Shoot Like a Girl: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 2) Page 16

  Jake gunned it and swerved Ruby around another corner. They’d already found out from the MAG group that the doctors’ offices were all looted, same as nearly everything else in town.

  Grayson, Tarra, and Tucker held on tightly to the sides of the truck. Mickey and Frank kept their heads tucked down and nearly rolled off their hay bale, desperately trying not to look up at their cohorts again.

  Tucker dropped his head between his knees and took several long breaths, all of it suddenly becoming real to him. He looked up and glared at Mickey and Frank with contempt. “Way to have my back, assholes. I could’ve been killed in there.”

  Neither man looked up, or replied, but within seconds both of them sported flame-tipped ears.

  Tucker shook his head in disappointment. “We owe that group, now. Big time. But I’m not sure we’ll ever see them again.”

  Grayson faked a laugh, doing his best not to fall apart. “Oh, we will. Jake told them to meet us back at Tullymore. They’re going to give us a share of whatever they get in that store. Plus, we’re going to exchange maps. They’re somewhere out near my farm. We may need them again—or they may need us.”

  Tarra looked back the way they’d come. “Maybe we should have stayed, and all left together? What if there were more men in the back? Someone else might get the drop on them.”

  “Naw,” Grayson said. “That’s not gonna to happen again. But for taking the bigger risk, they’re also taking the lion’s share of any food and supplies they find. Fair deal, if you ask me, for them saving our asses. My guess is not a bullet more will fly. If there were more gangbangers in there, they all would’a come running.”

  Jake slid into another turn, causing them all to lose their place and slide together.

  They righted themselves and Grayson turned to yell toward Jake’s window. “Where you going? This is the wrong way!”

  Not getting an answer, Grayson re-situated himself and checked his firearm. Tucker and Tarra did the same. Tarra glanced up at Frank and Mickey. “Be ready this time, boys. If you pull some sort of mickey mouse bullshit like that again, we’re leaving your asses out here somewhere,” she said with a stern voice, emphasis on the ‘mickey’ and the ‘mouse.’

  As if they hadn’t already felt like cowards, Tarra has just handed them their balls.

  The road straightened out before them, and Tarra leaned up and quickly told Tina all that had happened in the store, and Tina relayed it to Jake. But they had made it this far; they weren’t going home with nothing after the day they’d had. So far, seven people dead…and they were still empty handed. Jake was determined to not have to come back to town again. He relayed that to Tina, and she relayed it to Tarra through the window, and she in turn told the guys.

  They’d continue until they found some baby formula, at the very least.

  Jake pulled Ruby into a small strip mall and cut the engine. Everyone turned to check it out, looking especially hard for any gang signs this time—there were none.

  One long rectangular building housed a Chinese restaurant, a massage spa, a drycleaner and a nail salon. Several units were just empty spaces, and all the businesses appeared to be deserted. The restaurant had been looted, with not a piece of glass left standing. Inside they could see toppled tables and chairs. The doors to the massage spa and nail salon stood wide open, appearing to be deserted. Nothing looked disturbed. Maybe there was nothing worth stealing.

  The dry cleaner shop had also been broken into. One whole sheet of glass on the sidewalk glimmered like a sparkling welcome mat.

  Everyone got out and convened on one side, keeping Ruby between them and the building while they looked and listened for signs of life.

  After a few moments, Jake pointed at the drycleaner shop. “The same family owns all of these businesses, and they live in the back of that one. Mr. Chen is the boss, and family patriarch.”

  They all looked at him in confusion.

  “And?” Tina asked.

  “The last time I dropped off some dry-cleaning for Gabby, I noticed two of his daughters have babies. Small babies. I saw them breastfeeding, but maybe they have some formula.”

  “Could be,” Tina said. “Sometimes the doctors send some home with the mothers when they leave the hospital, just in case.”

  Tucker unholstered his sidearm. “Let’s check it out.”

  Jake held up a hand, palm out. “We can’t all go in, guns a ‘blazing and demand things. We’re going to ask them if they have any. And they don’t know you. So, I’ll go in and take Tina and Tarra with me. They’ll recognize me—hopefully—and won’t feel so threatened with the ladies. Maybe we can get in and out with no bloodshed this time.”

