Asunder

by Tonnie Johnson

  Varick’s gaze shifted from one face to the next and he became… he couldn’t tell himself. But he felt a sudden urge to smash it all down.

  Chuck, the big man, gave him a congratulatory pat on the back. "Yeah! That’s what I’m talkin' about! Kill these fuckin’ nig—"

  A fist slammed hard cracking teeth and spraying spit and blood. The crowd went silent once more, another moved to attack, veins popping, ready to put Varick down for what he had done.

  Varick put him down fast, pounding his fists into his jaw feeling the bone give way. Several girls jumped on his broad back only to get knocked and flipped away like so many pests. Men came after him, more, and more, and Varick became an unstoppable force relishing in the blood and pain. 'Smash it all down’ he laughed in his mind and when Eurich came at him like a freight train, he stepped to the side planting a swift kick to the side of his head knocking him out cold. Stacey ran to him screaming and holding him while several more Nazis approached with bats and bottles, all of them fearful of Varick and fearful of his next move.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you!?" Stacey cried.

  Varick watched them all with staunch indifference.

  Joe wheeled out Varick's motorcycle. "Here man! You gotta get outta here!"

  Varick glanced at his now former girlfriend crying over her new lover before shrugging his shoulders and driving away on his bike.

  Varick waited in front of the red-light eager to get home, to hell with friends, and women were enough to give any man a headache. A black SUV pulled up next to him blasting the bass of a rap tune. One thug laughed as he glanced out the window coming almost face-to-face with Varick.

  "I don’t need this shit." Varick shook his head irritated.

  "Hey isn’t that the mother fucking Aryan nigga who tore our place up?" The thug pointed at Varick.

  Varick looked into the vehicle. It was Riddick, the one sporting the long thick dreads and facial goatee. "Oh, fuck!" Varick sped up fast through the red light with the SUV filled with Riddick and his crew peeling off after him swerving the winding roads, passing every red light, not slowing for the yellow.

  The vehicle followed fast, music blaring a chain of meshed sounds. The nearby cop stepped on the gas to follow the reckless drivers and judging by the SUV's constant veering to ram the motorcyclist off the road he doubted they were working together. The vehicles blazed ahead; threatening to smash any car or pedestrian entering their path.

  Several drivers refused to move to the side of the road, they only made it worse for themselves when the gang of thugs clipped a driver sending them crashing into a divider. They flew by the parked police car slightly rocking it by the sheer force of the wind and they soon followed the action, to stop the chaos, but neither party yielded. Not the man on the motorcycle or the men in the SUV. The chase continued, a turn here, another there. Backtracking neighborhoods before stops and various pitfalls.

  A Helicopter hovered above, joining the high-speed chase as Varick continued to evade his pursuers. Finally, they reached Greek town. Varick had no idea what he would do next or if he should allow himself to be captured by the police to avoid Riddick and his crew or just continue to try to out run them both. Out of his peripheral, on the people mover, in what looked like a nasty battle, was...'that girl.'

  "Shit!" Varick lost control, the motorcycle wobbled and spun hard and fast sliding and sparking down the stretch of road into a blast of fire and smoke.

  With his bike destroyed, charred in the fire, Varick wondered just how he lived through that massive explosion. The heat and the orange ball of fire blasting in his face and skidding along the ground. He checked his arms by rolling up the sleeve of his form fitted shirt, torn from using his forearm to brace himself, the wounds weren't deep, but then again, he'd always been a quick healer.

  "Motherfucker." Riddick called from bloodied lips. He was crawling away from the burnt wreck and reaching out for Varick as if he could murder him with his mind if he could.

  "Fuck!" Varick ran off but stopped to compose himself. 'The bitch is crawling; no way is he gonna catch up to me.' He reasoned. The crowd passed him by to gawk at the fiery mess, but he had no time to think about it. 'His shop should be nearby.' Varick huffed as he walked away from the curious onlookers.

