Death Highway

by J C Walsh

  I pull off the top of my uniform, only a muscle shirt underneath, showing off my own muscular body, not to intimidate, but to challenge. I crack my neck to the left, then to the right. I close my fists. I’m ready to party.

  “Randy Jones,” the one in front says. His demeanor and the fact that he stands a few feet ahead of the group makes me think he’s the leader of this shit club. Also, his swastika tattoo is the only one with an open eye peeking from the center. It winks at me. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Well, I’m a popular guy. Got a pen? Paper? I’ll be more than happy to give you girls my autograph.”

  Once one of the buildings for Medium security closed some of the more dangerous inmates got mixed with us in Minimum security. I don’t know how the hell these guys could have come to this building. Maybe the others had overflowed; maybe things had gotten overlooked. Who the hell knows? But I had heard whispers from other cells at night; you don’t want to be in the path of these maniacs. It’s rumored they take their targets where they can’t be seen, and then they perform rituals, sacrificing to some god they believe in.

  “Yeah, we would love your autograph. How about signing the floor with your blood? You see, word around town is once you get out you plan on going to Death Highway.”

  Shit.

  “Never heard of it.” I lie. They know I’m lying. Wagers have been placed. I know for certain there’s a bounty on my head. Maybe by some unhappy souls who are pissed about my last race. Trust me, I’m not too happy about it either.

  The Nazi smiles, teeth crooked and the color of fly paper.

  “Come on, Jones. No need to lie. Rumor has it, you aren’t in it to race and play nice. You want to bring down the whole house.”

  I return his smile. Fuck it. We are already here, might as well play. “What can I say, I don’t just want to bring it down. I want to set it ablaze and watch it all go up in smoke. Then piss on the ashes.”

  The eye glares at me from the Swastika. “You know there are a lot of people who’ve worked hard to get things the way they are and don’t take kindly to your selfish little plan. Forfeit and join the Dead One. All will be forgotten; he rewards those who serve. You can race all you want; your family and friends will be safe. There’s a place for everyone in the Red Plane.”

  It doesn’t matter if I give in to their deal. I can see the blood lust in their eyes, the shanks gripped tightly in their hands. They plan on snuffing me out no matter what. So be it, I’m ready to fucking dance. My veins are pumping fire; I want to release a fury of hate on these bastards. Pain level shoots up to an eight. I don’t remember the last time I took my pain killers, but it doesn’t matter now. The pain heightens my senses. I close my right fist so tight the scars threaten to tear from my flesh.

  “Last chance, Jones,” he says. The others slowly close in. “Heed the call. Play by the rules or pay the debt.”

  I measure each one of them. They are all about my height, or slightly taller. All fit, very muscular, some slimmer than others. The one in the far back I’ll have to keep an eye on; he’s the biggest of the group, standing at least six feet and built like a brick house.

  “Enough of the foreplay boys, you’re going to do something, do what you got to do.”

  The smile on the leader’s face broadens, stretches into insanity.

  Before any of them get close, I’m already moving. My mind slows down time as I reach the work bench nearby. The leader advances on me. My hand grabs the wrench on the table and, in one quick motion, I strike him with it. As he stumbles backwards, hand to his bleeding mouth, I throw the wrench at the next Nazi coming in for the attack. There’s a dense sound of metal striking skull as it bounces off his forehead. He falls backward and hits the floor, stunned momentarily.

  If the leader wasn’t choking on his teeth after taking a mouth full of wrench, he’s going to now. I bring his head down to my knee, bones crack when I make contact. I move quickly, pulling him to the work bench. I force his shank free and impale his hand on the wooden table.

  Now he’s screaming. I let him thrash wildly, like a fish on a hook, as I fight the next onslaught of Nazi hate. I fight off the shanks with blocks and counters, receiving cuts on my hands and forearms in the process. While I stun one with a shot to the throat, I manage to steal his weapon. I quickly stab one in the stomach, countering his attack. My motion goes from the stomach into his lower jaw; his mouth is a frozen scream. I see the blade of the shank between his teeth.

