A tingle ran up his spine as he slid the barrel of his rifle along the edge of the gate’s rough metal. Through his sights he saw no certain enemy yet as the gate inched forward. In a athletic stance, with his shoulders squared up with the potential target, he stood aiming, ready, and when the gate finally budged opened enough for him to have a clear view of the interior, he stood astonished. The others in his command entered as well and when they had a clear view of the enemy’s realm, only an old man stood before them.
What was odder…the old man ignored their invasion as he continued his work of sweeping the street with his back turned to them.
Only three blocks in distance away, unless the old man was totally deaf with his back to them, he had to know they were there. “Put your hands up,” Davis yelled, though he didn’t appear armed sans the push broom.
The old man seemed to not know of their presence.
“I said, put your hands up and drop the broom,” Davis yelled again.
Nothing. Three more pushes of the broom. A plume of dust formed with his efforts. The old man seemed annoyed by a flattened white paper cup on the ground.
“Just shoot him,” Jerry said. “Get it over with.”
“Nah,” he’s not armed.
“I’ll shoot him, then,” Jerry said.
“No. He’s just an old man.”
Davis aimed at him anyway. He sent off one round. The paper cup went flying like a saucer.
The old man’s face darted toward them.
“Put your hands up, now.” Davis and the others ran toward him. “Don’t move.”
The old man stood, trembling, with his arms in the air. By the time they reached him, Davis noticed a dark spot on the old man’s khakis.
“He’s pissing himself,” Jerry said. “That’s disgusting. Crappy old bastard.”
“Stop it. Keep your eyes open. This could be a trap.” Trying to keep his men on alert was always a problem. “Do not get distracted here.”
“It’s just me,” the old man pleaded. “What do you want?”
“I don’t think for a minute you made that damn gate all by yourself. You’re not fooling me. Where are they?”
“Who?”
Davis looked around. The wide, swept streets. The buildings. Some were in disarray…others neat as a surgical tray. There were trails between debris to some. Others were blockaded. “The people that live here. The ones that took down the compound and killed Hyde. We’re not here for a visit. We’re here for a reason.”
“There’s a few of us but they’re out scouting for supplies,” the old man said and began to lower his arms.
“Don’t even.”
“I’m not armed.”
In a growl, Davis flipped his rifle over and punched the old man in the stomach and yelled, “I said keep your hands in the air.”
“This is making me nervous,” Jerry said.
“Where are they?” Davis yelled at the old man again.
“They’re out,” the old man said, doubled over. “You came at a bad time. Try again later.”
Davis knew if they were watching him, now would be the time they’d take potshots at them. If he hurt the old man, that would draw them out for an attack. The problem was, he had a hard time hurting the defenseless.
His men were getting jumpy.
“Let’s look around. Marvin, check out that old market. Take anything useful. Jerry, that building there. It’s too clean, the coffee shop. Check that out.”
As he watched his men move off in the distance, the others stood there on guard, watching for anything that moved. Davis kept his rifle pointed on the old man. One false move, a shot at one of his officers, and the old man would die. In the meantime, the smell of urine permeated the immediate surroundings as he listened for any clues from his men.
“Clear,” Jerry yelled from the coffee shop.
“Find anything?” Davis asked.
“Nah, smells like coffee but there’s nothing in there.”
Davis looked to the market. “Marvin?” he yelled.
A second too long passed without a sound.
“Marvin?”
Nothing. Not a peep.
“What the heck? I saw him walk in. Didn’t he just go in there?”
Davis grabbed the old man by the shirt and jerked him to his face. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Nothing!”
“Hey,” Marvin called out suddenly, as he appeared in the doorway of the old market. He stuffed something oblong and yellow into his mouth and tried to speak. Waving with his arm, he held up a familiar white box with blue writing and said, “’eck it out. They ‘ot ‘winkies in ‘ere. ‘ons of ‘em.”
That’s when Marvin suddenly dropped into nothingness. He stood there one second and then the next, it was like the ground opened up and swallowed him and his Twinkies. A loud clang echoed as he disappeared from sight.
Gripping up on the rifle, Davis couldn’t believe his eyes. One second, Marvin was there and the next he’d vanished.
“What just happened?” Jerry yelled.
In quick order, the men scurried to form a defensive outward circle. Davis held the old man at gunpoint in front of them by his shirt. “Keep your eyes open on all sides,” Davis said calmly. As a group, they edged back toward the direction they’d come in. They’d gone no more than five feet when the giant metal gate slammed shut with a loud, defining clang.
