Fall, Rise, Repeat

by Matthew Schneider

  “Nature! Nature says th’strongest will survive! You callin’ my Mother a Nazi?” Lynyrd chuckled and threw his right arm towards Zav, giving him a light hit on the chest.

  Zav did not respond.

  They traveled in silence, with quiet music in the background. They were able to get out around the city by driving through the suburban dwellings, and then Interstate 74 took them southeast, well out of the city.

  The roads were almost vacant. There were still occasional cars driving, heading to and from the city. Bodies were a common sight, as were abandoned cars, piles of rubble, and trails of burnt debris.

  “I’m surprised nobody is giving us trouble. I’d have thought somebody ought to think of us as an easy target,” Zav commented, staring at an upcoming car.

  He squinted to attempt to make out the driver, but soon realized it was no use trying to figure out who this passerby was.

  He stared straight ahead and tried to focus, but he was too fatigued. He twisted the knob on the side of his seat so it tilted back, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

  “Dammit!” shouted Lynyrd, startling Zav. He bolted upright and rubbed his eyes furiously, attempting to make out his surroundings.

  “What?” Zav questioned, not understanding the situation.

  “We be in Fairland, been close to forty minutes, but I shoulda figured the damn White Knights were gonna show up.”

  “White Knights? What are you talking about?”

  “Listen kid, I be a man of chaos and not one to love those crooks in the White House, but I’m no racist. Ever since the rise of communist power, nationalism has been one hell of a’ interest for those black-hating hicks,” Lynyrd said, squinting. He moved his head forward to peer out the windshield.

  Zav scanned ahead and looked for whatever caught Lynyrd’s interest. Then he saw it – so obvious. The pickup trucks and RVs and several men and women wearing white leather jackets with loose white pants and somewhat-matching accessories: occasional white caps, watches, or necklaces.

  Lynyrd turned the truck down a cross-street to avoid interference. He floored the pedal and swerved around parked cars and trash in the road. “We mus’ make it to the junkyard. If we’re lucky we’ll find some of ma’ old clan members, ‘cuz we gotta get the Knights outta here.”

  Zav nodded his head even though Lynyrd wasn’t looking at him. His stomach clenched in nervousness and he adjusted the seat so he’d be able to get out of the truck easily.

  They sped around a sharp corner and the left-rear wheel collided with metal shrapnel on the road. They skidded for several feet and Zav jumped at a loud clunk as the tailgate opened. He turned around and watched the ATV begin to roll back.

  “Lynyrd! The ATV!” he shouted, and then noticed figures move out from several bushes. His eyes focused and recognized them as the Knights. “The Knights!”

  “I’m drivin’!” Lynyrd shouted over the roar of the engine and the truck skid around more obstacles.

  “We’re going to lose it—” Zav yelled, and then bit his lip over his own stupidity. The truck hit a rock and Zav’s top teeth tore into his lip, pain crawling across his face.

  He put his finger to his lip and felt blood but shook his head and unbuckled himself anyway. He rolled between the two seats and lay on the console, then brought his legs up, crawling towards the rear window. He stretched his arms to grasp the sliding window and tried to pry it open – with no luck, he gave it a kick and shattered the glass. Sticking his arms through, his back legs propelled him forward. He pushed himself through the tiny window, the jagged glass uncomfortably pressing itself into his stomach. He exhaled to minimize his waist size and slid into the bed of the truck.

  The adrenaline allowed him to ignore the blood dripping out of his guts, and Zav straddled the ATV. The back wheels were off the truck now and he turned the key in the ignition.

  The ATV powered to life, and he gave it a soft acceleration forward to bring the back wheels back onto the bed of the truck to make sure he was level before putting the ATV in reverse. He flew into the air in a mess of blood and fury.

  The ATV hit the road like a boulder and Zav grabbed his groin, his mouth gaping open. His hand slipped on the shifter and the ATV skidded into drive. His foot, still on the pedal, shook as he rocketed forward.

  Lynyrd looked behind him from the mirror of the truck and smiled grimly, then turned the corner around a large metal fence and disappeared.

