Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  "These streets are a toilet. Do you know how many people will die of E. Coli, dysentery and who knows what other unsanitary diseases because you’ve got them packed together like cattle? The few who might die from bricks won’t compare to the masses that will die from disease. You may be keeping order, but you are not doing these people any service. The best thing you could do is have everybody run at once, from both directions."

  Officer Leonard returned Hank’s scowl. He seemed to suffer a moment of internal strife then said, "You’re a real asshole, but, uh, you might have an idea. Give me a few minutes to, uh, talk it over with the others."

  In those few minutes Officer Leonard was laughed at and clearly berated by his peers. He returned with a low-slung wobbling gate that smacked of defeat. Hank silently waited for the man to arrive. Angrily, Officer Leonard lashed at Hank. "I can’t believe that I even considered such a stupid plan!" With a mocking voice he said, "Let a few people die so, uh, the rest can get through…" Officer Leonard snarled, red faced. "The answer is, uh, No!" He abruptly turned and stomped away.

  Hank said nothing as he watched the officer’s back for a moment. Then he climbed down from the seat of his bicycle and started rooting around in the trailer until he had filled his backpack with all of their remaining food and as many cans of soda pop as would fit.

  Purposefully, he marched toward the side of the road in the direction of the overpass. Officer Leonard called after him. Hank didn’t slow, or show any indication that he’d heard the police officer. Before he had crossed half the distance, Officer Leonard jogged up and grabbed his shoulder.

  Hank whipped around to face the young man. "Get your Goddamned hand off of me!" The fierceness of Hank’s tone drove the policeman back two steps.

  Recovering immediately and resting his hand on his club, Officer Leonard stated, "You can’t go up there."

  "Like Hell I can’t!" Hank turned back to his course, but before he took a step, Officer Leonard had Hank’s left arm wrapped around his club and bent into a hammerlock. Through gritted teeth, Hank spoke with a threat in his voice. "You’re making a big mistake!"

  "No!" Officer Leonard hissed in Hank’s ear. "You’re making the mistake." He jacked Hank’s arm up another inch until Hank grunted in pain. Then he reached around and yanked Whisper from its holster. "Now be a good little civilian and, uh, get back behind the line."

  "Why do you care what I do?" Hank couldn’t mask the strain in his voice.

  With a derisive chuckle Officer Leonard said, "Because you’re, uh, disturbing the Peace, Shithead!"

  "I’m taking care of my family," Hank asserted. "That’s all!"

  "No," Officer Leonard responded. "You’re, uh, setting an example. A bad example."

  Groaning with the effort to pull away Hank said, "You can’t stop me from dealing with these guys. I’ve got to get through."

  "Derrick!" A deep voice shouted. Officer Leonard let go of Hank as several more police officers ran up to the two men.

  Hank pushed away and un-wrenched his arm as he turned to face his assailant. "What is wrong with you," Hank shouted at Officer Leonard and reached for his shotgun. Two police officers stepped into the gap between the conflicting men. Hank dropped his hand and stood up straight. "Give it back and leave me alone."

  "What’s the deal?" asked a man with three chevrons on his sleeve. By Hank’s estimate the man who spoke was in his late thirties.

  "There’s no deal..." Hank checked his anger, looked at the new officer’s badge and went on. "…Sergeant Jessup… I need to get through. That’s all."

  "All right," Sergeant Jessup said. He turned to Officer Leonard. "What happened?"

  "He, uh," Officer Leonard looked off toward the overpass and froze. He lowered his chin and squinted. "Guys," he said. "I think those gangers are up to something."

  Sergeant Jessup sighed with disappointment. "No, Derrick. You’re up to something…. again. Now give back his weapon and leave him alone."

  "I doubt this thing is legal," Office Leonard said as he fondled the shotgun. "Do you have a permit for this?"

  One of the police officers, the only woman among them, let go of an exasperated sigh. "Come on," she said emphatically. "You’re embarrassing us."

  "Shut up, Teggert!" Officer Leonard squawked like a belligerent teenager. "Get off my back."

