The Earth Died Screaming

by Chuck Rogers

  I kicked Po Po into life. Malibu was still twenty miles south and east, and most of the terrain in between ecologically devastated mountains.

  Stopping saved my life.

  I hit the trap going fifteen miles per hour instead of forty.

  The rope snapped up out of the dirt and went taut across the fire road at collar level. I managed to get an arm up. For the second time today I dropped a bike and involuntarily did a backwards somersault. I'd wrestled. I knew how to take a bump but that landing hurt and I'd already been blow up today. I stared up at the sky for a moment.

  My Spidey-boner started tingling.

  Really?

  An erection late and a dollar short.

  I rolled over.

  The burned and turned came out of the woods.

  My battered body was moving too slow but my battle brain was still working. They'd used a rope trap. That was tool use and planning and that was not good. They appeared to be a nuclear family of eight consisting of an adult male and female and six juveniles ranging from sixth grade to high school seniors. They all shared the same features. Bald heads, cooked shrimp for faces and just enough of the bridge of their noses left to hold up sunglasses.

  They all had knives.

  The patriarch's beef-jerky lips twisted into a rotten smile.

  "Got us a Geddy."

  Oh for fuck's sake.

  First tool use and they were now they were talking.

  At least they were all clothed.

  Po Po had gone on another ten meters without me. The Burny Bunch was already between her and me and my shotgun was holstered on the side the eight hundred pound motorcycle had fallen on. I had fallen for a playground level trap and I was going to die in a knife fight with Hills Have Eyes assholes.

  God I hate knife fights.

  The youngest one brandished a 5" santoku and spoke like a girl frog. "Mmm . . . meat."

  Okay, fuck knife fight.

  This was going to be an attempted gang-vivisection at the Benjamin Frame deli counter.

  I didn't even have a knife.

  Just as well. These assholes didn't seem to register pain, but blunt force trauma was a harsh mistress no matter what the state of your nerve endings. I turned and ran. Of course there were two behind me. The Burny Bunch before me and Alice and Sam closing off the servant's entrance. I gave them the baseball slide. Not the baseball, baseball slide, but the professional wrestling baseball slide. It's basically a low drop kick to hit someone in the face who is sitting down.

  Or in this case take out their legs if standing.

  It wasn't pretty but I snapped Sam's knee and kicked his ankle out from under him. I hit my hip way too hard on the ground but I rolled away as Sam went down and Alice fell on top of him. I rolled up. Alice's ankle was close by so I stomped it and snapped her Achilles' tendon. I stopped Sam's knife hand and then curb-stomped the back of his head into the fire road. Alice rolled over just in time to see my boot coming at her face.

  Alice? Sam?

  This is my old friend Doc Martens, and the doctor is in.

  I made an earnest attempt to drive her jaw through the back of her head.

  The rest of the pack came in hooting like their lesser burn ape brethren in Agoura and not caring about their losses. I'd succeeded in stringing them out and making space. The patriarch was in the lead and he came right over the corpse pile.

  I snapped out the expandable baton Ramirez had given me and lunged like a fencer. The Marine Corps Military Police had taught me that beating someone with a baton is just about the least effective thing you can do.

  Nasty people thrust with them.

  I rammed the steel tip through the patriarch's left sunglass lens. I got caught up on bone and narrowly failed to drive it into his brain. Good news?

  I finally got one of these assholes to scream.

  He fell back into the dirt clutching at the pulp and broken bits of lens filling his eye socket.

  The female came around the pile with her knife overhead like an icepick. Her I bludgeoned to the side of the head. Once, twice and the third strike drove her to her knees. A fourth and fifth put her face down in the dust and she met Doctor Martens for good measure.

  The pack of Oliver Twistlings were upon me.

  I gave them the war face and the battle cry.

  They froze in their tracks.

  All six of them.

  "All right kiddies! The parental units are night-night! It's just you and your old Uncle Frame!" I scooped up the patriarch's nine-inch boning knife in my left hand. "Who wants to play a game?"

