Authors: Edwin Page
Plumes of smoke
drifted across the crossing as the fires that still burned helped to illuminate
the scene with their fading light. A few cars had been position to shine their
headlights on the booths as I watched from the tailgate of the float, eager to
continue north despite the pounding of my head.
The grinding of metal against metal filled the air and I watched as the
prisoner transport vehicle and two of the school buses dragged the armoured car
from the wreckage, Morgan’s body having been discovered within, his legs and
neck broken. It was pulled clear and the group of people that had been waiting
to the sides shambled forward, beginning the task of clearing the debris so we
could make our way through.
I heard footsteps passing over the section of fence that had been brought
down by the float and moved forward to peer around the side. Clive was
approaching with a young man called Travis, who had a bazooka slung on his back
that must have been taken from the one of the dead soldiers. Before them
marched half a dozen troops with their hands on their heads and guns pointed at
their backs.
‘Found these in the inspector’s building,’ said Clive with a backward
glance.
‘They were dug in like an Alabama tick,’ stated Travis as they brought
the men to a stop before me. ‘Until I pointed this thing at them,’ he added,
reaching back to pat the top of the bazooka.
‘They had maps and communications equipment in there,’ said Clive.
I nodded as I scanned the faces of the soldiers, all of them showing
signs of the sickness. ‘On your knees,’ I stated coldly.
They looked to the man second from right, who gave an almost
imperceptible nod. They knelt on the asphalt before me as I drew the pistol
from inside my robes.
More footsteps sounded from behind and I glanced over my shoulder to find
Mark helping a woman in her thirties towards me, her pale top stained with the
evidence of the recent show and dried blood on her chin.
‘Clarissa wanted to speak with you about…,’ began Mark, continuing to
hold the woman’s arm supportively.
‘About my husband,’ she interrupted as they came to a stop and I turned
to them, looking to her overweight face, which was framed by cascades of black
ringlets.
‘Your husband?’ I asked.
‘Samuel.’
‘What about him?’
‘See those bodies over there?’ She pointed to the far side of the
crossing, those who had been killed during the assault piled in the far lane.
‘Samuel is in that heap.’
‘And?’ I looked at her with a lack of comprehension, massaging my temple
as my head throbbed.
‘And he deserves a Christian burial.’
I couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter.
Her expression darkened, eyes still dilated after the marijuana-laced
soup which had been served. ‘You think that’s funny Reverend?’
‘Have you seen yourself? Here you are, stood before me covered in stains
after feasting on human blood, and you’re talking about Christian burials.’
‘But you say it’s part of God’s plan.’
‘And so is getting to Montreal. We haven’t got time to waste here,’ I
stated, becoming irritated.
‘Well, I’m not going anywhere until he’s been properly buried,’ she
responded with a huff.
I stared at her a moment as the pressure behind my eyes grew. Raising the
gun, I shot her in the forehead. She crumpled to the ground, Mark releasing her
as he looked down in shock.
‘Okay, you’re not going anywhere then,’ I responded to her unwitting last
words.
‘You want we should do the same to these guys?’ asked Travis, standing
ready with his shotgun.
‘Shooting us would be a violation of the Geneva Convention and our human
rights,’ stated the trooper who was clearly the commanding officer of the
group.
I laughed again. ‘What is with all you people? Don’t you realise this is
the end? There’s no Geneva Convention anymore, there’s no fucking Geneva.’
I turned the gun on him and shot him in the head.
‘And that’s what I think of your human fucking rights,’ I finished as he
fell forward onto the asphalt.
Feeling tense and noting an ache in my muscles, I stepped to the trooper
on the right and blew his brains out. Stepping over their commander, I went to
the next in line and repeated the process until they all lay face down on the
roadway.
I stared at them, my lips curled into a snarl stiffened by the pain in my
head.
‘You want we should take them over and dump them with the other bodies?’
asked Travis.
‘No. Leave them for the crows. The same goes for all the troops. As for
our own, dowse them in gasoline and burn them.’ I glanced back. ‘Including
Clarissa there.’
