My Crew and I Took a Job We Can’t Escape From

Bandages won't help. Even stitches would be useless at this point.

“I could try superglue if I had some, but even that will be ineffective.”

Hey, man, you gonna make it? I look over at one of my partners in crime and at his own blood soaked clothes and laugh.

Yes, hello. I'm gonna make it. I always do.

Yeah, well, there's a first for everything. Not today, pal. Not today. And there lies the rub. Today. The sun is already rising, which means we missed our opportunity to get out of this dump of a motel.

Not that night would have been much easier, but it wouldn't be day. That's for sure. But that fight. It took it out of us. All of us. I glance around the room at what's left of the crew. Silo is sitting at the table and arm wrapped about his belly.

His skin, paler than I have ever seen it. Birch is on the other twin bed, staring up at the ceiling. I have no idea if he's wounded or not. The guy hasn't said a word since we tumbled into the room. Nico is crawled up in the corner, covered completely by one of the motels thread bear comforters.

“I only know he's still with us, because he moans and shifts his position every few seconds.”

And to gant, damn. Poor Gant. He's definitely dead. He crawled under the sink and just tucked himself into a ball. Then died.

No grounds, no pleading. No last words or final size. He just stopped being gant. He's already starting to stink, though. And that isn't good. I can see liquid pulling underneath him.

We need to get rid of the corpse before it makes us all sick. My eyes drift away from Gant and over to the four large, black, duffle bags stacked next to the room's door.

Two old cash, a lot of cash, over three million.

It could even be four mil, but we haven't had a chance to count it yet. That won't be happening here, no way. We need to keep it bagged and ready for travel. Same goes for the other two duffles. One has close to 10 million in heroin bricks, while the other has probably five million in cocaine.

“Again, we won't know for sure until we have time to go over it all.”

For now, the bags stay as they are. At least I hope so. When I look away from the bags, I find a birch, watching me. You good birch? You have a better boss.

He knows I hated when he calls me that. I'm no one's boss. Yeah, I take the lead with the crew. But the whole reason we are who we are is because none of us ever wants to have a boss again.

I refuse to have someone telling me what to do.

So I offer the same courtesy to the other guys, which is easy to say. But as birch continues to stare at me, I know they are all waiting for me to figure out a way for us to get out of the shitty situation we're in. I focus on birch for a few more seconds. Then look away, turning my attention to the stained comforter in the corner. Nico?

Hey Nico? The comforter doesn't stare. Shit. Is Nico dead too? Not yet.

Working on it though. Silent when I share a look. Yeah. How bad is it man? You're not good.

Shit. Okay. Let me take a look. No. Don't.

I really don't want to move right now. Okay. I was just being melodramatic. I'll be fine. Just like Gantt is fine. Dude.

Not cool. Birch shrugs. The phone rings. Not our burner phones. But the motel room phone.

We all stare at it. Answer it. You answer it. You're closest, man. You're closest, man.

Not to answer it. Before I can stand up, Birch grabs the handset and puts it to his ear. Why? I want you as he listens to whoever is on the other end. Could I dial in my hearing and listen in?

Sure. But who has the energy for that? Not me. So I wait. While Birch's eyebrows get higher and higher on his head.

Is that so?

Wow. That's pretty specific.

I bet they made you memorize that.

Birch nods again. Damn. Sorry to hear that, my friend. But we all got our crosses to bear. I rule my eyes.

That's a favorite of Birch's. The whole crosses to bear thing. He loves his irony a little too much in my opinion. Birch hangs up and gives us all a wide grin. Well, we're royally screwed.

Thanks, trip. Forgetting us into this mess. I appreciate your dedication to killing us all. Who is that? What did they say?

Yeah, Birch. What did they say? If you are going to blame me for your own incompetence, then at least tell us what that call was about. My incompetence?

He's up off the bed in the blink of an eye.

We're face to face even faster.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, do you escalate? Do you escalate? Silo shoves between us before Birch or I can do something. We'll both regret. Well, that I'll regret.

