Revenence (Novella 2): Dead Tired

by M. E. Betts

  He grabbed Chester once again by the hair, moving the sadist's face until he found the deepest part of the sludge puddle. He shifted his weight, kneeling onto the back of the other man's neck as he struggled to lift his face up out of the three-inch-deep liquid. He sat for almost a minute while Chester flopped and wriggled beneath him, holding his breath to avoid his inevitable drowning. Soon enough, though, he could no longer deny his reflexes or his fate. He gasped in a lungful of the filthy fluid. His lungs revolted as the stranger continued to hold him face-down in the puddle. Seconds later, his body went limp in the stranger's hands, and his mind went inert. He passed away with an expression of disgust and horror etched into his features, and the pounding of rock music still raging from inside Lou's bar.

  Adrian stood, leaving Chester's corpse where it lay on the alley floor after pocketing his .22 Magnum revolver. He glanced briefly at the door leading back into the bar, then made his way toward the street. As he did, he saw what he was certain to be a human form in a trench coat, silently regarding him. It was only a quick flash, though, before the figure was gone, followed by the fleeting visual of leather coat tails flapping behind the unknown person.

  Adrian, however, had no choice but to continue onto the street. The only other way out of the alley was to go into the door through which Chester had exited, then proceed through the bar. And so he went ahead, exiting the alley. By the time he reached the sidewalk, there was no sign of anyone, meaning that who ever it was, they had likely gone into the bar, thereby disappearing into the crowd within.

  Adrian looked around one more time, then hurried down the street, disappearing into the shadows.

  As he and Ragtop pulled up to the garage the next morning, Adrian wondered if news of Chester's death had begun to get around town yet. He also thought back to the mysterious figure he had seen gazing down the alley, the one who may have seen everything.

  He shoved the thoughts aside as he and Ragtop entered the garage. What's done is done, he told himself. He followed Ragtop to bay number two, where the partially upgraded truck waited.

  "Looks like we're the early birds," Ragtop said. They were the first to arrive not only in their own bay, but in the entire garage.

  But I got the worm last night, Adrian thought. Got him good.

  "I think we can start work on that mount today," Ragtop said.

  "The one for the V-plow?" Adrian asked.

  "That's the one," Ragtop said with a grin. " I don't know about you, but I always considered plowing to be one of my talents."

  Adrian chuckled to himself, then began setting out the tools and materials he would be using for the day while he replayed in his mind the scene from the previous night. As he continued, silently setting items onto the counter, he heard a voice behind him.

  "Ragtop," the gruff male voice said. Adrian recognized it as Pfeifer, and he turned to regard the man and the dark-haired young woman standing off to the side, slightly behind him. As his gaze seized on her face, his knees nearly buckled, and he fought to keep his eyes from filling with tears.

  My baby, he thought, locking eyes with his daughter who now stood before him. He wanted to tell her to be cool, to pretend she didn't know him. She seemed to be one step ahead of him, however. She smiled briefly at her father and Ragtop, a believably polite, social smile, then averted her eyes.

  "Find somewhere to put this girl to work," Pfeifer said.

  Ragtop looked Celia over, frowning. "Where?" he asked. "Here? In the garage?"

  "Here," Pfeifer said, edging his curtness up a notch. "In the garage, yes. She's, uh--she's displaced at the moment. Last place she stayed at, I'm told she worked on the guys' bikes a lot. Competent enough. Find someplace for her to make herself useful." He spun on his heel. "I gotta go talk to Irene in record-keeping," he grumbled as he stalked off toward the lobby.

  Adrian and Celia stood, silently regarding one another. She whispered something under her breath, her eyes shiny. Adrian read her lips easily enough. You came for me. He nodded, though the gesture was barely perceptible.

  Ragtop spun back toward Adrian and Celia as Pfeifer departed. He sighed.

  "I guess we'll figure out which bay you're gonna be in," he said, "once the other guys start to show up."

  "Ragtop--" Adrian began, he and Celia moving closer to one another. Just then, a group of half a dozen mechanics approached from the lobby, followed by other groups behind them. Adrian eyed them anxiously. "Can we talk somewhere private?"

