Authors: Edwin Page
I heard machinegun fire as the gunships came in low. A moment later
bullets raked the booths where the work crew were standing, one of the men
almost ripped in half by the large calibre rounds.
The choppers came in, the beat of their rotors penetrating to the bone as
they loosed missiles. The crossing was rocked by a succession of explosions as
the birds banked to the south, heading towards the convoy.
I saw the shadowy forms of people leaping from their vehicles, scattering
to either side of the road as they ran for their lives. Missiles hissed as they
were launched above. Trials of flame seared the darkness as the deadly comets
hailed down on the convoy.
Blooms of flame erupted along the two lines of vehicles as the choppers
began to pass over them. Some were blown apart, large pieces of shrapnel sent
spinning and turning into the night. Others were lifted from the ground by
blasts or buffeted to the sides.
I saw Travis standing near the front with his back to me, lit by flames
as missiles continued to shred the convoy. The bazooka was upon his shoulder as
he aimed it at the receding gunships.
The brief flash of its launch was followed by a spark of flame shooting
upward in the darkness. I watched as it homed in on the chopper second from
right, closing, closing all the time.
The gunship’s rotor tail was ripped apart by the blast and it banked
violently, main blades slicing into the bird on the outside flank. The two choppers
became entangled as they fell, the wreckage crashing into the side of the
highway in a flaming pile of twisted metal and broken rotors.
The remaining gunships banked to the east in readiness to make another
pass. I spun towards the cab and drew my gun. Shooting out the rear window, I
dived through. A cry of pain escaped my lips as a shard of glass left in the
frame tore through my robes and sliced along my thigh.
I desperately righted myself on the seat. Reaching forward as the thud of
the choppers grew louder once again, I flicked the switch for the disco lights
and then turned off the headlights. I was plunged into darkness, a faint golden
glow becoming apparent as my eyes adjusted.
The sound of machinegun fire arose as I shifted into first and began to
pull away, turning to the north and the exit from the crossing. The rear of the
float was hit, the bullets destroying the speakers positioned there and
thudding into the bed.
I winced, hunched over as I stared through the vacant windshield, only
just able to make out the sharp right ahead. The float passed around it with
increasing speed, the remains of the rear speakers tumbling from the back and
crashing onto the road.
The sound of the gunships began to recede as they banked south and let of
another barrage of missiles at the convoy, machinegun fire accompanying the
explosions that followed. The sounds spurred me on despite the lack of
visibility, the road opening up ahead as I passed around the bend, its paleness
marking my escape from the carnage and the route north to Montreal.
Fifteen minutes
after leaving the Champlain border crossing, I finally turned the headlights
back on. I could make out large fields to either side of the highway, a few
dark clusters of trees and bushes passing at the edge of the illumination
afforded by the float, but barely noticed as I sat behind the wheel in a dazed
state of confusion.
The ache in my head had overcome the effects of the morphine and my brain
felt as if it was pushing against the inside of my skull. The pulsing made it
hard to concentrate and I had to fight to stop my mind wondering. I couldn’t
understand why the convoy had been destroyed, couldn’t fathom the reason behind
it. I’d thought we would roll into Montreal and bring about the end for those
who had survived, that we would rush like a tide through the city, my faithful
quenching their thirst for blood and lust for flesh.
I shook my head and glanced upward at the roof of the cab questioningly.
‘I don’t understand,’ I muttered, my expression tight and my sight drifting in
and out of focus. ‘Haven’t I followed your guidance? Haven’t I remained your
loyal servant all these years even when the world ridiculed and scorned me?’
I looked back to the road, the wind against my cheeks. My gaze moved to a
beige RV parked on the side of the southbound carriageway as it was revealed in
the darkness ahead. There was no one in the front seats, weak interior lights vaguely
penetrating the green and white striped curtains beyond.
I turned off the headlights and engine, coasting up the road a little
further until pressing the brakes and coming to a standstill fifty yards away.
Seeing no sign of activity, I reached over for the kitbag, blindly groping for
it as I kept my gaze on the RV.
Hefting it onto my lap, I dug out the morphine. Six tablets were popped
out of the foil and I put them in my mouth, struggling to swallow them as my
throat constricted. Coughing and eyes watering, I hunted around inside the bag
for a few moments, glancing down from time to time until I finally found the
spare clip for the pistol.
I popped the old out and slid the new in its place, tucking the gun back
into my robes before reaching for the door. My thigh flared with pain as I
moved and I had to exit the cab slowly, teeth gritted.
