Highway To Armageddon

by Bloemer, Harold

  “Boom Boom doing what she does best,” Arrow says with a smirk. “Making a boom-boom.”

  “Nice, Arrow. That was almost clever,” Krystal says.

  “Alright, enough fooling around,” I bark. “Let’s do what we came her to do. Krystal and Dorothy, go get the car ready.”

  “Yes sir,” Krystal says with a sarcastic salute.

  Krystal and Dorothy disappear into the brush. The boys and I hustle our way toward Dresden. It’s already after 11:30 and the city gates are about a mile away. We need to haul ass if we want to rescue Machete before midnight.

  We thrash through the forest, tripping over fallen branches. This part of the wilderness looks to be relatively untouched by the storm, but some of the branches were torn off by the fierce winds. We finally reach the settlement about ten minutes later. The clock on my goggles says it’s 11:40. We’re cutting it close, like usual.

  We dash up to the city gates, tripping over our long robes in the process. My hood keeps slipping off my head, forcing me to hold it with one hand.

  A massive, 20-foot tall brick wall surrounds the city. The entrance is blocked by a swinging gate made of vertical steel bars. Hovering over the gate is a glowing red sign that reads Dresden.

  We approach the guard shack just outside the gate. The shack is encased in what appears to be bulletproof glass. The guard is wearing a gray uniform that bears a striking resemblance to the ones worn by Nazi officers during the 1930s and 40s. It even has a swastika emblazoned on the front. I find his outfit even more offensive than the white robes we’re wearing.

  The guard is guzzling a mug of beer. A machine gun dangles from his shoulder. I gulp as we step in front of him.

  The guard is still slurping his booze like there’s no tomorrow when Lance clears his throat and says, “Er, excuse me, Mr. Nazi Guard.”

  The guard drops his mug and unslings his gun, pointing it at us though a small opening in the front of his booth.

  “Halt!” The guard shrieks in German. “Wer geht da?”

  Lance turns to me and shrugs.

  “Don’t look at me,” I whisper. “I know some Spanish, French, and Chinese, but German is definitely not my forte.”

  Lance turns back to the inebriated guard. “Hey bro, this is America. We speak English here.”

  Spoken like a true red-neck racist. Lance is a better actor than I thought.

  The guard blinks at us several times before slurring, this time in English, “What are you all doing coming up to the gates at this hour? Everyone else is inside celebrating ‘Racial Purity Night’.”

  I can’t believe they actually have a name for their weekly atrocities. The guard says it with the same nonchalance one would have announcing ‘Ladies Night’ at a bar.

  I hesitantly reply, “We were, uh, doing a little hunting. You know, looking for immigrants in the forest. Can you please let us in? We want to see the… er, lynching.”

  I almost can’t get the words out of my mouth. I can’t even pretend to enjoy such a thing. I must be at least somewhat convincing as a genocidal racist, however, because the guard presses a button, causing the steel gate to slowly, creakily swing open.

  “Alright, didn’t mean to hold you up,” the guard says. “Come in, come in!”

  I step through the city gates and look around in bewilderment. It’s like I’ve entered a different world, where white supremacy reigns supreme and no one dares stay out in the sun too long for fear of resembling their darker-skinned enemies. There are thousands upon thousands of white people in the streets, drinking beer and waving Confederate and Nazi flags. Most of the Dresden citizens are wearing white robes and hoods. Others are skinheads, with leather jackets and swastika tattoos on their arms and bare chests. Still others resemble the guard at the gate, wearing Nazi-replica military uniforms. They look like they could have walked right off the cover of a World War 2 history book. Even more disturbing, though, is the sight of hundreds of children dressed in brown shirts. This is a sign they are members of Hitler’s Youth, a Nazi-era organization for children that was recently resurrected over in Europe (and now apparently here in America). It sickens me to no end to see innocent children indoctrinated in the studies of hatred and senseless prejudice. It would be ironic if this contemporary version of Dresden suffered the same fate as its Third Reich counterpart. Indeed, there’s even a plaque in the front of the settlement memorializing the firebombing of the German city back in 1945. If only karma were a real thing.

