Ever Onward

by Wayne Mee

  Josh pulled his son to him, feeling the young muscles quivering with strain. “I will, Jess!”, he whispered fiercely. Still clasping Jessie to him, spoke to the others.

  “I’m sorry. I was stupid.” Holding up his bleeding hand, he continued. “Not just for this. But before. Letting us all walk around like there was nothing to worry about! That poor fool back there could have been waiting for us! Killed one, two, maybe all of us before shooting himself!”

  Jessie looked up, tears in his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Dad. You can’t blame yourself because the whole world’s gone crazy!”

  “The boy’s right, Josh,” Eddy put in quietly. “I’ve only known you a few days, but Doc, he told me you might try and take too much on yourself. All of us have to learn to be more careful, not just you, and from now on we will.”

  Bobby nodded. “Eddy’s taking straight, Mr. Williams! All of us have to pull our own weight, not just you!”

  Josh sighed, attempting a smile. “Okay guys, but from now on we’ve all got to be a hell of a lot more careful.”

  Eddy reached down and picked up a first aid kit from the floor. “Let’s start with fixing that hand of yours.”

  This time Josh’s smile was heart-felt. He was beginning to take a great liking to Eddy Hascomb.

  From then on they were serious --- deadly serious. Finding the body had driven home the need for caution in a way that little else could. Josh and Jessie selected the camping gear and brought it to the door, while Bobby stowed it away and Eddy stood guard outside. No-one wanted any more little surprises. Even the weapons they chose in pairs, one group always outside with the vans.

  Jessie stopped off at the archery department while Josh went on into the gun section. Despite what he’d said earlier, Josh couldn’t help but feel like he was acting out some B rated ‘action’ movie. With the rifles and shotguns he had little problem. Having hunted since early childhood, he knew what to look for; a 12 gage Browning pump for himself and a 20 gage of the same model for Jessie. Remembering the incident with Gloria and the Dude, he picked a Remington bolt action with a telescopic sight for long range shooting. Then, on an impulse, he grabbed a 30-30 Winchester with an enlarged circular lever action, just like the kind John Wayne used in all his movies. (So much for suppressing the ‘little boy in a candy store’ feeling!) He got boxes of shells for each and placed them all in a large shopping cart.

  The hand guns however, presented several problems.

  Though most of the cases had been smashed, there were still plenty to choose from. To him they all looked like a bunch of dangerous toys, made for just one purpose: killing other human beings. He wasn’t sure he wanted that for his son, living out his whole life with one of those obscenities strapped to his side. This Brave New World had a very dark side.

  Another problem was he’d never actually fired a handgun before. Oh, he’d seen hundreds used in movies and on TV. and he’d seen all the Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns and Dirty Harry flicks. He even knew some of the names: Colt 45, Baretta, .357 Magnum, Glock .9 mm, but the thought of actually using one against another person made him shudder.

  Then he caught sight of the body laying on the far side of the store. In this world suddenly gone mad, that could just as easily be one of them. Might yet be them. Might be Jessie. A weapon, a handgun, could save him.

  Grabbing a box full of ski mitts, he dumped them on the floor and began scooping the remaining handguns into it. Tossing the box into the cart, he pushed his small arsenal towards the door.

  “Let’s go, Jess!”

  Jessie heard the anger in his father’s voice and hurried after him. It wasn’t until Josh was outside that he realized he hadn’t brought any bullets for the handguns. Swearing under his breath, he dug in his pocket for his pipe.

  “Holy cow, Mr. Williams!”, Bobby said, eyeing the laden cart. “Leave any for us?”

  Josh turned a frown on Bobby that he hadn’t seen for years. All of a sudden he was back in the tenth grade, caught trying to look up a girl’s skirt instead of a Shakespeare reference.

  “Go get what you want, Bobby. The place is full of the damn things!”

  Bobby backed away, not wanting to press his luck. Eddy strolled over and smiled knowingly.

  “I forgot to get shells,” Josh said, though his eyes said something else altogether.

  Eddy nodded. “The boys and I’ll get them. A couple of boxes of everything should do it?”

  Josh grinned, Eddy’s little joke having broken the tension. “Same to you, fella!”

  Eddy chuckled as he followed Bobby and Jess back into Le Baron.

