Getaway

  As he stepped outside, he heard a twig snap in the woods to his right. He couldn’t see anything, but it sounded like something big, maybe a bear, he thought. He continued on across the yard to the chicken coop, gripping his machete tighter and straining his ears and eyes for another sound or movement. Fred entered the chicken coop, and started to collect eggs. Almost immediately, he noticed that one of his hens was missing. He didn’t see feathers all over the ground, and didn’t see any sign that something had dug under the fence surrounding the coop. “Stupid kids,” he muttered. In the past year or two, Fred had caught three of the kids in the area trying to steal his hens. He had chased them off every time, but they had always made enough noise that he could tell when they were around. This time, there had been no noise, no clucking, no nothing. Instantly he thought about the twig he had heard snap when he had come out the back door. This time, he thought, I’m going to scare these kids so badly they will crap their pants and never come back.

  Fred opened the door to the chicken coop and came charging out screaming like a madman with his machete held high over his head. Fred took three steps, and ran headlong into a man who had been walking toward the coop. the man screamed like a girl, and the two of them went sprawling onto the ground in a tangled heap. Suddenly a horrible smell hit Fred’s nostrils, and he knew that this move had had its desired effect, but who the hell was this guy? This didn’t seem like a kid. He was bigger than any of the kids in the area.

  Fred struggled with the man on the ground, and had to fight desperately to maintain his grip on the machete in his hand. Fred wondered how long he could keep this up, but knew that if he gave up, he was a dead man.

  Chapter 6

  Edwin “Doc” Chambers had been looking into the farmhouse through one of the side windows, when he had heard the back door open. Doc moved carefully to the back of the house, thinking, who the hell gets up this early? Doc had started to think that teaming up with these two psychos had been a mistake, but at least he had been able to escape from that horrible place. How could they lump him in with all of those crazies? Didn’t they know that he wasn’t some nut that needed to be locked up for the rest of his life? He had to get back to his practice. His patients needed him. How would they truly be cured without his expertise? Only he could remove the cancers that plagued so many.

  There were many types of cancer out there, including moral and societal cancers, which he specialized in. These cancers could only be removed by a skilled surgeon with a thorough eye, and a feel for them. They were more often felt than seen. Because of the metaphysical nature of these cancers, many skeptics, including his own lawyer unfortunately, thought that he was crazy. Doc always felt that people should be more grateful to him for the services he rendered.

  The day he had been arrested, had been the worst day of his life. He was trying to remove the cancer from a man he had met on the street. The man had been rude, nasty, and depraved when doc had encountered him. The man had pulled his pants down in public, and in front of some children, he had urinated on the sidewalk. When doc had approached him, the man had cursed him, spat at him, and actually tried to pee on him. This was unacceptable behavior, and Doc knew that it was a sure sign that a cancer dwelt within the man’s filthy body. Doc had later lured the man into his car with a stack of twenty dollar bills and a bottle of whisky - the cheap kind. Doc had anesthetized the man with a ball peen hammer, and had driven him back to his office.

  His “office” was an abandoned warehouse in the Garment District. This warehouse was surrounded by other warehouses, but they were either abandoned or unoccupied at this time of night, so he could have plenty of privacy (or so he had thought).

  The man had woken up a couple of times during the operation, screaming and thrashing about. Doc had anesthetized him both times with the hammer. He had spoken soothingly to the man, explaining that it would all be over soon, and that he would be much better afterwards, but the man had been inconsolable. What an ungrateful bastard! His screams had attracted the attention of some homeless people drinking on a curb nearby, and they had flagged down a passing police cruiser. An hour or so later when the cops had come crashing in, Doc had been up to his elbows in the man’s body cavity, and moments away from curing him of his cancer.

  The cops who responded to the scene testified in court later about how Doc had seemed indignant at the “rude interruption,” and had insisted that they all wear surgical masks and gowns. The cops had thrown him to the floor breaking his glasses and, he felt sure, causing nerve damage in his left wrist. Luckily, he thought, he was right handed, so he should still be able to operate.

