Eve of Redemption

by Tom Mohan

  A square in the floor dropped away, leaving an opening about three feet square. Tinted light shone up from it, casting the back of the freezer in a bluish haze. “You two wait up here. Like I said, the Bones don’t care much for strangers.” With a nimble movement, Tiny disappeared down the opening.

  THE SERPENT DREAMED. The dream was an oldie but goodie. One of his favorites, actually. The night of his breaking free. He knew it was a dream, but that made it all the better. Knowing made the anticipation so much sweeter. He felt the tension in his muscles build as he approached his mother’s bedroom where she entertained tonight’s guest. Guttural sounds burst through the cheap door, indicating she was still “in the office,” as she referred to it. When she was “in the office,” he was supposed to stay quiet and out of the way. He was tired of that. Tonight, he decided he would join in the action.

  The Serpent—he had thought of himself in that way even back then—had spent the better part of an hour sharpening the blade he intended to use. In his dream, he felt sweat on his hand as it gripped the handle. He had been nervous, of course, but not so much that he doubted even for a second that he was going to do it. The thought of warm blood rushing out of them thrilled him like nothing ever had. He licked his lips in anticipation and put his hand on the doorknob.

  “That was a very exciting night, wasn’t it, Jeremy?”

  The Serpent spun toward the voice. This wasn’t part of the dream, not part of what had happened. Behind him, impenetrable darkness reigned. “Master? What are you doing in my dream?”

  “I was there, Jeremy, that night. I was as much a part of it as you were.”

  As the dream faded, the Serpent searched the darkness for some sign of Lord Denizen. He considered his master’s words. “Did you choose me that night?”

  “You have belonged to me since the moment you were conceived, Jeremy,” Denizen said. “You have been a very good little servant so far, Jeremy. Very good indeed.”

  The Serpent didn’t really like being called a servant, but he let it slide. His power had progressed, but he doubted he possessed anywhere near the power of this creature. Why risk losing a good thing over some words? No, the Serpent was much smarter than that.

  “Yes,” the voice said. “You are much smarter than that, aren’t you, Jeremy? That’s why I chose you. You are smart and ambitious.”

  “Why can’t I see you?”

  “Oh, Jeremy, you really don’t want to see me.”

  The Serpent smiled into the darkness. “Sure I do. What, are you ugly or something?” For a moment, he thought he had gone too far, pushed this creature beyond what it was willing to tolerate. He felt a pressure in his mind, a horrible feeling of hate that expanded until he was certain his head would pop like a water balloon against a brick wall. He wondered what would happen in real life if his head exploded in a dream.

  “Then look upon me, human. Look upon a god.”

  The air around the Serpent flashed bright white, momentarily blinding him. He squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them to a squint. A figure stood before him, tall and proud, a shadow against the shining backdrop. The Serpent felt something growing within him as he looked closer upon the god-thing. Tears streamed down his face, and his heart flooded with love and emotion at the unearthly beauty that graced him with its presence. The Serpent fell to his knees, unable to stand before such glory.

  “Well, Jeremy, what do you think? Am I ugly?”

  The Serpent’s chest heaved with sobs as he struggled to answer his master. “No, not ugly at all. Beautiful.” He was beautiful—tall and slim, yet radiating strength beyond comprehension. His face was a mask of swirling lights. His luminous eyes held the knowledge of the universe. His robe ebbed and flowed with a life of its own.

  “Yes, I am that. You didn’t think you were going to become like me, did you Jeremy? A god?”

  “No, never like you.”

  “You never could be like me,” the god spat. “Humans think they’re so special, but you are little more than bugs to me. You live or die by my pleasure. You know that, don’t you Jeremy?”

  The Serpent felt pinned by the inhuman gaze. His body bent even further so that his forehead touched the floor. “Yes…yes, Master.”

  The voice took on a gentler tone. “That’s good. Very good. You have questions, Jeremy. You may ask.”