  They did.

  Actually they didn't want to play a game.

  They were hungry.

  They swarmed me.

  I won't go into detail about killing six mutant children in hand-to-hand combat. Just pray that it never falls upon you, to do it or fall beneath their knives. I couldn't afford to fall. My girl and my dog needed me. I got stabbed in the thigh but that was a paring knife and not deep. The cut on my right arm was worse and the bite on my left hand was bad. I didn't even want to think about turned and burned bites and their saliva in my veins.

  Maybe I would develop super powers.

  It was all going to get infected.

  I went to my backpack, got out the first aid kit and disinfected, stitched and bound myself up as best I could. I looked up to the sound of thunder. I hadn't noticed the sudden clouds or the wind during the fight. The sky broke open and for several seconds I just sat there and lifted my chin into the rain. It felt good after the heat and the fight. Then it was cold.

  Then my guts froze.

  I reeled up to my feet in a panic.

  I had to get my bike up.

  The technique to pick up somewhere between eight hundred and nine hundred pounds of bike you dropped is to put your back to it, squat down and put your butt against the seat. You grab the handlebar closest to the ground and a convenient part the frame with your other hand and do a reverse deadlift while walking backwards with little baby steps.

  Like mom always said.

  Lift with your legs, not your back.

  Done it dozens of times.

  Never on a slope on a fire trail that was turning into cold oatmeal.

  I got Po Po halfway up and her tires slid in the mud and I dropped her hard. My bit-through hand screamed bloody murder as I tried a second and a third time. The fourth time my heels slid out from underneath me. I sat down violently and nearly lost the other hand beneath the frame.

  I tried one more time.

  I missed Bobby McGee.

  I'd bled through the bandage on my left hand.

  I spend fifteeen minutes digging under my bike to get to the shotgun.

  In the rain.

  I was soaked through.

  Twenty miles to Malibu.

  I was walking.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Ashes and Fire

  IT TOOK ME THREE MORE DAYS.

  I didn't know the roads and frequently had to double back. Other roads were washed out and required significant pioneering. I detected signs of life and took pains to steer my way around them. Near the end of the next day I summited a small mountain and saw smoke. Black smoke, columns of it, from several locations in upper Malibu. It wasn't from anyone's chimneys.

  Malibu had been attacked.

  Then it was a mad run not giving a shit whether I got caught or not. My hand was throbbing and I had a low-grade fever. I ran out of food. I was in pretty bad shape when I got into the hills of Malibu. It was midday. There wasn't much movement. I saw some burned houses. I had no idea what the situation was. I stayed in the woods and made my way down so I could come up the hill behind my house.

  That last climb nearly killed me.

  I pretty much fell into my back yard.

  The alarm didn't go off but that didn't really mean anything. It was probably peeping at Lalli inside. Everything seemed fine. My RV was there. The SOG truck was there. The chickens were clucking in the coop.
I swept the perimeter. The front gate was closed. Lalli's little white SportWagen was in the carport.

  Sick fear filled me.

  The front door was closed but the jam was shattered. It had been kicked.

  I checked the loads in my shotgun and entered the house. Every part of me wanted to call Lalli's name.

  I ran my sweep.

  Nothing appeared to have been looted. Nothing vandalized. Nothing burned. For one second I dared to hope that nothing had happened. I continued my sweep into the dining room and immediately saw three bullet holes in the wall that I hadn't put there fighting the bear. Two .22 caliber shell casings lay on the floor. The third had rolled under the table. I turned the corner and found Lalli's little Trejo machine pistol lying on the floor of the hall. The slide was racked open on an empty chamber. Seven more shell casings lay strewn about the hall.

  Face wasn't running to meet me.

  I did horrible math.

  Lalli had shot her clip. Apparently there had been no time to reload. I continued my sweep.

  Someone had shattered Lalli's bedroom door.

