were as pointy as daggers, and the gang approached as if they were. After sneakily making it to the side of the house, they huddled closely like shivering meerkats.

  “Okay, so what do we do now?” Patrick asked, his eyes quickly moving from one person to the next. “Are we still going through with this?”

  “I have a plan.” Gary assured.

  “Better than what I have.” admitted Slate. “Let’s hear it.”

  He explained it would be a bad idea to try getting in through the front because of the alarm likely still in effect since his last family visit. Their best bet for a clean entry was through the back door. In the backyard just to the left of the door was a fake clump of grass where a spare key rested. All they needed to do was hop the fence, which didn’t prove to be a problem.

  Around the corner the backyard spread for miles. It wasn’t surprising considering the vast distance between neighbors in the area. Far away, where the light wouldn’t reach and the trees block the moonlight, Patrick thought he saw a small playground. Whatever it was, it likely marked the end of the private property. Gary had no issue locating the key’s burial site, with the color of the dead grass not blending well at all. In one motion he scooped it out, scrubbing the dirt of the back of his palm. The key fit in nicely and gave them immediate access to the kitchen. It looked dull and abandoned, hardly any supplies lying about.

  “Eh, nice place he’s got.” Johnny mouthed.

  Patrick and the three carefully crept along the edges of the room, preventing any creaking of the wooden panels. Slate found a dimming nob near the back door and cranked it up, giving them easy visual of the first two rooms. Their main obstacles were a round table clutched with two chairs sticking out, which was blocking a silent path. He and Johnny carefully lifted them up and tucked them under the table. Hardly a sound wave left the room.

  Next up was the living room. All the furniture was to the right, facing the TV. Two antique lamps were adorned on each side. Patrick walked over and clicked the nearest one on, giving them clear view of both areas. He peered around, looking for where someone related to Gary would hide lethal weapons.

  “Where would these things be?”

  Behind him Gary pulled open a wooden door positioned equally between both rooms. It easily blended in with the walls and floor. “Down here.”

  They formed around him and followed his eye
s. An unlighted stairwell descended into darkness. It was, along with nearly the rest of the home, made of wood. Gary palmed a flashlight from a supply ledge and flicked it on. It was bright enough to guide the way.

  “Assuming the old man hasn’t gone more paranoid, they’d still be down here in the safe room.” Gary said. “One of you should come with me. The other two, keep will watch and let us know if anything happens.”

  “I’ll go,” Johnny volunteered. “You guys keep your heads up.”

  Patrick and Slate silently consented. They watched the two carefully descend the steps until the darkness swallowed them. Satisfied the duo had gone out of sight, the two paced back into the living room. Patrick plopped down on one of the chairs and Slate approached the front window, keeping careful watch. He didn’t see anything but night and even more night. He pulled a 180, looking at the seated Patrick who was visibly in a contemplative mood.

  “So, when do you want to talk about it?”

  Somewhat startled, Patrick replied, “Talk about what?”

  “How strange you’ve been recently” Slate took two calm steps forward. “Not to mention the melee with Gary at Doctor Black’s party. I get that you we’re drunk, well, I guess we all were, but I’ve never known you to assault anyone. Something is clearly off with you.”

  Patrick turned his eyes from his friend shamefully. If he was going to confess anything, looking Slate in the eyes would be difficult. He imagined after how the party went down it was hard not to be judged.

  “I’ve been having these dreams,” he said, staring at the blank TV screen. “It’s like I always experience these kinds of things during really horrible times of my life.”

  Standing to his right, Slate absorbed it with interest. “When did they start?”

  Before responding he let two meditative breaths out of his lungs. “They started about eleven years ago just after my father died.”