  Ragtop's gaze panned back and forth, from Celia to Adrian to the group of workers making their way from the lobby, then back to Adrian.

  "I'll show you around the supply closet," he told Celia. "We need some things from there, anyway."

  He turned and started toward the closet, situated about halfway down the length of the garage. Adrian and Celia followed. Ragtop reached the closet door, pushing it open and flipping the light switch.

  "Right in here," he said, waiting for Adrian and Celia to enter the closet before following them in, the door closing behind them.

  With the door safely closed, Adrian and Celia hugged one another, tightly and frantically, as they both smiled through their sobs.

  "I knew you'd come," Celia said, squeezing Adrian even more tightly.

  "Shhh," Adrian whispered as her chest heaved and she wetted the front of his T-shirt with tears. He kissed the top of her head. "I'm here now. It's gonna be okay."

  Ragtop cleared his throat. "So I'm assuming--"

  "This is my daughter," Adrian said. "Celia. Celia, this is Ragtop."

  Ragtop nodded at Celia. "So what are you two gonna do?" he asked. "Make a run for it?"

  Adrian shook his head. "Nah," he said. "I don't think it's a good idea I left just yet."

  "Why?" Ragtop asked.

  "Uh--" Adrian paused, the images of the night before flashing through his mind. While he didn't imagine many of Chester's buddies going to the trouble of exacting vengeance for their fallen friend, he also supposed that immediately skipping town was likely to tie him to the murder. "You don't really wanna know."

  "You're right," Ragtop said, raising his palms. "Since you put it that way, I'm pretty sure I don't." He began gathering items from bins and shelves. "But I'm glad you found your kid."

  "Me, too," Adrian said, smiling at Celia and giving her a light pinch on the cheek.

  "You wanna give me a hand?" Ragtop asked. "Keep up the illusion of normalcy? We stay in here too long, it'll look weird."

  "Sure thing," Adrian said, giving Celia one final squeeze before assisting Ragtop. "We'll find more time to talk later. We've got a lot to catch up on, but at least in the mean time, we're together."

  Celia nodded. "And dad--" she said, looking him in the eye. "Thanks."

  "Anything for my little girl," Adrian replied, kissing her again atop the head. He knew what she meant. She was inferring that he had gotten Chester out of the picture.

  "Now let's see where we can put you to work," Ragtop said as the three of them started toward the door. Adrian and Celia stopped in their tracks.

  "She works with us," Adrian said.

  Ragtop turned around slowly, one brow raised. "And how are you gonna justify that?" he asked. "She's worked on bikes before. Well, bays six and seven do motorcycles. We're working on a truck."

  "She's worked on cars and trucks with me before," Adrian said.

  Ragtop shook his head. "What about keeping up the act that you don't know each other? Now that I'm looking at the two of you side by side, the resemblance is a little striking. You sure you wanna take a chance, being seen together all the time?"

  Adrian sighed. "Ragtop," he said, "imagine you're in my shoes. What would you do? Here in the shop's probably the only way for me to see her, for the time being."

  Ragtop was silent for several seconds before he spoke. "She works with us, then," he said. "We'll see how it goes, at least."

  "Thanks, man," Adrian said. Celia smiled from ear to ear. As she began to exit the supply clos
et, with her father and Ragtop, Adrian stopped her, pausing to pick up a pair of blue coveralls from a hanger.

  "Me and Ragtop'll head back. You can meet us there." He handed her the coveralls. "After you change into these."

  "Daddy!" Celia protested. "I don't want to wear those!"

  Adrian looked her in the eye. He gestured with his right arm at her current get-up, which consisted of extra-short denim cutoffs and a baggy T-shirt cropped to bare her midriff. The sleeves were cut off, allowing easy visibility of the black sports bra she wore underneath through the large arm holes. "What you have on," he told her, "isn't safe for the zombie apocalypse, or appropriate for a twelve-year-old ever. It's a men's small--it's the closest you'll get to anything 'cute.' Put on the jumpsuit."

  Celia rolled her eyes, but conceded. "Yes, daddy."