  Ten minutes later they were back. Eddy had a heavy cardboard box. A scooped rifle was slung over one shoulder, along with several cartridge belts. Besides boxes of various shells, both boys carried short, powerful composite bows and quivers stuffed with arrows. Jessie was beaming.

  “It’s only fair, Dad. Bobby teaches me to play the guitar and I teach him to use a bow.” Jessie then handed his father a bag. “I found something real special for you as well. Go on, have a look!”

  Inside Josh found a knife. Not just any knife, but a Japanese Tanto. Black handle and scabbard, the blade seven inches of razor sharp steel. He’d wanted one ever since reading Shogun years ago. He’d taped the series off TV and both he and Jessie had watched it over and over.

  “I got one too!”, Jessie smiled. “A matched set, only mine’s a bit smaller. You like it?”

  Josh felt suddenly both very proud and very relieved. Here he’d been worrying that his son might turn into some weird Rambo-Dirty Harry-Terminator clone, when all Jessie really wanted to be was a noble Samurai protecting his clan.

  Josh stood and bowed theatrically. Words from the Clavell masterpiece came rushing back. “Domo, Jessie-san.”

  Jessie, grinning through his fake frown, bowed in return. “Domo arigoto, Father-sama!”

  “Hey, you two Kung-Foo fans!”, Bobby said through a smile of his own. “Let’s get going.”

  Twenty minutes later they crossed over the Chimney Point Bridge and entered Vermont. Only Josh took the time to glance back over his shoulder as they drove over the rusting steel arch. There, nestled amongst the trees and jutting outcrops of shale, the crumbling remains of Fort Frederick waited by the blue waters of Lake Champlain. Built by the French in the 1730’s and destroyed by the British three decades later, the crumbling ruins silently called to him of a much more savage time, a time when redcoated British and haughty French fought over the very land they now lived on, both sides paying painted savages to bring back their enemy’s scalps. A dangerous time: savage, deadly, cruel --- a time that seemed to be fast approaching again!

  Chapter 12: OF MICE AND MEN

  North Conway

  New Hampshire

  June 29(Day 8)

  Brad Westgate sat in the dark watching his sleeping son. Light from the full moon filtered in the open window, making the youth’s brown hair shine softly. He reached out and gently touched the boy, an act of both love and reassurance. After so much death, he wanted to be sure life was still there.

  Brad sat back and shivered. His son lived, yet part of him still expected his son to change, still feared that some horrible metamorphosis would take place and turn what was healthy and alive into the dried-up thing he had woken up beside nearly a week ago. That thing had been his wife. A smaller version had awaited him in his daughter’s room. Brad had started screaming then.

  For the first few days he had stumbled around in a trance, pushing the horror away, shoving it into some deep, dark corner of his mind and slamming the door. It had been a week now and he still couldn’t get over the fact that the others were gone. His wife, his daughter, the town --- the whole bloody world!

  But they weren’t all gone. Most, but not all. Besides Kenneth and himself there were four others left in town. Over the past week they had gathered together at the Regis Inn, a small hotel in the center of town. Bert Laxtrom the town barber, a local farmer named Earl
Swanson, Wilma Sawyer who’s husband owned the Regis and a teenager named Tina Keller who’d had a summer job with the North Conway Parks Department.

  Six people out of well over three thousand!

  He’d heard about a few others. Bert Laxtrom had seen a car speeding through town. Earl Swanson had found his neighbor Albert Ruthle hanging by his neck in his barn. Tina had found a small child wandering around outside MacDonald’s. By the time she’d come across Wilma at the Regis Inn, the child was running a high fever. Despite all that the two women did, the child was dead by morning. At least the body hadn’t dried up and blown away. They’d buried it out back of the Regis. Tina hadn’t talked much since.

  No other townspeople had turned up. Six strangers, however, had. They came on five motorcycles the day before yesterday. Four men and two women. All of them appeared to be life-long bikers.

  The leader had long stringy hair and a thick beard, with a black Harley Davidson T-shirt stretched over a beer gut. His sleeveless jean-jacket said Snake and he had the tattoos to prove it. He was in his early thirties but the eyes were old; as old as sin.

