Seven Days To Brooklyn: A Sara Robinson Adventure

by Christopher Westley

  “Hey, wait,” Mac yells to her. “They look like they mean business.”

  “Nope, we’re good; come on.”

  Sara makes it to the top of the hill before Ava and Mac and is shaking hands with one of the elderly gentlemen while another one of the guys is patting her on the back.

  Mac is thoroughly confused by this time as he turns to Ava. “What is it with that girl? She has no fear. Charms the locals, and now, this.”

  “You’ve known her longer than I have; you tell me.”

  They both continue up the hill and introduce themselves to what they think is the leader. He brushes his hand through his long beard and then extends his hand to Mac.

  “I’m Billy; that’s Dusty and Frank over there.” Billy looks over at the other two guys standing closest to him. One of them has an equally impressive beard that is chest length. The last gentleman, holding the double barrel shotgun, is clean-shaven except for a bushy mustache.

  “So, Sara, has been a while. What brings you up here?” Billy takes his arm and puts it around her shoulder as they turn and walk to an open doorway into a barn structure. A sign over the open doorway reads Dance Hall NO Smoking Inside.

  Sara looks up into the eyes of this stranger, or so it would seem to Ava and Mac. Her voice starts to quiver when she talks, but she regains composure.

  “I’m on my way to Brooklyn.”

  “Ah, yes, Brooklyn. Heard there is a safe haven there. That’s a good plan; your idea, or?” His voice trails off.

  “Dad told me to go there right after the virus started to spread. He said it is one of the only places that we’re safe from the plague.”

  This is the most Sara has said to anyone in a long time, and it is apparent to Mac and Ava that this new friend is actually an old friend of Sara’s. The group follows them into the building, and they all sit down at the picnic table seating that is in the center of the room. Off to their right is a small stage that has been the venue of some of the greatest music artists in the world. Sara sits between Billy and Dusty. Frank, sitting across from them, looks at Sara and then asks about her dad. She pauses at his request, and a tear builds up into the corner of one of her eyes.

  “He’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Sara. It’s okay now. You’re safe with us here,” Frank says with a strong and reassuring voice.

  “We are only staying tonight, then north.”

  “That’s all right; you guys can stay here as long as you want to. We’ve got plenty of food, water, and shelter.” Frank gives Sara a hug as he finishes his sentence. “Now, how bout’ something to eat. How does that sound, Sara? You guys hungry?”

  Sara grins and hugs Frank back. “Yes, I’m starving.”

  Frank motions to a couple of the other survivors, and they disappear off to the right of the stage. Returning a few minutes later, they are carrying a couple of baskets of fried food. “Here, you guys refill on this, and we can catch up on old times.” Frank stands up and waves to the others to leave the building.

  Sitting alone, the three devour the baskets of fried meat. Ava bites into a piece and replies, “Chicken.”

  Sara looks at her and starts to giggle. “You are all kinds of stupid, aren’t you? See any chickens when we walked up?”

  “Well, no. But tastes like chicken anyway.”

  Sara looks back at her and starts to smile as she speaks with a mouthful. “Rattlesnake, that’s what it is, and delicious, too.”

  “Beats canned hash. I don’t care what it is; I’m just glad your friends are welcoming us.” Ava replies.

  Mac is licking his fingers as he pours more salsa out from a bottle onto the snake. “What gives, Sara? Who are these guys?”

  Sara looks at him and starts to frown. “They’re just some of my dad’s friends that lived near Houston.” She twirls the snake between her fingers and is about to say something more about her long-lost friends, when Frank returns with three beers.

  “It’s all we got, the last of a long reserve. Enjoy these; then later we will put our hands on the six string for a jam session.”

  Mac and Ava quickly suck down the beer while Sara slowly sips on hers, making it last well into the afternoon and early evening.

  At seven thirty, Frank steps to the front of the stage and up to a microphone. It is not on but is more of a formality, and out of habit, he speaks into it.

  “We’d like to welcome our long-lost friend Sara Robinson to the Luckenbach dance hall, as well as her friends Ava and Mac.”

  Frank starts strumming the six string in a familiar tune that seems more like rock music than country to Mac. Sara starts humming along to a familiar 1980s tune, tapping her left foot to the beat of the bass drum.

  “Hey, yeah, I know this one. The band that sang this in the ’80s had long beards just like these guys and wore flashy suit jackets with blue jeans and dark shades. You know, what was their name?” He looks over to Sara, who is still rocking out to the music, oblivious to what he has just said. “Ava, don’t you think these guys look really familiar?” She sets her beer down and nods in agreement. Mac turns back to Sara and presses her for more information.

  “So, where did your dad know these guys from?”

  “Just a bunch of Dad’s friends from Pasadena. Every couple of months, he would invite them out to our ranch for a bar-b-que, and they would play music for our friends.”

  “That would probably be too convenient to find a famous band these days, but surely these guys are talented.” Mac replies.

  The glow of multiple oil lamps fills the wood dance hall and spills out into the darkness of the town from the open windows. Around the room, twelve or maybe fifteen ragtag survivors are swaying back and forth while seated at the other picnic tables nearby.

