Max jammed the hose he’d carried with him down into the tank. He got his mouth onto the dirty hose and started sucking. Thankfully, the awful taste of gas didn’t hit his mouth.
Max had the pesticide container at his feet, and got the hose into it.
The sound of the crowd was closer now than it had been.
Max almost didn’t dare look up.
When he did, he saw them. A man and a woman. Late fifties. The woman wore a bathrobe and the man wore a jean jacket and faded corduroy pants.
“What the hell are you doing to my car?”
Max didn’t answer. He reached for his Glock. But he wasn’t going to shoot them. The situation was desperate, but he couldn’t justify it to himself. After all, in this situation, he was the thief. He was in the wrong, even if he was trying to do the right thing.
The pesticide container was almost full.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” The man’s voice was full of anger. “Hey, Tom, Bobby! Someone’s stealing my gas!”
More footsteps. More people were coming. If his luck was bad, soon the whole crowd would be after him.
The container was full. Max had the cap on and he was off in a flash. He was running away from the man and woman, away from the crowd, towards the house that sat behind this one.
He wasn’t as fast as he’d been before he’d been shot in the leg. And carrying the gas slowed him down.
A chain link fence separated the two yards. Max heard the footsteps behind him.
“Get him!” someone yelled.
“Get the gun from the house!”
“Another thief! We’ll hang him.”
Someone cheered.
Max didn’t look behind him. He dropped the pesticide container over the fence, and then threw himself over. He picked it up and ran as hard and as fast as he could.
“He’s gone through the backyard!”
Max barely had time to think. He knew that getting away wasn’t going to be easy. He’d have to think of something. Some trick. Or surprise.
If only that car had started. Max would have been out of town by now.
Instead of running through the driveway, Max cut over to the next yard.
He didn’t let himself panic. He didn’t let himself get lost. He kept his head as clear as he could, and didn’t let himself lose his orientation. He needed to get back to the main road, the way he’d come in, or he could easily wind up trapped in a corner somewhere, with no way out.
Max moved swiftly backwards, throwing himself over fences, ducking down low to keep himself less visible.
The shouts followed him, and the roar of the crowd increased.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up on the gallows he’d seen earlier. There was no telling what a mob was capable of.
And the thing was that he was guilty. He’d stolen gas.
But there was no time for regret.
He had to keep moving.
“Freeze right there.”
The words came from a cold, deep voice. Male and older, grizzled. Max couldn’t see the man, but he could smell his breath, rancid and disgusting and intense.
“I don’t want any trouble,” said Max.
“Put the gun down.”
“Do you have one?” said Max.
“What? I’ve got to show it to you?”
“If you want me to take you seriously.”
Max heard a revolver cocking. Metal on metal. An unmistakable sound.
“OK,” said Max, speaking quietly and slowly. “Let’s not get too excited here.” Max made no move to drop his gun. Instead, he turned his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the guy, who stood somewhere beyond his peripheral vision.
“Don’t push me,” said the man. His voice cracked and groaned. He sounded like a life-long smoker.
The noise of the crowd was getting louder. They were shouting. They were calling for blood.
Max had to act. It was either make a move now, risking getting shot. Or not make a move and certainly die.
But there was no chance of shooting the guy. Max would have to use another tactic. He couldn’t rely on his Glock.
“OK,” said Max. “I’m putting the gun down.”
He did as he’d said, leaning down and setting the Glock down on the ground.
“Now can you get that gun out of my face?”
“No chance.”
“What do you want from me?”
“That’s not the question you should be asking.”
“The crowds are coming,” said Max. “And something tells me you’re not a part of them.”
“They’re savages,” said the man, spitting his words out with disgust. “They’re hanging everyone they can get their hands on. You don’t want to know what they do with the bodies afterwards.”
“What?”
“Think about it. There’s no food. No food except other humans. But you can’t eat live people. They’ve got to be good and dead. So they hang anyone they can. Pretty soon there won’t be anyone left at all.”
“Where do you fit into this?”
“Me? I’m just a concerned citizen like anyone else.”
“What’s your problem with me? If you don’t like the mob and what they do, then let me go.”
“The thing is… if I deliver you to them alive and well, that’s one less person they’ve got to hang. That’s one more body they’ve got before they come for me and my family.”
Max planted his left foot firmly into the ground. His hand gripped the pesticide container tightly. He moved fast, swinging the container around in a big arc.
The guy didn’t get off a shot. It was too much of a surprise for him.
The heavy plastic container collided with the man’s pistol, knocking it out of his hand, before it smashed into his head, coming at him in an arc that aimed upwards.
The man yelled, then fell.
The crowd was close.
Max grabbed his Glock from the ground, holstering it. He grabbed the man’s revolver. Max didn’t recognize the brand, but he checked it and it was loaded.
He didn’t have much time. He had to either find a place to hide or a way to get out. The last option was to make a stand and take out as many of them as he could before they got to him. He wouldn’t go out without a fight. But if he had to make a stand, he wouldn’t get the gas back to the Bronco, no matter how well he fought.
6
John woke up disoriented. It was pitch black in the woods. He couldn’t see his hand in front of him. His heart was already pounding. Something wasn’t right.
Deep growling was coming from an animal nearby. It took him a few moments to realize it was Kiki.
“Kiki,” whispered John.
She just kept growling, the tone getting deeper and deeper. John didn’t know where she was, but she sounded nearby.
Cynthia’s body was pressed up against him, and from her breathing she was sound asleep.
Dale was still snoring heavily.
“Dale,” hissed John. “Dale, wake up.”
Dale kept snoring. So much for his idea of a guard dog instead of having someone on watch.
There was no point in asking Kiki if anyone was there, but John did anyway, whispering his question across the darkness to a dog who couldn’t respond. Kiki just kept growling.
A beam of light cut across the dark woods, illuminating every branch and leaf and rock in a chilling white glow. It was about 100 feet away.
John froze. There was someone there all right. And they were close.
John glanced at the fire, which thankfully had been put completely out by dumping dirt on it. Not that it was that visible anyway.
Fishing for his handgun, John wormed his way out of his sleeping bag as best he could.
Dale was a few paces away, so he set about waking Cynthia up first. John felt for her mouth in the darkness, pressing his hand against it so she wouldn’t make any noise when he shook her awake. But his hand alone was enough to wake her up.