Grim Fever

by R Scott Mather

  “Where are my phone, wallet, and keys?”

  Nick blinks twice. “I gave them to Wade.”

  “Where’s Wade?”

  “He’s in the big shed. Chad, let me go, man. I can get you out of here, I swear. Please, I have a new baby, and—”

  “Shut the fuck up. Stand.”

  Nick sighs, leans against the vehicle to get his feet underneath him, and stands upright.

  “Wait,” Lindsay says. She walks around the other side of her car, then returns with a shop cloth and a strip of duct tape that once bound one of us. She jams the cloth into Nick’s mouth and roughly applies the tape. “There.”

  I give her a quick nod and a smile. Behind her, the open door invites freedom. Pine trees sway as the wind tickles their needles. Birds tweet at each other. We’ll be out of here soon. I can taste it.

  Only one more hurdle.

  I slide the bar into the lock, trapping Nick inside the garage.

  “What about the thing you used to cut our tape?” Lindsay asks.

  “Shit. I didn’t think of that. Well, we don’t have time to worry about him.”

  I peek around the corner, unsure if Wade heard the commotion. A bird caws and flies overhead. It lands on the roof of the barn-like building.

  Lindsay presses against me and peers around the garage. “He’s in there, right?”

  “That’s what Nick said.”

  “It’s two on one.” She holds up Nick’s gun.

  The last thing I want is a shootout with a militant. “Is there another door to that place on the backside?”

  “No, just the door that faces the trailer. There’s nothing on the backside except blacked-out windows. One of them is broken.”

  “Okay.” I peek around the corner again. Still clear, so I brace myself against the wall and slink toward the front of the garage. No Wade. My truck sits in the same place I parked it. Nick’s Jeep is in the same spot. Another truck is backed up near the roll-up door, and a large blue tarp lines its bed. The engine is running.

  This is it; we’re free!

  I squeeze Lindsay’s arm. “Come on, let’s get in and get the hell out of here. We can call the police from a gas station or something.”

  She pulls away from me. “No. This will not end with him going to jail.” The look on her face says she’s not leaving here until Wade is dead.

  “What happened to getting evidence to take to the police?”

  “Fuck that. That was before that scrawny bastard knocked me out. Before Wade told that goon to kill us.”

  “Lindsay—”

  “Don’t ‘Lindsay’ me. That asshole killed Frank. He killed that kid a few years ago. Who knows how many people he’s murdered and killed with his drugs. Chad, he wants to kill us. You think he’s going to just shrug this off? No.” Her upper lip curls into a snarl. “Wade Linford deserves to die.”

  “I know he does. But getting out of here alive is more important. That truck is running. We can leave right now.”

  “No.” Her shoulders writhe as she seethes. She pushes past me.

  I grab her wrist. “Wait. Listen. If you kill him, you’ll only feel good about it for a minute. Then he’ll never leave you. His ghost will stick in your mind forever. Believe me, I still see the faces of everyone I’ve killed. It’s not worth it.”

  Lindsay’s jaw tightens. Her eyes sharpen into a narrow focus. “I’m not leaving until he’s dead.”

  I shake my head. “Fine. Then at least let me kill him. You don’t need to carry that burden.”

  She shuts her eyes. “Fine.”

  “All right.” I blow out a long breath, half-relieved and half-surprised that Lindsay relented. I point to the front of the building. “Let’s wait for him to come out of there. He probably has his gun on him, but if we catch him by surprise, we should be able to take him out without turning it into the OK Corral.”

  We tiptoe across the gravel to the backside of the large shed. I whisper, “I’ll go around the other side.”

  Lindsay nods once and slinks along the wall toward the front of the building, stepping slowly over the gravel. She holds the gun to her side.

  A sudden realization strikes. I don’t know if she’s ever shot a gun before.

