"Not a chance. I'm down to my last pack and I'm already dreading the moment I run out. Gotta make these last." The two continue to bicker, but Shotgun doesn't give. "We might be able to get the drop on them," Leon says. "Same way we did in Denver." I consider the idea. It might work. Felix and I could get the drop on the two guards while Leon distracts them, but there are too many ways it might go wrong.
"Too risky," Felix says. "That shotgun alone could make short work of us,"
"I agree," I say. I can make out a parking lot behind the building, littered with lifeless vehicles. "The back entrance will be sealed tight," I whispered, mostly to myself.
"It's a pharmacy," Felix replies. "No way we break in the back without alerting them." There has to be a way inside. There's a dull throb building behind my eyes as I rack my head for a way in. The guard takes a last drag and flicks the cigarette butt into the street. I watch its progress as if in slow motion, an orange ember tumbling through the air and bouncing across the asphalt. "We trade," I say. The idea is so simple, so obvious, I can't believe it didn't come to me sooner.
"I think the town made it clear they don't want to trade with us," Leon argues.
"The town didn't decide not to trade, that asshole sheriff did," I counter. "It's our best bet." Leon and Felix mull the idea over a long minute. "We should have a contingency," Felix says. "Just in case."
I remember hearing once that nicotine was more addicting than heroin. I have no idea whether or not that’s true, and outside of the occasional cigarette when I've had a few too many whiskeys, I can't speak about the effects of either. Still, I'm sure a nicotine addiction must be a bitch to tame; what with all the patches and gums and anti-smoking commercials I've seen over the years, not to mention the countless times I've heard friends and peers sound off that they should quit, only to light up once again when the urge to smoke overwhelmed their will to abstain. Any lingering doubt I have vanishes as I watch the guard’s eyes light up at the sight the cartons of Marlboros, like kids opening presents on Christmas morning.
"All you need is a bottle of antibiotics?" Shotgun asks.
"Two," I reply. "Two cartons, two bottles." He glances at his buddy and then nods. "Follow me." A blast of heat greets me as I step into the pharmacy. The air is stuffy. Stagnant. The floor to ceiling windows trapping the filtered heat of the sun well into the night. Outdated magazines and assorted junk line the front aisles, anything useful long since cleared out. The back room however is another story. Hundreds of bottles line the shelves, neatly organized in a grid I don't understand. My flashlight scans the minuscule labels, searching for the names Felix gave us. I'd feel better if he were here, but considering his skill with the crossbow and stealthy feet, he was the logical choice for our lookout.
"C'mon wrap it up," the guard says gruffly. I want to tell him I'm not a damn pharmacist and am doing the best I can, but I check myself. Better not to antagonize him. I continue my search, ignoring his impatient stare and fidgeting feet. It takes another couple minutes, but eventually we find two of the drugs on Felix’s list: ciprofloxacin and amoxicillin. We fill up two large prescription bottles to the brim, getting the most we can out of our trade. Part of me feels guilty for taking so much more than we need. But with the world the way it is, these pills might mean the difference between life and death for more than just Emily. I'll take the guilt any day over the helplessness I’ve felt since learning of the infection.
My shirt clings to my skin, soaked through with sweat in the short time we've been in the shop. We leave the back room and move toward the front, the bottles in my pocket a reassuring weight. Already my legs itch for the return trip. It's going to be a long night, but come morning all will be well. Everything is going to work out. Just have to get back to camp and everything will be fine.
Frantic tapping of the glass outside sounds inside the store, alerting us of something going on. The guard curses and barks for us to stay out of sight before rushing to the front. Leon and I crouch behind an ATM, peering around the corner to see what's happening out front. A pair of headlights flood into the store, throwing the place into a patchwork of light and shadow.
"Keith, Hank, everything alright inside?" a voice asks from outside. Shit. I recognize the voice immediately. Of all the people who might have pulled up, it had to be him.
"Yes sir, everything's fine."
"So why were you inside the store when you should have been out here keeping watch?" Gibbons asks. His face twists into the same ugly sneer as this morning, and again I can tell he gets off on these power trips. "Oh yeah, I was ahh...just looking for a magazine," the guard says. He's a terrible liar, and Gibbons knows it.