  Sergeant Jessup reeled to face his subordinate directly. "I’m about to be up your ass, if you don’t knock off this crap!" Officer Leonard paled and handed the shotgun to his superior. Sergeant Jessup abruptly snatched it from the young officer’s hand and said, "Now get your butt over to the median and take a headcount." Officer Leonard turned and moped toward the center of the freeway. "Move it!" Sergeant Jessup bellowed. Officer Leonard jumped and jogged off in pursuit of his orders.

  Handing back Hank’s shotgun, Sergeant Jessup said, "Sorry for all that."

  Hank took Whisper and holstered it. "Thank you Sergeant Jessup. Now can I be going about my business?"

  Sergeant Jessup rubbed his palm across his creased forehead. "Well," he said hesitantly. "That depends on what you’re planning."

  "I’m planning on taking my family in that direction," Hank said and pointed toward the overpass.

  "That’s fine. I won’t stop you," the Sergeant said, "but what are you intending to do in that direction?" He pointed along the course Hank had been walking before Officer Leonard had stopped him.

  Hank’s eyes followed Sergeant Jessup’s outstretched arm and tracked the imaginary line that was drawn from fingertip to embankment. "Sergeant, I don’t think that’s any business of yours."

  Sergeant Jessup drew up and squared off at Hank. "I’m making it my business! Those bastards are a bunch of murdering terrorists. They can eat wind. They can eat each other. But they’re not going to leach off of us."

  "Look, Sergeant," Hank implored. "I’m not a criminal. I’m just a guy who has a lot of people depending on him. Do you plan on shooting me, because I’m looking after my family?"

  "Of course not," the Sergeant answered.

  "Is it worth arresting me so I don’t go up there?"

  Sergeant Jessup turned away. "No."

  "Then let me do my thing and be on my way," Hank said. "Whatever I’m doing won’t make any difference to what you’re doing."

  "Yeah," the Sergeant conceded. "You’re probably right. But those punks have killed a lot of people. It’s stupid to deal with them. I won’t keep you from going up there, but if you get in trouble, I’m not sending any help."

  Hank nodded and gave Sergeant Jessup a wan smile. "Okay. I’m duly warned. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with being stupid."

  The Sergeant gave him an exaggerated bow and swept his hands in the direction of the embankment. Hank stepped off quickly and was soon climbing the steep slope.

  At its crest Hank was greeted by a dark skinned youth standing behind the chain-link fence. The girl wore blue jeans, a black T-shirt and an impeccably clean Seattle Seahawks Cap turned backward. Aside from that, she had nothing flashy or outstanding. And so far as Hank could tell, the kid didn’t seem very gang like. "What’re you comin’ for?" the girl asked.

  "I want to trade for safe passage," Hank said.

  "What ya got?" The youth asked with a disdainful tone.

  Hank thumbed at his backpack. "Food and pop."

  The girl pulled a corner of fencing out and said, "Come on."

  Crouching low, Hank waddled through the gap. As he emerged on the other side, he heard the distinctive mechanical clicks of a revolver being cocked and felt a hard object press against his temple. He froze. "What ya packin’?" The youth asked without deviation from her disdainful manner.

  "Aaaa… pistol-grip shotgun," Hank replied. "And a pocket knife."

  "Put your gun on the ground in front’a you," the girl commanded. Hank complied. "Go put ya’r hands on that pole." Hank did as told. The youth picked up the shotgun and held it in the middle, barrel backward. "Okay," she said, "Show me you
r stuff."

  Hank shrugged off his back-pack and sat it on the ground. The teen took a half-step back and said, "Open it." Looking up, Hank saw the business end of the revolver yawning at his face. It was steady. Glancing around, he also saw that several other teenagers had gathered around. Ignoring the crowd, he unzipped the pack. A few of the kids exclaimed excitedly at seeing the contents. One of the girls in the group said, "Just shoot him, Pander. Just shoot him and take it."

  Looking up at the girl named Pander, Hank said, "That wouldn’t help you out very much."

  "What ya mean?" Pander asked.

  Gesturing toward the Interstate Hank said, "The cops told me that you’re trying to negotiate for food. If you kill me, then it shows you can’t be trusted. After that, you can give up trying."

  "He’s right, Pander." One of the boys said.

  "We should check with Big Kitty," another boy suggested.

  "Shut up," Pander spat. "We don’t need Big Kitty to make every little decision." She handed Whisper back to Hank and said, "You’ve got a deal. Now get movin’."

