End of Man Chapter 2 - James

Chapter 2: James

The raucous laughter and banter coming from the other passengers in the car belied the anxiety that James felt. There were four in total, including himself, riding in the gaudy red sports car they had boosted from a parking garage earlier that day. In an attempt to quell the anxiety tumbling around in his stomach, James tried to catch what was coming through the radio. It was difficult given that he was in the back seat and had to try to catch what was being said through the other's boisterousness.

“This latest rise in what the experts are calling ‘The Biting Flu’...” The broadcast was cut off by Chubs, the wiry and anything other than chubby getaway driver with a crooked nose, calling out and looking into the rear view mirror. “Oi, Dano,’ what’r you gonna do with your share o’ the haul?” Dano, or Daniel, but nobody called him that, was the brick wall of a man sitting next to James in the back.

“I dunno, prolly get out of this crap business,” Dano replied in his deep rumbling voice.

“... If you or a loved one exhibits flu-like symptoms or is injured by someone who has flu-like symptoms, the authorities are urging you to quarantine indoors and notify the authorities. Aid will arrive shortly…” The man on the radio continued.

Many of their crew, or gang, more appropriately, had come down with those exact symptoms. Something like 2 out of five members were out or even unconscious with it. For this reason, James had been brought along as a “bag boy” for today's job at the last minute. James liked Dano; he had been sort of a big brother figure through all of James’s time with the ‘Death’s Door’ gang. He wasn’t sure where the name came from. But he had been picked up as a prospect when he was around 12 and not much more than a street urchin. Now he was 17 and most people, even the rough type he mingled with in the gang, tended to like him with his easy smile and ability to make others laugh or put them at ease. So far, he mostly worked as a lookout, runner, or errand boy for the gang, but today was his chance.

“Shut yer traps!” The man in the passenger seat barked as the radio gave a chirp of static when he turned it off. “Get yer heads in the game. It’s showtime.” That was Gator, the de facto leader of Death’s Door. James wasn’t sure where his nickname came from either, but he knew the man had a temper that was as quick and hot as a grenade. He was of average build with a bit of a gut, but what he lacked in physical presence, he made up for in sheer ruthlessness.

“Boss, you sure dis is good?” Chubs squawked.

“Yeah, I got a man on the inside. Bill’s ‘is name. Says the vault opens in about 5 minutes from now.” Gator replied. “Vargas, that means you ain't gettin' no cut for this. This is your trial run. Ya hear?”

“Yeah, Gator, that’s cool,” James replied half-heartedly, seeing something out of the corner of his eye out of the side window down a dark alley that he wasn’t sure he saw. He shook his head to clear it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been what he thought as the alley slid beyond view. James’s reverie was broken when the car came to an abrupt stop, almost smashing the side of his head into the seat rest in front of him.

“It’s go time, boys!” Gator growled in his deep smoker's voice as he finished pulling on his ski mask. He swung his door open and spilled out onto the sidewalk. This prompted the rest, Chubs slamming his door shut like a note of finality, to scramble out as well. James clumsily pulled on his balaclava, which felt two sizes too big and slid to the side a bit, obscuring his vision while simultaneously trying not to throw up.

“That would go over well with the rest of the gang”. He sarcastically thought to himself. He double checked that he didn’t forget the duffles he carried, which gave him his purpose for today.

“8 mins!” Chubs screeched from the side as they trotted up the stone stairs to a set of dingy but solid-looking double doors. The rest of the world continued to go on around them as though all hell wasn’t about to just break open. James took this moment to take the building in full. It was a squat single-story brick-style building nestled between larger, much more modern-style affairs. James never really got used to the oppressive heat and thanked any God that would listen that he was born in a time that had discovered air conditioning. That's when he heard it, what sounded like a soft scream carried on that awful hair dryer-like wind. It caught him off guard enough that his lead foot caught the lip of one of the stairs, and he crashed down in a heap and tangled up in the empty duffle bags he was carrying.

“Oi, get up boy we’re on the clock and I don’t feel like ending up with only one window”. Dano’s deep bass voice rumbled back down the stairs at James as he looked up; he could make out the man’s large frame holding the doors open. Gator and Chubs were entering through the opening, guns raised, screaming obscenities at the customers and employees alike inside. He scrambled unceremoniously back to his feet and scurried up the stairs for all he was worth, just catching the doors. As Dano closed them inside, James could have sworn he heard sirens in the distance, but that would be way too soon. FWPD response times in this area were around a little over 9 minutes, and other parts of “Death’s Door” should have been causing havoc in other areas of the city to help.

