Never Far Gone, page 5
Oh, cmon. Where the hell would I find animal crackers?
Amid my frustration, I realize how much my ankle has swollen, so I give up and dig into the fridge sitting against the gated fence near the window, which is meant to act as a deterrence against the kids and staff from getting near the hot pipes sitting behind it.
“Alright, this could do some justice,” as I take out a bag of baby carrots which I use to prop against my ankle.
Wow, this feels good.
I lean my back against the stainless steel fridge, with my left leg on top of my right knee, and let out a sigh of relief as I can feel the cold wash away the swelling from my ankle. When I get tired of standing, I make my way to sit down on one of the dark ebony wood lunch tables nearest to the kitchen and proceed to place the cold bag against the back of my head. Although this, too, feels amazing, the disinfectant from the tables being wiped down by the cleaning staff yesterday evening is still too strong to give me any real satisfaction.
Sigh… what a night. Where the hell would I find anim- wait…
Looking out at the street facing the opposite side of the school, I can make out cars moving faster than they should in a school zone, let alone when there’s snow and slush on the ground. Something isn’t right… I see some people being assaulted physically against the poorly black-painted metal fence that surrounds the exterior of the building. But it’s not one person, hell, it’s not even a small group of people; everyone is being attacked.
The sound of shouting sends chills down my spine, colder than that of the “ice pack” I wasn’t able to fully take advantage of, and sends all of the hairs on my arms flying upright. It’s not because of the screams themselves, but rather because those screams are coming from inside this building.
Crap, that’s the lobby. Oh my god…
I drop the now semi-cold bag of carrots on the floor as I ignore the pain now coming from my left ankle again. Without so much as another thought, I bolt it as fast as I can through the cafeteria entrance and towards the main lobby.
As I get closer, I pull the .357 out of its dark black leather holster and pull back the hammer while I lean against the door leading into the lobby. I bring my left hand up to support the grip of the firearm as I slowly peek through the small, faded window on the door to see Renata yelling at a small group of people, maybe five or six people who somehow made their way into the building, from the same staircase we took to head upstairs. She has her arms extended, obviously signaling someone to stay back. Peeking out further, I notice a man slowly making his way up the first three steps, clearly ignoring her commands.
I burst through the door and startle everyone in the area, including Renata, while immediately attempting to address the man ascending the staircase. I can see he’s carrying a blood-stained sledgehammer. Before lifting my weapon, a slim Hispanic male, probably boasting a similar build as me, just without the height to accompany it, attempts to grab the revolver from my hands. Just as his friends take a step forward to assist, I forcefully retract both of my hands and swing the stainless steel frame at the man’s jaw as hard as I can. A small amount of blood lands on my face, yet I don’t wait another second before bringing the barrel of the weapon to the group in front of me.
“Get the fuck back, now!” is all I manage to command before the man backs up in fear. He instantly raises his right hand, yet his left is rubbing his jaw in what I can only assume is an attempt to soothe the pain from my swing. I keep the weapon pointed at the group as nearly all of their hands go up in front of them.
“Stay back! All of you!” I bark out as I see two women in the group jolt at the suddenness of the command. My heart is racing faster than ever before.
Control these people, Miles.
Now that I have a better look, I can see there are three men and two women in the lobby, as well as the guy I halted on the staircase. They’re all bundled up except for the latter, who is wearing a stained beige windbreaker, yet all of them are raising their hands in fear. I can’t make out any firearms, but with the help of the light coming from the second-floor Maintenance Room, I get a better visual of the stained sledgehammer that guy with the windbreaker is carrying, slowly dripping with… something. Given how quiet the room is now, that dripping is the only audible thing any of us hear.
Control these people…
“You!” I shout as I return the barrel of the revolver toward the man in question and transition from a yell to a firm and authoritative tone, “I don't care what you’re carrying, but you’d best drop it where you stand or I’ll send two through your forehead, you hear me?” I shout out as my tone makes the man take another step backward. The man obliges without hesitation.
Control…
“How did you get in here?” I let out with a slight crack in my voice. I don’t want them to see that as a weakness, so I shut that idea down before they even have time to react. “How did you get in here?!” I ask again in a louder tone, obviously losing patience. The painstaking quiet transforms into echoing shutters of fear and heavy breathing.
One of the women in the group, clearly startled, is the first to answer the question even though I am speaking directly to the man on the stairs. “W- we saw the door was open, s… so we came through an… and…I don’t know… we came in…” Anyone with a brain and a little bit of empathy can see she was scared, but that observation is immediately cut off when the man on the stairs, whom my weapon is still pointed at, begins to speak.
“Hey, listen, man… we didn’t mean to barge in here. We only saw one light on, so we couldn’t tell if it was occupied. The front door was open, so we let ourselves in because-” the man says as a shot impacts the wall a few feet over his head. The gunshot is so loud that everyone jolts this time, myself included. This time, however, my hands and body are as stable as can be.