  Adrian and Ragtop headed back to bay two. Celia followed behind them a few minutes later, the sleeves and legs of her jumpsuit rolled up to fit her shorter stature. As she passed each work station on the way, heads turned her way and conversations paused. There were currently few women working in the garage, and none, male or female, nearly as young as Celia. Everyone was understandably curious about the pubescent newcomer.

  Celia's first day on the job went smoothly enough, after a slightly rocky start upon introducing her to her new co-workers.

  "We're not gonna be playin' with no dolls or stickers around here," Dale told Celia, his tone patronizing. "Ain't no ponies or toenail-paintin', either."

  Although Adrian had defended her, he was careful to avoid appearing particularly partial.

  "Hey, man," he said as he sipped a cup of coffee, "we're just takin' orders from Pfeifer. He says she belongs here. You wanna bring it up with him?"

  "Pbbft," Dale scoffed, although he dropped the subject.

  Whenever they could have a moment of relative privacy, Celia filled Adrian in on some of the details of her captivity, but she kept it sparse, the equivalent of a PG-rating.

  "I'm gonna be okay, dad," she whispered as they worked together on the far side of the truck from their co-workers. "That's all I wanna think about for right now."

  "I understand," Adrian said. "But to be on the safe side, take this." He looked around to be sure no one was looking, then handed Celia the .22 Magnum revolver he had taken from Chester's body.

  "Thanks," Celia said, taking the weapon. "Was this--"

  "His," Adrian said. "Yeah. It's yours now."

  "Thanks," Celia said, pausing for a moment as she looked over the weapon in detail. "Dad," she continued, "tell me--did he suffer?"

  Adrian hesitated, unsure at first of how he should respond. "I made him pay," he said.

  That day during lunch break, Irene approached Celia.

  "I've seen you around town," she said. "With Chester." She put so much emphasis on the dead man's name, she virtually spat it out.

  "Yeah," Celia said.

  Irene leaned in close to Celia's ear. "Honey," she whispered, "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you were able to cut him loose. I don't know to whom you owe the favor, but bless their hearts, wherever they are."

  "You won't hear any argument from me," Celia said.

  "Where you staying now, hon'?" Irene asked.

  "Pfeifer said someone from the orphanage would be here later to get me," Celia said, "after work lets out."

  Irene shook her head. "You don't wanna stay there," she said. "All I ever hear when I walk past there is crying kids and screaming adults. A whole lot of ruckus."

  Celia shrugged. "I got nowhere else to stay," she said, her tone quiet and her head down.

  "You come stay with me," Irene blurted out.

  "Why?" Celia asked.

  "I know you don't know me, and it's hard to trust people," Irene said. "But I got an idea of what life was like for you with Chester and them. It's heartbreaking to see such a young girl who's been through so much. The world's already so rotten, as it is."

  Celia shrugged again. "It works for me," she said, "if you're sure."

  "I'm sure," Irene said. "You'll be safe, sweetie. Safer than at that orphanage, that's for sure. I'll come find you after work, okay?"

  "Okay," Celia said. "Thanks, uh--"

  "Irene. Sorry you wound up here, Celia. But you've got a friend now."

  That evening, Celia got settled in with Irene at her apartment in a neighborhood downtown. Although Adrian was worried about Celia, and as much as he wanted to take her and run as far as possible from Amarillo, he let the situation be for the time being. Celia would tell him, after staying with Irene for a few days, that the woman seemed trustworthy, and that they should let her in on their escape plans.

  "That could be shaky ground, Celia," Adrian told her. "Better tread carefully."

  "I know," Celia said. "It's just that she's helped me so much, and when she didn't have to. I know she'd wanna get out of here if she had a chance, is all."

  "I'm not trying to knock it down," Adrian said. "Just give it some time, okay? No rush, we're not leaving just yet."

  In the meantime, he and Ragtop planned the details of their escape.

  "Another day of work, two at the most," Ragtop said one evening as he and Adrian worked into the late night, long after the rest of the shop had gone quiet. "That truck'll be done. Stick a fork in it. The most major thing we have left is changing out the tires."