I began to move past them. Dizziness suddenly came upon me and I
staggered, reaching my hand to the side of the float for support.
Clive stepped towards me, arms out with the intention of helping me. I
lifted my free hand.
‘No,’ I stated, blinking and trying to steady myself, ‘I can do it.’
Pushing off from the float, I unsteadily made my way along the side and
climbed up into the cab with great effort. Shutting the door, I reached down
for the kitbag into which I’d transferred the morphine tablets.
Taking out a packet, I popped four onto my palm and threw them into my
mouth, forcing myself to swallow. Taking long breaths, I closed my eyes, my
head aching in a way I’d never felt before. Its pulse radiated out from my
brain with every heartbeat and was accompanied by rhythmic pressure against the
backs of my eyes.
I waited for the pills to take effect, only opening my eyes to glance in
the mirror, seeing Travis carrying Clarrisa’s body over his shoulder as he and
Clive made their way to the far side of the border crossing. The pain began to
abate, fading into the back of my mind, but remaining vaguely present as my
body sagged in chemical relaxation.
I glanced over at the back of the cab behind the driver’s seat. David’s
body had been removed, but the stain of blood, hair and brain remained, along
with the jagged hole that had been created by the shrapnel that had taken his
life so abruptly.
Moving over into his seat, I kept my head forward despite wanting to rest
it, the influence of the drugs making me feel a little drowsy. I started the
engine and turned to look out of the rear window after shifting into reverse.
Carefully taking the float back onto the crossing, I could hear the complaints
of the fence beneath the wheels.
I pulled to a stop and put it into first, setting off at a crawl as I
turned it and brought it over towards the far side. I passed along the front of
the blackened tanks squatting in the centre of the crossing, the battered and
burnt-out remains of the fuel tanker’s cab wrapped around the side of the
first, the second a smouldering husk.
Turning into the narrow corridor that had been created between the
wrecked vehicles by nosing them aside with one of the school buses, I drove
towards the booths. Smoke drew into the cab through the vacant windshield,
catching in the back of my throat and filled with the scent of burning plastic
and rubber.
My headlights starkly illuminated the work crew who were clearing the
route through and I came to a stop once again. I stared out of the broken front
window, waving one of them over.
‘How long?’ I asked the stocky man in his late forties as he approached,
his comb-over catching in the wind and lifting to reveal the baldness beneath
before he flattened it down, licking his palm and passing its dampness over the
hair.
‘Nearly done. Maybe another ten minutes.’
I frowned, impatient to get going as I began to worry about my failing
health. I looked out of the front and saw there were only a few pieces of
debris remaining.
‘Get them out the way. I’ll clear the last of it.’
He gave a nod and moved back towards the destroyed booth, a couple of the
yellow bollards bent to the sides by the impact of the armoured car and others
flattened into the asphalt where it had landed, resting in indents that had
been forced into the road surface.
‘Out of the way. He’s coming through,’ called the man, waving me forward
once everyone was clear.
Catching movement in the side mirror, I found Neil approaching with a
distinctly agitated look about him as he regularly glanced back. Winding down
the window, I turned to his approach.
‘You should be with the convoy. We’re about to set off.’
Neil came to a stop, eyes wide as he looked up at me, face smeared with
dried blood. ‘We have a…’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘We have a problem.’
‘What sort of problem?’
‘We’ve lost people.’ He looked back again.
‘Lost people?’
He turned to look over his other shoulder sharply.
‘Neil!’ I snapped, trying to gain his attention. ‘What the fuck are you
talking about?’
He looked up at me, his eyes restless. ‘They’ve gone. Wandered off. We
found one family in the trees. They’d hung themselves and the man had a sign
around his neck.’
‘A sign?’
Neil nodded as he glanced behind him again. ‘“Sinners”.’
‘What you looking for?’ I asked with irritation.
‘Shadows. I keep seeing the shadows of people moving around me. They keep
whispering,’ he replied, his own voice kept low.
‘What are they saying?’