  Zav regained his sanity and slammed his foot down. The back wheels of the ATV made a horrible screeching noise as the tires pushed against the asphalt.

  Zav smiled to himself, enjoying the adrenaline rush. He sat up straight, taking in a breath of the diesel fumes from Lynyrd’s truck.

  He twisted the handlebars slightly to the right, ensuring he would be able to make the turn.

  A figure in ghostly-white ran out in front of the ATV and Zav met the fearful eyes for only a second.

  The body crumpled under the ATV, which spun sideways and threw Zav off. He stuck out his arms to brace the fall and landed on his shoulder, sliding across the road, leaving an easily visible trail of human and mechanical parts.

  He laid in the road, pain spreading through him like an infectious disease. He stared at the blurry road in front of him, unable to move.

  The white figure, a Knight without armor, was perched upright against a hunk of plastic from the ATV. The body was not moving either. The eyes were wide open, with blue irises staring into the sun. The rest of the face, as distorted as a Picasso painting, was melting into the white clothes as flames climbed up the chest.

  The legs were a bloody mess, one shin tearing through the flesh and the other leg bending backwards. The arms were thrown back. Streams of blood worked their way out of the body.

  The asphalt soaked up the red liquid and it began to sizzle in the heat. The Knight slouched to one side, pulled down by gravity, into a fetal-like position.

  Zav’s eyes glanced up to the Knight. He felt an uncomfortable burn in the back of his throat and vomited in front of him. It pooled up and rested at his chin.

  “Boy,” a voice called in the distance, and the soft patter of footsteps followed.

  The Knight was becoming a burnt reminder of the human it once was. The skull was visible on the right side of the face, and yellowed teeth became carbon black.

  Zav was filled with fear. Fire began to spread around the dry grass and he tried to cry out. He closed his eyes, unaware of time.

  Lynyrd bolted around the corner, surrounded by a misshapen group of survivalists carrying machetes and rifles. He came to a stop and his feet skidded across the pebbles that decorated the road. Lynyrd bent down and wrapped his arms around Zav. He planted his feet and dragged Zav towards the junkyard. The survivalists moved forward and aimed their rifles up.

  Lynyrd had a quick glimpse of a group of Knights advancing on them before he turned the corner into the junkyard.

  The Knights were armed as well, with smaller guns but larger numbers. Nobody dared fire a bullet. The two groups moved towards each other, putting the ashy corpse of the young Knight in the middle.

  “Motherfuckers! Look at this young boy that you’ve killed. The very flesh on his body is melted into slime! We don’t even kill our fucking prey like this!” a Knight shouted, stepping forward. He was a taller man, wide shoulders, but weaker lower body. He was shaped like an upside-down triangle.

  One of the survivors stepped forward with his rifle perched on his right shoulder. “Do ya think he killed him on purpose? You’re in our territory, and he ran out in front of the vehicle! And don’t even try to justify the horrible things y’all do, racist bucketheads!”

  The tall Knight folded his arms, a pistol in his right hand pointing towards the ground. “Listen, Indianapolis Angels—”

  “We’re called the Outlaws, you fool!”

  “Zip it, buttercup, before I have my squadron execute your clan. You killed one of our people. So you’re going to repay us everythin
g he was worth,” the tall Knight ordered, unfolding his arms and aiming his pistol at the Outlaws.

  “Put that down before we make you, bastard!” shouted one of the Outlaws at the back, and the crowd became rowdy.

  The two groups stared each other down. The Knights moved into position, men squatting, hiding, and going prone in strategic locations. The Outlaws raised their weapons and shuffled around.

  “Where is the Knights’ camp?” the Outlaw in the front asked.

  “We’re located near the National Guard post. Good mile or so. And I’ll answer what you’re probably going to ask next: you owe us sixty pounds of food...and how about that black fella back there?”

  The tall Knight pointed his pistol at an older black man in the Outlaw crowd.

  “Hell no! You racist devils! I’ll kill you all!” another Outlaw shouted, pushing his way to the front. He raised his rifle and paced forward towards the Knight, keeping the barrel aimed at his head.

