by Justin Bell
Could be worse, he considered as he looked up towards the driver’s seat and remembered Rhonda’s shoulder wound. Then Brad’s three bullets in his back. Then Jeremiah Schroeder who hadn’t stood a chance, running out into the open area in front of the warehouse, facing down the Demon Dogs single-handedly.
He’d seen a lot of death in a short period. Even being a cop for as long as he had, he’d only pulled his gun a handful of times and had never shot it in the line of duty. Then, the moment he stopped being a cop and started being a civilian, he’d been fighting and shooting and killing non-stop. Sometimes the world was weird like that.
“Everything all right with you, Greer?” Angel asked, nodding over to him. “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”
Greer chuckled. “Any kind of thinking is thinking too hard these days. Too much to think about.”
“I hear that.”
“So, what do you miss about the olden days?” Winnie asked, cracking a sly smile.
“The olden days? Of a month ago?”
“Right.”
Greer leaned back and shrugged lightly. “I miss talking to people you weren’t worried might want to kill you. Seeing a stranger on the street and looking forward to hearing their life story, not being petrified that they might pull a gun on you.”
Winnie laughed. “I guess I never really liked people that much.”
“Who can blame you, huh?” Angel said.
“People are mostly good is my experience,” Greer said. “Or they were. Circumstances change them.”
“Plenty of circumstances to go around these days,” Winnie said.
“Man what’s with all the philosophical mumbo jumbo up here?” Max asked, coming up from the rear of the RV where he’d been sitting with Brad and Brandon. “I miss my X-Box,” he said, laughing.
Angel guffawed out loud. “Man, gimme that PS4 any day. Graphics are so much better.”
“Get outta here with that!”
“Wait a minute,” Brad said from behind him. “You’re a console gamer? Why did I not know that? I never would have hung with you if you’d told me that up front.”
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re one of those PC snobs.”
“It’s not being a snob if I’m actually better than you.”
“Oh, is that how this is going to be?”
The RV erupted into the laughter of children, with Angel interjecting his own snorting chortles. Winnie couldn’t help but chuckle along while Greer just shook his head, looking at them curiously. They might as well have been speaking Latin for what he understood.
Rhonda smiled in the driver’s seat. “That’s good to hear,” she said and Phil turned to reply. She glanced at him, smiling, then her eyes opened wide as the headlights emerged from the darkness directly to the right of their vehicle. Twin, pale white orbs shot forward, growing larger and rounder, bathing the RV in a wash of blinding white light. They were coming fast and hard, and were not slowing down.
“Kids—!” she started to yell, then the second vehicle struck them broadside, hitting at a flat, vicious angle. The second vehicle wasn’t just a vehicle; it was a plow truck, one of the big, orange state vehicles, and the V-shaped snow plow buried itself in the side of the RV, tearing and ripping at its paneled hide, shredding the vehicle apart, ripping it asunder, and throwing everything and everyone into a tumbling spiral of chaos.
***
The world itself spun and tangled, all of existence caught in the vicious, oblong cycle of an overpowered tumble dryer as the RV split apart and rolled over, breaking up and tossing the inhabitants within into a cascading, rolling, sprawl.
Through a thick fog of semi-consciousness, Max saw the scattered remains of the RV, split, broken, tattered, and laid bare across four lanes of straight pavement. A trail of wreckage spilled from the skeleton of the vehicle, dragged out over the dark grass.
He heard a low, muffled groan and saw dim headlights against the flat cloak of the night sky. Slowly, the lights were venturing towards them, coming over the grass, lumbering and jostling.
The groan came again, followed by a frantic whisper, and Max made his way towards it, even as a rumbling engine grew louder in its approach.
“Wake up!” the whisper hissed. “I think they're coming back!”
Max scrambled towards the voice and saw Brad huddled in the wreckage, pushing and pulling on a mound laying within.
“Brad!” Max barked in a gruff growl.
Brad turned towards him. “Max! Brandon is hurt. He's caught!”
Max worked his way over and saw a tangle of metal and plastic tilted on top of Liu, who was laying on his side and trying to move. He moved next to Brad and together they lifted and pulled, budging the wreckage just enough.
“Crawl towards us,” Max said and Liu did, pushing himself along the ground until he was freed.
“Thanks,” Liu said, more in a grunt than formed words, but even as he spoke, a bright wash of headlights splashed over them, the roar of engines ringing in their ears.
“They’re back!” Brad barked, and the three of them found themselves bracketed in headlights, not just from one direction, but from all around.
“There’s more than one,” Max said. “Can you walk?” he asked Liu, and the man nodded, letting the two boys help him to his feet. Door slams banged in the night and thumping footfalls followed them.
“What about the others?” Max whispered as Liu angled them away from the crash.
“We need to move,” Liu said. “Quickly! We can double back around and find the others later! If we can get free and things aren’t too hot, we should head towards the mall.”
Two rounds of chattering gunfire came from the direction of the first headlights, sparks dancing across the crumpled metal hide of the RV. The three of them ducked and darted forward, with Liu slipping his pistol from the holster at his thigh. Up ahead a darkened shape emerged from the darkness, silhouetted against the glowing headlights, and Liu swung his pistol up around and fired twice, sending the silhouette scrambling away.
