Staying Alive

31

The Ford Bronco had stopped a ways down the road. One of the men had gotten out of truck and was walking slowly towards Max. He was big and burly, with a thick frame and an equally thick neck. Max couldn’t yet make out his features without the binoculars, and he didn’t want to raise them, since it might be seen as some gesture of aggression or trickery. The other man stayed in the Bronco.

This may have been Max’s worst idea yet. But he was going to go through with it. If he’d been by himself, he would have just fought them. Even if it had meant dying. But there were the others to think about, particularly James and Sadie. They were too young to die in a gunfight.

That was all coming from Max’s brain. It was all reasoning.

What was coming from his gut was something different. His gut was telling him that the men wanted something from them. They didn’t necessarily want to fight to get it, but of course a threat was definitely on the table. The threat of physical violence. But the men had passed by slowly in their car. They’d had the opportunity to attack them then. They’d had the opportunity to attack them for miles and miles. But instead they’d followed at a distance. If that wasn’t an indication that they wanted something, Max didn’t know what was.

Max had gestured to them, waving his arms in the air in some kind of makeshift semaphore language. He hadn’t been sure he’d gotten the point across, but then the man had gotten down from the Bronco and started approaching. Maybe the whole meaning hadn’t gotten through, but some part of it had.

The man walking towards him was getting closer. He held a shotgun, but he didn’t point it at Max. Instead, he held it casually, letting the muzzle point towards the ground.

Max had his hand on his Glock, but it stayed in its holster.

The man stopped when he was in shouting distance.

Neither spoke for what felt like a long time.

“What do you want?” shouted Max finally.

No response. At least not yet.

Max waited. He gripped his Glock tighter.

“Food?” shouted Max. “Weapons? What do you want? I’m willing to negotiate.”

The man started laughing. He must have to put extra force behind it, to make it heard from where Max was standing. It was like a combination between a shout and a laugh. Max hadn’t heard anything like it. Laughter projected like that was creepy. It sent a chill down Max’s spine.

“We want one thing,” shouted the man.

Max waited.

The man was building the suspense on purpose, it seemed.

A gust of wind blew through the trees, ruffling Max’s hair. Overhead, clouds moved across the sun, darkening the day.

“We want the women,” shouted the man. “The two young ones.”

He wanted the women? What the hell?

Max felt disgusted. So society had collapsed and these men were looking to kidnap themselves wives or pleasure objects? What kind of sick men was he dealing with?

Max didn’t answer. There simply wasn’t an answer for a demand like that.

“Give us the two,” shouted the man. “And we’ll leave you all alone. Trust me, you don’t stand a chance against us. We’re going to get what we want, one way or another. Doesn’t matter to us.”

“Over my dead body,” shouted Max.

The man laughed again, that creepy extra-loud laugh. “With pleasure.”

Max drew his Glock. But he was probably too far to get off a good shot. The man’s shotgun wasn’t going to be much good either. Likely, the men had other weapons in the truck. He held the shotgun with practiced casual ease, indicating that he was familiar with weapons.

Max jumped back in the van, as best he could with his leg.

“Go!” he shouted.

Georgia, of course, already had the van in drive. A second later, they were off.

Behind them, the man stood watching them, not making a move to get back into the Bronco quickly. The way he waited, unconcerned, was more concerning than his insane demand. It was as if he already knew he could get what he wanted.

“Faster,” shouted Max.

Georgia didn’t need to be told. The minivan was speeding down the rural road. The engine was whining, a high-pitched noise it hadn’t made before. They’d never pushed the minivan to its limits, not like this.

Georgia was a good driver. She knew how to take the turns. She knew when she could push the minivan and when she couldn’t.

“They’re going to take us?” said Sadie.

“Sick freaks,” said Chad.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” said Georgia.

“Don’t worry, Sadie. They’re just some sickos,” added Chad.

Mandy didn’t say anything.

Max had worked his way into the back. He had his binoculars to his eyes.

“If there’s a turnoff, take it,” he shouted. He still hadn’t lowered his volume from when he’d been shouting at the man. His heart was racing and his skin felt ice cold. These guys had scared him. There was something… professional about them… and something cold, impossibly cold.

There still wasn’t any sign of them.

But Max knew they wouldn’t be far behind. They were simply letting Max and the others get a head start. Maybe it was fun to them. Maybe it was just a game.

If they could just turn off somewhere, down some side road, maybe they had a chance of losing the men.

But there was no road.

It was just straight ahead, for as far as the eye could see.

“There’s nowhere to turn,” shouted Georgia.

Through his binoculars, Max saw the Ford Bronco appearing in the distance.

It was coming for them.