Crossing Bedlam

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Quiche chuckles as he skims through several forums for information on Bart and wracks his brain about her request. “I’ve been hearing some interesting stories. You ran with the Metal Minstrels, eliminated Amur, and messed with the Border Collies. If your new partner is in LaSalle then I assume it’s Katie, who I’ve worked with a few times. Nice woman, but we disagreed too much on food and she tried to shoot me in the foot. Good thing I don’t hold a grudge. Now word is that somebody crippled the South Bend drug trade soon after people reported you getting out of the nearby plague swamp. Funny thing is that the cartel that would have taken advantage of that situation lost all of their lieutenants during a fight over a poker game. Supposedly a warning for them to leave the area was written with their body parts being duct taped to the wall.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lloyd interrupts, slurping down the rest of his coffee. He pulls his new knife out from behind his back and uses it to pick his nails. “You can’t write legible messages with organs and limbs. It was in blood. The hacking, slashing, and bludgeoning was only because those goons put up a fight instead of working with me. In my defense . . . Uh . . . I got nothing.”

  Feeling nervous around the serial killer, Quiche finishes his research and jots down Bart’s location for Cassidy. He whistles to get everyone’s attention and holds up three fingers, warning the other users that he is about to use the printer. The old machine sounds like it is about to explode as the yellowed paper goes through and gets jammed. Stuffing two bites of his payment into his mouth, Quiche hurries to fix the problem and retrieve the weather maps that the travelers will need for Nebraska. Realizing he forgot to set any of his traps, he whirls around to see a lurker heading for the computer. The bug-eyed woman skids to a stop at the sight of Cassidy aiming a gun at her knee and Lloyd waggling his knife with a demented smile. Obsessed with playing social media games, the addict bravely continues toward the chair and screams like a wild animal at the travelers. The threat of death does nothing to dissuade the lurker, who thinks the pair are bluffing. She never finds out because Quiche returns to take his seat and casually shoots the woman with a tranquilizer dart. Foaming at the mouth and shuddering, the ambitious thief collapses to the ground and is dragged away by the cleanup crew.

  “These are really high dosage, so she might not be okay,” the pajama-wearing man says, his voice loud enough to act as a warning to others. Handing the papers to Cassidy, he pulls a cockroach-shaped ticket out from under the table and gives it to Lloyd. “Bart is in the Gold Route Traveling Bazaar, which is at Coon Rapids for the next five days. You have plenty of time, but that Half-Dead means you shouldn’t stay here for long. The bazaar will be heavily defended, so you can send me my precious information by writing it down and leaving it with Bart. Don’t lose the tech ticket, Mr. Tenay, because it will solve your other problem. You won’t get it for free, but it will give you a discount with a guy named Cricket who can give you working satellite phones. I wouldn’t trust him to ship one to Katie though, so that’s something you have to figure out on your own.”

  “I’d say I owe you, but we stopped keeping score long ago,” Cassidy replies, forcing herself to get out of the comfortable chair. “Hopefully we get to spend more time together when I come back through. Before she died, my mom had some stories for you. She would have mailed you letters, but she said it would be better for you to hear them in person. Think you can survive long enough for me to return?”

  “I’ll be fine. My new diet and daily exercise regime has made me healthier than everyone else here,” Quiche proudly declares, waving at a toned woman who glares at him. She crushes her mouse to intimidate the smaller man, a pained expression on her face when she realizes what she has done. “Maybe not everyone, but I do think I’m the smartest. Anyway, good luck with the rest of your journey. Look me up for any big questions, Mr. Tenay. I always have our world at my fingertips.”

  Lloyd strokes his chin before leaning close enough to get an unhealthy whiff of the other man. “Do you know why the collapse happened?”

  “There are many rumors,” Quiche answers while searching for the conspiracy theory forums. He does his best to hide the fact that they are bookmarked, which is something he knows Cassidy would tease him about. “Some think aliens while others think inside job. The most popular theory is that this has happened to every country by a secret global organization. People cite various disappearances as proof of this. A local goes hunting for the truth, claims they know what really happened, and then they’re never heard from again.”

