Allison Hewitt Is Trapped (34 page)

“I … Well … I’m not really sure,” she says, giving me a suspicious look. “But I suppose you might try the movie theater. The police sealed it off that first night and I haven’t seen anything or anyone come out of there. So unless someone tried to get in—”

“Perfect. Where is it?”

“Just there,” she says, pointing west toward the Walmart. “It’s on the other side down the frontage road, maybe half a mile away.”

“Thank you. Tell the others to hurry.”

“Could … could I ask why?”

“Why what?” I ask.

“Why would you want to know that? Where the infested are?”

“Oh. That’s where we’re headed.”

Maria watches me walk away, her mouth hanging open a little. After a moment she turns and goes back to the others, wringing her hands and glancing over her shoulder at me every second or two. I feel, oddly enough, close to Collin for a second. I know I’m channeling him from a distance, mimicking his cool, collected demeanor. I only wish there was time to miss him.

It’s probably not the best plan I’ve ever had, but a healthy dose of chaos might be just what we need to unbalance the Territorials and swing things in our favor. Between the undead, my pistol and the Molotov cocktails, we might have just enough confusion.

Renny finds me before I can track down Julian. She’s out of breath, bending over to rest her palms on her knees as she pants. “Allison, they’re … they’re coming. We’re out of time.”

I follow her back to Dobbs and his truck. The pickup is heavily weighed down, the flatbed filled to overflowing with wood, tarps, buckets and odds and ends. There are a few tools in the very bottom and what looks like a lunch box and a workman’s kit. Probably useless. Dobbs, Nanette and Maria stand around in a semicircle as I pull down the back of the truck and open up the workman’s kit. Dapper tries to jump into the flatbed but I shove him out of the way.

“What are you doing? We have to go!” Nanette is screaming, shaking me by the shoulders. Renny pulls her off and tries to calm her down, but Nanette bats her away.

“You don’t get it! They’ll kill us!”

“Just calm down,” I mutter, raking through the three-inch-deep mess of screws, nails, scraps of sandpaper and empty glass jars. It doesn’t seem to matter that it’s cold. I can feel the sweat gathering at my temples. I grab a handful of screws and shove them at Renny. “When Julian gets back, tell him to toss a few of these in the cocktails.”

“In the
what
?”

“Just … You’ll see when he gets here.”

They’re all staring at me, waiting, waiting for me to save them.
Ha, ha, Julian
, I want to scream, see what happens when no one is tough? When no one takes the lead? They’re paralyzed, frozen into inaction by what they think is an insurmountable danger. But it’s not too late, not insurmountable, not yet …

“Back!”

It’s Julian. His good arm is full of bottles sloshing gasoline down his sleeve as he limps at top speed toward us. He’s cheerful as can be as he gently bends to line up the jars and bottles on the tailgate. Other people have gathered at the truck, people staying in the camp that I never had a chance to meet. There’s a husband and wife with a little Hispanic girl wedged between them, and there are two teenage boys. I don’t know their names and I’ve only seen glimpses of them as they went from tent to tent. “One, two, three, four, five … six!” Julian says, stepping back from his work, glancing around at us as if to say “Didn’t I do just great?”

“Here,” Renny says. “Allison said to add these.”

I hear the screws dropping into the gasoline as I finally, finally come across something useful.

“Anyone have a pair of gloves?” I call, my fingers dusting off the top of a big, plastic bottle. I tip it up to face me and the faded label is almost completely gone but I can just make out the small, black print.

NAOH

I think of Ted reciting chemical compounds as he goes to sleep, that sad, boyish whisper in the dark. I think of Ted curled up in the back of a chewed-up sedan, lying on his own crusted bloodstains and I know without a doubt that this is the way forward. This little bottle is the key.

“There should be a pair of work gloves in the kit,” Dobbs says, shouldering his way through the others. “There,” he says, pointing at a floppy pair of men’s work gloves. They’re heavy duty and leather, but way too big for my hands.

“Too big,” I say. “Anyone else?”

