Silent Interruption (Book 1): Silent Interruption Page 7

  “It’s been like this ever since I got you out. They’ll march up and down the street and throw things. I guess they didn’t see us come in or they’d just break through the glass to get us,” Preston said.

  Carl’s head kept stinging. He rubbed it hard. The pain wouldn’t subside for a while.

  “So, what do we do? Wait for them to go away? I mean, they don’t seem to have spotted us,” Preston said.

  Carl bit his lower lip. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  However, his gut told him that staying here like this was a bad move. What if the mob out there grew? Unruly mobs’ numbers tended to swell during societal upheaval, and this was the biggest upheaval of them all. Ordinarily, the government would send in police or armed forces to quell such mobs, but the police had been stripped of their vehicles and electronic communication. Lord only knew what the police were doing now, whether they still were committed to their posts or had figured they were doomed and fled.

  Or maybe many of them already are dead, Carl thought. An officer here and there might be trying to protect a fellow citizen, but in the end, facing an overwhelming mob, they probably succumbed to gunfire or a pipe to the head.

  “Hey,” Preston said, snapping Carl back to reality.

  “Yeah?” Carl turned around.

  “What were you dreaming about? You sounded like you were dreaming about something intense.”

  Carl put his head back against the bottom of the seat and spoke as if in a trance. “Just memories. Burning sand. City streets. Men in black hoods shooting at me from stores or trucks. Explosions ringing in my ears.”

  “Oh. You’re talking about your tour in Iraq,” Preston said.

  “Yeah.” Carl’s head bowed against his knees. “This whole mess keeps dragging me back there.” He tapped his head.

  “In here, I mean. Back in the parking lot, I zoned out for a moment. I thought I was in Mosul. I almost got myself killed.” He scratched the top of his head.

  “The whole thing is still fresh in my mind. I haven’t had time to readjust to civilian life.” Then he raised his head. “Now I realize it’s never going to be normal ever again. This is going to be normal from now on.”

  Carl braced himself against the chair. “We can’t stay here. But if we take off on foot, they’ll spot us and take us out. If they have guns we’re dead,” he said. “But I have an idea. The EMP has fried all the electronics in these vehicles, so there’s no chance they can start up again. But they still have all the gasoline in them. Do the math. Gasoline meets fire equals one big explosion. We use that as cover to escape.”

  Carl patted his pants pocket. “My lighter. I know it’s in here. Ah!” He yanked it out. “Perfect. Now I need a fuse.”

  “A fuse? Oh!” Preston snapped his fingers. “Something to light up, to take the fire into the gas tank.”

  “Bingo.” Carl looked around the SUV. “A fuse, a fuse. Damn.” He yanked open the glove compartment. He ripped out the vehicle registration, insurance cards, a road map, and a flashlight. “None of this is going to work!”

  He slapped his right hand against his shirt. He then tugged at the fabric. “Wait a sec.” He pulled off his shirt and looked at it. It already was caked in blood stains, grease and dirt. “We’re in business!”

  Carl pushed open the passenger side door, then dove out onto the front yard next to the SUV. “Hurry. Out the door! Duck and keep your head low!”

  He located the gas tank cover. He flipped it open, then twisted his shirt into as small and lean a tail as he could. Despite the urgency, given the approaching mob, he carefully snaked the wound-up shirt into the gas tank as carefully as he could. It had to reach as deep into the tank as possible. Then he yanked it out, spilling some of the gas across the fabric. Now he knew the flame would travel quickly into the tank. He reinserted the doused shirt into the tank.

  Now Carl ignited a small flame from the lighter. He placed it against the middle of the shirt, close to the gas-soaked part. The fire quickly spread up the shirt.

  “Run!” he cried out to Preston, “Now!”

  Chapter Nine

  Carl took off as well, quickly catching up with Preston. The pair raced down the sidewalk, staying close to the line of cars parked against the curb. Carl didn’t even turn back to look. He knew the large mob would pass by their SUV at any moment.

