The Dark Roads (7 page)

"Can't look for long enough to spot the pricks. They must have an armory up there to be shooting like this."

"Yeah," Buddy said, "What ever happened to conservation?"

"You see Elvis anywhere?"

"Was going to ask you the same thing."

They looked at each other for a long minute, neither of them wanting to think that Elvis had been caught off guard. They said nothing of the sort, choosing instead to figure out a next move.

"Try to flank them or run like hell?" Buddy asked.

"If we run it'll take too long."

"Yeah, but if we flank we might get dead quicker."

As if Buddy had told their assailant the same thing, more bullets came at them. It seemed that whoever was up ahead had an infinite supply and was intent on target practice.

"I think it's only one guy," Buddy said.

"Why?"

"Because if there's more than one of them we're fucked. Flank him."

Richie nodded. As soon as the shooting stopped again both he and Buddy stood and bolted for the outer lanes of the road. They stayed low enough so as not to be easy targets, but were both moving too fast to be completely safe.

When the gun started up again, they didn't dive for cover. Richie heard it, but didn't hear impacts near where he was, so decided that Buddy had been right. There must've been only one person shooting, or only one gun working. He risked standing up to his full height to see where the source of all the noise was standing.

He
did
catch sight of the person with the rifle, noted his general area, and ran for it. The rifle went silent just as Richie was coming within range of the man and he took advantage of the situation.

Richie pointed the miniature shotgun at the guy and almost yelled for him to stop what he was doing and put the weapon down. He immediately thought better of it and fired both barrels.

Flames licked out of the front of his weapon, lighting up the night for a moment, and the man who'd been trying to replace his ammunition clip and throw the rifle bolt, fell hard to the ground.

Buddy ran up to the other side of him, aimed, and put two more shots into the guy for good measure. Their eyes met for a second, both knowing that their actions had been the only chance at survival, and they nodded to each other. Job well done.

More gunfire erupted behind them and they turned, both hoping that there wasn't someone else with a long range rifle targeting them. Three more shots sounded, but no impact noises were evident near them.

"Elvis," Buddy said, turning to run.

Richie followed, cracking open the breech of his weapon and reloading as he went.

***

Elvis had been thinking clearer than either Buddy or Richie. All they'd been able to focus on was getting past the turn and had panicked for the first few moments of the attack. Elvis had no trouble understanding what was going on, though he couldn't have been sure that he was right without checking.

His intuition, though simple, had always been trustworthy. When Richie and Buddy started running toward the man in front of him Elvis had reversed toward their supplies. When he got back to their starting point it was just in time to see their packs being stolen.

A young girl, probably in her early teens, and a boy of about the same age as Elvis were doing their best to pull the supply packs from the underside of the car where they'd been left. The only thing that had slowed them down enough for Elvis to catch up was the band on his slingshot.

He'd stowed the thing in a side pocket on his own pack and somehow the rubber sling had bound up on the bottom of the car. He almost laughed at his good fortune.

"Wait!" he yelled, “Leave that alone!"

They couldn't have heard him over the gunfire, but he yelled twice more as he aimed his revolver. On the third yell he must've been louder, because they both turned their heads toward him.

Behind him, the roar of the coach gun canceled out all of the other noise. He knew that Richie had probably gotten to the person who'd been shooting their way. He wouldn't have fired if he could miss. Elvis knew that.

He held his aim on the two thieves, walking toward them, and remembered what all of the TV show cops usually said. He didn't want to shoot these two. They didn't look like bad guys to him, so he wanted to let them go if he could.

He wasn't above killing them, not even Elvis could pretend to be so innocent in these times, but that didn't mean that he would like it.

"Hands up," he told them, thankful that the noise had stopped and that he didn't have to yell, "And step away from the backpacks. Don't make me shoot you."

They did as he'd said without hesitation. These strangers had noticed the silence and had an idea that they wouldn't be getting any help from the man at the curve. It wasn't their plan to hurt anyone. All that they could do was hope no one would harm them.