  They planned to make a few modifications to the truck while they were alone in the shop, and also begin fashioning around two dozen improvised explosive devices.

  "Guess it's time we get down to brass tacks, then," Adrian said. "Figure out how to get around Pfeifer."

  "Honestly," Ragtop said, "I'm less worried about Pfeifer than I am Duncan.

  "True," Adrian said, mulling the thought over. It was likely to be the case, he realized. "He's been dropping by the garage more often the past couple days. It's why I went ahead and sent Celia down to the bike bay the other day. Get her further away, you know?"

  "He damn sure enough has been rearing his ugly head more than usual," Ragtop concurred.

  "So we got any other confirmed escapees?" Adrian asked.

  "Dean and a few of the other guys," Ragtop said. "Not many people here we can trust enough to even make the offer."

  "It's a shame," Adrian said. "It's the biggest settlement I've seen yet, by far, but there's barely any good people we can salvage on our way out."

  "Not much to be done about it," Ragtop said after a moment. "You can't save 'em all."

  Adrian uttered a soft, dry laugh. "Ain't that the truth," he said, cutting off the flow of thoughts.

  Early the next morning, when Adrian walked into his bay, Celia bounded toward him, grabbing his hand.

  "I want to show you something," she said as she led him to the bay where she had been working, "before anyone else shows up."

  Upon arrival, she walked over to a motorcycle cloaked in a large sheet of canvas.

  "Voila," she said, pulling the canvas away. There sat a fire engine red Indian motorcycle. Its pristine paint job, combined with side panels and tires that appeared to be brand-new, made what was clearly a vintage bike appear as it would have on a showroom floor decades before. The chrome had been lovingly polished to gleaming perfection, and new saddlebags installed.

  "I salvaged all the parts myself," Celia said, beaming. "Irene took me to the junkyard. I put in a new engine, steering head bearings, fork valves, plus the stuff you can see."

  "You did a top-notch job, Celia," Adrian said as he approached the motorcycle, running his hand along the smooth, red finish. "Couldn't have done better, myself."

  "Thanks," Celia said. "It was Chester's bike, you know."

  Adrian's hand recoiled, as if the surface of the bike were a hot griddle. "Why do you have this, Celia?" he asked.

  She snickered. "Why? Because it's mine now."

  "There are a million bikes out there you can have," Adrian said, pointing vaguely outdoors. "Have the whole million, for all I care, but I don't think yo
u should keep this."

  "Really?" Celia cried, her eyes incredulous. "After everything I've been through, and all the hours I put into this bike, you're gonna tell me I can't have it?"

  Adrian sighed. "No," he said. "I guess I'm not."

  Later that day, as Celia started toward her father's work area, she saw Duncan speaking to her father, the former man's back turned to her. She stopped abruptly, feigning interest in a supply cabinet not far away. She stood eavesdropping, her face hidden from Duncan by the open cabinet door.

  "So how much longer do you think it'll be?" she heard Duncan ask her father.

  "We'll be done some time late next week," Adrian replied. Celia knew it wasn't true. The truck was already essentially finished, though the only individuals aware of that fact were herself, her father and Ragtop. Even the other two men working in the bay were under the false impression that there were several more days of work remaining before the truck was complete.

  "Taking a bit long for our liking," Duncan said, "but I'm glad it's coming along well."

  Adrian laughed. "You oughtta be," he said. "Seems you're showing a healthy amount of interest in it.'

  There were several seconds of silence.

  "Everything else alright?" Duncan asked, though his tone didn't imply concern.

  "Yep," Adrian said.

  After a few more quiet seconds, Duncan spoke again, returning the topic to the truck.

  "Lucky for us," he said, "we'll get a chance to get some use out of this thing. Regular gasoline is on the brink of expiring, but we'll have awhile longer with the diesel."

  "Gas ain't good forever," Adrian said. "I imagine the expiration date on the fuel's the reason you let folks drive around, willy-nilly."

  "More or less," Duncan said. "Burn it if you got it, right?"

  "Right on, man," Adrian said.