Lights Out -- Part Seven

With the lights out and the blindfolded people cowering near where the man was hit by the car, Walt and Marcus sit inside of the old Ford silent. The blood was still coming from Marcus’s nose, and he was trying to stop the bleeding by giving a firm pinch.

“Get out,” Walt said in a whisper of a voice. This was followed by more silence.

And then.

“What?” A dumb question, but Marcus figured that if he were to get out of this car it would be all over.

“I said…” And he presses the rifle against Marcus’s chest. “I said get out of the car, right now.”

A quick breath in by Marcus.

“I think we need to relax…”

Another shove with the rifle to his chest.

“No! Now get the hell out of the car,” Walt’s voice was calm and shaky.

“Okay, I’m going… calm down.”

And he reaches over to the handle opening the passenger door. Walt does the same on his side of the car, but he jumps out quick and then runs over to where Marcus was at. He grabs the kid’s right arm.

“Now, I want you to get into the driver’s seat, and I want you to remember something.” The rifle was pressed hard against the head of Marcus. “It’s dark in this arena, but if you run I promise that I will get you. I might not get you with the rifle, but I will get you with the car. I’ll kill you, and then I’ll run you down again, and again, and again.”

The nasty breath of Walt could be felt on his cheek. Marcus wasn’t going to run away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. With round number two underway there wasn’t any getting out of this arena until the bell rings. Marcus had told his associates that “No matter what you hear, even if it’s me in there screaming, do not open those doors!”

So he couldn’t run, and they were both stuck in here until the game was over.

Marcus walks over toward the driver side of the car and gets inside. Walt makes sure the car door is closed before he runs around to the other side. He closes his own door, and then points the rifle once again at Marcus’s head.

“Well now,” his voice was so calm, but so shaky. “You have the wheel, and I see that we are in round number two. There are still two people out there in the dark waiting to be run down, and I don’t think it would be wise to keep them waiting. Put your foot on the gas, and drive just like you made me do. But I’m going to up the stakes in this round candy puff.”

He presses the rifle against Marcus’s face, hard.

“Yes, I’m going to up the stakes. I want you to drive as if your life depends upon it, and if by the end of this round you don’t kill the both of them, I’m going to blow your head off. There will be no third round, and there will be no chance of you getting out of here if you don’t.”

That was almost the same thing that Marcus had said to Walt before this game began, but the way Walt was saying it, it just sounded so much worse.

It was just evil.

“I’m sorry Walt… I didn’t…”

“Drive!”

Marcus grabs the steering wheel and presses the gas down. He listens for the people outside in the darkness, and he could hear them.

“They’re over there,” Marcus said.

“Well then, don’t wait around.”

The car spins the tires at first, but then grips as it goes forward. The roar of the engine was the only thing heard in the arena now, and Marcus couldn’t help but to wonder how he could have done this. How could he have let his guard down so much that the old man had stolen his rifle? This had never happened to him before in the past. No one he has ever held captive has turned the tables on him. He has always held them captive, and then blown their heads off. Even his ex who is now feeding the worms in the closet upstairs of his house was easily dispatched. So how could he be so stupid? He tries thinking of a way to get out of this. There has to be something that he can do to…

A loud thump followed by horrendous screams fill the air. The old Ford leaps into the air, and then back down as it travels over two people. The blindfolded woman had tried to save the blindfolded man by laying on top of him. She was shielding him from the oncoming car, and in doing so felt the bald tires running over her back. The other set of tires had found something a little smaller to run over. It was a much smaller bump but yet emitted loud crunching sounds. The screams were coming from the woman, but the man could no longer scream as his neck had been crushed by the car.

There was silence in the car, but Marcus had a strange satisfied smile on his face.

Walt only sat there with an expressionless stare. He just wasn’t affected by the terrible sounds. Marcus doesn’t let off the gas as he turns the car around. He was having fun, and the screaming woman was very easy to find on the second pass. With her loud screams the old Ford found its mark running her over a second time.

And then there was silence…

Lots and lots of silence…

The old Ford sat there in the dark for a long time. The bell signaling the end of the second round would soon ring, but there was no reason to even have a third round, not that Walt would even let Marcus have a third round.

“Get out,” Walt said. Marcus turns his neck over to the right. His eyes were wide, and his nose had stopped bleeding. There was still a small grin on his face.

“I got them… did you hear that noise?”

“Get the hell out of the car candy puff!”

“Wait a minute, I won the round. I got them. You can’t do this!”

“Shut-up, and get out or I am going to do this.”

“Okay, fine.”

And Marcus gets out of the old Ford. Just like before Walt jumps out of the car and quickly runs over to where Marcus is at. He grabs his arm and pulls him along, away from the car.

“Get down on your knees.”

“What?”

A swift punch to the back sends Marcus forward, and then Walt kicks the back of his knee bringing him down to the ground.

“Now, tell them to turn the lights on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t make me shoot you. Don’t make me! Because I will.”

The rifle is pushed against Marcus’s head again.

“Okay, okay.” And he takes a deep breath. “Turn the lights on!”

The lights flicker on brightening up the whole arena. Walt glances back at the mess on the ground left by Marcus. The two blindfolded people weren’t looking too good at the moment.

A couple of guys enter the arena through the small door that the blindfolded people had come through earlier. Walt points the rifle at Marcus while holding his left hand out in front of him.

“Stop!”

And they stop.

