by J. Thorn
“Holy shit,” said John.
“Fuck,” replied Alex. “If there were Holy Rollers in the area, that would have gotten their attention. See if you can get this thing started again and let’s get out of here.”
John turned the key, but the truck just emitted a low chunking noise. He tried again, and then a third and fourth time. He slammed his fist on the dash and spit out the broken window.
“There,” said Alex.
From the other side of the pileup, and penetrating through the jagged passage, a faint light grew. They heard the thick tire tread vibrating off of the soft asphalt.
“Try it again, hurry!” Alex screamed.
John turned the key and the truck came alive. He threw it into the lowest gear possible and maneuvered behind the minivan, which now rested on its roof. John idled up to the rear bumper of the minivan and gunned the accelerator. The truck slid the van back into the pile amidst a shower of sparks. John gave it another two bursts from the accelerator to make sure the van lodged in the opening. He turned the wheel to the left and shifted again. Alex stuck his head out the window. As the truck drove away, beams of light burst through the openings in the wreckage like the flickering light inside a jack-o’-lantern.
Chapter 14
“Something has happened, Father.”
“What is it?”
“Father Thomas has woken up, but he seems disoriented.”
“Bring him to me.”
Father lit a cigar and tilted his chair back. Generators rumbled from the boiler room as the electricity provided light to St. Michael’s. In addition, the rickety boiler in the subbasement came to life. Soldiers from the 165th Infantry division had revived it after ten hours of triage. The old piece of hissing pipe and steam bathed the stone church in comforting warmth as the nights grew colder. Father paged through the reports, noting the pockets of resistance while coaxing the sweet tobacco from his blunt. He heard the two men coming down the hallway toward his office in the back of the church.
“May God be with you, Father,” said Thomas.
Father waved the third priest away. The man pulled the door as he stepped out of the room, but did not close it all the way.
“Sit, my son, and tell me what happened downstairs.”
“He reveals nothing.”
Father rubbed his chin and stared deep into the man’s vacant and bloodshot eyes.
“Who reveals nothing?” he asked.
“John. He is gone now and so is the vet.”
“Yes, they took him to the vet’s office, to conduct tests.”
“No your holiness, they are gone. Lucifer spit his fire on the road to salvation.”
Father summoned the other priest back into the room.
“Please make sure Father Thomas is cared for in the infirmary. He is still having difficulty organizing his thoughts.”
The priest bent at the waist and escorted Thomas from the office. The cigar sat in the ashtray, smoldering and sputtering. Father reached over and snuffed the lit end. He walked out of the office and into the back of the church. Priests knelt in the pews, saying their evening prayers. An armed guard stood next to the main door, doing his best to stay awake.
“Soldier,” said Father.
“Yes sir,” he replied.
“Dispatch a team to the vet’s office and bring him and John the Revelator back here.”
The young warrior spun on his heels and jumped into a jeep. Father watched the jeep disappear down East Eighth Street.
Chapter 15
Jana crawled out from under the sink. The part of her uniform wrapped around the wound turned light red. She tugged at the moist cloth, hoping to check on the cut. However, the sticky mess forced an eye-watering reluctance. At length, Jana lay facedown on the cold kitchen floor, waiting for the muscle spasms in her legs and feet to subside. She smelled fried chicken. The shattered glass from the broken beer bottle scattered across the floor, and the beer dried into sticky patches.
The frigid room invited the crescent moon to light one corner with a chilled glow. Jana’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight of both screen doors flapping in the night, hanging from their hinges and unlocked.
She rubbed her calves and toes, working the blood back into circulation. The cramps subsided, allowing her to stand. Jana walked upstairs to her bedroom, navigating through the shattered remains of a nightstand and lamp. She pulled a messenger bag from the closet and threw essentials into it. Inside plain underwear, Jana wrapped a toothbrush, Band-Aids, deodorant, soap, and a hairbrush. She changed into old jeans and a heavy sweatshirt while packing more. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and cried. For twenty minutes Jana cried. Finally, she knocked the tears aside and shook them from her face.
Jana slid the shower door open and grabbed the waterproof radio off the gooseneck of the shower. She rubbed a finger over the battery compartment, hoping they still held a charge. Jana slid the dial to “on” and turned the volume down. Even though John had left it tuned to his favorite FM station, the radio bleated nothing but static. She turned it off and threw that into her bag as well. If the electricity did not return, the radio might be her only connection to the rest of the world – assuming it still existed.
Her shoulder supported the single strap of the messenger bag as she slung it over her neck. Jana shoved her wallet and keys into the pockets of her jeans, deciding against a stylish purse.
Before setting out, she scavenged leftovers from the fridge. A cold plate of flounder and mashed potatoes greeted a chilled soda. She glanced at the kitchen counter and slid the butcher knife from its base. Jana measured the length of the bag in her head and compared that to the knife in her hand. Rather than risk the knife slicing through, she left it on the counter.
Jana decided to move out on foot, given the fact that she had not seen anything but military vehicles on Mayfield Road. She did not want to draw the attention of the men who came hunting her a few hours ago.
