The F*cked Series (Book 3): Mean

by Gleason, R. K.

  She spends the next few minutes explaining her plan to the rest of the family, which didn’t include killing anybody. They all agreed we’d need to go in armed. That was going to be the new reality for the time being. We wouldn’t be going anywhere unarmed. Period. No exceptions. Once again, using movies and books as reference points, and their total lack of faith in mankind. They’d so easily slipped into a serious discussion about taking what they needed by force, killing for it if they had to. It might even be a family like theirs, running for safety.

  But Dave liked Pam’s plan a whole lot more. If this fuck-fest didn’t end soon, he thought, society was doomed, and he and Pam knew it. He wondered if the President would just put up a wall around the entire state. Maybe the eastern half of the country. It wouldn’t be long before everything went all Mad Max, with roving bands of marauders. Half of them would be sporting some multicolored mohawks and decked out in leather wear. He and Pam always laughed when they tried to figure out where all of them shopped for their outfits. They’d never seen a retail outlet that was a cross between a BDSM shop and a big-box hardware store. They’d decided they got them off the internet beforehand. They reasoned you just couldn’t get some of that shit at the last minute. Take those cool, wrist-mounted mini-crossbows, for example. That shit had to be custom.

  “Is everyone seeing this on our left?” Mike asks over the radio.

  He, Lynn, and Ben had taken the lead in their little convoy several miles back. Zack, Brigette, and their boys were positioned in the middle of the line with Dave, Pam, a shivering Joe, and Dakota bringing up the rear.

  Dave’s full attention was dragged back to the road as his eyes tracked a coil of black smoke and traced it back to its source. Off to his left, a building was on fire. As they got closer, Dave could see the Harley-Davidson dealership burning out of control, flames licking at the roof. On the other side of the parking lot from the blaze was a large strip mall. Dave immediately spotted the Lowe’s sitting on the end, and the dozen cars and pickups in front of it. He couldn’t tell if the vehicles were running or not, but he could see people shuttling armloads of looted merchandise out of the shattered, glass-front and loading them into the vehicles. One of the cars peeled away from the others, cutting across the parking spots and headed for the sporting goods store. Dave figured it’d been previously looted because it was already missing its large, plate-glass windows in front. He bet all the guns and ammo had already been scavenged. One of the pickups had followed the car, but when it stopped at Dick’s, the pickup kept going. A man was standing in the bed of the moving truck and it looked like he might be holding a rifle over his head as he thrust his arms skyward. The pickup made a beeline to a large shop with a billboard above it that said, Adult Super-Store. When it lurched to a stop, the celebrating guy in the back was pitched off balance. His knees caught the side of the truck bed and the momentum flipped him out onto the asphalt, landing on his face. He carried his gun with him for the short flight, but when he landed, the rifle was slammed from his grip by the ground and went off. It sent a bullet through the window of the fucker-ware shop, causing the glass to instantly cloud into a fine spiderweb, and possibly killing a scantily clad mannequin.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Dave muttered, amazed how these yokels had located their pillaging unicorn for all their Road Warrior needs, in one easy location. Had they been planning for this? Was looting this strip mall to stock up on leather garb, hand tools, sports equipment, and dildos, been their Plan A for the apocalypse?

  Along with a replacement vehicle, shelter, and due to the absence of their cell phones, roadmaps. Dave and his family were going to need to find a few more guns and a lot more ammo. He considered adding some looting without the need to burn shit to the ground to their own Plan A.

  “Fucking dumbasses,” Pam said as they crossed the intersection that connected the mall parking lot to the four-lane road they were on. He didn’t know if she was referring to the face-planter or his companions, but it was most likely both. Whatever the reason, it was as if some of the mall pirates had heard her derogatory comment and had taken offense at the slight. The A guys snapped their heads up and around, like dogs hearing a snack wrapper being rustled, and exchanged a few shouts and hand gestures before sprinting to two of the flashier cars and jumping in. Dave decided the vehicles must have sat idling because before they’d slammed the doors, the muscle cars were moving across the parking lot, racing to the entrance of the road in a spray of gravel and clouds of dust and burning rubber from their tires. All the windows on both cars were deeply tinted, even the windshield which Dave was pretty sure was against traffic safety laws. It also made it impossible to tell how many people were in the cars, although both the running men got into the driver’s seats before setting off on the chase.