These were the thoughts that Elvis imagined that they were having. He couldn't have known what they were thinking at all. When a stream of sweat filled his left eye and he raised his left hand to wipe it away, all hell broke loose.

The girl was the first to jump at him and the first to be shot. Elvis hit her twice in the chest before she could get to him, but didn't wait to see her fall before targeting the boy who'd been with her.

Elvis took aim as the boy tried to hide behind the open car door of the Buick and fired three times at the skin of it. The boy fell without ceremony. There weren't any last words from either of them. They were just dead now.

"Why'd you make me?" Elvis asked the dead boy, before turning back to the girl who was very close to dead, "Why'd you make me shoot? All you had to do was listen!"

Elvis abruptly emptied his gun into the girl, ending her life before she could answer him. He threw the revolver to the ground, tears dribbling down his cheeks, and walked over to the boy he'd killed.

"Stupid fucker!" he shouted, kicking the body hard in the ribs over and over, "Stupid fuckin' asshole!"

When Richie and Buddy arrived, he was still kicking the dead thing, screaming at it as if the boy was still able to learn something. Great streams of saliva and snot were running down Elvis' face as he raged at this person who'd made him do something he didn't want to do.

His friends turned away, both to leave him to the task of getting his anger out and to cover their backs in case the noise alerted anyone else to their presence. Richie looked at his watch and then up at Buddy.

"He's going to need to hurry this up," Richie whispered, "Two hours."

"Let him go. We'll make it," Buddy said, his eyes wet and shining in the dark, "You can't always hold it in, so let him go."

***

They spent the day in a den of ghosts.

The house they came to after leaving the newly dead group to rot on the road behind them had obviously been the place where those people had been living. There wasn't any food, which was probably why Richie and his friends were accosted, but there was water and the blankets they'd been using for beds. Buddy and Richie drank the water, but Elvis refused.

They kicked the dead's sleeping garments into a corner and spread out their own. They slept in shifts, as they'd been doing more often than not before their little vacation in the Walmart basement, and both of Elvis' friends knew that he wasn't sleeping well. He asked to take the second watch for them, admitting that he wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

"I don't like bein' stared at," Elvis told them.

"We aren't staring at you, kid," Buddy assured him, "It's too dark to see you, anyway."

"Not you guys," Elvis said and would say no more.

Richie was pretty sure that he knew what his friend meant and accepted it. He and Buddy laid down and dozed, but didn't truly sleep. The temperature wasn't any worse than it had been in any other basement, but it was stifling in a very different rite.

Later, when Buddy and Richie talked about the place, they both agreed that it felt haunted. They'd all killed at some point, but none of them had really accepted it as a normal turn of behavior.

When night fell and they'd given the outside world enough time to cool off, they left, clearing the entrance in the same way they'd grown accustomed to.

The only difference was Elvis' weapon. Buddy had picked up his revolver from the road, but Elvis told him to keep it. He wanted nothing to do with it. Instead, he'd retrieved the rifle, one Richie thought might be an M14, along with ammo for it from beside the dead rifleman. He aimed it along the length of the road, nodded, and slipped the shoulder strap onto his arm. He would use this from now on.

"It's better anyway," Elvis said, "Don't gotta be so close."

His friends nodded their agreement.

Basin, MT

February 19, 2021

4:32 AM  95*F

Richie's stomach was tight with worry. They'd been walking for most of the night without seeing any sign of former civilization other than service stations speckling the roadside. No houses or factories meant no basements and no way to get underground.

There was no going backward, as the last place they'd seen was near the place they'd started their night. Elvis was silent. Buddy was searching the road as if his head was on a swivel. None of them had any solid ideas to pose in the event that they might not find shelter. At this point they were looking at a very possible end to their trip and it wasn't likely to be a pleasant one.

"Gas station up ahead," Buddy declared angrily, "We haven't seen a basement on one of these things since fucking Missouri."

"We'll check it," Richie said, "How far do you think it is?"

