Into The Darkness (20 page)

“What?
Men with red armbands attacked you?”

She
was shocked at the sound of his voice. He sounded like a killer. She knew her
husband would never hurt her, but she unconsciously took a step backward. If
the room was illuminated, she would have seen his narrowed eyes grow bloodshot
and his hands begin to tremble with the adrenalin coursing through his veins.
His breathing became deep and quick. His body was ready for combat.

“It
was after the power was out for quite a while. I didn’t think you were coming
home. A friend lives close by, so I walked to her house hoping we could help
each other get through this. As we were walking back here, those men were looting
the area. They surrounded us. I fought back as hard as I could. An ugly man
with a cratered face told the men to hold me. They called him Cyrus; I think he
was the leader. He had a red bandana on his head, not on his arm. He whispered
into my ear, ‘Don’t fight back so hard. It’s bad for your health,’ and then he
hit me in the stomach. I passed out. By the time I woke up, I had lost a lot of
blood and realized I had lost the baby, too. My friend was gone and I haven’t
seen her since.”

Kevin
felt the rage beginning to erupt from his body. He ripped the red cloth off his
arm and went back to the room Dylan was in. “Dylan! I’m leaving! You don’t have
to come with me. I have something to do and I may not come back…I have to do
it. I’m going to kill them all…every single one of those bastards…they’re all
going to die.”

Dylan
stood up from the chair. “Kevin, I heard what she said. I’m so sorry to hear
that. You’re a good man and don’t deserve what’s happened. Calm down for a
second, and let’s talk about this.” Dylan held his hands up at his chest level
with his palms facing out. He motioned downward with his hands to try to
reinforce his desire for Kevin to calm down.

“Kevin,
please don’t leave—” Kevin pushed his wife away as she tried to hold on to him.
“This is something I have to do. Nobody is going to stop me,” Kevin said, as he
reached for his backpack and angrily thrust the red bandana into it.

“I’m
not going to stop you. I just want you to think about what you are doing,” said
Dylan, in a calm voice. “You don’t have a plan. Don’t be foolish and get
yourself killed.”

Kevin’s
wife stood behind him and gave him a hug. She could feel the tension in his
body. Kevin turned and sternly put his hands on her shoulders. “I will come
back...after I do this.”

Mary
stepped back and then sat in a chair. She leaned forward, put her face in her
hands, and began to cry. “This is my fault…it’s all my fault,” Mary said, weeping.

Kevin
turned to Dylan and said, “I do have a plan. I am going to kill them…all of
them. I know where they are. The men we captured told us they would be in those
Amtrak cars. They won’t be hard to find, and when I find them, I’ll have a
couple of presents for them.” Kevin tapped the backpack to remind Dylan of the
grenades. “The rain is going to keep them inside, so they’ll be easy to find.
I’m leaving now.” Kevin grabbed the backpack and turned toward the door. He
paused by his wife on the way out and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be back when
I’m done. I love you.”

They
heard his footsteps in the hallway fading as he left.

“Damn
it!” said Dylan, as he grabbed his rifle. “I’m sorry about this, Mary. I have
to go with him. I’ll do my best to keep him safe. When we get back, we’ll make
a plan and get out of here.”

With
tear-filled eyes, Mary asked, “Where will we go?”

“With
me, I’ll explain later.”

“Don’t
let him get hurt. Promise me you will not let him get hurt.”

“I
promise. You had better lock the door behind me. I need to run fast and catch
up with him.”

Dylan
picked up the red armband he had thrown down earlier and ran as fast as he
could down the dark hallway. The stench of death was still overwhelming and he
tried to cover his nose with the red cloth to filter the odor. He descended to
the ground floor through the stairwell filled with the horrendous stench, so
thick in the air that its taste filled his mouth, gagging him once more. After
he stepped over the corpse sprawled in the stairwell, he swung his rifle to his
back and made a dash for the doors to the street, still covering his nose with
the bandana. When he stepped through the broken doors, he felt a sharp pain at
the back of his head. Dylan’s world spun around before him. His vision tunneled
and began to slowly fade away as he landed on the concrete sidewalk. He heard
the voices of several men laughing as he lost consciousness.