  I suck in a deep breath and peek around the back corner. It’s clear. The gravel gives way to grass, thankfully. I walk along the outside of the building with deliberate steps. I reach the first of four tall paneled windows and take a quick glance inside. Nothing is visible through the black plastic that covers the inside of the window. I duck and pass under it, unsure if it’s more translucent from the other side. I do the same for the next two windows. The third window is busted out in the lower-left quadrant; its plastic covering whips in the breeze. I crouch and listen for any movement inside. It’s quiet save for the rustling of the makeshift curtain.

  I walk on my knees underneath the window. I look up to the camera perched on the corner of the building. I remember seeing two on the other side. Hopefully, no one is watching the feed at the moment.

  I step forward to stand upright.

  A gunshot rings out.

  I recoil.

  Lindsay screams.

  “Hello, girlie,” Wade says.

  19

  I raise my gun, terrified of what I’m about to see, and jump around the corner.

  There’s nothing in the front of the building, but I hear heavy footsteps in the gravel leading to the parking area.

  Lindsay.

  My heart thumps like a machine gun.

  I peek around the corner of the building. Wade squeezes Lindsay’s waist with one arm and clutches a gun in his other hand. He carries her like a squirmy toddler toward the garage. She kicks her feet wildly but hits nothing.

  “Cha-ad.” Wade taunts like a schoolyard bully. “I’ve got your little girly friend, here.” He stops in front of Nick’s Jeep, facing the roll-up door. “Come on out.”

  He thinks I’m in the garage.

  He’s too far for me to take a shot without risking Lindsay. And I can’t make it to him across the gravel without him hearing.

  Lindsay wriggles a hand free and punches Wade on the shoulder and chest, but it doesn’t faze him.

  “Oh yeah, I like ’em feisty.”

  I step away from the edge of the building to gather my thoughts. My foot hits something solid.

  Lindsay’s gun. She must have fired and missed, and either she dropped it, or Wade knocked it away from her. I pick it up and stuff it in my back waistband.

  I peek around the corner again.

  Wade stands with his back to me and positions Lindsay in front of him, the barrel of his gun pressed against her head. “Open up!”

  The garage door slides open.

  Wade pulls the gun away from Lindsay and fires before the roll-up door is all the way up.

  Nick falls to his knees, a crimson splotch blossoming on his shirt. He falls face-first to the ground.

  “What the fuck?” Wade yells. “Where’s Chad? Fuck! Dwight?”

  He throws Lindsay to the ground.

  My truck is ten yards away.

  “You lied to me, you little cunt.”

  I sprint across the gravel toward it.

  He points the gun at her head.

  “No!” I yell as loud as I can.

  Wade whips his head around, followed by his firearm.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  A bullet whizzes past my ear.

  One shatters my truck windshield.

  I don’t know where the third one went.

  I dive behind my truck, the engine block between me and Wade.

  “Wade, wait. It’s me you want. Let her go.”

  Gravel shifts.

  “Stay still, sweetie,” Wade says.

  Lindsay lets out a panicked grunt.

  “Let her go.”

  “You think I’m stupid?”

  “We can all just walk away from this.” I’m out of breath.

  “No. We can’t.” He huffs. “
Not all of us, anyway. I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to have some fun with this one. She’s ballsy. I like a good challenge.”

  Shit.

  We overplayed our hand.

  I should have made Lindsay get in the other truck. We’d be far from here and safe.

  I peek through the window. Wade stands over Lindsay with a boot pressed down on her neck and his gun aimed at my truck. I can’t get in a position to take a shot at him without exposing myself.

  She’s struggling, punching his shin and kicking at him.

  I have to keep him talking.

  “Wade. How did you survive Grim Fever?” I don’t know where the thought comes from. It’s a desperate move.

  He snaps his head in my direction. “What? How did—”

  “Because I infected you.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah. After your protest at the post office.”

  “The sweaty hand guy? That was you?”

  “Yeah.”

  I have no plan other than to keep him talking. If he’s talking, he’s not killing. Or doing worse.

  “No shit. Small world, eh, Chad?”

  “Listen. I know you get the symptoms. They suck, right?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. Feels like six hangovers all at the same time.”

