Pursuit of the Apocalypse (8 page)

“They’re just fingers, stupid.”

“But he uses them like talons.”

Willie shouted back to the gang leader, “Uh, hey, Hawk. It’s too bad he got away, huh? He’s a, uh, slippery one,” Willie stammered. “But don’t worry, we’ll get him. And then we’ll all get rich.”

Hawk paced back and forth before randomly punching one of the Iron Eagles in the side of the head. He grabbed another by his coat and shook the man back and forth until he fell to the ground.

“Why is he so pissed?” Coy asked. “We can still catch the guy. I mean, we were just trying to help.”

“Yeah,” Coy agreed. “We can still catch him.” He turned back to Hawk and shouted. “We were just trying to help. We can still catch him.”

“You assholes just killed ten of my men.”

“What?” Willie asked. “How?”

“How?” Hawk punched another dentist in the face. “You dropped a fucking bridge on them!”

The color ran out of Coy’s face. “Oh, shit.”

“We did what?” Willie asked.

“Oh, shit,” Coy ran his hands through his hair, removing several clumps as he did. “Why did we have to hire this guy? This guy is bad news.”

This time Hawk didn’t yell, but his threats carried on the wind and whispered like gravel in the two men’s ears. “You just dropped a damn overpass on ten of my damn men. Now I’m going to need you to come down here and apologize.”

“What did he say?” Coy asked.

“He wants us to apologize,” Willie said. “Down there.”

“No, no. That’s not what he wants. He wants to tear out our eyes with his talons. They say he keeps the eyes in a pouch.”

“Why would ... that’s so dumb.” Willie turned to face Coy. “Why would he keep a pouch full of eyes?”

“They say he’s looking for one to replace his own. Beneath that patch.”

“That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever believed, Coy.”

“It is not!”

“Oh really. So tell me why, if he was really looking to replace his missing eye with another eye, which is not how eyes work by the way, if they didn’t fit why wouldn’t he just throw them away? Why would he keep them in a pouch? That’s just gross.”

“Yeah, but it’s scary.”

Willie looked down the hill at the biker gang. The Iron Eagles were still more than twenty strong. He looked from face to face and saw nothing but angry men bent on causing pain. He felt the would-be pain in his teeth for a reason he couldn’t explain. “I ... I don’t want to go down there and apologize.”

“Well, I’m not going to do it,” Coy said.

“You dropped the bridge on them.”

“It was an accident, Willie. And you know it.”

“Apologize!” Like a second explosion, Hawk’s shout shook the world around them.

Coy and Willie looked at one another and then to their bikes.

“You know, Coy, I do feel like we owe him an apology, but I’d much rather apologize when we have money to say I’m sorry with.”

“Me, too, Willie. I think that would be a much better apology.” Coy slowly backed toward his bike.

Willie looked down the hill. Several of the Iron Eagles were beginning to climb toward them. He shouted to Hawk. “It’s okay, Hawk. We’ll go ahead and catch him for you. He won’t get away.”

“Don’t you cowards run!” Hawk screamed and ushered more men up the hill.

“It’s not a problem. Really.” Willie ran to his bike and jumped on. “We’ll get him and bring him back.”

Coy triggered his engine and was gone down the eastern face of the hill before Willie even got his kickstand up. He switched the key and pushed the electric start as the Iron Eagles made the top of the hill. He screamed as he gunned his engine and soared down the hill after Coy.

NINE

The town was always easy to find because of all the damned flags, and Mr. Christopher noted that they had added quite a few since he was last forced to stop in the former college town.

The flags began in the abandoned parts of town and were posted on either side of the street forming a colorful corridor on the decaying roadways. Several of the flags and banners were from a time before the world blew itself up. Peace signs, trees, and more than a few whales stood against colorful fields that flapped in the breeze. Many of the flags, however, had been born out of the apocalypse itself.

The first strike in the war to end the world had occurred with such suddenness that every news anchor was wiped out with the exception of Brian Williams as he had been doing nothing of note at the time. So, with no reliable new source available, it was never really clear who or what had caused the conflict that ended the world. But, the citizens of the town did not let the mystery stand in their way. They knew exactly who was to blame, and every flag was a condemnation against them.

