by J. Thorn
“Yeah.”
“You’d better get down there and help him out. Dude looks like he’s about to collapse.”
Sully’s men maneuvered through the cemetery, certain that they had found all the bodies. Together they loaded Alex into the back of the truck, where one of the biker chicks began working on his shoulder. Sully drove through the cemetery and back onto Mayfield Road. He headed away from town, toward Cleveland Heights. John sat next to him in the truck, looking at the caravan of three as they moved around abandoned cars and buildings marked with The Sign.
“This shit doesn’t bother you, does it?” asked John.
“Not really. This is how we live. When you’re not part of society, you don’t miss it when it goes to hell.”
“Where are we headed?”
“Your buddy is in bad shape. You’d better hope Crystal can fix him up.”
“Where are we headed?” John repeated.
“Chill, man. Nobody is going to fuck with you when you’re with us.”
“I appreciate that, Sully, but that’s not what I’m concerned about. I need to get back to my place and see if I can figure out where my wife is. I need to know if she’s alive, and if she is, I need to find her.”
Sully turned the truck onto another street, grimacing before speaking again.
“Maybe we can help you. There ain’t much the Keepers hold sacred, but family is definitely up there.”
The truck rolled to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse on the East Side. Sully killed the engine and tapped the bed of the truck. Crystal and two men helped Alex out and carried him inside. Barely conscious, the veterinarian was clearly in trouble. His skin had turned gray, and his eyes seemed to roll around in the sockets.
“Your pal has lost a lot of blood,” one of the men said to John.
“We’ve all lost a lot,” replied John.
Sully led John through a maze of corridors until they arrived in what used to be an auditorium. The place stunk of cigarette smoke and rotten paper. On the stage, a bunch of milk crates and old lawn chairs sat around a fire ring.
“Home sweet home,” said Sully.
John sat down and rubbed his burning eyes.
Chapter 33
The sun crawled through the heavy curtain of the storm front. Renegade geese flew over the frozen land in a fighting formation. Cold moisture glistened off the pitch-black surface of the asphalt. The final survivors of summer leaves clung to the branches, while many fell to the snow-covered ground.
Commander Byron fumbled through the multiple layers of his clothing until he found the zipper. The frigid air blasted his exposed midsection. He straightened his back and shook off a shiver, thinking hard about flowing waters. After a couple of moments of indecision, his bladder sent the command to release its contents. White steam lifted off the stream and took the pressure from his abdomen.
He yanked the zipper closed, and, returning to his version of domesticity, he poured a hot cup of coffee from one of the pots set up in the auto shop. The soldiers had rigged an outlet to a car battery, which gave them plenty enough power to brew the inviting beverage. Byron placed the end of his knife in the cup and mixed a packet of sugar into the black coffee. The first sip stung his tongue and paralyzed his taste buds before allowing the pleasant, bitter bite of the coffee to take hold.
Sometimes, life is about simple pleasures, he thought.
The two soldiers from across the street now stood guard at the front of the shop, arriving with the morning light. Byron debriefed the men, who saw nothing during the course of the night save for stray animals. The three men drank coffee and smoked, none of them eager to wake the woman and start the trek to her house.
Byron dug in his pockets for the satellite phone. The black plastic shone in the winter glaze, the display temporarily cold and dead. He made the call and finalized the plan. For security’s sake, Byron considered smashing the phone to pieces on the hard sidewalk, but hesitated. He shoved it back into his pocket and hoped he would not need it again.
***
“That smells great,” said Jana.
One of the guards had unlocked her door earlier in the morning, and she’d wandered from the room. The commander stared at her. Jana’s hair fell down upon her shoulders. She wore a tight T-shirt, holding her breasts high. Her jeans rode low on ample, curvy hips. Byron snickered as the other soldiers stole glances.
“Come, join us,” said Byron, ever the faux-gentleman.