  Wasting no time, Hank climbed through the chain link fence and found his way back to his family. The police officers asked what happened, as did Marissa. To the officers Hank said, "I’m not dead." And to Marissa he said "We’ve only got a few minutes to get through," as he climbed on their contraption and heaved into the pedal.

  Soon they were up to full speed. Hank shouted and the mob under the bridge formed a path. Faces began dotting the fence-line of the overpass as they pedaled nearer. Then they were through and putting the blockade behind them.

  Looking over at the southbound side, Hank saw that the mob was becoming unruly. Many people were pointing at the unharmed bicycle-contraption as distance grew behind them. The police couldn’t calm the crowd over the angry shouts. They could only try to hold the line.

  Then, with the force of a tsunami, the crowd broke over the police officers. The masses of people trampled the uniformed keepers of the peace. The overpass was lined with observers, but no bricks fell on the pilgrims as they crossed the line. If any officers survived, however, it would have been a miracle.

  "Oh, my God," Marissa uttered beside him.

  Hank thought of the dream he had woke from a few days ago and shuddered. Shaking his head, he thought to himself, It was just a dream. "Just keep going," Hank voiced. "Don’t worry about what’s behind us." Marissa followed his advice and they picked up a margin of speed.

  Pilgrims were sparse for a half mile. After that the traveling population seemed to double every few minutes. The road block that they had just crossed was being bypassed by dozens of improvised, and more dangerous, routes. There was a steady flow of traffic coming out of Washington, but it did not compare to the northbound stream. It was not long before they were nearing the airport. As they approached the bridge, Hank could see that the toll booth was still in operation. The line of people waiting to cross stretched a mile back.

  Safe Crossing Fee:

  Food Drink Smokes

  1 bag/bottle/box/can/jar etc. or 5 cigs per

  That was what had been spray-painted on a sheet of plywood that stood sentinel to the blockade. As they approached, they were force to fend off scores of people who begged for something to buy passage. "It’s not for me." "I’ve got to get home." " My babies need me." Hank had warned his family that to give anything, even to one person, would mean that they would be overwhelmed entirely, so they offered nothing. The cries were the most woefully desperate sound that Hank had ever heard and he ached to help them. "My wife is sick." "I’ll do anything." "Just one can."

  "The gauntlet," Hank muttered as he brandished Whisper and blasted a warning shot over the head of one foolish man. Marissa’s rapier menaced the beggars on her side, while tears soaked her cheeks. They pedaled on. The only way Matt could keep from sobbing was to press his face into a bitter scowl and wield his long sword from the rear of the cart to defend their goods. Ella stoically held tightly to her bawling brother at the front of the cart. No matter how hard she tried, her tears wouldn’t stop, but she sounded brave as she reassured the seven-year old boy.

  "I haven’t eaten in days." "Please, take my daughter." "How could I have known?" The beggars redefined Hanks concept of "pathetic." Most wore only a few ill-fitting tatters of clothing, as if years had passed instead of mere days. Some literally wore nothing and had abandoned all modesty. All of them were burned or battered or bloodied and utterly repelled by the threat of weapons. They were a select few who, for their own reasons, would not risk death and were willing to endure any humiliation to find their way across the bridge. They were pathetic.

  They rode past the corpse of the woman Hank killed when he was mobbed. Like so many corpses they had passed, she was stripped and shoved to the side of the road. It was impossible for Hank to mistake her identity, however, due to her unnaturally red hair. He averted his eyes, but he could not mask the guilt on his face. Marissa gave him a side-long look, but she did not ask about that which he did not offer.

  The line to the toll was deep and wide. They steered their trailer into it and joined in the slow progress that such lines make. Of course, they were surrounded by complaining wayfarers, but there was an inexplicable calm, as well. This line was familiar and managed by a two-man armed patrol. There was order in it. To these people, who despised it like income tax, the line and the toll made sense.

  When their turn finally came, Hank brought out his Moleskine notebook and showed the back page to a long-haired teenage boy with a narrow face. "This is bull-shit," he said and handed the notebook back to Hank.

  Hank’s expression turned black. "Get Jerry," Hank commanded the teenager with a tight lipped grimace. The boy defiantly stared back at Hank and hit a desk bell. In seconds three armed men were behind the boy with rifles aimed at Hank.