  The evening hours slip away, and soon, the hour hand is striking midnight. Finishing the last few notes of another catchy ’80s tune, Frank steps back up and leans into the microphone. “That’s all; thank you, and have a good night.” He exits the stage after placing his guitar on a stand and walks over to Sara, who is standing nearby. “Well? How was it?”

  She looks at the burly old fellow before clasping her arms around him. “It was awesome, Uncle Frank, just as good as when you played at the ranch.”

  “Thanks sweetie, now you guys better bunk down for the night, and we can meet up in the morning before you head up the road.”

  “All right.” Sara replies.

  6:00 a.m.

  Sara, Mac, and Ava have peacefully slept the night away and are awakened by knocking on the door of the cabin. The rustle of the doorknob and the squeaky door heightens their senses, telling them someone is coming in.

  Reaching over to her backpack, Sara grabs the pistol out and pulls the hammer back.

  Just then, Frank’s bearded face peers around the corner of the door. “Ya’ll awake yet? Breakfast is on. Better get up and get over to the store; we’ll keep it hot for ya.” With that, he turns around, leaving the door open behind him.

  Sara swings her feet out from under the sheets and over the edge of the bed. The size six boots are sitting neatly below her feet as she slides into them. Lacing up her boots, she is up and out of the room in a mere thirty seconds.

  “Damn, she is so quick; must be the age working on her side,” Ava says.

  “Yes, there is nothing holding her back when it comes to food. Or killing! We better get our breakfast before the squirt eats it all.” Mac laughs as he stands up and stretches.

  The duo pull on their shoes and make their way over to the store, where they can hear chitchat and the clanging of pots from the rear of the building. Walking over wooden flooring and into the small bar at the back of the store, Mac and Ava step into a makeshift dining room set up with a large, wooden table. Sara is seated at the head of the table, with the band members around her. Behind the bar, a heavyset woman with a country apron is cooking eggs, bacon, and toast on top of an old, rusty, wood cook stove. She turns, looks at the pair, and grumbles.

 
“Sit down! Order will be out in a few minutes.”

  Mac and Ava grab seats next to Sara and are aware that she has these gentlemen in the palm of her hand, so to speak.

  “Yep, they’ll do just fine. Not sure if my compadres can ride, but they will have to learn fast.” Sara is still chewing her food when she blurts out the next statement. “Can you guys ride motorcycles?” She throws them a look of disgust while she waits for their reply.

  Ava glances at Mac before answering. “Yes, I rode dirt bikes years ago.”

  “Well?”

  “Never rode one, but there is a first time for everything, right?” He says with a grin.

  “See what I have to deal with? A dentist who has never ridden a bike and a debutant that wears more eyeliner than an ’80s rock band.”

  Sara keeps talking away as she shovels in more food. Her crowd of gentlemen rockers smile as they listen intently to the ramblings of a twelve-year-old. Directly across the table from where Sara is seated, Frank is stroking his long beard.

  “We will pull the bikes around front and get you guys provisioned for the rest of your trip north. Should get you up there in nothing flat.”

  He turns as he is talking and nods at two guys standing near the door.

  Moments later, the low rumbling of bike motors hits their ears. Jumping up, Sara runs outside to see two vintage Triumph motorcycles roll up in front of her, one of them complete with an attached sidecar. She runs around to the sidecar and jumps in. The guys who brought the bikes around turn them off and step out of the way.

  Looking over at Mac and Ava, Sara says, “Let’s go; ain’t got all day. Ava, you’ll be riding with me. Mac, yer on your own. Good luck.”

  Frank walks over to where Sara is seated in the sidecar and places his hand on her shoulder.

  “Well, little lady, this is where we will have to say goodbye and part ways. Until we meet again.” Sara stands up and wraps her arms around his neck, giving him a big, genuine hug, her eyes slightly tearing up.

  “Thanks, Uncle Frank.”

  8

  MAC STRADDLES THE unfamiliar contraption as he tries to get his bearings, his hands clasping the handlebar grips in both hands. He listens eagerly as Frank goes through how to shift gears and use the clutch while increasing throttle.

  “Okay,” Frank says. “Got it? Now you’re off.”

  “Sure that’s all it takes, right? Even a child could ride one of these,” Mac says with uneasiness in his voice. As he revs up the motor and eases out the clutch, the bike lurches forward, and the engine sputters and dies. Stepping on the kick-starter again, Mac starts the bike and repeats the process, giving the bike a bit more gas before easing out on the clutch. The bike jumps forward and up the road to Ava and Sara, who have already made it to the outskirts of town, where they are waiting for him to catch up. Mac glides up and slams on the front brake, driving the handlebars into the forks before the bike comes to a stop.

  “See, no problem, got the hang of it already.” This makes Sara and Ava giggle.

  “Okay, Sara, where to?” Ava asks.

  Sara pulls out a small notebook and thumbs through the pages to a map. Tracing the handwritten road lines with her finger, she reads out loud. North to Highway Two Ninety, about seven miles from here, then east till we hit Interstate Ten. From there, we will be on track till we get to Highway Two Eighty-Five.”

