Mark has previously been published in Thou Shalt Not, Black Ink Horror, Raw Meat, and several other anthologies and magazines.
Out There
by Mark
Tullius
“There
she goes.”
“What?”
Darrell glanced in the rearview mirror and cocked a thumb
over his shoulder. “Check it out.”
“Keep your eyes on the road,” Matt warned as he turned to
look out the rain-streaked back window. The small cluster
of lights that comprised Baker was disappearing as they
followed the curve up the steep hill. In another fifty
yards, the insignificant city would vanish completely,
leaving them with only their headlights and the occasional
burst of lightning to alleviate the darkness of the desert.
“Exactly seventy-nine miles to Vegas,” Darrell said,
sneaking another peek in the mirror.
“Fine, but watch the road. And slow down.”
“Stop trippin’, man, I got it.”
Matt leaned over and checked the speedometer. “Drop it to
sixty.”
“I’m barely doing seventy.”
“I don’t care what the speed limit is. I can’t see a
goddamn thing with all this rain, and the last thing in the
world we need is an accident.”
Darrell eased up a little on the accelerator but not
without restating his opinion. “We’re never gonna get there
at this rate.”
“Just relax. There’s no rush.”
“Whatever,” Darrell said as he turned the radio up, a
signal their conversation was at an end.
Matt
pulled the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. One
bar faded in and out. He expected better reception once
they made it over the next mountain. He put the phone away,
leaned back in the seat, and relaxed as the pounding rain
rocked the vehicle.
Darrell slammed the radio’s power button with his palm.
“What the hell? You trying to break it?”
“Might as well with all this static. Look at this thing. It
doesn’t even have a CD player.”
“We’ll
be there soon.”
“It handles like crap. And it looks like it belongs to my
mom.”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“It’s supposed to look like a family vehicle. What’d you
want, a bright red convertible?”
“Anything would be better than this thing. And think about
all the gas we’re using. This thing probably gets fifteen
per gallon.”
“Have you ever heard of looking at the big picture?”
“I guess. Why?”
“Because you’re not doing it.”
Darrell didn’t say another word. He gripped the steering
wheel with both hands, stared straight ahead, and pressed
down on the accelerator.
“Slow it down.”
With a huff, Darrell brought the minivan down to sixty. A
moment later they reached the top of the mountain and began
their descent.
Darrell couldn’t let it go. “We’d already be there if we
hadn’t stopped for gas and could’ve gone a little faster.”
Matt struggled to remain calm. He couldn’t risk drawing
Darrell into a shouting match when the hothead was driving.
He carefully controlled his voice and said, “Maybe you just
don’t understand certain things. We can’t get pulled over.
If I’m found in Cali, I’m screwed.”
“You got that ID.”
“I don’t know if it’ll fly and I’m not risking ten years to
find out.”
“We’re not getting pulled over and if we do, I’ll flash my
badge.”
Matt tried not to laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I’m an officer.”
“You’re a security guard.”
“I’m a security officer.
I can arrest people just like cops do.”
Matt shook his head. “Look, it’s cool you got your
concealed permit, but your badge won’t get us out of a
ticket, and I don’t want anyone searching the car. And as
far as the gas mileage goes, you have to be joking. You’re
worried about spending an extra twenty bucks.”
“Probably more like forty. We’re down to a half tank.”
“So? You’re making fifteen hundred for an eight-hour trip.
You need to let it go,” Matt said, turning away before he
said something he’d regret.
The thunderstorm was getting worse, the rain coming down
with a fury that cloaked the dark desert. Being stuck in
the van with Darrell sucked, but at least he was warm and
dry.
“When do you think I can go by myself and start making some
real money?”
“Real money? It takes you three weeks of playing rent-a-cop
to make fifteen hundred.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Trust me. I want you to start making the trip alone as
soon as possible. I really don’t wanna get popped for
violating. But first a couple things need to happen. Figure
on coming out with me at least three more times before
Jimmy trusts you. So maybe next month. February at the
latest.”
“What else?”
“Prove to me that you can chill on these trips. I’d be
putting my ass on the line by having you make the run
yourself. We’re talking major money here.”
“I can chill. I’m chillin’.”
“No speeding. No reckless driving. No stopping anywhere but
for gas. No unnecessary calls.”
“Yeah, that’s no problem. I drive…” Darrell cut himself off
and looked out Matt’s window, craning his neck as his eyes
followed something disappearing along the side of the road.