  He walked the dark and gritty streets of desolation. Two cats cried in anger before the mewling of lovemaking were heard, the houses were mostly torn with wood and glass scattered along what would have been a lawn. An old woman peeked out the window of the lone house which barely stood amongst the debris. Varick crossed the street feeling the crunch of broken glass underfoot. He was almost there, he saw the lone bluish hued lights in the near claustrophobic dark, the byproduct of the city saving electricity and trying to push out the straggling residents like the old woman in the lonely home.

  The long-bearded man watched the news on TV shaking his head.

  "Pierre. I need help, man." Varick said finally reaching the small chop shop.

  "You see this shit...? Whoa. You were there?" Pierre said looking over Varick's cuts and bruises.

  Varick wiped the blood and soot from his face. "Yeah, and I need to borrow one of your bikes, at least until next week when I get a new one. It’s fucking totaled."

  "Yeah, man. What the fuck happened?"

  "Riddick was chasing me, I got into an accident and then shit blew up... or it blew up and then I crashed, I can't tell anymore."

  "Holy shit you were like, right there!" Pierre said excited. He picked out a motor dirt bike and wheeled it over.

  "Yeah, man." Varick hopped onto the bike revving up the engine. "Thanks. I don’t want them finding me here."

  "Stay safe, brother."

  An hour later he reached home, a single-story house—a little worse for wear. The yellow paint chipped off the outside walls and the grass was patchy and dry, the neighborhood was quiet, for tonight with the occasional blast of a bass from a car passing by. The redheaded woman, named Martha, sat at the kitchen table smoking her third pack of cigarettes and tapping her feet nervously on the worn yellowing tiles.

  "Hey Ma."

  "Did you hear the news? Did it have something to do with you?"

  "Why do you think that had anything to do with me?"

  "Nothing." She shook her head, tired but stood once she saw his cut up face, and she grabbed him bringing him closer to her. "What trouble you got yourself into now?"

  "Nothing." He pulled away gently and grabbed some juice out the fridge, taking a large gulp.

  "You eat anything?"

  "Did you?"

  "No."

  "I’ll make you something." He opened the freezer to see what they had available, nothing he could make quickly. He opened the cupboards and found something he could work with, nothing too strenuous. Just a can of spaghetti-Os which he added packaged meatballs and a box of spring rolls left in the freezer. He picked at his meal before placing his dishes in the sink, his stomach felt tender, warm, and bloated. He was ready to lie fall onto his bed and pull the warm covers over his head.

  "Try to get some rest." Martha yawned getting up to head to bed.

  "I will." Varick replied, his body feeling heavy and sore. He leaned against the counter for a long moment, beads of sweat formed on his brow and his head pulsed with the beat of his heart. He finally trekked up the stairs, he stopped at the door and peered inside. The small boy of eight curled under the covers, asleep to the world. 'Good.' Varick thought closing the door. He wondered what he was going to tell Steven tomorrow, the young boy who looked highly on his older brother's antics within the brotherhood. Or more importantly, what would his mother say about the news? He shook his head then regretted the action when a sharp pain took hold. Right now, he needed some well-deserved sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Varick slept and shivered, and sweated, with no idea how many hours had passed since the explosion or if they had passed at all. The outside world meant less than nothing to him. He drowned in a sudden burst of s
ickness. The phone continued to ring, urging him to pick it up to cease its relentless badgering.

  "Ye... Yeah?"

  "Varick." He heard his mother on the other end. "Thank God I finally got through to you."

  "What happened?" He felt his stomach tighten and nausea hit him.

  "I tried to wake you before I left for work but you were looking like shit. I told some of the other nurses about you being at the attack and your illness. Look, you need to report to U of M, sweetheart."

  "I will." He sighed, tired. "I do feel like shit."

  "Please hurry, they say it’s some sort of outbreak occurring. I can’t go there but I will call when I get off work."

  He hung up and wiped the sweat from his naked body, his small red Reichsadler tattoo proudly displayed on the back of his neck along with the iron cross with a small swastika in the center of his right forearm, on his left facing wrist were a small pair of lightning bolts. He changed into a rusty green shirt and blue jeans. The unbuttoned V-collar displaying his swastika tat on his chest. He sat back down, his body feeling a weight pressing him onto the bed.

