“It’s under control, son, just relax and keep your pants on!” Dad said, his frustration starting to wear on him.
He looked at Jeff again and sighed. “The name’s Fred, for all the good it’ll do ya.”
Jeff increased the wattage of his smile. “Well, Fred, my name’s Jeff. This is my wife, Megan.”
He held his breath and prayed Megan would play along. When she didn’t stare at him in surprise, Jeff relaxed slightly. All he knew was that he had to keep stalling and try to give Fred a reason to feel guilty about what he was doing.
“I can’t believe we’ve made it this far. We somehow managed to get out of town after everything fell apart. Those things were all over us. Honestly, I’m just glad to be here.” Jeff looked over at Megan affectionately. She seemed a bit disoriented from his lie but smiled disjointedly back at him. He inched closer to her until the rifle began to elevate once again. Jeff held up his hands in appeasement and stopped.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Fred remarked irritably. “I’m going to take a look at the van. We want to be out of the area by nightfall. You and your wife can jaw all you want about how you escaped the city after we’re gone.” He started toward the van.
“Where’s your wife, Fred?”
When Fred stiffened and the color disappeared from his face, Jeff knew he had struck a nerve. He hadn’t had an idea what he was going to say until the words tumbled out of his mouth. Something had been gnawing at him since he had stepped out of the van, and now he realized what it was.
“Is that her grave?” Jeff pointed to the marker they had noticed while driving up to the property: the makeshift cross and the freshly turned dirt. The disturbed earth was long and wide enough for an adult to be buried underneath it.
“Is that Bobby’s mother?”
“Shut up.” It was a growled threat.
Jeff kept pressing. “I’m just wondering, because we had to bury two children back in Milfield. They got bit, got the plague, and we had to watch them die, Fred. So I was just curious if you might understand what we’ve been dealing with.”
“SHUT UP, GODDAMMIT!” Fred screamed, his eyes closed as he pointed the rifle like a spear at Jeff’s chest.
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
Bobby was finally moving off the porch toward them. He was almost running and still trying to point the rifle at the two prisoners. He stopped a few feet away, but Jeff could see the agitation on his face. Like his father, he was taller than average, but he was still growing into his body. Back on the porch, he looked like he meant business. Up close, even with a rifle in his hands, he looked like nothing more than a confused kid.
Fred almost turned to face his son but held his position and glared at Jeff. “Get the hell back to the porch! NOW!” Bobby hovered for a couple of moments before reluctantly backing up.
Jeff kept the look of misery on his face. The bluff he was trying to pull off was far too close to the truth for him not to feel some of the pain he was projecting.
“Fred, please. We’re just trying to survive here. We’ve already seen way too much death. Haven’t you?” He leaned forward as hate burned in the other man’s eyes. “Why don’t we help each other out so we can all get out of here together?”
The butt of the rifle connected with his jaw so quickly that Jeff barely saw it coming. Fred had been moving closer ever since the other man started talking, but when Jeff leaned forward, he presented an irresistible target. There was no pain as he fell to the ground; the clipped scream of surprise from Megan was the first thing he noticed after nearly getting his jaw dislocated.
The blow rattled his teeth and knocked him flat, but as Jeff moved his hand up to his jaw, he wasn’t quite sure what had happened. When the pain finally came a few seconds later, it started as a dull throb.
“Stay away from him, you asshole!” Megan scrambled to Jeff’s side, grabbing him around the shoulders and shielding him from any further attacks. Fred was done, though. He stepped back, his rage sated for the moment. He looked more confused than ever, and the reprimand from Megan seemed to give him pause.
“Bastard.”
The expletive was whispered as Megan examined Jeff’s jaw, touching the rising welt delicately. His head moved back quickly after her fingers hit the raw spot, and he sucked in air through his teeth. She relaxed a little when she realized his jaw wasn’t broken.
Megan looked up at Fred. Her eyes were hot flares that burned straight through him. He stepped back, giving her the chance to help Jeff, first to his knees and then to his feet. Jeff gingerly rubbed his jaw as he glared at Fred, who was too busy looking at the van again to care.
“Where’s the keys? Give ‘em to me.”
“Fred-”
“I’m tired of this shit! That IS my wife over there, and I was the one who had to put her down! Satisfied? Happy to know I had to deal with the same shit you did, you fucking prick?” Fred’s eyes were full of fire as he spoke. “In about two seconds, if you don’t hand over those keys, I swear to God I’ll be digging two more holes!”
The rifle was in Jeff’s face again, but this time he could see no doubt on Fred’s visage. The ruse had backfired, and there was nothing else to do. Eyes darting quickly over to Bobby, Jeff saw that the boy’s rifle was pointed in their direction, but his eyes were glued to his father.
“Keys are in the ignition.” Jeff grimaced at the pain that speaking brought. He leaned against Megan, still a bit woozy from the blow.
“Stay here,” Fred commanded. “Bobby? Don’t let them out of your sight! I’m checking out the van.”
“Okay, Dad.” Bobby sounded nervous, almost depressed, but the gun remained elevated and his eyes focused on the two clinging figures thirty feet in front of him.
Jeff waited until Fred had walked away before he whispered in Megan’s ear, “Get ready.”
She stiffened and looked him in the eyes. Nodding almost imperceptibly, Megan tensed. She knew George had her gun.
Fred moved to the van. He glared at Jeff one last time and pointed his weapon at the vehicle. Moving in, he glanced quickly through the tinted windows behind the driver’s door. He looked closer for a moment. Satisfied, he inched up and stared inside. There were the keys, dangling from the ignition, just as Jeff had said. He did not see anyone, just a jumble of boxes and other crap strewn about, as if the minivan had been through an earthquake.
Fred allowed himself a small grin as he moved the rifle to his left hand and pointed it skyward. Opening the door, he leaned in. The keys were pushed into the ignition completely, and the van started chirping in annoyance. He twisted the key and the engine turned over. The idle was a quiet purr, and the gas needle bounced from empty to almost full…a smidge below. His grin widened.
The thrill lasted less than a second before he heard a distinct click.
Fred froze, his rifle pointed straight up and, inconveniently, still outside the vehicle, along with his left arm. His head, chest, and right arm were completely exposed. He slowly turned his head at a downward angle and confirmed the fact that there was a handgun pointed at his face.
George was sprawled on the floor, a blanket covering him except for the top of his head and the barrel of the gun, which was pointed at Fred.
“Drop the rifle. DON’T move your head or even twitch a muscle.”
It came out in a hiss. The man above him was glaring down with a mixture of anger and resentment. George returned the look.
Fred paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He looked like he was thinking over George’s command when he saw a head pop up from behind the second row of seats. Jason was holding Jeff’s gore-stained baseball bat.
“You better do as he says.”
“Jason! Get down. NOW!” George commanded. The boy kept his eyes on Fred as he ducked down to where he could still peek over the seat.
Fred dropped the rifle and raised his hands, leaning out of the van but moving slowly. He continued to stare at Jason as George spoke to him.