I limped over the central reservation, gripping the gun inside my
vestments as I kept a wary eye on the RV and the darkness surrounding it. I
drew the automatic as I moved around the front to the far side, my footsteps
softened by the grass on the verge.
‘Anybody in there?’ I called, drawing up against the wall beside the side
door and noting a staggered line of bullet holes rising up it.
There was no answer, but I was sure I could hear gentle sobbing coming
from within.
I gripped the handle and flung the door wide, keeping back from the
entrance as the door banged against the bodywork. Waiting a moment, I then
moved into the doorway with a wince, the gun held in both hands. There was no
one in sight and I craned my neck to peer in, seeing kitchen units to the left.
I stepped up and stood at the start of the aisle that ran down the centre
of the interior. An old couple were sitting in the seating area to the rear,
their arms around each other and faces telling of their ill health. Sitting
opposite them was a young woman wearing combats and a black sweatshirt. Her
head was bowed, face hidden by long blonde hair as she wept and clasped the
hand of a boy of about ten who was laying on the table between them with a gory
exit wound in his chest.
‘No one move,’ I stated, taking a step towards them.
The door to the washroom cubicle suddenly burst open and a man stood in
the entrance pointing a rifle at me, his eyes raw with loss. ‘Lay down your
weapon,’ he growled.
My gun remained steady. ‘It’s pointed at your wife’s head,’ I stated,
guessing that he was the boy’s father from his look of distress. ‘If I die, she
dies.’
He looked at me a moment and then his expression changed and his head
lifted slightly as he looked at me in surprised disbelief. ‘Clark, Clark
Peterson?’
I was taken aback and studied his haggard features, a growth of greying
stubble covering his angular jaw.
‘Holy shit! It is you,’ he stated, slowly lowering the rifle. ‘There’s no
need for the handgun, man. I used to be Atlanta’s number one fan.’
I tried to collect my thoughts as the throb in my head continued, the
morphine yet to take effect. ‘Atlanta?’
‘The eighties rock band,’ he said, moving into the aisle. ‘I went to a
bunch of your shows. I even got to meet you guys backstage one time. The name’s
Luke.’
I was having trouble comprehending what was happening, the pistil
wavering before I lowered it to my side. ‘You went to the shows?’
‘Man, that night in New Jersey,’ he said with a nostalgic shake of his
head. ‘You were so high you started talking to a huge inflatable clown up on
stage. Do you remember? It was right in the middle of a number. You thought you
were talking to God.’ He laughed and shook his head again.
‘I recall reading somewhere that it was that night you…’ Luke’s words
faded as he looked down at my robes, noticing them for the first time and his
cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
‘Anyway, what you doing here, man?’ he asked after a brief silence,
clearly wanting to change the subject.
‘Montreal,’ I replied simply as my mind swirled.
Luke shook his head. ‘It’s a DMZ. You sure as hell don’t want to be
heading that way.’
I looked at him curiously.
‘We…’ He took a breath and glanced over his shoulder at the body on the
table, his expression darkening. ‘We barely made it out.’
‘What happened?’
He moved towards me. ‘Outside,’ he said in a conspirational whisper,
ushering me back towards the door.
I limped out, groaning with pain as I stepped onto the verge. He followed
me down and took a few steps away, gaze settling on the parade float as it was
revealed on the other side of the road.
‘That yours?’ He nodded towards it.
‘Yeah.’
‘No one else with you?’
I shook my head.
‘Maybe we can ride on the back once you’ve turned around?’
‘What about the RV?’
‘The engine’s shot. It took a hit as we left the city and I’m surprised
it got us this far before finally giving up the ghost.’
‘What were you saying about Montreal?’
He looked back north along the highway. ‘It’s gone. At least, it won’t be
long until it has.’
‘What do you mean?’
Luke stared at me hauntingly. ‘Hundreds of thousands of refugees turned
up there the first day. The second was worse. That’s when we arrived, coming up
from Maine via Sherbrooke.
‘The meds had already run dry by then and the food was nearly gone. The
streets were jammed with vehicles and people, a mass of desperate humans
struggling to hold on to what they had left. There was rioting and looting, the
hospital was overrun and burnt down. That was the start of the collapse.’
‘The collapse?’
‘Gangs took over. The people with guns hunted the people without, taking
whatever they could get their hands on, food, valuables… satisfaction,’ he
said, giving me a meaningful look.
