Quake (37 page)

***

    Barbara had tried not to look at the remains of the scavenger and the body from the grocery cart, but there'd been no way, short of shutting her eyes, to avoid catching peripheral views of the gory messes. There'd been no way to miss Earl's comments, either. 'Oh, Lordy, look what they done to him. Ouch! Oooo, makes me hurt just looking… Watch out there, Banner, don't step in her… Ugh, those guys musta been hard up. How'd you like'm doing that to you?'

    'Hey,' Pete had said, 'shut up.'

    'Ha! Sorry, sorry.'

    There had been more bodies, later on. Whenever Barbara spotted one in the distance, she fixed her eyes on the pavement at her feet. But she saw enough, and heard enough from Earl, to know that the people had been stripped naked, robbed of everything, and usually mutilated in horrible ways: breasts and genitals had been cut off, eyes gouged, scalps taken, patches of skin peeled off (for the tattoos, Earl had suggested), teeth torn from mouths. According to Earl, everybody had been raped. Men as well as women. But maybe he was exaggerating, just to make things sound even worse than they really were. After all, he was the only one who went up close to the bodies and studied them. Pete and Barbara stayed together, dodged the remains and never paused to inspect them. Several times, Earl had said, 'Come on over and look at this,' or, 'You gotta get a load of this!' or, 'You don't know what you're missing, folks.'But they'd refrained. Though Barbara didn't keep score, she guessed that they had probably walked past at least twelve bodies - and that was after leaving the scavenger and shopping cart guy behind. Earlier in the day, the alleys had seemed like fairly safe havens. Now, she hated them. But she knew that the streets were much worse. Each time they came to one, they hid and checked carefully before crossing. At the end of almost every block, the streets were jammed with halted vehicles. Most of the cars and trucks appeared to be abandoned, but a few people always seemed to be sneaking among them. They saw bodies in the streets, on the sidewalks, on lawns, sometimes dangling from tree limbs or tied to fences. They saw looters hurrying out of houses and apartment buildings with full arms. They saw armed gangs that looked like hunting parties in search of prey. Not long ago, they'd watched a fat, bald man get surrounded. The gang had closed in on him, and his screams had been joined by wild shouts and laughter. Though the alleys were awful, the streets were insane. Barbara dreaded the end of every alley and what she might have to see when she came to the street. But she especially dreaded the sprint to reach the alley on the other side; you just never knew who might spot you dashing across. Who might come after you.

    So far, they'd been lucky. But she was afraid that the luck wouldn't last. It doesn't have to last much longer, she told herself. We're almost to the school. Just a few more blocks. Could be real soon. Half an hour, maybe. Earl, in the lead, turned around and walked away. Barbara quickly glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. Just a few feet of alley, and the street they'd raced across a couple minutes ago.

    'What is it?' she asked.

    'Nothing.' He grinned at her. 'Enjoying the view.' She looked down at herself. Her blouse was untucked, she hadn't bothered to refasten any of the buttons that had come undone since she'd handed over her bra to Pete. Only the button at her waist remained fastened. Plenty of her skin showed between the blouse's open edges. Not her breasts though. Nothing showed that should be of much interest Earl, especially since he'd seen everything when she was in the pickup truck.

    'Made ya look,' he said.

    'Go to hell.'

    He grinned. 'We're there.'

    'You're not kidding,' Pete muttered. He was walking close to Barbara's side, the rifle across his back. He looked tired and feverish. He also looked as if he might be getting ready to throw up.

    'I don't get it,' he said.'What?' Barbara asked.

    'It's been getting worse. It wasn't like this…, none of this really bad stuff was happening…, just since…, about when we were at Lee's.'

    'It was pretty bad before,' Barbara said, remembering way back to the kid who'd snatched her purse, who'd shortly afterward been killed for his bicycle.

    'It wasn't like this,' Pete told her.

    'That's right,' Earl said. 'I'm the living proof. Back in the good ol' days - like this morning - all they did was beat you shitless and steal your clothes. He grinned. 'I didn't get screwed or killed. I still got my scalp, my teeth and my dick. The difference a few hours makes, you know? I tell ya, we're in hell.'

    'Are not,' Barbara said. She didn't like to hear that kind of talk. 'That's bull, and you know it.'

    'Something is sure going on,' Pete muttered.

