Previous Chapter - The Last 3 Days (18): Confrontation in the Darkness All published chapters can be found here. 18:49:55 On the muted TV in the Burns’ living room, the KQTS anchor had never been more animated in front of a camera, laughing as he responded to call after call. Anne, Olga, and Eileen drank wine as they sat on the sofa and talked, about Friday night’s dessert on the coffee table. Eileen’s earlier reticence had dissolved sometime during the last bottle of pinot noir. “You delivered Becky in your bathtub? Alone? Respect.” “Where was your husband?” Anne asked. Olga tossed back her wine and held her glass out for more. “Gone,” she said. “Was better anyway.” 15:07:10 Having assembled a makeshift mattress from a soft-sided suitcase and an olive drab knapsack with a convenient bedroll attached to use as a headrest, Nick took advantage of the darkness within the Greyhound’s cargo hold to sleep. He slept through the bus slowing and stopping, but not the abrupt flood of light as the cargo hatch opened. As slowly as he dared to, Nick pulled his legs up into a fetal position to avoid being noticed. The bus driver slid a pair of boxes into the open hold and closed the hatch. 14:30:00 Ryan was already talking before Don was through the door. “I need to pee.” “Wrong answer,” Don replied and spun on his heel. “Wait!” Ryan screamed, hoping his voice would carry through the fractional gap in the closing door. “Wait. I’ll show you where we dumped Nick in exchange for my freedom. On one condition — “ Don’s face appeared in the doorway. “What’s that?” “I tell you on the front steps.” 14:21:47 It was the final dusk of his life and Bobby had decided he would give Ryan until he had finished the six-pack whose cans now littered the glassed vestibule of the office building opposite the precinct station. And he was close to finishing that last beer when he saw Ryan follow Don out of the Precinct’s front entrance. He started to get up but noticed the handcuffs on his friend’s wrists, so he stayed seated in the vestibule of a building opposite the station. He wasn’t about to risk being cuffed himself, not even for Ryan. Draining the can, he watched as the cop turned to Ryan and unfolded a map. Ryan looked at it but otherwise didn’t move. The cop grabbed Ryan’s elbow and made to take him back inside when Ryan said something that stopped the cop in his tracks. Bobby felt real fear then — fear he’d see his friend die right then, right there. Instead of drawing his weapon, the cop raised the map again, but this time unfolded another panel. Ryan pointed to a spot that earned him another menacing look. The cop dangled his key to the hand-cuffs for Ryan to see then tossed them over his shoulder and walked back inside. Ryan raced down the steps and disappeared around the corner. Confused, Bobby followed, collecting the key on his way. He found Ryan facing the wall. “Oh,” he said. “That’s why you — “ “Bobby! Bring up the van.” “It ran out of gas. But — “ Ryan pulled up his fly and turned to him. “So what are we driving?” Bobby pointed at a pair of bicycles leaning against the wall near the vestibule where he kept watch. “Bicycles?” Bobby held out a folded sheet of printer paper. “Yeah. But I know where they are.” 13:56:43 Bonfires answered the receding sunlight as dusk embraced the giant crowd occupying the expansive manicured lawns of Veteran’s Park. All listened to the pastor’s voice amplified through speakers liberated from untended electronics stores, their boxes used to fuel the fires, and repeated his prayers. 13:14:43 Don had spread the map on his desk, ignoring the second hand smoke from the Sergeant’s and Peter Thurro’s cigarettes as they studied it with him. The Lobby was finally empty. “Tough decision, my friend,” the Sergeant advised. “What’s likely to be a wild goose chase or go home to Anne and Jack. Either way, you should go.” Don sighed and sat back. “You’re right. Nick could be anywhere now. I have to trust he’ll find his way home. But how do I break it to Anne?” He stood and folded the map. The Sergeant also got to his feet, his arm extended. “It’s been a privilege.” “We should all go home. Last night and all.” “No one to go home to,” the Sergeant said. Peter shrugged. “Same here.” “Well, there’s room for both of you at my place.” 13:08:54 Comfortable now with the repetitive choreography of each stop, Nick slid between some boxes whose destination labels were beyond his home. It was fully dark now, the hold lit by a few small lights which was fortunate, because there were far fewer items to hide behind. The hatch opened and Nick froze, even holding his breath on the off chance when he exhaled it might mist as the night cooled off. The Driver’s arm reached in, detached something from the ceiling of the hold and withdrew. Nick relaxed — then felt his ankle hooked by cold metal. Dragged from his hiding place, he landed awkwardly on the gravel shoulder. Pinned in place by the hook at his throat, all he could do was lie there while the Driver shut the hatch. “No ticket, no ride.” Tossing the luggage hook aside, the Driver re-boarded his bus and it pulled away. Nick climbed to his feet, watched the lights of the bus recede and then looked around. Not a light to be seen. Though paved, the road was barely two lanes, silent forest lining both sides into the night. He headed after the bus. 12:56:27 Ryan and Bobby hid behind some bushes across from the Taylor house. Bobby had been right — his Escalade was parked in the drive. “Let’s go,” Ryan said. “Wait, there’s a car coming.” A sedan slowed as it closed on the two friends, and pulled into the adjacent driveway behind the Escalade. They could hear but not see the car’s male occupants enter the home. “Come on. Leave the bikes.” “Leave the — they’re worth three grand apiece.” But Ryan was already across the street. Bobby darted into the shadow of the SUV, keeping low and trying to watch every direction at once. Ryan padded up to the front door and twisted the handle. A moment later, Ryan was through and the door was ajar, leaving Bobby with no choice but to follow. 12:55:32 The flight of North Korean missiles had exhausted their fuel long ago and their drab green paint made them invisible, unless viewed from Benevolence B7438 and even then they appeared like a loose group of shotgun pellet silhouetted against the much closer Earth. A good number of the missiles flew wide of the mark, but several impacted and a few of these detonated. Benevolence B7438 shrugged them off. 12:51:44 Bobby considered the uneaten food on the table. “They were here.” He tasted some cold scrambled egg, but spit it out, then harvested all the remaining bacon. “A while ago. Looks like they just up and left.” Noticing the decanters on the side board, Ryan selected one at random, chose a heavy tumbler and carried them to the coffee table. “They can’t be far. We’ll wait.” The Escalade key fob was on the coffee table. Ryan pocketed it and settled back to enjoy his drink. Bobby scraped the eggs onto one plate and thrust it into the microwave. 10:48:12 At least the night was clear, lit by a waxing moon that made it easy for Nick to keep walking along the median tire groove of oncoming traffic. There were far fewer pebbles and such there for his bare feet to step on and he wouldn’t be caught out by approaching traffic as he studied the stars. He had never seen so many, but couldn’t ever remember caring one way or another. Then he caught a familiar shape in his peripheral vision and stopped in his tracks to be sure he hadn’t imagined it. The shape remained when he looked directly at it. It was an abandoned car parked on the side of the road. Sure, it predated fuel injection and powered windows, but that just meant there was less to go wrong. Nor would he have to hotwire it. The key was in the ignition. The dash lit up but the engine didn’t turn over. A moment later, he had the hood up. Also published here.

Sometimes life is stranger than fiction…but not these stories. These stories are literally fiction. 

The Last 3 Days (20): Cluster's F**ked

The Last 3 Days (18): Confrontation in the Darkness 

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The Last 3 Days (19): Benevolence Shrugs

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