Patrick D'Orazio - Into the Dark

The smile wavered, but Michael’s eyes stayed on Jeff. His irritation was obvious as he shook his head in dissatisfaction at the blase answer. After a few moments, his eyes moved to Marcus.

“Marcus is going to lead the group. You’ll head down the road and go straight for the stores. It’s up to him to decide if you’ll split up or not. Jeff, George, Ray, and Teddy, you’re with him.”

There was an audible groan from Marcus. For the first time Jeff could recall, he heard the bony hillbilly string more than a couple words together. “Ah shit, boss. Why the hell do I have to take ‘em out?”

His voice was not quite as twangy as Frank’s; it was flat Ohioan versus Frank’s pseudo-country accent.

Michael stared at Marcus. It was not a threatening look, but a patient one, as if he were dealing with a moody child. Their eyes met briefly, and after a moment, Marcus’s dropped. He mumbled to himself, but said nothing that anyone could decipher.

“So where will you and Frank be while we go shopping?”

Michael did not look over at Jeff immediately, his eyes still trained on his subordinate. After a moment, he turned to Jeff. The look was the same as the one he had given Marcus.

“We’ll be here, of course. This is base camp,” Michael repeated, exasperated. “We need to maintain radio contact with Ben in case he reports any problems.”

Jeff squinted and then nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense… someone should stay here. It’s a rallying point in case things go wrong, right?”

Michael returned the nod almost imperceptibly.

“But it seems to me that the people who are heading down the road should be carrying the weapons.”

Before Michael could respond, Frank moved in front of Jeff. His nostrils were already flaring as his pupils narrowed to pinpoints.

“Listen, smartass. I’m not about to give up my weapon to you… or anyone else, for that matter.”

He moved closer, and Jeff was reminded for the second time that day how bad the hillbilly’s breath stank.

The two stared at each other, their mutual contempt obvious.

Frank edged forward, and Jeff’s eyes were drawn to the stout man’s gut. It was magnetic, like it had its own gravitational pull. It was round and well defined, not sloppy or sagging, protruding outward like the prow of a gelatinous ship. Megan’s gun was wedged there at its edge, pressed up against the filthy denim of his straining jeans. Jeff stared down at the gun like he had back at the camp. This time, Frank caught him doing it. He took a step back, his hand coming up to cover the weapon.

Jeff nodded toward the magnum.

“Seems like one of the weapons you’re carrying wasn’t yours to begin with, now was it?”

Slowly Frank’s fingers wrapped around the pistol grip of the silver-hued revolver. Jeff watched, mesmerized. Frank’s forefinger slid into the trigger guard.

His voice was a greasy whisper. “You want this? Do ya?” Excitement danced in Frank’s piggy eyes as he telegraphed his desire to have Jeff reach for the gun.

Jeff’s grip on his baseball bat tightened. He was sure he could get off at least one solid swing before Frank could pull the trigger.

“Enough, you two!” Michael stepped between them, his hand raised as he forced the two bickering men to back off.

“No one is giving up their weapons.” He looked at Frank, who was still trying to stare through him at Jeff. The crony looked up at his boss after a moment, and his anger visibly cooled. He took his hand away from the gun and raised the appendage, showing Michael it was empty.

Satisfied, Michael turned to Jeff. “Besides, this is just a quick snatch and grab. In and out.” He looked disdainfully at Jeff and then at everyone else in turn. “None of you should need weapons anyway.”

Michael moved out of the circle and walked a few feet toward the town. He pointed at it as he looked back at the others. “Grab food, medicine, water… everything you can. Don’t screw around, and get back here quickly.” He motioned to Frank, who nodded and walked back to the minivan. Frank returned with several empty duffel bags and passed them around.

He threw one at Jeff’s head, but Jeff caught it before it hit him. It was a decent-sized canvas rucksack, military issue. It could carry a good deal of loot. As Jeff stared at the bag, he had a sneaking suspicion why he had been given it.

“So we’re not taking the van? We’re just walking into town on foot?” His voice was filled with disbelief.

Michael stared at Jeff, the exasperation back. Sighing, the young leader rubbed his eyes wearily with his thumb and forefinger. He shook his head and barked out a harsh laugh.

“Jeff, I’m starting to wonder if you were put on this earth just to piss me off.”

Jeff forced himself to take a deep breath. George moved closer and gave him a puzzled look.

“Michael, I’m not trying to piss you off,” Jeff said in his most rational voice. “I’m just trying to understand why we can’t take the van down the road, pull in front of one of the stores, collect some stuff, and be on our way before any of those things even realize we were there.”

The whole time he was speaking, Michael was shaking his head. More than once, he tried to interrupt, but Jeff persisted until he was finished.

When he was done, Michael asked quietly, “Jeff, how did we discover you?”

“What does that have-”

“Please, Jeff. Indulge me. How did we discover you?”

Jeff sighed, knowing where the question was leading. “From the van. The noise it made as we drove down the road.”

Michael gave him an expectant look, clearly hoping Jeff would connect the dots.

Jeff didn’t care a bit for Michael’s logic. “So what if we wake up a few of those stiffs? It’s going to take us all of five minutes to get in and out if we use the van. Before there are enough of them to cause us any grief, we’ll be long gone!”

“But if you move in quietly-”

“We’ll be sitting ducks! Don’t you realize that we’re going to make enough noise even without the van to alert those things? They’re too damn sensitive to the sound and smell of people. My God! I’m surprised the noise we made driving here now or yesterday didn’t bring every last one of them down on us!”

Michael shook his head, his eyes on fire. “You’re making my point for me. We can’t afford to move the van into town. We’ll stir up every one of those things down there,” he said, jabbing his finger toward Manchester, his face red with anger.

Jeff shook his head in disbelief, knowing further argument was pointless. Michael clenched his fists and shook with rage. Stepping back, Jeff knew that he had pushed too hard this time. Michael was about to blow.

Staring at the M16 slung across the leader’s back and then down at the man’s fists, Jeff wondered with which Michael would choose to fight.

Regaining control as quickly as he had lost it, Michael gave Jeff a look that made it clear he would waste no more time on him.

“Enough of this bullshit. We do it my way. Get on the damn road now!”

Michael’s look dared anyone else to challenge his authority. No one seemed willing to, but no one was moving either.

After a few seconds, Marcus chimed in, reinforcing his boss’s words. He leaned to the side and spat a glob of tobacco juice on the ground. “All right, you heard him. Let’s get moving.”

The reed-thin man slid the pump-action shotgun off his back and began walking. Teddy glanced over at Ray and shrugged. He followed with his rifle clenched in a death grip. The short boy glanced back at Jeff and then turned around.

Ray followed, his pseudo-military apparel giving him the appearance of an Army recruit wannabe. He kept his eyes trained on Marcus’ back the whole time.