He surveyed the damage he had done to her delicate face the night before. When the swelling went down and the purple bruises subsided, she would heal, except for the missing teeth.
“I’m sore, you son of a bitch.”
“I am truly sorry you brought that pain upon yourself. I am not enjoying much of the torturing of women, I hope you see this.”
Jana drew her finger across a swollen lip and winced.
“I’m not convinced of that.”
Byron handed her a cup of hot coffee. Jana held it to the corner of her mouth with care, and attempted to pour it into her throat. The liquid struck the open, raw wounds of her mouth and she dropped the cup to the floor. She glared at Byron through tears of pain.
“It will heal faster than you think.”
“Don’t talk down to me. I’m a nurse. I know what it will take. And I know that teeth don’t grow back.”
“Can we move past the hostility and work together?”
“As long as I’m your prisoner, there is no such thing as ‘working together’. You’d better remember that if you let your guard down for one second, I’ll do my best to cut your throat.”
Commander Byron smiled. The grizzled warrior relished the threat and became excited by it. He motioned to the guards. They appeared on each side of Jana, and one of them grabbed her by the shoulder.
“There is no need to spill any more blood, or coffee. Both are valuable liquids, are they not?”
Jana got the message and let her body go limp, sliding back into the chair. The guards stepped back but stayed within arm’s reach of her.
“Beautiful and wise, a nice combination.”
Jana rolled her eyes.
“Today we are marching back towards your house. We must find John and then report to Father. If you do not incite a fight, you will not find one. My men are expert marksmen. They will eliminate any threats to our movement on my command. Gather your things together. We leave in twenty minutes.”
“I thought we were going to Reggie’s house,” protested Jana.
“Sometimes plans change, my dear.”
“Christ. Why can’t you let us be?”
“I have my orders, and I will follow them. When man discards orders, society breaks down. Go pack your things.”
Jana turned and stomped into the storeroom. She packed a bag of loose clothes, given to her by Sally. Jana thought about her and Jay, and then decided that it would not do any good to speculate or worry. She tossed pieces of beef jerky, her battered cell phone, and a bottle of water into the bag. Then the commander searched and removed any potential weapons from her possession. However, with the modern world brought to its knees, he found no reason to keep her phone.
Commander Byron and his two guards had their backs to Jana when she exited the storeroom. The one on the left looked over his shoulder to let her know they monitored her location. Jana sighed and lamented the slim possibility of her escape from their hands.
The group set off at a fair pace and, for a man with a cane and limp, Commander Byron made good time. The foursome stuck to the main avenues and traveled east, away from downtown Cleveland. The guards kept their rifles angled toward the side of the road, and the Commander walked directly behind Jana.
They covered nearly seven miles during the daylight. As five o’clock neared, the early arrival of the November night swallowed the day. The group stopped at a crossroads. A bank stood on one corner, with a service station across from it. On the other side of the street, a Phoenix Coffee sat next door to
a Chinese restaurant. All of the businesses contained gaping windows and no movement.
“The Phoenix. I like the name of that place. Maybe they will have more coffee,” said Byron, nodding toward the guards.
The two soldiers held up a hand, signifying that Jana and Byron were to wait outside until they could secure the building. The LED bulbs of the searchlights clicked on, followed by the deadly red dot from the laser scopes.
Byron removed a silver cigarette case from his pocket. He opened it and drew out a hand-rolled smoke. He offered one to Jana, but she refused it.
“I pulled this from a dead Russian soldier in the hills of Kabul. The bullet that killed him entered his heart inches from the pocket that held this. I cannot read the inscription on it, so I often look at it and try to imagine what it says. Some days it is a message of hope, and other days it is one of vengeance.”
“I’m cold,” said Jana.
“I didn’t think I would make it out of that godforsaken country alive,” he continued. “Afghanistan is the most wretched place on earth. In the summer, it is dusty, hot, and filthy. In the winter, the cold will burn your fingers and toes right off. And the women, they cover themselves from head to foot. There is no, shall we say, recreation for a soldier in that place. The tobacco, in this case, kept me sane.”