Outside, brittle, yellow leaves brushed her ankles and swarmed near the privacy fence. Most of the trees banished their leaves to the encroaching winter and the wind enjoyed knocking them about. A dog barked far off in the distance. Jana heard none of the traffic that usually sped down Mayfield at the end of the block. She looked at the dark windows of the neighbor’s house, hoping nothing looked back. The stench of rotting garbage displaced the usual fall fragrance of hot apple cider. She kept her back to the house and stepped sideways down the driveway. Her injured leg dug into the side faucet, forcing her to stifle a scream of pain. Jana slowed her pace and scanned for movement. From the lawn, she looked back at her house. She remembered John’s glance as he pulled away. Jana felt his spirit, alive and defiant. She noticed a marking on the brick to the right of her front door, near the bay window. Jana squinted and bent over toward the house. The red pentagram glowered above the house numbers, 2913.
She scuttled down the sidewalk toward Mayfield. Doors swung open in the November wind, slamming back and forth into the doorframe. White, floating drapery escaped the windows, dancing in the night air. The ghosts of suburbia left still cars in driveways and toys on lawns.
Jana realized she had forgotten a flashlight. She cursed under her breath and started toward her front door when the sound of a jeep moving down Mayfield stopped her in her tracks. Jana jumped behind a hedgerow as the headlights cut across Mayfield and pointed down Plainfield. The vehicle crept along while a soldier on the passenger side passed a spotlight up and down each house. The beam blasted the entire property with a blinding intensity. The soldier swung the light from the window to the door. Once he located the pentagram, the vehicle inched farther down the street to the next house. When it got a block or two away , Jana spied another soldier aiming the blinding light at empty houses on the other side of Plainfield.
Jana made it to the corner of Plainfield and Mayfield, which sat bathed in absolute silence. On a normal evening, customers would be driving through the ATM station at the bank. The drive-up window in the fast-f
ood restaurant across the street would be pulsing, voices squawking from the window intercom over the rap and hip-hop bass lines of the customers. Across the street, the Mayfield Street Bar would have its front door open to allow smokers a place to spill out onto the sidewalk. But on this evening, Jana saw nothing. Out of curiosity, Jana walked toward the ATM machine. The cold reflection of the moon shone off the display screen. The cash dispenser and drive-up window appeared deserted, as if everyone simply walked away.
Jana sprinted across the street to the fast-food restaurant, where chairs and tables sat empty. The emergency floodlights stared with blank eyes, and shattered, outer glass doors spilled onto the sidewalk. Jana stepped through the metal frame, greeted by the reek of rotten meat and soured milk. She stumbled over trays scattered across the floor and back into the night.
She scampered past more shops and businesses, all of which sat utterly deserted. She saw cars at weird angles near the edge of the road. Jana imagined drivers leaping from their vehicles and scrambling toward safety, away from an unknown threat. She did not want to get close, for fear there might be someone inside. As a nurse, Jana spent as little time as possible around dead bodies. If a patient died in a hospital room, she would summon the coroner’s office right away, often raising the ire of the mourning family.
Jana stopped at the next intersection, where the traffic lights swung in silent protest. A BP gas station on the opposite corner offered Jana the hope of grabbing dry goods or snacks.
She walked past the gas pumps, which had spilled gallons onto the ground when the world fell asleep. The aroma overwhelmed and frightened her. As she got closer to the sliding doors, Jana saw shards of glass covering the curb, and stacked pallets of windshield-washer fluid on sale for eighty-nine cents. More glass crunched under her feet as she placed one foot inside the store. The hairs came up on the back of her neck, and adrenaline flooded Jana’s system. Her senses tingled, and as she turned back toward the spewing gas pumps, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A dark flash knocked her to the ground. Jana’s head bounced off the pavement with a sick, dull thud. Her eyes focused and then blurred on the dark fluorescent bulbs hanging underneath the canopy. She heard voices, low and muttered, speaking to her and about her. They swam in her ears and she was unable to decipher any of it while her brain struggled to regain control. Before passing out, Jana heard a distinct voice.
“Get her inside before they come back,” slid into her ears as she succumbed to the encroaching concussion.
Chapter 16
Route 480 fanned out in front of the truck in a ribbon of gray. Alex and John brushed the beads of broken glass from their clothes while exchanging weary smiles.
“Why are you alive?” John asked.
“What?”
“Why are you alive? Why didn’t the Covenant gun you down like the rest?”
Alex cocked his head to one side, peering into the silvery guardrail speeding past.
“Because they needed me.”
“Are you telling me they had no medical support other than a vet?”
John regretted the comment as soon as it left his mouth.
“You really are an asshole,” said Alex.
“I’m sorry, it didn’t come out right.”
“How long until we reach State Road?”
John looked down at his watch to calculate the time and distance.
“Probably twenty or twenty-five minutes, unless we hit another roadblock.
“That should be enough time.”
“Enough time for what?” John asked again, already tiring of the conversation.
“Time for me to tell you what happened to me, provided you want to know.”
