by G. P. Grewal
"Interesting. So what happened?"
"Hell, they ended up shooting everybody. Didn't even care if you stuck your hands up, which most of them poor folks did. Well, everyone but me. Me they shot but I played possum until they'd looted the wagons and took off. I would have died, had not some other folks who was heading to Nevada found me after I'd been laying there bleeding a while. They patched me up real good before heading on."
"Looks like Lady Luck was with you."
"Sure was. Hey, let me show you my pistol too. Ain't nothing fancy like yours but it sure has served me good."
I pulled it out, holding it up and turning it back and forth like he did.
"Nice. .357 Magnum?"
"Yup. Genuine Smith and Wesson. Just a snubbie, but it makes it easier sticking her in my pants. Nothing more reliable than a revolver, I'd say. I've had some of them fancy semi-auto pistols before and they weren't nothing but trouble half the time. Ain't no use in being able to shoot twice as many bullets if your gun jams up on you at the wrong time. Of course, none of them was as nice as yours. I imagine that pistol is about as reliable as they come."
"Sure is," he said.
It seemed he weren't much for talking shop, so I stopped gabbing and left him alone. Weren't nothing worse than someone who didn't know how to shut up when the other person just wanted quiet, and I didn't want to be impolite. When Gitty woke up we ate a little of what we had, which was some jerky I had in my pack and some nuts and stale crackers Roy was good enough to share. Then we was moving deeper into the city, some of the streets blocked by so much rubble that we had to climb over it to get by, them buildings looming tall, old automobiles smashed and rusted and flipped over, vines and dry weeds bursting up through the broken concrete, like Mother Nature was slowly trying to take back what was hers. Down one street was a tree growing up right in the middle, the road all cracked and turned up, rats scurrying back into their hiding places, a whole army of pigeons staring down at us from the windows high above.
And so we traveled through the maze of the city, every street looking as blasted and burned out as the one before.
"Must have been some fierce fighting here," I said.
"Looks like it," said Roy.
"Man, I ain't ever seen so many skellies before."
They was all around, hundreds of them just laying in the street, some of them still sitting in their cars, fleshless, dumb, and grinning, their empty sockets watching us as we passed.
"I don't like it here," Gitty said, sticking close to me the whole time. "Why are we even here? Ain't nothing but skeletons and rats."
"Oh, come on. Where's your love of adventure? Hey, I'll bet we'll find some real nice treasures for you here."
"I don't want any treasure if it means we're going end up like the rest of these folks."
"You worry too much," I chuckled. "Ain't nothing here dangerous but me and Roy. Ain't that right, Roy?"
"Look up there," he said.
Down the street was a great big white building that reflected the bright afternoon sun, taller no doubt than any building I'd ever seen, hundreds of windows, thousands maybe, stretching all the way up to the very top. When we reached the intersection where it stood, I could see in full just how far that giant tower reached up into the sky, feeling dizzy as I looked up. Skyscraper, I thought, understanding at last just why they were called it, marveling at how anything so big could have ever been made by human hands.
"Jesus Cries," I said, "I ain't never witnessed anything so tall!"
"A real life Tower of Babel," said Roy.
Tink... Tink… Tink.
I heard the noise. We all did, that hammering on the pipe racket from the night before. We looked around, Gitty suddenly all jumpy, though there weren't any telling where it was coming from, the sound echoing off the empty buildings that surrounded us. Then, silence.
"What do you think it is?" I said. "Don't seem like the wind doing it no more."
Then it came again, louder, stopping then starting every few seconds. I spun around. It seemed like it was coming from up the street, back toward the intersection from which we'd come.
"I don't know, but we should be moving," Roy said. "We might not be as alone as we think."
The noise tapered off as we started walking, as if standing still were the thing that made it come. Down Grand Avenue we went then made another turn, then another, each street as narrow and cluttered as the next, heaps of rubble and dead junkers blocking our way. Roy didn't seem to know where we was headed but he kept leading us, stopping at intersections and turning as if his instincts could guide us out of there, Gitty sticking close to me and staring up at the dark broken out windows and throwing looks over her shoulder like she might suddenly see something following us, though weren't nothing ever there.
Then it came again, only this time we hadn't been standing still when it happened. It didn't sound three times then stop like before either, but kept going and going, metal hitting metal, and there weren't no mistaking that it was following us from behind. My hand went to my pistol, Gitty unslinging her rifle as even Roy turned to listen, his boots crunching on broken glass as he walked back to stand in front of us.
Then we saw a startling thing coming from way down the street, tall buildings looming on either side. It was a man, half-naked, no shirt, just a ragged pair of old britches, his face looking like a skull. He kept walking forward, that painted on skull face—if that's what it was and he weren't some devil of Lost Angeles—getting closer and closer as we stood our ground.
Finally he stopped, maybe twenty yards, and we realized he'd been the one making all the noise. In his hands were two big metal pipes, and slowly he started tapping them again, that hollow clinking sound echoing off the walls.
"Holy moly!" Gitty said, the skull-faced man just staring at us, slowly banging his pipes together like he was keeping time with a windup clock.
"Come on," Roy said.