One flag showed a burning cigarette morphed into a lit fuse that ran down an illustrated trachea before branching off into lungs comprised of sticks of dynamite.

The one next to it depicted the golden arches held aloft the head of an obese clown with a wicked smile. The clown itself was plugged into a dialysis machine that took in blood and spit out piles of money.

A golden field of grain flapped in the wind and appeared normal at first glance, but if one cared to stare at it long enough they would see that the golden field was composed of broken DNA strands instead of wheat.

A blue flag bore the words “Everyday Low Wages” beneath a yellow smiley face that was winking at the viewer.

Multiple shades of green depicted a booming oil derrick on top of an emaciated world covered with blood from the well.

A white apple silhouette stood in front of crossed bones against a black field.

A red banner with white script spelled out the words Cancer-Cola.

A cartoon mouse was curb-stomping a toddler.

A string of dollar signs depicted a jail cell.

And, one just said, “Fuck Sea World.”

At first glance the people of the town didn’t seem to be for much of anything. The flags and banners had a definitive “anti” slant, but if one looked close enough, it did seem they were “pro” a thing or two. But, according to the flags, it was mostly weed, unicorns, and hugs.

Mr. Christopher grimaced as he turned the Jeep’s steering wheel. The bullet had passed through his waist and he had done what he could to clean the wound and stop the bleeding, but he didn’t have the dexterity to stitch himself up. Every turn of the wheel caused it to bleed more. He could find the help he needed here. But, he would have to be careful.

Alasis was on friendly terms with the town’s leadership, but only because it bought the town’s allegiance. Its location wasn’t of any strategic importance, and the town itself produced nothing worth having. Mr. Christopher wasn’t sure they produced anything at all, actually. But, by sending regular shipments of supplies, Alasis bought peace and their citizens were welcomed legally, if not warmly, and granted no special privileges.

The small town fell away as he approached the former college campus. The flags directed him to the main avenue and he brought the Jeep to a stop in front of a gate. Red and white bars taken from a railroad crossing blocked the road between a pair of guardhouses. They weren’t large, there were just enough to keep a guard out of the rain or sun. A man emerged from each guardhouse with a combat rifle across his chest.

They wore no uniforms but each guard examined his car from behind the oversized smile, upturned mustache, and squinty eyes of a pale Guy Fawke’s mask. One circled the SUV while the other approached his door and tapped on the window with the barrel of his weapon.

Christopher rolled the window down and looked into the eyes of the man behind the mask.

“What do you want?” Guy Fawkes asked.

“My name is Mr. Christopher. I am on official business from Alasis and I require medical assistance.” He leaned back and moved his hand to reveal the bleeding wound, hoping its severity would speed things up.

Guy Fawkes looked away and repeated, “Alasis?”

“That’s right.”

He looked back. “Can’t say that I’m a fan.”

Mr. Christopher shrugged but held the gaze behind the mask. He wasn’t too concerned with what a man in a Halloween mask thought. He was only concerned that he was in pain.

“I don’t like the way you treat people up that way.”

Mr. Christopher took a deep breath while deciding just how rude he could be. “But you do like the food we send you.”

It was the guard’s turn to shrug. “I don’t like your attitude either.”

“Then I take great confidence in knowing that it doesn’t matter what you think,” Mr. Christopher said.

A chuckle escaped from the behind the mask. The guard stood up from the window as the second Guy Fawkes finished his circle of the vehicle. Guy One asked Guy Two, “Did you see anything?”

“There’s a woman tied up in the back. But, nothing suspicious.”

The first guard opened the Jeep’s door. “Please step out of the vehicle.”

“I am in great discomfort from an inconvenient gunshot wound, so may I ask why you need me to step out of the car?”

“I’m going to search you and your car for weapons. You see, unlike Alasis, we are a peaceful town. And we don’t want anyone disrupting that peace. So step out of the car before I drag your ass out and beat you to death.”

Mr. Christopher sighed and stepped gingerly from the car driver’s seat. Once he had swung his legs out, the guard grabbed him by his lapels and yanked him to his feet.

Guy One spun him around, pushed him against the Jeep and started frisking him with violent handfuls, squeezing the soft areas until they bruised and paying special attention to Christopher’s wound.

