by James Hunt
“Freddy, run!” Kalen screamed.
Her feet fell from under her, slipping on dead leaves. Her belly slapped against the ground, hard. Freddy stood frozen in shock. She got to her knees and before she was able to stand up she felt the grip of a hand around her ankle pulling her backwards.
“Help!” Kalen said.
Kalen’s fingers clawed in the dirt as her assailant pulled her deeper into the forest. She felt his arms wrap around her stomach and lift her off the ground, carrying her. She thrashed her arms and legs in defiance, but he managed to subdue her. He wrapped his large hands around her throat and squeezed.
“Shut up!” the man said.
Kalen could see her mother and grandfather through the trees, rushing toward her from the distance.
“Kalen!”
She tried to call out, but the man’s grip was too tight. She could barely breathe. The airflow was cut off and she gasped, coughing and choking for air. Then she felt her whole body being thrown to the ground.
The back of her head smacked against a tree root. Her body went limp, disoriented from the blow. She felt foreign hands grabbing her, ripping her shirt off, tugging at her jeans. When she started to regain her ability to fight back a fist came barreling into the side of her cheek. A numbing, ringing sound went through her skull. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. The forest around her spun in circles and faded in and out of her consciousness until everything went black.
***
Kalen’s head throbbed. Her face was sore and she felt the scratch of the blanket covering her skin. She glanced down and saw that her shirt was gone and she was wearing only her jeans and bra. The cracks in the Jeep’s seat scraped her bare back. She tried to get up, but felt dizzy and fell back down.
“Kalen?” Freddy asked.
She hadn’t noticed him sitting on the floorboard next to her. She turned her head and saw his eyes blinking up at her.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Grandpa and Ray pulled you out of the forest with some other man. You weren’t moving, so Grandpa brought you to the Jeep. You didn’t have your clothes on,” he said looking down at his knees.
“A man?” she asked to herself.
“He was scary looking. After Grandpa brought you back to the Jeep he went with Ray who took the man back into the woods.”
A breeze lifted Kalen’s hair. She shivered, but not from the wind. She couldn’t remember what happened and she was afraid to learn what did.
***
The man lay sprawled out on the ground. Blood dripped from Ulysses’ and Ray’s knuckles. Each of them had their turns beating him. The man’s face was swollen, blood poured from his broken nose.
Ulysses sent the toe of his boot into the man’s side repeatedly, each blow causing the man to double over in pain. He cried out for mercy. He begged, but the punishment was relentless.
Ray picked up the same knife the man held to Kalen’s throat. His fingers wrapped tightly around the handle. Ray knelt down and pressed the blade flat against the swollen bruises and cuts along his face.
“Hold him down, Ulysses.”
Ulysses pinned the man to the ground. Ray unbuckled the man’s pants and pulled them down around his ankles.
“Please. P-please, don’t do this,” the man said.
Ray brought the blade below the man’s waist. The blood curding screams that followed were the tortured sounds of an animal.
Day 5 (Biker Gang)
The ray of light coming in through the crack of the curtains hit the Diablos patch on Jake’s cut hanging from the corner of the chair. Jake lay sprawled across the bed, his arm hanging over the side with his fingertip next to an empty bottle of tequila. Someone pounded on his room’s door.
“Jake!” Frankie said.
Jake slowly rolled over, bumping into the naked girl lying next to him.
“Jake! We got a problem!” Frankie shouted.
Jake threw the door open, the president’s patch flipping forward as he adjusted his cut.
“You better come see this, boss.”
Jake followed Frankie down the hall and into the bar lounge. Pictures of motorcycles, girls, bands, and alcohol lined the walls.
A few of the motorcycle club members sat at the bar drinking beers. The crack of pool balls on the table and a few mumbles from the bikers were the only signs of life in the lounge.
Frankie opened the door from the bar to the garage. Candles were lit casting light on two huddled masses on the floor with bags over their heads. Frankie ripped the paper bags off, their eyes blinking adjusting to the dim light in the garage.
“Meet Jimmy Fance and Bobby Turnt,” Frankie said.
“Where’d you find them?” Jake asked.
“Sneaking around the back, looking for any supplies they could take. Isn’t that right?”
Frankie kicked Jimmy in the leg, sending him collapsing to the floor.
“What do you wanna do with them?” Frankie asked.
Jake scanned the garage. His eyes rested on the tools and equipment he’d used for building and maintaining the bikes that came through. He grabbed a bolt wrench off the table.
“Stand them up,” Jake said.
Frankie pulled Bobby up by the collar of his shirt. Bobby’s hands were tied behind his back and he kept his face pointing toward the grease stained floor.
