Cheap Thrills (6 Thrilling reads)

by Luis Samways

  ‘No, we won’t die. Don’t you worry, we will get out of this,’ she says

  David loads his last two shells into his pump handle shotgun. He’s just about to shoot when he notices a sewage pipe parallel to the balaclava’d man who is shooting at them. He takes aim at the pipe and shoots two rounds into it. The pipe bursts and a huge pressure filled spray of sewage blows out of it. It ejects fast and hits the wall the man is behind, throwing him off his feet and into the open. The blast of sewage had knocked the man’s machine gun out of his hands and somewhere in to the sludgy water. The man remains on the floor in front of David, trying to get up but unable to. David walks a few steps towards the man and lands a running kick to the man’s head, snapping it back violently.

  Eighteen

  New Jersey, East Rutherford, Met Life Stadium

  A covert militia man lies on his back gasping for air. Sammy Banes stands over him, looking into his eyes. A constant wheezing of the man’s chest makes Sammy feel uncomfortable. He’s never killed a man before. It takes some getting used to. But it’s something he realises he has to do. Sammy catches himself looking at the devastation around him. Bodies lie scattered around the underground area of Met Life stadium. More than half of his group are dead. When the covert militia men hit them a few hours ago, they came in fast and furious, taking out over a hundred people with rapid machine gun fire. Sammy had to take cover. He was lucky that over fifty armed police man had made their way underground when the world went to shit. If they didn’t have any armed men or women with them, maybe it would have been a different story. Maybe it would be Sammy lying on the floor, bleeding out from a chest wound. Maybe it would be a militia man pointing a gun at Sammy’s head much like Sammy is doing at this current moment in time.

  Sammy’s hand is shaking slightly as he holds the weight of the gun in his grip. He can feel the sweat coming off his hands, making the gun feel uneasy. He continues to look the army man in his eyes. An acute realisation of fear is present in both Sammy and the man on the floor. Even though Sammy has a gun, he doesn’t know whether he can shoot him or not.

  ‘Shoot the prick,’ a voice says from behind him.

  Sammy turns around and see’s the remaining group of survivors look on at the incident unfolding in front of them. Sammy turns back around and kneels down, pressing the gun against the man’s neck.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sammy says as he pulls the trigger.

  The gunshot pings off the walls and rings in Sammy’s ears.

  ‘They fucking killed two hundred of us man, two hundred! You should have shot him sooner,’ says the man’s voice once again.

  Sammy doesn’t move, he just watches as the blood escapes the dead militia man’s neck.

  ‘You hear me Mr Big shot?’ asks the man

  Sammy slowly gets up and turns around to face the group member. It’s the man he ended up kicking in the face not too long ago. He walks up to the heckling man and shoves the handgun into the man’s hand.

  ‘Next time you use the gun and see what it feels like,’ says Sammy

  The man stands there in shock, not quite knowing how to react.

  Sammy walks off and leaves the group to themselves.

  Nineteen

  Jesse Manteo is sitting down at his desk looking through case files. It’s been a long shift. It seems like forever since the city of New York was normal. The continuous cases of people blowing up and militia men shooting up the streets is causing the life of a law enforcement officer to be nothing but visiting crime scenes and working with the FBI. Word has gotten out to the public that the streets of New York are not safe. A state of emergency has been put into effect and the National Guard now patrols the city in droves. The government are hell bent on figuring this thing out before it destroys America.

  Jesse’s partner, Ricky Pastori is kneeling over Jesse’s desk reading the case file he’s on. The both of them have been silent since attending the crime scene on 48th street. Most of the cop’s downtown have family in the city. A lot of them couldn’t do anything before the so called virus that’s causing people to explode took their lives. It’s the same for both Ricky and Jesse. The whereabouts of their families are unknown. The department have reassured them that they will do everything in their powers to find everyone who is missing, including family members of working NYPD officers.

  Most people would take a day off in circumstances like this, but on this day of all days, it’s highly unlikely any police man or woman would take any time off. The city of New York is under a constant terrorist attack and it’s going to take the whole damn county to put a stop to it.

  Ricky looks at Jesse with sympathetic eyes.

  ‘I’m sure it’s going to be okay,’ he says patting his partner on the shoulder.

  ‘I hope so. I just didn’t think anything like this could ever happen. I mean how the hell can people be self-combusting? And why is it that only certain people are self-combusting? Why aren’t we dead yet?’

  ‘God must have a plan for us Jesse,’ says Ricky

  Throughout the years, Jesse has always respected his partner’s religious beliefs but today his patience for such comments is wearing thin.

  ‘So he has a plan for us but not for the thousands of New Yorkers who have died today?’ asks Jesse

  ‘You know what I mean man, we just need to be grateful that we are alive and we have a chance to put an end to this’

  Jesse shakes his head

  ‘What if this isn’t a terrorist attack? What if it’s something else? What if it’s aliens or something?’

  Ricky laughs

  ‘Aliens? There’s no such thing!’

  ‘Well it may seem absurd to you, but how else do you explain a weapon that can make people explode? Doesn’t really sound like anything in our capability, let alone any of our enemies’

  ‘So if it is aliens Jesse, how do you explain the mass shooting down 48th?’

