Crossing Bedlam

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “No reason to threaten me. In fact, you can call me Gus,” the mechanic says, hoping to come off as friendly and helpful. The cold stare he receives makes him defensive, so he decides to test his captor’s mood. “Besides, you’re only a little girl with a gun. Take that weapon away and this would be a different story.”

  “Maybe, but the challenge would be taking my gun away,” the blonde replies while returning to the crate. She glances at Lloyd who is sleeping in a nearby rocking chair and mumbling about wanting a massage. “Always remember that this little girl has killed more people than you’ve probably ever spoken to. My friend was the driver, which means most of the fatalities out there are notches on my belt. Now I can fix this on my own, but it’ll take too much time. So don’t think I’m helpless. I’m only in a hurry, so putting a bullet through your head only means I’ll be delayed and irritable.”

  “Guess I shouldn’t push my luck then,” Gus whispers while lifting the hood. He whistles at the guts of the jeep, his eyes searching for the problem. “I can see a nitro line was severed and clogged by one bullet. Your friend was right that there’s one in the engine too. Hard to tell if it did any internal damage, but the pickup truck over there can be used for spare parts. I assume I’m allowed to take the engine apart to get at any internal issues.”

  Cassidy throws the man a bag of cookies and a bottle of water, both of which fall to the hay-covered ground. “Do what you have to. Think of those as a payment for your honesty. I’m still deciding on what to do with you after we’re done here. Sounds like a storm is coming, which means outside is no place for an unprotected body to be wandering around.”

  “This thing is a breeze compared to what’s on the Wyoming border.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Really big storm that will probably last another day.”

  “So that’s where the big guy from Quiche’s maps went.”

  Sensing that the statement was more to herself than him, Gus sets to work on repairing the engine. With no replacement for the line, he convinces Cassidy to help him remove the booster system that has become nothing more than dead weight. She insists on keeping the parts inside of the jeep, but refuses to explain her reasons before getting herself something to drink from a nearby cooler. Always aware of the blonde watching him, the mechanic carefully takes the engine apart and places every piece on a sheet-covered table. Not wanting to make even a small mistake, Gus puts the parts in a pattern and uses a crayon to mark them in the order they were removed. He can tell that Cassidy is memorizing what he is doing in case she needs to repeat the process later. It gives him a feeling of being respected even though he knows his pseudo-student is more than willing to splatter his brains across the barn.

  Checking the manual a few times to be sure of what he is doing, the mechanic eventually removes enough to get at the bullet that has been rattling around the pistons. Gus can see several dents on the fan and a hole in the belt, the latter of which he is relieved to find a spare of in Cassidy’s tool kit. Grabbing a pair of pliers and a level, he straightens the fan blades to the best of his ability before putting the part back. A final check of the engine shows that there is a small nick on the fuel line, so he wraps some tape around the hole. Unable to find any other damage, Gus rebuilds the engine and gestures for Cassidy to give it a try. His eyes remain on the fuel line as the jeep revs to life and sounds as close to new as he can make it.

  “I don’t have a replacement for the fuel line or the fan, so I could only do patch jobs on those parts,” the mechanic states with pride. He jumps at the mumbled snoring that comes from Lloyd, the serial killer having curled into a ball on the chair. “Once you reach Wyoming, you can find a place to get a real repair. I wouldn’t be surprised if they take the remains of the nitro system off your hands. Those things are rare even in a damaged condition.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Cassidy replies while she gathers the tools. As a test, she turns her back on Gus and watches his reflection in the window. “The wind seems to be dying down, but my friend and I need sleep. So we’ll be staying here for a few hours. Not sure what I should do about you.”

  “Letting me go is a nice idea,” the mechanic admits as he picks up a wrench. With his work done, he is very aware that they are back to being enemies. “Then again, I’m very far out of my territory. Might not make it back, especially at night. A couple of big cats wander around this state. Mostly lions and leopards with the occasional cheetah. Thankfully, all the tigers wandered away. The cats love hiding in the old cornfields and pouncing on prey.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “Means I’m a dead man no matter what.”

