by J. Thorn
Alex shook his head and coughed again into his hand.
“You sound pretty set with your decision.”
“Well, I’ve been laying here with nothing else to think about. I can’t even think of finding my family if I’m not healthy.”
John looked around the room and spotted a feather boa hanging from a dusty coatrack. He walked over and shook it free of dust mites and spider webs. John wrapped it around Alex’s head like a bandana.
“I’ll see if I can get the road whores to party with you.”
Alex ignored John’s attempt at lightening the mood.
“You don’t have to wait for me. Go. Do what you need to do.”
“Sully said he’ll come with me. Bring his guys and firepower.”
Alex coughed again. The fit brought a star-shaped burst of red to his palm.
“Rest up. Hopefully I’ll be back here with Jana and I can introduce you two. I think you’d get along great.”
Alex smiled and looked at the ceiling. He avoided John’s eyes. “Yeah, good luck, bro.”
***
Sully and his gang partied throughout the night. Beer appeared from behind doors and under furniture. John overheard the guys talking about the timing of the Apocalypse. The cold winter would keep the beer chilled well into March before they would have to worry about it going skunk. By that time, they could get the bud in the ground and be smoking homegrown by June.
John sat on a chair nursing a beer throughout the night. The men did not exclude him from the dice, cards or fondling of women, but they didn’t go out of their way to include him either. John laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He sat amongst a group of lawless outsiders existing on the periphery of society, scoffed at and ignored by the mainstream. And now he himself was on the outside. The taxpayer, the good citizen, the husband, the homeowner. John wondered how long it would take for the roles to reverse completely.
If the Keepers of the Wormwood gained control, who would they rebel against? John realized it did not really matter to the bikers if they won. They would be happy allowing the Holy Covenant to control society the same way the capitalists and lawmakers did before them. From their perspective, nothing really changed except they would have fewer enemies. The Covenant removed the middle ground, leaving two factions, the Church and those who resist it. John felt relieved his world became black and white. The grays made people lazy, apathetic and depressing. A woman approached John from his left and sat on a milk crate.
“I don’t care what they say. I think it’s so romantic. I wish I had a guy who would do that for me.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know nothing about it.”
“I think I do, sweetheart. So many times, the last thing I’ve said to my man as he walked out the door was something stupid like, ‘And don’t be late, asshole.’ Or, ‘Don’t forget cigarettes on the way home.’ That eats me up inside. I’ve lost men after that and I’ve had to live with those words forever. With you, I think you got something like that going on. I think you need to talk to your wife and clear the air before your spirit can rest. It almost don’t matter if she lives or not. It’s for you, ain’t it?”
John stood and kicked his milk crate into the wall.
“What gives you the right?”
The woman smiled and exhaled a blue cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. She stood and stepped right up to John. He tasted the tobacco and beer on her breath.
“Because I know men, honey. She doesn’t need you anymore than she needs a vibrator. I can see the guilt in your eyes and I can feel it in your heart.”
“You don’t know me,” John said.
“I think I do. There are certain things we’re privy to that you’re not. We’ve been pushed to the margins of society for so long, we’ve developed sensitivities to things you blindly walk past. My great-grandmother came here from the heart of Romania. I’ve received just an echo of her sight, but it’s enough for me to smoke you out.”
“I need air.”
John left the biker chick standing by the milk crate. He looked over his shoulder at her as he walked toward the back exit.
Chapter 35
“They are at the corner of Mayfield and Plainfield, sergeant.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
The sergeant turned and sent the cryptic hand motions to the others. He saw the light reflect off of the scopes as the men turned toward their anticipated targets. Father would be pleased.
“Do not, I repeat, do not engage except on my command. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sergeant.”
The young soldier stood back and removed the safety from his weapon.
***
The morning brought an unusual snow squall. A cold rain wasn’t uncommon here, but a major November snowstorm was unusual.
Jana picked up her walking pace. She’d kept well behind the two soldiers leading the way and in front of Commander Byron. The old soldier would never admit it to a woman, but Jana knew the march was taking its toll on his withered muscles. Byron’s head lolled and he spent a good deal of time staring at the ground four feet ahead. His arm tensed and shook at the end of the cane, straining to provide equilibrium to a bent frame.
“This is it,” Jana said.
Jana stopped walking. She stood in the middle of Mayfield Road facing the road sign attached to the telephone pole at the corner. Bullet holes punctuated “Plainfield Road.”
The two soldiers stopped and turned toward Byron, awaiting a command.
“How far down to take us to your house?”
Jana ignored the awkward turn of phrase.
“We’re on the right where the road also bends to the right. I’m guessing ten or twelve houses.”
“Sit,” he said.
Byron’s English deteriorated with his ability to walk without a limp. He slouched on his cane and pushed words at Jana as if the physical ordeal left him little energy to continue Americanizing his speech.
He moved past Jana as she sat on the curb. Her long legs spread out over the edge of the road collecting dozens of snowflakes on her denim. The two soldiers moved closer and stood on each side of Byron. He did most of the talking while the two soldiers stood and nodded in agreement. Byron addressed Jana again.
