by James Hunt
“Don’t lose your faith in people, Mike.”
“I haven’t lost my faith in people. I’ve just lost caring about them.”
The thunder from the storm clouds in front of them rumbled through the sky. The storm was moving away, but in the same direction they were heading.
Sean and Jung Jr. splashed in the puddles left in the road when the storm passed through earlier. Claire frowned, but Jung and Nelson both gave their boys a good-natured smile. With all of the things that were going on in the world, seeing their boys laugh and act like kids was worth the cost of their shoes and clothes getting muddy.
Sean kept pretending that there was something in one of the larger puddles, trying to pull him in. Fay kept egging him on with her laughter.
“Your boy’s quite the comedian,” she said, looking at Nelson.
“His mother’s the funny one. I’ve been told I have the sense of humor of paint thinner.”
“Well, depending on how much paint thinner you sniff you could have one hell of a time.”
Fay held the other rifle in her hands that Mike and Clarence grabbed from the weapons cache at the airport. She kept the barrel leaned up against her shoulder as she walked.
“What happened?” Fay asked.
“To what?” Nelson said.
“Your wife.”
“She’s a Vice President for an engineering company in Pittsburgh. She was in the city when everything stopped working. We stayed at the house for almost a week, waiting for her to come home, but after what happened in our neighborhood, we left with Mike.”
“What happened to your neighborhood?”
“The same thing that happens to people who give up.”
“Which is?”
“We forget how to be human.”
“Maybe it’s just how we really are.”
“You really think that? You think that we’re such a depraved species that at the first sign of trouble we all turn on each other like animals?”
“Nelson, we’ve both seen what people can do when they’re desperate. They don’t have any rules. They don’t have any principles. They just go by what they need at the moment. With everything that’s happened people aren’t planning for the future, they’re not showing restraint. They’re only worried about what they’re going to get their next meal, and they don’t care how they get it.”
“I don’t think so. I think we can still get out of this. ”
Fay raised her arm, her gesture encompassing the scene around them: the scattered abandoned cars with their windows smashed, the rising of fires in the distance sent smoke into the sky.
“Look around, Nelson.”
“I am.”
Fay noticed that Nelson wasn’t looking at her when he said that. His eyes were focused on Mike, up ahead.
Fay remembered her conversation with Mike the night before they left the airport. She wanted to believe what Nelson was saying was true. She wanted to believe that Mike could get them out of harms way and keep them safe. She wasn’t sure what was more frightening though, the fact that she could actually able to believe it, or that she was resisting it so much.
***
With the sun fading in the sky Mike decided to call it a day. The sighs of relief immediately followed.
A forest ran parallel along the highway. Mike picked out a spot on the tree line where they’d be concealed from view by anyone on the road, but still close enough to jump back on it quickly if they needed to get out in a hurry.
Just as in the airport the group set up shifts to keep watch. Tom had the first shift and posted up against a tree with the rifle across his lap.
“Just don’t shoot me in my sleep,” Clarence said, as he lay down on his sleeping bag.
“’White business man shoots black male in the woods’. That sounds like a CNN headline if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Good thing I’m more of an NPR man,” Clarence said.
The group settled in for the night and Tom drummed the rifle in his lap lightly. He’d never really fired a gun before, except on a business trip to Kentucky once. The clients there had been hunting fanatics and insisted on taking him out. He didn’t kill anything, but he did show a few trees a thing or two.
Tom absentmindedly checked his watch. He’d kept doing that since the first day when everything turned off. He always checked his watch. He was always in a hurry to go to a meeting, have lunch with a new client, look over his emails, check his voicemails, or review the earnings report that had just come out.
Clarence had asked him the day before why he hadn’t thrown the watch away once he realized it wasn’t working. After the explanation of informing everyone that it was an Omega failed to justify his reason of not throwing it out, he simply turned to the one reason that made the most sense to him.
It was a represented what his life had been, and God willing, would be again. The craftsmanship of the watch, the efficiency, the quality of detail that set it apart from its peers, his whole life he’d strived to be the man who earned that watch and he had worn it every day for the past three years since he bought it as a symbol of what he had achieved.
The clouds drifted in the sky above, obscuring the stars from view. The leaves in the trees rustled from a breeze drifting past. Tom adjusted his back against the trunk of the oak where he had propped himself.
After the first hour he got up to stretch. His back popped from being crouched on the ground for so long. He walked away from the group deeper into the woods to go to the bathroom, rifle in hand.
He found a spot behind a tree and unzipped his pants. Afterward, as he turned back to rejoin the group, he heard a twig snap.