  “Unless you join another gang and pay for your membership by giving them us.”

  “You know about that trick, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  Gus only makes it one step before Cassidy turns around and shoots him in the head, the gunshot causing Lloyd to wake up. Barely aware of what has happened, the serial killer smacks his lips and wanders over to the jeep for a canteen. Leaning against the door, he stares at the dead mechanic and chuckles at how the whole thing ended. Handing an apple to his companion, they both relax now that they no longer have the gang member to worry about.

  “You know he might not have turned on us,” Lloyd points out as he offers Cassidy the canteen. She refuses and grabs a bottle of whiskey from the backseat, the liquor burning her throat as she gulps it down. “Not to mention his limp would have slowed him down. His shoulder was messed up too. We’d probably be long gone by the time he found a gang, much less set them on our trail. That’s if he didn’t get eaten by a lion, killed by a storm, or blown up by a mine.”

  “Yup,” Cassidy states with a yawn. Not wanting the gear to go to waste, she takes Gus’s tool belt and tosses it into the jeep. “If it was any other state, I’d let him go and take my chances. Not here though.”

  “Rationalize it all you want, kid, but that was cold,” the serial killer says before changing into a shirt with a glow-in-the-dark ghost on the front. He helps pack everything up and reorganize their supplies, which includes reloading all the guns. “I’m starting to realize something about you. You say you’re broken and I never had a reason to argue that point, but you can be downright predatory at times. Not in the same way as me because I kill mostly for fun and pleasure. You do it for survival without a second thought. In some ways, that’s more animalistic than what I do and the media loved calling me a beast when I was on the loose. The thing that really surprises me is that you can turn the predator on and off so easily. It does bring up the question of what happens when your switch breaks.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Lloyd,” Cassidy snaps, her voice dripping anger instead of her usual frustration.

  The serial killer shrugs and goes to hide Gus’s body in the hayloft, an old habit that he feels will buy them some extra time. It takes him a while to stash the corpse and scatter a bag of old chicken feed over the pools of blood on the ground. By the time Lloyd gets back to the jeep, Cassidy is asleep in the passenger seat with a shotgun across her lap and aimed out the hole in her door. Not wanting to wake the scowling woman, he checks the local map and does his best to read the compass. Once he is sure of the direction they should be heading, Lloyd starts the car and drives into the darkness to the sound of a distant lion roaring.

  *****

  The screaming gangs coming out of the north, south, and east are only the second biggest threat to the jeep. Instead of watching the gaudy vehicles, the two travelers stare at the giant twister that looms in the distant. There is an eerie calmness to the sky above their heads, as if every cloud has been sucked into the churning whirlwind. Off to their right, the pair can see the remaining foundation of a building that they assume has been destroyed by the storm. On the other hand, the remains could be leftovers from another twister or even been taken down by one of the gangs. Focusing on the very real problem in front of them, they find it difficult to tell how fast and which dir
ection the column is heading. Checking the map and Quiche’s notes, Cassidy is fairly certain that the storm is only a few miles from the Wyoming border, which puts it directly in their path. Tapping at a few of the scanner screens, she can see they are getting some interference and worries that a landmine will take them out long before they can challenge the twister.

  “Maybe we should have asked Bart for wings or parachutes,” Lloyd says while squinting into the distance. The sight of several tractor trailers, some of which are armed with flamethrowers, causes him to sigh in acceptance of another wild trip. “That thing is going to hurl us if we get too close. Doubt we can skirt the edge of it like we did with the minefield. Is that a windmill and some pigs in there?”

  “We’re too far away to see anything,” Cassidy replies while getting ready the weapons ready for the fight. Preparing three of the machineguns, she bites her lower lip in anticipation and waits for their enemies to get within range. “Looks like the southern forces are the smallest. We’ll have a better chance of breaking through their lines than if we tackled the others. Then again, it looks like they’re mostly vans and semis. I don’t really know how to get us out of this. Been pushing myself too hard for too long.”