"Yeah? Like the rack of magazines right in front there?" Gibbons asks pointing at the large display. He eyes the guard up and down, seemingly sizing him up. "What you got in your pocket there?" Before the guard can say anything, Gibbons reaches out and withdraws the carton of cigarettes. His face darkens as he connects the dots and fixes both guards with a furious stare. "You dumb sons of bitches." Gibbons drops the cigarettes, unholstering the revolver at his hip and speaking urgently into the handheld radio he withdraws from his shirt pocket. "Sheriff Gibbons calling in a security breach. Corner of 1st—"
He doesn't finish the sentence, another familiar voice ringing out into the night, cutting him off.
"Drop the guns and put your hands against the glass! NOW!" Felix shouts. To Gibbons and the guards his voice is pure menace. They don't hear the fear and desperation dripping from his words as I do. "Fucking, Hawkins!" Gibbons yells, dropping his gun and radio. The two guards follow suit and lay down their weapons. "I told him it was a mistake to let you walk away armed!"
"Guess he'll believe you next time," Felix says. "Now hands against the fucking glass! All of you!" Three sets of hands palm the glass, and Leon and I are heading out the door a heartbeat later. Felix stands behind Gibbons, a crossbow bolt digging into the back of the sheriff’s skull with enough force to draw blood. Felix turns my way, the flickering fire casting his face into harsh lines and dark shadows. He's a man I'd lay my life down for, but in this moment, I do not recognize him. I wonder if this is what Gibbons sees when he looks at us. It would explain a lot if it were.
"A little help here, Moe!" Felix says, snapping me out of my stupor. Leon has already confiscated the shotgun and assists with keeping the three in line. Moving quickly, I pat them down, relieving them of extra ammo and confiscating their knives and radio. I pocket the two remaining pistols from the ground, a Sig-Sauer semi-auto chambered in .40 S&W and a .357 Smith & Wesson revolver. We move the trio to a lamppost at the corner, binding their wrists together around its circumference with plastic cuffs. "Now, let's get the hell out of here before backup arrives," Felix says, climbing into the driver side of the idling two-seater UTV.
"I'll hunt you down!" the sheriff's icy voice rings out. It stops me feet from the UTV, and though I know I should ignore it, I turn to face him. His face is a mask of hatred, his eyes full of rage. "You three will die tonight! And your sister? She'll soon join you: slowly, painfully, and full of resentment at your failure!" I find myself inches away from him, so close I imagine I can feel the fury roll off him in waves. I pull out the revolver and hold it against his temple. "This is all on you!" I hiss. "All of this could have been avoided had you been a decent human being."
He laughs piteously. "Says the man who stole from us, and holds my own gun against my head?" he questions, shaking his head. "I knew who you were the second I saw you." Without warning he spits in my face. "Gonna kill me now? That how decent of a human being you are?"
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, ignoring the cries of Leon and Felix behind me. Blood rushes into my ears, my vision tunnels, focusing solely on the spiteful man before me. "If the tables were turned I have no doubt it's what you would do. But that's what's so messed up about all this: if the tables were turned, this whole shitty mess would never have happened. You don't know me, but I know you. I see the pleasure
you get from having power over others, how your eyes lit up with malice when you denied our trade and confiscated our weapons. You disgust me! Now I'm not going to stand here and call myself a saint, or say there are moral lines I wouldn't cross, because there are many I've crossed already to keep those I love alive. But in my heart of hearts, I don't believe myself to be a wicked person—the kind of man who'd spit in the face of a stranger who sought his help, and would condemn an innocent girl to die, all because I could. I'm a better man than that. I'm a better man than you! So no, I’m not going to kill you, because that would make me the kind of man I never want to be."
I withdraw the revolver from his head, and make my way to my friends. I hop into the cramped back of the UTV, sparing him one last glance as I do so. His eyes are chips of ice, lit with a fierceness that lets me know my words were lost on him, and what I can expect should our paths cross again. Felix floors the accelerator and we shoot off into the night, away from the pharmacy, away from Gibbons and the subdued guards, and the strobe of distant headlights racing toward us.
