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5: Locked Up 9:42 AM, Thursday Shoved from behind, John fell and skidded across the floor on his stomach. He slid into Chad's feet and came to a halt. Heavy feet fell upon steps, and a metal door slammed shut, leaving the three within the ten by ten foot chamber in pitch blackness. CLICK! Chad's hand still grasped the chain attached to the glowing light bulb above them. It slipped through his fingers as he lowered his arm. Flea sat against the wall farthest from the door, where he had landed. Holding his knees, and gazing up at his companions, he swallowed hard. "Do you... do you guys think Anthony is all right?" Silence. Chad stared at his feet. John arched over his legs and buried his head in his hands. Sighing, Flea shook his head and dug in the dirt beside him. He used his thumbnail to dislodge a small rock from the soot, and promptly flung the pebble across their little chamber. It thumped against the wall by the door, then fell back to the dust. Chad lapped his palate and gulped. "It might not be that bad." His voice cracked, his eyes trained on his feet. "Might just be bad enough to jam the lock on the trunk." His back slid down the dirt wall beside Flea, and he sat by his friend. "If they can get a decent enough locksmith..." Flea shook his head. "It's not going to be that easy." An eerie shadow fell across the left side of Flea's face as he looked Chad in the eye. "I saw what the trunk looked like, at least from the back seat." He turned away from the light, his face now completely overtaken by the shadows. "It's going to take more than picking a lock." John rocked slowly and evenly where he sat, his fingers pressing into his forehead, his thumbs into his temples. At a glance, he seemed to blend into his surroundings. Flea sighed. He uprooted another pebble and threw it across the chamber. Chad stared after the tiny stone, his eyelids drooping. He immediately widened his eyes. But the lids drew heavy again, his eyes desiring its shades, his mind requiring respite. His thoughts clouded, and consciousness drifted. Images of the morning haunted his brain, scenes in almost photo form flashing across his mind's eye. Falling into Anthony on the bus as it swerved. John suffocating in the mud. Guns pointing at them. Their burly captor hollering in the car. Being hit from behind. "F***!" "Oh sh**! Pull over! Pull over!" "I can't!" Chad blinked his eyes. He was back in the sedan, and it was swerving across three lanes of traffic, horns blaring. It shot down an exit ramp and raced through a country road, into woods. Then grinded to a halt. Lloyd threw all his weight into the driver's side door and stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. His feet pounded against the ground, fainter as they thumped off behind the three in the back seat. "Oh, sh**!" Lloyd's exclamation shook the car, and John shuddered. "Josh, get your ass out here!" Chad watched as Josh slipped out of the car and heard him plodding to his partner. "What the hell are we supposed to do?" came Josh's reply. "I don't know," Lloyd hissed. "I don't know I don't know I don't..." The car was speeding down the road again. Chad glanced at Flea to his left, who was pressed against his side of the sedan. His eyes glossy and seemingly staring out the window, his shoulders hunched, his arms wrapped about his midsection. John, sitting in filth, rubbed the back of his neck. "This friend of yours had BETTER be able to get that trunk open!" Lloyd sneered, clutching the steering wheel. "Not like we have a lotta options, Lloyd," came Josh's retort, earning a growl from his partner. The sedan shot down the highway. Soaring, soaring, soaring, and squealing down an exit ramp. Past gas stations. Past fast food restaurants. Past grass and wheat fields. And into the woods. Stopping in front of a rickety farm house. "There's nobody here!" Lloyd yelled, ramming his palms into the steering wheel. "Uh, um...," Josh stammered. "He might be at market today, but he should be back soon." Lloyd sighed. "He'd better be," he muttered. "He have a place to hold the other three?" "Yeah, a storm cellar." Lloyd threw open the car door by Flea, who had been leaning against it. Chad grabbed his arm before he fell out. "Come on out!" Chad paced behind Flea, Lloyd trudging beside him, guiding them to the back of the house. They were nearing