by J. D. Palmer
There is a joy in going fast down an empty freeway. Gas pedal pushed all the way down. The landscape flying by in a blur. The scared looks on everyone’s faces.
I drive recklessly. Not that I’d have any reason not to, we’ve been down this road before. I wonder how fast John’s car can go. Is there any chance that we can catch him? The fuck was he driving? A Honda. And here we are in a Ford.
We might be faster.
An hour later and we have to stop and find a new rig after we run out of gas. Twenty minutes wasted in a frantic search. The new car we drive is stuck at about 96 miles per hour. I hope it’s enough.
I don’t know where to go. John would try to find Mickey, right? I can’t imagine he would to warn the Chinese. But he knows he can’t talk Mickey out of it. And he wouldn’t attack them to stop it. Would he?
“Where would your brother go?”
Steven shakes his head. “Fucked if I know him anymore.”
He is hurt by his brother’s actions. The two have always been different, but still close. And in this world family is beyond important. And that makes his move so much more baffling to me. John had to suspect we would come after him. But maybe we wouldn’t. What a horrible way to say goodbye.
“I guess our best bet would be to try to track down Mickey. If John is there… Well we can grab him. If not, we can at least warn them.”
“And where is Mickey?”
I don’t answer Theo. I don’t have an answer. Months ago we had our phones and satellites and a security blanket of distractions. It rocks me how easy it is to lose people with no ability to recover them. We are rocks thrown into calm water and only three seconds before you cannot see the ripples anymore.
We drive in silence, minds churning as we try to cover all the possible moves.
This is idiocy. We all know it. John is as likely to get shot by both sides before achieving any sort of solution to a problem he shouldn’t be a part of. We will most likely get shot. Hell, I think I might shoot John if I see him.
We roar down the road hoping we will see John pulled over to the side, time alone allowing logic to set in.
Nothing.
We come up on Livermore and head back to the laboratory. It’s empty. Hardly a sign soldiers had ever been there. Two muddy streaks in the middle of the grass. That’s it. I haul out our map and we huddle around it. I wish I knew more about San Francisco.
“He has to try to beat Mickey there. Right?” I look around for someone to say something. I don’t know why I bother. I close the map. No time to debate this madness. “So he’s on the 580 for awhile.”
Best to sound assertive, right?
Especially when rushing into madness.
“Let’s go!”
We charge back to the car and continue our pursuit. We are running low on gas. I can’t afford to slow down. We roar down the one stretch of road John would have to take if he wanted to hurry. We trust that John is heading for the heart of San Francisco and not taking any side roads.
We are trusting a lot.
“What do you think he is planning on doing?”
Steven answers. Probably the only person qualified to guess. “He might try to warn them. Yeah.”
And what the fuck are we supposed to do about that?
The freeway transitions into the 280 as we near the city. We haven’t driven this stretch before. It’s clustered with cars. Doors lie open and there are black and brown rib cages littered next to tires and bumpers and occasionally a skeleton in its entirety propped against a vehicle. Empty eye sockets leer at us as we pass by, skeletal hands still grasping car keys and phones as if they would need them in the afterlife. God how scary would it have been, trapped on a freeway as you seek help only to find yourself surrounded by more death.
We veer and swerve, crunching on glass and bone and I hit more than one car. I have to slow down. I don’t. I continue forging a suicidal path through small gaps at a high speed as the vast bay swims into view ahead of us. Theo curses in the back seat as his head hits the window. This is a fool’s errand being conducted by a fool. I hope I don’t kill us.
“There!” Steven slams his hand on the dashboard in victory or relief, his other hand pointing at the silver car ahead of us. John has also had to slow down. But he sees us. And there is no stopping, no turning back for him. He forces his car through a narrow division, crunching fenders and ripping the side view mirror off of the passenger side as he picks up speed.
We follow, arriving at the jam a few minutes behind him. He uses a break in the median to switch to what would be going against traffic. He is in the open, the silver car racing off into the distance as I slam into the cars ahead of us.
White crests top heavy blue waves to our right, the water and the sky bearing the same dark and foreboding countenance. Lightning flickers and a mist is gathering over the water. The intake of breath before the unleashing of a storm.
A bridge arcs in front of us, large steel struts supporting two levels of six lane traffic that slowly rises from the water to straddle an island in the center with a large, manmade tumor of concrete attached to it.
The bridge is the only way into the city from where we are.
John hits an open space and roars up the arc towards the island. Theo curses as I hit another car.
We are so close.
We shake the last of the vehicles and follow John’s path up the bridge. The overwhelming feeling of being exposed to the world as we get higher causes me to hunch over the steering wheel. The road lowers itself into the island and transitions into the lower level of the bridge. John disappears into the shadowy interior of the steel beast. We arrive moments after him and I have to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting John’s car. A cement mixing truck sits sideways in the road ahead of him, its contents disgorged from the large mouth at the rear to pool and harden in a large grey puddle that has expanded to capture the tires of nearby cars.
The door is open and John’s car is still running.
“He’s running!” Steven yells and takes off down the bridge after his brother. We follow, occasionally catching glimpses of the slim man running ahead, sparse light illuminating John, left arm held awkwardly as he races towards the far side.