When
Dylan regained consciousness, he was lying face down on the concrete in front
of the apartment building. A bag covered his head, blocking his vision. He had
no idea how long he had been unconscious. They had bound his wrists behind his
back, but his legs were free. Dylan heard a distant clap of thunder and
remembered that it had been raining. His clothes felt wet, but it was barely
sprinkling now. He tried to get up, groaning from the pain in his head and
wrists, and then he felt a kick to his ribs that knocked him back down.

“Kevin,
are you there?” moaned Dylan.

“Yeah,
they got me too. I screwed up.”

“You
were right. They followed us. Who are they?”

“I
don’t know. I have a bag over my head, but—” Kevin was abruptly cut off by a
deep voice.

“Shut
up or we’ll gag you. Both of you,” said the deep voice. “Alright men, let’s get
out of here. Stand these two pieces of shit up and let’s get going.”

“Who
are you? What are you doing?” asked Dylan.

The
deep voiced man pressed the end of his shotgun against Dylan’s neck and said,
“We can do this the easy way, or we can do this my way. If it was up to me, I’d
let you rot out here, but there are some people that want information out of
you. That’s the only thing keeping you alive right now.”

“We
don’t know anything.”

The
deep voice replied, “That’s what the last guy said…before he died.” Dylan felt
the barrel of the shotgun press harder on his neck. “Both of you get up, and
shut up. We’re moving out now.”

The
men walked blind for several miles toward an unknown destination. Their captors
were silent with the exception of a few whispers, occasionally prodding the
captives with a rifle or shotgun to correct their direction. The only
explanation Dylan could surmise was that the gang with red armbands had connected
them with what they did earlier at the railroad hub, when they met Dorothy and
her son. Was it possible that Dorothy had let the two men go? They could have
gone back to their gang and organized a search party.

Finally,
the familiar deep voice sternly said, “Hold it, we’re here.” They all stopped
walking and the two men were pushed next to each other. They were positioned
shoulder to shoulder, and heard the faint voices of their captors talking to
one another. Then they heard more voices, and the murmur became a growing crowd
of voices.

“Just
shoot them,” was said in the distance.

“We
should hang them,” was yelled from the crowd.

The
captors grabbed the men by their arms and led them away. “We’re going inside.
Start walking.”

As
the crowd grew louder, they forced Dylan and Kevin to walk faster. When they
finally stopped, they heard creaking hinges that indicated that they were going
through a door. The door shut behind them, and seconds later, they could see
the flickering of an electric light filtering through the bags that still
covered their heads. They were shoved into chairs, and their arms and legs were
strapped down.

Dylan
and Kevin were sitting next to each other when the man with a deep voice pulled
the bags off their heads simultaneously. He was a large man with a scar on his
face. A thick scar ran across his left cheek, and appeared to be from a deep
knife wound. His eyes were hollow and absolutely void of emotion.

They
were on a concrete floor in an unfinished room. The studs were visible in the
walls and the construction looked unprofessional and haphazard. Both Dylan and
Kevin stared at the glowing light bulb in amazement. It had been months since
the grid went down, and they had often wondered if they would ever see anything
like that again. It was only a single light bulb, just enough to barely
illuminate the room. There were several wooden chairs, a few cots, and boxes of
medical supplies stacked around the walls.

Dylan
caught himself in a trance, staring at the electric light, and shook his head.
He turned to look at his abductor and asked again, “Who are you?”

“Your
worst nightmare. Don’t piss me off.”

Dylan
turned his head and looked at Kevin. He slowly shook his head with a defeated
look on his face. Kevin nodded his head. When Dylan looked back at where the
man had been standing, he had moved. The big man had the door open, and was
waving toward someone in the distance. The two captives noticed that their
backpack, pistol, and rifle were set against the far wall, partially concealed
in the dimness.

The
door creaked open and a small man stepped into the room. “Good evening, Bull,”
said the frail man, as he pushed his thick eyeglasses back up the bridge of his
nose.