“Too late now”. He muttered to himself. That would be something, he thought to himself; he was already on track to mess up his first real job. He let his focus snap back in place. Chubs was already corralling the tellers and guests together against one wall, holding his handgun in that sideways way you see in so many shows and movies. James laughed a little before getting himself back under control. To James, he looked more like a cricket trying to be menacing than truly being so. It was more silly-looking than intimidating, but he guessed being at gunpoint was intimidating enough regardless of the weapon’s angle of tilt. Dano stayed behind to watch the entrance and the car while Gator had the aging security guard at gunpoint.

“L-Look, ya’ll don’t want to do this, the cops’ll be here soon”. The guard said kind of forced and a bit loudly. A thin, older, unassuming man with snow white hair. He made a show of going for his gun, but Gator hit him in the stomach hard with the end of the shotgun he was holding. It was a nasty piece, short-barreled and with a pistol grip, and he held it low at his hip.

“Don’t do anything stupid! Now drop that piece or I’ll make you acquainted with yer own insides”.

The guard obliged by taking the gun out of his holster with two fingers and dropping it at his feet. Both the guard's and James’s eyes followed the weapon as it clattered to the pristine floor and then back up to meet each other. His eyes bulged as if they were going to burst right out, and his whole body shuddered with some massive force. The blast of the shotgun going off took James’s breath away as it echoed off the walls of the bank. He could smell the gunsmoke, making his eyes sting. The guard took a stumbling step backwards and pulled his hands up to his stomach as if to try to hold everything together, not yet comprehending he was already dead. Then he collapsed. The entire bank was completely silent save for the ringing in James’s ears as he ran up to kneel and check on the dying man. The man was spluttering and incoherent, spouting what could have been maybe words sprinkled with moans of pain. His shirt was quickly becoming a shade of red that made it hard to tell it had once been blue. Vargas had no idea what to do for the man, but felt the need to do something; he felt miles away from himself at that moment. And that’s when he noticed it. The dying man’s badge. In a facsimile of a police officer's badge.

“Security

Scanton, Bill

Keeping you and your loved ones safe.”

“Get in the vault, ya stupid Boy!” Gator bellowed. “Do yer job or yer gettin’ left b’hind”. James got to his feet then and saw that Chubs had selected someone from the crowd, and this person was fiddling with a ring of keys. Gator took Chub’s place, watching over the hostages as James sidled up next to the pair.

“... only opens at certain times.” James overheard as he got within range to catch what the two were talking about. The smaller, cowering man was at gunpoint while being ushered along. Chubs replied with a touch of mania in his voice. “Yeah, dat’s why we here now ratter ‘en waitin’ in line. We know da vault’s open. If ya don get it open in ten seconds, I’m givin’ the door a new paint job!” Chubs exclaimed as he drove the point home by pressing the barrel of the sidearm against the side of the head of the man fumbling with the keys and lock, and giving him a shove. James noticed the handgun was still sideways.

“Does that help in some way?” He wondered to himself.

That's when the vault door opened with a click, a sigh, and an intake of breath as if a maw had been waiting for this moment.

“Chuck me a bag, boy!” Chubs cawed as he pistol-whipped the other man, now having no more purpose. And James headed the instruction.

“Ewww. Why’s it cover’d in blood?” Chubs questioned as they ran inside to snatch what they could. “Three minutes!” He yelled loudly.

Vargas didn’t answer, but immediately saw the vault was smaller inside than he would have guessed, with much less money in it than he’d been led to believe. Most of the walls were covered in deposit boxes, which they didn’t have the time to bother with. But one side rack did have bundles of cash, plenty to fill the three bags they had with them. They got to work stuffing the bags as hurriedly as they could. When they completed, they ran full tilt out of the vault, Chubs with one bag and signaling to the others with his hand holding his pistol. James had the other two bags.

“Gator, this ain't good,” Dano said in that calm, deep voice of his.

“Wha… We still gotta minute!?” Chubs cried out.

“It ain't that. Look.” Dano replied, gesturing.

James saw it through the glass doors. Hell had broken well and truly open. There were people in the streets. Far more than had been there when they had arrived. And most of them were running while screaming for their lives. Some others seemed to chase them in a stilted, stumbling manner, like they had forgotten how their limbs worked. On one side of a low wall, a group of these shamblers had trapped a man and fell on top of him. His screams were the loudest.