  As we make our way through the congested streets, another thing becomes shockingly apparent. Over half of the people in Dresden have blonde hair and blue eyes. I had heard this was happening in Europe, but I didn’t realize it was occurring here as well. To make Adolf Hitler’s dream of a ‘racially pure’ society a reality, the Neo-Nazi’s have started using genetic engineering to manipulate the embryos of all their pregnant women, so that their children are born without debilitating birth defects. They also alter the genes that control hair and eye color, as well as skin tones. It’s a good thing my bright red hair is hidden under my hood. I’d stand out like a blazing fire in a sea of ice. Lance, on the other hand, would fit right in. (Physically, not personally, of course.) Still, I can’t help but resent Lance for being the poster child of what every Neo-Nazi wants to look like. My hatred for Neo-Nazis runs that deep.

  Despite all this, however, even a place as horribly morbid as Dresden has its charms. The village has elaborate fountains in the middle of the streets that shoot water way up into the sky. Some of the fountains have cute statutes of baby angels spitting water out of their mouths. Quaint cabins with huge bay windows are off on the sides of the streets, sticking out of grassy hills. Most of the cabins have vibrant flower beds and vegetable gardens. If it weren’t for the people who lived in Dresden, I would actually consider moving here. I’m so used to being surrounded by towering skyscrapers that the wide open spaces and one-story buildings are a refreshing change. My claustrophobia would become a non-factor in such a place.

  The air soon becomes filled with the tantalizing smells of schnitzel, bratwurst, sauerkraut, Bavarian pretzels, and beer. My mouth waters, reminding me how hungry I am. None of us have had a decent meal in days. I’m definitely feeling the effects of it. I’m fatigued and a little light-headed, and my stomach is in a perpetual state of discomfort. But I do my best to ignore the pain. What I wouldn’t do for some pain pills, though. I wonder if Lance is going through withdrawal like I am.

  I side-step a few puddles in the middle of the street. That’s the only sign a ferocious storm blew through just hours before. The clouds have cleared up so much that I can see the stars.

  I’m so busy looking out for puddles that I nearly collide into a statue. I glance up and groan. It’s a 20-foot tall marble statue of Adolf Hitler giving his infamous Nazi salute. If I had a bazooka on me I’d blow it to bits.

  There are several other statues on the side of the road. Most of them are Nazis from the 1930s and 40s, like Josef Mengele, Rudolf Hess, Adolf Eichmann, the ‘Bitch of Buchenwald’ Ilse Koch, and countless others. There’s also a statue of the First Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, Nathan Forrest, and the president of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis. Last but not least is the 40-foot tall statue of the current Fuhrer of Neo-Nazi Europe, Sarah Coulter. ‘Fuhrer’ Coulter is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed tyrant that makes the ‘Bitch of Buchenwald’ seem like a saint in comparison. I quickly move away from the statues so I’m not tempted to riddle them with bullets.

  I rush over to Arrow, who has pulled ahead of us. On the way I ponder the absurdity of the three leaders of the most powerful empires on Earth being women, and yet they like to wage war like their male predecessors. There used to be an old saying back in the 20th and 21st centuries; if women ruled the world, you wouldn’t have wars, just a bunch of countries not talking to each other. That humorous saying turned out to be half right. Now that women rule the world, countries don’t spend too much time talking, but boy do they still like to fight.r />
  “What exactly are we looking for?” I ask Arrow.

  “A prison or concentration camp,” Arrow replies coolly, sidestepping two kids in brown shirts chasing after some other kids pretending to be ‘undesirables’. “I’m guessing she would be held…”

  “Hey guys, what’s this?” Lance points to a monstrous crowd that has gathered near a field.

  We walk over and peer over the tops of all the white hoods in front of us. There are at least 10,000 people standing around, maybe more. Off in the distance is a wooden stage with several nooses hanging from a steel bar. Hovering over the illuminated stage is a holographic clock counting down to midnight. Right now it says we’re one minute and twelve seconds away.

  “It’s the lynching,” Arrow says. “We’re too late.”

  Even though I’m still annoyed with Arrow, I can’t help but rub his back.