"A mile. Maybe two."

"Shit," Richie cursed, looking at his watch for the umpteenth time in the last hour, "Let's make it closer."

They picked up their pace, nearly jogging toward the lone building in the distance. They were all breathing hard, but Elvis was the loudest. He hadn't complained, hadn't started praying to the God of men who don't have shelter, hadn't said a damned thing over the last few hours.

Richie was becoming frustrated with his silence. He'd been quieter since their altercation in Livingston, and Richie understood that without a doubt, but he was close to screaming at the guy for some reason. Maybe it was just the stress.
Maybe? Of course it's the fucking stress! You're dragging ass and tired of helping
them
drag ass, too!
his mind screamed.

Richie slowed a step or two, shaking his head to quiet the anger in his thoughts. It wasn't like him to be enraged with anyone in the type of shape they were in, especially when it came to Elvis.

Who could be frustrated with a person for
not
complaining? He knew that he had to get a grip on his emotions. He picked the steps back up and ignored the oddity for the moment.

"It's got a restaurant attached," Buddy said breathlessly.

"Maybe a storeroom under?" Richie hoped.

"Fuck! Maybe."

Buddy's pace didn't flag, but Richie could see how tired he was.
Pick it up! For God's sake, man up and run!
he shouted silently at his friend.

He closed his eyes to fight the thoughts back again. Now it was Buddy who had drawn his quiet rage. What in the world could be pushing him to such emotional outbursts? He tried to breathe deeply, but it was nearly impossible when he couldn't even get air into his lungs.

Hurry!

The station was drawing nearer and they would be there in the next few minutes. Richie looked to the face of his watch again, hoping that he wouldn't trip and fall due to the lack of attention on the road and saw that ten minutes had passed. They were close, sure, but this was where they would
have
to stay for the night. They couldn't possibly have time enough to get anywhere else.

***

Basin, MT

February 19, 2021

4:56 AM  99*F

The fueling station, a truck stop with a fast food restaurant attached, was deserted. They knew that almost without clearing the place.

All of the windows had been shattered and there were food stuffs everywhere spoiling on the shelves. The carcass of a dog greeted them within a few feet of the front entrance. The place wasn't huge, but it wasn't one of the tiny gas and go places that they'd been seeing throughout the night. Elvis and Richie walked the aisles of the place, quickly, to make sure they were alone.

"Running out of time," Richie whispered as he searched for a door that would lead to their salvation.

"Shit!" Buddy shouted, "No basement."

"Okay," Richie said, trying to keep some kind of self-control, "What else?"

"What else? What the fuck do you mean? We're dead! Didn't you hear me? No fucking basement!"

"I know what isn't here, Buddy," Richie admitted, surprised by his calm tone of voice despite the roiling acid in his stomach, "We need to know what else is here. Is there a store room?"

"Fuck," Buddy said in answer before nodding and turning to the opposite end of the convenience area, "I'll look."

"Elvis?" Richie beckoned.

"Yeah?"

"Check behind the counter at the fast food place. See if there's anywhere back there to go. We need a room with no windows."

Elvis nodded and sprinted away. Richie looked around the area, carefully, thinking and not wanting to miss anything.

What did he know about these places? Gas stations? Not a thing, really. Restaurants? He nodded to himself. He'd dated a girl in high school that part-timed at some fucking place that spit out burgers for money. What had she always talked about?

"Think, damn you," he whispered, "Think."

***

Basin, MT

February 19, 2021

5:04 AM  108*F

A freezer!
Richie's mind exclaimed as he felt the temperature rising.

"Elvis!" he yelled, "Look for a freezer!"

Richie ran toward the counter where god knew how many meals had been handed off, grabbing Buddy's attention along the way. His friend followed him to the back of the kitchen area where Elvis stood staring at a large stainless steel door.

He looked as if his entire world had crumbled and Richie was very close to turning him around for a slap. The heat was coming. They all knew it, so why wasn't Elvis doing anything?