  Pain rips into my right side. I back away, avoiding strikes while at the same time managing to take this Nazi’s shank by breaking his arm. I stab him in the eye. Two down. I cry out in pain from an attack from behind. I reach behind me and pull the shank out of my left shoulder. The leader is back; the eye in the middle of his swastika is wide with madness. I move in to bring the blade across his throat. Blood seeps through his fingers as he pushes on his wound; he falls choking on his blood. Three down. The Nazi I’ve stunned with the wrench is on his feet joining one of his buddies to deliver another bolt of furious attacks. I manage to fight them off, ending one of their lives by stabbing him in the side of his head; he falls sideways, crashing down like a chopped tree. For the next one, I step aside, throw my arms up around his head and break his neck. The next two come in strong; the blades of their shanks slice across my chest, my stomach. My hands move fast, my own weapons in each hand, my rage is a blur of red. They fall face down, blood pools around their bodies.

  My muscle shirt, once white, is a deep crimson. I know I have some serious damage; I expected it. The pain kept my mind from the outside world’s shuddering death throes.

  One left. The big guy.

  He was already moving, while I was finishing up with the last two of his buddies. The shank looks like a toy knife in his boulder size hands. He moves fast, faster than I have ever seen a man his size be able to do; my body buckles forward at the sheer force of his attack. His shank is sticking out of my stomach. He smiles at me, his mouth a checkerboard of missing teeth.

  “We’re going to get ours. Once you die, we reap The Dead One’s rewards.”

  I stare at the shank, noticing the handle was nicely made. It’s handled with a wood so dark red it’s almost black. A tentacle is carved into it, twirling into the hilt, into my stomach. I admire its impressive handy work, even as the big goof pulls it out of me and stabs me again. Then again. The pain has me doubled over. I don’t fall to my knees, fuck that. Instead, I smile, thick red spittle drools from my lips.

  I have a little surprise for him.

  I close my right fist.

  I channel the pain and anger into that fist, the scarred flesh wiggles all along my arm, then tightens to the point my arm is taut, powerful. My arm is a hammer.

  I punch my fist through the Nazi’s stomach. I see my hand holding the clump of ropey intestines on the other side. I give a satisfying squeeze, crushing them between my fingers. I look in his terrified face. He’s trying to speak, his mouth trying to work through the pain.

  “How... how the fuck?”

  “Give The Dead One my regards.” I yank back my hand, pulling the string of his intestines with it, holding them up so that’s the last thing he sees.

  His large body falls back, hits the floor hard. The last of them is dead. It’s over, but I’m still full of that surging red hot rage. I wish there were more to kill. I throw the Nazi’s guts on his upturned face.

  Dave, the rat son of bitch guard, hasn’t turned around to check if the deed is done yet. I still have time. I am time and space.

  I close my eyes. Blot out the pain in my dying body. Breath in, then out, just like the prison counselor taught me.

  I open my eyes; my vision is wavy, a heat mirage dances in front of my eyes. I reach forward; my fingers pierce the shaky air. I pull it apart like I’m swimming through a body of water. The tear fills with red and I step through.

  I’m in the Red Plane.

  The air is thick, my skin tingles. I fight to take of
f my muscle shirt; it sticks to my flesh with my blood. Every movement hurts. I throw it to the ground, let this alien world take it. I hiss through my teeth; my weakened body shakes to the point of convulsions. Stay focused, I tell myself; don’t let the pain take you. The Red Plane will take care of the damage.

  I survey the land around me. I have been here before. I don’t remember how many times or why. The mountains around me are gigantic in size; they seem to reach forever into the blood red sky. Something screams above, the powerful sound of wings is rumbling through the sky as the thing passes overhead, the shadow engulfs everything around me for a moment before it moves on. I don’t want to be here long, but I can’t leave until the process is done.

