Blackened

by Tim McWhorter

  What I found was a boot, pressed against my hip. Amid the chaos and pain that was currently wracking my body, I’d forgotten that I wasn’t alone. I had been wearing a seat belt, and I knew how rough the collision had been on me. I could only imagine that Barnes was faring even worse. At least that’s what I hoped. Though the way the last twenty-four hours had gone in my favor, I stopped short of raising any hope that he was dead. It would have been nice, but I knew better.

  Carefully nudging the boot aside, I pressed the release button and felt gravity take over.

  In my haste to get free, I didn’t think things through and wasn’t prepared for the subsequent free fall. It was only a few inches to the collapsed roof, but it was enough to send a bolt of lightning down my neck when the top of my head hit metal. I tried to roll onto my shoulder to alleviate some of the pressure, but it took more effort than I would have thought. The cab of the C10 had been small to begin with, and now it was even smaller.

  I heard a sound from somewhere in the immediate darkness, and my body went rigid. I held my breath for nearly a minute, but whatever sound I’d heard, it never returned. Eventually, I started wondering if I’d even heard it at all, because if Barnes was moving or even breathing, I couldn’t detect it. Nothing surrounded me but silence. Silence and black, that’s what my world consisted of at the moment.

  And gasoline. The heavy odor was worsening. It had overtaken the charred wood scent and was now all I could smell.

  Great, something new to fear.

  I’d always heard that cars didn’t blow up in real life like they did in the movies, and I was banking everything on that idea. At the shop, Dallas had a very specific method for storing flammable chemicals, and from his explanation, my cloudy mind remembered there were three things required for combustion. The fact that I could only recall fuel and oxygen at the moment bothered me. Just to be safe, I needed to get out of this truck and somehow find my way out of that hole in the ground sooner rather than later.

  Blindly searching with both hands now, I found the window opening of the driver’s side door. Like everything else in the cab of the truck, the opening seemed smaller than it was earlier, but it was still large enough for someone my size to climb through. I wasn’t sure about Barnes, though, and I didn’t care.

  Shards of glass scraped the palms of my hands as I felt for a solid enough section of the door to pull up on. I ignored the new pain simply by adding it to the list of old ones. There would be plenty of time to deal with all of the pain once I got away from both Barnes and the risk of being blown to pieces. I still held out hope that the movies had it wrong, but I didn’t want to hang around and find out. I wasn’t taking anything for granted at this point.

  Gripping the doorframe, I pulled up and started sliding myself toward the window. More pieces of glass scraped my back, and I had to use strength I didn’t know I had to try and lift my body up. I dug the heels of my tennis shoes into the metal and raised my backside above the glass as I pulled myself along with my arms.

  My head had just cleared the window opening when I felt a hand on my knee. My breath caught in my throat as the hand started feeling its way up my thigh. I suddenly couldn’t breathe and had to force myself to open my mouth and inhale deeply. Doing so threatened to rupture my damaged throat, and I fought back the tears.

  Out of panic or simple reflex, I kicked at the black space around my feet. I didn’t know how Barnes’ body was positioned; all I knew was that he was down there somewhere. I kicked with both feet, sometimes catching a soft thud, most of the time finding nothing but air. Twice I heard Barnes grunt when my foot made contact, but his hand never gave up control of my pant leg.

  It was about the time he started pulling me back into the cab that I realized I needed to do something more than just kick my feet and hope. As I frantically tried to grab for something that would offer more leverage, my hand found the short metal post of the truck’s side mirror. Wrapping my hand around its base, I was able to pull hard enough to gain some leverage and start inching my way back out the window.

  I was pulling with everything I had, fighting off the fatigue and physical agony that were working against me. My body begged to give in, to let it all be over, but my heart just wasn’t down with that idea. I had fight left in me, and I was going to ride it as long as I could.