  “Shit! See what you did!” Dave blurted, grimacing into the side-mirror and blindly grabbing for the walkie-talkie in Pam’s lap.

  “What?” Pam asked, slapping his hand away as she turned in her seat to look back through the rear window, along with Joe and Dakota. “That wasn’t me,” she added defensively.

  “They’re following us!” Joe said.

  “I can see that,” Dave replied, pressing down on the accelerator as Pam thumbed the button on the radio.

  “We’ve got a situation back here,” she shouted over the rushing wind from the missing window.

  “What’s going on?” Mike asked. He’d been able to pass the group without drawing their attention and was now well out of view from the scene.

  “We’ve got some of those assholes from the mall following us,” Pam answered.

  “Bullshit! They’re definitely chasing us,” Dave yelled over the roaring wind. He pressed the gas pedal a little harder, but the two muscle cars halved the distance between them. Through his mirror, he saw another guy on a motorcycle fly out of the mall parking lot to join the chase. He nearly laid the bike down on its side tearing across the pavement to take the sharp left turn at a high velocity. The rider tucked lower, hunching his shoulders down and laying his chest and belly over the bike’s gas tank as he jerked the throttle and the front wheel lifted from the road. The bike’s engine screamed as the rider rocketed to catch up with his cohorts.

  “We saw them, but they didn’t seem to care about us. Over,” Brigette said.

  “How many are there?” Mike asked.

  “Two cars with something massive under their hoods. There’s at least one guy in each,” Pam answered.

  “One plus the driver or one meaning the driver?” Mike asks.

  “One, meaning the driver,” Pam clarifies.

  “I, for one, am relieved the cars aren’t driving by themselves,” Mike says, making no attempt to cover the mocking amusement in his voice.

  “You see,” Pam says to Dave after releasing the talk button. “This is what it was like growing up with him,” she explains before pressing the button again to continue the discussion. “Me too, Mike. And there’s some crazy son of a bitch on a crotch-rocket jumping in on the fun, too,” Pam replies.

  “We don’t see them behind you. Over,” Brigette says.

  “They’re a ways back but they’re closing ground fast,” Pam replies.

  “Let me get turned around and come back,” Mike says.

  “Same here. We’ll slow down so you can catch up. Then let’s see how bold they are. Over,” Brigette said.

  “Wait!” Dave shouts. Pam works the button on the small radio for him so Dave could keep both hands on the wheel. “Don’t turn around! Hold off! I don’t see anyone behind the dipshit on the bike, so let’s try to put some more distance between us and the rest of the pack. Maybe they’ll just get tired of the chase and turn back.”

  “Or maybe the rest of them will get bored, decide they’re missing out and join the chase,” Mike says.

  “Mike, I’m not certain they even noticed either of you drive past. Maybe Zack, but I doubt you guys, so you and Zack keep going. We’re not going to outrun these fuckers b
ut I’m damn sure not pulling over for them, either!” Dave said, glancing at his speedometer to see he was creeping up on eighty-five miles an hour. “Like I said, maybe they’ll decide we’re not worth the hassle and give up. It could happen. If not, and we need you all to come back to save our asses, maybe you can at least be a surprise for them.”

  “Stay on the radio,” Mike said.

  “Understood,” Brigette said. “And Zack says you’re being stupid. Over.”

  “He’s probably right,” Dave said to Pam as Zack’s car began to pull away.

  A moment later, the two, shiny muscle cars settled in about fifty yards behind them. Their engines purred loudly as they matched their speed even though they could’ve easily overtaken them. It only took a second for Dave to figure out they were giving the guy on the bike a chance to catch up without him having to work too hard for it. In a few seconds, the motorcycle was between the two cars, its front tire rolling over the white line separating the two westbound lanes.

