The Long Summer

by Rod Rayborne

  Hershel laid the man gently on the front lawn all the while being beaten by the woman. Then he turned and ran for the truck. Seeing the keys lying in the street where the old man had dropped them, he ran around the truck and scooped them up. Then he ran back and unlocked the passenger door for Rabbit. The woman, still shrieking, grabbed Rabbit's right arm and tried to yank her from Hershel's grasp.

  "Let go ma'am. Please. You're hurting her! I got to get her south. Please!"

  The woman pulled all the harder until Hershel was forced to push her backwards. Her left foot hit the curb and she landed hard on her tailbone. She began to shriek even louder, screaming rape at the top of her lungs. At that, the neighbors started towards them, some of them holding guns of their own. Hershel yanked the door to the truck open and lifted Rabbit inside. He slammed the door and ran around to the other side, fumbling with shaking hands to get the key in the lock. A bang split the cold air and Hershel felt a bullet rip through his left thigh.

  "Goddammit!" He yelled, reaching down and feeling the wound. He pulled his hand up, now bloody and stared at it. Then he yanked the door open, jumped in, fit the key in the starter and turned it.

  Nothing happened. Just then another shot came through the back window, sending a shower of splintered glass raining down on he and Rabbit. Hershel looked around the dash and found a small metal button sticking up. The starter. He turned the key again and this time the truck started. Pushing in the clutch, he got it moving, slamming the door, the truck stammering down the road like a man running down a steep slope, tripping over his own feet, trying not to lose his balance and crash into the rocks beneath him.

  Through the broken rear window, Hershel could hear the neighbors getting closer to him, cries of murderer, kidnapper and thief echoing in the cab. Then another shot whizzed past him, just grazing his right ear, piercing the roof of the cab.

  Before him the old man's daughter jumped in front of the truck, arms spread wide as though she could stop it with will power alone. Feeling the truck picking up speed, Hershel gunned it toward the woman. She looked uncertain but held her ground determinedly.

  At the last minute, he swerved around her and barreled away. Behind him, the neighbors, still shouting, slowed to an exhausted walk. All at once it occurred to him that he'd left the Mossberg laying in the street. Cursing softly, he frowned when movement ahead caught his eye. It had begun to snow.

  Chapter Sixty Nine

  B ennett slowed his bike to a stop and looked up at the sky. Biting cold had overtaken the sweltering heat in a matter of hours and now the sky was beginning to darken again in the west. Smoke and cumulus had mixed to cast a gray line over the ocean at the horizon. In the clouds, Bennett could just make out the tracings of lightening cutting through the sky, splitting the atmosphere with distant booms. Overhead, the ceiling had been spilling a snow of sorts made up of ice flakes and white ash for hours, transforming the seared coastal hills into a skier's paradise.

  Bennett pulled the jacket of his tux shut, tying it together with the tails. He flipped the wide collar up, buttoning it shut beneath his chin. If it got any colder, he'd have to stop somewhere and find something else to put on over the outfit.

  He had been pedaling for three days. In that time he'd met increasing numbers of people on the move, apparently all taken with the same idea he'd had, to head south. When he reached the outskirts of San Diego, he slowed his bike to a stop.

  Around him, a mass of people thousands deep were milling, facing a barricade of buses and long haulers on which armed men stood waving rifles at the angry crowd. A large sign had been tied between two of the buses announcing the city of San Diego to be closed.

  As if to emphasize the point, a dead man had been lifted to the top of the center bus and tied to a stake facing to the north. His body had been riddled with holes; dried blood caked on his clothes, one foot shoeless. His head hung to the side.

  The barrier extended on either side of the 101 for miles, mostly made up of hastily constructed wooden sawhorse type structures. Men dressed in the uniform of the National Guard walked along them, guns pointing outward. At the freeway entrance to the city, a mass of people had gathered. Above them on the overpass, dozens more sat, legs dangling, to watch. The multitude from the north were shouting and gesturing towards the soldiers while the soldiers stared back silent and grim faced. A tired looking man in a dirty suit stood at the nexus of the barrier with a bullhorn.