  I watch my body heal itself. The pain of my insides healing was the worst; once I got through that, the rest of the healing was manageable. The dying cells continue to regenerate, new tissue rebuilds itself, the wounds seal. The pink flesh itches; I refrain from scratching it. The soft flesh is now hardened. The healed wounds have the same look as the scars on the right side of my body.

  I return to my world, the newly healed wounds are very tight; the lack of mobility is challenging, I am fatiguing quickly. But I still have a little more left in me to take on one more asshole.

  The door squeaks open. The interloper steps in.

  Dave the Correctional officer stops, and stares disbelieving at the bloody carnage. Then his eyes move to me.

  “Oh shit.”

  He turns to run. I stretch my open palm in the direction of the door; I can feel its energy. I pull back and the door closes in Dave’s face. He grapples with it, trying desperately to get it open, but that sucker is sealed shut.

  I’m running out of the time. Soon the fatigue will overtake me and my body will be useless. I move as quickly as I’m allowed. I slam Dave against the door, place the shank up to his throat.

  “Don’t kill me, oh please don’t fucking kill me!”

  “Who waged this shit show?”

  “I don’t know! I never see their faces; they’re always blurry, charred and featureless. Fucking things creep me out every time! Come on man, I’m just the messenger.”

  “Just a messenger, huh?”

  “Yes, for fuck sakes! I was told there were Nazi Occultists in the prison. Once the Red Plane began its convergence, they began sacrificing people to the Dead One. So, the wagers took advantage of their loyalty! Man, once those things found out your intention, they were pissed.”

  “What does the Dead One have on you?”

  “Look,” he says, his voice trembling; he’s almost in tears. “I have a family, man. I’m sorry this happened to you, but I don’t get paid enough, I. I needed more money! Ok! I know it’s a fucking shitty excuse but what the hell am I supposed to do! You know these things, it’s hard to say no. I hear the rewards are well worth it.”

  “No. They’re not. Are there others?”

  “That want to kill you? No. Only the skin heads were ordered to.” Dave swallows hard, “You’re safe, at least until you’re released.”

  “You and any of your buddies involved going to clean this up? Keep this shit, hush hush?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I lower the shank. I couldn’t help myself so I gave him my award winning, shit eating grin. “Great. Here’s what you can do for me. New uniform and a hot shower. I get a reward for surviving, right?”

  Dave nodded rapidly.

  I watch in awe as a conspiracy unfolds before my eyes. I knew this prison had done some shady shit, but this seemed even more astounding to me. Maybe it’s because now we are adding interdimensional beings into the mix. I count five Correctional Officers, including Dave. They move quickly, piling the bodies onto hospital beds the other officers brought in. One of the Officers, a young kid who looked like he just started yesterday, was mopping up the blood. There was no way they could get through the prison without others noticing, unless they had a way out through the back. I wasn’t sure. One thing was for certain, for this to occur, The Warden had to be involved, and many others as well. They may not want to get their hands dirty, but they’d have no problems averting their eyes.

  “Wait a sec.” I walk up to the two guards who have the leader’s body on a bed.

  The leader may be dead, but that eye, that damn eye in the middle of the swastika, is still moving, surveying its surroundings. Taunting me. I grab the shank next to the body and stab it and give the hilt a nice twist for good measure. The pupil explodes, the blood runs down the body adding to the madness of the tattoos. The two officers exchange disgusted looks, then wheel him away.

  Once in the shower, I let the hot water pound my aching body. It washes away the blood, the pain, and the tightness in my body. I could fall asleep standing up. This is the most glorious thing I’ve ever experienced during my two year stay here, and I had to kill a bunch of scumbags to do it. I think of those old days, when I used to race for the thrill of it. Until money got involved. Then the Dead One. The old stir of temptation wells up inside of me. I am confident I could win many races again. I think of the outside world, almost there. I think of my home; I choke on despair. Fuck the call. I’m going to Death Highway.

  I’m going to get my life back.

  2.