  Doc was so lost in thought as he crossed the back yard of the farmhouse, that he was caught completely off guard when a screaming, flailing man charged into him. Doc heard a scream escape his lips as the man had crashed into him, and as they both crashed to the ground, he felt his bowels scream as well, and he felt his pants fill with the hellish contents of his intestines. Why is this monster attacking me? thought Doc as he grabbed the man’s right wrist with his left hand. This demon had some kind of long bladed weapon in his right hand, and he was trying to strike him with it. The man’s right wrist broke free (“I knew I had nerve damage in that wrist,” he thought), and Doc felt a sharp, searing pain in his left arm. Doc tried to lift his left arm, but nothing happened. His shirt felt wet, and suddenly, to his horror, he realized that the man had lopped off his left arm just below the shoulder. He heard another scream escape his lips, and his pants filled even more. Everything started swimming and then he lost consciousness moments later.

  Chapter 7

  Melissa Grimsley awoke with a start. “Was that a scream I just heard?” She shook her head to clear it and lay still in the bed for another minute, straining her ears for any sound that might clue her in on what noise had woken her from such a sound sleep.

  After a minute more, she shook her head in disgust, and wondered to herself why she had begun to imagine things. She had never been afraid of the dark, or any of the things that dwelt in it, especially out here in the country. Melissa had been raised in the country and found the darkness soothing.

  This had been an especially dark night, with clouds covering the waning moon, and her bedroom was pitch dark as she lay there in bed listening for unusual noises. She rolled over and reached for Fred, but he wasn’t in bed next to her. This was no surprise to her as he usually got up early. She and Fred had been married for more years than she cared to think about (Only because this made her feel old), but Fred always slept next to her in their king sized bed and she missed his warmth.

  The bed had been a present that Fred had given her for their twentieth anniversary, and Fred had surprised her with it when she had come back from town that day. Melissa remembered how she had come into the bedroom shucking off her purse and kicking off her “going to town” shoes, when she had noticed the big bed with Fred lying atop it wearing nothing but a grin and a bow placed on a certain part of his anatomy. Melissa had started laughing uncontrollably, and thought with amusement, “What would that fool have done if my sister had come home with me instead of going to her own home after the store. Boy would that have been a surprise for all concerned!”

  Melissa finally decided that she had better get up and check out the source of the scream that had awoken her at this early hour. She scrambled out of bed and stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the back door. “Did Fred stumble across a snake again?” She mumbled. Melissa heard an inhuman moan and a struggle coming from outside near the chicken coop. She grabbed a flashlight and opened the back door. She shined the light in the direction of the chicken coop, but she didn’t see anything. She stepped out into the wet grass.

  The grass felt cool and damp beneath her bare feet as she walked all the way to the chicken coop. She swept the beam of the flashlight from side to side, but didn’t see anything on the way there. She opened the gate and called out, “Fred, you in here?” She got no answer, so she po
ked her head into the coop, and saw the chickens milling around pecking at the ground. Fred, however, was not there. Next, she shined the flashlight at the ground, and the beam crossed her feet. Why are my feet red? What was that? She thought. A second later, she realized that her feet were covered in blood. “What in the world!”

  She left the coop and retraced her steps carefully. After a few steps, she saw a dark patch in the grass, and realized it was a puddle of blood! She quickly surmised that this was more blood than she had seen in one place before. Oh God, she thought, please don’t let this be Fred’s blood.

  Melissa ran back to the house, but as she ran, she heard footsteps behind her gaining on her like a wild animal. She sprinted for the back door, but the footsteps behind her just kept getting closer and closer. As she reached for the doorknob, something really big and heavy crashed into her, and after a brief moment of excruciating pain, she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 8

  Edward “Slasher” Slater and Diablo had hidden in the tree line, when they had seen the farmer come out the back door of the farmhouse. They tried to signal Doc to hide, but he was in his own world, and didn’t notice them. They watched in silence as Doc followed the farmer across the dark yard toward the chicken coop.

