The Seventh Seal

by J. Thorn

  “Don’t underestimate them, general. Satan’s fury should not be taken lightly.”

  “We are using any and all means of accomplishing the aims of the Holy Covenant. It may take more time elsewhere, but Cleveland is all but secure under my command.”

  “And what of the Keepers of the Wormwood? What is your plan for dealing with this group?”

  “For now, nothing. If we can secure the neighborhoods around Parma on the west side, they’ll have nowhere to go. We can wait them out and avoid taking casualties. I have snipers that can pick them off from a thousand yards or more.”

  “That is fine as long as it doesn’t slow down the initiation of the Second Cleansing. Know that if I call for it, I want that group burned off the face of the Earth and sent to Satan’s gate.”

  “That should not be a problem, Father.”

  “Very well. That is all we need to discuss on the matter. Does anyone have an update on the whereabouts of John the Revelator?”

  The men at the table continued looking down into their hands. After an uncomfortable silence, a young priest spoke up.

  “Father, we have not yet located him. He may have been with the vet and escaped through the wreckage barricade at the intersection of 271 and 480.”

  Father took a final drag on his cigar and exhaled across the table. He looked up to the ceiling and then back at the priest who’d spoken. The proximity of the ember burned his tongue, turning his words bitter. Father made the sign of the cross and wiped a lone bead of sweat from the end of his nose. A nervous silence enveloped the room.

  “If The Revelator is not found before we initiate the Second Cleansing, we all have to answer to Him.”

  Chapter 22

  Both men froze. Jana remained behind Peter, and looked at Jake over Peter’s right arm. Jake’s hand held a steady bead on Peter, the gun pointed directly at his head. Jake’s eyes darted around the store. He then stole a glance back over his shoulder at the open storeroom door.

  “Shut and lock that door with the chain and padlock,” Jake said to Jana.

  “But I can’t—”

  “Do it or you both die, bitch.”

  Jana moved across the floor, navigating past the empty coffee cups and cupcake wrappers that littered the floor. Jake backed into the wall and turned his right arm toward Peter. He kept the pistol aimed at Peter’s face.

  “Can you put that thing down, lad? I’m not armed and I’m sure as hell not going to rush at a loaded weapon.”

  “Shut up,” was all that Jake said.

  Jana wrapped the chain around the handle of the door, making as much noise as she possibly could before finally snapping the padlock into place. If anyone inside had heard it, it was too late to do anything about it now.

  “Now move back over behind the ugly Brit.”

  “I’m Welsh, you punk.”

  Jake turned the gun sideways and pulled it back, cocked and ready to kill.

  “One more word from you and I’ll split your skull with a bullet.”

  Peter held both hands up signifying his supplication.

  “Are you going to shoot me too?” asked Jana. “Why don’t you pump as many bullets as you can into everyone here. What is your problem?”

  “My problem is that you won’t shut the fuck up.”

  Jake stepped toward Jana and slapped her before she could raise an arm to block it. Her hair spun around and the slap of skin echoed off the silent store walls. Peter bit his lip so hard that a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

  “Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” Peter said.

  Jake’s eyes glazed over with rage, and his chest heaved. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. The gun was still aimed at Peter, and now Jake squeezed the trigger. Three bright flashes of light engulfed the store as three explosions punctured the night air, followed by Peter’s body landing in a magazine rack. Three scarlet holes appeared in his chest. Jana’s scream reverberated in her own skull. Jake lowered the smoking barrel to his side. Sweat poured off his forehead and his eyes never left Peter. The Welshman’s eyes fluttered open for a split second, then remained that way as he expelled a final breath. Dull thuds started as the others in the storeroom pounded on the padlocked door.

  All of his senses came rushing back to Jake like a wave pulling the ocean back to its murky depths. Jana’s screaming and the muffled protest of the people in the room startled him. A thin, high-pitched squeal faded in and out. Smoke filled the convenience store as the burning spice of gunpowder tinged their nostrils.