  The power of the gaze loosened, and the Serpent rose back up to a kneeling position. “Master, you have done so much for me. I live only to serve you. From the beginning, I have known you wanted John Burke dead. But I have not been able to kill him. Am I wrong about your desire?”

  The god laughed. “Not wrong, but not altogether correct either. I will enjoy seeing John Burke dead. But his time has not yet come.”

  “Then why convince him he wanted to die? Recommending the pawnshop? Why all of that if he was not to kill himself?”

  “You humans have such limited imaginations. He was so busy feeling sorry for himself. He needed something to get him going. You were that something.”

  “But what if he had done it—killed himself, I mean?”

  “Then chaos would reign, as it was meant to.” Denizen’s voice grew serious. “John Burke will die, my young friend, make no mistake about that. What is intended must not happen. On either side.”

  “I don’t understand, Master. What is it you want?”

  “I want chaos, Jeremy. The Ancient One thinks he controls destiny, while my foolish brethren think they can wrest it from him. We, Jeremy, live for the chaos of eternal battle, death, and destruction. Tell me, can you think of anything you would rather do?”

  The Serpent thought about this a moment. “No.” He smiled in the darkness of his dream. “I cannot.”

  Burke wandered around the lot as he waited for Tiny to return. The restlessness he had felt earlier in the day was back, and he was chafing to get back on the road. He kept telling himself Tiny was only making sure the way was safe, but he didn’t care. Now that he knew Sara was alive and in need of him, he could think of little else.

  Slipping back inside, he spied Josiah and Raquel in a heated argument, hunched together in a corner between the small selection of automotive products and the equally slim pickings of household cleaners. He suspected it had something to do with Josiah’s recent trend of playing second fiddle to Martinez in spiritual matters. Why that would matter to Raquel he didn’t know, unless…Could Raquel and Josiah be romantically involved? They would make a strange pair. Where Josiah was short, skinny, and bald, Raquel was tall, beautiful, and dangerous. She fit the biker role, while Josiah looked like he belonged in an office.

  “Lovers’ quarrel,” came Tiny’s voice from behind him.

  Burke turned to the huge man. “They’re a couple?”

  “Husband and wife. Performed the ceremony myself. Make a nice-looking pair, don’t they?”

  Burke shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  Tiny laughed. “You’re wondering what a hot woman like her is doing with Josiah, right?”

  “The question crossed my mind.”

  “Josiah’s my second, that gives him power. Power has its attraction. I think Raquel really does love the little guy, though. She’s protective of him.”

  Just then, Raquel turned and stalked away, and Josiah’s shoulders slumped.

  Tiny chatted with Gypsy at the counter for a few minutes as some of the Rebels purchased miscellaneous items for the trip.

  “Paid for some gas, so I’m gonna move the car over to the pump,” Martinez said. “Asked Gypsy how many of those pumps still work. He laughed like I just told a really good joke.”

  “Did he answer the question?” Burke asked.

  “Said, ‘As many as I want to work.’ Get the feeling this place is a whole lot more than what we were allowed to see.”

  Burke walked to the pumps as Martinez pulled the car around. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt good to be up and moving. His body was still healing from the abuse it had taken, and th
e hours spent in the car had left him stiff.

  Martinez pumped the gas, and Burke’s eyes grew wide at the price. “$178? No wonder this place is deserted.”

  “Friends of Tiny get it for half that. Still expensive. That’s why hardly anyone lives out here anymore. Have to drive for miles to get anything, and the cost of gas would drive most folks broke. Doubt the Bones hang out here to make a living. This is first and foremost a command post.”

  “I don’t think the long arm of the law’s in charge out here. Feels like the old west, or at least how it was portrayed in the movies.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. So far we’ve been lucky. Tiny and his gang are the good guys out here, but I doubt they’re the majority. We’re out of our element. Ex-cop or not, we’re at the bottom of the food chain. Need to learn our way around in this part of the world and learn it fast.”