  In accordance with the Ohio Department of Transportation laws, the guy on the bike wasn’t required to wear a helmet. To Dave, it looked like the guy had adhered to that policy and had suffered the worst from a few accidents because of it. The biker’s long hair didn’t flow behind him like a gorgeous blonde mane being blown by the kisses of angels. Instead, it looked like the tattered ribbons of a sun-bleached pirate’s flag being shredded by the buffeting winds of the high seas. His greasy locks practically writhed and whipped in the wind. His eyes were hidden behind dark shades and the grimace on his face looked like it’d been chiseled there from years of wind-torn miles on the road. The clothes he wore were of the expected leather and denim varieties. Riding gloves covered his hands and Dave could see the index finger had been removed from both gloves. He hoped this was to make it easier to handle keys rather than pulling a trigger. His feet were covered by heavy, buckle-style boots that came to mid-calf. The rest of the man’s clothes, like his hair, whipped around behind him, adding to the malevolent look that sent a chill up Dave’s spine when he eased between the two cars doing nearly ninety and heading due west.

  A median, about thirty feet across, separated them from the eastbound lanes. Both were posted at forty-five miles an hour and Dave was doing almost double that. He eased off the accelerator, dropping back to seventy-five miles an hour, allowing Zack and family some more distance. It only took a few seconds for the two cars and bike to match their speed again. Dave could see the car windows closest to the biker were rolled down and words were being exchanged between the vehicles.

  Without warning, the guy on the motorcycle leaned forward and gunned the throttle, bringing the front tire off the ground a few inches as he shot forward, aiming himself to come up along Dave’s Nissan. When he reached even with the taillights, the biker eased back on the gas and veered to the far side of the two lanes, keeping as much distance between himself and the Rogue as possible. Adjusting his speed to theirs, he slowly accelerated and scowled as he scanned the contents and occupants of the car. Moving forward, the biker studied Dave as he drove, his eyes burning holes into him through the window. Then his attention shifted, and his lips curled into a sneer when he saw Pam. She sneered back, flipping him the bird with a defiant scowl. Dave jerked the wheel to the side, forcing the guy to hit his brakes and get behind them. He slowed further, sliding back into position between the two suped-up cars.

  “You’re not going to let me regret that, right?” Pam asked Dave.

  “That guy looks mean,” Dakota says.

  “And sort of pissed off when you swerved at him,” Joe agreed.

  “He pulls that shit again,” Dave replies. “We’re going to see if the asshole can fly.”

  “What’s going on back there?” Mike asks, his voice crackling through the walkie-talkie. “Where are you guys?”

  “Just passing mile marker 174,” Pam replies.

  “We’re coming up on 165 and I can see Zack and Brigette in the mirror,” Mike says.

  “We see you too, Mike. Dave, what’s the plan? Over.” Brigette asks.

  “I don’t think they’re going to just give up,” Pam answers.

  “Me either,” Dave agrees.

  “They’re talking about something, and the guy on the bike looks pissed!” Joe shouts over the air rushing in the missing window. Behind them, the two cars and motorcycle follow them, moving in formation with the bike still in the middle. The greasy-haired man on the bike was turning his head from left to right, shouting instructions to the drivers.

  “Keep watching them,” Dave says, fighting the urge to stomp on the gas. “Tell them to start looking for a place to pull off,” he tells Pam.

  “And then what?” she asks.

  Dave finishes detailing the rest of his limited plan and Pam relays the message to the others.

  “Get the shotgun,” Dave tells Pam.

  “Are you going to shoot and drive?” she asks, lifting the twelve-gauge.

  “No,” he answers. “But if they try to come up on our right, you’re going to have to.”

  “You know I’ve never shot one of these in real life,” she says. “And what if they come up on the other side, or both at the same time?”

  “Joe’s going to cover the left with his pistol,” Dave replies.

  “Wait! What?” Joe barks.

  “You have to cover this side,” Dave repeats.

  “My hands are so cold I don’t know if I can even squeeze the trigger!” Joe says.

  “Think of something!” Dave shouts back. “When they make their move, you can’t let them get past us! At least not the cars anyway. If they do, they’ll block the road and then we’re fucked. We have to keep them behind us until we get to Mike and the others.”