I'm not sure Birch has the capability to regret anything. Birch rolls his tongue around his mouth, then slaps that grin of his back on. Tell me, trip.

“How you can honestly pin this shit show on me.”

Come on, boss. Explain my incompetence. I mean, you kind of have to explain it. Since I'm so damn incompetent that I don't even know just how incompetent I am. You can stop saying incompetent Birch.

You've made your point. Have I? Guys, calm down. Let's take a few steps back, a couple of breaths, and just chill before things go south.

Oh, we are way too late for that silo. Way too late. Last I checked. We are so far south that we just landed in Antarctica. I went there once.

We all turned and look over at the ball of Comforter in the corner. Nico doesn't add anything. So we return our attention to our little pissing match. You want me to tell you? Fine, I'll tell you.

I lean in, and Silo tries to push me back. But I put my full strength into it, and he might as well be trying to hold back a mountain. Birch doesn't flinch her back away. He lets me lean in.

The woman. Birch frowns.

“He looks for me to silo, then back to me.”

Finally, he shrugs. Okay, you got me boss. I have no idea what you were talking about. Yeah, Birch, you do. The woman on the stairs.

Birch shakes his head. Still not ringing a bell. Jesus Birch, you know. Birch and I hiss at Silo. He holds his hands up and backs away.

Sorry, shouldn't have said that name. But you all need to chill. He sets back down, casting a glance at Nico before taking his seat. Birch laughs. Wait.

Are you talking about that college chick? That woman? Yeah, that woman. You ripped her down throw down. Hell yeah, I did.

And I do it again. She was tasty. She was Carmen's niece. The silence in the room is only broken by the beginning sounds of the day starting outside. A car door slamming.

Someone shouting something in Spanish. The squeaky wheels of the maid's cart. Traffic out on the highway. Silo is the one to break the silence. Birch, man.

That does kind of screw us. Birch shrugs. I point at the phone. Who was it? And what did they say?

It was that scraggly front desk guy. He was passing on a message. We wait. Birch doesn't continue. He's loving this.

Birch. What was the message? Oh, that rival crew that we fought last night? Well, yeah. They seem to be camped out across the parking lot in one of the other rooms.

Looks like they followed us here. Ben took shelter before sunrise. Oh, crap, man. Trip. Man.

This sucks. Those guys were freaking maniacs. We were lucky to get away. Except we didn't get away. Did we?

Right, boss? We didn't get away at all. Stop calling me that, Birch. Stop calling you what? Boss?

Oh.

“So now you want to act all democratic and shit, is that it?”

Guys, come on. I'm not the boss.

I've never been the boss.

Then why are you always bossing us around? Before he can stop me, I grab Birch around the throat and slam him up against the wall. Lifting him up off his feet by good six inches. Shit. Nico, help me get them apart.

Birch tries to claw at my eyes, but I throw some elbows up and block his attacks.

“He hisses and spits as I continue to squeeze and squeeze.”

I can feel silos hands on me as he struggles to pull me off. I get in close to Birch's face, smelling the blood still on his breath. If I don't tell you what to do, then you go rogue and start killing people you shouldn't be killing. Like tonight, a gave you an inch of rope. You took a mile.

So fine. You want to call me boss and call me boss. Which makes you under me. And people under me start listening, where they get kicked outside. Birch got punches beat once twice, three times.

Finally forcing me to let go.

I'm across the room before he can even double over and start coffee. Reluctantly, silo once again gets between us. At least this time. There's a motel rooms worth of space he can stand in. He holds out his arms like a boxing referee.

We don't have time for this man. We need to figure out how to get out of this room in one piece. To punctuate his words, aloud, wet, gurgling echoes out of against body. Then there's a quiet splash as more liquids are released. We all turn our heads and pinch our noses.

The stench is horrendous.

“His whole damn body is breaking down right now.”

And if we don't get out of here, we're going to die with him. I nod it silo. Silo is right. We need to get out of here. Birch laughs.