“The street under yours, Winston. Which is the house that sits on you?” Byron’s eccentric word combination confused Jana.
“You mean the street behind mine? Yes, that’s Winston. Not sure what you mean about the sitting part.”
“I will not wait to strike you in blood. Answer me.”
Jana shook her head. She stood and pointed to the row of houses that backed up to her street.
“That is Winston and it runs parallel to Plainfield. If we head down Winston you should be able to see the back of my house. I will recognize it when we’re close.”
She looked Byron in the eye and continued. “I want to know what happens to me before I take you there, Commander.”
“Let’s go,” Byron said to the guards, ignoring Jana’s question.
“Wait,” she said.
The two soldiers moved beside her, ready to grab and secure each arm if she refused to cooperate with the plan.
“I am to get you there,” Byron said. “What happens to you after that is not for my concern.”
Jana stomped a foot into the fluffy snow pile. The soldiers grabbed her wrists.
“You told me I would be turned over to Father and no harm would come to me.”
Byron ignored her again and hobbled down the sidewalk toward Winston with the guards pulling Jana along behind.
***
“They’re moving back down Mayfield towards Winston.”
The sergeant looked through his binoculars and confirmed the message from his men in the field.
What fools, he thought. Do they really think we won’t notice them coming in the back door?
“Make yourselves known but don’t engage.”
***
Two of Father’s s
oldiers guarding the house stepped into the barren street. Dead leaves and random trash hugged the corner of the fences. Electrical lines spread out across sidewalks and lawns like dead serpents after a flood. No more than fifty yards away, the marksmen pointed their weapons toward the approaching party.
Byron halted the two guards and continued, moving closer to the armed soldiers.
“Brothers of the Holy Covenant, how I am happy to see you. I am Commander Byron, soldier of God and servant to Father. I have a delivery for him.”
Neither soldier moved. They stood with legs apart, ready to fire at the slightest indication of trouble.
“Please contact your superior officer and let him know of my arrival. The delivery is behind me.”
Byron swung his arm around to where the soldiers and Jana stopped in the middle of the road.
“If you come closer we will engage,” one of the soldiers said to Byron. “Wait until we can verify your identity and mission.”
The other marksman turned and marched back down Winston.
Byron sighed and dug a crumpled cigar from his pocket. The snow accumulated everywhere, turning the old warrior into a vision of the Yeti. The bright blue flame of his lighter chased the falling snow away and lit the tobacco. Byron drew in his breath, pulsing the orange glow on the end.
The first soldier returned. He whispered into the ear of the other who nodded, then spoke. “Drop your weapons to the ground. Walk backwards towards us.”
Byron nodded to the two soldiers holding Jana. They let go of her and she swung her arms down in defiance and disgust. The cold clink of metal rang up from the frozen asphalt as automatic weapons hit the ground. Byron and his guards turned their backs to the men and commenced pacing backward. The Warriors of Christ snapped the plastic zip ties on Byron’s men. One of the marksmen grabbed Jana by the arm and led her ahead of the others but did not secure her.
***
“He has arrived with the girl.”
“Secure them all in the house and get your soldiers off the street as quickly as possible.” Father’s voice snapped through the tinny speaker of the two-way radio.
“When can we expect you?” the sergeant asked.
“Two hours. If Commander Byron does anything but smoke, shoot him dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sergeant set the radio on the table and looked up into the barrel of a gun. The blast knocked him through a picture window and into the driveway of the next door neighbor, his dead body sliding across the ice and into the grass.
Other blasts rang out. Jana found herself balled up on the hardwood floor of her living room while a close range gunfight ensued around her. She heard screaming and more shouts, broken glass and the pulsing repetition of machine gun fire. Jana crawled toward the front door while coughing as acrid smoke filled the room. She reached forward across the threshold until a black boot crushed her wrist on the marble tile of the foyer. Jana heard the fine bones break as the pain raced to her brain.
Chapter 36
“C’mon, man. We gotta go.”
Sully stood over John holding a green military jacket and double barreled shotgun.
John struggled to wake up.
Sully bent down and helped John to his feet. The massive biker threw the jacket over John’s shoulders and held the weapon six inches from his face.
“Snow is picking up. You’re going to want to wear this.”
John pulled the coat on and felt a sticky substance on the right shoulder. Cold blood soaked the coat.
“How’s Alex?” John asked. His voice sounded distant and faded.
“Still healing. He’s gonna need to stay here.”
“Okay then,” John said. “I think I’m ready.”
John pulled his thoughts together and went through the back door of the stage. The swirling wall of snow and the glare of afternoon daylight blinded him. The inviting warmth and darkness of the Keeper’s lair became a fleeting memory. John waited as several bikers emerged from the back door. Sully stood in front of them all.
“If we move and don’t stop to eat the yellow snow, we should be at your place by nightfall. Word from brothers in the field is someone is in your old house. Don’t know who or how many, but it could be your old lady.”
