Bryan Smith - The Killing Kind

The gun boomed.

The big pane of glass in one of the French doors blew out and Chuck skidded to a halt. He stood shaking and breathing hard as he stared at the spray of glass. His mind calculated what the trajectory of the bullet must have been and he almost fell over. He’d just missed having his brains splattered against the door. She was still coming at him. He could feel her bearing down on him. Then he felt the gun against the back of his neck and screwed his eyes shut.

This is it, he thought.

This is how I die.

He had seconds left, probably. His heart raced. His head was filled with a whirlwind of clashing, confused thoughts and feelings. Regret, terror, loss, heartache, and a desperate hope for some kind of continued existence beyond this mortal plane. All the things anyone facing imminent death would feel. It was impossible to grab on to any one thing and focus on it.

Until he thought of Zoe again.

Shit.

She had been down at the beach for some time. More than an hour, easily. She could be on her way back right now. Could be moments away from walking in on this slaughter in the making. The odds were against her, but he figured she was the only one of them with any chance of surviving the night. She might yet live if Missy and her friends got down to business fast.

Chuck opened his eyes.

Several seconds had passed. The gun’s barrel was still pressed to the back of his neck.

“What are you waiting for? Get it over with.”

Missy laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A quick and merciful end.”

Chuck swallowed with tremendous difficulty-it felt like he was trying to force a golf ball down his gullet. “Yes.”

Another laugh, this one tinged with a merciless, taunting quality. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”

The gun came away from his neck as she moved back some.

“Turn around, frat boy.”

Chuck turned around.

They were all here now. All but Zoe. Emily and Joe. Annalisa and Sean. Missy and the other two wanted in connection with the Walgreens killings. The fugitives had all changed their looks. Missy had short and spiky blonde hair. The guy and the younger chick were both bald. They looked like skinheads. The grin on the younger girl’s face disturbed him as much as anything else. She looked like she was having the time of her life. The guy was lean and fit. He wore black jeans and a black button-up shirt with a flame pattern on the front. Chuck might have laughed at the duds under other circumstances. He looked like he shopped exclusively at Hot Topic. He also looked exactly like the sort of dude who’d get mixed up with the likes of Missy Wallace. But there was something off about him. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he had a feeling the guy wasn’t as into this as Missy and the other chick. He looked nervous. Scared. Like he’d rather be anywhere but here. The insight gave him his first glimmer of hope. It was a small one, but it was better than nothing. He had to work on tweaking this guy’s conscience, somehow nudge him into intervening before it was too late.

“Rob!”

The bald guy flinched when Missy barked his name. “Yeah?”

“Got a job for you.”

Rob grimaced. “What do you want?”

Yeah. Definitely not into this at all. Yet here he is. Weak-willed little bastard.

“I need you to rearrange some furniture.” Missy never looked away from Chuck as she issued her commands. Never stopped smiling. And never stopped aiming the gun right at his face. “Shove that goddamn sofa out of the way, up against the entertainment center. Then drag the chairs from that table and line ’em up in a row.”

Rob set about his work with obvious reluctance. The listless way he moved made him look like a tired old man. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than Chuck, but the haunted, faraway look in his eyes made him look like a combat veteran at the end of a tour of duty. He nonetheless got the job done within a few minutes. The sofa was up against the entertainment center and four metal-framed chairs were lined up in a row, facing the kitchen area.

Missy moved away from Chuck and pointed the gun at Joe. “You sit there.”

She nodded at one of the chairs.

Joe staggered over to it and plopped down, tears leaking from his eyes. “Please. I don’t wanna die. Please…”

“Shut up or I’ll shoot you in the balls.”

Joe stopped pleading, but his tears continued in a steady stream.

Missy ordered Sean and Annalisa into the two middle chairs and installed Chuck in the chair on the far-right end, the one closest to the balcony doors. Chuck glanced at the shattered door and tried to send a telepathic signal to Zoe to stay put. It was ridiculous, but what else could he do? He made himself stop looking at the door. He didn’t want Missy developing any suspicions.

Missy knelt and set her big tote bag on the floor. She pulled out some clothes and tossed them aside. Then she reached into the bag and pulled out a plastic bag with a Walgreens logo. She opened the Walgreens bag and dumped its contents on the floor.

Rolls and rolls of gray duct tape. A dozen, maybe more.

Chuck groaned inwardly.

The situation was already seventy-seven shades of fucked-up, but the prospect of being restrained made it so much worse. He would be helpless, incapable of fighting or resisting. Maybe he should try one more desperate run to freedom while his hands and legs were still free.

Missy must have sensed his thoughts.

She got up and came over to him in two quick, long strides. The gun barrel was right in his face this time and he instinctively cringed away from it. “You’re not going anywhere, fuck-o.”

Chuck felt like crying, but somehow the tears wouldn’t come.

He was becoming numb inside.

Rob and the girls scooped up rolls of duct tape and set about the task of taping the four of them to the chairs. Rob started with Chuck, pulling his wrists together behind the back of the chair and then winding more than a dozen layers of tape around them. The son of a bitch was very thorough. Chuck tested the tape. There was no give at all. Maybe he wasn’t into this, but it was clear he would do whatever Missy wanted. Chuck felt that little flicker of hope snuff out as Rob used a full roll of tape to secure each of his legs to the chair legs.

Yes. Very, very thorough.

Just like a concentration-camp guard.

Chuck looked at Emily and frowned. They hadn’t dealt with her yet. She didn’t seem afraid anymore. In fact, she was smirking and her eyes gleamed with that same mad glee he’d seen in the younger girl’s eyes.

“Emily-”

She came at him fast and whipped a hand across his face. It was a hard blow and it snapped his head hard to the right. A bright flash of pain set his cheek ablaze with pain, but that was a minor thing compared to what he felt when her arm swung back around and she backhanded him, her knuckles mashing a nose still tender from the beating he’d received earlier in the week. A spike of agony slammed through the center of his head. She slapped and backhanded him several more times. Through it all, he was dimly aware of the confused and startled voices of his friends. Even Joe wanted to know what the hell was wrong with her.

Emily stopped hitting him and seized a handful of his hair to hold his head steady. His face throbbed and he stared at her through eyes bleary with tears. She spat in his face. “My hand hurts.”

He coughed and blinked at her. “Wh-what?”

She was smirking again. “My hand hurts, you fucking asshole. But it’s totally worth it. I can’t wait to see what Missy does to you.”

“You…know her?”

“Obviously. Now I have a question for you. Where’s Zoe?”

Missy had been standing back, watching the scene with an expression of mild amusement. Now she frowned. “Who’s Zoe?”