  Jesse nods his head.

  ‘Good question. Why do you think I’m reading case files? I’m trying to figure this shit out!’

  Ricky stretches his arms out, looking as if he hasn’t slept in over four days. The bags under his eyes are big enough to put a week’s grocery shopping in them.

  ‘You want some coffee?’ asks Ricky, who’s still stretching

  ‘Nah, I’m going to see what I can get on the day’s events through the FBI database’

  ‘Good luck, I’m pretty sure you need to be in the FBI to access that information,’ says Ricky walking off to get a coffee.

  ‘I have my ways,’ says Jesse to himself.

  Twenty

  Miss Harriet walks into the Marina styled office she has found herself in so many times these past couple of days. She walks in holding a field report that she knows will most likely push Mr Conway over the edge, not that he hasn’t gone over the edge at all, because that statement would be a lie. Mr Conway is known for overreacting, that’s why he is the man everyone fears. If the US knew who was attacking them, they would fear Mr Conway even more than any of his colleagues, he’s a man with no remorse, a man that wouldn’t think twice about inflicting damage and despair on someone. Mr Conway is the model serial killer, just more organized than the usual serial killer crowd. He has a lot more resources available to him than most killers. He has an army of highly trained militia who are ready to die for the supreme commander. The only thing that Mr Conway lacks, other than good looks and manners, is patience and understanding. Everything else he lacks, he makes up through vicious decisions that only a man of his self being could make.

  ‘I judge by that stupid look on your face that you’re about to give me some more bad news?’ says Mr Conway from behind his desk, biting his nails furiously.

  Miss Harriet stops dead in front of the desk of her boss and slams the folder down. The actions of Mrs Harriet surprise her boss.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ asks Mr Conway

  ‘I’m just fed up of being blamed for this campaigns shorts comings,’ she says
.

  The shock on Mr Conway’s broad face is evident as his anger washes all over his cheeks, making his skin red with angry pigmentation.

  ‘You are not being blamed for anything other than YOUR SHORT COMINGS,’ he says

  ‘Well I hardly think you not being able to secure the capture and death of two underground rebel camps is anything to do with me,’ Miss Harriet says calmly

  Mr Conway’s face darkens in a rage as he slams his fist on the table.

  ‘Have you forgotten who you are talking to?’ he asks

  ‘No, but I think you have forgotten who you are talking to,’ she says

  ‘I don’t think I have. You’re just a stupid young woman, who thinks she knows how to get the job done,’

  ‘This stupid young woman happens to be the President’s daughter! I’d watch your tone,’ she says

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asks, his rage still consuming his voice like a stiff sore throat.

  ‘If you don’t start treating me with the respect I deserve, then I will take my business elsewhere,’ says Miss Harriet.

  ‘Your business? You want your father dead and you came to me. I want your father dead. We both have the same business Miss Harriet’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘No, you’re forgetting something,’ she says

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want the Whitehouse,’ she says

  Mr Conway laughs.

  ‘And you will get it,’ he says

  ‘No…I want to be the next President,’ she says coldly.

  Twenty One

  ‘My fellow American’s, today is a day of tragedy and triumph, tragedy because we have lost so many innocents. Triumph because we are still standing. An undisclosed number of men attacked over four different strategic locations today spanning the width of our nation. Our Marine Core training facility in Virginia, Henderson Hall was over run. Our streets of New York were torn apart in gunfire. Our sports teams of the New York and New Jersey area were obliterated when a sequence of bombs went off in Met Life stadium. Over thirty trains going to and from New York were set alight and hundreds of people perished. You may ask yourself, how are we still standing? And the answer is simple. Today of all days, we stand and fight. No matter how tired our legs are, we stand tall for freedom and liberty. Some of our enemies we face are human and the others are viral. No matter how many we face, one thing can be certain, death doesn’t care what colour your skin is. It doesn’t discriminate, it just obliterates. But as your commander in chief, I will lead us into battle,’ says President Harriet to a round of applause from the press at the Whitehouse.

  ‘The president will now answer some questions regarding the executive order placed on the US today,’ says a Whitehouse spokeswoman.

  ‘Mr President, you say some of our enemies are viral, can you please elaborate?’ says a reporter.

  ‘Yes I can. The World Health Organisation has confirmed that the self-combustion of certain American’s around our 50 states is most likely a result of bio warfare. All precautions are being taken to make sure the virus doesn’t spread overseas,’ says the president.

  ‘How can you be sure it has nothing to do with satellites?’ asks the same reporter.

  ‘How on earth would satellites be involved in bio warfare?’ asks the president

  ‘Some people have suggested that the reason people are blowing up is because of government chips installed in their arms from birth. Some eye witness reports suggest before the victims die, a sudden and frantic pulsating beacon is seen in their wrists, like an LED watch’s light of some sorts. The faster it flashes, the closer they are to death. Could it be possible that these lights are extra-terrestrial, or could it be a government wide conspiracy to clean the masses?’ asks the reporter to a huge wave of background chatter.

  The President looks at his security in a worrisome stare. He then looks back down to the brave reporter.