  "I'll say it again. I'm Mayor Dansforth. The city of San Diego is closed. We haven't the resources to take care of our own people and you all as well. If you just want to go south, you can go around. We won't try to interfere with you as long as you stay away from the barriers no less than one hundred feet. If you approach closer, we will fire on you without hesitation. How many ways do I have to say this? Go around!"

  "But I live here," a man called out. "We were on vacation."

  "If you have a picture ID with you, a driver's license or a passport with your San Diego address, you'll be permitted to enter. No other forms of identification will be accepted."

  The man turned then to a woman and two children. He said something to them and they began to walk towards the soldiers.

  "Stand where you are," the man shouted. "A man will come out to you to verify your status."

  The family stopped while a soldier standing some twenty feet outside the barricade walked toward them. A hush fell on the crowd while the soldier looked at the man's ID. Then he turned and waved to the man with the bullhorn.

  "He's ok."

  "Alright. If the woman checks, pass them all."

  The soldier turned towards the woman and took something she was holding out to him. He studied it a moment, looking between the item and the woman. Then he handed it back to her and nodded at the man with the bullhorn.

  "C'mon folks," he said, waving them over. Looking relieved, the family approached the barricade. When they'd reached it, another soldier came out and patted them down. He reached into the man's front pocket and took out a pocket knife.

  "Sorry folks, no weapons in the city."

  The man began to protest when his wife laid a hand on his arm. He grudgingly nodded.

  "Are we good?" The soldier asked, looking at the man suspiciously.

  "We're good."

  "Alright, go over there to that table. They'll get you all set up. There are some forms you have to fill out and then you can go. Sorry, it's what we have to do with all entrants. You understand."

  "Right. Thank you."

  More people lined up on the other side of the barricade, holding out their ID's. Then another man pushed his way through the crowd.

  "My grandmother lives in San Diego. She can't take care of herself."

  "Sorry, Sir, residents only. No exceptions. If you'll just stand back please."

  "This is BULLSHIT!" I told you she can't take care of herself! You have to let me in!"

  The man started walking towards the barricade when a soldier standing on the bus put a bullet into the asphalt in front of him.

  "Don't come any closer," bullhorn shouted. "This is your last warning. Go back or go around."

  The man shouted something at the soldier and then turned to go around. The crowd began to split into two groups; those with identification began to form an ever increasing line while the majority turned to make the long trek around the city.

  Bennett looked towards the east where the throng was moving and groaned. Shrugging then, he wheeled to the outer edge of crowd, merging with hundreds of other people on bicycles all moving to the south. He had gone not a hundred yards when he heard a ruckus to his right. Turning, he saw the man who been turned back making a run for it. Dashing towards the barricade. Shouts from the soldiers were ignored and the man closed to within ten feet of the barrier. Then a gunshot erupted and the man danced backwards, spinning.

  He collapsed to the ground while two soldiers ran out to drag his corpse away. The crowd jumped back, a fresh lesson in humility learned as the
interloper was tied to a stake and erected at the barrier.

  Shaking his head, Bennett joined with the others on bikes, moving, for the time being, towards the east.

  Chapter Seventy

  R ichard Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries boomed over the PA system at the Cheyenne complex buried beneath the mountain in Colorado. Standing at a central station in the Command Center stood Adam Lowry, President of the New States of America, facing the forty foot wide monitor, waving his arms about in a sad imitation of Leonard Bernstein. On the screen, the graphic of the initial twenty-three, ten kiloton blasts was replayed over and over. It was a heady experience for the thoroughly inebriated Lowry, one unfortunately not shared by the twenty techs who also occupied the CC.