  “…you bastard! You fucking killed him!” Jana screamed.

  Jake pulled plastic zip ties from his pocket and wrapped them around Jana’s wrists. Before she could resist, Jake pulled them hard, drawing blood where the plastic cut into her flesh. He then punched her hard in the stomach. Jana doubled over in front of Jake. He pushed her by the shoulder to the floor. While she gasped for the breath he knocked from her abdomen, Jake looped another zip tie around Jana’s ankles. Her breath came back, feeding the racking sobs.

  “All he had to do was shut up. He couldn’t fucking shut up, could he?”

  Jake walked to the storeroom door and called out to those now imprisoned inside.

  “One person out here is dead and another is asking for it. If everyone doesn’t shut up, now, I’ll open fire and send all of you to hell. Got it?”

  The group fell silent, but Jana spoke.

  “They must’ve heard the shots. It’s a matter of time before they get here. Why would you be so fucking stupid?”

  Jake yanked her up by the hair and smacked her across the face again.

  “Shut. Up,” he said, emphasizing each syllable of the command.

  He pushed his hands through his hair and shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans. Jake walked toward the shattered front windows and peered into the dark streets of South Euclid. He shivered and waited for the searchlights of a patrol, but none appeared.

  Jake’s eyes scanned the parking lot and came to rest on the car-wash building. He grabbed Jana by her elbows and lifted her off the floor. Jake flung her over his shoulder in one motion and pulled the gun from his waistband. He slid toward the front door, looked out, and began carrying Jana toward the car-wash building. He felt his shoulder digging deep into her abdomen, and she grunted with each jolting step.

  When they reached the office of the car wash, the locked doorknob would not turn. With the butt end of the gun, Jake shattered the lock and opened the door. A crooked desk sat in one corner facing a greasy window in the front. He dropped Jana behind the desk with an ugly thump, and he crouched under a stack of cardboard boxes.

  Searching beams of light came from Warrensville Road toward Mayfield, creeping along at about four miles per hour. Marksmen sat in the back of the troop transport, swinging spotlights over the empty windows of the deserted businesses. They paused in front of the BP and then moved on down Mayfield toward Cleveland. Jake exhaled and dropped his chin to his chest.

  “They don’t know where it came from. It’s a good thing you locked them in the storeroom.” Jake’s voice reverted back to its cool delivery.

  “Please let me go. Please,” Jana said.

  “I’ve sat tight long enough. The world’s going to hell. I’m taking whatever the fuck I want, starting with you, little lady.”

  Jake took a blue bandana from his back pocket and used it to gag Jana. She smelled a noxious mixture of cheap cologne and motor oil in it. Jake moved his hand to her waist. He took a buck knife from his pocket and slid it inside her shirt. Jana’s white skin gleamed in the moonlight. She whimpered and struggled as Jake’s hands kneaded her breasts. He fondled her before his gaze trailed down toward her jeans. Jake used the knife to cut a long slice up both legs of the denim to the waist, leaving the soiled bandage on her thigh. He peeled back Jana’s jeans, exposing black, cotton panties. Jana twisted and fought Jake with every muscle in her body. He stopped.

  “Lie still or I will plunge this knife in
to your stomach. It will take days for you to bleed to death. It is not a pleasant way to die.”

  Jana believed the killer and stopped fighting, but her nervous twitches could not be controlled. Jake took the knife and cut the top of her panties on each hip. He pulled them away and felt a growing heat in his pants. He placed the gun and knife next to Jana’s bound feet. With his hands on the inside of Jana’s knees, the murderer pushed her legs apart. He smelled her and licked Jana’s belly button while he pressed a hand on her pubic hair.

  “Anarchy has its privileges,” Jake said as he stood up.

  He unzipped his jeans and dropped them to his ankles. The ragged and torn boxer shorts landed on top of a crumpled pile of garments. Jana looked at the maniac’s grotesque erection and prepared herself for what was about to happen. She stared mindlessly at the drop ceiling in the office and counted the individual tiles. She heard him groan and felt his skin on hers.