“Keep your eyes on the road. What was that all about?”
“Didn’t you see that car back there?” Darrell asked,
checking the rearview mirror. “They’re screwed.”
Matt looked out the back, unable to see through the veil of
darkness. “There’s nothing out there.”
“It was a car.”
Matt sat back in his chair. “Even if it was, what’s the big
deal? If they don’t have a cell, I’m sure the cops will be
by and call a tow truck for them.”
“They better hurry. That’s not the place to break down.”
“Accidents? Robberies?”
Darrell shook his head. “You never heard about this area?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t believe the number of people that get killed
out here.”
“Why haven’t I read about it?”
“You’re from Vegas. You guys don’t care about the crazy
stuff that happens out here.”
“I’m sure I would have heard about it if people were
getting killed. How many you talking about?”
“Hell, I’d say at least fifty that I know of, and that was
while I was living in Baker. I haven’t been there for five
years.”
“You want me to believe fifty people died out here?”
“They found some bones and the rest just vanished.”
“Some bones? Vanished? I thought you said fifty died. It
sounds more like missing.”
“They listed them all as missing, but they’re dead. Trust
me,” Darrell said, peering out Matt’s window as if he could
see something out there. Matt caught himself looking, too,
but the impenetrable darkness still surrounded them.
“So what do they think happened? I bet it was just people
leaving the city and never coming back. If I lived in
Baker, I’d vanish the second I was old enough to drive.”
“Yeah, but would you leave your car on the side of the road
in the middle of nowhere? Would your bones be found weeks
later, picked clean, not a scrap of meat left on them?”
“You sure you haven’t been sampling the merchandise? Maybe
reading too much National
Inquirer?”
“I’m telling you the truth. There’s something out there.”
“Get real, Darrell,” Matt said just before his cell phone
vibrated. “Hello?”
“Matt?”
“What’s up, Jimmy?”
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the last twenty
minutes. Where the hell you at?”
“We passed Baker about fifteen, twenty minutes ago. We
should…hey, Jimmy, Jimmy, you there?” Matt took a look at
the cell’s screen and flipped it shut. “First thing
tomorrow I’m changing service. So anyway, what were you
saying about all the disappearances? You think it’s aliens?
Chupacabra?”
“It’s not funny, man. People die out there.”
“I’m sure they do. Hold on, it’s Jimmy again.” Matt flipped
open the phone. “What’s up, Jimmy? You sound worried.”
“Where you at? Did you hit the state line yet?”
“No, we’re still about sixty miles from Vegas, about thirty
to the border.”
“Damn! What kind of van you in?”
“I don’t know, looks like a Dodge. Yeah, it’s a Dodge.”
“Dodge what?”
“Hey, Darrell, what is this thing?” Matt asked. “What
model?”
“Caravan.”
“Hear that? A Caravan.”
“What’s the license plate number?”
Matt opened up the glovebox, pulled out the registration,
and read off the number.
Jimmy yelled, “Pull over right now! Pull over!”
“What are you talking about? We’re in the middle of nowhere
and it’s pouring like crazy.”
“Pull over!”
“You’re breaking up. I’ll pull over at the rest stop.
There’s one up ahead a few miles. I saw a sign.”
“No! You’ve been made…”
The signal faded, leaving Matt with a dead line.
“What was that all about?” Darrell asked.
“Jimmy wants us to pull over. I think he said we were
made.”
“Are you kidding me? We can’t pull over.”
“He said--”
“You said, you thought he said we were made. Maybe he was
saying something else.”
“Like what? He wanted us to pull over.”
“Call him back.”
“This is him right now. Pull over while I got reception. I
don’t wanna lose him.”
“Are you serious?”
“Just pull over,” Matt demanded before opening the phone.
“What’s up, Jimmy? You hear me?”
“Pull over, Matt! You’ve been made.”
“You sure? How you know?”
“That idiot Paul got popped about an hour after you left.
Vice swarmed the house and they knew what they were looking
for. The only thing they found was the money but Paul
must’ve sold you out. Paul’s girl told me about the bust,
so I started monitoring police radio. They’ve got an APB
out on the van. Ditch the cargo.”
“Tell me you’re joking,” Matt said, glancing over his
shoulder, fearing he’d see flashing lights coming up behind
them.
“I wish. You gotta ditch that stuff. Find somewhere safe,
go on to Vegas. Get another set of wheels and pick it up in
a couple days.”
