Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey

by Brian Stewart

  I gave a sharp whistle. “Max, c’mere.”

  He tore into the figure once again as if to say “And you go to hell too!” before padding over next to me. I was still spinning with the rapid fire events that seemed like they lasted for hours, even though it had probably been less than seven minutes since they shot Uncle Andy.

  “UNCLE ANDY!!” My mind screamed as I mouthed the words. Twisting around, I ran back to the cabin. Michelle was leaning in the doorway, still in handcuffs. She had managed to get her clothes back on and was gripping a gun. I stopped briefly next to her, noting that her face was frozen in a combination of fear and furious wrath. She was looking back into the cabin.

  Chapter 44

  “Michelle . . .” I said. She didn’t make a sound except for deep steady breathing.

  “Michelle,” I repeated, “are you OK?”

  She swiveled her head toward me, her eyes focusing on my face briefly before she turned and walked straight into the cabin and down the hall. I followed. The woman on the bed was exactly as I remembered. She still didn’t move, and I wasn’t sure if she was alive. Michelle’s steady pace ended at the kitchen. The guy I had shot multiple times had managed to drag himself about twelve feet from the closet wall into the kitchen. A body width smear of deep scarlet and frothy pink trailed behind him. He moaned, slightly turning to face us at our approach. Michelle raised the pistol, and Skull and Crossbones narrowed his eyes and grimaced, shaking his head slightly.

  “You’re a damn cop . . . you ain’t gonna shoo . . .”

  BOOM!! . . . BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM . . . Michelle’s first shot took half of his forehead off, and she emptied the rest of the magazine into his face and body while screaming, “AAAYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE.” Her breath was coming in ragged, sobbing gasps, and she sank to her knees. I knelt beside her, hugging her tight as her chest heaved. From behind us a faint groan sounded.

  I gave another tight squeeze to Michelle before turning around and standing. The pale skinned girl with the rat tail was lying in a spreading pool of blood, but she was still alive.

  “Michelle . . . MICHELLE,” I shouted, “get some sheets or towels . . . MICHELLE!” I barked again, finally getting her attention as she looked around. “Please, go get some towels,” I said again. She seemed to snap out of it, shaking her head and saying, “Sorry . . . I’m on it.”

  The large flashlight that my uncle keeps hanging on a peg by the door was still there, so I grabbed it and ran to the porch. I stepped over the body of the big man dressed in black and turned to the right. Emily was leaning against the wall underneath the broken window, clutching her right shoulder with her hand. I could see a small trickle of blood seeping from between her fingers, but she looked up at me and forced a smile.

  “Did you get them?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, they’re all dead.”

  She took a short, fast gasp of air. “And Michelle . . . is she OK?”

  I knelt beside her and adjusted her hand position. “Michelle is fine . . . thanks to you. Now keep your hand right there, and keep pressure on it. Don’t let go—I’ll be right back.”

  She gave another halfhearted smile. “I’m OK . . . go help your uncle.” Her speech was starting to slur; she was losing a lot of blood.

  I bolted off the porch and out into the yard, searching the grass with a big flashlight. A short distance away I found my uncle crumpled on the ground. Diving down next to him, I saw that his head was a bloody mess, but he was still breathing. I swore out loud. “Shit . . . son of a bitch . . . I need more hands!”

  Shining the light in a rapid circle, I took stock of my options. Max appeared at my shoulder, staring down at Uncle Andy with his golden eyes for a moment before pawing him several times, trying to get him to wake up and play. I didn’t have a choice, and ran for my truck. Flinging the door open, I noticed that the inside looked like it had been ransacked. The keys, which had been in the cabin when I left, were now in the ignition. I jumped in and started it up, shifted it into gear and pulling forward and to the right, driving in a large circle and ending up near the porch. Michelle came out with several sheets and tee shirts, and was folding one up for Emily as I jumped out of the truck.

  “Michelle, we need to get them to Walter’s house. We need to do that now or they’re not going to make it.”

  She looked up at me and said, “Samantha’s really bad. This is Emily, right?”

  I nodded, noticing that Emily had slumped over and passed out.