Felix works the steering wheel to the left, to the right, zigzagging down the dark streets without the aid of headlights. Wind rushes through my hair, seeps through my shirt, leaving a chill on my perspired skin. Still I urge the UTV to push harder, to go faster, to get us away from this town and to my ailing sister. But this is an old beast, built for work rather than speed, and it’s giving all it's got. Any moment I expect to see the flash of pursuing headlights peek around the corner, capturing us in its gaze—the luminescent eyes of a nocturnal predator, honing in on its prey.
My eyes scan the road behind us for pursuers, but the road remains as black and blank as that stretched before us. Each corner we take, and every stretch of road we cover, the tension mounts inside me. We skid onto E Rainbow Blvd., the home stretch before we leave the town behind. Being this close, knowing escape is within our grasp, a flicker of hope blazes to life inside me. We can make it. Just a little further. Please let something go right for once. Just then two trucks fishtail onto the road behind us, their headlights like beacons against so much dark.
"Two trucks a block behind us!" I yell over the wind. Leon swivels around, letting out a long list of profanities. Felix doesn't look. "We've got bigger problems!" he yells. I turn forward, my stomach dropping at the sight of the approaching threat. A beast of a truck lurches forward, the roar from the diesel engine growing louder as the gap between us shrinks. Felix doesn't slow, keeping the accelerator bottomed out. "Hold onto your seat's ladies!" he yells.
I wrap my arms and legs around the steel bar running along the passenger side door to the roof. Buildings whip by, headlights jostle on fast flowing pavement, leaving me dizzy. My mind whirls a hundred miles an hour, so many thoughts colliding and breaking apart against one another. Snapshots pass before my eyes: priceless memories with those I was blessed enough to have had in my life. And in that final moment, when the diesel’s headlights are so close it's blinding, and the wind inside my ear drowns out all other noise, and I know death is only a heartbeat away, all I see is Lauren: eyes green as spring's first bloom, hair dark as the blackest night, and a smile brighter than all but the sun in comparison. The most beautiful girl, both inside and out I have ever known, and who will never know how I feel because I was too afraid to tell her.
If I make it back, no more waiting, I vow. I won't waste another second.
Felix jerks the wheel hard to the right and the diesel flies past, so close I can feel the heat spilling from its engine. Our two pursuers aren't fooled by the move, leaving a wide gap between them to accommodate the screeching brute as it comes to a halt. Part of me—that instinctual part in all of us which craves survival despite the means, was hoping it might take out our pursuers in one fell swoop. A shameful guilt takes over me, and for the briefest moment, I feel relief as the diesel cleaves past them. I might be willing to do anything and everything to keep my sister alive, but I don't want these men to die. Not for defending what by all means is rightfully theirs. Then moment passes, and the frenzied panic returns.
They gain ground quickly, their engines much more powerful than ours. "Both trucks still on us. A block back!" I yell out. Felix curses. Leon swivels in his seat, eyes wide as he watches the approaching vehicles. The gap continues to shrink. One hundred feet back. Seventy-five feet. Fifty. I yell out a second warning, praying Felix has something up his sleeve. Thirty feet. Twenty. The lead truck closes within jumping distance and my body acts on instinct, bringing the revolver to bare and squeezing the trigger. My aim is true, blowing out the front right tire and causing the truck to fishtail out of control. The second truck still follows, losing only an ounce of speed to avoid the first. A gunshot sounds and a bullet hits the steel pole above my head. "They're shooting at us!" I yell. Without warning Felix violently turns left, and I am just able to grab hold of the metal bar to keep myself from flying out as we drift onto another roadway. The pursuing truck flies past the intersection, unable to make the sharp turn.
We gain the breathing room we need. The passing buildings give way to trees, and then suddenly we are passing a bridge spanning the river, the edge of town and our escape so close I can taste it. But the town won't let us go without a fight. Two pairs of headlights merge onto the dark road, growing brighter by the second.
"They're back on our ass! Two trucks!" I shout.
"These assholes don't give up!" Leon shouts back.