That's easy.

We wait until sundown then make a break for the van.

Not exactly rocket science. It's a little more complicated than that. Duh, you think. Silo clears his throat. He ate wrong.

I mean, that's all we have to do. Just get to the van, man. Just get to the van, man. A chuckle and shake my head. Except Birch hasn't finished telling us what our friends across the parking lot had to say.

How about you enlighten us now, Birch? Birch robs his throat. Sure. No problem, boss. He keeps rubbing his throat as he glances at the closed curtains that are barely keeping the sun at bay.

They wanted to let us know they are here. And if we want to survive, we should toss the bags out onto the walkway. Now have someone come get them. What? What do you mean?

I'll have someone come get them.

Silo looks at me. Panic, filling every feature of his face. Tripe?

“Are they saying what I think they're saying?”

I don't know. Maybe. Probably. That whole scene last night was way too coincidental. They had to have had help.

I closed my eyes and rub my face up and down. Up and down. Then I take a deep breath. Open my eyes. And point at Birch.

What else did the front desk guy say? What happens if we don't toss out the bags? They thoughtfully built wardrobe really comes down to pieces that mix well. Last, and don't make you feel like you overpaid. And that's exactly why I've been loving quince lately.

They make up everyday essentials using premium fabrics and thoughtful design. Without the luxury markup. I picked up one of their linen shirts and immediately noticed the quality. Light, comfortable, and not flimsy like cheaper linen. The shoes were the same deal.

Clean look, super comfortable, and they feel like something that should cost a lot more. They work directly with top factories. Cut out the middlemen and focus on premium materials that actually last. No flashy branding. Just well made a barrel that gets the job done.

Right now, go to quince.com/dns for free shipping and 365 day returns. That's a full year to build your wardrobe and love it. And you will. Now available in Canada too. Don't keep settling for clothes that don't last.

Go to q-u-i-n-c-e.com/dns for free shipping and 365 day returns. That's quince.com/dns. Let's have a look at the wardrobe. There's a little bit of the wardrobe. Just a little bit of it.

Then I hope that's it. No, not at all. This wardrobe is my safe space. Do you give me everything? Yes, exactly.

This wardrobe is the wardrobe. This wardrobe that I just understand. The wardrobe, the job or the house. That's amazing. I don't feel like it.

I don't like it. Do you like it? Save. What do you think is going to happen? The guys they have picking up the bags are going to try to come in here and take them if we don't cooperate.

Again, not rocket science. Shit. Shit. I start pacing back and forth. How much time do we have?

My answer comes in the form of a shotgun blast through the motel door. Silo screams and dives for the space between the two twin beds.

I can hardly hear a moaning and see smoke rising up from his body.

“Nico shouts and curls himself up tighter,”

tucking every bit of comfort around him that he can. I snatch a blanket off the closest twin bed and wrap myself in it. Then I pull my 9mm and empty it into the door. It creates even more holes. Which led in even more light.

But it's better than having the door kicked in. Get a mattress up against it! I reload my 9 and fire some more. Here a cry and grunt. Then low cursing as I tag someone out there.

Birch is already hanging one of the mattresses off its broken bed spring frame. He holds it upright, tuck his shoulder, and sprints with a mattress toward the door. As soon as he has the door blocked, I race over to the frame, pick that up, and use it to help Birch secure the mattress to the door. I got this!

Grab the dresser! We're gonna need more weight to keep this up! Ignoring silos whimpering from the floor, I dash to the dresser. Sweep it clean of the TV and coffee maker and shove the piece of furniture toward Birch. Without missing a beat, Birch jumps up into the air and lands on top of the dresser.

His hands still pressing the mattress and frame against the door. Slowly, he pulls his hands away. Everything stays in place. Silo, talk to me. Oh man, this sucks.

“I got a face full of wood and light, man.”

He rolls over onto his back, and Birch starts laughing. Scour you man, it's freaking hurts! Silo's face is pulp. The only distinguishing feature is his eyes. His nose has gone.