I pull out the plastic bottle and set it aside. The lunch box reeks of moldy apples and rotting cheese but I brave the smell long enough to yank out a used plastic lunch bag. There’s a tug on the back of my sweatshirt and I look down to see the little girl holding a pair of fleecy black gloves up to my nose. I pull them on and, while they’re a bit snug, they fit okay. There are black cats and candy corns embroidered onto the backs.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes. My sister doesn’t need them anymore.” She scuttles back to the man and woman, ducking behind them at once. They don’t look like her biological parents, but it doesn’t matter. She goes back to them, both hands hooking behind their knees.

“What do you need us to do?” Dobbs asks, taking off his Stetson and throwing it into the back of the truck.

“Get everyone together and—”

The gunfire starts, quietly at first, but building fast as the Territorials get closer. They’re spraying a barrage of bullets at the camp. We huddle in close together, taking shelter behind the pickup and its towering cargo. The little girl puts both hands over her eyes.

“That way!” I point, trying to talk over the noise. “Go as fast as you can, take cover as you go.”

“But our things!” Nanette protests, gesturing toward the pickup truck.

“You can get them later, right now you need to get as far away from here as you can.”

Dobbs takes Maria by the hand and crouches, leading the group away from the truck, using it as a barrier. The front of the truck starts to take a heavy beating from the bullets. Julian and Renny kneel down beside me.

“Light those up,” I shout, “and throw them all.”

The three of us take turns with Julian’s Zippo, lighting the ends of the wicks (remnants of Julian’s one-legged pants) before hurling the wine bottles, bean jars and, yes, Johnnie Walker over the truck. “Try to fan them out in a line!” I shout, but I’m not sure they can hear me over the sound of igniting fire and booming rifles. Julian reeks of gasoline and I make him stay back as we light up the second to last cocktail and fling it over our heads. Crouching low, I peek around the edge of the flatbed in time to see one of the Territorial’s Humvees explode, the cocktail hitting it square on the hood. I hear a sharp hiss as the pickup truck’s front tires are shot out.

“Go with the others,” I say to Renny, grabbing her by the forearm. “And take Dapper.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. “What about Ted?”

“They won’t find him, he’s not even in their line of sight. Please, go. I can handle this.”

Renny takes one look at the fuzzy black gloves, the ax and the pistol and rolls her eyes before grabbing Dapper by the collar. “If you get your ass killed I’m burying you in those.”

“Fair enough.”

We shake hands and she goes. Julian is staring at me with his serious face, challenging me to send him away.

“I’m not going to ask you to leave, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” I tell him.

“Well I won’t go—Oh! Oh.”

“There’s one cocktail left and I might need you to cover my retreat. Just in case things go wrong.”

I pull off my laptop bag and shove it under his good arm. “Hold onto that. Don’t let anything happen to it. And this too.” I check the clip and then hand him the pistol. Two shots left—not many, but maybe enough. I grab my ax and nod toward the plastic bottle on the tailgate.

“Put on the work gloves and fill that sandwich baggy about halfway with powder,” I say.

Julian picks up the bottle and glances at the label, his eyes growing wide. “Lye? What the fuck are you gonna do with this?”

“Just sit tight. I know what I’m doing.” This is not, strictly speaking, the truth but there must be something trustworthy about my face at that moment, because Julian sits back, crouching against the tailgate. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“What?” he hisses, trying to grab my wrist. I tiptoe out of his reach. “No you won’t! Allison, come—Allison!”

“I’m coming out!” I scream, trying to top the sound of burning metal and gunfire. The shots slow down and then stop. “Don’t shoot! I’m coming out!”

“Hold your fire!”

I carefully step out from behind the pickup, holding my hands in the air as a sign of surrender. I’m not absolutely positive they won’t gun me down anyway, but something tells me they want to say their piece. A little spray of dirt goes up at my feet, accompanied by the
fut-fut-fut
of a rifle.

“I said hold your goddamn fire!”

I take a big gasping swallow, forcing myself to keep going. In front of me, there are three cars lined up with the burning Humvee several yards away from the others. If only it had been a little closer the explosion might have caused a domino effect. The interior of the Humvee is still burning, the black smoke churning into the air above the other cars. I say cars, but they’re more like modified Jeeps. The tops are gone and they’ve been painted matte black. There’s an insignia painted on each hood, the design clumsily transferred by hand and already beginning to fleck and fade.

“Don’t shoot!” I shout again and my voice cracks. “I’m not armed.”

“Citizen! Drop the ax!”

