The Silver Death

chapter five - football player and lankylegs

My first, foolish thought is that this man is a football player. Taking one look at his broad, muscular frame, the way he easily clears six feet, and I know this was the one that found me in the gas station. Stern face, Roman nose, and the bushiest pair of eyebrows I've ever seen. He's a redhead, but not like Matthew, whose hair is carrot orange, whose eyelashes and brows are only visible in sunlight, although they do share pale orange freckles. This man has sleek, glossy dark red hair, but dark brown, almond shaped eyes that contrast the typical redhead. His unnaturally large hands grip the gun pointed at my head.
My eyes move to the person next to him. If Football Player was tall, this kid towers over him. Lankylegs is a few inches taller, six and a half feet maybe, but narrow shoulders and a slim, skinny build, enforcing the idea that he's tall. Thick, dark hair that falls straight to his shoulders, a long, pale face. A small, thin mouth under a small, thin nose. Wide-spaced, short eyes, hooded and thin. Lankylegs, like Football Player, is not to be messed with.
A flash of glossy red hair catches my eye, but it isn't Football Player. She's around Matthew's height with Lankylegs's build. She looks to be the sibling of Football Player – shiny hair, almond shaped eyes, Roman nose – but a heart shaped, kinder face. She's the only one that carries a long–ranged weapon. I know this is the girl who spoke in the gas station. I have a feeling the first was Football Player and the second was Lankylegs, but I'll wait on deciding for now.
I absorb all this information in three seconds, give or take. It seems that everyone else is taking it in simultaneously. However, Football Player and I recover faster than everyone else.
"What the –"starts Football Player. I don't let him finish. My .9 millimeter is out of the holster and pointed at his head in less than a second. I start to move in front of Matthew, as he has not done anything to protect himself in any way, but all three of the newcomers tense, their index fingers poised over their triggers.
"Lower your weapons!" Football Player shouts. Matthew flinches.
"Not until you do!" I shout back.
We are stuck in a stalemate. Finally Football Player holds up his hands, his pistol in his right. He must have known that Lankylegs and his sister would cover him. He isn't at fault, because I technically only told him to put down his gun, not the other two. "Alright. Now your turn."
I inwardly sigh, holding up my trusty .9. All three of them seem to relax. Football Player nods at me. "Either of you heard of Avery...Williams?"
Matthew gasps. "Yeah!" He blurts. All four of us look at him. The pressure seems too great; he blushes and wrings his hands. "I...we were allies."
"Allies how?" Asks Football Player, eyebrows furrowed.
"We...drove around, and...she was running from...some sort of lab, I think? Probably the, ah...the people who took her yesterday, or something...can you please just let us go?" A twang of sympathy touches my heart. His voice grows more urgent and frantic with every pause he takes. I briefly look back at him; his face is pale and sweaty, his hands shaky, his eyes wide. His chest contracts rapidly, his knuckles white.

Panic attack.
Football Player nods. I can see him start to relax. He looks over his shoulder, at his sister. "Emily, take them to the truck."
"We're not going anywhere." I step up to Football Player, crane my neck to look up at him, and stick my chin out defiantly. I'm not letting these strangers drag me into whatever mess this is. I'm already stressed enough, trying to find Mom and Winston, and with the constant threat of the Silver Death looming over me.
"We're not going to hurt you," he spits down at me, brown eyes narrowed in dislike. "We will feed you and bathe you. We have a more stable setup that you two do. Running water, electricity...we're rescuing you."
I consider this for a moment. "How many of you are there?" I shoot back.
"Counting Grace's baby and Osborne...twelve. When we get you two and Avery back, fifteen."
I frown, trying to decide if they're bluffing. Their hair does look washed, and while they are a bit thin, they appear to be well fed. However, they're strangers, and they are somehow involved with the eerie man standing in front of the helicopter, obviously not at all concerned with the screaming woman hauled onto his helicopter.
I make my decision.
"Fine. But I will not give up my handgun, nor my knife. You give the same right to Matthew." I maintain the grip on my pistol, but obediently hand over my rifle, the leather sling rubbing on my callused fingers. Football Player takes it, putting it on one of his broad shoulders. "You two are in the back, with me. Vale and Emily will drive."
Lankylegs - or Vale, I suppose - and Emily start out of the room. I look at Matthew, who has the expression of someone about to mess their pants out of fear. "Come on, Matthew. You'll be fine."