  Jake grunted, and his contorted face crashed hard against the thin carpet of the office, landing to Jana’s left. Her brain staggered and shook with the visuals sent from her eyes. She could still feel the cool air against her exposed areas. A hand reached down and used Jake’s knife to cut the zip ties from her ankles and wrists, then removed the filthy bandana from her mouth. Jana’s lungs burned with the intake of the cool November chill. A blanket floated down from above, covering her exposed skin up to her neck.

  Jana sat and looked down at the pool of dark liquid that crept toward her from the ax blade lodged in the back of Jake’s head. A yellow handle pointed down and parallel to the rest of the body. Jana shuffled away from him toward the corner in an instinctive attempt to escape danger. She mumbled and whimpered, trying to form her thoughts into words. She glanced up and saw a figure above her.

  “C’mon, honey, come with me. That’ll be the last time that man says the word nigger.”

  Ruth and Sally lifted Jana by her hands and shepherded her back into the BP. Jana kept the blanket tight around her shoulders, like a superhero in a cape. She left her ripped clothing on the floor of the office, as it no longer served any purpose.

  “How did you get out?” Jana managed to ask, forcing each and every word from trembling lips.

  “Dumbass forgot that the back door locks from the inside. We only wish we could have saved Peter,” Ruth responded.

  Inside the storeroom, the rest of the group avoided eye contact with Jana. Ruth waved at them with one hand.

  “He didn’t get to her, if that’s what you want to ask. Someone get this girl into spare clothes.”

  Sally stepped forward and helped Jana into the employee restroom.

  “Jay’s still asleep,” Sally said. Someone keep an eye on him, would ya?”

  They all nodded and returned to the storeroom in a noble attempt at giving Jana maximum privacy.

  Sally shut the bathroom door. She lit a candle and set it on top of the toilet.

  “He didn’t, did he?”

  Jana shook her head and wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Oh honey, thank God! Let me help you.”

  Sally pulled a pair of jeans and sweatshirt from a blue Giant Eagle bag ripe with the odor of raw onions. Jana dropped the blanket to the ground and took off her shoes in order to climb into the new jeans. Sally stared at Jana’s fit body, then snapped her head around with a shameful glance.

  “Where ya from?” asked Sally, trying hard to get Jana’s mind off the recent attack and on to things more mundane.

  “Pittsburgh,” Jana replied.

  “Oh gross! Please tell me you don’t root for the Steelers?”

  Jana managed to build a moderate smile and nodded up and down.

  “Wait. I think I might have a Browns jersey in this bag somewhere.”

  Sally pretended to flip through her bag in search of the orange and brown garment.

  “Thanks. Thanks for helping me.”

  “If we don’t help each other now, there’s no hope for the future.”

  Chapter 23

  John woke with a heavy haze of alcohol fogging his thoughts. Remnants of the nightmare mixed with images of the bar in the early morning. A few feet away, Alex rolled onto his back and rubbed intoxication from his own face. John looked at Alex, then up at the bar. Reality settled back into his head like a feather floating to the floor. The silence felt menacing, and neither man fully possessed his bearings. John attempted to stand, but staggered into the back of the bar. An empty beer mug slid off the edge of the cooler, shattering on the grimy floor. The alcohol-amplified destruction echoed off the glass block, jabbing deep into their hangovers.

  “Shit,” was all John could muster.

  He kicked at pieces of glass and closed his eyes. The room shifted under his feet, but at least it wasn’t spinning like it had hours before.

  “Did you sleep?” asked Alex.

  “I think so. Had a nasty dream.”

  “Me too. Rather not discuss it.”

  Alex stood on wobbly knees. He turned the faucet on behind the bar, but all that issued was two lonesome drops of rust-colored liquid. He turned it off, as if not to waste any precious, brown water. Alex opened the sliding top of one cooler and lucked upon a case of bottled water. He ripped one from the plastic and, making eye contact, tossed it to John, who mishandled the toss and chased the bouncing plastic container across the floor. Alex grabbed one for himself. Both bottles hissed in protest of being opened.