  “Somebody’s gotta do the labor around here,” the Knight said, cocking his gun.

  “A hundred years and you folks still haven’t learned to evolve past animals,” the Outlaw yelled, becoming increasingly furious.

  “Are you even worth my time…” the Knight spoke to himself, his blue eyes peering around the road. He licked his dry lips and whipped his head to the side, his neck cracking with several pops. He looked at his feet, shrugged his shoulders as if in deep consideration over the Outlaw’s comeback, and looked at the Outlaw. He bent his arm up, the pistol facing upward.

  “How many men do you have?” asked one of the Outlaws at the front.

  The tall Knight raised his eyebrows seductively. “Well, I’m glad you asked. Right here in Fairland we have about sixty men. Only twenty of us are out here, obviously outnumbering your pathetic—” he paused to count the Outlaws. “Ah, close to a dozen. Small turn out for such a powerful group.”

  “We’ve got close to fifty at base.”

  The tall Knight bit his lip and straightened his arm. “Better start subtracting, then,” he said quietly. He pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the mouth of the forwardmost Outlaw. His jaw shattered open, blood exploding like a popped water balloon. His hands went to his head as his body flew backwards several feet. Bone fragments rained on the road.

  The Outlaws reacted instantly, firing towards the Knights. Screams could be heard immediately coming from the town.

  The tall Knight was mowed down in a downpour of lead, bullets punching through his body and leaving red holes; his white vest became wine red as his corpse toppled downward into a pool of his own blood. His head lay sideways, his eyes wide open and half a smirk on his lips.

  The Knights fired sporadically, having a strong advantage over the Outlaws. A third of the Outlaws were shot within seconds; but their persistence to push outward forced the Knights to retreat.

  The Outlaws from the junkyard ran out with weapons drawn, contributing to the fight; however, they were mostly attempting to retrieve the Outlaw bodies from the road.

  Few civilians remained in the town, but those that did had come outside.

  “RETREAT!” screamed a Knight, and an army of white-clothed men began rushing away from the junkyard. The Outlaws continued firing and killed as many Knights as they could.

  The Outlaws picked up the allied bodies and carried them inside. Soon all that remained on the road were pale bodies in now-red clothes.

  Chapter 3

  Lynyrd paced around the table, inspecting Zav, who was sprawled across the makeshift medical table and surrounded by an assortment of medical tools.

  There were two other people in the small room, the group’s appointed doctors, even though they had no formal medical training.

  “I mean, he’s gotta have a broken bone ‘er two,” Lynyrd spoke, scrunching his face. He put his hands on his hips and looked Zav from head to toe.

  “I suppose he probably does. Best we can do is heal his flesh wounds and let him rest to keep him healthy,” said one of the doctors.

  Lynyrd placed his hand on the side of the table and squinted. He wrinkled his nose and raised an eyebrow, making a humorous expression. His crooked top teeth rested against his lip and he bit softly, as though he was searching for the answer to Zav’s misfortune. His face went blank and he said, “I’m gonna speak with the rest of the group about the next battle plan.”

  The doctors resumed operating as Lynyrd paced out of the room. He barged through the steel doors and began running down the corridor. The junkyard building itself was not entirely creepy, but there was no power and the eerie darkness made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  He walked into a large room that served as a main hall, or maybe a cafeteria. Maybe a lobby, or you could consider it a lounge. Regardless, it was where most of the Outlaws met when they were not out patrolling or serving their duties.

  “A’ight lads. We’ve, eh, engaged in war. Next, we’ll jus’ have to fight back,” Lynyrd said loudly, his voice echoing above the chaos in the room.

  A man sitting in the middle stood up. His bald head was decorated by a tattoo of an eagle with its wings extended. He wore a thick, black, leather jacket with knives dangling down from chains coming out of his pockets like waterfalls and sharp metal spikes coming out of the back.

  He stepped towards Lynyrd, his shiny black boots squeaking on the clean tile floor. He spoke with a strong and powerful voice, yet gentle.

