by J. Thorn
John twisted in the bindings, his body contorting in an attempt to break free. Blood flooded his face while beads of perspiration exploded on his forehead.
“Jana, I’m sorry. I really am. She slipped me a roofie or some other kind of drug and I don’t remember anything. I have no idea what she did to me, honest.”
“I don’t care anymore, John. Since all this shit went down, I’ve wanted nothing more than to see your face again. I dreamt about what I would do and say to you if I ever got the chance. Honestly, I was convinced I was going to cut your dick off.”
“Jana, don’t do this. We can get through it.”
“No John, we can’t. You made your decisions and now you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”
John glared at Jana and pulled as hard as he could on the plastic zip ties keeping his wrists together.
“Let me go, Jana. I’m tired of fighting with you. If you don’t believe me, and think I intentionally set out to cheat on you, fine. If you think I hooked up with Sarah and deliberately sent you those pics, there ain’t nothing I can do about it. But I’m telling you right now that I won’t beg or plead for you, or my life. I’ve had it with the fucking Holy Covenant and all the bullshit that has gone down since. I’ve had it with the constant death and destruction.”
Jana picked up an old duffel bag and filled it with useful items from her own pantry, the one from another time, another universe. She bundled the oversized coat around her waist and checked the batteries on the flashlight. Jana walked past John on her way to the steps that led to the driveway.
“Know this,” said John. “Since this shit went down, I’ve done nothing but search for you. You were the only thing keeping me alive.”
Jana slid the wedding band off her finger and placed it on the step. The ring created a tinny vibration as it spun to rest.
“I’m joining the Holy Covenant, John. There isn’t any other option. I’m not spending my whole life running, fighting, and worrying about the future. I want to live. I can bullshit whoever might be in charge. I did Catholic school for eight years, remember?”
John sneered.
“Go right ahead and conform yet again. You call that living, and I call it dying. They’re gonna tell you what to say, think, and do. What kind of existence is that? I can’t, and I won’t do it. I’ll die fighting if I have to.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, John.”
Jana started up the next step, but then stopped and came back down and stood in front of John. She felt his rapid breathing on her cheek.
“We can build the new society, John. We can be part of the Covenant, the chosen few to live in the Thousand Year Peace.”
“You tell me we’re over and now you’re asking me to join you in the Holy fucking Covenant, brainwashed and brain dead? You should have cut my dick off and made things easier on both of us.”
Jana shook her head and climbed up the stairs, out of the cellar, and toward the driveway. She stopped at the top and shouted back down into the darkness.
“Good-bye, John.”
Chapter 52
John stole a restless sleep that night, as much as he could with the dead as roommates. When the sun rose the next morning, his joints ached and his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Reaching out with his right leg, John corralled an automatic weapon, useless though it was in his captive state. He hung there, his hands through the wall and tied together from the other side. John wished for any sign of life.
The first day slid into the second one, piling up time and thought into a mixture of vision and dementia. John’s thirst overtook his hunger and the uncomfortable feeling of sitting in his own waste. The smells of the room, while pungent, faded into the fabric of the experience. For hours on end, John tried pulling his wrists free of the plastic zip ties. He felt the warm blood running down his forearms and dripping from his elbows.
On the third day John watched an infant crawl around on the floor, eating bugs slithering through the eye sockets of the dead men. It murmered to him through the voice of his mother in unintelligible words. Even in his state, John understood that death by dehydration was approaching rapidly.
The morning sun landed on the driveway and danced around the room, filling his vision with traces of light and sound. The beams dispelled the demons of the night. John looked up and saw a figure coming down the steps. He put his chin to his chest to avoid the harsh glare on his eyes.
“Who the fuck are you?” John asked.
“I came to apologize.”
John recognized the voice.
“I sold you down the river, my man. I didn’t realize you had it in you. You’ve got the spirit. You are the voice of the dissident, the fire of rebellion.”
John sniffled and shooed a buzzing fly by blowing at it. The figure stepped out of the light and stood in front of John.
“Sully?”
“Yeah man, sort of. I’m kinda caught between places ‘cause I gotta set my wrongs right, if ya know what I mean.”
Sully pulled the edges of his Keepers of the Wormwood vest together. He stroked the long, red beard and flipped his hair back over his shoulder.
“Are you dead?” asked John.
Sully laughed.
“Are you?” he replied.
“I don’t know. I think it’d be better if I was.”
“Why is that?” Sully asked.
“I did wrong by my wife. I was taken advantage of, but I should’ve known better than to put myself in that situation.”
Sully cocked one eyebrow up.
“So you’re pissed because someone got one over on you?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Doesn’t sound like you give a shit about what you did to your wife.”
“I guess that’s because I didn’t do anything to her. The guilt disappears when someone leaves you for dead.”
“Where did she go?” asked Sully.
“She’s joining the Covenant.”
Sully whistled high and long.
“Sucks for you, bro.”
“If you’re my subconscious, please let me die. I’m tired of dealing with all the bullshit.”
Sully replied to John with a mockery of a military salute.
“Dude, I can’t move on until I straighten shit out. Do you want out of here or not?”
John laughed and his dry lips split. His swollen tongue did its best to answer Sully.
“Yeah, sure, whatever. Set me free, Sully, set me free.”
“Don’t be a dickhead about it, John. I got something for ya.”
Sully pulled a black patch from his front pocket. He held it up in front of John’s face and smiled.
“Official Member?” asked John.