“Oh…crap! Shoot the old man, Davis,” Jerry said.
“Negative. He’s the only thing keeping us alive right now.”
“They killed Marvin!” Jerry said, and Davis could tell by the tone of his friend’s voice that he was about to lose it.
“Calm down, Jerry. As far as we know, Marvin’s still eating Twinkies somewhere below ground. We don’t know he’s dead. He’s just missing.”
“He dropped down. It was a trap,” said one of the other men.
“Probably onto spikes or something. Should we split up?” Jerry asked.
“No, unless you want to end up like Marvin,” Davis said calmly. He’d always had the unnerving and unique ability to become calmer in a crisis. “That’s what they want. Divide and conquer.”
That’s when he shook the old man. “Start talking. What the hell is going on here? This some kind of trick?”
Then they all ducked as something exploded. From over the locked mammoth gate, smoke and flames rose from where their vehicles were. Two more explosions followed, one for each vehicle.
The old man started to make a noise.
The muffled crying started low and then morphed into all-out laughter. The old man was laughing his ass off.
The laughter became louder…more jovial. Davis found it unnerving. He didn’t want to hold onto him anymore. He shoved him away as if he had leprosy or something equally repulsive, but held his aim.
“Make him stop that,” Jerry said.
“Keep it together, everyone,” Davis yelled.
But not even Davis could stand the laughter. He backed away another five feet. Heads swiveled everywhere.
That’s when tunes began to play on hidden loudspeakers in all directions. Jimi Hendrix’s voice bellowed All Along the Watchtower. So deafening was the sound, vibrations rattled the soles of their shoes.
Stunned, Davis stood there, unsure what would happen next. His heart pounded five times the beat.
Jerry suddenly stepped forward. Stood erect. Raised his weapon snug against his shoulder and cheek. And though Davis barely heard the shot over the loud music, he saw the flash of the weapon right before the round hit the old man square in the chest.
“No!” Davis barely heard himself yell, but it was too late.
The other nine of his men scattered and that’s when Jerry dropped to the cleaned street a few feet away. He never heard the shot that killed his friend right before him. He stared as pooling blood seeped from the side of his head.
Jimi Hendrix sang on, ‘There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief…’
Davis stood with his boots glued to the pavement. It took everything he had not to move. He dropped his weapon to the ground a few feet away and held his hands up in surrender.
“Don’t run!” he tried to shout to his men while Jimi stole his words.
They heard none of his warnings.
He watched three of the men try to scale the metal gate. He watched one try to run into the coffee shop for cover. He watched as one tried to run farther down Hemlock Street. All nine died from unheard shots coming from different directions. While every one of his men were hailed down dead, Davis held his place as the music ended with ‘all along the watchtower.’
Then silence, except for the persistence of his ringing and rushing pulse.
The bodies of his men lay strewn along the swept asphalt.
Before him, the wind off the coast blew a lock of Jerry’s hair across his face. Blood still oozed, no longer at a pulse rate, from the side of his head.
Davis’ hands still remained up though they shook like crazy.
After a while, his ears ceased to buzz. The shaking started from the pit of his stomach. He didn’t mean to, but he glanced at dead Jerry again and something overtook him. Before he knew it, he leaned over and retched bile from his stomach. Then he was left with a dilemma as he rose and felt a string of saliva hanging from the corner of his mouth. He took the chance and wiped it on his inner shoulder. Expecting a bullet to fly through his torso any second, he jumped suddenly at the loud clang behind him.
Turning his head, he eyed the opened gateway.
It stood open, ajar a few feet wider than before.
Breathing hard, Davis looked around. There was nothing. No sign that if he moved, he’d meet his demise. No indication that if he didn’t, he’d die there any second.
The flames on the other side of the gate were dying down. The black smoke billowed into the sky. Getting back to Astoria would take some time. That was if he made it through the gate to begin with.
He swallowed hard.
With his heart rate accelerating again, he took a few more breaths.
Nothing.
Just the wind now.
Despite the cold chill, sweat ran in rivers down the sides of his face into his graying stubble. It itched terribly. Davis turned in an about-face to the gate. No one shot him. A few of his dead men were piled before the exit. He took a step toward. Then another. A few more. And then he ran. He couldn’t help but run faster as he reached the exit. Suspecting that they’d shoot him down at the last second, he leapt over the dead as he bolted through the opening.