“The cockroaches will be a problem. Nobody around here is any good at permanently getting rid of them these days,” Neddy states while hopping off his seat. He gestures for Cassidy to follow him into the lot, the digital camera dangling from his wrist. “Now you said that everything left in the apartment is included in the deal. I’ve known you and your mother since you moved into the area, kitten. Both of you are practically family. Are you really sure you want to let everything go? If you survive the trip and manage to come back, you won’t have a home to go back to.”
“I brought this for your kids,” Cassidy replies, handing a bag of arcade tokens to the merchant. She rolls her eyes when he catches her fingers and guides her to sit on the bed of a pickup truck. “Home isn’t home without her. I packed up everything I wanted to keep in these three bags and the two my bodyguard is carrying. You know I’m not the type to get attached to a place when things can be taken away in an instant. So let me know what I can get and I’ll leave some credit in case I need a shipment. Do you still make deals for future procurements? I don’t know what I’ll find out there, but you’re always on the top of my buyer list.”
Neddy scowls and uses a cloth to clean the side of a sports car of a faint paw print on the red paint. “You’re going to find death and pain out there. Only the desperate, feral, and criminally insane wander the land now, but I’m not the type to stop a stubborn woman from tossing her life away. At least your intentions are honorable, which is a lot more than I can say for your new friend. Traveling with a serial killer is a level of stupid that I thought died out during the rioting days. Can you trust him?”
“Trust who?” Lloyd asks, walking out from behind the sports car. He drops his two bags at Cassidy’s feet and holds out his hand with a grin. “I realized I don’t have anything to trade with to get clothes and toys. Can I have my allowance, mommy?”
“What are you going to buy, Lloyd?” the young woman asks, her hand on their bag of trading supplies. She sees a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, the two orbs becoming less intimidating every time she meets their gaze. “I’ll give you enough for clothes, some food of your own choosing, and a gun. I recommend a pistol with lots of ammo, but we have to save as much as we can for Nebraska.”
“I’ll agree to the first two items, but I don’t like guns.”
“You’re a serial killer who hates guns?”
Lloyd feigns being wounded and spits on the ground, growling at a nearby cat that is sneaking up on him. “I don’t hate them, but they’re no fun. You kill from a distance and the person is dead by the time you get to them. Maybe they’re barely alive or wounded, but one always has to shoot to kill. Otherwise, what’s the point of having a gun in the first place? I don’t like that method. My prey needs to stare into my eyes as the first spark of pain ripples through their veins. Without that opening grimace, or whatever face they make, I don’t get the same thrill.”
“You won’t last long without some kind of firearm,” Neddy interjects, speaking more to Cassidy than Lloyd. Stroking his beard, the trader goes through a few of the apartment pictures before making a decision. “Wait here and I’ll throw in a special item. Consider it my way of welcoming you to the outsider world, Mr. Tenay. Though I’ll warn you now that it won’t be easy to find ammunition for this thing.”
Lloyd watches as Neddy jogs to a nearby shed, the wooden door creaking loud enough for them to hear even from far away. Cassidy takes the opportunity to stand on the pickup truck and examine the collection of vehicles. Knowing Neddy’s reputation, she is sure each one is filled with gas and has a fresh battery. Being a former mechanic, the trader has kept his merchandise in perfect condition, which makes it even more difficult to choose a ride. Her eyes fall on a large van, but the thought of having to take it off road makes her see every flaw in the design. The faster cars are not an option since there is very little trunk space and they have a reputation for being useless against the war machines that bandits have become rather fond of. Cassidy wonders about the truck she is standing on, but a puddle of rain water in the bed means all of their supplies would be exposed. A tarp could fix that problem, but that could make it more difficult to access weapons in an emergency and allow for thieves to easily take what they want at rest stops.