His lips have been shredded, so we can see his teeth clear as well. Day, his cheeks are packed and punctured, showing even more teeth, and strips of smoking flesh hang from his jaw. Birch laughs harder. Silo scrambles to his feet.

The nails on his fingers going from neatly trimmed to an inch long as his rage grows. She got a Birch, it's not funny, man! The windows explode in a fury of glass, shredded curtains and sunlight. Silo, standing right there. Catches it all again.

As he screams and catches fire, I die for the bags, managing to hook one of my hands through a handle. With all of my strength, I shove the bag across the stained carpet, sending it sliding toward the bathroom. Unfortunately, I overshoot.

And the bag slams into against corpse. The stench in the room quadruples. Liquid splashes up underneath the sink. Save the bags! Birch isn't waiting for my advice.

“He's already grabbed a bag and thrown it toward the bathroom too.”

But he's not wrapped in a blanket like I am. So his skin is starting to smolder and spark.

As I snag a third bag and crawl with it across the room.

When I reach the bathroom, I toss it inside. Reach back. Grab the one Birch through. Toss that into the bathroom. Then pull the one off of Gant.

And throw that in as well. To smell. Sweet bloody health. To all the chaos I can hear Nico screaming. I don't know if he's moved or what.

But he's screaming is that off. Birch drops to the floor and crawls after me. Reaching the bathroom just as I slam the door closed. We'd already covered the bathroom window with towels. So the light is dim.

Filtered through layers of warm cotton. I toss the bags into the bathtub. Then fall in my ass. Pulling my knees up to my chest. And lean my back against the tub.

Birch is only a foot away from me. His knees to his chest. His chest as he keeps his back up against the door. Outside. In the motel room.

Nico screams. Stop dead. I have no idea what has happened to silo. But from the smell of burning skin and boiling blood that is drifting under the bathroom door. I'd say he's cooked.

Literally. Birch looks at me. Half his face is a scorched mess. He's smarts in the blackened skin tears, revealing pink cracks and crevices. Now what boss?

Each shit birch. He's smarts some more than frowns. Damn. That hurts. He knots at the bathtub.

What we leave behind? I shake my head. I don't know. Might want to find out. Whoever is out there is going to be coming in.

And we need to know what we're bargaining with. I think we're past bargaining.

We're never past bargaining.

Birch waves a hand at me. You still got your peace on you. I check my waistband and find my nine tucked safely against my lower belly. I nod. Birch.

Pats his own belly. I got mine. We still have a shot. I scoff. The window is blown open Birch.

We step out of this bathroom. And we'll burst into flames like silo. Birch doesn't argue. He doesn't agree either.

Hey. All we want is the cat.

Toss out the bags with the money.

And we'll leave you the dope. Our master's only set us for the cat. Birch mouths. Our at me. I nod.

I got that too. There's more than one out there. You're guy out here to tow.

“Someone close to the shouting guy mutters.”

Like literal toast. You're a team. Just there. Did you guys hear me? Our masters are giving you a goddamn out.

Don't be a little bitch. You can make us come in there. Birch snorts a laugh. Sounds like we left one of the dope bags out there. Looks like we have to cash.

He glances at the covered bathroom window. The motel backs up onto a hill. There's a retaining wall behind us. Probably shady enough that we can slip out and double back around. Might be able to get to the van.

Because it's that easy. Eight rocket science. Then his head explodes as the bathroom door is blasted over and over again. By what has to be an auto mag shotgun. I pull my nine and fire into the door.

What's left of it? One of the familiar's cries out. And a year of body drop. Pashato falls across the bathroom door. Just as I scramble across the floor.

“And yank, Birch's pistol out of his waistband.”

While his headless corpse spills dark, red blood out of his neckhole. I don't even aim. I just squeeze the trigger up at the shadow and open fire. There's another cry at another gun. I scoop back away from the door.