  I leveled the shotgun and made entry.

  It was the sum of all fears.

  Santa Muerte's shrine had been violated. The altar kicked over and her votives and offerings scattered. The saint's statue lay stomped into pieces too small to recognize. There were signs of struggle. An overturned chair. Lalli's Uzi lay on the floor unfired.

  The world started spinning as I looked at the bed.

  The sheets were stained through with blood. Far too much blood. The bloody ropes the SOG had restrained her with were still tied to the bedposts.

  Lalli's switchblade was open and stabbed into the bed stand.

  Blood crusted the blade.

  The SOG had left me a message.

  It was written in Lalli's blood above the headboard.

  Yo frame we dig your girl

  Love

  Dez + friends

  Lalli was gone.

  Face was gone.

  The world started spinning out of control.

  The world turned into ashes.

  I grabbed a bedpost to steady myself.

  The sawed-off clattered to the floor.

  I put my hands on my knees and threw up. There wasn't much. I hadn't eaten since yesterday or drunk any fluids since morning. The dry heaves hammered through me. I stood up shaking like a dog.

  Big mistake.

  My body did some minor convulsions as my blood pressure dropped like a rock. I could blame it on injury, infection, over-exertion, low blood sugar or dehydration. I could blame it on PTSD but let's just tell the truth on this one.

  It was a panic attack.

  It was naked fear.

  If you ask most vets, particularly ones that have seen combat, casualties and known the fog of war? They're not so much afraid of death.

  What warriors fear is failure.

  They fear failing their mission, failing their buddies, or worst of all failing and by their actions getting the men and women fighting beside them wounded or killed.

  I shook just short of a grand mal seizure with the enormity of my failure.

  In his hubris, the mighty Frame had declared a one-man war against the SOG, and in doing so had failed his girl, failed his dog, failed his community and written his own well-deserved death warrant. I really didn't think about that. The world was a void with my failures asserting themselves around the dark edges that came rushing in on me.

  I had at most three heartbeats to watch the pretty colors while my heart failed to establish proper blood volume to my brain.

  The mighty Frame fainted dead away.

  * * *

  IT WASN'T THE LINE DREAM.

  This was a new one. It was the dream where the SOG punished me for my sins. Dez had her fun. Chuck had his, and Ged had a well-earned reputation for devising unique and fitting punishments for those who had transgressed against his true sons and daughters.

  I woke up screaming.

  Hands held me down.

  "Frame! It's okay!"

  I was in my bed in the master bedroom. Alice and Clarice let me go as I lay back and shuddered. Being awake wasn't any better. I'd gone from the dream world where I rightly paid for my sins to the real world where my girl and my dog had paid for them. I couldn't stop shaking. I felt like throwing up again.

  "They killed Lalli. They killed Face."

  "No." Alice spoke very quietly. "They didn't."

  I blinked up at her like an idiot. "What?"

  "Frame, we found you in a puddle of your own vomit. You looked horrible. You're wounds were infected. You thrashed and raved a bit. Clarice kept you sedated for the last twenty-four hours and hit you with broad spectrum antibiotics."

  Clarice rose. "I'll be right back."

  I pulled myself together and sat up. Alice made a face about how dumb an idea that was but said nothing. I got the head rush again. I didn't faint or throw up but apparently I looked bad enough that Alice put a hand on my shoulder.

  Clarice came back in.

  Face wriggled in her arms and made even more piteous 'My master is alive!' noises. Clarice set Face in my lap. I didn't care about the violation of the dogs on the bed rule. I came one inch from sobbing my eyes out as I hugged my dog. Face went into whimpering convulsions of joy.

  I looked up at Clarice. "She's okay?"

  "She's fine. She was on a play date with Mar-J's kids."

  My head snapped towards Lalli's bedroom in confusion. "Then where's Lalli? She's okay?"

  "Frame," Alice gripped my shoulder. "Lalli is not okay."