"We'll lose em'. Hold on!" Felix warns. If it weren't for the warning, I'd have been bucked off. Felix pulls onto the shoulder and then leaves the road behind entirely, traversing the UTV through a huge open field to our right. The UTV shakes and jostles, Felix yielding little on the accelerator. Our pursuers are relentless, entering the field behind us before we've made it halfway across. The uneven terrain caps their speed, but they can still cover ground faster than we can. "We'll lose them there!" Felix yells. A large hillside looms before us, thick trees covering its expanse that the UTV can navigate, but the trucks won't. The gap between us and our pursuers shrinks, but so does that between us and the hillside. We might actually pull this off, and they know it too. From behind, muzzle flashes flare like miniature fireworks, the echo of gunfire adding to the illusion.
"They're shooting again!" I warn. "Then shoot back!" Felix yells, drifting the UTV in a zigzagging pattern as we race toward safety. Never has a gun felt so cold in my hands—never felt more like an instrument of death than in this moment. I line up the shot even though my shaking hand all but defeats the purpose. I will myself to squeeze the trigger, telling myself it's ok: that I'm only doing what I have to. The trucks edge closer. More bullets race our way. But I can’t bring myself to return fire. It’s one thing to kill a man while defending yourself and others, but it is quite another to kill a man who’s only protecting what is his. They don't know my situation. They only know what Gibbons has told them, and I'm sure he's told them plenty. These men are someone's friend, someone's brother, someone's father. I can't strip them away from this world without stripping away a part of myself I wouldn't to live without.
More shots follow, one taking out a taillight, another taking out our left rear tire. We lose speed, Felix barely able to keep it straight. We won't make it to the hillside, these men will see to that. Think, think, think! There has to be a way out of this. I need to shift the paradigm. And then it hits me, the whole driving force behind all of this: Gibbons. This isn't because of the medicine we have or the UTV we ride. It isn't to keep his town safe. This is personal, the real reason he'd mount such a wild chase. I'm what he wants. Well he can have me.
I throw the pistols and meds into my bag and shove them into Leon's chest. "What the hell?" he yells looking back at me. I lean in close so I won't have to shout so loud against the wind. "Get them home safe, Lee...and take care of Emily." The confusion turns to fear as he realizes my intention. I squeeze his shoulder once, and before he can protest, I turn and jump into open air. I do my best to roll with the momentum,
but my body still gets battered across the ground. My ears fill with noise—the approaching trucks, cracks of gunfire, my tumbling body, and above it all, Leon's echoing scream into the night.
I find myself on all fours and emptying my stomach when I finally roll to a stop. Black dots drift across my vision. Nothing stands still. But despite it all, I watch as the UTV disappears into the trees, one of the pursuing trucks screeching to a halt before it crashes. It was worth it...whatever happens to me, it was worth it.
Shakily I make my way to my feet, searching for the second truck. I don't find it. I'm blindsided before I get the chance. Gibbons charges into me like an enraged bull, lifting me off my feet and slamming me to the ground. The impact is brutal, sending shockwaves of pain up and down my back and stealing the air from my lungs. I look up, hardly recognizing the man. His face is twisted into something primal—beyond angry, beyond rationality—a kind of rage that stems from somewhere, something, beyond what's transpired tonight. Before I can speak, before I can even draw breath, I'm rocked with a furious strike against my jaw. He follows with another to my forehead, my eye, my nose, and then repeats. I don't know how many punches rain down on me. Enough for me to teeter on the edge of a blackout and choke on my own blood. With a grunt he stops and stands, but he's by no means finished with me. Hard kicks find my stomach, my ribs, my back. I curl into myself, protecting my body as best I can in my defeated state, but it only does so much.
And then suddenly, they stop. Pain screams so loudly across my body it takes a moment to make out the noises around me, the raised voices and exerted bodies. I crack my eyelids open and spot two men holding Gibbons back. "Calm the fuck down!" grunts a voice I recognize. Hawkins stands between myself and Gibbons, his face twisted in anger. Gibbons continues to struggle a minute before finally giving up, grunting he won't attack me again. "What the fuck did I tell you?" he yells in Hawkins’ face the moment he's released. "I told you it was a mistake letting them walk away armed, and look what happened!"
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1) Page 14