Mr. Christopher bit back a scream and fought the murderous reflex the pain activated.

“What’s with the girl?” Guy One asked as he patted down Christopher’s thighs.

“I told you, it’s official business.”

The guard found Christopher’s weapon beneath his arm and pulled it out of the shoulder holster. He tossed it to Guy Two. “Any more in the car, Mr. Official Business?”

“There’s a rifle in the passenger seat and another pistol under the driver’s seat.”

Guy Two moved into the car to inspect the rest of the vehicle. He located the two weapons and continued to search. A moment later he emerged with a tire iron. He handed it to Guy Fawkes number one and returned to the car.

“I thought you said there was nothing else, Mr. Alasis.”

“What?” Mr. Christopher asked. “It’s a tire iron.”

“It’s a weapon.”

“It’s just a tire iron.”

“Do you have any idea how many people tire irons kill each year?”

“Do you have any idea how many tires they change?”

Guy One tossed the tire iron to the ground where it bounced with a wobbly clang.

Guy Two returned and handed the first guard a screwdriver. “I found this.”

The guard held it in front of the mask’s eyeholes. “A shiv!”

“A screwdriver!” Mr. Christopher argued.

“And who exactly were you planning to screw, Mr. It’s Just a Tire Iron?”

“A man named Philips, I suppose.”

The joke went unnoticed and the screwdriver went into the pile as the second guard went back into the rear of the Cherokee.

Guy One spun Christopher around. “It seems like you weren’t being too truthful with me.”

He felt the force of the spin in his wound. It was getting worse. “Well, I didn’t account for your wild imagination.”

“We’ve got a problem here,” the second guard’s voice was muffled inside the car. He backed out holding a plastic bag full of trash.

Guy One grabbed it and held it in front of Mr. Christopher. “You want to try explaining this?”

Mr. Christopher cocked his head at the bag trying to see what the guard thought he was seeing. He couldn’t see it so he shrugged. “I like to keep a tidy car.”

“This is a plastic bag!”

“Indeed it is. And I am aware of the danger that it poses to infants and pets should they not heed the warning clearly printed on the bag that it is not a toy. But, I assure you it has no nefarious purpose. I intend to suffocate no one.”

“Suffocate nothing. It’s a plastic bag! It’s a blight on our community. Don’t you even care about the planet?” He dropped the bag in the pile. “I’m going to let this one slide, but next time you come this way, you had better be using a reusable shopping bag for your refuse.”

Mr. Christopher winced at the pain in his side and the pain in the conversation in general. “I appreciate your leniency.”

“All right, then,” Guy One stepped back into the guardhouse and emerged a moment later with a sheet of paper. “It sounds like you’ve been here before, but just for good measure I’m going to read the welcome note.”

Mr. Christopher rolled his eyes and climbed back into his Jeep.

The guard held up the note in front of the mask’s slits and cleared his throat before reading. “Welcome to our fair town. Here we value freedom above all else. Here you are free to say, do, and be whatever it is that makes you happy ... or sad. Freedom means different things to different people.

“To ensure freedom for all, Freedom Enforcement Officers will be enforcing the following rules: There are no weapons allowed except for those of the Freedom Enforcement Officers. Anyone displaying a weapon will be arrested.

“There is no fighting. All disputes are to be settled by Freedom Enforcement Officers as they have been trained in conflict resolution. Anyone caught fighting will be arrested.”

“What about self-defense?”

The guard was able to express a surprising amount of frustration through his eyes alone. “Freedom Enforcement Officers handle all defense for the community. Self and otherwise.” He continued to read. “All people will be addressed by the name, title, or pronoun of his/her/hir/hyz/their preference. Anyone addressing a person/pyrsen by any name, title, or pronoun other than the one preferred will be arrested.

“There will be no name-calling. Those caught name-calling will be arrested.

“There will be no physical contact with another person without their expressed written permission. Any person making, attempting to make, or considering making unsanctioned physical contact will be arrested.

“No opinions shall be expressed in verbal, nonverbal, or written form without prior permission from a majority of the town council. Anyone expressing an unapproved opinion will be arrested.” The guard took a breath.