  When the crazy farmer had come screaming and hollering out of the coop waving a blade, and doc had screamed like a little girl, Slasher had had to bite his lip to hold back the laughter. When Doc and the farmer had gone tumbling to the ground, Slasher had started to move toward them. Just before he was able to reach them, Slasher saw a spray of blood and heard a “thunk” sound. Slasher saw Doc’s arm on the ground, and grabbed it in a grotesque handshake. He raised the severed limb over his head, and hit the farmer with it across the back of his head as hard as he could. The farmer dropped like a sack of potatoes.

  Slasher and Diablo grabbed the two unconscious men and dragged them into the trees. A few seconds later, Slasher saw a flashlight beam coming from the direction of the farmhouse. As he watched, a woman walked across the yard toward the chicken coop. He heard her call out to someone named Fred, and then she exited the coop walking slowly and deliberately back toward the farmhouse. She seemed to pause for a second, looking down, and then she broke into a run. Slasher took off after her. He had to reach her before she reached the door. He ducked his head and dipped his right shoulder like he had been taught by his football coach years ago.

  Slasher hit the woman in the back so hard, when they hit the door, it splintered into a million pieces, and they went through it without even slowing down. He heard a symphony of pops and cracks coming from the woman as they hit the floor together. When Slasher got to his feet, he noticed that the woman lay there lifeless. “Damn!” he said, guess she didn’t make a first down after all.” Slasher looked at her and said, “I guess this just wasn’t your day.”

  Slasher didn’t kill for fun; he killed for necessity. If someone stood between him and his freedom, he would kill them mercilessly, but he wasn’t actively looking for victims. When he had been a cutlery salesman, he had hated rejection. When a sale went bad, he felt that his job had been threatened, so he had taken it out on his clients. Prison had been tough for him, because other inmates had stolen his food, so he made sure they wouldn’t ever do it again. His lawyer had obviously been incompetent, because he hadn’t been able to convince the jury to acquit him. If he knew where the jurors lived, he would have prevented them from finding anyone guilty ever again, as well.

  While he had been in prison, he had found out where the judge lived, and that he was allergic to bee stings, so he had arranged for a beehive to be shipped to his house. The news reported that after being stung over one hundred times, the judge had died of anaphylactic shock. Slasher’s weapon of choice, of course, was a knife. He was quite talented with a knife, having worked in a slaughterhouse as a teenager for several years.

  It occurred to Slasher that they had better find a car and get away from here as soon as possible.

  Chapter 9

  Diablo came in through the back door and looked at the lifeless body on the floor. He felt the anger boil up in him and his head started to throb. He turned on Slasher, who was standing there with a victorious grin on his face. He looked at Slasher in utter disbelief. Denied again! This simpleton had ruined everything! He had so wanted to capture these souls, but now, one was dead and the other was lying unconscious in the tree line. Diablo turned to Slasher “you idiot! You should have controlled yourself, we could have used a hostage in case the police catch up to us.”

  “What about the farmer?” asked Slasher.

  “He’s alive, but nobody cares about a broken down old man. A woman on the other hand is easier to control, and the cops don’t want to see a woman get killed. Besides,” Diablo said, “he cut Doc’s arm off, and I think Doc will kill him anyway if we try to take him with us.”

  Diablo and Slasher wandered around the house looking for anything useful. Diablo wondered why anyone would want to live like this. He couldn’t imagine himself living in a farmhouse out in the country, and to him it sounded like torture. Why would anyone want to live like this? Diablo looked at the pictures on the walls, and became even angrier. What gave these people the right to be happy?

  In a blind fit of rage, Diablo grabbed a chair and started smashing the pictures on the walls, and screaming curses at the happy couple in the photographs. Slasher stood there watching him at a distance in amusement, wondering how long this fit would last, until, he finally cleared his throat and told Diablo that the police would be searching for them soon and this was not really productive.

  The house turned out to be a typical country house, and he was surprised at how uncluttered it was. This family obviously lived a simple, uncomplicated life, and didn’t believe in cluttering their lives with many unnecessary items. The only luxury he had seen during his search of the house had been the king sized bed in the bedroom, and it looked like it was several years old. Slasher thought that if he ever settled down, he would like to live very much like this. He longed to live a simple, uncomplicated life, far away from other people, especially psychos like Diablo.