  “We’re as ready as we’re going to be,” Mike says over the radio, like he’d been listening in to their conversation. “After you pass marker 158, there’s a hill. We’re just on the other side and everyone’s in position. Keep your heads down.”

  “Good thinking,” Pam says setting the walkie-talkie next to her in the seat. “What do I do?” she asks her husband.

  “Hopefully, nothing,” Dave answers. “If everything goes all happy path, those fuckers will just get bored and let us drive away.”

  “Right. But…” Pam says.

  “It’s just like in the video games, baby,” he tells her, taking a quick glance at the speedometer to see the parade they were leading was tooling along at a leisurely seventy miles an hour. “There’s already a shell in the chamber so just switch the safety off. The button is by the trigger guard. Just push it in and the little red circle will show on the other side.”

  “Red means shoot,” Pam says with a touch of nervousness in her tone.

  “Red means shoot, baby,” Dave replies. “Don’t point it at anyone you don’t want to see fucked up.”

  “Or dead,” Joe adds.

  “I pulled the plug out of the ammo tube, so you’ve got six rounds,” Dave continues. “Just remember to pump in a new one after each shot and only shoot out your window. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can shoot out mine or one of the others. All you’ll do is blow my face off. Got it?” Pam nods her understanding to not shoot off Dave’s face, swallows hard and turns to look over her seat and through the back window.

  “Ready?” Dave asks.

  “Here we go,” Pam says into the radio, letting everyone know what was happening.

  Dave pushes the accelerator down and the engine responds, taking their speed to ninety in just a few seconds.

  “Here they come!” Joe shouts over the wind and the surge of growling motors.

  The muscle cars each take a lane, hugging the outside shoulders like they’re going to pass at the same time. Greasy-haired guy remained a safe distance behind the cars, allowing them to take the lead. Pam spins in her seat, hits the button to lower her window and stuffs the business end of the shotgun through the expanding opening. Dave begins veering from side to side, keeping the cars behind
him for the moment. They both fall back a few yards to coordinate another attempt at flanking them. They accelerate again, surging forward and separating enough to give the biker a clear line of sight with the rear of the Nissan. Dave watches them all in the mirror, prepared to jerk the wheel in either direction needed to keep them behind him. The car on Dave’s right moves forward and he cranks the wheel that way, forcing the car to the shoulder before Dave wrenches the wheel the other direction, cutting off the one sneaking up on their left.

  Glancing in his mirror to prepare for the next run alongside them, Dave sees the biker let go of the grip on his left handlebar, reach under his right arm and pull a large pistol from the holster strapped there. Dave thought it might be a revolver but couldn’t be certain.

  “Everybody down!” Dave bellowed, scrunching down in his seat. He didn’t know what the hell the guy was shooting at them, but from the roar of the damned thing when it went off, he knew whatever it was, it was big. The first shot went high, missing them altogether. This appeared to piss the biker off because he immediately took another shot. The gun erupted again and blew out the rear window. Some of the safety glass flew into the car, but with the missing side window and high rate of speed causing the intense wind to fill the car, the sudden change in air pressure blew most of the pebbled glass back at their pursuers.

  “Pam! Watch your side!” Dave yells, seeing her start to bring the barrel around over her seat to shoot back through the vacant, rear window. “Joe! Shoot that fucker if you can!” he shouts, jerking the wheel to the left and clipping that car in the front fender with the rear of the Nissan.

  Joe took two shots at the biker, missing him both times but forcing him to drop back a little farther and behind the cover of the muscle car on the right. The sound was deafening inside the car. Dave started to ask for a warning before anyone started shooting again but stopped when he couldn’t hear the first few syllables coming from his mouth. He knew he was speaking because he could feel the words but had no idea what they sounded like. From the feeling in his throat, he was pretty certain he was yelling, but Pam just looked at him like the RCA dog, her head tipped to one side. She poked the tip of her index finger into her ear and wiggled it furiously, cocked her jaw, trying to get the bubble she felt in her ears to pop, and then repeated the process.