“That’s right brother. I meant to get you a pledge vest, but that seems pretty pointless now. Seeing as how I’m the President of the Keepers of the Wormwood, I think I’m authorized to make you an official member.”
Sully tucked the patch inside John’s jeans’ pocket.
“Thanks, man.”
“You earned it, bro. Listen man, I gotta go. I think there are other people I need to visit before they release me. Watch your ass.”
Sully smiled at John and walked toward the steps.
John turned to face him and said, “Sully, you’re really dead, right?”
Sully smiled and waved to John.
“See ya, brother.”
Sully walked out the door and took the blinding light with him.
John closed his eyes and let his arms droop as far as he could before the pains and cramps would kick in again. He heard a muffled voice and the steps creaking under the weight of another visitor. However, John did not care. If the Covenant had arrived to finally send him to Hell, he was ready for the ride.
Chapter 53
Epilogue
The Harley Davidson Softails rumbled along the smooth, sleek asphalt. The black ribbon of highway shot out from under the riders and pierced the jet-blue horizon. The
y tasted the driven desert sand and felt it crunch in their teeth. Lazy clouds looked down at the riders and ignored them with quiet indifference.
“Thunderhead moving through the canyon,” the lead rider shouted.
“Got about three miles before we kiss it,” replied the other.
The rolling red sands of what used to be the American Southwest blanketed the road on both sides. The double yellow line painted down the middle of the interstate represented the only remnant of civilization.
A ramshackle gas station appeared on the horizon. As the riders approached, they saw the telltale signs of desertion, including the red Sign painted on the door. Dust covered the browned glass and sand drifts climbed the side of the ancient pumps.
The two Harleys downshifted, protesting with the throaty moan of a lower gear. The man in the lead cut the engine and drifted to a stop in front of the nearest pump. He removed a ragged leather sack from his saddlebag and fished around inside until he located a wrench. With precision and dexterity, he began to disassemble the pump. The other rider drew a sawed-off shotgun and kicked down the flimsy, steel door of the office. When he returned, he carried two five-gallon gas cans, and two cans of soda.
The man working on the pump had a scruffy goatee braided under his chin. Long hair spiraled out from under his helmet back to a loose ponytail. It caressed a Keepers of the Wormwood patch sewn to the black, leather vest. His partner’s clean-shaven face and bald head remained behind the double barrel.
“How far do you think we are?” asked clean-shaven.
He let the gas cans drop into the dust and shoved the blade of a pocket knife under the tab of the soda can, prying it up. The can hissed as it expelled the carbonation of another era. He tossed the can back, feeling the burn on his throat.
“Seven, eight hundred,” answered goatee. “Another day or two of riding and we should be there. You have a way of fastening those cans to your hog?”
“Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”
The man nodded and finished stripping away the rubber gaskets on the main line. He placed the tube in his mouth, inhaled, and spat out a mouthful of gasoline. The other biker ran over and shoved the hose into the first empty can, allowing it to fill.
They topped off the gas cans and tied them to the back of the second Harley. The empty soda cans sat on top of the pump, an eternal monument to the lost culture. The bearded rider dropped the hammer on his bike and it roared back to life. He yelled back to his partner over the chattering pistons.
“The storm’s gettin’ closer. Let’s see if we can out-ride it.”
Alex nodded and swerved into the right lane, a bike length behind the man in the Keepers of the Wormwood vest.
Before he accelerated on the long stretch of interstate, the bearded biker reached down with his right hand and placed it over a rectangular patch on his vest. John’s callused fingers traced the fraying embroidery that read, “Official Member”.
###
AVAILABLE NOW!
Thirty years after the First Cleansing brought an end to civilization, a band of revolutionaries sets out on a quest to make a final stand for their freedom. Led by their enigmatic and seasoned patriarch, John Burgoyne, the tribe known as the Chapter of the Phoenix marches the treacherous highway stretching from Pittsburgh to Cleveland, unaware of the forces aligning against them.
The story continues in, Man's Ruin...
Acknowledgements
Thank you, dear reader, for taking this journey with me. If you enjoyed the book please leave a review on Amazon. It can be brief (20 words) and written in a few minutes. Authors depend on reviews from readers like you. And if you really enjoy my work, send me an email at [email protected] and I will reply with a free copy of a J. Thorn title of your choosing.
In addition, visit http://www.authorgraph.com/authors/JThorn_ where I will personalize and autograph your digital book for free. Please do not hesitate to get in touch. I respond personally to every message. My phone number is 216.245.8476 or if you appreciate creativity on the dial pad, 216.24J.THRN. Seriously, that’s my phone number. Call and leave me a voicemail with your name and number and I promise to call you back. Did a scene in the book trouble you? Call me. Did you love the book and want to shower me with praise? Call me. Do you want advice on writing or publishing your own book? Call me. Do you want to order a large pepperoni with mushrooms and cheese? Can’t help you there. I want you to have the best reading experience possible because we all have limited time on this planet. If you weren’t completely satisfied with my book, or if you loved it, or if you simply want help; please call me. I would love to hear from you.
Do you love horror and dark fantasy? Do you wish you could tell authors the kind of story you want to read? Do you want to be part of an exclusive group? If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, you have to check this out:
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In addition, I would like to thank all the readers that went the extra step to leave an honest review, good or bad. Illustrator Kate Sterling may have singlehandedly popped this novel with her stunning cover. Carolyn McCray provided expert guidance and kept me from hitting the panic button on a number of occasions. Robert Reed and Katy Sozaeva edited this book, giving it new life. I thank you all.
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