  The shouts grew closer. They were accompanied by laughter. The sickos were enjoying whatever debauchery they were engaged in.

  And then Carl heard the laughter no longer as the SUV exploded.

  The light from the explosion flashed past them, but since they were facing away from it, they were spared any blindness, and also managed to avoid any of the flying debris. The explosion likely vented more in the opposite direction, just as Carl had hoped.

  Screams. Shouts. Cries of agony. They all cut through the air as soon as the boom had subsided. Carl’s plan had worked, as effectively as he had hoped and dreaded. If the mob had passed the SUV at the moment it exploded, then eight, nine, maybe ten people could have been killed. About the same number, if they were close enough, would die later from shrapnel injuries. Without working hospitals, they were as good as dead.

  Carl had a mind to analyze how deadly a bomb blast could be. He hated it, but sadly, he had developed it as part of his military service. He had witnessed the aftermath of an IED blast or a suicide bombing more than once. He had listened to the after-action reports. He understood well how the blast had fanned out and claimed its victims, from the radius of the explosion to the scattering of debris that killed or wounded nearby pedestrians or soldiers. The fact that he had set off an explosion in a similar manner only hit him harder in the gut.

  “Hey!” Preston called to him, “You’re slowing down. Are you hit?”

  Carl shook his head. “I’m fine. Keep going!” He shook his head, shaking off sweat. “That blast probably stunned the rest of them good. They won’t be following us.”

  Finally, he slowed his pace and looked behind him. By now they had run so far that the smoldering remains of the SUV were quite distant. Carl squinted. He thought he saw one, no, two bodies lying on the asphalt, but the smoke and residual flames from the SUV made the whole scene hazy.

  He turned back and kept running.

  However, he didn’t get too much farther before dizziness overtook him. “Damn!” As they approached the intersection at 38th Street, he suddenly slowed down. He dashed toward a chain-link fence and grabbed onto it.

  “Carl?” Preston hurried over to him. “What’s the matter?”

  Carl threw up on the grass. He clung to the fence for support as he heaved his guts.

  “Damn,” Preston said.

  “It’s not…” Carl coughed, interrupting himself. “It’s not unexpected. Head injuries really can screw with you. I think I’d be worried if I wasn’t puking.” He didn’t admit that setting off that explosion might have contributed to his queasiness.

  Preston took the time to look down the intersection. A drugstore on the corner was busted open in every way possible. The glass door was shattered, its frame hanging off the hinges. The windows were torn apart, with shards scattered in front of them.

  But worst of all was the bodies. One was draped over the window frame. Another lay near the front door. Two more were sprawled in the street.

  “Looting.” Carl staggered up to Preston. “Drugstores, groceries, they’ll be the first to go.”

  Preston cringed. “I don’t believe this.” He turned his gaze from the bodies, then uttered a soft moan that sounded like a sob.

  Carl shook his head. Odds were that Preston never had seen a dead body, much less a few of them at once. This was the kind of thing you saw on the news. Unless you lived in a rough neighborhood or happened to be at the scene of a mass shooting, you wouldn’t witness such death in front of you.

  Or if you weren’t in a combat zone, Carl added to himself.

  He started walking toward the busted store. “Hey!” Preston calle
d, “Where are you going?”

  Carl detested the idea of taking goods from this store, especially after it had been vandalized and blood had been spilled. “Medicine. If there’s any left in there, we need it. I should take something for my head.”

  Preston followed, but still objected. “The hotel…”

  “I know. We’ll just be a moment.”

  Carl probably should have focused on retrieving Preston’s weapon. Yet, he had to consider their medical needs, as finding good medicine soon could be impossible. Not only that, but they had to find gauze or medical supplies for any skin wounds they would suffer, as Carl felt certain that blow he took to the head would not be the last one. Hopefully, they also could find some ethyl alcohol for sterilization. But first and foremost, he wanted to know if any of these people still were alive.