‘The outlying districts were looted and burnt to the ground to flush out
anyone hiding there. Sunday night was filled with explosions, gunshots and
screaming.’ He shook his head.
‘But that weren’t the worst of it, not by a long ways. This morning I saw
a group of old folk forced to draw lots.’ He blanched at the recollection.
‘Those with short lengths of string were taken away and…’ Luke breathed deeply.
‘…Disposed of.’
I looked at him quizzically.
‘Food,’ he stated, holding my gaze.
‘How did you make it out?’
Luke looked at the RV. ‘A couple of our group had guns and we tried to
get out of the city at dusk.’
‘Tried?’
‘There were over a hundred of us when we first set out. Now there’s only
four. My son…’ He choked back tears.
‘They shot him in the back just as he was getting inside.’ Luke looked in
through the doorway. ‘He wasn’t getting ill. He had a chance.’
‘It would have only been a matter of time before he started showing
signs.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yeah, I do. No one can escape this one. There isn’t some safe zone or
cure. This is the end of the line for life on Earth.’
He looked at me in shock. ‘How can you say something like that when you
claim to be a man of God?’
‘I don’t claim to be a man of God, I
am
a man of God. I am His
voice and act on His Will,’ I responded. ‘I take it you don’t believe?’
Luke shook his head. ‘And even if I had, I couldn’t now, not after what’s
happened.’
‘Don’t you recognise Judgement Day?’
He studied me a moment. ‘You never came down, did you? From that show in New
Jersey, you never came back from that high.’
I raised my gun. ‘Any last prayers?’
‘I’d be more likely to have a letter to Santa answered than a prayer to
God,’ said Luke defiantly.
‘Please yourself.’
He gun bucked in my hand as I squeezed the trigger, the effect of the
morphine starting to bring clarity. Stepping into the RV quickly, I found the
woman getting to her feet with a worried look on her long face.
I fired the gun, sending two bullets into her chest. ‘Go join your son,’
I stated as she staggered back and then collapsed on the floor between the
seating and table.
The old couple remained sitting together, looking at me fearfully.
The crack of two more shots filled the interior, their bodies slumping
against each other in a final embrace. A finger of smoke rose from the end of
the barrel as I surveyed the scene briefly.
‘I’ll be the last man standing. It’s as God has ordained,’ I stated,
going back to the door and exiting, turning off the lights as I left.
I walked across the highway and entered the cab of the float, the pain in
my leg taken by the drug in my veins. Turning the key in the ignition, I was
surprised to find that the engine choked and died.
I tried again, but with the same result. Looking to the fuel gauge, I saw
that it was reading empty, my brow creasing in response. When I’d set out from
the crossing there’d been just over quarter of a tank
I climbed back out, walking along the side to the gas tank. I saw the
pool of gasoline before I reached it, its dark stain upon the road.
Crouching, I put my hand to the asphalt and looked underneath, seeing
that the leak came from the far side. Reaching under, I felt along the bottom
edge, my fingers becoming slick with fuel before they came into contact with a
piece of shrapnel lodged in the tank.
I withdrew my hand, rubbing my fingers together as I pondered what to do.
There were at least forty kilometres to go and I didn’t like the thought of
walking through the darkness to reach the city. I wondered at God’s reason for
bringing my journey to such an unexpected halt and the chance meeting with one
of the band’s fans.
Glancing over to where Luke’s body lay beyond the front of the RV, I
stared at its vague shape for a moment.
Inspiration struck. It was divine in its origin, of that I was sure.
God had saved me at the crossing, separated me from my flock so that I
would live while they perished. Now he was stopping me from continuing the
journey to Montreal. He was keeping me from harm. The city was doomed, the
people devouring each other and no medication to save them from the poisoning that
would overcome any that remained. I was safer here, in the middle of nowhere.
My gaze moved to the RV. ‘You’ve even provided me with a home,’ I stated,
glancing upward. ‘You are indeed gracious and I thank you for this blessing and
for watching over me.’
I smiled to myself. I was under His protection, in His care.
My hand automatically went to the playing card in my pocket and I withdrew
it, staring at its shadowy face. The Lord had made a sacred promise, to leave
me till the last, and this promise was being kept.
I got to my feet and went to the cab, climbing up into the doorway in
order to retrieve my kitbag. Walking to the RV, I turned the lights back on as
I entered, throwing the bag on the passenger seat before moving to the rear in
order to drag the bodies off the vehicle before making myself comfortable.