  Michelle said, “Go cut Melissa free, she’s still alive I think, maybe she can help us. I’ll take care of Emily until you get back . . . and Eric, I’m so sorry about your uncle.”

  “He’s still alive,” I said, “but he’s not moving. We’ve got to get them more help.”

  Michelle seemed shocked at the news that my uncle was still breathing, and she nodded briskly and said, “Go.”

  I trotted into the cabin—the girl with the rat tail, Samantha I’d guess—was still moaning softly. I moved to the back room where the other lady was bound. It had to be Melissa, although I wondered how Michelle knew that as I sliced through the ropes that held her. Pulling the cover off, it was obvious that she was also unclothed and abused. Small craters of cigarette burns speckled most of her body. She was breathing, but didn’t even move once she was freed. She just kept staring straight up at the ceiling. I tried talking to her, calling her by name, but nothing was helping and I was running out of time. So I lifted her under the armpits and stood her up. After a brief wobble she stayed long enough for me to grab a blanket and throw it around her.

  “Melissa . . . they’re all dead. They can’t hurt you anymore, do you hear me . . . you’re safe now . . . but we have to leave right now. The trucks are out front . . . we’ve got to go.”

  She was still standing upright, swaying slightly with a blank stare on her face. “Melissa,” I said again, “I’ll be right back for you.” I turned and trotted out to the living room, stopping briefly to pick up the pale girl and carry her out to the bed of my truck. When I got there I found that Michelle already had Emily maneuvered into the truck bed, and a small pile of thick blankets had been thrown in as well. Michelle was reapplying a folded shirt to Emily’s shoulder wound, securing it in place with a torn a strip of cloth. I set Samantha down next to Emily and we wrapped them both in comforters.

  “I’m going to need your help with my uncle.”

  Michelle nodded and jumped over the side of the truck bed, landing on the ground easily before moving up to where Max was still standing guard. I hopped in the truck and drove it forward, saving us twenty yards of carrying. It took both of us to gently lift and position my uncle in the truck bed. Max bounded up immediately after, laying down next to him.

  “One more thing to do,” I thought to myself as I prepared to hurry back to the cabin and grab Melissa, but a yell from Michelle cut me short.

  “MELISSA . . . NO DON’T!” Michelle was shining the beam of the big flashlight towards the back of the yellow truck. I looked over and saw Melissa shrug the blanket off of her shoulders and reach into the jacked up truck. Michelle screamed the same warning, but Melissa paid no attention and withdrew a small bundle, clutching it to her chest protectively. I saw the bundle squirm and wriggle, but Melissa sank to her knees and held on tighter.

  I turned to get off of the truck and help Melissa, but Michelle grabbed my coat sleeve and stopped me. “There’s nothing we can do for her now,” she said, “but you’re right, we’ve got to go.” She held up her still cuffed wrists and said, “But first, get these damn things off of me.” I reached in to the ignition switch and grabbed my keys. A minute later the cuffs were off, and she was riding in the back with my coat for warmth, keeping pressure on Emily’s shoulder as I drove. For my uncle and Samantha, we could only hurry up and pray.

  My personal truck is equipped with a combination marine, CB, and GMRS band radio. Although it was technically illegal to use the marine band outside of an aquatic enviro
nment, I really didn’t think the FCC would give a rat’s ass, and neither did I. Besides, it had the best transmit range of my available options since I busted Michelle’s portable unit, and in any event would be the most likely one that Walter would be listening to. I flipped the power on and switched it to the marine band.

  “Walter, this is Eric . . . repeat . . . Walter, this is Eric, do you copy?”

  There was no answer.

  “Walter, or anybody at the marina or campground, this is Eric . . . can you hear me . . . This is an emergency.”

  The truck bounced over a small rut, and Michelle thumped the rear window. I slid the glass open as I drove on. “Sorry.”

  Her voice rose over the sound of the engine and rushing wind. “S’ok . . . just be careful.”

  I keyed the microphone again. “Sheldon’s Marina, do you copy. This is Eric, can anybody hear me?”

  I waited another thirty seconds and repeated my call. I was still two miles from the gravel road.

  “Eric, is that you?” It was a female voice. One that I’d heard before but couldn’t place immediately.