  Under normal circumstances, Lowry would have been placed in protective custody long ago, there to wait out a battery of medical tests to ascertain his mental acuity, perhaps in the Colorado Mental Health Institute. But these weren't normal times. A dozen heavily armed soldiers surrounding him ensured that didn't happen. They also had been drinking, as directed by Lowry, to celebrate his official inauguration. Arms interlocked, they swayed with the frenetic rhythm of the music.

  Lowry's address to the CC staff and the two hundred and ten other members teamed throughout the complex, had been a slurred affair, wherein fantastic promises had been delivered touting the New American empire as the Guardians of the planet for the next thousand years. Few, if any, of those present applauded, but that went unnoticed by the drunken revelers. Instead, the army techs sat at their designated stations, scowling and forming plans not one of them was brave enough to undertake.

  This was the forth rendition of the Valkyries, each previous playing being followed by cries of encore amongst his guards. But as this last interlude wound down, Lowry held up his hands and then swept them downward in a slicing motion indicating that this performance was to be his last. A man in another part of the room hit a switch and the music rolled to a stop. Then the room fell silent, all eyes on Lowry.

  He was sweating and panting heavily from his sorry half hour long imitation of a conductor. On his face, a broad smile of victory shown. He bowed first this way, than that. The conductors stick he had been using to propel the digital orchestra, a bayonet borrowed from one of the guards, he handed back, blade first. When the soldier reached for it, he made a little stabbing motion, just nicking the man's right palm. The other soldiers laughed and Lowry bowed again. Then he turned the blade over in his hand and gave the soldier his knife back with the hilt facing the polite direction.

  "I should'a been a comedian. I know it. I know it. But you all wanted me to be the, the lea...der of this planet, so here I am." He shrugged modestly. "I hope to be honor of your worthy of me. I'll drink to that."

  There was a general round of laughter among his guards and Lowry stiffened for a moment. Then relaxing, he laughed along with them. Just one of the guys. He was right. He should'a been a comedian. Really, he should'a.

  Chapter Seventy One

  G ordon staggered under Sofia's weight towards the back entrance to the department store. She protested weakly that he put her down but he ignored her pleas. At the rear door which stood ajar, he looked around for any signs of ambush. Seeing none, he moved outside, walking slowly down the steps of the loading bay and into the parking lot. There he turned cautiously in the direction of the Hollywood Hills. He made it to the end of the parking area before he had to put her down. The incline only added to his exhaustion.

  Sofia said nothing as he laid her onto a stack of wooden pallets. He sat beside her, knowing he wouldn't be able to carry her much farther.

  He looked at her and squeezed her ankle.

  "I think I know what's wrong."

  He waited for her to say something. She just stared at him.

  "Yeah, I know what it is. Damn. What an idiot I am."

  She said, matter of factly, "Radiation."

  "Yup. Yup, that's probably it. Yup."

  "I'm dying."

  "What are you talking about, you're dying. We're all dying. You're dying. Pfft. We've all been on that road since the day we we're born. You're dying."

  "I'm dying faster than you. Is that better?"

  "I don't know about that. I got the same dose as you. Got rained on and ashed on and you know. Hell, you ought to get up from there and give me a hand. I'm not feeling so good myself, you know."

  "I'm hungry."

  She looked at the store across the street. Dominoes.

  The store was destroyed. It was attached to the stores around it. Used to be a Blockbuster. Now it was dark, the ceiling stretching to the floor. Pizza boxes spread out into the street.

  "You don't want that. After the blast, those pizzas must be charcoal. It'll give you cancer."

  Sofia looked at Gordon.

  "Just saying."

  A flashbang sounded inside the department store.

  "You can't carry me. Just go. They won't bother with me."

  "Yeah, not going to happen."

  Gordon felt like a new man. He'd picked up a gun and saved Sofia's life. The guilt he'd suffered since the death of his mother was gone.