“Evening,
Doc,” replied Bull, as he nodded his head. He then put a black leather glove on
his right hand. Bull pulled the glove on tightly and made a fist. He rapped the
back of his fist against the table and it made a hard thump on the tabletop.
The glove was filled with lead pellets.

“Are
you ready, Bull?” asked Doc, looking over the top of his glasses and lifting an
eyebrow.

“I’m
ready. Let’s get this over with.” Bull repeatedly made a fist to feel the
leather stretch snugly around his hand. When the leather felt right on his
hand, he wrapped the red bandana around the glove to make it tighter. He did
this as he continued to stare at the captives tied to the chairs.

Doc
pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Dylan and Kevin. He pushed his
glasses up to the bridge of his nose again. “I will ask you some questions, and
if you do not cooperate, Bull will administer discipline. All I need is some
simple information. For example, tell me how many of you are there now, where
your gang is staying, and if you are all armed this nicely?” Doc pointed to the
rifle and duffle bag. They had also found the hand grenades.

“What
are you talking about? We’re not in a gang,” said Kevin.

“Really?”
said Doc with a smirk, as he looked at Bull and rolled his eyes. Doc stood up
and walked over to Kevin’s backpack. He put his hand in the backpack and pulled
out the red bandana Kevin had placed in it before he left his apartment. He
held the bandana by pinching it with two fingers. With a disgusted look on his
face, he waved the red cloth in front of Kevin. Kevin felt the anger rising up
inside him.

“There
you go. You can have your colors back,” said Doc, as he dropped the bandana on
Kevin’s lap.

“That’s
not his,” said Dylan.

Bull
stepped forward and leaned into Dylan’s face.

“I’m
not stupid. We saw you coming from the direction of the railroad hub. We
followed you, and both of you were wearing these,” Bull said, as he held his
fist, wrapped in the bandana that he had taken from Dylan, close to Dylan’s
face.

Doc
motioned with his hand for Bull to step back.

“You
should understand something immediately. Bull would prefer to kill you right
now. I would prefer to get information from you. Bull doesn’t care for people
like you, and I understand that. The fact that both of you are still alive
tells me he has exercised some considerable restraint in this matter. But every
man has his limitations, so don’t test our patience.”

Kevin
turned to Dylan and said, “They think we’re in that gang, with Cyrus.”

“Cyrus!
Now you’re talking. Tell me more about your leader,” spat Doc.

Neither
man replied.

“I
need answers. Start talking. Don’t you understand?” Doc demanded impatiently.

“No,
I don’t understand,” said Kevin.

“Wrong
answer,” said Doc, as he motioned for Bull and pointed a wagging finger at
Kevin.

Bull
had taken only a step toward Kevin, his clenched fist raised, when there was a
knock on the door.

Doc
gestured toward the door and Bull turned away to see who was knocking.

“We
are trying to tell you that we’re not mixed up with Cyrus’s gang,” said Dylan.

“It’s
not working.”

Bull
yelled toward Doc from the open door, “We’ve got a gunshot wound. They need
you.”

Doc
stood up and tied the red bandana around Kevin’s arm and said sarcastically,
“Don’t go anywhere.”

Doc
pushed his glasses up again and cast them a final glance before he left the
room with Bull. After the door shut, Kevin looked at the red bandana tied to
his arm. His anger turned to rage. He began to pull at the ligatures on his
arms and legs by twisting his body. The chair began to move. It was an old
wooden chair and he could feel the weakness in the chair’s wooden joints.

“I’m
going to try standing up and crashing this chair on the floor. The joints are
weak. I think it’ll break,” said Kevin.

Kevin
awkwardly stood, still bound to the chair. He threw his body to the concrete
floor hoping the impact of the chair on the hard surface would break the wood.
Kevin landed hard on his side, but the chair did not break apart.

“Damn
it! I can’t get back up,” said Kevin. He struggled with the chair as he tried
to shift his body. “It did something; I can feel the joints trying to give. Get
up and fall on the chair, Dylan. I think that will do it.”