  “That’s because corpses don’t talk,” Cassidy interrupts, gently guiding her companion away from the computer. The spark of unbridled curiosity is in Lloyd’s eyes, which makes her dread the drive to Coon Rapids. “Nobody knows what really happened. If you ask me, the rest of the world got tired of our shit and put us in a timeout. Either we’re here until we learn a lesson or this is our future. Not my place to do anything more than survive and I suggest you two adopt the same mentality. As my mom always said, those who go searching for trouble will only find a date with the Grim Reaper.”

  Lloyd slips from the young woman’s grasp and flips her onto the beanbag chair, which she finds difficult to get off of. “What about machines turning on humanity? Wait, forget I said that because one of them could be listening. Eh, too now. You see, we spent so many years preparing for a zombie apocalypse that I wouldn’t be surprised if the machines became the real threat. I think they’re the ones behind the onslaught of zombie stuff before the collapse. The whole thing makes perfect sense and would also explain why nobody has managed to invent time travel technology. Wait! Wouldn’t the time travel device side with the machines and purposely screw up any attempts to change the past? Such a tangled web of-”

  Everyone in the Wi-Fi den cheers when Cassidy uses her stun gun to knock the ranting man out. While the cleanup crew carries Lloyd to the jeep, the young woman trades a few small items for a box of fresh cookies and another cup of coffee. She smiles when Matilda slips a few free eclairs into the box, the woman tapping her finger against the bullet hole in the blonde’s pea coat. Cassidy gives her mother’s old friend a one-armed hug, a few long-restrained tears finding their way down her cheek. With her peace offering in hand and a quick good-bye to Quiche, she heads out the door and takes several large gulps of crisp, sweet air.

  *****

  After bringing the satellite phones back to the jeep and returning to the bazaar, the travelers go in search of the famous mechanic and inventor. Both of them feel naked without their weapons, all of which have been handed to the guards at the front gate. Not trusting most of the people he sees among the tents and booths, Lloyd repeatedly nods his head toward shops that sell knives or guns. Cassidy simply points out that anyone who purchases a weapon is escorted back to the entrance for their purchase to be confiscated. Snacking on jerky and bags of nuts, they ignore the loud vendors that are pushing questionable food. One woman tries her best to sell a pizza that resembles a large cracker covered in red paint, cold cheese, and slivers of a meat that still has fur. She is undone by a child who tosses a small firework into the box, the explosion destroying the inedible food. An argument breaks out between her and the kid’s father, who is trying to sell hamburgers that are dark green. With this being the fifth fight they have seen since arriving, Cassidy is relieved to catch sight of their destination and hurries Lloyd along before they are dragged into the brawl. She has seen how brutal the guards can be when they fear the bazaar is in danger and she has come too far to get arrested for beating an armored man into unconsciousness with his own baton. Then again, she wonders if such an odd event could possibly happen to her a second time. The buzz of a small plane passing overhead gives her pause and she searches the sky for the rare sight, but can only tell that it is landing on the far side of the bazaar.

  The pair stop several yards away from the open air tent, which is adorned with a laminated sign that says ‘Bart the Best’. It is obvious that the decoration was wri
tten by a child due to the use of crayon and sloppy lettering. From the pristine condition of the display, one can tell it is a precious object for the mechanic. Especially when compared to the grease-covered tools and scattered boxes of spare parts that surround the man’s territory. A heavily armored RV is parked behind the store and its side depicts a beautiful woman and young girl in white, the angelic duo picnicking near a tree-rimmed lake. The only other vehicle in sight is a gutted car that causes Lloyd to playfully punch his companion in the arm. He accepts the blow to the stomach with a gasp and shrugs at her rejection of the childish game. Randomly placed around the inside of the tent are hippos of various sizes that range from plush toys to intricate wood carvings. Cassidy reaches out to touch the one by the entrance, the metal statue’s mouth opening to release a low grunt.