John shook the remaining wisps of the night from his head.
Sully led the renegade group down a snow-covered street. Without plows and salt trucks, the entire landscape glared like a blank canvas. Each member of the Keepers of the Wormwood wore their leather vest on top of whatever else they could find. Most of the men wrapped scarves around their faces, giving them the look of Muslim extremists.
John slipped into the middle of the group. They hemmed him in on all sides like a squad of police cars bringing a chase to a peaceful and manageable end. John heard Sully curse when he twisted an ankle on a covered curb.
They wound their way through dead neighborhoods. The blood red sign painted on doors and walls was intensified by the power of the pure snow. John put his head down and watched the tip of his boots strike the powder.
For hours, they marched through empty streets and deserted parking lots, past graveyards, gas stations and churches. John recognized a block of Mayfield near Belvoir where the downward spiral began for him. The party at Reggie’s now felt like someone else’s life. He pushed the memory of Sarah and his coerced blackmail from his mind. He thought about his Camaro, loud guitars and flicking a lit cigarette out the car window on a sultry summer evening. He relished memories of his beautiful, naked Jana underneath him. He could almost smell her hair.
“This is it,” Sully said.
While John was daydreaming, he didn’t notice they had stopped, or that Sully addressed him directly.
“Yeah. Plainfield Road.”
Sully turned his back to John. He moved a closed hand to his ear. Sully’s head bobbed up and down, followed by an audible click as he disconnected his call with Commander Byron.
“The lighthouse is pulling us into the harbor. Let’s go.”
The Keepers of the Wormwood surrounded John and helped him toward his house like a rushing creek carrying a lone leaf over the falls.
Chapter 37
Jana looked up at Byron through shimmering tears and blue smoke. He slammed his boot into the side of her head.
Commander Byron lost a man in the fight but his small force managed to eliminate all of Father’s other soldiers. Hidden daggers allowed Byron and his men to cut the zip ties, pull handguns from strategic holsters and open fire on Father’s unprepared men.
One of Byron’s men gathered the automatic weapons and placed them inside a closet at the bottom of the stairs. He pulled bodies to the side of the house and placed them behind some trees. Byron instructed his soldier to drag Jana by the heels. Her head created a dull thud as it slid down each step to the basement.
She murmured. A closet door sat open to his left. Byron switched on the rifle mounted flashlight and the beam revealed a heating unit complete with shiny ductwork. Behind that he saw another door, much older, composed of unpainted, wooden planks. Judging from the fireplace chute in the wall, Byron guessed the door led into the coal room.
The coal room spanned four feet by ten feet with brick on all sides and the floorboards of the porch above. The frigid air nipped at his nose but it was not quite as cold as the bitter snow squall outside. Remnants of mold and abandoned spider webs caused Byron to cover his mouth.
He pulled Jana through the first closet, past the furnace and into the coal room. He grabbed zip ties from his pocket and secured her ankles together. He fastened one wrist to a rusted S hook lodged in the mortar, but struggled to get the other swollen wrist secured with a zip tie. Byron stood back and looked at his work. Jana’s legs shot out perpendicular to the wall, tied shut at the ankles. Her head lolled to one side and rested on her chest, each arm raised at a forty-five degree angle and secured at the wrists on the S hooks. Before he backed out of the room, Byron spotted a roll of duct tape on top of
the furnace. He tore a strip from the brittle roll and spread it across Jana’s mouth.
He shut the old door and slid cardboard boxes in front of it. It would not fool a military team searching the place, but it would keep her concealed from the untrained eye.
Byron hobbled back up the steps and sat in the kitchen on a wooden chair. His remaining guard handed him the phone the dead sergeant used to communicate with Father. Byron scrolled through a menu and determined the sergeant didn’t make another call after letting Father know Jana had arrived. No one would know he was in charge now. The commander tossed the phone on the kitchen counter. He felt a vibrating ring on his own phone and pulled it from his vest.
“Yes?”
“Do you have her secure?”
“Yes. Are you bringing him?”
“Yes. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
The line clicked.
Byron shut the phone and put it back in his vest.
“Watch the front door and make sure the Sully doesn’t try anything stupid. If he does, shoot him.”
The soldier nodded to Commander Byron and stood sentry by the front door.
Chapter 38
They marched to within four houses of John’s, yet the blasting snow made it difficult to see it. The slate clouds held the sky close.
“You won’t need this anymore,” Sully said. He yanked the shotgun from John’s hand and tossed it to another Keeper of the Wormwood.
John replayed the one-sided telephone conversation in his mind. He looked at Sully.
“Why not?” John asked.
“C’mon, dude. You tellin’ me you haven’t figured it out yet?”
John shook his head and brushed the accumulating snow from his face.
“Which one is it?” Sully asked.
John pointed down the street to a house on the right. The group saw a vague outline through the swirling whiteout. Snow accumulated on the ground covering most distinguishable landmarks.