‘I can’t hear, but it’s insistent and there’s an unfriendly undertone
that sets my teeth tingling.’
‘There’s no one there, Neil.’
He looked to his left. ‘There! Did you see them?’
I shook my head, recalling the sight that had greeted me when I’d crawled
out from under the float after the gunfire had ceased. A few wounded crawled on
the ground as a couple of people wandered aimlessly amidst the scenes of
destruction, one mumbling loudly to himself. Another man was standing near the
tanks, arms stiffly at his sides as he faced the clouds and roared. The only
break in the sound was when he took a breath, the tendons in his neck bulging.
The regular blare of a car horn had arisen from a vehicle parked before the
booths on the left and I’d been able to make out the darkened shape of the
driver. His hands were covering his face as he rocked back and forth, forehead
banging against the middle of the steering wheel.
‘I don’t know what’s going on, Reverend.’ There was an edge of panic to
Neil’s tone.
I blinked and focussed on his face, his pupils dilated. The heavy
seasoning of grass that had been added to the soup was clearly taking its toll
and I briefly considered waiting until the effects had worn off before
continuing north.
‘If you can’t drive then find someone who can,’ I stated. ‘Now get your
shit together and get back to the convoy.’
He spun round, his back to me.
‘Neil!’ I barked with increasing frustration.
‘Don’t you hear them?’ he asked fearfully.
I frowned down at him and then looked out of the windshield at the work
crew waiting for me to pass through. Seeing the man I’d spoken with before, I
pointed at him and waved him over.
‘What’s you name?’ I asked as he reached the cab.
‘Cooper,’ he replied.
‘Escort Neil back to his police patrol vehicle. Take the wheel and get
the convoy moving once I’m through.’
He nodded, stepping up to Neil and taking hold of his arm. Neil turned to
him with a look of fright.
‘Are you one of them? What do you want from me? What are you saying?’ His
words were quick and breathless.
‘There is no “them.” They’re not fucking real, got that?’ I said angrily
as Cooper looked to me questioningly. ‘He’s on of us and he’s going to take you
back to your vehicle.’
Neil looked at me for a moment and then nodded.
Cooper began to guide him along the side of the float as I watched in the
mirror for a moment. Turning my attention to the front, I shifted into first.
The float moved forward and slowly pushed the twisted chunks of debris
out of the way, the scraping of metal on the road rising into the night. I
cleared the booth and picked up speed, a few sparks rising from the passenger
side from a piece that had become caught on the bumper and was being dragged
alongside.
I swerved to the left, the sheet metal coming loose and being left in my
wake. The lanes ahead drew back in until only two remained, passing around a
tight right-hander a hundred yards ahead. On the Canadian side of the border
the interstate became Autoroute 15 and led directly north to Montreal, which
was only around sixty kilometres away. I could hear it calling, feel the pull
of the city that awaited our arrival, that would be brought to ruin so that
Judgement Day could finally dawn.
I smiled to myself in the darkness of the cab, bringing the float to a
halt with its left side facing back towards the south. I flicked the switch for
the disco lights and they flashed on top of the speakers. Opening the door, I
gripped onto the frame and clambered onto the bed, grunting with the effort as
I fought to overcome the drowsiness of the morphine.
Moving to the generator by the back of the cab, I turned it on and caught
the scent of gasoline as it began to chug. I detached the microphone from the
stand that was stowed there and took it out onto the stage, pushing the button
and raising it to my mouth.
‘Follow me, my faithful. You’re God’s chosen ones and it’s time to fulfil
your destiny,’ I called, my voice reverberating across the border crossing as
the multicoloured lights flashed behind me.
‘This is OUR time! We are the Holy Crusaders and the Promised Land awaits.
We will…’ My words trailed off as I heard a familiar pulsing thud.
Scanning the skyline, my gaze settled on a cluster of lights approaching
from the east. My pulse quickened as I looked to the convoy. There was no sign
of forward movement and I was filled with frustration.
‘MOVE, YOU FOOLS!’ I roared, my words rolling out like thunder.