  Grayson and Tucker nodded their agreement.

  Frank and Mickey didn’t say a word. Mickey stood still, waiting with his arms crossed, looking out away from the group, while Frank circled nearby, kicking at small rocks.

  “Mr. Chen?” Jake yelled.

  He, Tina and Tarra had made their way over the broken glass and into the dry cleaner shop. They stood staring through an avalanche of downed clothes and equipment, hangers laying all a ‘tangle, at the closed door on the back wall. It looked as though Mr. Chen might have knocked everything down himself, providing camouflage. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know they were there.

  But Jake knew.

  He happened to drop by to pick up clothes one day when Mr. Chen arrived with a used refrigerator. After seeing Mr. Chen’s small-framed daughters trying unsuccessfully to help their father, he’d offered to help carry it in. Mr. Chen had accepted his help. He’d seen their living quarters up close and personal in the back of the store.

  Jake whispered. “I’ll go first. You two take cover somewhere.”

  Tina and Tarra split up, each going to an opposite side of the door, holding their guns close to their chest as they flattened themselves on the wall, flanking Jake.

  He knocked and stood to the right of it.

  No answer.

  He knocked again, much louder. “Mr. Chen? It’s me, Jake. One of your customers. I drive the old red Chevy truck. Remember? I call the truck Ruby.”

  Several times, Mr. Chen had commented on his truck. Jake hoped that would ring a bell with him.

  A very Asian voice answered him. “We close now. Go away!”

  “Can you open the door? I need to talk to you,” Jake called through the closed door.

  “We no open for business!” the voice called back.

  “Mr. Chen! Please, I need your help,” Jake called insistently.

  A pause, and then, “Who with you?”

  “Two women. They’re friends.”

  Jake was startled as the door suddenly cracked open. A very disheveled Mr. Chen poked his nose out, a pair of bifocals perched on the end of it. His short, black hair stood up in tufts around his head. “What you need?” he asked.

  “Mr. Chen, thank you for opening the door. My friend has a baby, younger than your grandchildren. Do you have any extra formula?”

  Mr. Chen poked his head out further and looked at Tina and Tarra. They stood empty-handed as they’d both had the wherewithal to re-holster their guns before he saw them. He eyeballed the women with disapproval anyway. “No milk. Good bye,” he said stiffly.

  The door slammed shut, followed by the click of a lock.

  Tina and Tarra shared an amused smile.

  Jake sighed and knocked again. “Mr. Chen. Please. The child is very sick. She’s hungry and not old enough to eat food. Do you have anything back there we could give her?”

  The door popped open and Mr. Chen stuck his head out again. “Where is baby?”

  Jake grabbed the edge of the door, hoping to keep it open. This was their last chance. “Back at the house. Please, do you have any?”

  Mr. Chen’s eye narrowed. “What you have for me?”

  Jake looked around, lost for words. “We didn’t bring anything. What do you want?”

  Mr. Chen looked Tucker over, head to toe, eyeballin
g the gun holstered to his side. “You have gun. I have baby milk. You give me gun. I give you milk.”

  Jake shook his head and held his hands out, palms up. “That’s not a fair trade at all, Mr. Chen.”

  The door slammed shut again. From behind the door, a fierce but squeaky voice yelled, “No deal!”

  Jake stared at the door, deep in thought. He hated this gun anyway. He’d love to not have to carry a firearm at all before he too was forced to shoot at someone. But he had no doubt if he walked out to the truck unarmed, Grayson would already be planning to give him another.

  Grayson had plenty. They could spare this one.

  He loudly knocked on the door again. “Deal, Mr. Chen. I’ll give you the gun, but I want all the milk. Your girls can make their own. I also want some baby food, and diapers, too. And if you want bullets, I’m gonna need some of your rice. That’s a fair trade.”

  Jake cringed when he realized he was racially profiling, assuming a Chinese family had lots of rice. He held his breath to see if Mr. Chen would come out smiling or spitting mad…or if he’d come out at all.