  He stepped close to a middle-aged man dressed in a denim jacket and brown pants. Dried blood trickled from his lips across the asphalt. Carl leaned in close. No breath and no pulse. Sadly, this individual was gone.

  The same was true for the second man, an African-American man, perhaps in his thirties. He clutched a bag of two water bottles against his shirt. Spots of blood dotted the ground near his head.

  Preston clutched his mouth and looked away. Carl couldn’t blame him.

  But all of a sudden, a loud scream caused Carl to sit up. Something near the broken window fled back into the store. At first Carl thought it might be a small animal, but as the figure disappeared, Carl could tell from the silhouette that the screamer was human. A small child, most likely.

  Carl quickly straightened up. “We got somebody still alive in there.” He started running for the door. “A kid, most likely!”

  “A kid!” Preston quickly followed after Carl as he crossed the door threshold.

  The store had been ransacked. Shelves were half-full at best, and what items remained lay on their sides or spilled open. The cashier was slumped over the counter. A customer, a gray-haired woman, lay flat on her chest.

  Carl pushed past the carnage toward the center of the store. He didn’t want the child to run past him and escape out the door. The world beyond would eat little children for breakfast. “Excuse me! Little kid! I’m not here to hurt you! I’m a United States Marine. You know, one of the good guys!”

  He turned around in a circle to try catching any movement from any point in the store he could see. It wasn’t easy since all the lights were out. “My name is Carl Mathers. I’m a friend. I want to help you. Please come out.”

  “There!” Preston cried out. He pointed to the very back, where the store hosted a line of refrigerators. One of the doors just had slid shut.

  Carl strode to the refrigerators, not running, hoping he wouldn’t come across as aggressive, although he couldn’t imagine the trauma this child had gone through. Nobody might look friendly to this kid, even if Santa Claus himself come to the rescue.

  Sure enough, Carl discovered a small child crouched inside one of the refrigerators. Discerning details still was difficult in the darkness, but Carl had the feeling he was looking at a girl. Her face seemed soft, and her hair was braided and locked in by orange barrettes. She had pushed aside the drink shelf to squeeze inside.

  “Hi,” Carl said. “Don’t be afraid. You heard me earlier? I am a Marine. You know, part of our military. I’m here to help you.”

  The girl pressed harder against the inside of the refrigerator. Carl reached for the door handle. He opened it, but only slightly. He would not fling it all the way open. He had to approach this lost soul as gently as he could.

  “Pretty neat place to play hide and seek, right?” Carl looked into the refrigerator. It was a large storage container with glass doors, but thanks to the blackout, all the power to the coolant system was off.

  “But you might not want to stay in here. You see, there’s a lot of milk in here. If this place doesn’t stay cold, it’s going to smell.” Carl then pinched his nose. “And if it smells, it can make you really sick. You don’t want to be in this dark place.”

  The child leaned forward a little. She seemed to be looking at Preston. “Oh, this is my…” Carl looked at Preston. “…friend.” He never had considered Preston a friend up until now, but it was important to use language a child could understand. “Yeah, we’re on our way to look for a safe place. Maybe we can take you and your parents there.”

  The girl looked directly at Carl with her big brown eyes. “Can Daddy come?”

  Carl almost said, “Of course,” but he realized to his horror that the black man outside might be this child’s father. “Well, where is he?”

  The girl pointed past Carl, over his shoulder, to the open door.

  Carl swallowed. “I, uh, I’m afraid he might not be able to make the trip with us. Did you and your dad come here to get supplies?”

  “Water,” the girl spoke, “Water and medicine.”

  Carl nodded. So that gentleman was this girl’s father. He must have been caught by a looting mob and was killed. This girl probably hid in the store until Carl and Preston showed up. This must have occurred very recently.

  Damn! Maybe if I’d had gotten here sooner! But another part of Carl realized that, with no gun, he would have been at a big disadvantage against even a couple of assailants and might not have been able to save anyone.

  Carl looked at her. “How about we get to that safe place I talked about?” He slowly opened the door all the way.