  ‘Are you insinuating that the US government are the ones causing people to blow up with satellites and conspiracy chips?’ asks the President

  ‘I also mentioned alien’s sir. It could be either one of those things,’ the reporter says to a reaction of laughter.

  ‘Well I can assure you these so called beacons are nothing but fiction. We are dealing with a terrorist cell located in this country using bio warfare to cripple our economy and people. We will find them and we will kill them,’ says the President.

  ‘One last question sir; you say these beacons do not exist and the people responsible for the thousands of deaths today are neither aliens nor government beings. Do you think these people who are attacking us could be the same people who kidnapped your daughter two years ago?’ says the man.

  The President looks down at his pre speech notes. He isn’t prepared for personal questions. He looks at the Whitehouse spokeswoman and signals her to wrap things up. He walks off of the podium and backstage to the sound of a ruckus crowd of reporters and flashing bulbs from cameras.

  ‘The President will not be taking any more questions at this time,’ she says.

  Twenty Two

  Mrs Novik’s feet are starting to tear up under her worn out sandals. The prison officials only gave her thin plastic soles when she was locked up. It didn’t cross her mind to get some supplies from the inventory section of county lockup. Truth is, all she wanted to do was get out of there in one piece, and now that she has, she can figure out her next move. When she was arrested, she lived in New Jersey. She expected that maybe the nice folks at NJ would have taken her to New Jersey lockup but low and behold she finds herself in Albany County, just a while outside of Albany city, and over a hundred and fifty miles outside of New York City. She isn’t too familiar with Albany nor does she care for the place. Its similarities to New Jersey are obvious, with its geographical location and urban feel, but Mrs Novik would have much preferred to be in the city and county she knows best. At least there she could arrange to meet up with friends and survive this thing together.

  It’s been two hours since her cell door was blown off its hinges due to two correctional officer’s self-combusting and inevitably breaking her out. She’s cold and hungry. She finds herself toddling down The New York State Thruway. It’s surprisingly empty. Usually on a normal day, this limited access road is used to haul masses of cars and trucks through New York State. Today it’s empty. She can see the horizon scatter in the distance and not one single car is in sight. It makes her feel scared and panicked. How can one of the busiest roads in the state be empty? Judging by the sun in the sky, it isn’t much past twelve o clock, so surly there should be some cars around.

  She knows that she’s been in prison for ten days. She also knows that the likelihood of people self-combusting on the outside much like the two guard’s in prison did is quite probable. She hoped that the self-combustion was just a one off thing, much like when she used to hear about select cases of self-combustion on the news. The thing is, those news stories were always so far apart in years, it seems ludicrous to think that witnessing two men blow up in front of her is unique, especially judging by the lack of any signs of life since she had busted out.

  She stops dead in the middle of the road as she looks up at the intersection sign above her head. “Albany – Ten Miles” it reads.

  She sighs in relief. She looks back down at the floor and then decides to roll her sleeve up. She had covered it earlier on, trying not to pay attention to her fate. She figured that if she was going to blow up like the rest of them, then she would prefer not to know when it was going to happen. To her dismay, the flashing light in her wrist was a solid red. It had stopped flashing! She couldn’t quite believe her eyes. She cracks a smile as she continues to walk down the isolated Thruway towards Albany. The only thing on her mind is getting to safety. She needs to find food and shelter. But above all she needs to find out what the light in her wrist means. Is it a good thing that the flashing had stopped? Or does a solid red light mean an even more brutal fate?

>   Twenty Three

  David punches the captured covert Militia man one more time. The force of the punch cracks in the atmosphere as the sound of the beating ripples in the air. Donner looks on in horror.

  ‘Please David, not in front of the girls,’ she says

  David turns around and looks at Donner from afar. He gives her an unapologetic look.

  He swings for the army guy one more time. The man’s head snaps back and forth with every landed punch.

  Donner takes the two girls Abigail and Tristan and disappears around the corner, away from the vicinity of the beating. Ray stays and looks on while keeping an eye on the knocked out Mitch who is still unconscious after receiving a dose of Ketamine to the neck through a syringe. Ray finally takes his eyes off the beat down in front of him and notices the man who collapsed while running away from the militia man. He can’t believe he forgot about the other man. He feels ashamed that no one in the group had gone and checked up on him yet. Could the humanity that they once had be escaping them? Since the start of the flashing lights, Ray has noticed how humanity has changed around him. Not too long ago, a man collapsing in front of you would warrant a call to 911, now all it warrants is the presumption that the man is dead. Sure he hasn’t moved since, and it’s understandable that a gun fight will divide your attention, but the sheer fact that the only medically qualified person in the underground camp has disappeared, forgetting about a possible patient shows a lot to Ray. Maybe Humanity never had compassion, but one thing’s for certain, they certainly don’t have it in this sewer.

  ‘David, what happened to the guy who ran in here being chased by the guy you’re beating up, is he still alive?’

  David turns around is confusion.

  ‘What guy?’ he asks

  ‘That guy,’ says Ray as he points to the man half submersed in sewage a few meters from David.

  ‘Shit!’ says David as he rushes over to the idle man.