“Where? Where am I going to stash it? I’m in the middle of
the goddamned desert.”
“Somewhere someone else ain’t gonna stumble onto it. That’s
a lot of stuff you got on you.”
“I’m aware of that,” Matt said, checking the side window,
looking out into the sea of darkness, wishing he could see
more than a few feet away. “But I can’t go on to Vegas
either. If they’re looking for the van, they’ll nab us
before we hit the state line. I’m not going back to
prison.”
“That’s on you, dog. Just don’t do anything stupid. If you
need to, you can crash at my pad and hide out a few days.”
“Thanks, bro. And thanks for the heads up. I’ll find a
place for this stuff and get back to you.”
“So what’s up?” Darrell asked.
Matt stuffed the cell into his pocket and turned toward
Darrell.
“We need to dump the cargo. Cops are looking for the van.”
“We can’t dump it.”
“We have to. You know how much time we’ll do for this?”
“They won’t catch us, plus it’s my first offense. They’ll
let me go.”
“You believe that? We have two hundred pounds of chronic.
That’s serious trafficking. If we get stopped we’re both
screwed.”
Darrell shifted to park and took his foot off the brake.
“So what do we do? Where do we stash it?”
“Out there,” Matt said, thumbing toward his window.
“No way, man. That ain’t happening. How about the rest
stop?”
“Too many people. Look at the line of cars.”
“We could find somewhere to ditch it where no one could
find it.”
“Two suitcases? I don’t think so.” Matt peered through the
window to get a better look at the congested rest stop two
miles downhill. “Ah, Jesus,” he moaned. “All those cars are
down there because of the cops. They’re detouring them
through the stop. You can see their lights.”
“Think they’re looking for us?”
“It sure as hell isn’t a coincidence. Let’s get the weed
out of here before some pig rolls by and spots us.”
“I can’t go out there.”
Matt shook his head in disgust.
“Not out there, man. There’re things out there.”
“Bullshit. Even if there were, I guarantee you there are
worse things in prison. I know plenty of guys that would
kill for a cellie like you. With a dark room and a good
imagination, the biggest homophobe would play with those
manboobs of yours.”
Darrell closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out.
When he opened his eyes, he pulled his Glock 33 from his
waistband where he kept it concealed under his bulging
belly.
Matt shook his head at Darrell, reached over, and pulled
the keys out of the ignition. “You ready? Put on your
hood.”
Darrell leaped from the van without a word. Matt met him
underneath the canopy of the open rear door.
“Are we going to bury them?” Darrell asked.
“With what? I didn’t pack a shovel.”
“So where do we put them?”
“Those hills,” Matt said, pointing toward a shadowy range
running parallel with the road. “There’s got to be some
rocks where we can hide them.”
Darrell stared through the rain. “You have any idea how far
that is? No way.”
“Hundred yards or so. We can get there in a minute. Come
on.”
“No way. That’s at least three hundred. We’ll be soaked.”
Matt dragged the first suitcase out of the car, surprised
by how heavy it was, and then raised the wheel well cover.
Before Darrell noticed, he grabbed his hidden .38 Special
and stuffed it into his coat pocket. “Then we need to
hurry. I’m not going back to prison,” he vowed as he
crossed the muddy stretch of road that bordered the
highway.
Darrell was cursing up a storm, but Matt heard the second
suitcase hit the pavement and the rear door slam shut. The
complaining didn’t last long. Dragging one hundred pounds
through the treacherous terrain and torrential downpour was
difficult. Neither of them could afford to waste breath
talking.
Halfway to the hills, Matt had to set his suitcase down.
Pretending it wasn’t due to the burning sensation in his
arms and lungs, he turned to check on his partner. He could
hear Darrell’s grunts over the slapping of the rain on the
hard desert floor, but couldn’t see him. A loud hiss sliced
through the air. Matt whirled around and backed up looking
for the serpent, his hand on the .38’s grip.
He couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, but the hiss
sliced through the deluge. When Darrell entered the
clearing a few seconds later, the hissing stopped.
Darrell dropped his suitcase onto its side. He was
breathing so hard, Matt feared his overweight partner would
have a heart attack. “Goddamn, this is heavy. How much
further?” he asked between gasps, looking past Matt toward
the hills.
“We still got a way to go. I’m tired too, but we need to
keep moving. If we don’t get back to the van before some
pig spots it, we’re done.”