  Following the sound of welding and banging, they wander through the maze-like tent until they come to a cleared work table. Toiling over an impressive engine, Bart is an old, bald man who is covered in splotches of grease and oil. His arms are big enough to give the impression that he could lift the heavy part without the small crane to his left while his thick fingers handle the pieces with impressive delicacy. A pile of filthy aprons are behind his backless chair, but he is at the stage of the job where loose clothing could cause an accident. Light glints off two metal teeth whenever he smiles, the names of his murdered wife and daughter etched into what were once the bullets that killed them. Taking a wrench off his thick belt, Bart tightens several bolts and tries to bring the engine to life. Not getting a response after several clicks, the man slaps down the tool and stands to his full height. A guttural laugh rolls from his chest when he sees that a part is out of alignment, so he takes a screwdriver to finish the repairs. One more attempt to start the machine makes it roar and he chains it up to reinstall later.

  “Welcome back to my shop. You hear for business or to help me tinker,” Bart says, giving Cassidy a big hug. The old man holds her out to get a better look, which helps him see what she is wearing. “You got your mom’s pea coat on. Sorry for your loss, grease monkey. Always thought she’d outlive us all. I take it you’re doing the trip to San Francisco then. Don’t look so surprised. You weren’t the only one she told. Myself and Neddy were there when she decided on her dying wish. Jose and Jack were around too if you want to get technical.”

  “That means you know where we’re heading,” Cassidy replies as she takes a seat next to the worktable. The heat inside the tent forces her to shed the pea coat and takes a long drink of water from her canteen. “I bought a jeep from Neddy and it has a few enhancements. No weapons and the defenses are all very simple. I’d like for you to turn it into a temporary war machine and give us a loaner to practice our offensive driving.”

  “Don’t you mean defensive driving?” Lloyd asks even though he knows exactly what his friend is talking about. With all of the hints about Nebraska, he has a strong feeling that it will be worse than anything they have encountered so far. “By the way, I’m Lloyd. Nice teeth and hippo collection.”

  “These times make for disturbing bedfellows,” the mechanic replies, cautiously accepting the serial killer’s offer of a handshake. The popping of knuckles can be heard as he makes it clear that he does not trust the grinning murderer. “These choppers and the plush toy on the worktable are all I have left of my family. Both were shot in the head and left in our home as it was burned to the ground. Learned a lesson there that most humans are monsters. Some are just better at hiding it than others. Honestly, I trust the blatant demons like yourself more than those who pretend to be angels.”

  Lloyd nods his head and turns as if scanning the cluttered shelves, a spark of worry in his eyes. Cassidy is the only one who can see the expression, which vanishes the moment he fakes a violent sneeze. Patting a dancing hippo figurine on the head, he plasters a broad smirk on his lips and faces the mechanic again.

  “Thanks. Guess this new world took its toll on you.”

  “I never said it happened after the collapse.”

  “This feels like a need-to-know situation and I don’t have clearance.”

  “You’re pretty astute and observant for a murderer.”

  “How else do you think I picked victims?”

  Cassidy puts her booted feet on the table, making sure to create enough noise to get everyone’s attention. “Can we get back to business? You two can bond or whatever this is after we make the deal. I have a bad feeling that time isn’t on my side here. Not to mention the Half-Dead that I’m tired of reminding people about. If I help with the installation then that should cut down on time, labor, and cost, right?”

  Bart sighs and rubs his head, leaving several smears of grease on his scalp. Grabbing a bottle of strong soap, he gets his hands clean enough to handle a homemade calendar. Running a finger along the weeks, the mechanic confirms his fear that he might not be able to help. Tapping at one of the listed names that is followed by a backslash, Bart sees only one way that he can work on the jeep within the next week. One look at the young woman’s face tells him that anything less would be unacceptable. Part of him worries that she is stubborn enough to challenge Nebraska without his additions. It is possible to stop her by hiring some locals to take the jeep’s tires and sparkplugs, but the tactic is too underhanded for him to do to a friend. The thought of her mother haunting him as punishment helps push the idea completely out of his mind.