Away from the light. Slipping in Birch's blood. The smell of gants dissolving body is so strong that it almost overpowers the stink of gunpowder and Birch's blood. Blood that will start turning in seconds with me trapped in here with it.

Shit. Hey, anyone still moving in there? You have got to be kidding me, another one. How many familiar's does that crew have? That's a lot of mouths to feed.

I never went in for the whole familiar thing.

Too much maintenance. I mean, I know some guys who have them and treat them like worms. Letting them rod and fester in basements. Until they need someone who can walk in the sunlight. But they still need some basic care.

Pets weren't my thing before I was turned. Not going to get saddled with that responsibility now. Not that my now is turning out so well. Listen.

“What if you blood stockers is still breathing?”

Whatever it is you do. We can still work this out. I'll throw you this bag to show you that I'm not full of it. A second passes. Then the last duffel bag sails through the air and hits the floor outside the ruined bathroom door.

I also hear a splash as it lands in what's left of Gantt. Holy shit, those fumes. Now his blood is starting to vaporize. I have minutes before that crap gets in my lungs and rots me from the inside out. I don't even have to wait for Birch's body to break down.

Gants is what's gonna get me. See you, new man. Have Nutella for Gesson. I'm sorry. I've already been busy with the month.

But Nutella is Nutella. I'm Theresa and my experience in all entrepreneurs started a shopping trip.

I'll be back when I've already been on the first day.

And the plan for making a new problem. I have many problems but the plan for it is not a single one. I feel like shopping is in their platform. Everything is really integrated and balanced. And the time and the money that I can no longer invest in.

For all of them in Waxtung. Now the cost of the shopping trip is at point D.E. There, see? All in good faith, brother. Now throw out the bag with the cash and I'll walk away.

My master says you got lucky with your timing. This was night. He'd come in here and rip you, lend for live himself for punching the score. My anger gets the best for me. Poaching the score.

Poaching what score? That was my job from day one asshole. I scouted everything. I put in all of the damn legwork. And your master is the one who came along and tried to punch it for me.

From me. The familiar. A man in his mid-40s. Steps in front of the demolished bathroom door. A shotgun in his hands.

These bastards. Sure do like their shotguns. There you are. Bye-bye, family boy. I threw out myself at him before he can fire him.

Exploding through what's left of the door. Claws sprout from my fingertips. And I thrust my hands straight through the guy. Piercing very important organs. Lung's part, whatever.

Crap that I don't rely on anymore. And have it for some time. We fly past the puddle of gant and slam to the doors of the closet. It's probably what saves me from being burnt to a crisp by the bright warning sunlight

I do feel the burn now as I pass through the light.

“Then I'm in the darkness of the closet, twisting myself so that my back hits the wall.”

And the dead familiar. Impaled on my hands blocks most of the light. Most of it. Not all. Shit shit shit.

I grabbed the familiar's body. And whatever else I can snag and cover myself as much as possible. But it's not enough. I can feel my body heating up. I can smell my hair as it begins to burn.

I can hear my skin start to crisp. Too much light, too much damn light. I'm not going to make it. I should try to dash back into the bathroom. I can crawl into the tub, rat myself in the shower curtain,

and burrow down under the duffel bags.

The bathroom window is already covered enough, but I could probably make it until sunset. Several reality slam into my brain. Birch's body is in the bathroom. Already decomposing.

“Putting off toxins that even my heightened supernatural system can't tolerate.”

I'll be dead in less than an hour. Not that staying out here is better. I'm going to either fry or die from the fumes, still coming off of GANS dissolved corpse. And of course.

Even if I did get into the bathroom. Did get wrapped up. Did get buried under the bags and managed to survive Birch's off-gassing. The human world out there is still chugging along. Someone has to have called the cops.

Even in a CD, scum-filled motel like this. Cops are going to be called with all this gunfire. But I do have something. I can smell myself. It's like barbecue mixed with death.

Not a horrible smell. Reminds me of my childhood in the early 20th century. Before my change. I'm kidding myself, of course. The memories are simply trying to distract me from my impending final death.

