Cost of Survival

by B.R. Paulson

  Chapter 13

  Mom backed up to the doorway.

  “Wait. We can’t leave him like that. He’s barely injured.” I searched the dresser drawers. He had to have something I could use to immobilize him better. The third drawer down had an overabundance of duct tape and scissors. The details for such a large amount of tools were better left unknown. I yanked a full roll out and tore at the end.

  Wrapping the silver tape around him and the chair, I did several passes around his torso, arms, and down around his legs to encompass the chair legs and back. I pulled his hand down from the wound and taped his hand down by his side.

  He whimpered. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

  “You shouldn’t have gotten shot, if you were worried about bleeding.” I shrugged, ripping off the tape and patting the end in place. Stepping back, I admired my handiwork. “I could put more on his shoulders.”

  “That’s good, Kelly. Come on.” Mom checked out the door, holding the gun on me and Charlie.

  Charlie’s face paled. He shot a glance between Mom and I. “You’re not going to leave me like this, are you?”

  “Nope.” I ripped off one more piece of wide tape and flattened the strip securely over his mouth. He turned his face but not before I had the external gag where I wanted. “I’m leaving you like that. You should’ve left my mom alone.” I tossed the almost-gone tape roll on the desk and grabbed two more on our way out. Shutting the door to his room, we slowed our movements.

  Who would be in the house at that time of day? We hadn’t been in the camp long enough to get a solid idea of the schedule. The camp hadn’t even been active long enough to sufficiently establish a set pattern either, but Charlie liked control. For him to establish certain times when “visiting” the main house was okay and not okay would not be out of character.

  Halfway down the hall, we paused, trying to catch our racing nerves. My heart could’ve bumped right out of my chest. Mom shoved her hand against my stomach, looking forward.

  Footsteps thundered up the deck stairs. The front door slammed open.

  Mom jerked her head side to side, searching. I held my breath. What if we were caught? Fear shot through me. Mom and I would be separated. I might never see her again.

  She pulled us forward, pushing open the first door to the right and shoving me inside. She followed, softly closing the door.

  A different version of fear welled within me. I didn’t want to turn around. I’d seen inside that room before. The buzz of the flies and the coppery scent of spilled blood would’ve been enough to warn me off. An all-new stench threatened me with stomach-curling acidity. Wrinkling my nose, I pressed my upper lip toward my nostrils but that didn’t help.

  Eyes watering, Mom looked over my shoulder. She closed her eyes. “Of course.” She sighed and leaned her head against the wall. Pinching her nose and breathing through her mouth, she murmured. “I would pick this room.”

  Stomping from outside the door made us freeze. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over my body, even my toes felt damp. I reached for my mom’s hand and squeezed her fingers when we connected.

  She looked at me, offering a soft smile and nodding.

  A shout from Charlie’s room jerked us straighter under the weight of our bags. My shoulders ached from the continuous tension or the scent of death eating away at my body. Oh my word, I would’ve rather been caged with a skunk.

  Waiting, wondering what was happening on the other side of the door, didn’t make me more confident about our plan. The burns on my forearms itched and I loosely scratched at them.

  Mom knocked my hand away. She hated when I did that to any scab or other wound, something about causing an infection. She held her finger to her lips.

  She closed her eyes, mouth moving enough to suggest she prayed. I too closed my eyes and asked – somebody, anybody – to keep us safe.

  Charlie’s bellows joined the voices of the men who rescued him. “They’re trying to steal from us. Get them.” Great, branded as thieves, we would never get out alive, if not safe and sound – if people saw us anyway.

  The men stormed down the hall toward the front door. I hadn’t released Mom’s hand and clung as they passed. We breathed a little easier when the thunderous band slammed the front door.

  A boot fall from the direction of Charlie’s room cooled our relief. A door on the opposite side of the hallway opened carefully and closed after a drawn out forty-five seconds or so. The next door was treated the same way.

  Then the door next to us.

  Our eyes met and Mom pointed toward the corner behind the door. We tiptoed as well as we could with the heavy packs on our backs and squished against the wall, tucked in like sardines. Mom lifted the barrel of the gun to run parallel with her face and directed toward the ceiling.

  I sucked in my stomach. Hmm, to make myself skinnier and try to help me hide better? As ineffective as it was. At least the action decreased my inadequacy because I was doing something.

  The door handle turned right in front of us – like a horrible movie from long ago. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

  We stopped moving, not even blinking. Solid walls behind me and to the side of me added to the claustrophobia of the moment and I panted, the barest amount with hardly any sound.

  Opening, the panel stopped an inch from our faces, completely blocking us from view of anyone in the room. The man grunted and shut the door, probably deterred from his search by the stench of the rotting corpse.

  Yeah, buddy, I couldn’t agree more.

  His footsteps moved further down the hall but the front door didn’t open or close.

  Mom’s whisper barely carried across the space separating us. “We’re going to go out the window. I’m not sure he’s gone.” She moved to the window and pushed at the double-glass vinyl pane, lifting it soundlessly from its setting.

  Sticking her head out the hole, she turned left and right, taking in the surroundings. Fortunately, this side of the house also faced a viewless scene of fence, dirt, and grass with trees in the background. She didn’t come back inside, but rather climbed over the low windowsill.