  “This is Eric . . . who am I talking to?”

  “Eric, this is Amy Salvucci . . . from the campground.”

  I jumped right in. “Amy, is Doc there . . . I need you to get him to Walter’s right away. I’m inbound with wounded people. This is an emergency Amy, I need him to meet me at Walter’s with his medical stuff.”

  There was a slight pause before she came back. “Eric, he’s already there. We’re already there. All of us that are left anyhow.”

  Did I just hear her right? “What . . . what do you mean?”

  Another pause before she came back. “Eric, Walter is here . . . he wants to tal . . .” Her musical voice cut off abruptly and was replaced with a gruff tone.

  “Eric . . . this is Walter. Where are you boy?”

  “I’m on the dirt road about a mile from the gravel. I’ve got three seriously injured people with me and they’ll need immediate medical attention when I get to your house.” It was my turn to pause before I added, “If they make it that far.”

  “Understood. I’ll have Doc and Rebecca get ready. Let me talk to Andy a minute.”

  I keyed the microphone again, holding it down and transmitting dead air as I searched for the words. “Walter . . . Andy is one of the injured ones.”

  The tennis game of pauses volleyed back to him. “Understood. Hold on a sec . . .“ After another short delay, he came back on. “Eric, Doc wants to know what the natures of the injuries are.” His tone had taken an abrupt shift, and he sounded hesitant to me. Before I could follow my thought path to its conclusion, he broke through again. “Eric, we need to know if anybody’s been . . . attacked. By them things.

  I saw where this was heading. “No,” I replied, “negative on attacks. Tell Doc he has three gunshot victims coming in, repeat, three gunshot victims inbound.”

  Walter kept his connection open, and I heard several voices, some of them raised, in the background. I couldn’t make out very much of it over the noise of my truck, however.

  Amy’s voice came back over the air. “Hey Eric . . . I’m being told to ask you if you’re able to give specifics on the injuries so they know what to prepare for.”

  I was about 200 yards from the gravel road, but these were 200 of the roughest. “Amy . . . yes I can, but you’ll have to wait a few minutes,” I threw the microphone onto the seat, concentrating both of my hands on the steering wheel as I navigated through the ‘bridge’, as my uncle called it. It was the very first part of the dirt road that he intentionally left rough to discourage trespassers.

  I leaned my head back and shouted, “ARE YOU OK BACK THERE?”

  Over the next several bumps Michelle answered, “I CAN’T . . . TELL . . . IF ANDY HAS A PULSE. IT’S TOO ROUGH IN THE BACK . . . BOUNCING ALL AROUND HERE. EMILY IS STILL . . . SEEPING BLOOD . . . SAM . . . ANTHA . . . NOT MOVING.” Michelle’s teeth were chattering with the cold and exposure.

  “GET UNDER THE BLANKETS WITH THEM. IT’S ABOUT TO GET REALLY COLD AND WINDY,” I yelled.

  I saw her throw blankets over top of Uncle Andy, Samantha and Emily. “DON’T . . . WORRY . . . ABOUT ME . . . JUST GO . . . PUNCH IT,” she shouted back, spreading out her arms and leaning down to try and hold the blankets in place as I turned onto the gravel road and gunned it.

  In the space of ten seconds I was rocketing down the gravel at seventy miles an hour. I reached down and followed the coiled cord, locating the microphone that had been bumped off the seat.

  “Amy, do you copy?”

  Her reply was immediate. “Yes Eric, I can hear you.”

  “I am . . . . . .” I broke off my sentence, looking at my speedometer and crunching numbers. “I’m about eight to ten minutes away. Moving fast. I’ve got three . . . repeat three gunshot victims inbound. Victim number one is a white female about twenty years old. Serious abdominal wound in the lower right quadrant. She’s unresponsive and has lost a lot of blood. Victim number two is Emily, Doc’s granddaughter. Upper right shoulder wound. Was awake and responsive about ten minutes ago, but has since gone unconscious. Probably shock and loss of blood. Victim three is Uncle Andy,” I almost couldn’t bring myself to form the next six words. “He’s been shot in the head. Last check was breathing but unresponsive.”