“I have your boss here, and if you don’t do as I say he’s going to get it!”

They say nothing, but Marcus speaks up.

“Do as he says! He’s crazy!”

“I want you to open the doors back there, and then I’m going to drive through those doors with your boss. I’ll let him go on the other side, and then I’m driving out of here. I’ll keep this rifle, and if I ever see you people again, I’ll kill you all!”

“Open the doors!” Marcus shouts.

They do as they are told, and Walt sees the two concrete doors opening behind them. He takes Marcus with him as they get back into the old Ford.

“Get in, and shut-up,” Walt said.

He turns the car around hoping not to hit the two dead bodies on the ground. Marcus nods at his associates as they head back through the small door; it closes behind them with a click, and when Marcus sees that his people are behind the closed door once again, he begins to plan.

“All right, once we are through those gates I’m going to let you go. We’ll both be alive, and it’ll stay that way. So don’t do anything stupid.”

Marcus must have not been listening to that last part. Before Walt could react a fist comes over slugging him in the face. The old Ford comes to a halt as Marcus grabs the rifle located in Walt’s lap.

“Give me my rifle!” He screams. Walt grips the rifle with his right arm while favoring his face with his hands. He looks over at Marcus with a snarl, and then head-butts the kid.

“I told you not to do anything stupid, but I guess you’ll never learn,” and Walt gets out of the car walking around to the other side. He opens the passenger side door pulling Marcus out by his arm.

“You should have—”

And then Marcus stomps on Walt’s foot as hard as he could. The rifle falls to the ground as Walt screams in agony. Marcus was going for the rifle, but as he bent down to pick it up he was met with a knee to the face.

“Stupid candy puff,” and Walt grabs ahold of Marcus by the shirt tossing him to the ground a few feet away from the car. Going in for a punch, Walt is tripped by the kid causing him to land on the ground face first. Marcus jumps on top of him and begins to throw left and right bombs to the old man’s head.

“You are not the one who is in charge here. I run this place! This is my arena!”

And he grabs Walt by the throat choking him. Some more blood comes from his nose as it begins to bleed again. Walt tries to speak, but the closed windpipe only causes him to choke the words out. They don’t make sense, and then he reaches up gouging at Marcus’s eyes.

He screams.

“Get off me!” That was Marcus, and when he said this Walt was able to toss him to the ground. The pain in his eye sockets lingered for a long time, long after Walt’s thumbs had left them. Walt was on all fours with his eyes closed. He breathes in the air which, a moment ago, was denied by a raisin toothed candy puff. He looks up, and he sees the rifle laying over there on the ground next to the old Ford. He knew that he had to reach that weapon before Marcus could reach it. If that little kid were to grab that rifle before he could, there would be know driving out of here. This time when the candy puff holds the weapon to his face he would pull the trigger. And Walt knows that his head would be rolling around in the dirt a moment later.

He gets up off of the ground only to be met with a hard sharp pain to the lower back. Marcus had slugged him as hard as he could, and this causes Walt to collapse back down.

“You are not going to win this old man. I won’t let you… no I won’t let you.”

And he begins his own quest for the rifle.

Walt can see that the kid was going for the weapon. He reaches out grabbing the feet of the candy puff bringing him down to the ground with him. Marcus smacks his head off of the dirt bringing some blood from his scalp.

“Stay down and die!” Walt screams. He begins to crawl his way over to the rifle. Marcus sees him crawling, and then reaches up grabbing him in a headlock. He holds the old man hoping that soon, very soon, he will lose consciousness.

“You… are… going… down…”

And with a small grunt Walt’s body goes limp. Marcus holds onto his head a moment longer, and then releases the old man. He rolls over onto his back looking up at a few spotlights. His eyes were blurry, probably from smacking his head off of the ground a few moments ago.

“I told you… I told you… I would win…” It was a nice feeling. He rests his eyes knowing that he has won. Finally after all of this struggling it was over. This was only the beginning though, and Marcus knows that in the future when he brings more people here, he’ll be a lot safer. There will be no more stealing of his rifle. There will be no more letting his guard down allowing his victim the opportunity to leave here. He’s smarter than that, and he is smarter than all of them. There is a reason why he is in charge of this whole operation, and he will prove to all of his associates that he is worthy of being the boss.

“No more screw-ups,” he said while waiting for his nerves to calm. He takes a few more breaths in, and then sits up. He looks over at the two dead bodies on the ground. Their blood was spreading into a pool, and this brings a smile to his face. He laughs.

And he laughs some more.

He stands up brushing himself off from head to toe. The blood on his face has dried, and he notices that there is some teeth missing from his mouth.

“Hah-hah, I didn’t need those anyway.”

He waves at the small door knowing that his associates will see him, see that he has won, and then he turns to pick up the rifle—”

Walt stands there with a look of pure evil. His eyes are wide and his lips are curled. It’s apparent that he has lost some teeth to, but Marcus can only focus on the rifle that is pointed at his face.

BOOM!

The weapon goes off as the trigger is pulled. Walt watches as Marcus plops to the ground dead. That evil grin he had on his face is replaced by a smile. He tosses the rifle down, and then walks toward the old Ford.

A few moments later Walt was driving the old Ford through the concrete doors. On the other side of the arena Marcus’s associates watch on as the jalopy rolls out of sight, and with a press of his fist Walt sounds the horn, beeping as he drives away.