“Move, boys, move!” he shouted.
Max was stumbling slightly as he ran, the twinge in his hip flared by the accident, but Brad came up behind him and swung an arm around his waist, pushing him forward.
“C’mon, Max, let’s go!”
More shadows emerged up ahead and to the right as men with guns moved in the darkness. Max had his trusty revolver up and in his hands before he even remembered grabbing it, and even from his limping stance, he tracked the movement of one of the shadows and let loose with a pair of shots that sent the figure scrambling away. Brad came up on his left, his Ruger .380 belching fire into the dark, though Max didn’t think he was actually aiming at anyone in particular.
“Boys, we need to conserve ammunition!” yelled Liu. “We need to be careful! Follow me!”
Max glanced back at the wreck of the vehicle as they moved south in the direction of Peoria, the blue lights faint on the darkened horizon. His mom had been driving slowly through the pitch black, and that slow pace and careful trajectory had likely saved his life.
Had it saved all of their lives? Max wasn’t sure, but he knew he was up and moving all right, and Brad looked like he was, too. Behind them, Liu plodded along, his pistol clutched in two hands, swinging back and forth as they moved away.
“Movement over here!” came a shout and Max’s head darted up as he saw another shadowed figure emerging from the night. The figure stepped over a torn piece of the RV which had been discarded several meters from the original wreck.
“Head down!” shouted Liu as he darted forward, the P2000 semi-automatic now pointing towards the approaching figure. He squeezed off a swift trio of gunshots, and the shadowed figure stumbled away into the darkness as Liu moved towards the two boys.
“Move, go, now! We need to move!”
“Mom! Dad! Winnie?” Max shouted.
“They’re coming! We need to clear out first!”
In the distance there
was more sporadic gunfire—several exchanges—and Max hoped that the others were indeed following close behind.
“Car. We need a car,” huffed Max as they ran, shooting pain radiating through his hip and his legs already aching. The chattering sparks of weapons fire were only a short distance behind them, scattering across the husk of the recreational vehicle.
“We’ll find something,” Liu said, “don’t worry. Just move and keep moving.”
They pushed onward through the darkened night, an aggressive tug in Max’s gut, a deep rooted fear and hesitation about leaving anyone behind. But Liu was right; the gunmen were aggressive, and they weren’t interested in taking prisoners. The only chance any of the group had was if some of them got away safely.
Up ahead a slow collection of clouds began to form, blotting out the moon and draping the surroundings in a deeper, duller darkness.
***
Her ears rang and her vision was blurred with streaks of rust as Winnie coughed, peeling herself from the twisted husk of the RV. She could hear the roaring engine fading in the distance and ahead of her a discarded tire rolled aimlessly across the pavement before thumping onto the grass and falling on its side.
“Mom?” she shouted. “Dad?” She crawled on her stomach, hand over hand, trying to push through the burst of agony running along her right side, from her armpit to down below her right knee. Everything on that side of her body was on fire, a scalding, peeling, third degree burn of pain. A piece of RV caught on her pant leg and tugged, holding her there, and she twisted, looking back at it, yanking at her leg to free it, but it wouldn’t budge. Headlights swam in the distance, a pair of vehicles looking like they were approaching over the uneven grass, barreling towards them. Were they chasing the plow truck or were they friends with it? She didn’t know and wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Reaching down to her right, she clasped her fist around the denim pants and pulled, but the persistent, jagged edge of wreckage held her tight.
“Hold still,” came a quiet voice, and she turned towards it, her vision still fogged and red tinged. It looked like Angel Menendez, bending over and reaching into the wreck where her leg had been caught. “This might hurt,” he whispered.
Pain exploded in her right calf, a sudden rake with blunt knives as he twisted her leg to free her, and she pressed her eyes tight together, trying to dam the flood of tears.
“You okay?” he asked as he tucked a hand under her left arm and pushed her forward, easing up and around into a half-standing, half-lumbering posture. Her right side and right leg tingled with pain so intense it bordered on numbness. Needle prick tingles laced that half of her body as she tried to walk forward but was forced into a shambling limp with Angel helping her along. He could feel the dull weight of the M4A1 still strapped to his back as they moved, and his eyes flashed to Winnie’s holster, which was still tightly wrapped around her Beretta. Vague motion caught his eye near the RV and he turned, pushing Winnie behind him. He unslung his automatic and started bringing it around, but then Greer stepped out into the scant light, the AK-12 loosely clasped in his left hand, his back slumped over and the familiar duffel bag strapped over it.
“Greer?” Angel called. “That you?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you see mom or dad?” Winnie called over. Her voice was low under the approaching roar of engines closing in behind them. Headlights flared from the other side as well.
“I don’t see them!” Greer replied back in a soft voice. “We need to move! Whoever did this is coming back.”