the side of the house when John let out a blood-curdling scream. Chad started to turn around, but Lloyd grabbed his collar. "You never mind him! Just keep moving!" John cried out again. This time, Chad managed to steal a peek over his shoulder. Gun in hand, Josh shoved John, who was staring at the accordion-folded trunk... At the blood seeping down the rear bumper and into rust toned puddles in the dust. A sickening sensation swept over Chad. He watched his friend lunge at the trunk. John gouged his fingers into the upfolds of metal, working to pry open the compartment. As he slashed the raw edges, his fingers bled. "Anthony!" John cried out, still clawing at the trunk. "Anthony!" "You'd better shut up, kid!" Chad heard his burly captor reply, as the scrawny one grabbed at John's arms. Josh looked to Lloyd, who nodded. "Just waste him," the heavyset gunholder scowled with a shrug. Josh raised his gun. CLICK! CREEK! WHOOSH! "Chad!" Flea's hissed whisper cut through the scene. Chad opened his eyes and found the bass player's shadow looming over him. A second silhouette joined the first, one holding a tray, slender, feminine. Chad bolted upright. "What's going on?" he demanded. The petite figure lowered herself to her knees before him. The tray between them carried apples, sandwiches, bottled water, and pickles. The bearer of the food smiled at him between two of the waters. Her chocolate toned skin seemed to shimmer in the bulblight, her deep mahogany eyes twinkling. Her ebony hair snaked in a braided rope down the length of her spine. She set down the tray at his feet, revealing the forest green T-shirt and blue jeans behind it. "Is everyone in here okay?" she asked, her voice strong yet angelic. Chad glanced about the cellar. Across the way sat John, huddling his knees to his solid clay chest. He was still rocking back and forth, and holding his head in his hands. Chad noticed that the girl was also watching John. "I think he's in shock," Flea's blue eyes widened. "Why's he covered in mud?" "He got pushed into it this morning," Flea replied, and the girl furrowed her thick eyebrows. She grabbed a water bottle off the tray and handed it to Flea. "Here," she said. "Give him this." Flea accepted the bottle. He knelt by John's side and held out the bottle to his friend. "John!" he called softly to him. "John!" Back and forth. Back and forth. No other movement. Flea took hold of John's wrists and pulled them down. Soiled fingers slowly slipped down John's tarnished features, streaked with shining tears. Eyes shut. Body still rocking. Flea steadied his friend, unscrewed the cap, and held the bottle to John's lips. He tilted it back, gently, and John drank. His adam's apple bobbed a few times, then rested. Flea withdrew the water. John's head fell back into his hands. And the rocking resumed. Flea stared at John for a full minute before setting the water bottle at his bandmate's feet. Then Flea stood and wandered back to Chad. The drummer cleared his throat, causing the drummer to look down. "I think he saw the trunk. Up close." Chad watched his feet as he spoke. Then, gazing up at Flea, he added, "I think that's why he screamed." "Your friend," the girl voiced, "he's still alive." She looked deep into Chad's eyes, and blinked a couple of times before adding, "They can hear him talking but can't tell what he's saying." "Anthony's still in the trunk?" The girl turned to Flea and nodded. "Yes. But my father is here now, and he should be able to cut open the trunk." "Cut it...," Flea's mouth dropped. "Cut it open?" "My father will work slowly and carefully." Flea nodded. Crossing his arms, he turned away from her. Chad swallowed hard and leaned his head against the wall. "I didn't see the trunk," Chad told the girl. "Is it, is it bad?" She gazed at him, glanced quickly at her feet, then back at him. "I'm afraid it is. But it sounds like he's okay. There might be enough space still left in there that he might not have been hurt." CLICK! CREEK! "Myra, hurry up!" Josh's voice hissed through the cellar. "Lloyd's gonna skin us both!" "I have to go," Myra glanced at each of the three Chili Peppers before returning her sights to Chad. "But your friend should be down soon." "Myra!" Myra shuffled up the steps and slipped out the door. It whooshed shut behind her. The three Chili Peppers were again alone in their shadowy, underground cell. |