  “We have suffered many losses. We had men die because of that young boy’s mistake. We have not fought the Knights for years and it is best we keep it that way. I don’t give a damn how cruel the Knights are, we have no place killing their members.”

  A voice from across the room shouted back, “Nah! They were just ‘bout to kill our own Brown, and Martin Brown ain’t never hurt a soul, only a matter of time until they found a reason to attack us – they’ll get hungry and come at us again for the food.”

  There began a slight chatter of voices. Another spoke out: “But we could’ve avoided all of this...we’d at least have more time to prepare ourselves. Now we’re caught unexpectedly in the middle.”

  Lynyrd held up his hand to silence the crowd but the burly man in the center of the room pointed his finger at Lynyrd and snarled. “YOU! You brought the kid here, so he’s your responsibility. And you lost control of him, and now he lays in a room, using our last resources. How many men will die at his expense?! We should exile you for this!”

  Lynyrd held up his hands, fear in his eyes. His aged face switched from a smirk to a frown, and his mouth opened enough for him to breathe slowly without making a noise. “I—no, no…”

  “No! Lynyrd has been here from the beginning. God knows why he brought the boy, but we cannot turn on each other. We need every soul for what’s about to come. Maybe this kid is nothing but a dove, giving us a signal that it’s time.”

  There was laughter, yelling, and some cuss words thrown about the room. The same voice rang out, “Well, Thor, you’re the leader, you tell us what you want.”

  Thor stretched his arms out in front of him and cracked his knuckles. “There’s some things to consider. Is it bad to kill bad people? That’s what matters here. We can either leave those fuckers alone, or we can engage and make sure there’s not one more racist pig in this country.

  “The United States was hit by nuclear attack. I can only guess tens of millions have been wiped out. We have only a few days to make a decision before they make theirs. Food is going to become scarce. Man will turn into monster. The person who is most affected by this is that kid – dying and traumatized,” Thor concluded. He looked around the room and raised his arms to form a T-shape. “If we can’t democratically decide, our consequence will be the Knights making the decision for us.”

  Lynyrd clenched his jaw and put his hands on his hips. “The boy is unconscious. He prob’ly won’t wake today.”

  Thor stuck his bottom teeth out and scraped them against his upper lip. “Then let’s kill
time. We’re going to need to survive. I doubt we’re going to find any food here, and the supply in this town will grow scarce. I want to make sure we, the Outlaws, make it through this.”

  The room returned to a soft mumbling of deep voices. Several people stood up and left the lounge, going outside or through doors leading to other hallways and rooms.

  Thor walked towards Lynyrd and placed a hand on his shoulder. His large hand held a firm grip on Lynyrd, yet it was not to intimidate. Lynyrd stood up straight and looked Thor in the eyes. “Plan?”

  Thor collected the saliva in his mouth and spit next to his foot. “You’re going to stay here with the boy. What’s his name?”

  “Xavier,” Lynyrd replied.

  “Good. I will gather a small party of our forces and sweep the town. We know some of the locals so we may be able to negotiate. Better yet, we may convince them to join our ranks,” Thor spoke, and brought himself close to Lynyrd’s ear. “I’m only keeping you here because you’re a veteran to the group. Any new guy would’ve been thrown out, beaten even. But you have to play the chess of life a little smarter, because I can turn you into another pawn easier than you’d like. People respect you...but remember, they respect me more.”

  Lynyrd swallowed hard and stepped back, breaking Thor’s grip. “Yessir.”

  Lynyrd spun himself around, his chin down in shame, and walked towards Zav’s operating room. Thor watched Lynyrd leave the lounge and turned to face the remaining people.

  “Send a message that I want a troop of at least fifteen to go door-to-door. Those who are willing are to meet me in the junkyard office – we’re going to turn it into a war room – further instructions will be given there,” Thor yelled, and gave a solid salute. He pushed his way past his peers and made way to his office.

  Time passed. A couple hours maybe, and Thor sat in his office alone. The room had puke-green walls, a brown desk, and cracked picture frames with distorted images of his family. He’d owned the junkyard for fourteen years. It was musty work, but opened the door for him to start his own gang.