  "What happened?"

  "The SOG launched a raid. We knew their scouts were in the park. Colin and his cowboys had tracked and killed several of them. We weren't expecting a canoe raid down Malibu Creek. It wasn't big, but they set some fires. Killed a few people. We got most of them. It was a SOG provisionals proving themselves mission. Counting coup. Or so we thought."

  "It was a diversion."

  "Every man and woman under arms in Malibu went to their assigned forward fighting positions."

  "But you weren't watching the back door."

  "No, we didn't have enough eyes watching the beaches. Brock Guftason told them where you live, and they came to send you a message. They had at least an hour with Lalli. It was Dez, Brock, a dangerous looking redhead and a short bodybuilder guy."

  Marrs and Franco.

  "They got away clean?"

  "Yes."

  The Recon Marine inside propped up my spine. I steeled myself. Lalli was alive. The SOG didn't have her. Whatever had happened I had to be strong for my woman.

  "What happened?"

  Alice's face twisted. "Things were done."

  "What sort of things?"

  "Things you would expect the SOG to do your girl, and worse."

  "Tell me."

  "After they had their fun they cut her up. Then they branded her."

  I closed my eyes. I knew there was more. "What else?"

  Alice hesitated.

  "All of it."

  "Frame, Lalli was pregnant."

  I opened my eyes. PTSD gone. Panic gone. World closing in, head rushes and vomiting gone. My world began to expand and all aspects of it began taking on a terrible, crystalline clarity.

  Alice almost took a step back from me. "Lalli told them. She told them to do whatever they wanted but begged them not to hurt the baby."

  "And?"

  They did what they wanted, and when they were done . . ." Alice faltered.

  "What?"

  "I didn't know what a pimp-stick was."

  I went dead inside.

  Alice stammered on. "I thought it was one of those fancy canes pimps carried in bad 70's movies. Mar-J had to explain it to me. He said if a pimp wants to hurt a girl, and ruin her for the streets, they twist together a pair of coat hangers and--"

  "I know what a pimp-stick is."

  "Lalli had just about bled out when we found her. People lined up
to give her transfusions." Alice couldn't meet my eyes. "She lost the child."

  "Where is she now?"

  "She's stable. She's at Mar-J's." Alice started crying. "We're all on suicide watch."

  "Has she tried?"

  "No."

  "Does she know I'm here?"

  "We told her. She said she doesn't want to see you, but we think that means she doesn't want you to see her the way she is."

  "I'm going to see her now."

  I stood.

  I swayed.

  "Frame, why don't we get some food into you. There's no hurry."

  "There's no time left."

  "Frame!"

  I remembered another of my failed responsibilities.

  "Where's Penny?"

  "She was at the Hauser ranch. Colin is courting her."

  It was some kind of silver lining but I wasn't feeling it just now.

  I jerked my head at Face.

  "Let's go see our girl."

  * * *

  THE WALK JUST ABOUT WIPED ME OUT.

  But it did me good. I breathed. I bucked myself up. Gotta be strong for your woman.

  I walked my dog.

  People saw me, started to come over and then saw my face and veered off.

  I looked down at Face. "You know what, Face?"

  Face was so happy. She 'werped!' and looked up wagging her tail.

  "We're going to be a family. No matter what. You and me? We're going to take care of our girl."

  Face barked in agreement.

  My eyes stung.

  She was getting so big.

  I walked up to Mar-J's gate and pressed the buzzer. I wouldn't call it a McMansion. Mar-J had taste, but he'd been a top-tier, beloved by the fans, ex-MLB player who had gotten some sweet endorsements.

  Mar-J enjoyed the fruits of his labors.

  The security cam stared at me. The gate intercom clicked. "Oh my stars, Frame!"

  "Let me in."

  The gate buzzed and rolled open.

  "Frame!" Mar-J charged down the driveway. "Frame!"

  Mar-J was a beautiful, caring, Christian man.