A distant vehicle catches her attention at the same time Neddy steps out of the shed and jogs back to his customers. He hands Lloyd a black paintball gun and three bottles of pellets, each one a different color. There are already a few of the black orbs in the weapon, the other two varieties being red and yellow. With an amused chuckle, the killer puts the ammunition in one of their bags and aims the gun at a man standing on the other side of the fence. He fires the black pellet, which explodes against the unsuspecting target’s head and covers his face in a burst of tear-inducing powder. Unsure of what has happened, the stranger wails before running into a table and getting punched out by an angry merchant.
“I’ll throw in some pressurized air tanks, but those are easy to find out there. Especially if you rarely use the thing,” Neddy explains while handing over some handwritten maintenance instructions. The sadistic glint in Lloyd’s eyes sends a chill down the trader’s spine. “The black ones are pepper, which will cause tears and blindness. Red ones are cayenne, which is rather painful. The yellows are filled with a combination of itching powder and ipecac, so those need to hit around the mouth. All of them should stun a person who doesn’t have a mask or helmet, giving you enough time to do what you want. I still think you won’t last a week without getting a real gun, but I’m not one to argue with a man like you.”
“I don’t say this often, but thanks,” Lloyd replies, tucking the instructions into a pocket he has sewn onto his orange pants. “I’ll leave this with the missus while I get myself some clothes and food. By the way, has anybody heard from Hawaii? I always liked the pineapple that came from there.”
Neddy shrugs and rubs his head, sweat dripping down his brow. “Nobody has heard from Hawaii. We assume it’s been taken over by another country or left to survive on its own. Same with Alaska and the territories.”
“Got it, but it’s pronounced Hawaii.”
“I said Hawaii.”
“No. You said Hawaii.”
“We’re saying the same word.”
“Guess this joke doesn’t work on paper,” the serial killer replies, earning odd stares from the others. “Never mind. I’ll be back with my stuff in a bit.”
“Don’t kill anybody, Lloyd,” Cassidy requests, watching her companion leave. He is already out of the lot when she realizes he never took anything to trade with. “That fucking idiot. I’m going to have to waste more time now. Hopefully he doesn’t do anything stupid before we’re done here. So what about a deal for future merchandise? Actually, I want to show you the vehicle that I want and we can work from there.”
Cassidy takes all of the bags and trudges through the lines of cars until she comes to a dark blue jeep, a trio of floodlights on its roof. Testing the tires, she can see that all of them are full and designed to survive simple punctures. Peering into the front seat, she is happy to see a CD player since digital devices are nearly useless and the radio stations are spotty once you get away from the bigger cities. She can see that the jeep has enough space for their clothes, food, and weapons. There will even be room for an extra person if she needs to hire guides or caught a bounty along the way. Knocking on the door, Cassidy’s eyebrow arches at the solid sound and shoots Neddy a curious smirk.
“Some bulletproofing on the front doors and windshield. The tires are the type to handle getting a nail stuck in them and the engine is pretty powerful,” he replies while proudly puffing out his chest. The trader tenderly strokes the hood, which has been lovingly waxed and polished to make the vehicle look new. “This is one of the beauties that I take out for spins. Nobody has ever shown interest in her or been able to afford her. At least until now. Your mother helped me a lot over the years. She brought me some impressive merchandise and took o
ut bandits whenever they gave me trouble. Woman even taught my oldest son how to cook, which my wife and I really appreciate.”
“What are you saying?” Cassidy excitedly asks, her serious demeanor melting as she thinks about her mother’s adventures. She clears her throat and tosses her bags into the backseat where she notices a jack and some flares. “I mean, I know what you’re saying. Just need to know the specifics of the deal.”
“With everything I owe your mother, the apartment, and the stuff you left behind, this car and whatever else you need is yours,” Neddy replies, handing the keys and an eight ball-shaped keychain to the young woman. He draws a contract of ownership out of his pocket and uses the hood of a nearby sedan to fill in the information. “Now, do you have a list of everything else you need? I’ll have to send a message to my people to get things out of the stock room. It’s in the Coliseum’s basement, so we can drive the jeep over there once your friend gets back.”