  The door opened to a happy Mr. Chen. He expectedly held his hand out.

  Soon, they were heading out again, away from town with a small stack of supplies. Tina stared down at the blankets in the bed of the truck that Jake had insisted they swipe on the way out of the drycleaners. She wished she didn’t have to be a part of their last errand before returning to Tullymore.

  It was one that every one of them would regret until the end of their days.

  36

  The Three E’s

  “Dammit, Trunk!” Smalls yelled in a thunderous voice as he stepped to the edge of the grave and looked down. “You okay, Miss Edith?” he yelled down the six-foot deep hole.

  Trunk scoffed. “That tough old bird is fine, Smalls. Shut the hell up.”

  Edith landed bosom to bosom, staring directly into Mei’s solemn face. She scrambled to get up, and reached down to push herself off the dead woman. But feeling Mei’s body beneath her, she screamed and grabbed the dirt walls, digging in and crabwalking backward to the end of the hole, as far from Mei’s face as she could get. She kept going until her back was against the far dirt wall. She pulled her dirt-covered feeble legs up close to her body and jerked her filthy over-sized house-dress down over them until it covered her ankles.

  She wrapped her arms around her legs that were violently shaking, her eyes wide open. She wasn’t afraid of Mei. She knew she was gone; harmless. She was afraid of what else might be in the grave: snakes, rats, spiders… she looked around in terror, imagining creepy-crawlies all over her.

  Trunk looked at the phone, checking to be sure it still had a full charge, and dropped it into his pocket. He leaned into the grave and yelled down to Edith, “Just pretty her up, and then we’ll help you out of there.” He put his hand over his mouth, holding back his laughter. When he had control of himself again, he said, “Backfire’s gonna drop down your supplies now.”

  Backfire lowered the box, and it landed in front of her, on Mei’s stomach.

  The smell of early decay filled Edith’s nose and she heaved, and tried to hold back her retching. Her body lurched as she forced the bile back down her throat.

  “Suck it up, Edith. You’re not coming out until Mei is picture-perfect,” Trunk said in a sing-song voice.

  He walked away, leaving her to it. Over his shoulder, he called out to his guys, “Call me back out here when she’s ready. This might take a while.” He whistled as he climbed the porch and slammed the screen door behind him.

  Tears welled in Edith’s eyes. They weren’t for her; the tears were for Mei. She wanted to just leave this poor girl in peace. She didn’t deserve to be made a mockery of. But, Trunk was a monster. She knew he’d do as he said. He’d proven that already. If she wanted out of this grave, she’d have to do this.

  As Backfire and Smalls looked on, she took a deep breath and got up her nerve. She looked up at them and screamed, “I can’t do it with you watching. Give us some privacy,” she snapped. “I’m going to change her shirt.”

  Smalls nodded his head once, and put one big meaty arm in front of Backfire, who was leering down into the hole, hoping for a show. Smalls pushed him back away from the grave, ignoring his protests.

  “Let her be, you sick fuck,” Smalls said, and stood with his back to the grave, blocking Backfire from reaching the edge of it again. “Go tattle to your daddy, if you need to.”

  Backfire huffed off. More likely to stuff his face or take a nap than to tattle. He was always looking for free time to slack off.

  Smalls glared at the smaller man’s back.

  Once he was alone with the women, he sat down in the nearby chair, where he couldn’t see them. “Miss Edith, I’m right here. Just yell if you need me,” he said.

  Edith ignored him.

  She started with the water and washcloth, squeezing the excess water out of the rag. She crawled up on her hands and knees across the top of Mei, and gently dabbed at the dirt on her face. Such a young girl…just a child, really. She never had a chance to make things right with her daughter either.

  Suddenly, she remembered the picture of the little girl with the dark pigtails that they’d buried Mei with. She scooted back and wiped the dirt away from Mei’s arms. There was the picture, in Mei’s one hand, with the stump hidden beneath. She wiped the photograph against her dress, cleaning it off the best she could.

  This had to be Mei’s daughter.