  “Lindsay has it, too. There’s a treatment. It feels like bad allergies, that’s it. No fever. No terrible rash. No sweaty palms.”

  Wade looks down at her. “That right? Your boyfriend gave you the Grim, too?”

  “Fuck…you.” The words sputter as she struggles to get them out.

  Wade presses harder on her neck.

  Her face goes red. She swings her fists at his leg but lacks the strength for any meaningful impact.

  “Wade, let her up, and I’ll tell you the combination of medications.”

  “Oh yeah? We’re gonna make a little trade? I let your girlfriend go, and you tell me to take two ibuprofens and some green tea?” He laughs, a deep throaty cackle that makes me cringe.

  “What will it take then? For you to let her go?”

  “I’m not really in the mood to negotiate. I have a delivery I need to make, and my guy is missing. Would you know anything about that, Chad?”

  Shit. I’m losing this.

  “I’ll do Dwight’s job. I’ll be your bitch. Anything, just let Lindsay go.”

  “You’re funny, Chad. Dwight’s replaceable. Nick’s replaceable, too. He’s actually more valuable to me dead, the fucking idiot. You’re nothing to me, Chad. You’re a cockroach on my garage floor. But Lindsay here...I can make some money on her. You know how much a pretty young thing like this goes for?”

  This sick fuck…

  “I can get a few grand if she’s already doped up and mellowed out. How does that sound, Chad? Ship her down to Venezuela or over to Russia? Find herself a nice man.” He lets out a gruff laugh. “More like fifty men.”

  He’s antagonizing me. I can’t react; that’s what he wants.

  Lindsay’s face has turned purple, and a vein on her forehead is bulging. Her eyes are only half-open.

  “Of course,” Wade says, “I’d have to give her a run myself. You know, to make sure the product meets a certain standard.”

  Don’t react.

  “She’s cute. Maybe I’ll keep her for myself.”

  I want to gouge his eyes out. I want to tear his tongue off and stuff it down his throat, let him choke on it.

  Don’t react.

  Think. What does he want?

  “I have money.” I shout the lie, hoping he takes pause. “I have over a million from an inheritance.”

  “I have money, too. It’s not about money.” He chuckles. “Well, it’s not all about money. I’m wiping away the scum of the earth. The reservation. Mexico. The blacks. Hell, even the trashy whites who suck on the government’s tits. So, yeah. I don’t care about your money.”

  He lowers his gun.

  My hand flinches, adrenaline gushes. Is this my chance to get a shot off?

  Wade bends over and grabs Lindsay by the neck. He pulls her up.

  I’m not confident I can’t get a shot off without hitting her.

  She’s limp.

  No.

  Her head lolls to the side.

  “Ah, shit,” Wade says. “Looks like I broke your girlfriend.” He slams her to the ground.

  She drops like a rag doll, limp and lifeless.

  React.

  I stand up and fire at Wade.

  He ducks behind the blue Jeep.

  I try counting my shots, but I lose track. I stop firing and duck behind my truck.

  I peek over the hood. Lindsay lies on the ground. Her face ashy, her lips pale, a line of blood dripping from her mouth.

  “You done now?” Wade says.

  I try to shake away the image of Lindsay’s lifeless face, but I can’t. I choke back the tsunami of emotion about to break through.

  “You fired a lot of rounds, Chad,” Wade shouts. “You got any left?”

  I couldn’t save her.

  “Look, bud, I’ve got things to do.”

  I failed Lindsay.

  “Can you just stand up and let me shoot you so I can get on with my day?”

  Wade has to suffer.

  “Sorry about your girlfriend. I really hoped I could enjoy her.”

  Sick fuck.

  “You know, this isn’t my first Mexican standoff. I’ve got things to do, but I’m a patient man.”

  As long as he thinks I have ammo left, he won’t risk getting shot.

  I get up as quietly as I can.

  He’s still behind the Jeep.

  I tiptoe backward toward the big shed, ready to fire if he pops up.