We turned away, walking faster than before, the skeleton man just watching from where he stood. After a few more steps Gitty stopped dead in her tracks, drawing a breath as she spotted the figures that suddenly appeared up ahead. They came out of the alleys, filing in from both sides until there were six, then seven, then even more, all wild and crazy looking like the one with the pipes, some of them with the painted faces, lean and hungry looking every one of them, wielding clubs and knives and baseball bats and broken bottles.
Weren't no parley to be had. They came on howling, fixing to make quick work of us, and maybe they was too dumb to know what guns was or maybe they didn't care, because they just kept coming even as we took aim. Then we started blasting, them bullets ripping through flesh and bone and making them howl even more as they started dropping, Roy's Beretta still spitting bullets as I stopped to reload.
Then Gitty shouted that there was more behind us, and as we turned even more was coming from the front, Roy and Gitty shooting away as I fumbled in my pockets yet again for more bullets. They were crazed for blood, and no matter how many went down they seemed ever more determined to reach us, except for a few who were finally smart enough to run.
When it was over, weren't nothing left but the dead, except, that is, for the skull-faced man with the pipes who'd been the only one to hold back. He stood there glaring at us from a short ways away, close enough that I might have taken a shot. I held my fire, as did Roy, Gitty shaking as I eased down her gun.
He came forward, unafraid, wielding them steel pipes, that skull face looking like death itself. Across his chest was a big black tattoo of what looked like an eagle with outstretched wings, or some other bird of prey. He stopped maybe twenty feet away, though we were all still too mesmerized to fire, none of us believing how brave, or how insanely stupid, he was. Then, slowly, he lifted up them pipes like he were up on the cross, his head tilting back, his eyes wide, those big white eyeballs fixed on us like it were some kind of warning, or challenge, or I don't know what. Then, with the three of us waiting to see what was g
oing to happen next, he lowered his arms and turned away, going back the way he'd come.
Gitty raised up her rifle and was going to shoot, her hands still trembling, but I stopped her. "No, Gitty," I said. Then he was gone, nothing but the dead left with us.
"Oh my!" Gitty cried. "I thought we were dead! Oh, Elgin, we gotta get out of here!"
"Relax. We's still living."
"Relax? Damn it, this was a bad place to come!"
"I don't think they'll be back anytime soon," Roy said, "if there are any more of them, that is. Let's just keep moving before it's dark."
Gitty insisted there had to be more, and I reckon she might have been right, though I figured it would take a while for them to get brave again, what with all that shooting and all them that was laying dead on the ground. Mexicans, they looked like. By the time it was getting dark we'd gone quite a ways and it seemed we was the only ones around. There were lots of dark gutted out buildings we passed, though they weren't so big anymore, some of the walls covered with creepers and vines. A few of the places looked like they might be worth going into to have a look, though it would be a bad thing getting trapped inside if those Mexicans came back for us. It weren't too safe being on the street either though, Roy saying we should find a good place to hole up for the night.
We ended up at a place that looked like it had once been a store that sold women's garments, because inside it were some creepy lady statues standing around, one of them still wearing a big feathered hat that even Gitty thought looked pretty dumb. They were so lifelike, them statues, or trying to be at least, that they even had these eerie-looking glass eyes that I swore might suddenly move to look at me as I went up to take a good look.
I got a real hoot out of them fake ladies, though Gitty didn't think it too funny when I put my arm around one and asked it to dance. Were too bad for Gitty that there were nothing left of women's garments in there though, that dusty old place as empty as most every other place we might have found. In the back I did find a dead rat who'd been laying there so long that it didn't look like much more than a dried up clump of dirty hair and sharp little teeth, its long, nasty tail still attached. Gitty hated the sight of it and so I threw it where she couldn't see, at which point the three of us settled down nice and quiet in the back room with our guns ready, just in case those crazy Mexicans came looking for us in the dead of night.
Chapter 11
The next morning we left our hiding place and it was nice and sunny and there weren't no one but us outside, Roy looking around until he discovered we was near a street called Highland Boulevard, one way leading back into nothing but more city, though looking the other way we saw green hills that couldn't have been more than a few miles away. We hadn't seen them the night before, as dark as it was, but now they was clear ahead of us and would be our escape from the city and the danger that was no doubt still creeping around somewhere nearby.
Things started to look worse the farther we went, like the whole place had once been on fire long ago, the buildings all black and hollowed out, twisted metal and melted tires and big chunks of the black rubble that had fallen from the burning buildings littering the ground. Weren't nothing special though. I'd seen plenty of places just like it, places where men had fought in desperate last stands against the tanks and guns and flying machines of their own government, everyone having been so poor and angry for so long, the whole country going up like dry tinder after the first few cries of "liberty" had been heard. So went the story at least, though weren't no way of knowing for sure. Not too much else I knew about it, or about who had won, though judging by the way things looked nowadays I'd say it weren't nobody.
"So is Lost Angeles what you were expecting?" I asked Roy.
"No," he said. "But then, maybe so."
"Ain't all of Lost Angeles we're seeing," I said. "Surely there must be more to it than this."
"It's a big city. Or was. It goes on for miles."
"There must have been so many people living here," Gitty said.
