Crossing Bedlam

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Lloyd’s ears stop ringing and his vision becomes clear, allowing him to see that Cassidy is sitting across from him. A large pizza is sitting between them, two slices already claimed by the hungry blonde. Two mugs of beer are placed at the table by a handsome waiter who flashes his best smile. There is something in the man’s eyes that irritates Lloyd and he slides his hand toward a knife, stopping only when his stomach rumbles. The smell of fresh food is enough to quell his bloodlust and he grabs a slice, casually taking half the cheese off another piece and piling it on top. After living off prison food for over ten years, Lloyd’s first bite of real pizza is so delicious that a tear slides down his cheek.

  “So I think we got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Tenay,” Cassidy says, noticing several of the older people glancing at them. She pats her handgun to make them turn away, but there is palpable tension in the air toward the infamous serial killer. “My name is Cassidy and that’s really all I go by. Probably best that I call you Lloyd because your last name will bring us too much attention.”

  “You zapped me in the dick,” her companion states with a mouthful of food. He takes a long drink of beer, which reminds him of a brand he had when he was younger. “But this meal is the best one I’ve had in a long time. Since I killed the others and it feels like nothing is wrong with the equipment, I’ll call us even. Then again, I might still owe you for breaking me out of Rikers and I don’t like being in debt.”

  “Then you’re not going to like being out in the real world,” the young woman replies, her fingers tracing random designs on her mug’s condensation. Seeing the question on the tip of the man’s tongue, she runs her hands through her hair and taps at her forehead scar. “Money is useless in most of the Shattered States. That’s what the country is called now because every place has its own laws and systems. One of the few things that carries over the borders is bartering. For example, this meal is being paid for by a full set of silverware and two packages of pre-sliced pepperoni. It’s why we’re eating a full pie and can get another for the road. You’ll either figure things out or become a violent scavenger to survive. Everyone picks one way or the other at some point.”

  Lloyd gnaws on the remaining crust while greedily claiming the slice that Cassidy is about to reach for. “That makes sense. People gave me a little news over the years in regards to how everything happened. It was a gradual isolation with foreign navy vessels blockading the coasts and claiming various reasons for their presence. Then Canada and Mexico put up walls to prevent us from getting out. A few battles happened along the borders, but the rest of the world simply put us in a time out or turned on us. A few days after we were blocked off, someone nuked Washington DC and that’s as far as my knowledge goes. I’m still surprised there’s so much . . . order here. People are supposed to be killing each other and wearing random pieces of cookware. There sure as hell shouldn’t be pizza, electricity, and drinkable beer.”

  A loud yell stops Cassidy from answering, her hand falling to her gun as she turns around to see if the weapon will be needed. She relaxes when her eyes fall on a tall man in furs, his hand impaled with a pair of scissors. The scowling waitress that he attempted to fondle is bending down to reclaim her fallen cleaver, which she puts to her attacker’s neck. Callous and calm, she plucks her backup weapon out of the man’s hand and tosses it into a nearby bin to be cleaned later. The woman waits for the customer to make a decision, which is that he takes his seat and gives her his order. Replacing her anger with a pleasant smile, the waitress jots down the request and happily skips toward the kitchen.

  “All of us are broken here,” Cassidy says, turning back to Lloyd. Noting that he has eaten half of the pie, she smacks his hand away from the biggest slice. “The first two years were the worst and close to what you were expecting. People were looting, panicking, and doing all sorts of horrible things. State governments stepped in to try and create some order, but most of them were unsuccessful. There were independent groups that kept their heads and did what they could to avoid a total collapse. Clans of engineers took over the power plants, dams, and whatever else they thought should be saved. Doctors and librarians formed groups to continue doing what they do. The rest of us . . . did what we could to avoid turning into wild animals and survive with some of our humanity intact. Still, those first two years were nothing more than death and destruction across the nation.”