  Rings, the woman who rode behind him, looked like an anorexic Madonna. Her blond hair, (brown at the roots), was long on one side and shaved on the other. Every part of her emaciated body that wasn’t encased in leather glittered with bracelets, rings, chains and other gaudy bobbles, including a diamond stud in her left nostril and enough rings in her pierced ears to burn out the motor on a metal detector.

  The other woman had ‘Flame’ was emblazoned on the back of her leather vest and she rode her own bike. With her long red hair flowing out behind her, tight leather pants and high boots, she looked like a sexy female wrestler turned hooker.

  The fourth one was called Blade. Tall, thin and dressed all in black, he looked as deadly as his name.

  The next biker was even bigger than Snake. His large head was shaved and the name Bull was tattooed on his massive biceps.

  The last member they called Runt. Hardly five feet tall, he wore thick glasses and a leather jacket several sizes too large over a Hawaiian shirt that hurt the eyes.

  Snake and his gang had ridden into town and taken what they wanted. With a large pistol thrust into his belt and a baseball bat in his hand, Snake and his grinning followers had looted up and down North Conway’s main drag. Food, clothes, booze, whatever caught their eye. Runt seemed to know all about what goodies the local pharmacy could produce. When last seen they had been partying in the park and seemed in no great hurry to leave.

  Brad wanted them gone. He’d seen the look of contempt Snake had shown Earl Swanson when the old farmer had asked him to stop destroying public property. He’d seen the way his son Kenneth had stiffened when they had laughed at their suggestion that they leave town. He’d seen too the way Snake had looked at the young girl Tina.

  Trouble was brewing. Before long it would overflow into violence. More deaths would follow. Christ, hadn’t there been enough?!

  The problem was what to do about it? As he sat watching his son sleep, Brad’s numbed mind ticked off the possibilities. Ask them to leave; but they’d already refused. Order them to leave? That meant being willing and able to back up their words with actions. There was no police, no State Troopers. You could still call 911 but no-one answered. And they were armed. A picture of the large gun thrust into Snake’s belt flashed before him. Blade carried several knives and the woman Flame wore a shoulder holster. As for Bull, he looked like three hundred pounds of weapon!

  A soft knock came at his door. Startled, Brad left the bedroom and went into the main room. Each of them had taken over a suit in the Regis Inn. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was nearly dawn.

  “Brad, it’s me, Earl.”

  Cautiously Brad opened the door. Earl Swanson stood in the hall. Bert Laxtrom was with him. Bert’s red hair, usually so meticulously combed, was all askew. Both men looked nervous.

  “What is it?”

  Earl came in and Bert followed. “We saw your light was on,”, Bert whispered. “We’ve got to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “What the hell do you think?”, Earl snapped. “About that bag of shit Snake and the others, that’s what!”

  Brad glanced back at the bedroom. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want to wake the boy.”

  Earl sighed. “Let’s go down to the kitchen. I could use some coffee.”

  Minutes later they were sitting around the inn’s large table. Wilma was there with the coffee ready.

  “Well, Brad” Earl said. “Let’s hear it?”

  Brad told them what he had been thinking just before their visit. Bert looked more nervous than ever. Earl took out a battered pouch and began rolling a cigarette.

  “So it comes down to one of two things,”, he said, licking the thin paper with a deft pass of his tongue. “We either put up with whatever shit they sling our way or we kill them.”

  “’Kill them’?!”, Bert repeated. “Who said anything about killing?”

  Earl lit a kitchen match with his thumbnail. “I don’t like it any better than you, Bert, but I don’t see no other way.”

  Wilma came and joined them, the overhead lights reflecting the streaks of gray in her hair. “It may not come to that,” she said. “They may just move on.”

  Earl shook his head. “Wolves don’t move on. Not while there’s easy pickings.”

  Brad looked at the solid farmer, his heart pounding in his chest. “Snake’s the real threat. Without him the others might leave.

  Earl took a long drag on his cigarette, his work-worn hands trembling slightly. “Then we kill him first.”

  Bert stood up. “I don’t want any part of it! There’s been enough death! Wilma’s right. They’ll get bored soon and leave. All we have to do is wait.”

  Surprisingly it was Wilma who spoke up. “Wait for what, Bert? For that pig to take an interest in Tina? You all saw how he was looking at her. I’m no centerfold, but I guess his kind would get around to me as well. Then there’s Kenneth.”

