Patrick D'Orazio - Coming the Dark

Jeff was no ventriloquist, but he did his best to speak without moving his lips. The command was met with silence. He blinked away the sweat creeping into his eyes and stared at the man standing motionless in front of them.

The rifle had a scope attached to it, and as far as Jeff could tell, it was not of the bolt-action variety. There was a clip coming out of the bottom, and while he didn’t know much about rifles, he guessed that meant it was a semiautomatic. In other words, it was time to play nice.

The man with the rifle motioned for him to get out of the van-short jabs pointing to the door. He was a good twenty feet away but that was too close for Jeff’s taste.

“Stay in here,” he mumbled to George and Jason as he reached for the door handle and lifted it. The door popped open, and he began to slide out.

“What do you want us to do?” George hissed from behind the driver’s seat. He had gotten back up to his knees but heeded Jeff’s command and was tucked out of sight. Jason was next to him, trying to sneak a peek around Megan’s chair.

“If he shoots me, get the fuck out of here.”

George felt like cursing-or at the very least responding with a sarcastic comment of his own-but Jeff was already shutting the door behind him. George reached under the console where he had spied a small lever and tugged at it. The small plastic cup holder fell flat to the side of Megan’s seat, and the small amount of junk on it, including a map Jeff had marked up, fell to the floor. Now he had a small passage to the front seats if he could squirm his way up there without being seen.

“Shit, he wants me out there too. What do I do?”

George didn’t know if Megan’s question was rhetorical or not, but he decided to answer.

“Leave that gun of yours on the seat and I’ll think of something. And be careful.”

Megan risked a glance down at George. The fear on her face told him how badly she did not want to go outside. There were tears welling up in her eyes, but she nodded slightly. As she opened the door and began to move, George slid his hand up and grabbed her arm gently, giving it a quick squeeze. She froze for a moment and then started moving again, allowing the gun to fall between her legs onto the seat. George let go of Megan’s arm and quickly discovered the warm metal of the.357 Magnum beneath his fingers.

Outside, Jeff was attempting to start a conversation with the man he hoped wasn’t planning on killing them.

“Hello! Are we glad to see you! We haven’t seen anyone living in quite-”

“Shut the fuck up and show me your hands.”

Jeff raised his hands higher. His captor kept the rifle trained on him but gave Megan a long hard look as she dropped down from the van and came out from behind the open door. She pushed it shut slowly and moved forward, her hands above her head as well.

“Look, I know things are screwed up, but there’s no reason to point a rifle at us. We don’t want any trouble,” Jeff pleaded.

“Yeah, right. Everyone is trouble these days. I’m not taking any chances.”

Jeff tensed and took a closer look at the man who had ambushed them. His tone of voice was cynical but not sinister, and he certainly didn’t look like some sort of bandit.

He had on expensive loafers and a pair of dirty black designer jeans. As if that weren’t enough, the alligator logo on his shirt confirmed he wasn’t some farmer trying to ward poachers off his land. His reddish-blond thinning hair was an unkempt mess, and the bags under his eyes testified to the fact that he had suffered through many sleepless nights lately. His soft, round appearance betrayed the fact that he had not endured much in the form of hardship throughout his life. At least not until the plague had come along and spoiled everything. Jeff knew he was looking at a desperate scavenger, and nothing more.

“Move away from the van. Come toward me, slowly…okay, stop there.”

Jeff and Megan were about ten feet in front of the grill of the minivan and about twice the distance from their yuppie captor, who had backpedaled as they came forward.

“Look, Mister…?” Megan said in a timid voice. She could see that the man in front of them was nervous, his eyes darting back and forth between her and Jeff. She inched forward slightly, hoping against hope that she could talk their way out of this mess.

The rifle swung in her direction. She froze and felt her legs go numb.

“Bitch, shut the FUCK up and stay right where you are!”

The man’s grip on the rifle tightened, and despite the residue of nervousness about him, he was able to keep it pointed directly at her heart.

“Hey, man! Take it easy! We don’t have any weapons,” Jeff shouted, hoping to turn the attention back to him and away from Megan.

He got his wish and found himself staring down the barrel of the rifle once again.

“I told you to both to SHUT UP! I meant it. I don’t want to have to kill you!”

Jeff could hear panic in the words. The urban “warrior” holding the expensive rifle on them was sweating profusely and blinking like crazy. As the man’s eyes danced back and forth between his two prisoners, Jeff began to worry about the aggressor’s mental stability.

After a few moments, their captor calmed down enough to look past them toward the van. Inching to his right to see around Jeff and Megan, he scanned the vehicle with an appraising eye.

The Odyssey had definitely seen better days. It looked like it was getting ready for the demolition derby. The windshield was still in one piece, but there were several growing spider web cracks in it. Deep gouges ran along the sides, the front was dented to hell, and the grill had snapped in several places. The outer casing of one of the headlights had shattered, and there were splatters of blackened goop in most of the available nooks and crannies. An attempt to clear away the spray of blood and chunks of flesh on the windshield had done little more than create a smeared haze. It was a mess.

“Anyone else in there?” the man holding them prisoner asked Jeff. When he didn’t get an immediate response, he continued. “You better tell me right now if you know what’s good for you…all of you. ANYONE IN THERE?” His eyes didn’t leave Jeff as he threw the question toward the van. “COME ON OUT NOW AND EVERYTHING’LL BE OKAY.”

The scavenger suddenly smiled, trying to show that he could be good natured if need be.

“Bobby?” He leaned his head back as he spoke, throwing his words behind him.

“Yeah, Dad?”

The voice came from the house. Jeff looked toward the structure and saw that the front door was wide open. A young man stood there with another rifle pointed at him. At first glance, it looked like he was a teenager, and there was no doubt he was the man’s son. Get rid of the older man’s round gut and thinning hair, and they were spitting images of one another. Bobby held his rifle in a relaxed stance as he squinted down the sight. His did not have a scope, but Jeff could see he had a bead on him. The boy did not move away from the doorframe even after his father called to him, preferring to remain close to cover.

Jeff gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath. Things were getting worse by the minute.

“You got them covered?”

“No prob, Dad.”

“Good boy.”

The father’s smile grew larger. His nervousness had diminished greatly. He nodded toward his son but stared at Jeff as his voice dropped to a near whisper. “My boy’s a good shot…a hell of a lot better than me. He used to hunt with his uncle all the time.” The father moved closer and looked at Jeff conspiratorially. “Now I might be a little nervous about shooting you, but Bobby there…well, if I tell him to shoot, he’ll do it, no questions asked.”