  “Kind of sorry I missed it,” Lloyd claims with a half-hearted smirk. His eyes remain on the injured man while his mind rattles off various ways the waitress could have finished the job. “So many questions and mysteries in this new land. I feel like that guy who was asleep for years and woke up to find that everything has changed. Not the old fairy tale, but the one with the talking lobster. Although I’m much smarter and hygienic. So let me ask you the big question. Why break a bunch of criminals out of prison instead of hiring more trustworthy folk? I’m sure the audience wants to know or we’ll be accused of having a really bad plot hole.” He sighs at the blank expression he gets from his companion. “Never mind.”

  Silently eating and drinking, Cassidy considers sharing more than the basics with the murderer. She finds herself repeatedly thrown off by his friendly and casual demeanor, her original expectations being a lot darker. It makes her feel like they are playing a game, but neither is aware of who is in control. Cassidy knows that she would clearly be in charge if more of the escapees were still alive because she could have played them off each other. All of the prisoners were paranoid and narcissistic, which is another reason she chose them. Now she is left with a serial killer who has no idea what the world has become and constantly has a murderous glint in his blue eyes. Then again, Cassidy is not entirely disappointed with the outcome of her jailbreak. Part of her is curious as to how Lloyd killed four other people and came out of the fight with nothing more than a scratch on his arm. During her travels, she has only met a handful of people with that level of viciousness, strength, and skill. In fact, Cassidy is sure that Lloyd could turn into one of the most terrifying denizens of the new world if he does not get himself killed first.

  None of that is enough for her to entirely trust him, especially when he keeps eyeing people like they are nothing more than targets. As useful as that habit is in the wilder lands, it makes her worry about bringing him to the more stable regions. Cursing under her breath, Cassidy finishes her beer and takes off her necklace. She dangles it in front of her face while she clears her mind and focuses on the spinning locket. Realizing that she is being stared at, the young woman clutches the jewelry in her fist and meets her companion’s curious gaze.

  “This isn’t a lucrative job, so nobody would be willing to help me. Not with the distance I have to travel, unless I went into debt. Aside from physical trades, you can owe favors and none of mine are big enough to cash in for this,” Cassidy explains, a few tears in her eyes. Angry at the show of weakness, she grabs some pizza and tears a violent bite out with her teeth. “I have to get to San Francisco because my mother’s dying wish was to have her ashes thrown off the Golden Gate Bridge. She kept me alive since the collapse and taught me everything I know about surviving. Then she took a bullet to the chest during one of her jobs. Simple as that, which sounds callous, but it happens all the time. I did my grieving and now I want to honor her final request, which means I need to travel through some dangerous areas. Interstate 80 is the best route, which isn’t saying much considering we have to go through Nebraska. There’s no way I can afford to pay people to help, so I broke criminals out of Rikers to immediately call in the favors you would owe me.”

  “That actually makes a lot of sense,” Lloyd admits while watching a waitress flirt her way to a tip. He is amused that she is given an unopened package of underwear, which she tucks into an apron pocket. “Family is important or so I’ve heard from people with good ones. My mom died after my dad killed her and then I killed him. I think. Maybe it was my brother killed my mom and my dad killed him, so I didn’t want to get left out. N
ot sure where I was going with that, but I’ll join you.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Well the story would kind of end here if I killed you or walked away.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind.”

  Rules of the Trade

  Lloyd snarls at the three large Rottweilers that are resting near the apartment complex’s entrance. The dogs yawn and eye the killer, their recognition of Cassidy making them consider him a friend. It is not until she throws a handful of jerky onto the ground that the lazy beasts show any signs that their legs work. As they pass the office, Lloyd sees an elderly landlord sitting in a rocking chair that faces the lobby. There is a shutter built into the ceiling and a light that blinks in synch with a remote on the man’s desk. Refusing to let go of the double-barrel shotgun in his lap, he waves the weapon to his tenant and her companion. Stomping on a pedal in the floor, a buzzing from a nearby door signals that they can enter the stairwell without getting attacked by the security system.