He shuffles along in my wake. I consider telling him a few words of comfort, but decide against it. He's still too new. I follow Football Player out the door and down the hall, double checking to make sure I had grabbed all the food. It appears so.

Football Player shuts the door after Matthew exits the house. Football Player squints over at the gas station in the distance, and then down at my bike. Before he can say anything, I pick it up and glare at him. "This is coming with us."

He doesn't bother to say anything, just nods and looks to the gas station again. "Emily and Vale will come to pick us up here."

"Is Emily your sister?"

"Yes. And Vale is our friend." He leaves it at that.

The same black van from before pulls up to us again. Now that I can see it clearly, I notice it is rather like a delivery truck and ambulance combined, with the front, having a driver and passenger seat, being separated from the back. There's a small window between the two that can be opened by a plastic sliding panel. Through this, I see the back has rather comfortable looking benches.

"In the back," barks Football Player, holding open one of the doors open for us. With a chill, I notice it has an ominously scratched out logo on the back doors, and on the sides. Hesitantly, I climb in first, taking a seat in the far corner. Matthew sits diagonally from me, by the door, and Football Player chooses the corner adjacent to mine. I jump slightly as the truck backs up, and then we are off. I pull out my red folder, suspecting this trip will take a while. I begin to work on the drawing of my family, shading Mom's beautifully wavy brown hair, Winston's intuitive, intelligent brown eyes, Dad's tall, protective figure. I am quite wrapped up in my work until the sound of a deck of cards being shuffled interrupts me.

Football Player has pulled out the most worn, defeated-looking deck of cards I have ever seen. Yet the cards are expertly shuffled, alternating and bending to the will of his large hands with ease. I'm impressed. I look down at the drawing and decide I might as well save it for another time, especially seeing as I don't even know his name yet.

"Deal me in."

Both Football Player and Matthew look up at my words. It has been nearly half an hour since someone has last spoken. But while Matthew immediately stares back down into his lap, Football Player intensely stares at me, bushy red eyebrows narrowing over his eyes.

"In...what?"

"You know rummy?"

"Yeah...yeah, I do." He begins to deal the classic seven cards, finally laying down a seven of spades. I take it and quickly lay down a run of sevens, discarding a nine of diamonds. As he reaches for the pile, I ask, "So, what's your name?"

He frowns, pausing. "...Edward. Yes, like Edward Cullen. No, I am not a fan of Twilight.' He sounds bored, like he has been repeating those three sentences all his life.

I smile. "I'm Hazel. I've just been calling you Football Player in my head."

"My girlfriend says I should have done football before...stuff happened. And yeah, you were Spitfire."

"Oh, really?" I smile, imagining his girlfriend to be the kind of short, modest girl that he insists on carrying everywhere.

He discards a king of clubs, laying down a four-five-six of diamonds. I draw from the pile as he responds. "Yeah, you're just like a baby dragon. You're tiny and short, but ornery."

"Vale, the black-haired kid, was Lankylegs." I discard an ace of diamonds.

"Yeah, he's even taller than I am. Emily isn't short, either." He takes it, and in one fell swoop, lays down a run of aces and discards a five of hearts.

"Screw you," I say as I throw down my hand of cards, which my measly run of sevens isn't even close to covering. He smiles, shrugging in mock surprise.

We both count up our points, Edward being sure to show off his seventy-five points to me. I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. He's more agreeable than I thought he would be.

We play a few more rounds of rummy, in which I make a scarily strong comeback, then move on to Speed and then I teach him Mau, laughing as he attempts to figure out the rules in vain. As I slam my last card down onto the pile and yell, "Punt!" the truck eases to a stop.

Edward picks up his deck of cards and puts them away. The back doors open, and Vale's hooded brown eyes stare at us.

"We're here."