The Gift: A Short Story (Voices of the Apocalypse Book 4) (3 page)

“Hello?” he called down.
 

He thought he heard something skitter about.
 

“I’m here to help,” he said. “I came with Keyla.”

“Keyla?” the voice cried out from below.
 

Ransom jumped down the last few stairs and ran to the corner where a young black girl, who looked a lot like Keyla, was chained to a pipe. She had on a long stained T-shirt and nothing else.
 

“Good lord.” That was all he could get out.

“Where’s my sister?”

“She’s safe. I’m gonna git you outta this mess.”
 

The handcuffs were too tight to wriggle off.
 

“Please help me,” she cried.

“Watch out, I’m gonna bust that pipe open.”
 

Dayla scooted off to the side and he began swinging the bat like a madman until the pipe busted and he was able to slide off the handcuffs. He scooped Dayla into his arms and ran up the steps. Before reaching the front door, he turned around and scanned the living room. He placed Dayla next to the door and scurried back to the kitchen, looking for something flammable.
 

“What are you doing?” Dayla cried out.

“Burning this place to the ground.”
 

Those evil men would probably keep going about their business, but at least it wouldn’t be there. He snatched a lighter off the counter and searched the cabinets until he found just what he needed––a stock of Jack Daniels. Grabbing a couple bottles, he ran around dousing the furniture and carpets with the stuff. Standing next to the ratty curtains, he flicked the lighter, catching the material on fire. He picked Dayla up and darted out of the house, back to the car.

“She’s alive, Keyla! Open the back door!” he yelled, running toward the Buick.
 

“She’s alive?!” Kayla’s eyes bulged. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”
 

Keyla opened the back door and helped Ransom get Dayla into backseat. She sat down and held her sister’s heavy head in her small lap. Ransom got behind the wheel and drove away, speeding down the dark streets. Nobody said a word until about five miles on the 77 north.

“I thought you were dead.” Keyla sobbed, hugging her beaten down sister.

“I thought you were dead,” Dayla whispered.

Ransom looked at the girls in the rearview mirror. He was still shaking with rage, but seeing the relief in their faces was enough to comfort him back down. He dug into his pocket for a piece of twig to gnaw on, but he was out. Keyla’s small hand touched his shoulder and she handed him a piece of twig she must’ve picked from the bushes. He took it and smiled in the rearview mirror. Peace settled through the Buick as they cruised along the barren highway back to Willoughby. Ransom had lost a lot over the years, but finding Keyla had been the greatest gift.

THE CITY CENTER
THE NEW AGENDA
THE MAINFRAME
THE TORRENT
VOICES OF THE APOCALYPSE: SHORT STORIES

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