The man calling to me is standing up, his head poking up above the roll cage of the Jeep. He’s got an enormous, bushy black beard and very red lips. There’s a floppy canvas hat with a camouflage print on his head and a semiautomatic aimed right at me. I take a few more steps forward and then slowly, slowly crouch down and drop the ax into the dirt.

“You killed two of my guys,” Black Beard shouts, running the back of his hand under his nose. I can feel the pressure of their weapons, the heat of eight or nine guns aimed at me. Aimed to kill.

“You fired first,” I call back. I don’t even know if these are bad men, but I suspect they are. They would have gunned us down, killed people they might have instead had as allies. I look at their faces, at their intense, angry eyes and wonder, who is the enemy?

“Where’s the doctor?”

“We have him,” I say and shout back over my shoulder, “Julian! Wave at the nice men!”

A hand pokes out from behind the tailgate, Julian’s hand. It wiggles back and forth like a puppy tail.

“Look,
citizen
,” I say, close enough now that I don’t need to shout, “we can do this like civilized human beings. There are innocent people here—if you let them go then I’ll give you the doctor. I think it’s a fair trade. Those people had nothing to do with it. I’m the one who rescued him.”

“Like civilized people, eh?” Black Beard says, chuckling. There’s a thin trickle of snot caught in his mustache. I can’t stop staring at it. “I think it’s a little late for that. We want what’s ours. Our
val-ya-buls
.”

The wind shifts, pouring the black smoke over the Humvee’s hood and right into my eyes. Lovely.

“Like I said, no one else needs to get hurt,” I say slowly, taking the opportunity to get a little closer. I scan the Jeeps: two men in the first car, three (including Black Beard) in the middle one and two in the third. Now I know. Now I know … If only there were more bullets. “I’ll get him for you, okay? Just … don’t shoot anybody. I’ll get your valuables.”

“You best,” Black Beard says, grinning again with a shark’s mouth. “You best.”

I walk backward, never letting my eyes leave the Territorials. I can’t imagine this is all of them. There must be more at the Walmart, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve played their hand and now it’s time for me to lay down my cards too.

When I reach the pickup truck, Julian is ready with an ice-cold, petulant glare.

“Shhh,” I whisper, kneeling down next to him. “Calm down. I’m not actually handing you over.”

“Then what was all that about?” he hisses, shoving his face close to mine.

“I needed to see how many. We’re going to have to get creative. Just stay here and for fuck’s sake, don’t throw any of those things while I’m out there. When you hear a commotion, see if you can take out one of the cars. After that, you go with the others in the opposite direction. Opposite direction, got it?”

“We don’t have anything to fight with, they’ll flatten us.”

“No they won’t. Just trust me, you’ll see. Do you have the bag?”

He hands me the plastic bag and I maneuver around until my right side is close to him. “Hold my pocket open.”

“Yeah. Sure,” he says, smiling sadly. “Nice try.”

“Look, baby, if I wanted you to grab my crotch I’d just fucking ask.”

Julian pulls open my jean pocket and holds it, his fingers still encased in the work glove. His hand is trembling badly. The wind is strong now, whipping at our clothes and hair but the powder is safe, undisturbed.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s okay.”

With a deep breath I take the baggy and set it into my pocket, making sure the opening is facing up. It’s difficult to do with the clumsy fleece gloves, but there’s no time to make mistakes, or to hesitate.

“There,” I say, and Julian lets go of my pocket. I take the gun from the tailgate and tuck it into the back of my waistband, tugging down my sweatshirt until I’m sure it’s concealed.

I look at Julian, at the forlorn little smile that still puts dimples in his cheeks. I can’t tell if he’s going to cry or punch me. There’s something different about him, something vulnerable. I can almost see what he might have been like as a kid, as an infant. And I feel that way too—innocent and scared and on the cusp of doing something I abhor.

“I have to go,” I say. “Please get out of here. Please keep my friends safe.”

“I’ll see you again.”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “You will.”

I leap out from behind the pickup and walk toward the Jeeps, fast, picking up speed, striding as quickly as I can without running. I pass the ax and let it lie. They see it on my face. I know they see it. The passenger in Black Beard’s car shifts, squinting at me through the windshield. It feels like walking across a border, entering into a new land with new rules.