"There were. Millions, now all forgotten."
"How sad."
"Sad? Necessary, I'd say. Seems like there were just too many people in the world, most of them probably not much different than the savages still living here today. Fortunately, God had a way of wiping the slate clean, just like he'd done so many times before."
Gitty looked at him confused then looked at me, but weren't nothing to say. I kept quiet, figuring maybe it was just some more spooky book-reading talk like old Pete used to try to scare me with, though even Pete had never said anything quite so cold.
Suddenly there was a wild shout behind us, like Roy had conjured it up with his creepy words.
"Move!" he said.
There were a whole lot of them filling up the street, even more than before, yelling things I couldn't understand as they came running, pipes and knives and sweaty half-naked bodies glistening in the sun.
We ran down the street, Gitty struggling to keep up, those Mexicans gaining on us fast.
"We ain't gonna outrun them!" I shouted. Roy didn't hear me, or if he did he didn't care, already a good ways ahead of us and not slowing, those howling madmen closer every time I looked back. It was either turn and face them or have them cut us down from behind. Soon they was so close that I could hear their feet hitting the pavement, and that's when I stopped, whipping out my gun.
The first shot was a good one, plugging one of them devils right in the chest. Then another shot, then another, all fired as quick as I could get them off. Out of six shots I only dropped two, though my shooting had finally caused some of the others to take cover, this bunch not as brave as the first. Gitty appeared right beside me, dropping one more with her rifle as I fumbled for more bullets, my shaky hands struggling to reload.
They was charging again, regaining their courage now that the rest of their number had caught up. "Run, Gitty!" I yelled, knowing that there were just too many to fight off. My pistol came up right as one of them snarling fiends appeared right in front of me, blood splattering my face as I shot him point blank in the eyes. Another one was on me in the same moment, swinging a tire iron that came inches from cracking open my skull.
Suddenly there was more shots from behind me—BAM, BAM, BAM!—steady and unwavering. I turned to see Roy standing there, his pistol flashing in the sun as every one of those bullets he let loose found its mark, half-naked Mexican warriors dropping like flies. Only one of them managed to get close enough, and him Roy plugged right in the head, my .357 knocking down one more who was running away, the others, seeing so many of their number die, quickly vanishing back into the ruins.
We was all worked up, sweating and puffing, especially me and Gitty, Roy seeming a lot more calm.
"Well, hell!" I said. "Was that the goddamn Alamo or what? I thought we was goners for sure!"
"Were, Elgin! You thought we were goners!"
"Oh damn it, Gitty! Ain't no time to be correcting me. Can't you see how shook up I am?"
"Damn it, and I ain't?"
She was, even more than me. Her hands was shaking so bad that I took her rifle and she threw her arms around my neck, grateful that we was alive.
"They must have been looking for us all night," Roy said, his eyes still searching up the street.
"How many more of them you think there are? I mean, damn, so many dead."
"I don't know, but let's not wait here to find out."
We hurried up, leaving all them corpses and continuing up the street that led us in the direction of those green hills, always expecting to see more of them Mexicans coming for us, though no doubt we'd licked them good. After a couple of blocks, straight ahead I could see an old cathedral, just as lonely and crumbled down as everything else, one of its walls laying on the street in heaps of broken rubble, though its fancy white tower, taller than any building around it, still rose high.
We passed the cathedral, the bottom of the hills thick with greenery, the woods having taken over one side of the street an
d breaking up the road, houses buried way back in a tangle of trees and thickets, some of them half covered with vines.
"Looks like we're home free," I said. "Ain't no way they's—I mean, no way they're going to find us now."
I pushed my way through the bushes and low-hanging branches that blocked our way, telling Gitty to calm down when she warned me not to be making so much noise. We skirted around the hills to see where things went, not wanting to spend the strength to go straight up. There was another old street we found back in those woods and so we followed it, gaining higher ground as we went. Through the treetops was a bright and sunny sky, though in them woods it was creepy and foreboding. The earth had long since risen to eat up most everything, and we climbed or edged our way around rusted up, half-buried automobiles and peered into second-story windows at all the junk and broken old furniture and giant spider webs, the bottom floor way underground.
Gitty was the first one to hear someone coming up from behind. She whispered a sharp warning and we spun about, pistols drawn. It weren't any animal, by the sound of it, and it sure wasn't just one man.
We hurried on, knowing we'd been found again. The noises grew louder, like men hacking through the brush as they closed in on us, and from the sound of it they was fanning out, one of them shouting out something excited in Mexican like he was hot on our trail.
I kept moving, keeping Gitty in front of me, Roy leading us through the thickets as we hurried to gain higher ground. We kept behind the houses, keeping cover as the voices eventually trailed off only to pick up again, the chase lasting a long time and all of us short of breath before finally we came out of the trees and were standing near an open road.
"Mira!" the shout came.
Startled, we turned around. There he was, that crazy, skull-faced man with the big black eagle on his chest, staring back at us from the edge of the woods. I fired a shot but missed, the bastard ducking behind a tree as a couple more came running out. Roy plugged them both and then we was running, turning to fire when any of them got too close, though there was just too many to shoot them all.
