Transformation (10 page)

9.

Dale sucked down his third warm beer. He grimaced. He really should be knocking back a few hard shots for what he was grappling with. He was about to leave under terrible circumstances.

At first he was planning to murder a man in his sleep and say his goodbyes through a hastily written letter instead of face to face. But after he thought it through for hours, he finally decided he couldn’t do it. He knew all along he couldn’t kill the old man, especially in cold blood. It would be harder to pull off but he decided to abduct Francis and take him far away. He would release him on his way to the cabin. He placed the empty bottle next to the other two on the ledge of the garage. He looked at the little red sedan he had all packed and ready to go.

He hoped to come back and visit the group. He just hoped they would have forgiven him by then. But he had to do what he had to do. He belched the warm beer and headed off the take a nap. He wanted to be rested for all he had to do over the next several hours.

Dale squinted, the moon was incredibly bright. He wondered if it was his imagination or was the world that much cleaner since civilization was turned off? He could literally read by the light of this moon and it wasn’t even completely full.

He’d waited until it was deep in the night before making his move. As he was walking smooth and slow on the third level towards Francis’ place he almost bailed. The night was so calm, the air so fresh, the moon a magical lantern for his world that he didn’t want to leave. He liked it here, liked these people. Dale felt choked up. He was a loner, liked his space and liked to be alone, but that was when the world had people to spare. Now he was about to walk off into an empty world. It was the fact that he loved this place so much that drove him on. The garage would never truly be safe while Francis was in it. He had to take him out.

Dale checked his grip on his homemade sap. He’d filled a tube sock with bars of soap. It actually worked. Soap made the perfect filler for a non-lethal sap. He stopped at the edge of the small hut, calmed his breathing, and listened. He was preparing to commit and follow through with his plan. He couldn’t hesitate or entertain any doubt or he would fail.

He heard a radio playing faintly as if through earphones. He was considering his next moves. He peeked through the space between the wooden wall and the canvas tarp the old bastard used as a curtain/front door. It was dark inside. He knew from experience that things were about to get really hectic. He didn’t want to forget the letter, or fumble with it as he was subduing and binding the old man, so he pulled it from his pocket and placed it on the ground next to the door where it could be easily found.

As he squatted down to place the letter, listening intently, he heard a voice behind him.

“Now what do we have here?”

Dale whipped around, eyes wide. He’d pulled his knife and faced Francis. But his eyes caught the blue-silver shimmer of a blade in the old man’s hand. He felt a shock of fear and was struck with a bolt of self-doubt. And he hesitated. He had to as the old man caught him off guard in at least three ways.

“Why couldn’t you just leave me be?” Weed was pissed the cop was so damn intent.

Dale noticed Old Francis stood taller and straighter than he’d ever seen him before and he looked pissed off. He suddenly felt like a direct threat to Dale.

The men stood within an arm’s length of each other.

“You’re a criminal and a killer.”

“
Was
a criminal and a killer, just like you
was
a cop.” Weed growled the words.

“No, we are both still what we were.” Dale took a step back but Francis advanced on him one step.

“Really? Have you seen me committing crimes or killing anyone? I sure as hell don’t see you acting like a cop.” Francis waved his knife as he emoted. The old ex-biker was clearly more relaxed than the young ex-cop was on the brink of a deadly knife fight.

“I wasn’t going to kill you. I was going to take you away. And I know you caused that explosion.”

Weed took a big step back. He was giving Dale an out, one last chance. Maybe this gesture would finally get the pig to back off.

“For what reason would I do that? Makes no sense. And you ain’t following procedure or due process . . . Miranda Rights and whatnot.”

Dale was a bit stumped. He was acting contrary to the previous rules, but he was still a cop and Old Francis still a criminal. Leopards don’t change their spots.

Francis continued. “As for making me leave, well that’s a death sentence, murder. I would have the right to defend myself.”

“You are still leaving.”

“Then we are at an impasse. I ain’t leaving and I will have to defend myself if you try and make me. We can always go wake up the . . . Ron’s his name. Wake him up and ask him who’s in the wrong here. Who’s acting like the criminal? Now leave me be and we are square.”

Weed wanted this shit over with and it was about to be. If the pig could walk away now, then things might be cool given time. But if he refused things were going to get real ugly real fast.

“Sorry, gramps.” Dale made a move to subdue the old man. He lunged at him with both hands. And he made two fatal mistakes. The first was thinking of Francis as an old man and second was trying to do anything other than killing him as quickly as possible. Francis was the personification of the old adage, if you attack me you better kill me with your first shot.

Dale was at least six inches taller than Francis and looked to be more muscle bound. He was also a law enforcement officer who was trained in hand-to-hand combat. But Weed was a wiry, strong, and quick opponent. He was an experienced street fighter, a dirty fighter, and a killer. Where Dale would attempt to disarm or subdue, Weed would strike with fatal intent.

Dale attempted a standard move to disarm an opponent, a cop move. Weed thwarted his attempt by doing the unexpected. He didn’t resist or try to evade Dale’s advance. He simply rotated his wrist so Dale impaled himself on Weed’s blade. When Dale reflexively jerked his arm back Weed pushed the blade down and pulled it towards himself. This made the injury far worse than it was to start with.

Dale was caught off guard. The feel of the blade cutting his flesh, the added damage when he recoiled, stunned him. He forgot all about Francis for a moment and clutched his arm in reflex as he tried to pull it away. He bent forward trying to free himself from the intense pain. Weed let him pull free and immediately grabbed the back of his head. He lifted his knee and pushed Dale’s head into it.