  “It seems like you already have something going with Tiny.”

  “Yeah? I’m kind of suspicious of that. Wants me to help him with his ‘Bible learning’ as he calls it. That’s always been Josiah’s position, but something happened there. Josiah’s stepping aside a little too easily. Help me keep an eye on him.”

  TIME SEEMED TO slow as the gang of bikers escorted the old car through the desert. The landscape exposed a rugged beauty in its desolation. They were moving into the high desert now, out of the dunes and arid rock of the lower desert. The ghost town that had once been Kingman, Arizona had been left behind over an hour ago, and Burke wondered if there was anything out here other than lizards and rattlesnakes. In the near distance, mountains jutted into the clear sky. Closer by, green-brown scrub and stunted pines littered the landscape. Burke and Martinez rounded the top of a rise to find Tiny and the lead riders pulled over to the side of the freeway. Burke parked the car behind them, and the two men climbed out. Tiny was deep in discussion with Josiah, Raquel, and Scribe. Raquel shot them a look that said their presence was not required.

  “When was the last time they checked in?” Tiny asked.

  “We haven’t heard from them since we left the stop,” Scribe said.

  Tiny stood, straddling his bike and looking out over the valley below. The view was breathtaking.

  “What’s up?” Martinez asked.

  “Scouts are missing,” Tiny said, still gazing out over the desert. “They missed their call-in.”

  “Could they be out of range or something?” Burke asked. “These mountains probably affect the radio signal.”

  “You think we’re idiots?” Raquel spat. “You think we don’t know what we’re doing? This is our turf.”

  “That’s enough, Raquel,” Tiny said, though his tone suggested he had taken the unintended slight to heart as well. Raquel bit off anything else she had meant to say, but her fierce glare remained locked on Burke.

  “As I think Raquel was saying,” Tiny continued, his voice low, “no, they would not be out of range. Our scouts never miss a call-in unless something’s wrong.”

  One of the Rebels came roaring up from behind. “Tiny, we got company on our tail.” They all turned and looked back the way they had come, but the rise of the road prevented them from seeing very far.

  “Any idea who?” Tiny asked.

  The man shook his head. “Bikes, fifteen or twenty I’d guess. Coming fast.”

  Tiny considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. “Mount up,” he yelled, gunning his Harley to life. Burke and Martinez ran back to their car. Burke jumped into the driver’s seat as the bikes leapt out onto the road. The tires of the old car spun and smoked as Burke took off after them.

  “You know this territory at all?” Burke asked Martinez.

  “Nope.”

  “Me neither.” Burke kept the gas pedal almost to the floor as the old engine fought to keep up with the better-maintained Harleys. The group raced down the mountain, down a road that wound and snaked its way to the bottom. The bikes handled the twists and turns much better than the car, and Burke and Martinez began to fall further behind. Burke took a quick look into the rearview mirror, but saw nothing but the road and mountain. “Think Tiny has some idea who it might be?”

  Martinez shrugged. “Maybe. My guess is he wants to get some place where he can see in all directions before stopping to say howdy.”

  They rounded another curve, and the road opened up to a clear view of the valley below.

  “They’re catching up,” Martinez said. Burke checked the rearview again as two, then three, motorcycles rounded the curve behind them. He gave the tired engine more gas, and they rocketed down the mountain.

  “More in front,” Martinez said, a slight edge to his normally calm voice.

  Burke raised his eyes from the road directly in front of them and scanned the terrain farther down the slope. Beyond the Lord’s Rebels, another group of bikes—with a couple trucks mixed in—sped toward them from the east. Burke guessed the new threat to be a couple miles out yet. Brake lights flashed on a few Rebel bikes, but only for a moment, and those in front with Tiny never slowed at all.

  “What are they doing?” Burke asked.

  Martinez remained quiet a moment, then he pointed to a spot between the two groups of bikers. “Road. Tiny must be trying to get there first.”