  The girl stood up, then stepped out of the refrigerator. She wore a denim dress with blue leggings. She was a beautiful child.

  “What’s your name?” Carl asked.

  “Shyanne,” she replied.

  “Shyanne, huh? I like that name.”

  Carl pressed Shyanne against his chest as he walked through the busted doorway. As a former Marine, carrying a young girl was not a problem for him. Carl guessed she was a first or second grader. He also had an old, frayed brown bag with a few supplies over his shoulder. He had found it in a back office. The drugstore had been ransacked of all the good shopping bags. It was his great fortune he was able to find this bag and fill it with a few supplies—a few cotton balls, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a small box of penicillin. He only was able to find the penicillin because it was wedged underneath a shelf, probably shoved there during the pillaging of the store. The looters had taken all the food. To Carl’s disgust, a few water bottles lay on the ground, busted open, perhaps stepped on by the looters who likely didn’t pay enough attention to what they were doing.

  He did not walk close to the dead body of Shyanne’s father. He didn’t know how Shyanne would react upon seeing him.

  “Daddy…”

  Carl patted her on the back.

  “Daddy…”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m afraid he can’t come.”

  Shyanne cried softly. “I want him.”

  Carl stiffened up. “I know.”

  He repeated it several times. Once again, the sight of a child crying for a parent lost to violence was not new to him. He’d seen children survive horrible bomb blasts set by the Martyr’s Army or other radical groups, all of them afterward wondering what had happened to their parents. Comforting young survivors was the worst part of his job. Now he was doing it again, this time on an American street.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a loud smashing of glass. Carl turned around. Preston had thrown a small chunk of broken concrete into one of the last bits of glass still intact. “Goddamn it!” Preston shouted a few more obscenities.

  Shyanne screamed. “What is it? What is it?”

  “It’s nothing! It’s nothing!” Carl approached Preston but not quickly. “Preston, stop it! Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

  Preston turned to Carl. Tears were in his eyes. Something had set him off. Whether it was the dead bodies or finding Shyanne, Preston had snapped.

  “What the hell is this? People dying all over the place and this kid lost her dad!” Preston found another sma
ll stone by his foot. He snatched it up and threw it through a hanging piece of glass, shattering it.

  “Stupid animals! You can’t call yourself humans!”

  “Preston, knock it off! Not in front of this child. She’s been through hell and you’re making it worse!” Carl barked.

  “Oh, sorry, Sergeant Major Colonel General Commander, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly used to watching people murder each other all around me and leave little kids without their daddies!”

  He was about to pick up another rock, but Carl got right in his face. “Enough,” he said in a low, deep voice.

  “I get that you’re torn up. But right now, we have a very traumatized little girl who needs adults who have their heads on straight. So, if you don’t calm down, I’m going to leave you behind and you can fend for yourself.”

  Preston stood up, leaving the rock behind. Then he wiped his face. “Fine. Fine.”

  “Now, let’s get to your hotel room.” Carl turned to the hotel building just up the street.

  As the pair departed from the direct shadow of the store, Carl looked up at the sky. “We’d better make it quick. The sun’s going down.”

  “It is?” Preston looked at his digital watch. “Damn. I forgot this thing isn’t working. We don’t even know what time it is.”

  Carl sniffed the air. Wafts of smoke cut across his path. He took a few steps down the street and spotted a burning car in the distance. Someone, a teenager perhaps, rushed away from the scene, disappearing toward the horizon.

  “Fools. All that valuable gasoline that still can be used for heating, and now it’s a plaything for vandals,” Carl said.

  Shyanne coughed. “It’s hurting,” she said.

  “I know.” Carl started jogging toward the hotel. “We’re getting inside, baby.” Preston followed.

  As Carl glimpsed back at Preston, he noticed the man’s features were twisted with anger. He had not witnessed such a reaction from Preston, not even while he spoke on his politically charged topics. No, this was a deep fury. Preston was a man who felt betrayed by his fellow citizens.