“I fucking love it when a deal is made quickly.”
“Do you have to curse like that?”
“Sorry. I curse when I’m excited.”
“Just like your mother.”
“Then I’ll keep doing it.”
Cassidy hands her list over to Neddy, who gives her the contract to sign. He is only a few items in when she gives him back the paper and climbs into the jeep. Organizing the bags in the back, she makes sure the weapons are easier to access than the clothes. She moves a few juice boxes and snack bars into the glove compartment, where she is happy to find a working flashlight and loaded revolver. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Cassidy gets the mirrors and chair adjusted as if preparing for her first driving test. Flipping down the sun visor, a pack of old CD’s falls into her lap and she does her best to put it back up. With the straps broken, she gives up and tosses the collection on top of the dashboard.
“Let me read the list to you and make sure I have it right,” Neddy says while leaning through the open window. He waits for Cassidy to finish inspecting the vehicle, the young woman discovering a pair of sunglasses he dropped during his last drive. “You want two biohazard suits, five rifles, two shotguns, ten handguns, ammunition for all, a box of grenades, two extra car batteries, three water jugs, nonperishable food for a week, two sleeping bags, two toiletries kits, and an Iowa decal. The most difficult thing will be the grenades, but I think I have a belt in stock. Is there anything you might have forgotten?”
“Extra boot laces, some lighters, screwdrivers, ratchet set, megaphone, and a working compass,” Cassidy answers after a few seconds of thinking. She taps at the CD player and frowns at the selection, Neddy’s taste in music not matching her own. “Maybe some collections from the late 1990’s and early 2000’s? You can take these jazz ones back. Although, I think I’ll keep this rock band’s greatest hits one. Before my time, but my mom loved these guys. Between you and me, Neddy, I can’t believe she’s gone and I’m on my own.”
“You were always one of the lucky ones around here considering you’ve never lost anyone until now,” the trader replies, which causes the blonde to flinch. He pats her on the arm and smiles, his other hand taking the CDs. “Sorry. Forgot about what happened during your first year. Anyway, you’re not really alone. You have that maniac with you. I said it was stupid to travel with him, but keeping a psycho by your side might be enough to scare the other monsters away. Hope he doesn’t cause you any trouble.”
Cassidy is about to respond when she hears a chorus of shouting in the distance and turns to see Lloyd sprinting into the lot through one of the side gates. The cats hiss and bound around him, stopping when the man barks at them like an enraged dog. He has two large bags filled with clothes and food, some of which fall onto the ground as he runs. A mob of angry traders and buyers are approaching with various weapons held in the air. Badly aimed bullets ping off cars as Lloyd reaches the jeep and scrambles inside. Stuffing his supplies into the backseat, he smiles at the others and straps on his seatbelt.
“Apparently, it’s very bad to kill a trader,” Lloyd states, holding up his hand to stop Neddy from doing anything drastic. “One guy gave me all that stuff to kill a competitor. I thought that was how things worked, so I got my payment first and did the job. Then people got angry, I slit the throat of the guy who tricked me, and now we should probably get out of here. By the way, I love your choice in transportation. Simple, tough, and really screams that you’re a woman who gets shit done.”
“We can’t leave,” Cassidy argues, drawing her handgun. The sound of other vehicles starting up outside of the fence makes her groan and flick the safety off her weapon. “None of our supplies are here. We need those to survive, much less get to San Francisco. How could you even think that an assassination was a good idea?”
Neddy hops onto the side of the jeep and leans further into the window, making it look like he is trying to stop them. “Sounds like someone tried to use your reputation against you, so I’d keep your last name a secret, Lloyd. Now we have a deal, so I’m going to help you without getting in trouble. Punch me in the face to knock me away and drive through the fence. I’ll have your supplies sent to Teaneck, New Jersey, which is where you have to start from anyway. It should take only a day or two to set up the order, but it will depend on how much of a mess you leave for me to clean up.”