  He woke up again with no sense of the passages of time when Meg, a short-haired blonde who looked like she lived during the height of the 90's grunge era entered with Joe. The straight forward woman stood at the doorway of his small messy bedroom until he opened his eyes and acknowledged her presence. "Your mother called and said you weren’t feeling too good. She didn't know if you made it to the hospital or not, looks like the answer is not."

  Joe grabbed a chair next to the bed in the small junky space. Varick sat up, the sheets drenched in his sweat. Joe turned on the TV to the aftermath of the devastating series of explosions.

  "I’m gonna make you some chicken noodle soup." Meg headed out the room to the kitchen.

  "I was there." Varick wrapped himself in his blanket feeling a cold chill.

  "How?"

  " Riddick."

  "Yeah about that." Joe sighed. "He knows about his brother."

  "What?! How?"

  "I don't know." Joe shrugged. "After you left, they buried the body on Dixon's property."

  "They who?"

  "Eurich and some others." Joe paused fidgeting. "Anyway… so about last night… " He continued after a beat. "Was it over that nigger kid?" He stopped along with his heart and stumbled to correct his choice of words. "I mean black… kid?" he mumbled. "African-American?"

  Varick sighed while rubbing his sore head. "I don’t know."

  "Well, you gotta give me something. The things they said about you last night… look if I can spin it as you being emotional or something… I need something to get them off your case."

  "I don’t know if I even care." Varick shook his head.

  "But everything was cool last night until you killed that kid."

  "It had nothing to do with him."

  "Okay now you lost me." Joe said puzzled.

  Varick struggled to find the right words. "I don’t know if I can describe it to make anyone happy." He sighed. "That kid meant nothing to me. When you see an ant, you don’t care about where it’s going or what it’s doing. You step on it and keep going." Varick licked his dry lips, a pause as he tried to find the next batch of words to explain himself. "When you come across an ant hill filled with ants, it’s different… They’re all ants but now there's motivation. Like a child who stomps on the ant hill for fun. I couldn’t help seeing everyone there as ants cheering the death of another ant and like a child I stomped on the ant hill… for no real reason. I wanted to do it."

  Joe watched his long-time friend for a lengthy time before sitting back in his chair and running his fingers through his long hair. "There’s not much I can do with that."

  "Good. Cause it’s about time he got away from them, anyway." Meg entered with the tray carrying a bowl of soup and crackers and placed it on the bed before folding her arms like a mama bear ready to discipline her cubs. "I can’t say much about what you did last night. Killing some kid and all and I know you most likely won't turn yourself in no matter how many times I beg you to do it, but if this is something that had to happen for you to finally get your head screwed on right then... I'll take it." She sighed.

  "Hey now, don’t go corrupting him!" Joe said before being struck by an epiphany. "Hey wait a minute… you don’t think I’m an ant, do you?"

  "No." Varick said indignant.

  "No, he’s just a sloth." Meg chimed in.

  "Ha Ha Ha." Joe sarcastically mocked.

  Meg turned her attention to Varick. "So, are you done with this Aryan shit?" She gestured toward his tattoos.

  "I guess so. I doubt I’ll be welcomed back with open arms anyway and I don’t really care if I am."

  "Good! I'm gonna bake some cookies to celebrate!"

  "There's nothin' to celebrate!" Joe protested.

  "Oh yes there is." She grinned. "Because Varick getting out means you're out too."

  "Whoa! What?" Joe gestured for her to stop. "I'm still in." he protested but without fervor in voice and body.

  "Oh please." Meg replied indifferent. "No one there likes you and Varick is your only friend, you get all your weed from James... who's black by the way. You can stop fronting now. So, I'm baking cookies with frosting and sprinkles in this bitch."

  Varick chuckled. "So, that's where you get your weed."

  "Shut it." Joe pointed a scolding finger at him.

  "I'm gonna have to put a rain check on the cookies. I need to get to the hospital." Varick stood up leaving the blanket on the bed. "I should do it before I get the urge to go back to sleep."

  "Okay." Meg flung the dish towel into the sink. "We'll be at the house, if you need anything."