Tom froze. The gun stayed at his side. The only thing he allowed to move were his eyes. He slowly turned his neck and then allowed his body to turn with it.
He brought the rifle up to his shoulder. He rocked it awkwardly in his arms. His footsteps were clumsy, stepping on branches and making more noise than whatever had caused the sound from earlier.
Tom squinted into the darkness, looking for the source of the noise. The lack of light from the moon and stars made it harder to see through the trees in the forest. He kept the rifle pointed outwards trying to scan the area and find whatever was out there.
After a few more minutes of not hearing anything but the sound of his breathing and a few owls, he turned around and headed back over to the rest of the group. He stepped over a fallen tree limb and when his foot came down on the other side he slipped and smacked hard against the ground.
“Goddamnit,” Tom said spreading his hands into the dirt steadying himself to get up. Then a scent hit his nose. It smelled rotten.
He fumbled around looking for the rifle he dropped and pulled out one of the glow sticks he had in his pocket. He snapped it in half triggering the phosphorescent light.
The green light spread across the ground and Tom moved the stick in large sweeping motions. He knelt down next to the limb where he had slipped. He shone the light on to the ground where he saw bits and pieces of guts that he stepped in.
“Christ,” he said.
Tom kept scanning the ground, looking for the rifle. He wandered around, combing the forest floor on his hands and knees until he felt his hand fall on something stiff, yet organic. The smell was stronger here and when he turned around he saw the lifeless eyes of a corpse staring back at him.
“SHIT!” he screamed.
Tom jumped up and took off running, dropping the light. He tore through the camp waking everyone up.
Mike jolted from his sleeping bag and had his pistol out, scanning the depths of the forest that Tom just ran from. The rest of the camp awoke, rubbing their eyes.
“What happened?” Mike asked.
Tom doubled over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He kept pointing in the forest repeatedly.
“Saw… Body… In… There,” Tom spit out.
Mike kept his weapon pointed into the trees.
“How many?” Mike asked.
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“Just one,” Tom said.
“Where’s your rifle?” Clarence asked.
Tom threw his hands up in the air. Mike frowned.
“Nelson, Clarence, come with me. Tom you lead us. We need to find that rifle,” Mike said.
Tom led the other three back the best way he could remember. The green glow stick he had dropped made it a little easier to pinpoint where to start looking. Clarence picked up the glow stick and held it out to see if he could get a better look at the surroundings.
“The body was over there I think,” Tom said.
Mike stepped over the guts by the tree limb. It didn’t take him long to spot the boulder-size mass next to the tree. When he saw the body he tucked the pistol back into his waistband.
“Clarence, toss me that light,” Mike said.
The corpse was completely mangled. Animals had ripped the stomach open, most likely, but what caused Mike to grimace was what had happened to the man below his waist.
The body didn’t have any pants on and had been castrated. Nelson and Clarence timidly came over, covering their mouths with their shirts trying to shield themselves from the smell.
“Oh my god,” Nelson said.
“Who would do that to someone?” Clarence asked.
“The question is what did he do, to make someone do that to him?” Mike asked.
Day 10 (The Bikers)
Half the crew was outside the motel. After Garrett’s Wake most people slept where they fell. Jake, at least, had made it into his room.
Open pill bottles littered the floor. Cigarette butts overflowed out of an ashtray. Jake lay passed out on the bed, still wearing all of his clothes. A pistol was on the pillow next to him.
He moaned when he woke up. He cracked his neck as he stood up. The room was hot, musty, and filthy. He flung the door open to let some air in and stumbled over to the mirror above the kitchen sink.
Jake rubbed his hands across the growing stubble on his chin. His eyes were bloodshot red. He picked up some of the pills lying on the floor and washed it down with a swig of beer from a bottle left unfinished.
He sat on the carpet, leaning his head back against the bed, taking sips of beer. His long hair, dirty and matted, stuck to his face. He ran his hands through it a few times trying to tame it, but was unsuccessful.
His mind was still gone from the night before. He hoped the oxy he just took would cause the jackhammer in his brain to shut off, at least for a few minutes. He waited for the drugs to take over so he could go to sleep.
Jake looked at the room. The sheets were torn off the other bed. Dirt, pill bottles, beer cans, and half-smoked cigarettes lined the floor. He dug into his pocket and pulled a pack of smokes out.
When he flipped the lid of the pack open he saw that he only had two left. He pulled one out, flicked the lighter and lit the tip. The first drag was always the best. He let the smoke and heat fill his lungs, then released it in one long exhale.