“Thanks, Neddy. I’ll find a way to get back here and repay you. Don’t take this out of my credit though.”
“I promise. Now try not to break my nose.”
Flicking the safety back on, Cassidy strikes the bald man in the face with the butt of her gun and sends him toppling to the ground. Turning on the jeep, she looks for the quickest and safest route out of the area. Several pickup trucks, sedans, and motorcycles are already on the move outside of the fence. Not finding any way around them, Cassidy stomps on the gas pedal and crashes through the metal barrier. She swerves to avoid the first of the trucks and uses her back end to smash a bike, the rider tumbling to the ground and skidding into the path of a car. The other driver tries to avoid the man, which flips the bigger vehicle and causes enough chaos to give Cassidy an open path to the exit.
“You forgot to put your seatbelt on.”
“Shut the fuck up, Lloyd!”
*****
The jeep hurtles through a large hole in the parkway divider, the threat of incoming traffic nothing more than a faded memory. Only three of their pursuers manage to follow with a fourth smashing into the gap and blocking the path. Not wanting to be an easy target, Cassidy keeps their vehicle swerving from one lane to another. She can hear bullets pinging off the asphalt and the abandoned cars that have been moved to the side of the road. There is another hole in the divider right before an overpass, so she drives through at the last second. Sliding into the tunnel, Cassidy watches the other vehicles pass the gap before making a tire-screeching U-turn to go in the opposite direction. Five motorcycles are heading toward them, but the heavy jeep and its driver’s refusal to get out of the way makes them an easily scattered threat. One of the bikers is unable to swerve to the side and he crashes onto the hood while his ride is sent spinning into an abandoned van.
“Get off my car!” Cassidy shouts as she reaches out the window. Grabbing the man by the ankle, she yanks him off the hood and lets him tumble into the concrete divider. “This is really going to cost me. Do you know what the penalty for killing a trader on Long Island is? They kill you unless you escape to the mainland. Then you’re exiled until you find something that the Trade Barons want more than revenge. I don’t have time to go on a treasure hunt. Would you take off those sunglasses and stop humming car chase music?”
“I was only trying to complete the scene,” Lloyd argues as he calmly fires a pellet at a sedan driver. Having mixed the three types of ammo, he is happy to see a yellow orb burst on the woman’s mouth. “There’s the scratching. Now the nausea. We have a spinning and flipping car, folks. Oh, and there goes either the guy in the passenger seat or a really big ragdoll. You know, I’m starti
ng to like what all of you have done with the place.”
“Stop killing people!” the blonde shouts, veering away from a large truck. She narrowly avoids slamming into a small car, the jeep moving off the road to complete the turn. “The more bodies we leave, the harder it will be to regain the Trade Barons’ favor. At least Neddy will send us what we need and . . . this is not the fucking time to change clothes!”
Lloyd stops with his head peeking out of his blood-covered shirt, which is high enough to reveal his scarred stomach. Figuring that he has come too far to stop, he yanks off the garment and hurls it out the window. He pouts when it flies over a car instead of covering the driver’s side of the windshield and causing a crash. Blindly reaching back, he takes a random shirt out of his bags and examines the black top in the side view mirror. The red and black mask of an old comic book character stares back at him, the face giving the illusion of grinning beneath the fabric.
“I remember reading this guy’s series before the Internet made him so popular and he turned up everywhere. Ugh, that sounded so pretentious that I’m tempted to stab myself. Hey, can we still see movies because I want to see his?” Lloyd asks while tying the laces of the black sneakers he hastily put on before making a mess at the Coliseum. “I really like t-shirts with pictures on them. They bring attention to what I’m wearing instead of my face. You can start a conversation about them too. Nice way to meet people and find out if they’re worth leaving alive or not. For example, I have a shirt with another hero and if somebody tells me that the bastard can defeat every other character then I know they have to die. I mean, he’s nothing more than a child-endangering bill-”
Crossing Bedlam Page 3