  Just as my shoulders made it through the opening, a searing pain shot through my side. I screamed with anguish, and for a brief second, loosened my grip on both the doorframe and the mirror. A tugging sensation came from the burning area and was quickly followed by yet another bolt of hot torment.

  The pain in my throat from the scream paled in comparison.

  I let go of the doorframe with my right hand and immediately went to my side with it. I found my shirt to be warm and damp as my hand brushed against something hard protruding from me. Four somethings, in fact, curved like a claw. I had just been introduced to the same brutality that Wade had met with at the motel.

  How many of these things did they have?

  Tears flooded my eyes, and this time, I let them come.

  Once again, I felt the sensation of being tugged on, and the curved steel tines of the claw-like instrument tore into my side. I cried out a second time, no doubt giving Barnes extreme satisfaction, but I didn’t care. Just as I imagined the agony couldn’t get any worse, I felt the claw release from my side, taking a decent amount of flesh with it. The sound it made as the steel ripped through me was similar to the tearing of paper.

  My stomach revolted, giving up its contents right then and there. Where the scene in the motel bathroom failed, the sheer agony inflicted on my body succeeded. The sickening stench of stale beer, stomach acid and gasoline converged in the space around me.

  The momentary prospect of being free was the only reason I was able to put it all out of my mind long enough to focus on grabbing the side mirror once again. Pulling on the mirror as hard as I could, I slid my upper body once more through the opening of the door, this time making substantial headway. Seconds after I moved, I heard the sharpened points of the claw crash down against the metal of the truck’s roof.

  I don’t know if it was from the pain, or the overpowering fumes of the gasoline that was causing it, but my head wasn’t right. The Earth seemed to tilt further on its axis by a few degrees. Light headedness followed, and I prayed my worst fear wasn’t happening. Not now. There couldn’t be a worse time for a blackout.

  Hang in there, Luke.

  The words rang hollow in my head.

  Hang in there.

  Chapter 64

  The third time wasn’t a charm for me, because the next time the claw came around, it caught me on top of the thigh. I heard a sharp clink of metal striking metal a fraction of a second before the steel tines sank their way into me, but I didn’t have time to reflect on it. This time, the tines sank to the bone. Once again, I screamed in excruciating agony, and I was suddenly very alert. My entire body seized up, going rigid from the shock, and the side mirror didn’t stand a chance. Its screws made a crunching sound as they ripped free from the door.

  Shards of glass scraped my side as the sensation of being pulled back into the truck came over me again. At that point, the claw was putting up more of a fight than I could, and I reached out with my free hand to grab ahold of it. I was hoping to relieve some of the pressure on my leg, but what I grabbed ahold of instead was Barnes’ large mitt-like hand.

  His skin was cold to the touch, clammy, and my natural tendency was to let go. Every brain cell in my mind screamed at me to do so, to not be touching his detestable flesh. The things I’d known him to do, the tragic crimes against humanity these hands had committed. Touching those very hands repulsed me to no end.

  I won’t lie, there was also some amount of fear involved.

  But I didn’t let go. I held on to his hand and actually used the leverage to pull myself closer to him. The pressure from the claw was mildly relieved, and for that alone, it was worth it. More import
antly, however, was the fact that it brought me within striking distance of Barnes’ face. The night that surrounded us was black, but his eyes glowed a dull white as they looked up at me. As soon as our eyes met, his narrowed slightly, and I didn’t have to see the twisted smile on his face to know it was there.

  Removing that smile was my goal when I swung the mirror, bringing it crashing against the side of Barnes’ face. The mirror shattered against his cheekbone, bringing forth a grunt. An astonished expletive shot from his lips, and he jerked his head sideways. Still, the pressure in my leg continued, and if anything, it intensified.

  I found the taunting laughter that followed to be more irritating than the smile, so I brought the mirror down on Barnes’ face again. This time, instead of hearing the sweet sound of shattering glass, a dull clank rang out as the blank metal plate struck his forehead. An honest to goodness howl of pain cut through the darkness this time, and it encouraged me to bring the mirror down again. And again.