My shift. And the familiar's corpse, shift too. Opening a direct view of the fourth black ductal bag. A tactical duffel bag that is supposed to be able to handle extremes, including heat and even being submerged for extended periods.

But shove everything off me and scramble to the bag. A ray of sunlight hits my forearm and I scream as that part of me is instantly cooked. A hot, white scar appears as my body tries to heal itself. Good luck, body. Nothing beats sunlight.

I stretch and am able to reach the bag's handle, pulling it close to me. I unzip it and start throwing the bundles of drugs in all directions. I think it smells like heroin. But who knows at this point? My nose is mostly filled with the scent of my own cooking flesh.

With a bag empty, a crawling side, tucking myself up into a small ball as possible. Then I reach out, scream some more as sunlight slashes across my hand and find the flap. I pull the duffel closed. There's some relief. The light can't get through the material.

But I still have one thing left to do. I need to zip this damn bag up. Sticking my fingers out of the flap, I hiss as my skin sizzles. I slap about until I find the zipper, then carefully follow the track until the entire flap is almost zipped tight.

I can't quite get it all the way closed because there's no inside zipper. But I manage to only leave a half inch gap. Some I say from the dreaded sun, I relax a little and think of my next move. It's a quick thought because, as far as I can tell, I don't have an next move. I just zipped myself into a waiting game.

Damn, I was like thinking. This is no better than being in the bathtub.

The truth is, I wasn't thinking.

I was panicking, big time. I have felt fear, truth fear, several times in my life, before and after being turned. But there is no fear worse than being trapped somewhere while the sun is out. Not knowing who will find you, not knowing what they'll do when they do find you. Far off, I hear the sirens.

The cops were definitely called. Hard to ignore semi-automatic gunfire in several dozen shotgun blasts. I bet the hotel manager is currently flushing all of his personal stash down the toilet. Just in case, I would, if I were him. So, I wait.

It's all that I can do. I think about the job.

“I think about how it could have been the perfect score.”

Instead, it's now a bad burn. I think about how. Holy shit. What just happened? It feels like the motel room is exploded.

Then I hear an engine as glass and wood and plaster tumble to the ground. Or it sounds like it's all tumbling to the ground. I can't see shit. But a hurry, got a hurry. Oh, get out, damn it.

Oh, oh, oh, oh! That was out there mumbling. Did someone just drive through the motel room's wall? I hear the person motor and mumbling curse and ow, ow, ow again and again.

The sirens are closer, much closer.

“Then I'm lifted up or partially lifted up.”

I'm dragged across the motel room in the bag. He bumping hard over shattered debris. A crap. The other crew. They still had one last familiar.

He grabbed the bags from the bathroom and now has me too.

I'm lifted up and thrown.

The bag rolls across metal before coming to a stop upside down. I'm in a vehicle now.

“Someone hops in behind me, grunting and cursing and ow, ow, ow, ow.”

I feel the vehicle shift and then I hear two doors slam closed. Then there's a paddle my bag. I sure is, I hope that's you and their trip. We go. They go.

You're not dead.

They're all working on it.

He shuffles past and I hear the vehicle shoved into drive. I know that crappy transmission. We're in our cruise van. Nico.

“Did you back the van through the motel room wall?”

Yup. Good man. You just sit tight, trip. We ain't out of the woods yet. I'm wrapped up and covered just fine.

When shield is all taped up, got my goggles and everything. But we still got some cops to help maneuver. Do what you got to do, Nico. You know it. As the van speeds away.

Hitting every damn pot hole out of the motel's parking lot. I let myself relax a little. Not a lot. Just a little. We might be free from the hellish motel and the other crew.

We may have gotten away before the cops arrived. But in the end, we're just a couple of vampires stuck out in daytime. So we ain't out of the woods yet. But we aren't dead either. And we have the stash.

So, not a bad score. Thanks for tuning in. If you enjoyed this story, be sure to follow or subscribe and share the show with a fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.