  Burke looked where Martinez pointed and saw what looked like an exit from the freeway. If it was, no one had used it lately. The road was covered in coat of sand, the desert reclaiming what had once belonged to it. Burke could tell the race would be close, but the Rebels would win. Of course, that was a moot point if the road ended in the middle of nowhere. He snuck a look into the rearview mirror and saw the gang behind them catching up fast.

  Ahead, Tiny’s brake light illuminated, followed by those of the rest of the Rebels. Burke let off the gas and got ready to lock up his own brakes, praying the old clunker could handle the stress. The bikes took the run-down exit ramp two by two and surged forward onto the sand-covered road. He didn’t know how well the Harleys would handle the conditions, but Tiny and his gang seemed to know what they were doing. Burke tightened his grip on the wheel as he steered the car onto the exit, sliding around the curve. The sand and dust kicked up by the tires obscured the road. That was fine with Burke. The riders behind them would have just as hard a time of it as he was.

  “You didn’t happen to notice a sign that said what might be down here, did you?” Burke asked.

  “Nope. Better be something, though.”

  Burke saw no need to respond. He kept his eyes on the dust cloud before them, watching for red taillights. He could see even less behind them. If the other gang was back there, they were cloaked in sand.

  The car emerged from the dust like an airplane passing through the clouds. A weathered blacktop road led through a tiny town. He only saw a couple other streets leading off the main road. Just on the other side of the town, not more than a quarter mile from where they had entered, a wood barricade displayed a large orange sign reading DEAD END. Someone had drawn horns and slit eyes on all of the D’s on the sign, so they looked like three devils telling anyone who ventured this far that hell lay just beyond. Burke halted the car in front of the barricade as the Rebels turned their bikes and passed by them, going back the way they had come.

  “This isn’t good,” Burke said.

  “Nope.”

  Burke turned the car around in the road and followed the bikers back to the other side of the tiny town, but they were blocked in. The gang that had chased them sat at least forty strong in the middle of the road.

  And there was no other way out.

  Burke and Martinez sat in the car as it idled just behind two rows of Lord’s Rebels. Burke had thought the Rebels were clean and organized for a biker gang that roamed the desert wastelands, but he couldn’t say the same for the motley group that faced them. While there may have been a few dented Harley Davidsons blocking their path, most of the bikes were foreign-made, and a few looked pieced together from spare parts. But what the bandit gang lacked in st
ructure, they more than made up in numbers. As the Lord’s Rebels sat, waiting to see what would happen next, the roar of engines from the other side made it clear their riders itched for action.

  The gang members were just as mismatched as the bikes they straddled. Most wore the customary leather jacket, but they displayed no particular style, nor did they fly any colors that gave them the appearance of unity. In fact, Burke thought they were probably a group of misfits that no one else wanted. Organized or not, they outnumbered the Rebels more than two to one. Burke saw a few Rebels slip pistols or knives from hiding places within their leather.

  The roar of hot engines assailed them again, and then the line of bikes split into two groups, dividing to the right and left to allow a path for a military-style truck. The truck moved up to the front of the line, its muffler-less engine revving loudly enough to drown out the motorcycles that surrounded it. As it rolled to a stop, twisted figures could be seen tied to the front.

  Headless corpses, dressed in Rebel colors.

  The scouts.

  Burke forced down the bile that rose in his throat. If there had ever been any question as to whether or not this gang was hostile, that question had just been answered. The Lord’s Rebels sat stunned as the passenger door of the grotesque truck opened and a scrawny, dirty man with wild graying hair leaned out, threw his head back, and cackled over the multitude of idling engines. The sound reminded Burke of a hyena.

  In one smooth, slow motion, Tiny reached behind his back and under his jacket, pulled out a pistol, swung it forward, and pulled the trigger. The crack of the gun filled the air and the laughing man flew off the truck. He bounced off a nearby motorcycle, knocking it and its rider over, before lying still in the hot sand.