  And then again, until the metal plate broke away from the stem and tumbled down into the depths somewhere. The jagged shank of metal was all that I was left with.

  Barnes wasn’t laughing anymore. Now he was grunting and pulling himself up toward me using the claw in my leg as leverage. The torture it brought came in the form of another scream, this one from somewhere deep within my soul.

  I feared what the claw could do under such extreme pressure, and hoped not to hear the tearing of my flesh. I felt the muscle start to rip away from bone and almost welcomed a blackout at that point. I just wanted it to be over.

  And then he was on me.

  My eyes were just making out his face and I could feel his hot breath on mine.

  “Finally.”

  If I wasn’t in so much pain, and the fear in me so overwhelming, I would have gagged when his warm spittle dripped onto my upper lip. His voice was low and gravelly, as if he were speaking to no one but himself, so much so that I barely comprehended the word. I did, however, comprehend the threat behind it and every last instinct I had told me to act, and act now.

  I turned the mirror’s handle between my fingers until I wielded it like a stake. With all the energy I had remaining, I cocked my arm and brought it back hard, driving the jagged piece of steel through the soft fleshy part of Barnes’ cheek.

  As he reared his head back for a painstaking howl, I let go of the handle and allowed it to retreat with him. As he slid off of me and back into the depths of the cab, I helped send him on his way with a kick. It was a solid shot as I felt the bottom of my shoe connect with what I assumed was his neck. Maybe his shoulder. Whatever it was, there was apparently enough strength behind it, because I heard him slump against the passenger door on the other side of the cab.

  Realizing this might be my only opportunity, I grabbed the truck’s door and hoisted myself back through the window for the third and final time, the steel claw was still embedded in my thigh. It tagged along as I started scrambling away from the truck and out of the scorched crater.

  The piles of charred wooden planks created a makeshift ramp that led up to the lip of the church’s block foundation. As I scaled my way upward, some of the scorched debris shifted and fell by the wayside, while other pieces bent threateningly under my weight. As one board in particular cracked beneath me, I cursed its weakness over the sound of the wood splitting.

  It was a harrowing sound.

  Chapter 65

  The piece of wood remained intact, but that didn’t mean I was home free.

  “For the hour to reap has come!”

  The shout was hoarse and came from behind me, followed shortly by what sounded like a firecracker going off. Just over my head, a chunk of the concrete foundation disintegrated into a puff of dust. Tiny pebbles peppered my face.

  As my hands reached the top of the cinder block wall, I started hoisting myself up, using my feet as much as possible. Even using both sets of limbs, I struggled just to pull myself up and over. The crash and struggle with Barnes had left me weak, as had my growing list of injuries.

  I was losing strength by the minute.

  Another firecracker exploded from down below and something punched the back of my shoulder. The force of it threw me forward, onto the singed grass along the edge of the foundation. As I was recovering from the sudden shock of cold, wet dew against my face, I realized two things: one, Barnes wasn’t dead. And two, he’d found the gun.

  Acting as if I was on fire, I immediately started rolling away, trying to stay as low to the ground as I could. In my rush, I didn’t think about the claw-like instrument that still hung out of me like a vestigial appendage. As soon as I rolled onto that side, a searing pain lit me up like no other. The pressure pushed the tines sideways, and I could actually feel them tearing through muscle. My hand instinctively went to my thigh. I couldn’t relieve the pressure or make the pain stop, but somehow through it all, I was able to make sense of something that was maybe more important. Something I could feel inside my pocket.

  I still had Dallas’ silver Zippo lighter.

  It was that moment of brief clarity that brought to mind the third piece of the combustion triangle.

  Ignition source.