  With a frustrated groan, Lloyd follows Cassidy to the second floor and enters the vacant hallway. He can hear people moving within some of the rooms and there is a shadow cast by a janitor around a far corner, but the corridor maintains an aura of abandonment. The sound of a humming generator drifts from the vents, the noise occasionally becoming louder as the old machine sputters. A few pieces of garbage are scattered about the floor, but the walls and vase-holding pedestals appear to have been recently dusted and polished. Even the ferns are green and thriving, each potted plant having been placed next to a room that is being rented.

  Walking around the far corner, Cassidy unlocks the first door they come to and wipes a tear from her eye as she enters the apartment. Starting to relax, she locks the door behind Lloyd and tosses her pea coat onto a battered armchair. Snatching a notepad and pen off a table, she flops onto the creaky sofa and gestures for her new friend to explore her home. Aside from the main room, there is a single bedroom down a short hallway with a connected bathroom. The large bed is neatly made, but the thin pillows show signs that it has always been used by two people. A walk-in closet holds clothes for every season and a few outfits that make Lloyd chuckle like a boy who is in his first year of puberty. It is on the back of the door that he finds several pistols, two rifles, a shotgun, and a belt of grenades hanging on polished hooks. With a whistle, he returns to the main room and takes a seat on a shaky, wooden chair. Finishing his examination while letting his aching feet relax, he notices that there are no pictures of family on the barren shelves and bookcases.

  “None of our pictures survived the first year and I traded some things to get what I needed for the breakout,” Cassidy says, anticipating the question. She tears off her list and jams it into her back pocket before slipping off her boots. “I need to make sure everything is in order here, because I want to get the best deal possible. There’s a camera in one of the drawers that I’ll use to take pictures. We bring those to the Coliseum Trading Center and that will earn us a vehicle and gear for the trip. My mother had a favor owed to her by one of the top sellers there, so that should help too. I was thinking about our situation during our little walk from LaGuardia. I should thank you for making this part of my job easier. With only two of us, I can get more food, ammunition, and specialty items. Why are you raising your hand?”

  “Because I have a question and you won’t shut up,” Lloyd replies with a yawn. He leans on his knees and rapidly taps his foot. “Is there anything to drink in here?”

  “There’s a few beers in the fridge, which I’d trust more than the water here. At least on Tuesdays, the tap stuff has a metallic taste and can cause diarrhea,” Cassidy says, waving her pen at the ugly red refrigerator. Seeing doubt on the man’s face, she makes herself more comfortable and stares at a splotch of light blue paint on the ceiling. “I let a friend stay here and sent a message from LaGuardia for her to restock the fridge with food and drink before leaving. The beer is fresh and there should be some apples in the crisper too. If we’re lucky, a pack of meat was left behind and we can make a quick meal before heading out. There shouldn’t be too many things to fix around here.”

  Still unsure if he can trust what the young woman is saying, Lloyd rocks to his feet and checks the fridge. He smirks at the sight of a six-pack of beer, but the expression swiftly changes to one of mild confusion. Taking a bottle and two apples, he reads the label while kicking the door close. With Cassidy focused on a broken light switch, Lloyd rummages through the cabinets in search of a bottle opener. He stops when he finds a drawer filled with handcuffs, a divider running down the middle of the collection. Taking one from each side, he wonders if they were put here because it had been the only open place. To satisfy his curiosity, he opens the next drawer to find that it is empty. Traces of perfume come off one of the restraints while the other has a bit of old skin caught in the teeth.

  “My mom did whatever she had to in order for us to survive,” Cassidy states from the other side of the kitchen. Using her hip to close a drawer, she tosses a bottle opener onto the table and goes to replace a lightbulb. “Some days she had assignments out of the house that I followed her on and other days she had clients here. There was an old lady with rabbits on the first floor that I stayed with during those times. Before you even think of asking, I didn’t get into that part of family business. Mom told me that I was too good a shot to waste time laying on my back. Come to think of it, take out a few handcuffs from the left hand side. If an easy recovery job turns up while we’re on the road then I might as well be prepared. Doesn’t hurt to mix a little business with the personal stuff.”