  “I might still have a go at her. She’s still warm. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Wade’s voice grows quieter as I slip farther away.

  I make it to the corner of the shed, then turn and sprint around the backside. My legs feel sturdy, pumping with purpose.

  Lindsay’s face. I can’t escape her listless face.

  I have to focus.

  I get to the opposite side of the shed and peek around the corner. I see Wade’s foot, but Dwight’s truck blocks my view.

  He’s still talking.

  I might be able to make a run for the truck. It’s still running. I might have a decent chance at escape, but Wade would have an open chance at shooting me.

  And I don’t want to leave Lindsay here. Not like that.

  Another idea forms.

  I creep from the building to the truck.

  I peer underneath the chassis. Wade crouches behind the driver-side front tire. I can’t see his head, which direction he’s facing.

  I consider making a dash for the garage, but I’m standing in gravel, so he’s going to hear me. If I tiptoe, I’ll be exposed. I need to know which way he’s looking, so I lean past the taillight, hoping to hell his focus isn’t aimed this way.

  Wade is looking through the driver-side window.

  “I’m getting bored, Chad.”

  I make my break for the garage, steady and quiet. Each step feels like a lifetime. The gravel shifts under my shoe, but I manage to make it to the garage wall unnoticed. I lift the locking bar, mindful not to make any noise.

  The garage smells like rotting death. I glance at Dwight in the corner. Flies have already taken place in their buffet line. I step around the puddle of transmission fluid and lean against the wall beside the half-open roll-up door. Uncoiled aircraft cable lies on the floor, a bundle of yellow twine lies next to the multi-tool.

  I kneel and take a quick peek outside.

  Wade is still looking through the window, his back to me. He holds his gun with both hands, arms propped up on his leg.

  “Look, there’s gonna be four other guys showing up here in about half an hour. They’ll see you when they pull in.”

  I have a clear shot.

  “Time is on my side, buddy.”

  I slide a knee to the r
ight.

  Steady the gun and take aim.

  He shifts the gun to his left hand and pushes himself closer to the front of the Jeep.

  Exhale.

  I squeeze the trigger.

  Wade’s hands explode in a red cloud.

  He screams.

  I duck under the door and run to him.

  He spins onto his ass and leans against the tire.

  “You fucking …” He raises his arm, the soupy lump of mangled flesh oozing blood. “My hand!”

  I stand over him and aim at his chest.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask.

  “Feels great.” He smirks with endless defiance, then lowers his disfigured limb.

  I step onto his bloody stump and put all my weight on it.

  Wade yowls involuntarily, then straightens his face. “You’re a sick fuck.” He sneers.

  I point the barrel of the gun at his chest.

  “What are you waiting for, pussy?”

  I pull the trigger.

  Click.

  I’m out of bullets.

  Searing pain stabs through my calf.

  I fall to the ground, the butt of a knife handle sticking out of my leg. He moved so quickly I didn’t even notice that he had a knife.

  Wade scrambles for his gun, leaning on the elbow above his destroyed hand.

  “Dumbass.”

  He clutches it.

  I reach behind me and draw Lindsay’s gun.

  I fire.

  Wade falls to the ground. A red hole above his left eye fills with blood, his wide eyes and gaping mouth permanently etched on his face.

  I crawl to Lindsay, grab her cold body, and pull it onto my lap.

  Tears flood down my face.

  “I’m so, so sorry.” The words are nothing more than a creaky whisper.

  I couldn’t save her.

  I failed her.

  She hated Wade so much she wanted to kill him.

  And he ended up killing her.

  I hold Lindsay tight and weep as if my tears will bring her back to life.

  Every negative emotion imaginable shakes me to my foundation. Guilt rises above me like a dark cloud. I know it will never leave me.

  20

  “I know you blame yourself,” Ron says. Lindsay’s brother-in-law sets a water bottle on the kitchen table in front of me. “But Lindsay is…gone because of Wade Linford. Not you.”