Casket For Sale

Chapter Six

I TUMBLED OUT OF the driver's seat and smashed against the other side of the camper as glass rained down upon me. Joe landed on my side with a yelp.

How could I have been so stupid?

The answer was simple: It was me.

I heard sobbing and screaming in the back of the camper, which was a hell of a lot better than corpse silence. "Everybody talk to me!" I called out.

"We're all alive," Helen said.

"You suck, Andrew!" Roger informed me.

I twisted myself around and got to my feet. On the other end of the overturned camper, the bathroom door was hanging open and swinging next to Roger as he tried to move past it.

I was sore and a little dizzy, but I crouched down and made my way back to the main part of the camper, walking on top of the refrigerator door. Helen was crawling out of what had been the upper bunk. She had a nasty gash on the side of her head but looked otherwise unharmed.

Helen grabbed Theresa's arms, and I grabbed Kyle's, and we helped our children out of the bunk. I hugged Kyle, trying to forget for a moment that we were still very deeply screwed.

"What was that all about?" Goblin shouted. I heard a door slam, as if he'd gotten out of his truck. "Do you think this improved your situation?"

"Bite me!" I replied, proving my spirit wasn't yet broken but that I was too shaken up to think of anything more clever to say than "Bite me."

Then I thought, oops, I should've shut up and pretended to be dead. What a dork.

"We're not here to kill you," Goblin said, "but we'll do it if we have to, no problem."

"What's our other option?" I asked.

"Come out and give yourselves up."

That didn't sound like a very good option. On the other hand, if their master plan had been to just blow us all away, they wouldn't have bothered with the whole trap-us-between-two-trucks thing.

There had to be a way out. Quite honestly, I was more comfortable with the idea of sprinting toward the woods and dodging bullets than surrendering.

Joe barked.

"We'll even let the dog go," Goblin promised, and the others chuckled. They sounded close.

Unfortunately, with the camper on its side, our methods of escape were limited. Climbing up through the windows on top was a sure way to get a shotgun blast through the skull. That left the broken front windshield and the rear window. The rear window had shattered in the fall but so much of our camping junk was piled in front of it there wasn't room to climb out.

At least, no room for anybody but Joe. Yet somehow I didn't see this particular pug as one that would perform Lassie services for our family.

"Are you sure we can't settle this through a bribe?" I asked, silently ushering Helen and the kids toward the front windshield. "We've got marshmallows."

"Sorry. Ogre might go for it, but not the rest of us."

I wondered who Ogre was. Probably the huge guy in the second truck.

"What if we toast them first?" I asked.

"I'm not here to perform a fuckin' comedy routine with you," Goblin said. "You've got ten seconds to come out here before things get really ugly. Nine… eight… seven…"

"My wife's leg is broken!" I said. "She can't move."

"…six… five…"

"It's pinned under some suitcases! She can't go anywhere!" I moved over to the rear of the camper, where Roger was hurriedly moving our gear out of the way.

"…four… three… two…"

"I'm serious!"

"…one. Time's up. How about we toast those marshmallows for you?"

Seconds later, a bottle fell through the broken window on what was now the camper's ceiling. A bottle with burning cloth stuffed into the neck. The Molotov cocktail struck the wood paneling and burst into flames, separating me from my family and forcing Roger and I to squish against the rear of the camper.

As the camper filled with smoke, Joe rushed around the flames, barking loudly, to where Roger and I stood. I could barely see Helen on the other side, her arms wrapped tightly around Theresa and Kyle.

A second Molotov cocktail fell right where the first had landed. Believe it or not, I'd been in worse situations, but this one sucked pretty intensely.

I picked up the closest weapon: Kyle's Wiffle bat.

Roger found one of the fishing poles.

A third Molotov cocktail shattered against the wood, which kind of seemed like overkill by this point. The camper was so filled with smoke I couldn't see my wife and kids anymore, though I heard Helen coughing.

Joe squirmed underneath a blanket.

Obviously, we couldn't stay in the camper any longer. I crawled out through the rear window, coughing as well. Though my eyes burned and my vision was a bit blurry, the shotgun barrel two feet from my face was perfectly clear.

Roger followed me. He immediately was faced with a shotgun barrel of his very own.

A woman held the shotgun pointed at me. She had dirty black hair cut short, and looked about forty. Her blue jeans had holes in the knees and she wore a white lab coat with a few dried bloodstains. Her ID badge identified her as "Witch."