  “I’m booked pretty solid for the next month, but there might be an opening,” Bart explains, joining Cassidy at the worktable. Opening a drawer, he chooses a bottle of whiskey to drink like it is filled with water. “First I’ll tell you the timeline. The project would require one day of examining your vehicle and another to design the additions. Probably take another three to five days before I finish the building and installation. That’s if all of the parts are in stock. You’ll have to stay with the bazaar, especially with that radioactive shadow of yours. I know a few people around here who have Half-Dead meds and would be willing to make short-term offers for the thing. Those monsters may be primal, but they’ll delay a big job for even a small one that promises a single pill. I’ll have to charge you for that, which might force Lloyd to take on some odd jobs around here.”

  “He’ll do it,” Cassidy states before her friend can speak up. “So, what is it that you’re not telling me?”

  “Well, I may have someone tentatively booked for the timeslot,” the mechanic replies, taking a long drink of whiskey. His stomach rumbles in disagreement, calming when he swallows a handful of salted cashews. “It wasn’t entirely confirmed, which means it’s open as long as the person doesn’t show up. We sign the contract now and everything should be perfectly legal. Got a basic one right here, grease monkey.”

  “You sure the other person won’t get angry?” Lloyd asks while looking at an animation cell of two hippos on a couch. Moving on to a shelf full of clamps, the killer does his best not to reveal his boredom. “I’ve noticed that people are pretty quick to get angry around here. I don’t want to get kicked out of here for a fight after coming so far to find you. Pretty sure Cassidy is thinking the same thing.”

  The blonde sees that Bart keeps avoiding eye contact, which puts her on edge as she signs the contract. “I’m doing this because I need the work done. Now tell me who I just bumped or I’ll get my hands on your calendar. It isn’t like I know . . . Fucking hell. Don’t tell me I just took Dick’s spot.”

  “Been a long time, Cass,” announces a booming voice from the tent’s entrance. “You still flexible and fiery like before?”

  Everyone turns toward the handsome man with sparkling brown eyes and dark hair that changes tints depending on the lighting. The arrogant bounty hunter is dressed in polished combat boots, a simple wife beater shirt, and a camo trench coat that look as new as the day they were made. The biggest hints about his trade are a pair of handcuffs on his belt and several warrants sewn into the lining of his jacket. Unlike most of the people in the bazaar, Dick Kopf ca
me in through a side entrance and has managed to retain his weapons. Not that he has permission to break the rules or any special standing with the traveling marketplace. Several guards have been following him to protect a timid man who is constantly asking for the collection of firearms. Giving in to the requests, the muscular bounty hunter hands over an assault rifle, two large handguns, a grenade launcher, and all of his extra ammunition. Even without his small arsenal, the man retains his air of superiority, which is why Cassidy is immediately in his face with a screwdriver pointed at his eyes.

  “Say hello to the unsavory part of Iowa that I mentioned earlier, Lloyd,” the blonde growls before Bart forcefully pulls her back to the table. The prideful grin of her ex-boyfriend enrages her so much that she grabs a bolt to toss at his head. “You lost your chance, so get out of here and wait your turn. Pretty sure you have a disease to pass along to some unfortunate whore. I hope the next one slices your tiny friend off and feeds it to a grizzly bear.”

  “That’s the greeting I get after our pleasurable year together?” the bounty hunter replies as he examines Lloyd. Looking into his trench coat, he checks to see if the killer is one of his targets and is disappointed to find that is not the case. “I should be the angry one. My network was going perfectly until you flipped out and ruined it. You know, I haven’t recovered from the trauma you and your bitch of a mother inflicted on me. The bullet is still in my shoulder and it hurts when it rains.”

  With a mirthful smirk, Cassidy fills an oily cup with water and throws the drink at the man’s face. “If you’re looking for an apology, you fucking piece of shit, then you’re not getting anything. Want to know what his network was, Lloyd? He wanted a whore in every state. I was young and he did a few jobs with my mom, so we hooked up after sharing some tequila. Then one night, he got drunker than me, called me his New York slut, and admitted to his plans. You should fucking thank me for not killing you and for stopping my mom. Though I’ve yet to figure out why I didn’t let her take that second shot.”