  John stood.

  “Where are the bikers?”

  “Gotta be here somewhere.”

  Alex followed John around the pool table and toward the stage, neither man noticing the dead generator. Dozens of empty beer bottles littered the floor. John kicked them, but regretted it immediately as he sent a cacophony of chimes through the dead air. A random bra perched atop an empty bar stool, with its owner nowhere in sight. They continued toward the stage. The old Marshall amp sat there, along with an empty guitar stand. Alex stuck his head into the dark backstage area and fanned away an oppressive whiff of pot, body odor, and piss. He dry heaved and fought the bitter taste rising into his mouth.

  “They’re gone,” he said, dumbfounded, to nobody in particular.

  “Can’t be,” Alex said. “We would have heard the bikes firing up.”

  “I’m telling you, they’re gone.”

  Alex opened the back door that swung out into the alley. Cardboard boxes stood in a shaky monument against the dumpster. Slimy, black leaves of lettuce stuck to the pavement, testimony to a deceased hamburger platter. John pushed Alex aside and stepped into the empty alley where the Keepers had parked their bikes. The unusually bright November sun drove a headache deep into his skull. Like a vampire set afire by the rays, John stumbled past Alex with a moan.

  “Now what?” John groaned.

  “I don’t see what this changes. We’re still hoping to find our loved ones and then get the hell out of Cleveland.”

  “Really, is that what we said? I honestly don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve gotta find Jana, but beyond that, I have no clue.”

  “C’mon, man. Let’s get back in before we get noticed.”

  Alex kicked a bottle cap into the alley and turned to go inside. John stood there for another moment before following him, pulling the door shut as quietly as possible.

  Alex turned left and walked through the back of the stage. A milk crate sat between two machine guns propped against the wall and two white boxes on the floor. A piece of cardboard ripped haphazardly from an old box of frozen French fries sat on top of it. Alex picked up the cardboard and angled it toward the front of the bar so he could use the ambient light to read a message scrawled on it.

  Alex took a full thirty seconds and scanned the note, his eyebrows bunching up in exaggerated surprise.

  “Listen to this. ‘Brothers. We enjoyed partying with you last night and regret ditching you this morning. Please accept these weapons as a token of our friendship. Right now, we can’t have nonmembers riding with us. You’re too
much of a liability. But, we will hook up again. Stay at the ‘Saw for as long as you like, but know those Holy bastards will be getting a bead on this place sooner or later. Ride on, motherfuckers!’ Whadda you make of that?”

  John curled his fingers in a rapid motion, asking to see the cardboard himself without using words. Alex handed it over with a disgruntled look.

  “You think this is from Sully?”

  “Probably,” John responded.

  “Do you know how to use those things?”

  Alex pointed toward their newfound weapons cache.

  “Pull the trigger, the bad guy dies. You expect a fucking manual?”

  Alex began laughing in spite of their predicament, holding his side. John caught the vibe and hitched with a growing giggle.

  When the moment passed, John picked up an assault rifle and loaded a clip. The weapon responded with a delightful click.

  “Just like in the movies,” he said to Alex.

  “This is nothing like the movies.”

  They left the machine guns standing in a corner and rounded up a bag of chips and half a cinnamon roll. Calling it breakfast, they downed another bottled water and put three more in their packs. John used a flashlight to find provisions: a pair of buck knives, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and two syringes. Alex walked behind John, and they kept their backs to the cold cinder block of the businesses, moving closer to the military truck. John maneuvered to the passenger side and Alex jumped into the driver’s seat. It sat just as they’d left it the night before.

  John stuck his head out of the shattered passenger-side window. The chill of the encroaching winter slid off of Lake Erie and penetrated his man-made fabrics. He shivered and drew his shoulders back into his chest. Lonely sea gulls circled high above the buildings.