Jana sat on the curb, staring at the remnants of a styrofoam cup while the commander spoke. She thought about the person that purchased the cup, in another lifetime. He was on his way to work perhaps, stopping in for a quick shot of caffeine and a buzz to start his day. Jana pictured an older man dropping the cup into the overflowing garbage can, where it perched until the wind knocked it to the ground, and somersaulted it into the busy parking lot. Before the rest of her daydream could unfold, the two soldiers came back out of the coffee shop.
“All clear,” drone number one said to Commander Byron.
The foursome spent an uneventful night in the Phoenix. In the morning, the commander managed to find undamaged beans. They’d brought the car-battery power with them and were able to get a drip machine running. Most of the shop sat in shambles, as an explosion had taken place in the main sitting area, leaving a substantial gap in the roof. Wind blew snow and rain through it, which ruined most of the product in the store.
They headed east again. Jana recognized the streets themselves, but struggled to recognize the places. The buildings sat void of all life. She never realized how much humans influenced the mosaic of the neighborhood. In the afternoon, they picked up Mayfield Road. She felt the closeness of Plainfield Road, their final destination. However, the Commander’s pace slowed. The toll of the hike had robbed him of his energy. They took longer and more frequent breaks. His limp became more pronounced, and they covered half as much distance as they had the day before.
A “For Lease” sign hung by one corner in the front window of a deserted flower shop. The door slanted off its hinges, sticking in the sidewalk out front. Shattered glass spread out from the epicenter of the front door.
Inside, most of the cooler units and display cases stood empty. The lingering smell of roses lifted Jana’s spirits. She found a handful of dried flowers in one corner and scooped them into her bag. Unlike the previous night’s stops, the back room of the flower shop sat in disarray. The floor held two inches of water that poured in from an open back door and hole in the roof.
“Looks like we’ll all be sharing this room tonight,” said Byron.
Jana sat in a corner and pulled her knees up to her chest.
“We are a mile or two from your home. Tomorrow we will arrive. I must remind you that if you try anything, anything at all, I will have these men fill you with holes. I have an order, but I will not jeopardize us for you.”
Jana ignored him. She rolled her eyes and kicked the remains of a vase across the littered floor.
“I have to go,” Jana said.
“Escort her,” Byron said to the soldier nearest him.
“Can you show some decency? Where am I going to go?”
“Nowhere, because you will be escorted. Go with her.”
The man followed Jana through the store and out the back door. She found a half wall separating one parking lot from the next. Jana stepped over it and squatted. The soldier could see her from the shoulders up. Jana stared right through his cold eyes while relieving herself. She stood and pulled her pants up at the same time, providing a glimpse of her ivory flesh. The soldier’s eyes never left hers.
Each man took a corner of the store for their personal sleeping space. The soldier that escorted Jana outside sat across from her while the other one stood guard at the front door. The commander fell asleep. His snores rattled the existing glass inside the shop.
“If you come near me, I will slit your throat,” said Jana, who possessed no weapon except her own rage.
With a burning stare, the soldier grinned through yellowed teeth.
***
“Sir, there is movement on Mayfield.”
“Where?”
“A mile or so out. The flower shop.”
The sergeant overseeing the house on Plainfield Road stiffened.
“Radios off. Get a patrol to recon. Do not engage and do not reveal yourselves. Get back here in one-hundred-twenty minutes with an update.”
The soldier trotted away. Another joined him as they moved south on Plainfield toward Mayfield Road.
Chapter 34
“There is heavy shit going down.”
John opened his eyes and thought for a second that a rebellious Viking warrior had escaped from Valhalla. Sully’s red hair surrounded his upper body, urged on by the dry winter air. He braided his beard in various places. A black, leather vest struggled to hold the bulk of man inside it. Numerous patches and symbols covered the vest, many of which meant nothing to John. Sully wore a black holster over one shoulder and rested it on his left hip. His eyes revealed turmoil, but a certain level of excitement as well; the outlaw coping with a new, lawless world.