  A third shot rang out, tearing through my pant leg as I struggled to my knees. My blood-covered hand shot down into my pocket and came back holding the damaged lighter, its finish dulled by oil. The side was dented and the lid was cockeyed from the shot it had taken from the claw, but it was a beautiful sight for my sore eyes. Sending the lid backward in the first motion, my thumb clamped onto the flint wheel in the second. With a deep breath, I flicked the wheel downward.

  Nothing happened. A slight whisper of barely perceptible smoke rose up, but that was it. After two more tries with the same result, the hope that had briefly reenergized me only a moment ago started to vanish.

  “Come on!” I shouted, as if the lighter only needed a little encouragement.

  Now that I was out of both the truck’s cab and the blackened hole in the ground, I could see more clearly and used that ability to my advantage.

  As I held the lighter up to the moonlight, I could see that both the flint wheel and the piece beneath it were damp, coated in streaks of glistening black oil. I brought the lighter up to my chest and feverishly rubbed it back and forth on my shirt. From my knees, I had to put my other hand onto the ground to balance myself when my head started to go woozy again.

  Breathe, I told myself.

  Slow it down.

  Concentrate.

  Suddenly, that all too familiar laughter rose up from the darkness once again, breaking my focus. My attention was immediately drawn to the gaping hole in the ground where Barnes was making his way up onto the overturned truck. After crawling across the undercarriage, he used the C10’s frame to pull himself to a standing position. I could see the gun still clutched in his hand as the moonlight illuminated him in a spotlight, a spotlight of terror.

  Time was running out.

  Gripping the lighter in my hand, I ignored the voice in my head that screamed for me to run. Instead, I tried to spark a flame once again and achieved the same result. As my panic grew, I couldn’t keep from glancing back at Barnes. He was practically at eye level now, and as he raised the gun in my direction, I realized why he’d felt the urge to laugh.

  I had nowhere to hide.

  “Light, goddamn it!” I shouted, and spun the wheel again. This time, karma paid off its promise. A one-inch flame shot out of the top of the lighter and danced in the night air, eating up oxygen like a starving beast.

  Another shot rang through the air, and I felt the bullet graze my arm. The lighter dropped to the grass beside me. Fortunately, it remained lit.

  I fell to my stomach and rolled up onto my side, picking the lighter back up as I did. The brass case was getting warm, and I didn’t know how much longer it would stay lit. With my heart racing, expecting another bullet to slam into me at any moment, I turned myself until I could see the truck.

 
You got one shot, I told myself. Make it a good one.

  The moonlight caught a glint off the lighter as it sailed through the air, tumbling end over end. The breeze caused the flame to flicker, and I held my breath until it reached its destination. There was a succession of clinking sounds as the lighter hit the edge of the driver’s side door and tumbled through the open window.

  It was a good shot.

  A heavy whoosh sucked the air out of the night, and a fraction of a second later, an impressive explosion shook the ground. A brilliant fireball shot skyward, taking metal and wood into the air with it. The truck’s undercarriage rose up about a foot above the basement’s rim before dropping back down into the hole. I rolled backward, shielding my eyes from the bright light and intense heat. What followed was an apocalyptic rumble that swallowed up Barnes in the process, returning him to Hell where he belonged.

  As the initial concussion faded, I couldn’t help myself. I struggled first onto my knees, then onto my wobbly feet, and actually smiled. Finally, something had gone my way. Something big. A moment later, the dam broke, and I literally busted out laughing with overwhelming relief. It was the sweetest feeling in the world.

  And as I stood above the seared crater with the flaming truck as its centerpiece, I closed my eyes and listened to the woeful shrieks of a man being burned to death.

  Chapter 66

  I watched Dallas’ truck burn in the massive pit, relishing the rewarding heat on my face. Even though Barnes’ screams had fallen silent after less than a minute, I was soon reminded that my ordeal wasn’t yet over. Haze threatened my vision. The pain in my side was pounding to beat hell on my subconscious, and I was bleeding profusely from not just my leg, but my shoulder as well. I only knew that because I could feel the blood streaming down my skin, soaking my clothes.