Dale hit the concrete with a broken nose. He was stunned and before he could get his bearings Weed was on him. Weed lay across Dale and drove his knife into his throat with both hands. Dale didn’t struggle for more than a few seconds.

Weed stood and wiped his blade off on Dale’s shirt. He didn’t mind killing, he’d done it plenty, but he was pissed as hell he had to do it. Damn messy business. Damn pain in the ass to deal with.

Stupid pig.
Weed was breathing heavily and was angry. Now he’d have to do some shit with the body and deal with all the questions as to the pig’s whereabouts. After all the guff between him and the undercover, he was sure more than a few glances would be cast his way.

He rolled Dale’s body onto a large brown tarp. He sopped up as much of the blood as he could and made a giant burrito of all the evidence. He rinsed away the rest of the blood with some bottled water. Weed pulled one end of the tarp wrapped body and as it moved, it made a horribly loud noise on the concrete. He grunted as he bent down and heaved the bundle up and over his shoulder.

Weed winced as Dale’s body thudded loudly when it hit the ground. He pulled out one of the many knotted ropes the kid installed around the second level and went over the edge. Weed hefted the bundle over his shoulder and carried it off into the night. He took it some three hundred yards to the edge of the large grassy area underneath the highway overpasses near the structure. He’d seen some of the dead shambling about in the sunken area where the grass grew tall in thick mud. They seemed unable to get out of the area because of the steep slope leading down into it.

Weed grunted as he pulled out his buck knife and bent down. He had to cut all the ropes in near darkness. When he was finished, he pulled the edge of the tarp upwards. Dale’s corpse rolled out and down the slope. He heard that fucking moaning and the thrashing of the grass and backed off to leave. He saw skeletal hands, then arms, covered in rotting flesh come through the tall grass. He hightailed it the fuck out of there.

Francis dug around in the seams of the concrete pillars and pulled from them a black twine. He pulled a rope down from the second level. He was on the second level in under a minute. He was an old fuck, no doubt about that, but there were large knots in the rope and he was motivated.

All in all, he’d spent close to an hour on the cop and he was tired and ready to sleep like a baby. As he returned to his little box, he noticed the letter propped up against it. He looked left and right, then bent and picked it up.

Inside, he sat on his bed with a large joint between his lips, already glowing and filling his lungs. He took a pull of some smooth shit they had lifted from Costco. He lit a candle that sat on his little plastic nightstand. He looked at the letter. It had Ron’s name on it. He opened the envelope and started reading. He started smiling and pretty soon he was trying really fucking hard not to laugh out loud.

“Ah shit, Francis,” he whispered to himself in spasms of mirth. “Ah shit you couldn’t a planned it better. Sumabitch! God must love bikers or hate cops.”

He put the letter back in its envelope and walked quickly down the ramp to the second level and all the way to the blast site. Things had been cleaned and organized a lot already. The floor was swept, bodies and parts buried, shit all stacked up. He looked around for a few seconds then saw it. The perfect place to leave the letter.

That night he turned in and fell straight into a deep slumber. He was pissed at the cop and all that mess, but he was damn glad for that letter he left. Made his life a lot easier for sure.

Ron was the early riser. In truth, he hadn’t slept much at all. He started a pot of coffee and spent a moment looking over the city. The world had melted down and now Donna was surely dead. He’d found a group of friends and a home, but the explosion took all of that away. Were they really as safe as he’d let himself believe?

“Hey thanks,” Lisa smiled. Then she caught herself, remembered Donna, and lost the smile. “How are you?” she asked. “I’m sorry, dumb question.”

“Thanks,” Ron muttered. They both looked silently over the world for a few minutes.

“What do you think of Francis?” Ron asked Lisa out of the blue.

She thought for a moment, turned to look around because people always walk up behind you when you are talking about them. She spoke in hushed tones.

“I don’t know. I think he’s a nice old man but…”

“But Dale says otherwise. I am wondering…”

“If he did it?” Lisa, eyes wide, looked at Ron.

“No, not really that, although Dale seemed to think he did. Dale was always so worked up about Francis. He insists he is evil, but the old guy is so decrepit.”

“I don’t know. He seemed to see criminals around every corner. I think no matter what Francis may have done in the past that he’s just trying to survive like the rest of us. The old guy is pretty rough around the edges, but he’s really sweet.”

“Maybe he just reminds Dale of the criminals he’s had to deal with.” Ron fell silent and looked out across the world. He was desperately trying to distract himself. He was deeply troubled by the explosion and the loss of lives. He was devastated by the loss of his wife. He felt his throat tightening. He tried to keep his thoughts moving.

“I’m worried about Wendy, too. It looks like Sal returned, but there was no sign of Wendy… you know.”

“Should we be out looking for her?”

“Where would we start?” Ron asked but didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked off before he fell apart in front of Lisa.

He walked down the ramps to check on the blast sight. There was still a lot to be cleaned up and organized and he had to keep himself busy. They’d spent most of yesterday picking up all the parts of the deceased. That was emotionally brutal. There was no sign that Donna had been in the blast so it was conceivable she was still alive, but where would she be?

As he scanned the debris, today they were to focus on the rest of the mess—the nonhuman parts of it—something caught his eye. He saw something white fluttering in the wind. It was a piece of paper anchored down by a small chunk of concrete that sat atop a larger chunk. It looked purposefully placed and Ron could see that it was an envelope. He picked it up and was startled that that it had his name written on it. He was confused at first until he opened it. Then it all made sense and he was devastated farther than he thought possible.

Ron went back upstairs glad to find that Lisa was still there and now so was Ana.

“You OK?” Lisa could tell there was something wrong.

“I found this downstairs at the blast sight.” He handed her the envelope.