  Crouching outside the opening, she motioned me forward. The encouragement wasn’t necessary. I couldn’t be more anxious to escape that odorous hellhole. The fresh breeze from the window provided too sweet a possible escape.

  I fell through, landing on the veranda with an oomph.

  Mom reached for me, but not to help. She covered my mouth with her hand and shook her head. Eyes searching around us, she barely moved as she took in our surroundings. She shifted her hand from my lips to under my arm and pulled me up.

  Shouting carried from the front of the house and we backed against the log siding. I tried slowing my inhales and exhales.

  “What are we going to do?” My chest tightened as I whispered and I struggled against the fear every yell flooded through me.

  Mom didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed me toward the back of the house, away from noises. The dark covered us enough even if someone had looked down the veranda, they probably would’ve only seen shadows. Hopefully, anyway.

  We pushed outward toward the fence, holding close to the solid line as we ran the perimeter. How could the men not see us? When I gathered enough courage to check for pursuers or someone who might spot us, I couldn’t find anyone. The only person in view was Mom.

  We passed the latrine, the dining area, and suddenly Mom stopped the frantic half-crouch-run we’d both fallen into. I grabbed her backpack as I slowed to avoid crashing headlong into her.

  She peeked around the corner of the back exit. The gate had been left open a few inches. A memory of our dead dog decided to resurface and I grimaced. Open gates didn’t have a good history with me.

  From our new vantage point, the entrance to the compound – the way we entered anyway before – received more attention than where we were. Men milled about while a generator-powered set of flood lights lit up the clearing. Our position fell about eight feet outsi
de the sea of light.

  “Psst. Megan, over here.” Jeanine’s frantic whisper reached us from the woods.

  Mom pushed the door open enough we could slip out and she all but shoved me through. Closing the gate carefully behind us, she continued pushing at me like I wasn’t moving fast enough, even as we sprinted across the dirt path between the fence and the forest line.

  As we reached her, Jeanine clutched Mom’s hands, pulling her into a short embrace. “I didn’t think you guys were coming.”

  Mom shook her head. “We got caught up in the house. I shot Charlie.”

  Jaw dropping, Jeanine stared at Mom. “What? Is he dead? The bastard.”

  “No, but the shot drew attention to us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they chase after us, now.” Mom ducked further into the woods. “Come on, we need to get those rifles.”

  I forgot about the guns.

  Like on autopilot I followed Mom and Jeanine deeper into the darkness, deeper into the clutching branches and roots trying to trip us. The two women slowed down the further we went.

  “We’re almost there, let’s rest here for a second. Kelly, you okay?” Mom bent at the waist, her pack riding up her back until she stood again. “Jeanine, you good?”

  “I’m sore, but I’ll be fine.” Jeanine’s expression hid in the shadows, but her increasing limp could be seen even without light.

  We fell silent, taking another moment to reclaim our bearings.

  The snap of a twig sent my heart to racing again. Mom and Jeanine glanced at each other. Mom lowered her voice to a whisper. “We need to go.”

  How? Did we run and give the people chasing us a direction? Or did we walk as quietly as possible and hope we moved fast enough to evade whoever followed us in the woods?

  We broke into a run and the clouds parted. Moonlight revealed our route like a flip had been switched. My pack bounced into my upper hips and lower back with each step. At least my tightly bound chest benefited me more than bugged me.

  We came upon the clearing quickly, passing through to the other side where Mom and I had first spotted Jeanine. Out of the clearing, Jeanine and I stood guard along the edge while Mom searched for the guns left behind. The ones we stole from Shane and his injured friend what felt like eons ago but was only days.

  Days.

  The world had ended days ago and the craziness I jumped into with my mother got worse by the minute.

  Jeanine slapped my arm and pointed into the clearing. A man, a guard I recognized from breakfast, stepped into the open. His eyes hidden by the hulking mass of his eyebrows, he searched for us. Who else would he be looking for?

  A shout from behind him pulled his attention and he turned.

  Jeanine raised her hand, a pistol in her fingers. She aimed and pulled the trigger.

  Everything happened too fast for me to do anything but react. I dropped to the ground, certain a huge gun fight would zing bullets around me any moment.

  The man fell to the ground, his own gun flashing in the white moonlight. The crack of the second shot mingled with the first as the sound faded into silence.

  All hell broke loose as men shouting and yelling surrounded our position.

  “Over here. They must be this way. Come on.”

  “Get the girls. Don’t kill them.”

  “Those stupid women. We’re going to get you!”

  I Army-crawled backwards toward Mom. Whispering, I nudged Jeanine’s foot. “Come on, get down.”

  She held her stance, gun in front of her, ready to blaze away. “Find your mom and get out of here. I’ll hold them off.”

  I stood because I wasn’t getting anywhere on my stupid stomach and my pack threatened to suffocate me, pressing on my chest in the dirt.

  Mom was only a few feet back, slinging the rifles to her shoulders. “Jeanine, this way.” Her whisper must have carried to the woman because Jeanine turned and ran after us in her limping cadence. Mom led us through a thick tangle of brush which was surprisingly quiet compared to the way we came in.

  We could make it to the road— maybe. Did we want to, though? Even a non-strategist like myself understood watching the road would be a simple task for the men.

  Either way, I didn’t care. I wanted out of those woods. Out of the game.

  Who said survival was important anyway?