“You didn’t see?”
“What?”
Matt asked, stepping onto a rock and trying to peer over
the small hill that blocked their view of the highway.
“They’re all over it. Three cars.”
Matt scrambled up the rocky hill, the sight of the flashing
lights making him nauseous.
When Matt came down, Darrell asked, “Now what? Try to make
it to the rest stop and jack a car? That’s the only thing I
can think of.”
“They’re going to be crawling all over it. They know we’re
close. There’s nowhere else to go.”
“So what? What the hell do we do?”
“First off, we hide the suitcases. We can’t get caught with
this. If they can’t find the drugs, they can’t bust us for
them. They’ll still bust me for violating, but that’s
better than the alternative.” Matt tried in vain to control
his shivering. “Let’s move before they get a helicopter out
here. They’ll know we’re on this side of the highway.”
“Maybe they’ll think someone picked us up.”
“Hope so, but can’t count on it. Let’s go. And watch where
you’re stepping. Snakes are out,” Matt said as he returned
to the suitcase and began dragging it toward the hills.
“Nah. They’re not out now.”
“I know what I heard,” Matt snapped as the burning
sensation returned to his shoulders.
“Impossible. They hibernate in winter. Must’ve been
something else.”
In no mood to argue, Matt pushed forward, leaving Darrell
behind. Soaked and exhausted, Matt stopped after a couple
hundred yards. The rain was letting up, but that was the
only thing in their favor. The police chopper had arrived
with its searchlight scanning around the highway. And the
mountains, which he had thought were hills, were still a
few hundred yards away.
Matt sat on the suitcase, holding his head in both hands.
He’d rest while Darrell caught up and then they’d make one
last run for the mountains. They could make it. They had to
make it. The hiss of light rain rustled the bushes, but he
didn’t feel rain hitting him anymore. He looked around. The
rain had stopped; the hiss had not. It sounded as if it
were coming from either side of him and it was getting
louder.
Matt got to his feet and pulled out his piece. He wasn’t
scared of snakes but he refused to get bitten by something
poisonous and die lying on top of a hundred pounds of weed.
The clouds slid aside and let the moon shine through. Even
with its light, Matt couldn’t see much. Sand, brush, rocks,
cacti, and more sand. No snakes.
It took Darrell three minutes to catch up. When he entered
the clearing, his face was drenched, only this time from
sweat, not rain. Once again the hissing stopped.
“The chopper’s out,” Matt said with a flat voice.
Darrell dropped the suitcase onto the damp sand and bent
over, hands resting on his knees. “I saw.”
“This hill won’t hide us much longer.”
Darrell stood panting, trying to recover.
“We need to keep moving,” Matt urged.
Darrell raised his arms over his head, something he must
have seen an athlete do on TV, only Matt doubted the
athlete’s belly had heaved with each breath.
“Come on, Darrell, that’s long enough. Let’s hit the
mountains.”
“I’m too tired.”
“I’ll leave you.”
“Go ahead.” Darrell sat on a rock. He didn’t look that
tired. “I can’t move.”
“I’ll leave you out here in the dark with the cops, and the
snakes, and whatever little boogie monster you think is out
here.”
“There ain’t no snakes. I told you.”
“Well, there’s something out here hissing and I’m leaving
you with it. Are you coming?”
“Hold on, goddamnit. I never shoulda came.”
“I didn’t hear you bitching when I asked you before. You
weren’t complaining about making some cash.” Matt picked up
the suitcase, hoping it would be easier to carry than it
was to drag.
In the ten minutes it took to make it to the base of the
mountain, the helicopter hadn’t advanced much. It was too
early to get his hopes up but it looked as if he might make
it out of this thing a free man. Darrell might not, but
that was his own fault. If the fat bastard had taken care
of himself, he wouldn’t be on the verge of passing out as
he tried to keep up.
“Now what?”
“We hide the suitcases. In there,” Matt told him, pointing
to the small cave twenty yards uphill.
Without a word, Darrell began the ascent. Matt nearly ran
into him when Darrell came to an abrupt stop right outside
the opening.
“What the hell’s the matter? Get in there,” Matt ordered.
Darrell whispered, “It’s dark.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Matt said as he shouldered past him.
“And I think I heard something,” Darrell added.
“What? What could be out here? Mountain lion? Get out your
gun and watch your step.”
“It sounded like some kind of hissing.”
Matt took a few steps past the entrance and turned around.