    'Yeah,' she admitted. 'God knows, I've noticed.'

    'It's like they aren't human, any more - the ones doing this stuff.'

    'I bet they weren't any great prizes to begin with,' Barbara said.

    'They probably didn't go around butchering everyone in sight,' Pete said.

    'Or bangin' everything that has a hole,' Earl added. Barbara scowled at him, then met Pete's haggard gaze.

    'I think what's happened, is that they're just…, doing what they wanted to be doing all along. Only they just didn't, most of them, because there was stuff in the way. But now there's nobody to make them stop. The quake…, it knocked all the barriers down. You can't exactly dial up the cops, you know? So anything goes. And more and more of them are taking advantage of it. Doing whatever they wanta do, and the hell with everything.'

    'Welcome to hell,' Earl said.

    'It's not hell,' Barbara insisted. 'It's a bunch of your typical everyday assholes doing what comes naturally. The problem is, now they're running amok because they figure they can get away with it.'

    Pete was staring at her. He looked as if his nausea had receded. He looked almost amused.'What?' she asked.

    He shrugged. 'Where'd you get that?'

    'Where'd I get what?'

    'What he means, Banner, is he's amazed by your grasp of the situation. Like he didn't know you had such depths. I always knew you was deep. You're a regular hole.' he laughed.

    'Shut up,' Pete snapped at him.

    'Relax. I called her a hole, not a twat. Don't you know a compliment when you hear one?'

    'Just knock it off. And why don't you…'

    Three quick booms stopped Pete's voice. Earl flinched. 'Shit! Those were shots!' They hadn't come from very far away. Barbara whirled around and reached under the back of her blouse. As she pulled the forty-five out of her shorts, Pete unslung his rifle. Instead of more gunshots, she heard engine noises. The loud, blatting thunder seemed to come from up the last street they'd crossed. When a white car skated sideways and leaped into the alley, Barbara knew it wasn't the source of the thunder. The car was long and low and wide. A Lincoln? After the squeal of its tires, it rushed forward with an urgent but well-muffled roar. Behind its windshield, a woman gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She was looking back over her right shoulder. Someone grabbed Barbara's arm and yanked it so hard that she stumbled sideways and almost fell. But she kept her eyes on the mouth of the alley. The thunder came. Bikes. Fat-wheeled hogs - two of them side by side, three more, two after that - seven choppers kicking up gravel and tilting as they turned, their riders hunched low, some with firearms aimed at the fleeing Lincoln. Outlaw bikers. Barbara stumbled sideways, dragged by the hand. But it stopped pulling when a big metal dumpster blocked her view of the action. With a glance, she saw that it was Earl clutching her arm. Pete, his back against a garage door, was sinking down to a squat, scowling fiercely and swinging the muzzle of his rifle toward the alley. She heard two more gunshots. She jerked her arm free and rushed forward, halting at the corner of the dumpster and peering around it as the Lincoln came speeding up the middle of the alley. It'll miss us, Barbara thought, unless the gal swerves in the next second or two… The two bikes at the head of the pack were tight on the Lincoln's tail.

    'Back here,' Earl gasped, and yanked her by the hair. This time, she did fall. As the Lincoln sped past, she dropped against Earl. He caught her under the armpits, and held her up. Straggling to stand, she watched the gang blast by. The lead biker raced up alongside the Lincoln and snapped off two quick shots. But not at the driver, though she would've made an target. At the front tire. Though the bullets missed, whinging off the alley, inches away from the tire, the big car suddenly lost control. Brakes shrieking, it cut hard to the left. It went sideways, then smashed through an old aluminum trash bin and slammed into the corner of a garage. The stucco caved in. The front of the car crumpled. The driver fell forward, then rebounded. Barbara couldn't tell whether she had hit the steering wheel or been saved by her safety belt. She seemed to be all right, though. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, made a terrified face at what she saw, then turned her attention to the dash. Her car must've died, Barbara thought. 'Come on,' she muttered. 'Get it going. Go!' But the car just sat there as the bikers flanked it and dismounted. When they shut their engines off, the thunder abruptly stopped. Barbara heard the whinny of the car. It had died, all right. The woman was trying to start it again so she could get the hell out of there. But one of the bikers, the one who'd shot at her tire, already striding toward her door. He was lean and like a cowboy. He wore a shiny, black Nazi helmet. On the back of his denim jacket was a skull-and-crossbones emblem. His jeans hung low on his rump. He held a revolver in his right hand, down by his side.

