William Rose - Cry Havoc

She pictured a map of the city in her head, laying out the grids as best as she could and matching them up with landmarks. What was she on now? Bentley. Just a little past Jefferson. If she kept going up a couple blocks then she should come to 17 thStreet. And 17 thled Oak which led to Hoover Elementary. Perfect. She could sit in the hallway, far from any windows, and smoke to her heart’s content. And she couldn’t imagine that there would be anything in a school that the rioters and looters would actually want. Not when there was an entire city to sack.

So it was settled then: Hoover Elementary. True, it would be a circuitous route. In a normal situation it would’ve been quicker and easier to head back the way she’d just come and loop back around. But she had a feeling that if she took the easier path, she’d be walking into her own death. It was an unshakable feeling somewhere deep in the pit of her gut. And if there was one thing she’d learned out here, it was that you had to trust your instincts.

She just hoped that the hunch she was allowing to guide her wasn’t leading her astray. That it really was the voice of instinct… and not the silver-tongued whisper of addiction coaxing her into a slow and painful death.

Richard still gripped the machete in his hand but he knew that if he tried to use it, he would simply be swinging blindly. The screaming kid made his eardrums tremble with its high pitched keen which, in turn, made it hard to judge exactly where the woman’s voice was coming from. There was a good chance he would swing the blade only to have 700,000 volts zapped into his body. Which would debilitate him completely. It was a chance he couldn’t take.

“Look, I need a place to hide, they’re crazy out….”

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

She wouldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t even give him a chance to try to sweet talk his way out of this one like he’d done with Jane. But, of course, Jane had wanted to believe… and that made all the difference in the world.

From somewhere on the street he heard the sound of a gunshot, followed by heavy return fire. And suddenly he heard the shattering of glass, probably a window, the thunk of something burying itself into the plaster wall beside him.

This caused the kid to really let loose with a series of short, shrill shrieks. Then footsteps padding across the carpet, someone running across the door toward the open door, toward him. Someone small.

“Ashley, no!”

Using the sound of the kid’s fear to guide him, Richard’s hand shot out into the darkness with the speed of a striking snake. He snatched a tiny ankle, heard a thud as the child fell to the floor, heavier steps running toward him, the mother hysterical, screaming, crackling her stun gun again and again, getting closer.

But he was quick. So damn quick. His hands scrambled up the little girl’s body, found pigtails, the head, the throat… all while sitting up at the same time. He held the girl tightly, his arm encircling her small neck as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Back off! I swear to God, I’ll snap this little bitch’s neck like a fuckin’ twig!”

The heavier footsteps stopped immediately. The kid was screaming mommy mommy mommy like some kind of chant and he tightened his arm slightly, just enough to cut off some — but not all — of the girl’s oxygen. Just enough to lower the damn volume a bit.

“You let her go, you son of a bitch! You let her go now!”

“Drop the taser!”

“Let my daughter go, you bastard!”

“Drop the fuckin’ taser or I swear you’ll be burying this little girl!”

He heard something thud to the floor. When the woman spoke her voice was an odd mixture of fear and anger. He could practically feel her seething, probably wishing she could claw his throat out with a fork.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you! Either of you.”

He dropped his voice, made it sound as if he were on the verge of tears.

“But I will… if I have to. I don’t want to, but I will.”

Heavy breathing from across the room. The little girl crying now, her attempts at resistance losing some of the force with the restricted air flow.

“I found a way out… out of town. I was going back for my wife, Janey, when these guys jumped me. They beat the hell out of me. Bruised me up real bad. I’m friggin’ blind here!”

He pulled his teeth back into a grimace that he hoped looked like anguish. Lord knows he wouldn’t be able to squeeze out a tear, no matter how hard he tried.

The woman however sounded as if she were crying, however.

“Just… let my daughter go. Please, don’t hurt my baby….”

“Why the hell would I want to hurt her? Damn lady, I just want to get back to my own little girl. Polly. I just want to get back to her and Jane and get them the hell out of this shit hole.”

He forced his voice to sound excited.

“You can come with us. You and your daughter. I can keep us all safe, I promise. You just gotta help me and I can get us all out of this mess.”

Silence in the apartment, except for the little girl’s sobbing and Mom’s labored breathing. Then the sound of feet again, pacing across the floor. Probably wringing her hands.

“You let Ashley go… you let Ashley go and I’ll help you.”

“Lady, if I let this little girl go you’re gonna zap me with that gun of yours….”

“I won’t!”

“How do I know that?”

“Please, I promise….”

“You help me, then I’ll let her go. Then maybe you’ll see that you can trust me and we’ll all get out of this alive.”

More pacing in the darkness; he could almost taste the uncertainty in the air. The fear and trepidation.

Finally a small, soft voice:

“What do you need me to do?”

Richard looked out at the street through the bedroom window, really appreciating vision for probably the first time in his life. Which was one of the best things about The Change: it made you see everything in a different light, to cherish all the little things you used to take for granted in your day to day, humdrum life. The beers he’d just chugged down, for example, were the best ones he’d ever tasted: ice cold, the almost yeasty taste of the barely and hops… the way it seemed to fizz down the back of his throat. And that was an off brand, for Christ’s sake.

He took a long slow breath and adjusted the gauze that had been wrapped around his forehead to keep the blood from dripping down into his eyes.

The woman, whose name he’d learned had been Donna, had done a good job. He was worried that her hands might tremble, that she might accidentally slip and cut his eyelid with the razor. Especially since he was sitting there with her little girl locked in a death grip. But perhaps because of this, and not in spite of it, she was extremely steady. He’d warned her that if she tried anything funny with the razor little Ashley would be the one to pay the price. And apparently she’d believed him.

When the blood drained out, it felt like a great pressure had suddenly been removed from his head. Donna had went to the kitchen to get the beers out of the icebox, saying that he needed something cold on his face to help ease the swelling and pain even more. By this time, the blurriness was clearing and he could see the bathroom he’d been led into. White grouted tiles, a little toothbrush holder held by suction cups to the mirror above the sink, blue fish decals on the tank of the toilet she’d sat him upon.

Once he heard the refrigerator door open, he’d snapped Ashley’s neck. Quickly. Cleanly. Silently. He lifted her body and placed it in the tub, closing the curtain as softly as he could.