“You’ve got a captive audience.”
Alex sat up and stared out of the front of the truck as he spoke.
“My wife said shit was going down in Cleveland. We live out in Chesterland, so I didn’t pay as much attention to it as I shoulda. She saw something on the news about a possible order to martial law because of a terrorist threat. I stood in front of the tube, watching the dolts on the local broadcast. They had grainy cell-phone video of troops knocking doors down in the poor neighborhoods. No surprise to me that they started there. I got pissed and shut the TV off. I get so tired of it blaring and babbling constantly.
“I went downstairs to help get the kids into their pajamas. We heard sirens off in the distance, nothing out of the ordinary. After we had them down for the night, I picked up a Bill Bryson novel, hoping to laugh myself to sleep. I think my wife was already in bed, but I can’t quite remember. Anyway, I heard what I thought was thunder, which was very odd for November. It seemed to get louder and the noise became more frequent. Julie came down to the living room and asked me if I had heard it. I think at that moment we both knew something wasn’t right.
“She flipped the TV back on. There was nothing but snow on every channel. We have satellite TV, so I thought the storm was messing with the reception, you know? Julie went upstairs and turned on the TV with the old rabbit ears. Again, nothing.
“I started getting worried, so I went out to my truck. I turned the key and pushed the on button on the radio. At first I thought one of the kids had messed with the tuner, but every one of my presets generated the same white noise, as if the stations had disappeared.”
Alex shifted in his seat again and stopped.
“Go ahead, I’m listening,” said John.
“Gimme a second.”
John squirmed and looked out the window, trying to give Alex time to pull it together.
“The lights in our house and in every house on the street went out. At almost the same time, I heard bulldozers coming down the road. They weren’t bulldozers, but those damn Humvees sounded like it. At the far end of our street, I saw soldiers jumping out. Within seconds, their guns erupted with flashes of fire followed by loud cracks. I heard screams and knew heavy shit was going down.
“I stepped out of the truck at the exact same moment a jeep stopped in front of my house. Someone yelled ‘freeze’ and I did. I have no idea why. The next thing I knew I was facedown in a pile of wet leaves off the edge of my driveway. A knee or club was pushing down in the middle of my back and I had trouble breathing. Someone had ripped my wallet out and I could hear them talking about my business cards I kept in there. Another voice said something about being ‘useful to Father’, but I couldn’t really hear the whole conversation. They zip-tied my hands and feet, and lifted me by my arms. I saw three soldiers knocking in the front door. I…I heard Julie screaming. I could see the terror on my kids’ faces in the window. There were more bursts like firecrackers, more blasts of light, and then my house was silent. I refused to believe what had happened. A soldier barked into a two-way radio and another military vehicle pulled up. It looked like an old-fashioned paddy wagon, and functioned like one too. A driver got out, walked around to the back, and opened the two doors. Another soldier helped the one on the radio to toss me into the back of the van. My nose bounced off the wheel well, knocking me out cold. When I woke up, I was flat on a gurney and surrounded by priests in black shirts and white collars. I thought for sure I was in Hell, being tortured by priests for abandoning my Catholic upbringing.”
John stopped the truck a half mile from the State Road exit. He placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder and pushed the vision of his own wife from his mind.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
“So am I, John.”
“Take your time and say your piece. I want to hear you out, but I also need you in a proper frame of mind. We could meet trouble once we get off the highway and you need to be focused.”
“There isn’t much more to tell. I had been spared and detained because I was not part of the established medical community. I’m a vet. I think they killed most of the doctors because they linked them all to abortion. How sick is that? Go ahead and ask me what you want to ask me.”
“Your wife, your kids?”
“I’m pretty sure they’re
gone. I’d like to get back to Chesterland to find out, but it’s not worth the risk. Once they realize we’re not at my Shaker office, and that John the Revelator is gone, that house will be one of the first places they check.”
John sat in silence. The truck idled, begging for another run at a pile of twisted metal when Alex spoke.
“Your wife?”
“No,” was all John could bring himself to say.
“What the fuck do you think is going on, man? I would not have been surprised if Al Queda, or the Iranians, or even the fucking Russians pulled shit like this. I would not have been surprised if a warhead had detonated over DC. But this… this shit is unreal. These are our own troops, goddamn it!”
John shook his head and massaged the lumpy steering wheel with his hands. His voice rose.
“Somebody, somewhere high in the ranks snapped. Hitler did the same thing with Nationalism in Nazi Germany. It’s all I can figure. The hardcore Born Agains have been frothing at the mouth to launch a final Holy War. Imagine all the nut jobs out there with guns and ammo. From where I sit, it looks like our own government has been compromised, but it’s possible that these soldiers we see are part of a paramilitary force being controlled by the church. They could be hired guns in army camo.”
“Dude,” said Alex, “I never thought it would go down like this. Global warming, dirty bomb, maybe. But never did I think men of God would gun down people in their homes.”
Alex wiped at both eyes and suppressed his hitching chest.
“Let’s get off of 480 and see who’s playing at the Jigsaw tonight.”