“Look at me,” Jake said.
Bobby’s face rose slowly. Jake’s face was calm. His pronounced jaw was relaxed, the wrench gripped firmly in his hand.
“You think you can steal from me? From my brothers?”
“We didn’t steal anything,” Bobby said.
The force of the wrench hitting Bobby’s kneecap crippled him, sending him to the floor in agony. Bobby cursed every name under the sun.
When the screams died down Jake smashed the wrench into Bobby’s other knee. Jimmy tried to make a run for it, but Frankie caught him before he got out.
“Wait your turn, asshole,” Frankie said.
“C’mon, man, we didn’t steal anything. You made your point, just let us go, man,” Jimmy said.
“Not yet,” Jake replied.
Jake swung the wrench high and sent it crashing down into Bobby’s head. The skull caved from the force of the blow. Bobby lay motionless in a crippled mess on the floor.
Jake dropped the wrench to the ground. He walked over to Jimmy who was crying and shaking in Frankie’s grip.
“You see this? You tell everyone you know that this is what happens to anyone who robs the Diablos. Got it?” Jake asked.
Jimmy nodded sharply.
“Get this piece of shit out of here,” Jake said.
Frankie tossed him out of the back door of the garage and the man took off running. Jake wiped the specks of blood from his hands on a rag.
“Why didn’t we kill him?” Frankie asked.
“Fear,” he said. “Fear grows with legend, Frankie. He tells the story to one person, they tell another, and each time they do the story grows more intense, gruesome. When people see the Diablo patch they’ll know what they’re dealing with.”
Jake finished cleaning his hands and tossed the rag onto Bobby’s body.
“Take out the trash,” he said.
Jake walked back into the bar lounge and pulled a stool over to him. The bartender poured a glass of beer and handed it to Jake. Jake took half of it down in one swig.
The girl from Jake’s bedroom walked out and sat on the barstool next to him. Her makeup was smeared across her face, and her hair was tangled. The bartender poured a drink for her and slid it down. Before she could grab it Jake snatched it up.
“What the hell, Jake?” she asked.
Jake finished the beer he had, slammed it down on the counter, and then backhanded the girl. She flew off the stool and smacked the floor hard. Jake took a sip from the fresh beer and gently placed it down.
The girl crawled away from him. Blood dripped from her lower lip. Jake picked her up by her hair and jerked h
er head back.
“You don’t get to drink until I’m not thirsty anymore,” Jake said.
Jake tossed her forward. She stumbled in her heels and then disappeared to the back of the clubhouse.
The other members of the MC chuckled from the bar. Jake walked back over to his stool, sat down, and finished his drink.
***
The line of bikes out front stretched twenty wide across the parking lot. You could see the door to the clubhouse was open from the street and the patches on the backs of members could be seen inside.
Jake stood in a circle surrounded by his MC. The worn faces of men who’d lived their lives in the wind, sun, and rain looked at their president, hungry.
“Diablos, this city is dead. If we want to make it, we have to keep moving. We scoured the city for as many working bikes as we could. They’re all older models, but they run. Each of you is here because you’re the strongest of our club. You represent who we are, and what we do,” Jake said.
Frankie stood at Jake’s side, his hands behind his back, watching his leader.
“We’re riding south. We hit town after town and take what we find. This is our time, Diablos. The strong are powerful again.”
The men around Jake were dangerous and wild. Pistols hung from their hips and shotguns rested over their shoulders. The bikers shifted their weight on each foot with a vicious cadence, itching to wreak havoc.
“Let’s ride,” Jake said.
Night of Day 7 (Mike’s Journey)
When Mike, Sean, and Nelson finally made out the sign for the airport sixty yards ahead of them, Mike knew they were making good progress.
The closer the three of them moved to Pittsburgh International the more plane wreckage they saw. It looked like a few of the pilots were able to glide their aircraft in on its belly, but the majority of the planes were mangled heaps of metal. Seats, wings, jet engines, luggage, and fuselages littered the fields around them.
Other travelers along the road were scavenging through the wreckage, hunting through the luggage like grave robbers looking for a quick score.
Mike could see the sun sinking behind the airport itself. The tarmac was still and hauntingly quiet. He could make out the distress signals people painted on the outside of the terminals when the realization of being stuck finally came to fruition. “HELP” and “S.O.S.” were painted in large, red letters.
“Hey, you think we should scope out some of this stuff? It might be a good idea to see what we can find in all this,” Nelson asked.
“I’d rather not stop. We’re still close to the city. I want to put as much distance between the masses and us as possible. We just need to focus on getting to the cabin,” Mike said.