  "I don’t do nothing I don’t feel like," said the teenager.

  "Why is everybody fucking with me," Hank implored of the teenager. "Is Jerry here?" Hank cupped his hands around his mouth. "Jerry!" He shouted. "Hey, Jerry!"

  The teen’s face turned red. "Shoot him!" He yelled at his contingent of armed guards. "Shoot him!"

  The man in the middle lowered his rifle. "For what?" His question was reflected in the eyes of the other two armed guards.

  "Because I said so!" The teenager was nearly sputtering with rage.

  "What the Hell is going on?" Jerry stormed into the area. "Hey!" He grinned when he saw Hank. "There’s the mastermind. Wasn’t sure you’d make it back." He tossed down the stub of a cigarette and crossed over to shake Hank’s hand.

  "There were a lot of touchy spots, but here I am," Hank said as he warmly gripped the smaller man’s forearm with both hands. "Have to say, though," he nodded at the teenager with his chin, "your boy there is not representing you well."

  Jerry raised an eyebrow and looked at the young man. "Why do you say that," Jerry asked.

  "When I showed him our contract, he wanted to have me shot," Hank said. "Can’t imagine how he’s treating the rest of your customers…"

  "He what?" Jerry was livid. He spun around and backhanded the boy. "What’d I tell you?" He popped the boy on the other side of his head. "What’d I tell you?" The boy opened his mouth, but Jerry slapped it shut. "Never mind," he said. Then he cupped his hand and shouted back toward a line of cars. "Jose’! You’re up!"

  "That’s not fair," the teenager whined.

  Jerry backhanded the boy again. "What’d I tell you?!" The boy fell back into a heap. Jerry turned back and calmly said, "Sorry ‘bout that, Hank." Then he pointed at the bicycle drawn trailer and asked, "This your crew? They all you’re bringin’?"

  Hank opened his mouth to confirm Jerry’s assumption, but his mind was suddenly flooded by the thought of all the people who couldn’t get through. The Gauntlet. He thought of the woman with the unnaturally red hair, who had only wanted to get to her babies. He looked at the four souls that he’d gone to retrieve and how many he could have broug
ht. Then his eyes flashed bright and a real smile lit his face. "No, Jerry. I got a whole herd of people waiting back there, but I didn’t know how you wanted me to account for them."

  "Well, how many are you talkin’ about?" Jerry asked with a measure of indifference.

  "That’s the problem," Hank said. "With everything that’s happened on the way here, I never got a headcount." Jerry ripped the filter off a cigarette. Then he struck a match and pressed it against the tip. People in the line were beginning to mutter and complain about the lack of progress. Both men ignored them.

  "Well, Hank," Jerry said as he flicked his tongue and spit out pieces of tobacco. "Can you guestimate for me? What are we talkin’? Ten, twenty, what?"

  Hank looked back toward the area that he had dubbed, The Gauntlet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marissa. She kept a placid expression. Steven and Ella were pressed against their father, who was looking far better than he had that morning. He looked back at Jerry, who was billowing smoke from his nostrils. "I’d guess about sixty or eighty. Maybe a few more."

  Jerry nodded. His tongue flicked rapidly between his flaccid lips and his eyes darted in a half-dozen directions. "All right," he said. "I’ve got just the thing."

  An impatient woman came up just then, waving a bottle of water in Jerry’s face. "Here’s my fee, you pig. I’m tired of waiting. Let me through."

  Jerry reached for the bottle at the same moment he reached under his shirt. "All right," he said with eyes squinted against the smoke roiling up from the cigarette clenched between his lips. Before the pilgrim recognized that a weapon had been brought to bear, the pop of a nine-millimeter pistol filled the air. "Go ahead," Jerry said as he tilted his head behind him to indicate her path.

  The woman howled and fell to the ground. "You shot my foot!"

  Jerry didn’t seem to hear the woman. "You goin’, or what?"

  "You bastard," she screamed. She turned to the crowd. "He shot my foot!"

  Jerry sat down the bottle and pulled the cigarette from his lips. Through a cloud of smoke he addressed the nervous crowd. "Anybody want to go across? She paid, but it looks like she can’t get walkin’."