  Lance offers his support, too, in a gruff, indirect way. “If they bring her out, I guess we’ll just have to fight our way through the crowd.”

  I glare at Lance from under my hood. “You expect us to take on 10,000 drunk, unruly white supremacists all by ourselves?”

  Lance shrugs. “Sure, why not? Could be fun.”

  I roll my eyes and turn back to the stage. When the countdown clock drops under one minute, the crowd starts counting down with it. The enthusiasm from the blood-thirsty crowd increases dramatically the closer the clock gets to zero.

  “Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five…”

  I gasp in horror as a holographic screen up

  in the sky shows two cute blond boys cheering the coming executions. It’s a sight that sickens me to no end.

  “…three… two… one!”

  The clock strikes midnight and fireworks explode off in the distance, decorating the night sky with fragments of red, blue, and green light. I barely hear the KA-BOOM of the fireworks over the fanatical crowd. I’m ashamed to be part of such a spectacle.

  After the fireworks die down, Dresden’s Ku Klux Klan Grand Wizard takes the stage and does the one-handed Nazi salute. 10,000 arms pop into the air and respond in kind. Lance, Arrow and I reluctantly raise ours so as not to attract suspicious stares.

  The Grand Wizard bellows, “Hello, Dresden! Are you ready to party?”

  The tsunami of cheers that follow suggest yes.

  “That was some storm earlier, huh?” the Grand Wizard says, his voice booming through his headset. “Some of you were afraid we’d have to cancel tonight’s festivities, but as you can plainly see, not even an act of God can stop ‘Racial Purity Night’!”

  The cheers grow louder. I wonder if this is what Hitler heard after he delivered his genocidal diatribes to thousands of screaming supporters.

  The Grand Wizard flaps his hands and the rowdy crowd grows eerily quiet. “Now I know all of you fine people would love to hear me talk all night, but that’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to celebrate our Aryan superiority. And what better way to do that than with a good old fashioned lynching?”

  The crowd roars again. The Grand Wizard goes on to give a sick but impassioned speech about how they’re not monsters for doing this, that they’re simply trying to preserve Aryan dominance. He then rants about how ‘undesirables’ are taking all their jobs and land, and how they’ve tainting the gene pool with their ‘defective and vile DNA’. It’s hands-down the most disgusting garbage I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard quite a bit of trash in my day.

  The Grand Wizard finally quits spouting his hate-filled rhetoric and gestures toward the back. “Bring out the undesirables!”

  By now the crowd has built up behind us. I have to stand on my tip-toes just to see. Way off in the distance there’s a dark and forbidding three-story prison surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. There are other buildings, too, but the prison is the center of the camp. A sign hanging over the camp reads Auschwitz Zwei. I know enough German to know zwei means two.

  “I’d wager $25 million that’s where Machete’s being held,” Lance says.

  “Congratulations, you’re $25 million richer,” I reply grimly.

  The gates to Auschwitz 2 swing open and a horse-drawn cart emerges. At first the cart is too far away for me to see who’s in it. I do make out three people, though. I activate the zoom-in function on my goggles. I’m relieved to discover Machete isn’t in the cart, but my heart sinks when I see who is.

  There’s a 20-something Hispanic woman who looks beside herself with grief. Tears stream down her ashen cheeks. Behind the woman is a balding, middle-aged Jewish man. I know he’s Jewish because the Neo-Nazi bastards put a yellow Star of David on his torn and tattered shirt. He seems to be a bit more in control of his emotions, but his trembling bottom lip does indicate some fear.

  Most heart-wrenching of all is the dark-skinned teen boy behind the Jewish man. The boy’s eyes are wide with fear, and his entire body is trembling. I start for the cart, but Arrow grabs my arm.

  “No, Red,” he whispers. “I know how you feel. I want to help, too, but we’re hopelessly outnumbered. It’s best to stand down… for now, at least.”

  I wrench my arm from Arrow’s grasp. “You wouldn’t be so passive if Machete was in that cart.”

  Arrow doesn’t respond because he knows I’m right. But I know he’s right, too. If we try to rescue these poor souls, we will be lynched right along with them. Then we won’t be able to save Machete or go after Mikhail. As much as it breaks my heart, our only option is to stand down and watch three brutal murders. I already feel my soul beginning to crumble.

