Ray Gorham - 77 Days in September

Looking over his shoulder once more, he saw the men angling across the street towards him at a run. He glanced around frantically for some kind of protection, but the area was commercial and it wasn’t as if shoppers were wandering the sidewalks or police were on patrol. He’d passed a few people several blocks back, but none of them had looked like anyone to approach for assistance. Kyle looked back again. The men were close now.

Kyle slowed to a walk and tried to catch his breath. The sound of their footsteps got louder, and he momentarily considered trying to grab his gun, but decided against it. Maybe he was just overreacting, he thought, and what if they were armed? One against three wasn’t very good odds. Maybe, he hoped, they weren’t going to do anything. Maybe they were just curious. He clung to those thoughts.

“Hey, amigo. What’s the hurry?” one of the men called out as they approached.

Kyle kept pulling and didn’t answer.

“What’s wrong?” asked another. “We’re the Lubbock Welcoming Committee. You look like you’re from out of town, so we need to welcome you. Maybe we could be of assistance.” The two others laughed at this line, finding it immensely funny.

Kyle spoke over his shoulder as he pulled. “I’m doing fine,” he said. “Just passing through town, but I appreciate the offer.”

The men had now caught up to Kyle and were looking over the sides of the cart. “Glad to hear you’ve got things under control,” the third man said. He was closer to Kyle and appeared to be the leader. “I guess we’ll just collect our toll, and you can be on your way.”

“I don’t have any money,” said Kyle. “I lost my wallet last week, but I’d give you all my cash if I had any.”

“What do we need cash for?” the man asked. “Cash isn’t any good to us. We’ll take a look and tell you what we want.”

Kyle could feel someone tugging on the cart, so he lurched forward and pulled the cart free.

“Hey, slow down, buddy,” the leader said. “No need to make this difficult. We’re reasonable guys.”

“Sorry,” said Kyle. “I’ve got a long ways to go, so I’m going to need everything. Maybe next time.” He could feel someone pulling on his cart again and strained to break it free. As he pulled, Kyle felt a hand grab his arm. His heart was pounding, and his hands and legs trembled as adrenaline rushed through his body.

“I told you that I need what I’ve got,” Kyle said, jerking his arm free. “Just leave me alone. I’ve got a family to get home to.”

He pulled harder on the cart, but the three men were too strong. They forced the cart to a stop and Kyle finally gave up the tug of war. Two of them held the cart and the third started to rummage through the contents.

“Give us your food, and we’ll let you go,” the leader said. “This can be really easy.”

Kyle dropped the handle of the cart and watched the men dig through his things. He felt impotent as his possessions were carelessly tossed on the ground.

One of the men handed the leader a bottle of water. “Hector,” he snickered, “I think this guy is going to start crying.” Then he burst out laughing.

“See, I told you this would be easy,” Hector sneered at Kyle as he tossed the tent out of the way. “You’ll figure something out. We need stuff too, you know. Besides, why hurry home? Your wife’s probably busy sleeping with the neighbors for food, and I bet she’s got the pantry stocked. Probably thinks your dead or something.”

The two holding the cart burst into laughter. One of them started making sounds of pleasure. “Oh baby, faster, faster,” he moaned.

The second one chimed in with a comment about how much she was charging and sent the three men into hysterics.

Kyle stepped in front of the cart, watching them take what he needed to survive while trying to ignore their taunts. He could feel rage mixing with his fear, tightening his chest. The two holding the cart joined in the search and continued badgering him with vulgar comments about his family.

They were drinking his water, eating his food, and talking about his wife doing group sessions when Kyle snapped. He lunged for Hector, whose head was turned, and punched him hard, catching him on the back of the head. Caught off guard like that, Hector’s head snapped to the side, and he stumbled away. Kyle followed and swung again, this time hitting Hector with a blow to the chin, but lost his footing and stumbled into Hector, knocking him to the ground. Kyle caught himself and kicked at him, catching him in the stomach just as he was tackled to the ground from behind.

Kyle and his tackler tumbled and twisted on the hot asphalt, the rocks grinding into their arms and legs. The man held Kyle tightly around the waist, but Kyle managed to twist towards the man and pummeled him around the eyes and nose with five or six sharp blows until the man released his grip.

Kyle rolled over and scrambled to his feet, but as he turned back towards his assailants, the third man was on him, his fist connecting hard with Kyle’s cheek. Stars exploded in Kyle’s head and he staggered backwards, struggling to stay on his feet. He turned to the source of the blow and raised his arms in front of his face, but a second blow caught him square in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. Kyle doubled over and dropped to a knee, fighting to catch his breath.

Another punch connected with the side of Kyle’s nose, causing a loud popping sound, followed by a stream of blood flowing from his right nostril. The man stepped back as Kyle finally caught his breath and took in some big gulps of air, choking on his blood. Kyle regained his footing and retreated lamely towards a blue pickup on the far side of the road. The first two men were back on their feet and walking towards Kyle as the third man circled to his right. One man’s nose pumped a steady crimson stream, leaving large red stains on the front of his shirt. They were all angry, and Kyle knew there was no way he was going to be able to talk his way out of the situation.

The man closest to Kyle lunged at him and pushed him towards the truck. Kyle flailed his arm out to catch himself, hitting the hood of the truck as the back of his head cracked against the side mirror. He rubbed his head and wiped blood from his face while shuffling back along the truck and watching his attackers close in on him, no longer interested in his cart.

Desperate, Kyle spun to his left and started to run, hoping the men would let him be and just take the things in his cart, his desire to survive outweighing everything else. He sprinted down the street, barely able to see through his swollen, watery eyes, furiously pumping his arms, not knowing where he was headed, but just wanting to get far away. A half block down the road, he looked over his shoulder, praying the men had given up, but found instead, that Hector and his cohorts were in full pursuit, with Hector only a few steps behind Kyle and closing. Kyle veered to the left and tried to slip between two vehicles but lost his footing and collided heavily with a minivan.

Hector skidded to a stop and grabbed the back of Kyle’s shirt and shoved him face first against the hood of the van. “Where you going, tough guy?” he yelled. “You did a bad thing, now you’re going to pay.” He leaned in close to Kyle’s ear, panting from his run. “Hope the Mrs. isn’t too particular about how her man looks, ‘cause she might not recognize you, if you make it home.”

The other two caught up and Hector barked out orders. “Grab his arms!” he yelled. “Turn him around so I can see his face!”

They yanked Kyle away from the van and turned him towards the center of the street, bending Kyle’s arms painfully to keep him from struggling. Hector swung at Kyle with a sweeping right hook, landing it on the left side of Kyle’s face and wrenching Kyle’s head violently to the side. Blood and saliva flew from Kyle’s mouth, splattering the man holding Kyle’s right arm. The man cursed as he wiped the fluids from his face. Another punch connected, hitting Kyle in the eye and snapping his head backwards. As the adrenaline wore off, the pain became overwhelming, with every nerve in his body simultaneously firing signals of distress. A punch to the stomach caused him to retch.