  A tear rolled down her face and she sat the picture aside. All Edith and Elmer wanted when they buried this poor girl on their land, was to let her finally rest in peace, with her daughter in her arms. Soon, those three monsters would be down here pawing at her, posing for pictures.

  She wrinkled her nose and curled her lip when she remembered Trunk’s instructions to leave off her bra. Would they touch her like that?

  Edith couldn’t let that happen. Frantically, she worked to fix Mei’s hair and face. When she finished with that, she carefully pulled the pins out of her own hair, gently letting the long, silver strands down.

  Now, she had a weapon.

  She pulled on the girl’s arms, struggling to get her into an upright position while she sat across her lap, one leg on either side of her. Edith’s old legs were folded beneath her, pressed against the cold dirt. Her circulation wasn’t good at the best of times, and now, she could barely feel them. She grimaced at the sharp needle pricks that attacked her when she tried to unbend them.

  Giving up on her legs, she pulled Mei’s arms out of her shirt, one at a time, and then gently pulled it over her head. She slipped off the dirty purple shirt and replaced it with the clean blouse from the box.

  She left Mei’s bra on.

  Finishing, she held Mei up while squeezing herself behind her, moving at a snail’s pace. Almost ready now, she pulled Mei against her, trying to cover herself completely up.

  She leaned back, and put her arms under Mei’s—as though she were a puppeteer. “She’s ready!” she called up to Smalls. “I’m holding her up to get one good picture of just Mei before you all get down here with her.”

  Smalls looked down and flinched. “Okay, Miss Edith. I’ll go get the boss.”

  A few moments later, Trunk and Backfire followed Smalls to the grave; Trunk was distracted with turning on the phone and finding the camera app. He stepped up and looked down. “Where’s Edith?” he growled, turning on Smalls with fire in his eyes.

  “She’s in there. She’s behind Mei. Said we could snap a good picture of Mei first if you wanted,” Smalls said.

  Trunk looked again and laughed, now seeing Edith’s plump body behind Mei’s thin one. But her head was hidden. He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Good idea.” He squatted down and aimed the camera at Mei. “I still see you, Edith…” he said. Edith was too fluffy to completely hide behind a small girl like Mei. “You did a good job, though. Everybody say cheese…”

  He snapped a picture and st
ood up.

  Edith called up. “She wants to wave at the camera. Get a close-up of this,” she said in a muffled voice, the gruesome back of Mei’s head in front of her own.

  Trunk grimaced at her position. “That must look really bad from where you’re sitting, Edith, but sure…way to really enjoy your job.” He chuckled again and crouched down, waiting for Mei’s mock-wave.

  When Edith lifted Mei’s arm, she chose the one with no hand. “Even better…wave that stump at me.” Trunk said and loudly laughed…but as it raised, it seemed a hand wasn’t missing after all.

  Shots rang out, and a moment later the grave now held more than one dead body.

  37

  The Three E’s

  Elmer and Emma were close now. Almost home and looking forward to some home-cooking from Edith. After the trouble they’d run into, Emma didn’t argue any more about heading off on her own. She’d quietly agreed to ride back to Elmer’s and leave from there.

  She leaned up into the space between the hay bales to talk to Elmer, even though to do so, she had to yell. But, she was bored. After their getaway from the three drunks they hadn’t seen any action. She felt it was too dangerous to not have two sets of eyes on the road, and refused to hide anymore.

  “Why don’t you restack some of the hay around the sides…make yourself some peep holes somewhere else and stop hovering over my shoulder,” Elmer grumbled as he bounced on the seat of his tractor. “You’re like a pesky gnat.” He waved his hand around his ear, as though shooing her away.

  Emma didn’t answer for a moment. She was a long way from Elmer on the front of that wagon. He could barely hear her, in fact. But she knew that wasn’t what was bothering him. Elmer hadn’t mentioned killing the man he’d shot back there at all. He’d been very quiet. Was it tearing him up inside? “Am I really bothering you, Elmer?”

  He fidgeted in his seat, took off his ball cap and scratched his head. “Yes,” he finally answered, in a cantankerous voice, and slipped the cap back on, giving the bill a little bend to crease it.