“Why bother to help after you ditched us at the Jigsaw?” John asked the question and pulled back from Sully, fearful that he may have offended the red giant.
“Pure luck, brother. Like I tried to tell you before: We were in the area, heard gunfire, and jumped in the fray. Didn’t know it was you until I put my crosshairs on your chest.”
John laughed with an uncomfortable tick. “Don’t know whether to thank you or run.”
“You might wanna do both,” replied Sully.
Crystal appeared at Sully’s right and whispered into his ear. Sully’s expression did not change or betray his thoughts. She walked back behind the stage to check on Alex.
“He’ll be okay, but he ain’t goin’ anywhere. Dude’s lost a lot of blood and we got no way of fixing that. Only time can replenish it.”
“How long?”
“Crystal thinks maybe a couple days, or maybe a week or two. It all depends on the shape his body is in and how quickly it can heal. Settle in, dude. We’ve got plenty of beer and women to go around.”
John’s face flushed and he balled his fists at his sides.
“I can’t wait.”
Sully handed a beer and bottle opener to John. He paused and raised one eyebrow.
“Huh?”
“Like I tried to tell you: I gotta get to my wife. I know she’s alive and I think I know where she’ll be.”
Sully popped the top off of the beer and let the bottle cap roll through his feet and over the edge of the stage. It took a suicidal jump and landed with a puny clink as it hit the concrete floor of the first row.
“I’m listenin’.”
“I need to get back to my house on Plainfield. If she’s alive, I know she’ll be there too. Can’t say for sure, but I think our neighborhood was one of the first to come under attack. It’s been long enough that I doubt they’re patrolling that street anymore. If she’s still alive, and I think she is, she’ll be there hoping I return too.”
“And then what?” asked Sully. �
�You gonna hang your Christmas decorations?”
John’s face dropped.
“It’s what I gotta do, and I can’t wait weeks for Alex to get better and join me. I’m asking that you either let me go alone or that you join me.”
Sully put the beer up to his mouth. The end of the bottle disappeared into a cavernous mouth. John watched Sully’s facial scars twitch with indecision. With the back of his left hand, Sully wiped the beer froth from his beard.
“Fuck me. I’m always up for spilling blood.”
John sighed and sat back on his milk crate until his head rested on the wall.
“Can we leave now?”
“Slow down there, cowboy. I gotta get the boys rounded up, decide who’s going, smoke a blunt. Got lots of things to do before we go marchin’ into another firefight. Let’s party tonight and we’ll push out at the crack of dawn tomorrow. How’s eleven a.m.?”
John’s mouth twisted toward a grin, and then pulled back to a thin smile.
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Why don’t you go and check on your buddy. Crystal says he’s come around. He’s weak, but at least you can tell him what’s going on.”
Crystal appeared next to John and took him by the hand. He followed the sway of her hips up to the flaming-dragon tattoo on her lower back. Stretch marks crawled out from under frayed jeans and behind the top of laced panties. Crystal spun to smile at John, revealing crow’s feet and streaks of temple gray.
John followed the woman through a maze of old sets and stage props, which had not been used for productions in quite a long time and probably would not be for many years to come. He walked under the yawning hole in the ceiling, which allowed the smoke from the fire ring to escape.
Crystal stopped in the doorway of a dressing room and held up one arm, pointing to Alex’s cot. Once John entered, she disappeared back toward the stage.
Alex was on his back, boots off and sitting on the floor underneath the cot. A musty, blue moving blanket covered him from feet to neck. John saw scraps of tape stuck to it in various places, artifacts of the ancients fleeing suburbia. He crept into the room and heard Alex’s breathing, uneven and ragged, but consistent. As John approached, Alex’s head tilted up.