Rain begins to sheet down into the water. Small drops patter down on us from cracks and holes too small to see. Occasionally a gust of wind blows salty droplets inside, cold beads to offset the sweat drenching us. The bridge has a barely noticeable sway, creaks and groans and the rumble as the ocean batters at its pylons. I realize Steven is yelling. I can’t hear a thing.
We are gaining on him. He looks back more frequently now, panic in his eyes and face red. I don’t know what we’ll do when we catch him. God, what can we do? Do we beat him up? Force him into the trunk of a car and drive? Do we try to rationalize with him?
Do you kill him?
A hard hand grabs my elbow and shoves me down behind a car. I hit hard, my hand punching a dent into pliable aluminum. I hiss in pain, rolling with my momentum to hit the ground. Theo looms above me, eyes wide as he gestures for me to be quiet. Beryl is behind him, eyes scanning the area ahead of us with worry. She is holding a gun. Steven is crouched three cars up ahead, head peeking around a tire.
I ease my head down and around the edge of the truck we hide behind. I can’t hear anything. My heart throbs in my ears and I’m gasping for air. My breath mists in front of me, every third exhale stolen by a breeze and whisked into the thick vapor rolling in over the water. The bridge creaks and moans and elicits small shrieks around us like a living thing that swallowed something it shouldn’t have.
There.
The cars abruptly vanish from the bridge ahead. Cleared, it would seem, by the men who now stand on the far side. John is alone in the middle of the road. Hands held up before him as soldiers swarm the area around him. Two rush forward and one clubs him in the stomach with his gun and then, as he is bent over drills him in the head with the butt. I see Steven go still.
Please d
on’t run out there.
Others rush forward and set up a perimeter at the edge of the cars, scanning the rows of vehicles with weapons out. At a gesture from their leader a group approaches the edge and examines the sides of the bridge, scanning above and below for an enemy.
Mickey has really got them rattled.
They bind John, roughly, I can’t hear but rather see the gasp of pain as they wrench his bad arm behind his back, face contorted in pain. They haul him bodily back the way they came, his white shirt disappearing down the tunnel. Slowly the soldiers start to ease forward, guns swinging this way and that as they check in and around vehicles for more interlopers. Fuck. Steven crawls back to us, eyes wide with terror. We crawl underneath a few cars, hands and faces and bodies coated with dirt and filth and rubbing against desiccated flesh of decomposing corpses until we come up behind a huge lifted truck.
We crouch, Theo peeking around the side of the tailgate.
“Theo?”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “They’re still coming.”
He sits down with a heavy thump, eyes wide as he turns to look at me. I can feel Beryl swing her focus my way, just as I know without looking that she has taken the knife from her boot. For herself or for the men coming this way, I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I look at each of them and I can’t think of a thing to say. There is a clatter in the distance, echoes of breaking glass, tense voices uttering a foreign tongue that are only growing closer.
Steven is frantic. “What do we do? What do we do?”
What do we do?
Chapter 30
We scurry and crawl and do our best to stay in front of the soldiers. They are gaining on us, a flowing tide both thorough and fast moving. It’s only a matter of time before they see us.
It’s hard not to panic, to break cover and sprint with everything I have back towards the car. We crawl and huddle and don’t dare to sneak peeks back at the men seeking us. We are cornered animals who cannot see the predator that stalks them and that only makes it worse. Are they close? Are they far? Is there a chance they won’t see me if I hide here? Is there a chance I can outrun them?
We slink backwards, trying to make ourselves smaller as the voices echo and fade and are distorted by the tunnel. The creak and groan of the bridge jolts our senses, the hammering of our hearts in our ears takes over and begins to override reason. Dread crashes into us in time with the waves hundreds of feet below us.
I stand up in a low crouch and risk a glance around the corner. They are fifty yards away now. There are only a few tall cars ahead of them still somewhat obscuring their view. They are being meticulous, soldiers kneeling here and there to check beneath vehicles as a line behind them scans the cars ahead.
Beryl has slipped her knife free of her boot and clutches it hard to her chest, mouth parted and eyes closed as she wrestles with the idea of captivity.
Again.
I know what she’s thinking.
I stopped her at Camelot. But I won’t take that freedom from her again. As much as that hurts.
Abruptly her eyes flash open. She stares at me, a resolution like the setting of a sun bringing a twilight to eyes already dark.
And she smiles.
The knife is gently placed on the ground and she leans in towards me.
“Trust… Trust me.”
And she quickly takes off her boots. Shimmies out of her pants. Takes off her sweatshirt and stuffs them behind the tires of a car.
I’m shocked. Fuck, we all are. Precious seconds are lost as we watch her take off her clothes before I figure out what she’s doing.
“No.”
I say it, but it lacks conviction. She’s right. She’s fucking right and so wrong.
We have to jump.
I start taking off my boots, fumbling with the laces as I watch her crawl towards the railing.
“Beryl. What are you doing?” Theo is confused. And frightened. She looks like she’s lost her mind. And as her plan dawns on him he reaches out a hand to stop her. She crawls past him, stopping to rest a pale, frail arm on his dark shoulder and he nods even as a small whimper escapes him.