Dylan
stood and slowly hopped his chair over next to Kevin. He twisted his body and
threw his weight against the back legs of Kevin’s chair. There was a resounding
crack, and Kevin’s chair broke apart. Kevin stood up and brought his hands
forward. He could move, but he was still tied to wooden fragments of the chair.
Dylan was still bound to his chair and now lay on the floor.

“Get
my knife. They left our stuff against the far wall. Hurry, cut me loose,” said
Dylan, in an urgent but hushed tone.

Kevin
got the knife and brought it back to Dylan to cut his bindings. Both men dashed
back over to the far wall and grabbed their weapons. They quickly checked their
firearms and went over to the door. Dylan opened it just enough to peek out.
They were in a concrete parking garage and he could see several people, who had
apparently been living in the parked cars. There was no way out without being
seen. They decided to wait for someone to return. This room was where the
medical supplies were stored, so they would have to come back here. When
someone returned to this room, they would take them as hostages and use them as
a ticket out. Dylan and Kevin stood behind the door, and waited for it to open.

Through
the thin walls, they heard the familiar voices of Bull and Doc, getting louder
as they approached the door. They were speaking with a woman, and Doc opened
the door. He entered the room backwards, as he spoke to Bull and the injured
woman. Bull was helping the woman, and was not paying attention to the room as
he walked into it. He looked down at the woman’s bloodied leg. An instant after
they entered the room, it was too late. Dylan kicked the door shut.

Doc
spun his body around and faced the two armed men. With a terrified look on his
face, he held up his hands and said, “Just hold on. We can work something out.
Think about what you’re doing now. This woman is hurt and I need to help her.”

The
woman was weak, pale; she had lost blood, and was dehydrated. Bull was
supporting her meager weight, or she would not have been able to stand. The
woman slowly lifted her head. With a shaky hand, she pushed her long hair back
from her face and stared at Dylan and Kevin. At that moment, both men
recognized her, although she looked different with the coal dust washed off her
face by the rainstorm.

“Dorothy?”
asked Dylan.

With
a weak voice, Dorothy replied, “I know you. What are you doing here? Why are
you pointing those guns at us?”

While
still staring at the loaded weapons pointed at them, Doc tilted his head toward
Dorothy and asked, “How do you know these men?”

“I
would have to say they saved me. I mean us. My son was there, too. That gang
back at the coal cars was waiting for us. They started shooting at us and we
ran away. I was hit in the leg, and these men helped us hide. I saw them
capture two of Cyrus’s men, and they gave us a shotgun and rifle.”

“But
we saw them wearing the red bandanas around their arms,” said Bull.

“I
watched them take the red bandanas off Cyrus’s men,” said Dorothy, as the
weakness in her legs began to overcome her. “They put them on as a disguise. I
told them it was a bad idea.”

Bull
glared at Dylan and Kevin with anger and confusion, and began to ask of the two
men, “Why would you—”

Bull
was cut off abruptly when loss of blood and fatigue overcame Dorothy. Her knees
buckled, and she would have collapsed to the floor if Bull had not quickly
swept her off her feet. She lay unconscious in Bull’s arms.

“Get
her to the cot,” said Doc, his attention directed toward Dorothy.

Bull
gently placed her on the cot. Her pale skin reflected a yellow tone from the
single incandescent light in the room. Shadows cast from the same light enhanced
her sunken facial expressions.

Doc
felt for a pulse and found that it was racing. This confirmed what was already
obvious to him. She had lost a lot of blood, and now her blood pressure was
collapsing. Her heart was trying to compensate for the lack of volume in her
circulatory system by beating rapidly, to quickly move the remaining oxygen
left in her blood. He knew what he needed to do and quickly went to a stack of
boxes containing IV bags of saline solution, near a table with medical
instruments. He reached out to get a small knife on the table to open the
cardboard box that held the bags of saline. With his hand halfway to the knife,
Doc looked at Dylan and Kevin, and asked, “Are you going to kill us? If you are,
just do it now.”