“Do not bullshit me, son! Do not lie to me again! I locked the doors myself.” As the tension continues to rise, I can’t help but wonder if I really did lock the doors, but I continue to hold my ground. “I am the only one with a key to this building right now, so I will ask you again,” I can barely hear myself talk as the only two things I hear in the room are the cocking of the hammer again and the constant ringing in my ears, “How the fuck did you get in here?!”
That I can hear clearly.
The sound of the revolver’s hammer locking to the rear seems to startle those who know what it means, including the younger Hispanic man I had struck just moments ago.
Please don’t turn me into a murderer, kid… Just answer the question.
“Alright!” shouts one of the men in front of me. In all honesty, the sudden holler brought my goosebumps back as it caught me off guard. The woman in the group who was previously attempting to defuse the situation is now hiding behind the man who has stepped forward to speak.
“Look outside, brother… Look! People are being killed and gunshots going off everywhere! Look for yourself!” he lets out in a confident stance, yet I can hear his voice cracking just like mine did. “We were chased and closed the front gate before breaking the lock to the door. I’m sorry, alright?! But we don't know what the hell people are doing out there! Okay?”
Gunshots? Liar. I would’ve heard ‘em… Is he referring to me? I…
“What about the cops? I heard the sirens. Hell, I saw the sirens! If people are being hurt and you’re being chased, why wouldn’t you call the cops-” I inquire before being interrupted.
“Who the fuck do you think was chasing us?!” the man lets out. His dark complexion seems to radiate some steam from the sudden warmth in the building as tears flow down his face. Another man, obviously the youngest of the group judging by the razor stubble under his chin, puts his hand on the man’s shoulder in a futile attempt to calm him down; his hand is thrown off as the African-American man violently shrugs his shoulders in aggravation.
“I…” is all that comes out of my mouth. Instinctively, my mind begins to flood with the recent images of the people on the street being mauled and assaulted; at the same time, I begin to wonder if the chaos beyond these walls is why my distress calls were being dropped. I can’t help but feel dread looming over me once again as my gaze shifts between the strangers in front of me. I begin to regain my composure as my breaths begin to shutter.
Control…
“I want all of you against the wall, now!” I command as my heart is racing again. I can see Vito quietly sobbing near the top of the stairwell and Renata attempting to comfort him as I address the group. “Drop all of your stuff against that wall and move to the other side over there with your coats raised above your waist,” I instruct as I point to the wall under the opposite staircase where they are placing their belongings. I can’t trust these people unless I know I can turn my back on them, and I can’t do that if they’re armed.
The second woman in the group, who is standing at around the same height as Renata, seems to be the one to break the silence and verbally address her disapproval. “C’mon man, what are you doing?” she asks as one of the other men in the group softly pushes her shoulder so she can face the wall. I guess he doesn’t want to see me yell again.
“I am not going to hurt you, but I need to make sure you guys won’t hurt us either. We have a kid upstairs,” I say as some of them shoot their glances at Vito, who seems to be calmer now. I turn to the man acting as the spokesperson for the group. “What’s your name?” I ask while looking into his watery eyes from afar so as not to get close enough to these people in case they suddenly decide to retaliate.
“My name is Derrick. Derrick Simmons,” he says confidently again, this time without a deviation in his tone of voice.
“Alright, Mr. Simmons,” I say as I de-cock the hammer on the Smith & Wesson and lower the gun so everyone can feel at ease. “Can you please take the reigns on your friends? These nice people don't know me, but they seem like they’ll listen to you. Think we can all get along here?” I ask as I keep my eyes trained on the hands and waists of everyone near the wall.
“Yeah… sure thing,” Derrick says before hesitantly giving his companions instructions to spin around so I can verify no one was concealing a weapon like I was.
“Thank you, Derrick,” I say with a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry for the dramatic performance. We’re all a little paranoid. In all honesty, I actually- I had to…” I stutter while pausing to verify whether or not Vito is listening in on our conversation; he’s too focused on his mother to bother.
“I was attacked twice tonight. Both people came at me. Both tried to kill me. Both of them lost.” My right-hand starts to tremble at the thought of what I’ve been through, but I do my best to control it. “It was self-defense,” I mutter while my right hand comes to a halt as I reassure myself that my actions tonight were justified. “I am sorry if I scared the shit out of you, but I need to ask you all some questions. As it stands right now, I do not trust you, but I’d like to,” I admit as I put the gun away and extend my hand to Derrick.
“The name is Miles Gether. Would you all please follow me?” I calmly ask intending to use the fifth-floor gym on the west side of the building for the questioning. As my hand is extended, Derrick’s demeanor transitions from that of paranoia to moderate tranquility. I immediately notice his willingness to cooperate, even with his semi-stoic facial expressions. He takes two small steps forward and shakes my hand in a manner that is less firm than I expected from someone who is considerably more muscular than I am.
“Guys,” he says quietly as he turns his head slightly to his friends, who are now standing behind him, without breaking eye contact with me. “Let’s do as the man says. We’re in his house, so we’ll play along with his rules, alright?” he asks without any verbal rebuttals from his companions.