  Ava starts the bike with one swift kick and revs up the engine. Slowly easing out the clutch, they roll forward and through the gate, past the guards who are wielding a pair of AK 47s. Mac is close behind as they roll out of town to Highway 290. Minutes later, the trio are rumbling down the two-lane highway, the purr of vintage British engineering clicking away under their crotches. The miles turn into hours while Sara goes into and out of sleep, comfortably bundled up in the sidecar and oblivious of her surroundings. The two-lane highway is traded for the large interstate as the trio continues its journey westward.

  Two hours later

  “I need to pull over,” Mac yells above the wind noise at Ava.

  “Why?”

  “It’s kind of personal. You know, call of nature.”

  She looks back over at him, shaking her head. “Okay, okay, let’s find a spot to pull off.”

  She can tell he is not kidding by the expression on his face. The two scan the highway for a wide spot that is suitable for Ava’s bike and sidecar but cannot find a decent spot. Riding along a few more minutes, Mac spots a sign. Pointing, he motions to Ava to follow him. Mac speeds up and takes the lead, looking for the exit for the previous sign. Off in the distance, he sees the exit sign: Rest Area 1 Mile.

  Gunning the bike, he speeds way ahead of Ava and pulls off the highway into the vacant rest area. Ava pulls in a minute later next to the abandoned bike. Looking around, she cannot spot him and wonders if he is inside the small, block building just in front of them. Large cacti line the sidewalks in front of them, followed by a conveniently placed sign between two cacti:

  Warning: Rattlesnakes Stay on the Path.

  “Where are we?” Sara has just woken up from a deep sleep.

  Looking over at her in the sidecar, Ava notices a softer side to this pint-sized assassin. “Not sure. We just pulled over to take a pit stop.”

  A loud crash comes from inside the building, followed by Mac shoving the men’s room door open and frantically running toward them. “We got to go now!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, still pulling his pants.

  Ava and Sara look at each other in bewilderment but decide whatever is coming after him will not be pleasant. Sara pulls the pistol out from under the blanket and prepares herself for imminent battle. Standing up on the kick-starter, Ava thrusts her body weight down, and the motor roars to life, settling into the familiar low rumble. By this time, Mac has run all the way to his bike and is starting it, when his assailant appears through the half-opened door of the bathroom. Hysterical now, half laughing, half crying, Sara looks over at Mac and yells, “That’s it? The monster has made an appearance, and the weeny runs like a schoolgirl. A little possum scared you?”

  “How was I supposed to know what it was? I’m just sitting there minding my own business, you know. In the process of doing the daily deed, when I hear this rustling and low growl coming from the far stall. Figured it was about time to cut things off and get moving before things turned sour.”

  Looking back at the possum, Sara lines up the front and rear site of the pistol, squeezing off one well-placed shot. The animal collapses in a heap. Jumping up out of the sidecar, Sara runs over and picks it up by a hind leg, holding it up for everyone to see. “Lunch.”

  “Oh, great. Another fine meal in wasteland America!” replies Ava with a sigh.

  Sara walks back over to the sidecar and ties the meal onto the rear luggage rack of the bike before jumping in.

  “Onward.” She points to the interstate as she looks over at Ava.

  Ava guns the bike, and it shoots forward toward the on-ramp, followed closely by Mac. Within minutes, the familiar thump, thump, thump of the concrete soothes Sara into another round of deep sleep, but not before she has queued up another round of heavy metal on her iPod. Ava tilts her head to the left and can tell Mac is getting the hang of riding already. Giving him a nod, she guns the throttle wide open and takes off ahead of him, quickly clicking off the miles to their next turn off.

  Hours later, Ava reaches over and shakes Sara, startling her.

  “What? What’s going on? Ah, damn it, we’re still in Texas aren’t we?”

  “Yes, but I just passed a road sign that said Fort Stockton, ten miles. We should stop there and see if we can find some gas.”

  Sara opens up the small notebook and retraces the handwritten map. Flipping to the next page, she sees Fort Stockton printed in the middle, with a road number printed next to it: 285.

  “We need to stop here,” Sara says, pointing to the map and holding it so Ava can see it.

  “Right.”

  Minutes later,
Mac and Ava steer the bikes off the interstate and come to the stop sign at the end of the ramp. Just off to their right is a gas station. A sign out near the pumps tells them what they already know: Out of Gas.

  Sara points straight ahead. “That way; we are only minutes away from him.”

  “Minutes from who, Sara?” Mac asks.

  “Pete! We need to see Pete! He’s here, and I want to see Pete before we leave Texas.”

  Ava looks over at her new friend and just shakes her head back and forth as she steers the bike ahead. Driving into town, they pass a few more gas stations with the same ominous message. Abandoned building after abandoned building materializes on both sides of the two-lane road.

  Two minutes later, Sara jumps up, standing in the sidecar while they are still moving at thirty miles per hour. “Pull over! Pull over!”

  Ava pulls the bike up in front of a huge, ten-foot-tall statue of a roadrunner. Jumping out of the sidecar, Sara runs up and jumps onto the base of the monument. Turning around, she starts clapping her hands together and yelling. “Paisano Pete, Paisano Pete. I finally got to see Paisano Pete.”