An old van sits next to one of the huge struts that holds up the side of the beast. She crawls up behind it before standing. She slips one white leg over the railing before carefully lowering herself to the other side, an eye locked in the direction of the approaching men. A step back. She moves past another barrier I cannot yet see. Straightens. And now, just by the look on her face, I know the next step is into nothingness.
We are frozen. Mute statues cemented in place. She stands at the balustrade, facing us, wearing nothing but her t-shirt and panties.
She is so small. So small. The wind whips her dark hair around her and pushes her against the railing and I do not believe it possible for her to go through with this. Beryl is pallid, almost an apparition. I’ve never seen her so ghostly, pale face now an alabaster white. Her knuckles are taut with tension and the tendons on her arms and neck stand out. She shivers. From fear, or cold, or both. Her mouth is open and she is breathing hard.
But her eyes are calm. They find mine and say a million words and one.
Then she turns and jumps.
A spell is broken and we move. I crawl towards the van, struggling to lose my pants along the way. I’m knocked aside. Theo scoots past me, still clothed, and I hear small moans leaking from his open mouth. He doesn’t stop at the railing. A dark form takes flight and is gone.
I kick my pants away and shed my shirt and slither to the van. Glass slices into my knee and gouges my belly but I take no notice.
I climb over the railing and I do not know if Steven follows me. Maybe he shouldn’t. I slither over the railing and then up over the short concrete wall. Goosebumps pull the skin of my arms taut and I am shaking from more than the cold knife edge of wind pressed against me.
I stand at the very edge of the bridge and there is nothingness. Fuck me. At least a hundred feet.
At the very fucking least.
Whiteheads of large waves move slowly in the distance below, crashing silently into the pillars of the bridge beneath us, too far away to be heard.
I look for Beryl. For Theo. Frantically scan the waves for any sign.
Nothing.
My stomach is gone, replaced by a vacuum of terror and dread that saps the strength from my limbs. The bridge creaks and a strong wind gusts and I slam my body back into the strut. I don’t move. I can’t move.
I close my eyes and I’m chained in a room. I’m chained to a wall and I remember the feeling of security as the routine instigated by Stuart took over. Knowing how and when I would be fed, watered, taken outside. Hating myself for relying on it but finding comfort in it as well.
You are free.
I remember the feeling of walking down the street with Beryl for the first time after our escape and I hold onto it. I focus on it and feed it to the animal inside of me.
Remember that you are free.
I look down and I take an eternal second. A second in which to think of Jessica, a moment to think that should I die here, she will have no idea what happened to me. No idea how hard I tried to get home.
“Trust me.”
I hold onto the strength of Beryl. The trust that she has not asked of me but has tethered to my soul by the strength of her will. An anchor for a rudderless ship.
“Fuck it.”
I push off from the strut and wonder if those will be my last words and my body tries to puke but the heavy wind sucks the air from my lungs and I’m simply left contorting like some weird amphibian robbed of air, arms spinning around me as I give in to panic.
Fuck I’m going to die.
I’m going to die.
I’m going to die.
I am tossed and tumbled about in the air by strong winds and I lose track of where I am and I know I’m going to hit the concrete pylon at the bottom.
I don’t want to die like this.
Wind roars in my ears so loudly it’s almost silence and I find my eyes are closed and I open them and can barely see through the torrent of air. Shaky vision shows me a black ocean rushing up to meet me. I try to haul in a breath of air, air that keeps getting snatched out of my mouth before I hit the water and pain and darkness are all I know.
I’m too deep. A stygian void envelops me and I scratch and claw with arms that feel blistered and burnt even while surrounded by freezing water. My head throbs, ears aching with the deep pressure. I don’t know which way is up, air bubbles escaping from me into an inky sea too dark to follow. I thrash and kick and don’t do anything reasonable, skull growing more and more painful as air is withheld from a mind that should have thought of a better plan.
Kick. Kick your feet.
I reach deep and try to find some reasonable part of myself that doesn’t give into fear. My hand makes contact with something and a heart already terrified starts to chisel a hole out of my chest. I don’t see what it is. I can’t see anything.
Kick your feet.
My legs churn, aligning my body and I thrash and grasp and propel myself through the murky gloom. Maybe I’ve already died. Maybe the fall killed me. Air escapes out of lungs too abused to continue and the mounting pressure in my head steals the will to continue out of me.
You deserve this.
I break the surface and gulp in air and exhale moans and gulp in air to scream again.
“Beryl!” I twist around in the water, searching for her head somewhere in the dark blue wasteland.
“Beryl!”
Just me. Just me and the waves and the salt on my lips. A loud cacophony of water that might as well be silence for the fear and loneliness it exudes.
A hand appears, clawing the air as Steven’s head bursts from the sea. He is crazed, wild with terror and when he sees me, for a second, I think he will attack. His nose is bleeding and he starts to panic after a wave slaps a hand over his mouth.
“Har.”
Beryl’s voice.
She’s alive. Wet hair and face twisted in pain. But she’s alive. I’m so relieved I feel dizzy.