Roger's new buddy, "Troll," was also in his forties. He wore shorts and a light blue T-shirt, which showed off dozens, maybe hundreds, of scars on his arms and legs. There were also four or five fresh cuts. A large knife with a serrated edge dangled from his belt, and he wore a rather nice tie that matched his shirt.

Smoke billowed from the overturned camper, and I couldn't see Helen, Kyle, and Theresa behind it.

"Look at this mess you made," said Goblin, gesturing toward the camper and damaged trucks as he walked over to us. "That was pretty damn stupid. I should have Troll cut you up for that."

Troll flashed me a rotten-toothed grin.

Helen stepped into view from behind the camper, staggering. She held Kyle's and Theresa's hands. The big guy (five hundred pounds, at least) I assumed was Ogre was behind them, along with a kid who looked about twenty.

"Oh, yeah, he could cut you up real nice," said Goblin. "Make you look as bad as he does. Do you have a special attachment to any of those fingers of yours? How about your nose?" He flicked my nose with his index finger. "Would you mind so terribly if he sliced off your nose?"

I didn't respond.

"What about the kids' noses? Would you like that?" He looked over at Theresa and Kyle, and then back at me. "They're yours, right? They sorta look like you. Let's just hope they grow up with better problem-solving skills."

Goblin didn't seem particularly worried about any other vehicles approaching, so clearly they'd blocked off the road. He also didn't seem concerned about Samantha's escape, which probably wasn't a good sign.

"Don't you have anything clever to say?" Goblin asked me. "You were pretty clever in the camper. You made the marshmallow comment, remember? Joking in the face of danger. Pretty brave. Say something clever now."

"A husband and wife were both fortune tellers who desperately needed money, so they decided to have a kid. Do you know why?"

Goblin frowned. "Why?"

"To make a little prophet."

Goblin stared at me.

"I made that up," I said.

"Just now?"

"No. But I thought it was pretty clever. Your turn."

Goblin smiled. "Sure. Troll, do me a favor and slice off his hand. Is that clever enough for you?"

Troll handed his shotgun to Goblin, keeping it pointed at me, then withdrew the knife from his belt.

Then Joe ran out of the camper, still covered in the blanket. It was, in fact, Kyle's blanket, featuring the children's television abomination Zany the Chipper Chipmunk. The poor dog ran in circles, desperately trying to get untangled.

Goblin and the others watched with amusement.

"Don't hurt Joe!" Kyle wailed.

"Don't hurt Joe?" Goblin asked. "How about I put Joe out of his misery?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Helen move. She kicked Ogre exactly where I'm sure he least wanted to be kicked, where he had no blubber to protect him, and she kicked hard. The behemoth dropped to his knees and howled in agony.

In a flash, Helen, Theresa, and Kyle fled toward the woods, followed by the kid.

I swung the Wiffle bat as hard as I could, smacking Witch on the side of the head. You'd be amazed what kind of impact you can get with one of those things. Though Witch didn't drop her shotgun, she definitely felt some pain.

Roger smacked Troll with the fishing pole, which snapped in half.

Goblin spun around and aimed the shotgun at Helen.

Fired.

As I lunged at him, he spun the shotgun back at me, catching me in the face with the barrel. I fell to the ground.

Troll stabbed at Roger with the knife, missing by millimeters.

Goblin pressed the barrel of the shotgun against my chest.

I watched as Ogre got to his feet and hurried off into the woods with surprising speed for somebody so large. I couldn't see Helen, but I heard her shouting for Theresa and Kyle to run faster, shouting with far too much energy for her to have been shot.

Goblin pushed down hard on the shotgun, grinding the hot barrel into my chest. I let out a yelp of pain.

Something happened to Roger. I didn't see what. He fell to the ground next to me.

A gunshot fired in the woods.

Then another.

"What do you think? I bet that second one went through your daughter's fucking skull!" Goblin sneered, raised the shotgun barrel just a bit, and slammed it back down onto my chest. "Maybe the first one only wounded your wife. Maybe she'll bleed to death. Sound good to you?"

Another gunshot.

"Oooooh, I bet that one got your son. His brains are probably splattered all over one of those trees. Wanna go see?"

Witch laughed and kicked Roger in the side.

An agonized scream sounded from the woods.

Joe, suddenly free of the blanket, hurried after Helen and the kids.