“We can’t leave without them! And Max and Brad! I won’t abandon them!” Winnie started pushing past Angel to get back to the wreckage. Gunfire exploded from just the other side, scattering tangles of metal along the top of the ruined wreck of the RV. Sparks danced an aggressive jig along the surface and Winnie scrambled away, ducking her head. Greer spun around, the AK-12 up and in his hand. The duffel bag swung free, almost pulling him off balance, but he held steady, shouldered his Russian assault rifle, and popped off several shots back towards the wreck.
“Let’s go!” Angel shouted, clasping Winnie’s arm and pointing north towards Chicago. Just over a grassy ridge there were a clutch of dark buildings. “We can lose them in there!”
Winnie sobbed and tried to pull free, but Greer moved in on them and helped Angel move her along, pulling her away from the RV. Just as they reached the curved grass ridge, doors slammed in the approaching vehicles right where they’d been and darkened shadows spilled out of two trucks, converging on the wreckage, weapons drawn and swiveling.
“If we’d stayed, we’d be dead!” Angel growled. “We need to lose them in the buildings!”
Winnie halted her struggling, allowing herself to be pulled and pushed along towards the group of warehouses. They passed over a two-lane highway and headlights flared to their left. A dark car screamed to a stop, doors opening before it even came to a complete halt.
“Who’s there?” a voice shouted as two figures pushed out of the right side of the car. Angel could see they carried weapons, one of them a long-barreled revolver, the second a sawed-off shotgun. “Who’s there?” the voice repeated at a higher volume.
One of the shadows didn’t waste any time; his arm swung up, pistol in hand, and the revolver shouted twice, briefly illuminating the darkness in swift punches of bright light. Angel drifted left while Greer ducked and moved away towards the right while Winnie stumbled forward. She lost her balance and fell to the pavement, her palms scraping on the rough surface of the road. Greer came down on one knee, swiveling around with the AK-12 and fired a quick burst. The man with the revolver ducked away as bullets careened off the angled roof of the car and smashed the driver’s side window into gummy shards. As the pistol wielder ducked and moved away, the man with the shotgun came around him, lifting the weapon, guiding it in Greer’s direction, but Winnie was already scrambling to her feet, the nine millimeter clutched in tight fingers. She pulled the trigger once, then two more times, the weapon leaping in her hand, but she kept it in control and aimed at the target, remembering Greer’s lessons. A second window splintered and the man with the shotgun shouted, spinning away, his weapon arcing up into the air before clattering across the roof of the car.
Immediately, the shadow with the pistol pushed himself away from the vehicle, swinging the weapon around, but Angel came up onto the road, his M4A1 shouldered as he fired four times in two closely grouped double taps. Sparks pounded against the hood, three rounds puckering metal, but the fourth round drilled the man with the pistol high in the chest, and he sprawled backwards, grunting. A foot kicked the driver’s side door open and a third man stumbled out, trying to come around the hood, but Greer was already up and in the man’s blind spot, the AK-12 barking. The man slammed sideways against the side of the car, then slid down to the cracked and worn pavement below.
The night was quiet, the echoes of gunfire fading up into the thick cloud cover, empty headlights shining out onto three weary people with Winnie’s half limping, sloughed form front and center. A tear streamed down her dirty cheek, mixed with caked blood, and her pant leg soaked through with a copper-smelling rust. Angel came up behind her.
“Nice job, Win, you did it,” he whispered, trying to calm her, but her breath was rough and uneven. In the distance, by the RV, they could still see figures milling about, though a couple had broken off and were heading their way, likely investigating the gunfight up by the road.
“We need to go. We can take the car,” he said, pointing to the sedan which still sat there idling.
“My leg,” Winnie said. “It hurts.”
“I know. You had a piece of metal embedded in it. That’s why you couldn’t move before, when you were stuck at the RV. I had to get it out,” Angel said, helping her along towards the car. “We’ll drive north into Chicago, find someplace to hole up for a bit, then figure out what to do. We need to get as far away from here as possible. They’re coming.”
Winnie barel
y acknowledged him but swayed gently on her feet, as if she might just tip over without warning. Angel swept her up and pushed her into the backseat of the car as he heard the muffled shouts of approaching men nearby. Greer had already dropped in behind the wheel and Angel came around, getting in the passenger seat.
“Stop!” came a sharp, abrupt voice. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Greer fired up the car, slammed the accelerator, and sent the vehicle hurtling up the street towards Chicago. His eyes darted to the gas gauge, noticing that it was near empty, but he pushed that thought aside and accelerated, wanting to get as far away as fast as he could. The way he figured it, they’d head for the mall first and see if the others got there shortly.
If they didn’t, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
***
It had been so fast and so violent Rhonda still couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. For one brief moment she’d seen the approaching vehicle, its bright orange hide reflecting under the scant light of the moon, just barely shining through cloud cover. She’d seen the orange streaking towards them, the angled v-shape of the front mounted plow, and then chaos.
The plow had struck the RV in the center, splitting and rending the boxy body of the vehicle, tearing the back portion away and throwing it aside, leaving the front cab of the vehicle to go tumbling and rolling. Phil and Rhonda thrashed in the tight confines of the cab, going end over end until it came to a halt, slamming against a tree on the grassy meadows running alongside route 29.