  She opened her eyes and for a moment and she saw the blood coating the walls and arms and legs twisted undisciplined amongst each other, and the faces. Some stiffened with horror, others fear, anger, surprise, others laid there as if knocked out by some great force. She saw him, David shielding Linnea and Nina, their bodies frozen in time. She closed her eyes again; she believed that if she closed her eyes, it would make everything she saw disappear, as though she could will away not just the images but whatever horror that took place. She focused on the doors slamming shut, the booted feet stomping about the inside the ambulance, the sound of the engine starting.

  The bumps of the road and the breathing of the people surrounding her. She was hot, sweaty, feverish, and sore all over and every small movement felt like a weight pressed against whichever limb she tried to move.

  "Which terminal are we supposed to go to?" A feminine voice asked.

  "Hm, check the report, it should be in there." A man answered.

  Hazel tried to keep silent as she pulled the strap free from around her waist while shimming her legs free from her restraints. The man and woman continued to converse over the directions to the airport, they had nothing to worry about, the target was safe and secured inside and they were on their way to completing the simple task given with minimal effort aside from a few small road blocks. The driver must have gotten sick of slowing down because he suddenly turned on the siren. The combat knife sat holstered on the waist of the man who continued to converse with the woman. 'I can use that to cut my way out.' Hazel smiled at her small chance at freedom as she slipped her hands through the rubber gloved port, slowly, and steady she released the blade from the holster. The vehicle stopped with a heavy jolt and she pulled the knife free.

  "What the hell are you doing?" The woman shouted at the driver.

  "Will you two shut the hell up back there?" The impatient driver had enough.

  "You shut the hell up and drive!" The man fired back.

  Hazel slipped her upper body from the makeshift hole. Just as the vehicle shifted into gear.

  "What the fuck?" The black clad guard shouted. "She's awake!"

  "Get the fucking shot ready!" The woman yelled. "And you keep driving, go through all the lights I don't give a shit!"

  The man reached out to gra
b her, to stop her from breaking completely free of her bonds, but once he stepped too close Hazel raised the blade and plunging the sharp steel into his flesh cutting past the tissue and sinew in one motion. The woman was on her with the needle in hand and the two tussled about, she grabbed Hazel in a choke hold dropping the needle. The male reached for the needle when Hazel began to kick wildly slamming her foot into his face driving him back. Hazel screamed helpless and near drifting off into a slumber when she mustered the last ounce of strength she had driving the blade of the knife slicing the woman's ear. Hazel breathed again but only briefly, the man grabbed her leg causing her to stumble hitting her head on the metal rod of the bed which she tipped over in the struggle.

  A shot rung their ears, and the woman staggered away quickly mumbling almost incoherently as she searched herself for her missing gun.

  "No!" The guard yelled, pulling at Hazel who fired a shot into him, this time her action was intentional. He muttered a curse at her as he passed and plunged the needle into her calf.

  The van zig zagged along the road and the muddy grass, the driver startled by the fighting in the back and tumbled onto the grass. She watched the vehicle roll on until it flipped in a ditch.

  She sat up bruised from both the explosion and her latest ordeal. The needle had ripped through her skin and popped out, still full of the chemical they tried to inject her with. Injured and afraid she picked herself up and tried to regain some semblance of what happened and where she was. Which was an abandoned road, somewhere... a row of boarded up homes in the distance, at least she knew she wasn't that far out from the city. She was bleeding and in pain, and her hospital gown blew in the wind flashing her naked rear end for the world to see, she was glad she was the only living person within the vicinity, at least as far as she knew. She stared at the wreck for a long moment, her heart racing, fear paralyzing her. She had never seen a dead person before, not outside of TV and Jonas’s funeral. Hazel limped toward the quiet vehicle. The driver seemed to be dead from the impact…at least he didn’t move. The woman was now slumped against the wall, most likely moved there by the force of the crash while the male was sprawled about, blood pooling in the grooves of the floor. Taking a deep breath before the plunge, she quickly entered and undressed the woman and slipped on her army green jumper and black boots. "It's not a perfect fit, but at least my ass isn't exposed." She grabbed the gun and blade along with its holster. "They were fighting over a report." She climbed deeper inside the wreck grabbing the clipboard under the seat when a wet hand grabbed her.