As I usher the group to head upstairs, I extend my right arm directly in front of the Hispanic guy whom I punched in the jaw earlier. He stops abruptly before glaring directly at me, and I use the silence as an opportunity to speak. “What’s your name, kid?” I ask in an increasingly inquisitive manner. It doesn’t take him long to respond to my question.
“Pancho,” the guy says before I continue.
“You got a last name, Pancho?” I ask as I slowly lower my arm back to my side.
“Ruiz. Pancho Ruiz, sir,” he says with more confidence than before as he stands up straight, now fixated on my shirt - no doubt looking at Tony Montana. I extend my hand toward him and thank him for his honesty.
“Thank you for being honest with me, Pancho Ruiz. Bullshit aside, you’ve got a hell of a jaw for being able to take a swing like that. You mind if I call you Jawbreaker? Sounds more badass, doesn’t it?“ I ask with a slight chuckle, immediately causing my vocals to hurt again. Pancho seems to notice the pain, as he takes a second to let out a chuckle of his own after processing what I had asked him. I extend my left hand out towards the staircase and proceed to hand him the flashlight I had picked up earlier as he ushers past me.
“Lead the way, JB,” I mutter as I guide the group towards the fifth floor. Even with the amicability between myself and the group, I couldn’t help but notice that my hand was instinctively resting on the grip of the gun.
3
Ledger
Vito Caruso - (Mental State: Bored)
Renata Caruso - (Mental State: Anxious)
Hope Starcov - (Mental State: Appreciative)
Charlotte Kennedy - (Mental State: Frightened)
Pancho Ruiz - (Mental State: Stable)
Simon Adams - (Mental State: Unstable)
Derrick Simmons - (Mental State: Stable)
Jayden Walker - (Mental State: Impatient)
Journal Entry: With all of the shit I’ve been through after the Military accident, I didn’t think I would ever put myself in such a dangerous situation again. I was wrong. Last night, I took the lives of two people within a 6-hour time frame, yet I feel calmer now, knowing that my life could’ve ended if I hadn’t done what I did. I met some people - 8 to be exact (see “Ledger” above) - and I vetted every single one of them. I have a gut feeling that I can trust most of those people, yet my instincts have let me down before…
I’ll be watching them closely, but I think there is a bond to be made here. I can feel it…
With the inevitable sunrise in the distance, it’s easier to write the names of our new, great, big family as I am desperately craving some sleep. I don't remember the last time I got any. I take a good, long look at the slightly mutilated bag I had picked up from the library once I was done showing everyone to the cafeteria. I know they’re all preoccupied downstairs with figuring out how to make their goddamn breakfast, yet I can’t take the chance that one of them will wander into the library out of curiosity.
Everyone’s alibi seems to check out. As much as I want to get some rest, I need to take care of the front door first. I reckon no one here wants to experience another incident in the main lobby, and I won’t feel at ease unless that’s taken care of.
After slamming the journal closed and placing it back into the bag, I throw one of the straps over my right shoulder and make my way into Principal Lofter’s office. I can still smell the subtle booze in the air from our conversation yesterday as I place my bag on the coat rack near the window facing the front of the school. Glancing outside, I can see that all the commotion last night seemed to disappear as quickly as it appeared.
It’s so quiet… And how the hell does an alcoholic become an elementary school principal anyway?
I take a step back as the sun, which is just barely starting to make its way over the rooftop of the apartment building across the street from the front of the school, abruptly blinds me. “Okay, time to get this over with,” I whisper to myself as I take the hooded jacket I had brought with me from the library as well and begin heading to the maintenance closet where Vito and Renata had previously been occupying - their belongings still spread along the wall of the room.
I begin searching for something I can use to secure the door and find a drill, which seems to have a relatively low battery, as well as some long screws, a handful of zip-ties, & a randomized box of half-used nails.
Great… what a start…
Disappointed by my lack of resources, I hold what I can in my hands as I begin making my way downstairs to get some help with the project.
I make my way down the staircase in the main lobby and pass through the door I nearly displaced my shoulder with last night before stopping to catch a drink from the water fountain near the entrance of the east stairwell. I can’t remember the last time I ate or drank anything either. After a revitalizing sip of water, I continue with my stroll and pass through the cafeteria entrance.
The first thing I expect is to walk into the comforting smell of delicious food being prepared, yet I notice that most of the group is eating snacks or meals that don’t require cooking. There’s one thing, however, that catches my attention: everyone in the room is either smiling or laughing.
This feels good.
I make my way to one of the tables nearest to the kitchen and settle down on the edge, the smell of disinfectant having dissipated, but the bag of baby carrots still on the floor where I had dropped it. I look at Derrick, who seems to be the first person to finish his Cheerios and faded carton of chocolate milk before anyone has a chance to finish their food. It also looks as though Vito got his Animal Crackers after all.