“Like a fucking dragon,” Jake said.
Once the nicotine and oxy started to fill his bloodstream the headache subsided. He tucked the cigarette into the side of his mouth and stepped outside.
Whatever food they were able to salvage from the grocery they’d piled up in the main lobby behind the front desk. There were boxes of food packed with canned goods. He grabbed a hostess cake and ripped the bag open. He stuffed the pie into his mouth and in two bites it was gone.
He ripped a Gatorade out of its plastic ring older and chugged half the bottle. The yellow liquid dribbled down his chin. He gave a few throaty coughs and then headed back out to the courtyard where most of his crew was still passed out.
Jake saw Frankie sprawled out on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Jake kicked Frankie’s boot. Frankie didn’t move. Jake sent his toe harder in the side of Frankie’s leg, shaking his whole body.
“Wake up, asshole,” Jake said.
Frankie moaned. He jerked his head up. He squinted his eyes open and put his hand up to shield them from the sun.
“What?” Frankie asked.
“Where’s the girl?”
It took Frankie a minute to process what Jake had told him. Jake kicked him again, impatiently.
“I don’t know, man. I think she’s still in my room,” Frankie said.
“Wake up the rest of the boys and have them meet us in your room then.”
Jake and his boys killed everyone in town they could find. The only souls that got away from them, were the three girls that Frankie let escape. Jake had thought about who could have killed Garrett and he still wanted justice. He would find the people that murdered his brother and make them pay.
He didn’t think the girls had any weapons on them to kill Garrett with, and Jake had also considered that it could have been a drifter passing through, but he wanted to narrow the field of who to hunt down, and he had a good idea to determine if it was the girls who did it.
Jake allowed his boys to keep the mother around. It was a good… stress-reliever for them. They needed to let off some steam from time to time and she reluctantly provided the services to do so.
Jake pushed the door to Frankie’s room open and she lay naked on the bed. Her wrists were tied to the headrest. Black and blue bruises spotted her legs and neck. Her eyes had opened at the sound of the door.
The bed next to the one she was lying on had some crumpled sheets. Jake tore one off and placed it over her body, covering her up. Unlike the rest of his crew, he hadn’t touched her.
The cigarette Jake had was down to a nub, so he dropped it to the carpet, putting it out with the toe of his boot. He pulled out the cigarette from his pack and lit it. He took a drag and sat down on the bed across from her. He just sat there, smoking and staring at her.
Her lower lip was cut and swollen, her mangled hair half-fell over her face, partly hiding her eyes from view. She tried to shift her body under the sheets, and in doing so, the top par of the sheet fell away, exposing one of her breasts.
Jake leaned forward reaching his hand out. Her body shuddered as she recoiled trying to escape his touch, but he pulled the sheet back up, covering her.
She started breathing heavy. Jake took another drag from the smoke, watching her examine him. Trying to understand why he was here.
“Let me go,” she said.
Jake tapped the end of his cigarette. The bits of grey ash fell to the carpet and on top of his boot.
“What’s your name?” Jake asked.
Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. The name came out in hushed breaths.
“Hannah,” she said.
“Hannah. A beautiful name,” Jake said.
Jake took another drag on the cigarette. The smoke began to cloud his face from her view. It became thick and heavy in the room. She coughed a little.
“Have you had anything to drink or eat?” Jake asked.
“No.”
Jake rose from the bed and left the room, just as Frankie and a few of the others were stumbling in.
“The rest wouldn’t budge, Jake. Everybody’s passed out stone cold. It got wild last night,” Frankie said.
“Search the rooms. Look for any women’s clothing and bring it to me. Nobody touches her this morning. Just drop the stuff off.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem, Jake,” Frankie said.
Jake headed back up to the motel lobby, grabbed a box of peanut butter crackers, two bottles of water, and a Gatorade. When he returned to the room he saw that the men were waiting outside.
“Everybody leave,” Jake said, pushing past them and entering the room.
His crew scattered, most of them stumbling back to bed. When Jake entered he saw a line of pants, blouses, and shirts on the dresser. He set the crackers and Gatorade next to them and walked over to the side of the bed. He bent down intimately close to her. He placed his hand gently on her face and brushed the hair out of her eyes. He held her small chin in his hand.
“I’m going to untie you. If
you do anything stupid I’ll bring everyone in here and every single one of my men will fuck you. Do you understand me?” Jake asked.
She nodded her head. Jake reached up and untied the rope binding her to the bed. Red lines marked her wrists made by the rope she desperately struggled against to free herself. Jake tossed her the clothes.
