blood they'd found on the floor leading into a door marked "Storage" that was very likely a basement. Richie reached for the latch, his hand pausing over it for a moment as he listened for the sounds of another person and heard nothing. Elvis stood back from the doorway, aiming his rifle at the lower half of the thing. Richie turned the latch quickly and opened the door.
Darkness. Until Buddy took the penlight back and aimed it down the stairway, there was only darkness. Once it was brightened, however, many things came into view.
There were boxes on shelves that would have been used and restocked hundreds of times. There were crates of aluminum cans and plastic water bottles. There were two sleeping bags laid messily on the floor, blood spattered along the length of one of them. There were two middle aged people huddled in a corner, one a man and the other a woman.
One of them was unconscious from the look of his posture while the other was facing them with a stern expression on her face. She seemed to be protecting her man from something. At the moment, Richie guessed, they were that "something".
"Leave us alone," she said, firmly, her voice raspy but strong.
"We ain't gonna hurt you," Elvis told her.
"Do you have a gun?" Buddy asked her, "If you do, don't shoot us. We're coming down."
Richie hadn't lowered his weapon, but his friends were putting theirs away. He wasn't afraid of the two they'd found, but he wasn't going to trust them until he knew more. He wouldn’t let his guard down just yet.
"We don't have a gun, anymore," the woman said, "We dropped both of them."
She was visibly shaking, though she still looked as if she was going to defend against them, no matter what. The man behind her hadn't been awakened by their talk. He was definitely out.
Richie thought he might be the one bleeding. Something occurred to him, suddenly, and he had to ask the question that seemed to eclipse every other thought in his head. These people looked like they were being hunted.
"Is anyone after you?"
Elvis and Buddy turned toward Richie with confused looks, but recognized his reasoning without much delay. People didn't hide without motivation. They also didn't bleed without a cause.
"We ran. They were chasing us," she replied, tears coming suddenly, "You aren't with them?"
"Fuck. Elvis, go clean up the blood on the floor. Make sure you get it all. Make it look like nobody was ever in the store and get your ass back down here," Richie ordered, "Buddy find a first aid kit if you can. Clear the medicine aisle if you have to. Don't use the light much and hurry it up."
Buddy cursed as he ran up the steps with Elvis on his heels. They went as swiftly as they could, hoping to find the things they needed to accomplish their orders. Richie turned toward the couple.
"Is he shot? Stabbed?" Richie asked, putting his pack down and opening the top of it. He didn't set his gun down, couldn't let it out of his grasp, but he didn't point it at anyone either.
"Shot. It's his shoulder," the woman said, still tensed for a fight, "They shot him and he bled all the way back here. He passed out a few minutes ago."
"Once my friends get back we'll need you to let us see him. He could be bleeding out."
"Are you a doctor?"
"Lady, do I look like a fucking doctor to you?" Richie snapped, and was immediately ashamed, "We've all had to learn some things recently. I've found a talent for not getting myself killed and bandaging people who are bleeding to death."
"What if you make it worse?"
Richie, who was close to shouting at the woman, said nothing for a moment. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then took another.
He was getting too worked up. He needed to calm down. He didn't like being in the darkness of the basement storage room without his friends. He could barely hear them moving up there, which was a good thing. They were surely doing what they needed to do. He knew that they were covering each other and covering him. It would be
Darkness. Until Buddy took the penlight back and aimed it down the stairway, there was only darkness. Once it was brightened, however, many things came into view.
There were boxes on shelves that would have been used and restocked hundreds of times. There were crates of aluminum cans and plastic water bottles. There were two sleeping bags laid messily on the floor, blood spattered along the length of one of them. There were two middle aged people huddled in a corner, one a man and the other a woman.
One of them was unconscious from the look of his posture while the other was facing them with a stern expression on her face. She seemed to be protecting her man from something. At the moment, Richie guessed, they were that "something".
"Leave us alone," she said, firmly, her voice raspy but strong.
"We ain't gonna hurt you," Elvis told her.
"Do you have a gun?" Buddy asked her, "If you do, don't shoot us. We're coming down."
Richie hadn't lowered his weapon, but his friends were putting theirs away. He wasn't afraid of the two they'd found, but he wasn't going to trust them until he knew more. He wouldn’t let his guard down just yet.
"We don't have a gun, anymore," the woman said, "We dropped both of them."
She was visibly shaking, though she still looked as if she was going to defend against them, no matter what. The man behind her hadn't been awakened by their talk. He was definitely out.
Richie thought he might be the one bleeding. Something occurred to him, suddenly, and he had to ask the question that seemed to eclipse every other thought in his head. These people looked like they were being hunted.
"Is anyone after you?"
Elvis and Buddy turned toward Richie with confused looks, but recognized his reasoning without much delay. People didn't hide without motivation. They also didn't bleed without a cause.
"We ran. They were chasing us," she replied, tears coming suddenly, "You aren't with them?"
"Fuck. Elvis, go clean up the blood on the floor. Make sure you get it all. Make it look like nobody was ever in the store and get your ass back down here," Richie ordered, "Buddy find a first aid kit if you can. Clear the medicine aisle if you have to. Don't use the light much and hurry it up."
Buddy cursed as he ran up the steps with Elvis on his heels. They went as swiftly as they could, hoping to find the things they needed to accomplish their orders. Richie turned toward the couple.
"Is he shot? Stabbed?" Richie asked, putting his pack down and opening the top of it. He didn't set his gun down, couldn't let it out of his grasp, but he didn't point it at anyone either.
"Shot. It's his shoulder," the woman said, still tensed for a fight, "They shot him and he bled all the way back here. He passed out a few minutes ago."
"Once my friends get back we'll need you to let us see him. He could be bleeding out."
"Are you a doctor?"
"Lady, do I look like a fucking doctor to you?" Richie snapped, and was immediately ashamed, "We've all had to learn some things recently. I've found a talent for not getting myself killed and bandaging people who are bleeding to death."
"What if you make it worse?"
Richie, who was close to shouting at the woman, said nothing for a moment. He took a deep breath, let it out, and then took another.
He was getting too worked up. He needed to calm down. He didn't like being in the darkness of the basement storage room without his friends. He could barely hear them moving up there, which was a good thing. They were surely doing what they needed to do. He knew that they were covering each other and covering him. It would be
Similar Books