  The horse-drawn cart eventually makes its way toward us. The crowd parts in the middle, making a path for the doomed so-called ‘undesirables’. It’s as if Moses himself were parting the Red Sea… a sea full of blood. Arrow, Lance and I have to scoot back to make room for the people backing into us. It takes everything I have not to shoot the obnoxious jerk in front of me shouting racial slurs.

  The crowd begins to hurl objects at the shackled prisoners. Tomatoes splatter the unfortunate souls from head to toe. They also get bombarded with heads of cabbage. A few particularly sadistic Neo-Nazis chuck jagged rocks. One of the rocks hits the Jewish man in the mouth. He falls to his knees and spits out blood.

  The boy tries to jump out of the cart, but before he can make the fateful leap the collar around his neck glows electric blue and makes a zapping sound. The boy shrieks and falls to the floor of the cart.

  I blink back hot tears as the prisoners continue their odyssey of torment through the crowd. Soon they’re so covered in red goo that I can’t tell if it’s from the tomatoes or blood. Maybe it’s best I don’t know.

  Once they reach the stage the prisoners are yanked from the cart and dragged onto the platform. The woman and boy struggle, but they’re so beat up from their captivity that they’re no match for the guards. The Jewish man does not struggle at all. I am in awe of his poise and air of calmness. If I was in his shoes I’d be totally freaking out.

  My body tenses as the Klansmen tie the noses around the prisoners’ necks. By now the woman and teen are crying uncontrollably, begging for mercy. The Jewish man remains stoically calm. He doesn’t want to give his hated tormenters the satisfaction of seeing him beg for a mercy he knows will never come.

  The Grand Wizard takes center stage and grins like the psychotic lunatic he is. “Let the countdown begin!”

  The holographic clock over the stage restarts and begins counting down from 20. The crowd counts along with it, as if they were counting down to New Year’s Eve or something. This time my heart overpowers my mind. I reach for my gun. Before I can grab it, Arrow grips my wrist. I try to break free, but he’s too strong.

  “Arrow, this isn’t right.”

  “I know, Red, but we can’t take on this crowd all by ourselves.” His voice is shaky. He’s having trouble standing here, too.

  If Arrow wasn’t clutching my arm and talking sense into me, I would be barging up to the stage right now with guns blazing. But the realit
y of our situation has come crashing back down on me. To do the right thing would result in our deaths.

  Lance starts getting antsy. I follow Arrow’s lead and give Lance’s hand a gentle squeeze. He looks over at me and tilts his head ever-so-slightly. I don’t need to peek under his hood to know he’s overcome with grief.

  “Boom Boom, we can’t…”

  I tighten my squeeze. “I know, but we must. Blade and Harpoon are counting on us coming home in one piece.”

  This calms him down. A lot of times it’s the only play I have when I need to prevent Lance from doing something reckless. His devotion to those kids is astonishing.

  “Ten… nine… eight…”

  Sweat pours from all my pores, soaking my robe. This is one of the most horrible things I’ve ever had to endure. I’d rather be tossed through a window than watch this.

  “…five… four…”

  Lance steps forward. I squeeze his hand so tight I’m sure I’ve cut off his circulation.

  “…three… two…”

  The woman continues crying. The boy wails, “Please have mercy! My little sister needs me, I’m all she has!”

  The Jewish man remains calm. He is the strongest man I’ve ever seen.

  “…one!”

  The floor slides out from under the prisoners and their bodies drop. The ropes go taut, and the prisoners jerk violently.

  It’s done. A quick, clean death. At least they didn’t suffer.

  The crowd roars its approval. I stagger back, light-headed from the barbarism I just witnessed. Arrow hangs on to my arm to keep me steady.

  “It’s okay, Red. I’ve got you.”

  Arrow’s words are of no solace to me.

  As the cheers of over 10,000 genocidal lunatics reaches a mighty crescendo, I feel my heart and soul crumble.

  This is the world we’re fighting to save? A world that turns a blind eye to ethnic cleansing? That passively endorses it to keep a fragile peace?