"Open it!" Richie told him loudly, "That's where we need to be."

"It's locked, Richie," Elvis said as he turned, tears starting to stream down his cheeks.

Richie grabbed the door latch, pulled, felt no give in the door, and pulled harder. Nothing. His mind raced, wondering what could possibly keep the door closed. He yanked again on the handle with the same result. Buddy took his own turn before stepping back.

The three of them stood for a moment, gawking at the only chance they had, Elvis crying without making much noise. Richie's mind raced along the tracks of his memory, pondering any conversation he'd had with that long ago girl that might just save their lives from the past. What in the fuck had she ever said about freezer doors in a restaurant?

"Oh fuck me," Richie said with a grin as he reached forward to a spot opposite the door handle and pulled a latch outward. The door swung open quietly.

The stench of the walk-in freezer was strong and immediate. All of them stepped back, wishing that the smell hadn't been sealed in for however long it had waited for them.

***

Basin, MT

February 19, 2021

5:13 AM  124*F

"Jesus," Richie spoke, the crook of his arm covering his mouth and nose, "We gotta get in."

"I think I'll just die," Buddy said.

"I'm with Buddy," Elvis proclaimed before turning away from them. The wet spatter sound of vomiting filled the room.

"Suck it up," Richie said, "We can get most of it out, but we don't have a lot of time here."

"Can we even survive in there? Is it going to get too hot?"

"I don't know, man," Richie admitted, "But we need to give it a shot. It's our last chance."

Elvis nodded. He'd turned back to them and was staring into the room with a disgusted look on his face. Richie took Elvis' sweaty bandana and wrapped it around his friend’s face. Elvis breathed deeply and nodded to Richie thankfully. It wasn't great, but it was better.

Richie repeated the action with his own bandana, not able to suck in nearly as much breath. For once he wished that he sweated as much as the King. Buddy took a shirt from his pack, wrapped it around his face and looked to his friends. He gestured to them and then to the room in which they'd have to stay for the night.

They didn't have time to empty anything out. The temperature was rising much faster than any of them had expected. They would have to exist with the smell of badly rotten food for the day.

"Shit," Richie said as he walked into the stench of rot and decay. His friends followed.

***

Compared to the temperature of the outside world, the walk-in was cool at just over one-hundred-twelve degrees, but the day was uncomfortable to say the least. They didn't sleep for more than a few minutes at a time and even during those few precious minutes, no one slept deeply.

The heat was bad, but the smell was much worse than anything they'd had to deal with before. Outside, where the sun was able to strike and bleach the aroma of death away, nothing was that offensive. In this well-insulated room, however, the qualities of decay had been held in wait.

Buddy and Richie tried as many ways to distract themselves as was possible. Elvis seemed not only to deal with it, but was a rock compared to the other two. He got more rest than his companions and was obviously better suited for the experience.

When Buddy asked how this could be, Elvis simply shrugged and told him that he should've thrown up before they walked in. Richie could say nothing in return while Buddy shook his head in amazement.

"It's frigging hot!" Buddy shouted at one point.

"Not as hot as it is out there," Richie contended, "We got lucky this time."

"You ain't lyin'," Elvis added.

Both Buddy and Richie looked his way with more head shaking for Elvis. They were always surprised when he spoke in certain ways. This was one of them.

The day lasted an eternity. They'd come close to not finding shelter before, but had always lucked out at what they believed was the last minute. This was a lesson that it could be cut much closer, time slivering away as if sliced with a hot wire, but they might not be so lucky the next time.

The problem with learning that type of lesson was that they might not have a choice in how they learned, much as they hadn't had an option this time. They could try staying in one spot for extended periods of time, but that could prove even more hazardous.

North was the only way to go. Stopping would mean a death doled out by the lack of forward motion and none of them was willing to accept that fate.

A lesson that they
could
take and make use of was that there was an alternative to the basements and store rooms of the world. Though that option might not be very attractive.

When darkness came, they walked on, grateful for their lives and the chance to keep moving.