  Slasher thought about how Diablo was likely to get them caught if he couldn’t keep his temper under control. Slasher imagined what it would be like to slash Diablo’s throat, and watch as he thrashed about in much the same way he was doing now. He imagined seeing blood spray from the arterial wounds, and cover the walls in bright red arcs like a modern masterpiece. He shook his head snapping out of it. He knew that he needed to remain focused if he was going to be able to escape the police and live free.

  After a few minutes, Diablo wound down, and collapsed in a bench in the foyer of the house. He shook his head as if coming out of a dream, and looked at the damage he had done. There were holes in the walls, and broken furniture and glass littered the floor. So much for not leaving a trail, he thought.

  “Feel better now?” asked Slasher.

  “Yes,” said Diablo, and he put his hands in his pockets. His pockets were full of gelatinous goo. He pulled them out slowly only to discover that the eggs he had stuffed there from the henhouse had all broken. “Gross!” he said.

  “There goes breakfast,” said Slasher.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve still got one right here,” he said slapping his chest pocket. They both heard a squish as the egg in his chest pocket broke as well. This actually caused Slasher to erupt in a fit of laughter, and seemed to improve Diablo’s mood as well.

  After a brief search, Slasher found a set of car keys. The car, a 1974 Buick Roadmaster, was parked in the garage. This was the biggest car Slasher had ever seen, and it barely fit in the garage. Slasher grabbed some bed sheets and threw them on the back seat of the car. He knew that Doc was going to be a mess, and didn’t want to get blood all over the seats. Slasher told Diablo to give him a hand-loading Doc into the car, and they both walked back to where they had left the bodies of Doc and the farmer.

  Chapter 10 r />
  Fred awoke in the bushes with a throbbing head and disoriented. What happened? There was blood all over him, and after a quick self-assessment he realized that the blood wasn’t his own. Suddenly he remembered what had happened before he had been knocked out. He turned to his left and saw the man he had been fighting with lying on the ground a few feet away. The way he figured it, whoever had knocked him out would soon be back. He had to move, and he had to do it now.

  Fred low crawled through the underbrush until he was far enough away that he didn’t think anyone would see him, and then he stood up and walked toward the house in a wide circle. As he made his way back toward the house, he noticed that the garage door was wide open and his car was still inside. Fred crouched low and listened for sounds coming from the garage. When he didn’t hear any, he made his way around to the front of the house. He paused again to listen and see if he could detect any movement coming from the house. After a few seconds, he ran to the front door and gently eased it open.

  The house was still dark inside, and Fred quickly searched the house for Melissa. A cold prickly sensation came over him when he noticed that she wasn’t in bed. Fearing the worst, Fred gritted his teeth and threaded his way toward the back door. In his haste, he nearly tripped over an object on the floor in the kitchen. On closer inspection, he discovered that it was his wife lying face down on the kitchen floor. He gasped in horror when he turned her over and saw a broken and bloodied face. He felt for a pulse, but couldn’t find one. Fred started to give her C.P.R. but her ribs felt broken, so he stopped, because he couldn’t handle the feeling of the broken ribs under his hands as he tried to give her chest compressions. The poor broken creature lying on the kitchen floor looked so frail and helpless now.

  Fred fought back tears as he walked to his bedroom closet, where he retrieved a Mossberg model 500 12 GA pump shotgun. He kept the shotgun hidden among a pile of folded blankets on a shelf over the hung clothes. He had replaced the standard stock of the gun with a pistol-grip stock, and it had a sixteen-inch barrel, so he could maneuver it in tight places. He grabbed a box of shotgun shells, and emptied it into his pockets. He was wearing his BDU pants from his Army days, so he had nice, big pockets. Fred was furious, and he had to bite back the anger and keep a cool head if he was going to get out of this alive. For a moment, he debated running away, but that was not in his nature, and besides, these animals should pay for what they did to Melissa.