    Barbara felt a dull punch against her upper arm. She pulled back.

    'Come on,' Earl whispered. 'We're getting outa here.'

    Pete, nodding at her, was standing again, his back to the garage door.

    'We'll cut through,' Earl said.

    He led the way, hunching low, rushing past Pete and apparently heading for a gap on the other side of the garage. Pete waved her to get moving. I'm coming. Just hold your horses. Gotta see what's… With the other bikers close behind him, blocking some of Barbara's view, the lanky one demolished the side window of the Lincoln. Moments later, the door swung open. The woman was pulled out, screaming, and vanished completely as the pack closed in and took her down.

    'Leave her alone!' Barbara yelled. Yelled as she broke into a run. Ran because she knew she was too far away, had to get closer to take control and save the woman - near enough to hit what she aimed at if it came to that.

    'Barb!' Pete shouted. 'No!'

    Yes, she thought. As she charged at them, she wished she hadn't yelled. The yelling hadn't stopped anything. At first, she thought that nobody had even heard her. Then a couple of the bikers at the outside of the cluster looked back, saw her, and turned around. One of them, with a face a lot like the skull on the back of the leader's jacket, grinned at her. He was missing teeth. The other was fat and bearded, and wore a Viking helmet that looked like a tin bowl with horns. His eyes seemed to light up when he saw Barbara dashing toward him. He rubbed his hands together. I'm coming at them with a gun, she thought, and they look like they're glad to see me. 'Cause your shirt's wide open, idiot.

    Just as she thought that they might not try to shoot - wouldn't want to ruin her looks - the cadaverous one put up a weapon that looked like a sawed-off shotgun. Barbara had no time to halt and take aim. Lifting her arm, she pointed her pistol at him and fired. And watched the Viking helmet fly off the head of the guy. At least Skull-face was distracted. Looking around, he glanced at his fellow biker, who was now stumbling into the others, a hole in his forehead. Barbara skidded to a stop. She braced herself and readied for another try at Skull-face as he leveled his shotgun. Before she could fire, a sharp blare pounded the air. She pulled her trigger. At least I'll take him with me. Waiting to be hit by the blast from the shotgun, she realized that the shot had come from behind her. Skull-face fired into the air as he was knocked off his feet. She risked a quick look back. And there was Pete by the garage door. He hadn't gone anywhere. What he'd done was shoulder the rifle and join the battle. A battle that ended very fast. The other side got off a few shots. As many as Barbara, maybe. She had hardly begun to fight when the slide of her gun locked back and nothing would make it shoot any more. Pete had Lee's rifle, some sort of military thing that fired very fast and held a lot of ammo. A lot. The storm of bullets tore down all the remaining bikers very fast. Incredibly fast - before they could do much more than quit brutalizing the woman and turn around to see who was killing them and throw back three or four quick, wild shots. When it was done, all she could hear was a high-pitched ringing sound as if someone had struck tuning forks and held them to her ears. Those in front of her were sprawled about in positions that mostly looked awkward and uncomfortable. A few were moving slightly: here, a knee lifted; there, a head turned, a foot kicked; one man, in a fetal position, twitched and jerked. Nobody was crawling or trying to get up.

    'You okay?'

    She turned. Pete was now standing beside her. She nodded. Looking him up and down, she saw no sign that he'd been injured in the abrupt gunfight. But she asked, 'How about you?'

    He shrugged. 'Okay.'

    'My God, you sure got 'em.'

    He wrinkled his nose and said, 'Yeah. tried not to hit the woman.'

    'We'd better check.'

    Pete nodded. He started walking forward, and Barbara stayed at his side. As they stepped between a couple of the Harleys, he muttered, 'I can't believe did this.'

    'You did fine. We couldn't just let them kill her.'

    'I couldn't just let them kill you. What were you trying to do, commit suicide?'

    'I just wanted to stop them.’

    'You stopped 'em, all right.’

    'There she is.'

    The woman, surrounded by the dead or badly injured bodies of her assailants, was sprawled face-down on the ground. Her arms were crossed over the back of her head. A biker had fallen forward across her rump. Halting near the shotgun dropped by Skull-face, she called, 'Lady?'