  As soon as I unkeyed the microphone, Amy’s voice came back. It was almost professional sounding, like she had been a 911 dispatcher in a former life.

  “10-4, repeating back. First victim is a white female about twenty with a serious wound in her lower right abdomen. Unresponsive. Second victim is Doc’s granddaughter Emily, wounded in upper right shoulder, responsive ten minutes ago but has since passed out. Third victim is your uncle. No vitals other than breathing but unresponsive ten minutes ago. All injuries caused by gunshots only. Is this correct?”

  I noticed that she slowed down her speech and emphasized the question about “gunshots only.” “Yes,” I replied, “gunshots only. I’ll be on the pavement in twenty seconds. I’m five minutes away . . . where am I taking them?”

  Without skipping a beat she answered. “Bring them straight up to the house, they’re already getting a space prepared. What are you driving?”

  Huh???? I didn’t understand her question. What the hell did it matter what I was driving? My confusion and anger must have shown through in my answer. “I’m driving my pickup . . . the green Dodge four by four . . . WHY?”

  “10-4, green Dodge four wheel drive pickup, I’ll tell the gate not to shoot at you.”

  Her answer echoed in my head as I turned on to the blacktop and dropped the hammer.

  Chapter 45

  I was in triple digits most of the way, finally slowing down only when I turned past the gas pumps and went around the back of the marina. I cut around the large workshop on my way to Walter’s driveway, but had to hit the brakes momentarily as several bright flashlights shined through the windshield. Three or four figures were waving me through a makeshift gate at the bottom of the driveway. It was already open, so I tore up the narrow, twisting road—instantly inundated with memories of the last time I did the same thing. Slowing down only enough to negotiate the switchbacks, I finally pulled into Walter’s yard. His house is a split-level modernized log cabin, and one of the double garage doors was lifting as I coasted to a stop. As soon as I bailed out of the truck, I was met with a flood of faces. Some were vaguely familiar to me, others I didn’t have the time or inclination to study. A half dozen people wearing HAZMAT suits swarmed around the truck bed. It looked like they were carrying improvised stretchers made of mop handles and bed sheets. I vaguely recall Michelle passing in front of me, draped heavily with blankets and being led inside by someone. The flurry of activity in conjunction with my adrenaline rush left me momentarily speechless and confused until I heard an explosive snarl followed by several deep barks. The sea of HAZMAT suits turned into a rapidly expanding circle as Max anchored himself over top of Uncle And
y, hackles raised and ears laid back. I shook my head, snapping myself back to reality as I went over to the truck and called Max. He whined briefly, giving Uncle Andy a final nudge with his nose before hopping down and standing by my side. Realizing that nobody was going to move as long as I was standing there with Max, I clicked my tongue and said his name, and we walked down the driveway about thirty feet before sitting down. The evening air was chilly, hovering just north of freezing, and I sat there with one hand around my buddy and the other one supporting my forehead. I hadn’t been there very long when I caught a whiff of cherry-apple pipe smoke. Walter was standing about ten feet away. He had his pipe suspended loosely between his lips and hand, and he was looking me over with a mixture of relief and sorrow.

  “You hungry?” Walter asked.

  I shook my head no.

  A small flashlight appeared in his hand, and he ran the beam over me, head to toe.

  “Are you hurt?

  I looked down at myself, comprehension dawning that I was covered in partially dried blood. Most of it was probably from when I carried Samantha, but I was sure there was also a mix of Emily’s, Michelle’s, Uncle Andy’s and the cowboy’s, as well as a smattering of mine. Walter repeated his question.

  “No, just some scrapes and bruises,” I answered.

  “Mmm-OK . . . what say we get you cleaned up and warm.”

  “Not until I find out how they are.”

  “Eric my boy, the look on your face could knock a sick buzzard off a shit wagon at a hundred paces, and I’m sure you’ll get around to telling me why. But right now I want you to listen to me. A lot of things have happened here as well. Bad things. And as much as I’d like to tell ya’ that you can spend the next week on the beach in Jamaica, I’m almost certain that we’re going to need your ‘A’ game in the near future. Besides, Doc ain’t going to know anything for awhile, so let’s get you cleaned up and fed while we’re waiting.”