Goblin frowned. "Was that Ogre?"

Witch nodded. "Sounded like him."

"Troll, go see what's going on."

Another agonized scream echoed, but it wasn't one of physical pain.

Troll rushed toward the woods, then stopped as Ogre emerged from behind the burning camper, holding the kid in his arms. The kid was limp, his shirt soaked with blood. "She got Ghoul!" Ogre screamed. "The bitch shot him!"

Goblin turned away from me but kept the shotgun in place. "Oh, Christ, no. How bad is he hurt?"

Ogre was almost in tears. "I dunno… I think he's dying… she got him really bad…"

"Cover them," Goblin said to Witch as he hurried to the others. "Hey, Ghoul, can you hear me? You can hear me, right? You're gonna be okay, I promise!"

Ogre crouched down and gently laid the kid on the ground. Goblin pulled up his shirt to examine the wound. "Aw, shit! Shit!" He ran his hand through Ghoul's hair. "It's fine, you'll be fine, we'll get you help."

Witch looked like she desperately wanted to help, but she kept her shotgun pointed at Roger and me.

"Get me something to stop the bleeding!" Goblin gestured frantically. "There! Get that dog's blanket!"

Troll grabbed Kyle's blanket and tossed it to Goblin. Goblin pressed the corner of the blanket against Ghoul's chest. I couldn't see Ghoul's face, but he certainly didn't seem to be moving.

Goblin kept one hand pressed against the blanket and wiped his eyes with the other. "What the hell is the matter with us today? We lost four of 'em, Ghoul got shot… this is bullshit!"

Ogre glared at me. "We'll make those two suffer."

"Oh yeah," said Goblin. "We'll chop them up. We'll cut them down to the molecular level. Troll, go after the wife and kids. But be careful, it sounds like she still has a gun."

Troll shook his head. "I'm staying with Ghoul."

"I didn't say it was optional!"

"I'll get them," said Ogre. "I'll rip off her head. She won't get far with two little kids."

"Fine, you go then. But hurry!"

Ogre ran into the woods.

"How's he doing?" Witch asked.

"He's coughing up blood… I don't think he's going to…" Goblin trailed off. "Aw, Christ."

"What?"

"I think he's dead. Yeah, he is. He's gone."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Witch cursed under her breath as her eyes glistened.

I kicked her in the shin as hard as I could and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun. Roger jumped up and lunged for the weapon as well, quickly wrenching it out of her grip. Before Goblin could open fire, Roger had the shotgun jammed against Witch's back.

"Drop your gun or you'll lose another one!" Roger shouted as Goblin pointed the shotgun at me.

"Just blow him away!" Witch demanded.

Goblin hesitated.

We stood in silence for a long moment. I cringed, expecting Goblin to pull the trigger at any instant.

Then Goblin chuckled without humor. "This has been one unproductive day."

"Drop the shotgun or I'll kill her!" Roger shouted. "I mean it!"

"Really?" asked Goblin. "You're the kind of guy who would shoot a woman in the back, huh?"

"If I have to, yeah."

"And what if I call your bluff?"

"Then we might have another four dead bodies here."

Goblin considered Roger's threat. "So you're saying you and I would end up killing each other at the same time, right?"

"That's right."

"Seems unlikely. I think the more realistic scenario is three dead bodies, not four."

"Maybe. But if I shoot you before you shoot me, I'll take out your friend back there, too. That's four."

"But you only have two shells."

On one hand, I wanted to call for an end to this ridiculous conversation, but on the other hand, it was keeping me alive.

"One last time," said Roger. "Drop the gun."

Goblin shook his head. "I'm not going to drop the gun. You know that. I'm fully prepared to take this as far as it will go."

"So am I."

"Then there's a lot more blood to come. But let me make a counter-offer. Let Witch go and I'll let you go. I don't care how we do it… you guys can slowly back into the woods and keep your gun pointed at her. It doesn't matter to me, but you might want to make a decision soon, because I'll wager Ogre isn't too far behind your friend's wife and kids if he hasn't caught them already."

Roger glanced at me. I nodded. Sure, I didn't trust these guys, but I definitely wasn't in favor of a shotgun blast to the stomach.

Roger backed up a couple of steps, keeping the gun pointed at Witch. I backed up as well. The others watched us carefully.

We backed up a few more steps, walking faster.

It really did look like they were going to let us go.

And then the damned camper exploded.