  Brad stiffened at that. “What about Kenneth?!”

  Wilma reached over and took his hand. Her eyes were warm yet deadly serious. “I don’t know, Brad. Maybe he’d just try and make the boy join him.”

  “Kenneth wouldn’t ---”

  Wilma nodded. “We all know that. But what would happen when he refused?”

  “Wait a minute,” Bert cut in. “We’re all jumping at shadows here. So far all they’ve done is break a few windows and ignore us when we asked them to leave.”

  “I didn’t hear you saying nothing to them,” Earl growled. “It was me and Brad here that spoke up.”

  Bert, flushing as red as his hair, seemed about to reply when Tina stepped out from the shadows. Her large brown eyes and pretty features were drawn with worry. Though she had been hired by the Parks Department for her vigor and outgoing personality, she now looked like a frightened deer. Wilma believed Tina still blamed herself for the death of the child that she’d found just after the world went mad.

  She began to speak, her voice an urgent whisper. “He’ll ruin it all. I’ve seen it in his eyes. The way he moves, the way he treats that girl Rings. We’re all just things to him, things to be used and tossed away!” Tina’s voice then became deadly calm, which made what she said next all the more frightening. “He has to die --- and we have to do it.”

  Earl tossed his cigarette into the inn’s fireplace and stood up. “I’ve got a couple of guns back at my farm. I’ll leave now and be back before they wake up.”

  Both Wilma and Bert looked towards Brad, seeking reassurance. He couldn’t give them what they wanted, yet he couldn’t let Snake have his way. “Get them, Earl. I’ve got an old 16 gage at my place, though I haven’t fired the damn thing in years.”

  Wilma attempted a smile. “Maybe you won’t have to. Maybe when they see us armed they’ll leave.” No-one however, believed that, not even Wilma.

  Snake woke up with one hell of a headache. He
was in the Gazebo in the park. Rings was curled up beside him, her skinny ass hanging out of the sleeping bag. Whatever that little shit Rat had given him last night, it’d sent him clear into fucking orbit! He remembered going to MacDonalds. They’d gotten the burners going and cooked up a mess of half-frozen burgers. Rings had fucked up the fries and he’d hit her. Then they’d gone to the park and started drinking. He remembered making a fire. Flame had laughed and danced around it. Then the pills had kicked in and everything became a blur. He vaguely recalled Rings going down on him, then the bitch had passed out. Stupid cunt. Snake looked down at the thin form beside him. Too damned skinny. He preferred his women with some meat on them. Like Flame, but that tough bitch wouldn’t let him touch her. Saved it all for the cold fish Blade. She’d pulled a knife on him when he tried a few days ago and threatened to cut off his balls. Now his foggy brain turned to the blonde girl staying with the hayseeds back in town. Nice set of jugs there. Today he intended to get a closer look. A whole lot closer!

  He turned and slapped Rings’ bare buttocks. “Get the fuck off me!”

  The girl crawled to her feet, looking for her clothes. From the back she looked like something out of Biafra, all skin and bone. Snake got up and relieved himself in one corner of the Gazebo, all the while thinking of the blonde haired girl with the big eyes and bigger tits. Some of it splashed on Bull’s sleeping form. By the time he was finished he’d made up his mind. Walking over to where Runt lay, he kicked him awake.

  “Move your ass, Dick-Head!”

  The bundle in the sleeping bag squirmed around then was still. Snake kicked again, this time harder. The bundle groaned.

  “Get the fuck up and wake the others! I got a score to settle with these country hicks!” Snake hadn’t liked the way the two of them had told him to move on. The old bastard had done most of the talking, but the other one had stood there right by his side. Snake probably could have wasted them both, but something had held him back. Today however would be different. He’d take them out one at a time. Either the old farmer or the quiet guy, whoever came first. The little faggot with the red hair would be no trouble. That would leave the older woman, the kid and the girl. He smiled to himself, watching Rings squeeze into her jeans. He’d give the skinny bitch to Runt. The older woman could ride with Bull. That left the boy. Shit, who knows? The kid might even want to tag along. Snake sure as hell could use someone to watch his back, especially with all the heavy shit that had gone down in the last week!