  “This beer is from Germany,” Lloyd states, cracking open the bottle. He sniffs at the foamy liquid and takes a sip, surprised at how crisp it tastes. “It’s perfect, which is surprising since we’ve been cut off from the world for ten years. How do you stop beer from going stale and tasting like carbonated piss after a decade?”

  “Things are complicated and they don’t really concern us,” the young woman explains, not wanting to waste time on the subject. A pair of fuzzy manacles hits her in the back of the head and she whirls around to find that a knife is against her throat. “Fine, but knowing this won’t do you any good. The governments of the world attacked, cut us off, or whatever you want to call the fucking shit storm that brought us here. Nobody can come in or out of the Shattered States without a naval escort. One reason for that is if an American, who was lucky to be overseas when the blockade started, earns a one-way trip back home. The other reason is when foreign companies trade for various resources that our country can provide. It’s a strange set up where the governments ignore us, but they don’t stop businesses from maintaining contact. So the coastal regions and some border regions get shipments and the products spread around the country. I’ve heard rumors that there are even drop points in the Midwest for foreign planes to deliver and pick up wares. Though I doubt that because all planes are shot down if they get too close to a wall or the coast.”

  Lloyd takes a swig of beer and licks his lips with a chuckle. “Makes you wonder if something bigger is going on.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because life here is all about surviving to the next day. Let someone else worry about the big picture.”

  “Guess the person behind this story hasn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  Cassidy keeps her eye on Lloyd as she gets herself an apple and goes to check on the bathroom. She curses and slaps the door when she sees that she will have to take an hour to thoroughly clean the bathtub. A small collection of cleaning supplies has been gathered in the sink, one of the metal cans starting to rust due to being under the dripping faucet for the past few days. A dead roach is in the toilet, which she flushes with her foot since her hands are full. She makes a mental note to never trust her friend to house sit again even though she is preparing to say goo
dbye to the apartment. Her mother struggled to keep a clean home, which is a desire that has been passed on to Cassidy. The thought of any type of vermin invading her space makes the young woman angry and she silently apologizes to her locket. She is sure the insects will cost her some supplies and lying about them would hurt her reputation, so she becomes determined to fix everything else in the apartment. Not wanting to touch anything else until after she has finished her apple, Cassidy stays in the doorway and glances back at Lloyd.

  The serial killer is sitting at the table with several kitchen knives spread out before him. She watches him examine each blade, which reminds her of how she tends to her own weapons. A flick of his wrist sends a steak knife into the floor where another cockroach is attempting to scuttle into the kitchen. With an amused smile, Cassidy returns to the kitchen and grabs herself a beer. Settling back on the couch, she puts her feet on the table and stretches her legs until her knees pop. For the first time since meeting Lloyd, she finds herself comforted by his presence and the difficulty of their journey seems a little less frightening.

  “I’ll cut your tongue out and use it as a sponge if you ask me to clean that bathroom,” the man replies when he notices she is staring at him.

  *****

  Neddy scratches his bald head while examining the apartment pictures, his bushy mustache and beard hiding his mouth. Perched on an old barstool, the man’s torn jeans, sandals, and old concert t-shirt makes him look laid back and rather dimwitted. His competitors and buyers quickly learn this is not the case, which is a lesson that usually costs them. Not that they stay angry due to Neddy’s fondness for making deals that will ensure future business. With his wife working at the nearby power plant, he is one of Long Island’s main battery suppliers and has a reputation for trading vehicles. This is why he takes up nearly a quarter of the old Nassau Coliseum’s parking lot, his merchandise protected by a tall fence that is topped by large coils of razor wire. Anyone who does dare to sneak in will find themselves at the wrong end of a pack of vicious cats that Neddy has adopted over the years. Though there are rumors that the animals moved in one day and made a deal with their new landlord. He provides them with food and shelter while they maul anyone who does not come through the front gate.