Sean tugged at his father’s sleeve.
“Dad, I’m tired. Can we take a break?” he asked.
“We’ll rest soon. We just need to go a little bit further,” Nelson answered.
Mike could feel the burning in his feet from the long day of walking. Each step hit the blisters on under his toes like knives. He couldn’t imagine how Sean had kept up as well as he had.
“Let’s keep an eye out for a good place to make camp tonight. The sun will be going down soon,” Mike said.
A 727-jet liner fuselage sat a half-mile up the road. The plane had crashed just outside the airport tarmac. Most of it was still intact. The pilot had a successful crash landing. The emergency doors were thrown open and the plane was abandoned.
“Better than a Holiday Inn,” Nelson said.
The sun finally disappeared under the horizon and Mike checked the front and back of the plane for any food and water. The food cart was flipped on its side with each of its drawers pulled open and completely empty.
Mike moved to the first aid stations, but those had been wiped out. The only things that remained were a few small bottles of liquor that had rolled under the cart that nobody bothered to pick up and check underneath.
Nelson and Sean reclined a few seats up in first class and found a pair of pillows left behind from the passengers. Sean passed out within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.
Mike leaned back in the row across from Nelson and Sean. Mike leaned back and Nelson tossed him a pillow, which hit him in the face by surprise.
“Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” Nelson said.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Mike could feel the weight of the day bearing down on him. The burn under the bandages on his arm was sore and in need of redressing. Nelson was right. He was in no shape to make it through the night without passing out. He was melting into the chair underneath him.
“Just wake me up when you need to rest,” Mike said.
“I will,” Nelson said.
Mike folded his arms in his lap and closed his eyes. His eyelids slammed shut like the steel doors of the mill at the end of the day.
***
It wasn’t until Mike felt his wrists pinned to the arms of the seat and heard Sean’s screams that he woke up. He jerked his arms, but they wouldn’t budge. He squinted his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Nelson’s head was bent to the side, a massive lump forming across his temple.
Mike’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He couldn’t make out the people in front of him. He could only hear the shuffling of feet and the murmur of voices.
“This is all they have?”
“Yeah, I searched these two and that’s it.”
“What about the other guy? What’s he got?”
Before the man could get close Mike kicked the man’s knee sending him to the floor with a thud.
“Goddamn asshole!”
“Grab his legs, Tim.”
“Screw it. It’s not worth it. Let’s just grab the rest of this shit and go, man.”
Tim sent a nice right cross to Mike’s cheek before he left. Mike’s ears rang. His mind went foggy with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to orient himself.
The sobs coming from Mike’s left gave him a point to focus on. They grew louder until they completely replaced the ringing caused by the punch. He looked over at Sean who was struggling to free himself.
“Sean, are you okay?” Mike asked.
“I can’t move my arms,” Sean replied.
“Just hang on, buddy. Nelson,” Mike said. “Nelson!”
Nelson didn’t move. Mike jerked his wrists attempting to free himself, but it was useless. He bent over and started tearing the tape with his teeth. He picked at the tape over and over until he finally had a tear. He tore the piece, splitting the duct tape in half. He yanked his hand free and peeled the tape off his other wrist.
Sean was squirming, trying to get free. Mike had to climb over Nelson to reach Sean whose tears were streaming down his face.
“Dad! Dad!” Sean cried.
“Hold on, Sean.”
Once Sean was unbound Mike pressed his fingers against Nelson’s neck to check for a pulse. Mike leaned in and listened to see if Nelson was breathing. Nelson was breathing and Mike could feel the faint beat of a pulse.
“Stay here, Sean,” Mike said.
Mike tore out of the emergency exit and glanced around in the darkness, but the attackers had vanished. Lightning streaked across the sky followed by a deep, rolling thunder.
When Mike entered the plane Sean was resting his head on Nelson’s shoulder, hugging his dad.
“Sean,” Mike said.
Sean ignored him. Mike reached his hand, placing it on Sean’s arm, but Sean jerked it away violently.
“Leave me alone!” Sean said.
It wasn’t any use trying to argue. The kid was scared, tired, and the one person who could help him was lying unconscious right in front of his eyes. Mike walked back over to the entrance of the plane to keep watch. He pulled the gun from the back of his waist and clicked the safety off. In between the cracks of thunder he could hear Sean’s faint whimpers.
***
“Dad?” Sean asked.
Mike�
��s attention switched from the water dripping from the plane’s emergency exit frame back to Sean and Nelson.
“What happened?” Nelson asked.
“How are you feeling?” Mike asked.