“Will you shut up about the hissing?”
“Well, they shouldn’t be out.”
Matt heard a low hiss, but pretended he hadn’t. He walked
out of the cave and set his suitcase down, making sure he
had Darrell’s full attention before speaking. “Know what?
I’m pretty tired of your bullshit.”
Darrell tried to protest, but Matt held up his hand. “You
want to make money, you want more responsibility, you want
to do the runs yourself. Why should I let you? You’re
afraid of the dark. You’re afraid of snakes. What else are
you afraid of, Darrell?”
“Screw you.”
“Earn your keep. If you want to do another run, you do what
I say. No questions.”
Darrell waited.
“Put the suitcases in there,” Matt said, motioning toward
the cave. “As far back as you can. I don’t want anyone
finding them.”
“You’re serious?”
“If you want your cut.”
“Why don’t we each take one?”
“Because one of us should stay out here and keep an eye on
that helicopter and I don’t think either one of us thought
to bring a flashlight. Did you?”
“No.”
“Well, it looks pretty dark in there. If we both go in, we
could get lost.”
“What about me?”
“If you can’t find your way out, call for me and follow my
voice. Come on, we don’t have all night.”
Darrell huffed and puffed, but did as Matt ordered and
picked up his suitcase. “I can’t carry both of them,” he
said.
“Make two trips.”
Darrell disappeared in the cave’s darkness. Matt sat on his
suitcase and watched as the police helicopter circled the
desert a few hundred yards away. After several minutes
passed, he began to wonder if Darrell decided to take a
break.
Matt took one step into the cave. “Darrell, hurry up. The
helicopter’s getting closer.”
There was no response so he cupped his hands around his
mouth and shouted, “Darrell, can you hear me?”
Again no answer. Matt picked up his suitcase and headed
down the dark tunnel, using his free hand to feel the wall
alongside him. After a few seconds, he sensed the tunnel
widening into a room. He called Darrell’s name once more,
but the result was the same.
A prolonged hiss echoed through the cave. Very slowly, Matt
set the suitcase down and pulled the gun out of his coat.
When he turned in a circle to pinpoint the noise, he looked
out the tunnel and noticed the helicopter’s searchlight was
closer.
No longer caring where Darrell was, Matt picked up his
suitcase and headed for the closest wall. Prison had
ingrained in him the golden rule of looking out for number
one. Darrell would either make it or he wouldn’t.
Matt tripped over a rock and slammed face first onto the
cave’s hard floor. Ignoring his bleeding chin and scraped
hand, Matt leaped off the floor before a snake could
strike. The hissing had grown louder and was coming from
more than one spot. Matt reached for his pistol, but it
wasn’t there. He sank to his knees and felt the floor. When
his hand struck plastic, he realized he’d tripped over
Darrell’s suitcase.
“What the hell’s wrong with you? I could’ve knocked myself
out.”
Darrell didn’t answer, but even if he had, Matt wasn’t sure
if he would have heard him over the growing din. The
hissing sounded as if it were coming from the tunnel’s
entrance. And from behind. And to his right. And then to
his left as well. He prayed it was the cave’s echoes, but
it sounded as if he were surrounded.
Matt reached for Darrell’s suitcase and felt Darrell’s arm
draped over it. He squeezed Darrell’s hand. “Get up, man.”
He shook the arm harder and almost retched when it pulled
away from the suitcase and fell onto his lap. The arm had
been severed at the elbow. Matt couldn’t feel Darrell’s
body anywhere.
Matt threw the arm into the darkness and heard a grunt as
it bounced off something. He scrambled on all fours toward
the entrance. The searchlight illuminated the outline of a
massive, multi-armed creature filling the cave’s mouth.
Matt spun in a circle, hoping to see another exit,
disappointed by pure darkness. He turned back to the
entrance. Brief flashes of searchlight revealed more of the
creatures plodding toward him. Matt took a step backward
and bumped into a wet jellylike wall of a chest.
A pulsating arm wrapped around his neck, cutting off his
scream. Deafened by the hissing, unable to move, he stared
straight ahead. The entrance was gone. He couldn’t see
outside, but he knew that the cops were out there. Another
ten years locked in a nine-by-nine cell with asshole guards
on him twenty-four hours a day was out there. A decade of
fighting and fearing, waiting and wishing was out there.
God, what he wouldn’t have given to be out there.
Copyright
2007 by Mark Tullius