  The prison is more menacing when I look at it from the outside. The many buildings that are part of its structure are deceased carcasses full of maggots. I can hear the prisoners inside; the sound of chaos erupts. The alarms go off. Gun shots ring out. In the prison yard, it’s every man for himself as they rip into each other with their bare hands, but they are not hands at all; they are claws. The yard is soaked by the insides spilled from piles upon piles of bodies. The sky twitches, it’s red. A blue lightning bolt strikes the sky like an exploding vein.

  Nothing is familiar here. All the construction the state has done, building the Chapel Strip mall, adding restaurants, and stores and turning the old insane asylum into a condo, it’s like nothing has happened. The buildings are hollowed out, reverting to their dark and cryptic pasts. Even though the buildings are a mile out, I can see the many eyes peering from the shadows of the place. The red plane has this place in its grip. The doorway is the history of this place; so much pain and death, the other world laps it up with its blistered tongue.

  I turn away from it. When I do, a muscle car pulls up to the entrance of the prison. I know that car very well. Laura’s purple Barracuda. I do not smile. This is not real. Neither is the man walking to her car, his steps extra light on the day of his release. I see them embrace once he is in the car. Lies. Lies are the pulse of the Red Plane. I close my eyes. I remind myself I still have control. I feel the air shift. I open them. The Red Plane is gone, shoved back underneath the surface of the world I thought I knew. The prison is back to the normal brick buildings; the Insane Asylum is a condo again; the world is back to what I remembered before going to Prison. I can still sense its desolation. I won’t take my hand and peel away the surface. This place is still trying desperately to hold me in its grasp.

  Not expecting anyone to pick me up, I make my way to Pontiac Boulevard. It’s going to be a long walk home. That’s ok, I know there is nothing waiting for me, but, in order for me to start this journey, I need to get started.

  Pontiac Boulevard was normally a very busy main road. At certain times of the day, cars would be jam packed, bumper to bumper, waiting for the slow death of the light, and then the light after. Just when you thought you were out of the traffic, you would reach the elementary school up ahead.

  I am walking down Pontiac Blvd during a work day, and even then, it was always jammed with cars. Hardly a single vehicle passes by me. Twenty minutes into my walk, I had seen one sporadically, either at the fast food restaurant to my left or coming out of the CVS lot to my right.

  I stay away from the people sharing the sidewalk with me. They are shambling things. Like the lack of cars driving around, the people are sporadic as well. When one does appear, I circle around them, keeping a wi
de berth. One person that passed I wouldn’t even consider human anymore. I could smell the death wafting off him, even when I took a chance and walked in the deserted street. He’s not wearing the dirty clothes of a normal bum; this guy is a business man. Surprisingly, his suit looks almost brand new, but so do the things blistering all over his face. I turn away when things begin to squirm within the yellow colored baseballs on his face. I dare not turn around when I hear something pop, something landing on the sidewalk with a wet sound.

  Even though I have some knowledge of the thing I’ve become, and knowledge of the Red Plane, I did not realize my world had changed so quickly. Was what I was witnessing outside the prison a glimpse or, as I suspected, just under the surface like the things on that man’s face. I’m afraid I have no choice but to witness reality bursting and unleashing ungodly things all over this town.

  Another shambling creature. His white tee shirt is dirty and torn, his left side leans. I can hear his neck creek as he turns to look at me as I walk by.

  “Interloper,” he hisses.

  I stop in my tracks. I turn my head toward the vile thing.

  “What did you say?”

  I shouldn’t waste time talking to this thing. But part of me, the part that feeds on high octane racing and bloodied fists fights, can’t turn away from an adversary. This place has made me antsy; my right side is itching to punch through another body.

  It barely pays any more attention to me as it answers with another long hiss, and then continues its way in the other direction.

  My feet move quicker, even as they grow tired and my legs ache. It feels like it’ll take forever to get to my house, but, then again, I don’t think time is normal anymore as the axis tips. The cold breeze feels nice like autumn, but everywhere I look there’s a shimmer, like a heat mirage on the hottest summer day. There are other things in the shadows; they lurk behind the far away abandoned buildings, and closer behind the decrepit homes.