  He stood and lifted Sofia again. He knew he wouldn't get far. Setting her back down, he looked quickly around for something to help him. He knew the soldiers would be at them soon. He stood and checking to see if she was ok, he jogged down the alley, looking desperately for something he could use. Then through a slatted chain link fence that enclosed the backyard of a house on the other side of the alley, he saw something green with poles sticking out of it. He pulled himself up on the fence high enough to see over it. It was a wheel barrel. His heart skipped a beat as he flung himself over the fence. Then he grabbed the handles and ran towards the front of the house, down the sidewalk and back into the alley separating the residential and business sides of the block.

  He rolled the wheel barrel to the pallets and then gently lifted Sofia inside. He would have preferred to have a blanket to cushion her but he didn't have time to look for one. Instead, he pulled off his shirt, lifting her head enough to tuck it underneath. The cold caused him to shiver, his breath puffing around his face like fog. He turned and ran back towards the loading dock where he'd seen a pile of dirty rags in one corner. Jumping up to retrieve them, he heard a shout from the entrance. Then, another flash lighting up the store, he grabbed the rags and ran to the wheel barrel. Pushing the rags around Sofia, he lifted the handles and bolted away. Running as fast as he could manage, he hurried towards the top of the hill, carefully balancing the barrel.

  When he reached the corner of the row of stores, he poked his head around the building. There he saw several soldiers waiting outside the entrance to the store behind some cars. Then one stood and threw something into the store and another flash exploded outward followed by white smoke and singed clothing. One of the men, the one Gordon recognized as Lieutenant Dowell pointed towards the back of the building and half the contingent jumped up to run towards the back.

  Gordon turned and rolled the wheel barrel behind a section of awning. There he waited where he could see the building entrance. A few minutes later, he saw those who had gone around the back of the building emerge through the front and the men waiting behind the cars stood and met them there. They talked for some minutes and then reentered the building.

  Gordon seeing his chance pushed the wheel barrel out onto Crescent Heights and ran upward. He looked back frequently as he went to make sure the men hadn't returned and spotted him hammering towards Laurel Canyon Blvd. By the time he reached the next intersection, they had still not come out. There he turned to the left and jogged across the jutted street, his footsteps echoing in the quiet.

  When he turned the corner, he saw an LA Metro bus sitting upright at the bus stop, it's passengers vomited out on the sidewalk. They lay in heaps and mounds, putrefying under a white gauze of snow and ash. Gordon set the wheel barrel down and ran towards them, shaking with cold. On one of the bodies he saw a suit jacket, par
t of one sleeve burnt off. Yanking it unceremoniously from the stiff body, he pulled it on, his arms shaking so much, it was difficult to get the sleeves over them, Then, lifting the handles of the wheel barrel again, he left the purple bodies there, little more than zombie like caricatures of real life, staggering up Laurel Canyon with the now unconscious girl.

  Chapter Seventy Two

  W ithin fifty minutes of the incident where he had found the truck, Hershel was at the Norwalk entrance to the 5 freeway heading south. He had encountered few people along the way, taking back roads and side streets when he spotted the slowly moving throng walking and biking along the frontage road near the highway. Finally, he turned towards the freeway and laid on the horn as he crept closer. People jumped out of his way, shouting and throwing things at the truck as he passed.

  Just before he drove up the on ramp, two people jumped into the back of the truck. They had looks of desperation on their faces, their clothing singed as though they'd recently escaped a fire. Hershel slowed down, wanting to get them out of the truck bed when he saw several more people running in his direction. Thinking better of it, he sped up again. He watched the couple warily through the rear view mirror. They were huddled together, shaking violently, too cold to be a danger he decided. The temperature inside the cab was cold as well, wind sluicing through the shattered rear window.

  Hershel looked back over his shoulder as the man and woman huddled against the windbreak the cab provided.

  "Either of you have any weapons on you?"

  "Nothing," the man called back. "We ain't looking to cause no trouble. If you'll let us, well just sit back here quiet. We're hoping you might be headed to Mexico or thereabouts, though. That's where were going."

  "Awfully cold back there. You can ride up here with me if the woman will hold this little one. Help keep her warm."