  “Our best bet is to drive one of the armies into the storm,” Lloyd suggests as they hear the sound of gunfire. A few bullets bounce off their armor plating and are replied to by a few bursts from the machineguns. “This may sound strange, but what if we head to the northwest? We can pit the bigger armies against the smaller one and try to escape in the chaos. Looks like the storm is heading south . . . or spinning in one place.”

  “Looks like it’s going north to me,” the young woman says while firing at a pack of armor-wearing motorcyclists. The men and women fall at the same time, their bikes having been connected by bars for some ridiculous reason. “We have to forget about the storm for now and focus on our playmates. Stop grinning because you know what I really mean. They’re gaining on us and we no longer have the booster system. Not that it worked in the first place, which means we have a credit with Bart.”

  “Love how your mind always snaps back to debts.”

  “That’s the way to survive out here.”

  “Funny how that mentality was a nightmare for college students back in the day.”

  “Guess I dodged a bullet there.”

  “Speaking of dodging and bullets, I think we’ve run out of time.”

  The roar of several sports cars drowns out their voices as the three armies converge on the jeep. Projectiles are flying everywhere as the gangs fight amongst themselves while trying to stop their prey. Trusting Lloyd to handle the driving and keep an eye on the storm, Cassidy focuses on using the machineguns to cripple the bigger threats. Her primary targets are the enemies with rocket launchers or those who pop out of hatches with grenades. Whenever she sees a vehicle turn, the young woman fires at one of the tires and causes a small crash that always has less of an effect than she hopes. One of her salvos goes wide when the jeep veers to slam into a whirring dune buggy, which spins from the impact and gets sent flying by a tractor trailer. Cassidy launches a few grenades through the pipes, only two of the explosives hitting a target. It is when the last of the projectiles moves oddly through the air that she notices the wind is getting stronger.

  The jeep is moving to the south, but she can see that the twister is going to cut them off from the border. Lloyd curses and smacks the steering wheel whenever he alters their course and nothing changes. He pops one of his pills and keeps the vehicle steady, luring another car in close enough to hit the driver in the face with a harpoon. Out of ammunition, he grabs his paintball gun and tries to hit a few bikers, but the lightweight orbs disappear in the wind. The burst of a flamethrower draws his attention to their right where one of the tractor trailers is nearly on top of them. Lloyd guns the engine and swerves around the cab, the jets of fire barely missing their rear bumper. A short burst of Cassidy’s machinegun is a precursor to a bigger explosion and the large vehicle is swallowed by an inferno. The driver screams in agony as the tractor trailer smashes into the southern army and creates enough confusion for the jeep to gain some maneuvering room.

  “Hopefully they become more cautious now,” Cassidy says while yawning and shaking her head clear. Having had little sleep, she is struggling to remain focused and cracks open an energy drink from their emergency supplies. “This stuff tastes like sugar-infused sweat and cheap champagne. Any ideas on how to get around that twister? If we can put it between us and the gangs then it’s a straight shot to the border.”

  “Do you know any witches or maybe a crazy cowboy?” Lloyd asks with a smirk. Peeking in his side view mirror, he hums a little tune from an old children’s show before sighing at a familiar sight. “One of those four bikers is different. See if you can find out why before the announcer gives you the answer and teaches you that waiting for someone else to do the work is the real path to success.”

  “For fucks sake! How does that thing keep finding us at the worst possible moments?”

  “Literary suspense? Sadistic writer?”

  Having stolen the motorcycle from one of the gang members, the Half-Dead is barreling toward the jeep. The assassin punches any of the bikers that get too close, its touch delivering an itching burn that drives them away. Only a handful of people pay attention to the stranger, most of them assuming it is working for one of the other gangs. After it has killed several of the other pursuers, the Half-Dead is given a wide berth and ignored by everyone except Cassidy. She rapidly curses while unloading the mini-gun, but misses due to her target putting several other vehicles in the way of the barrage. Cars careen out of control as their tires and drivers are punctured by the bullets, none of them hitting the determined Half-Dead. Wanting something more durable to handle the powerful weapon, the rag-wearing figure leaps onto the side of a heavily armored van. The assassin wrenches the sliding door open and begins hurling the terrified occupants out. A few seconds of silence pass before the driver’s body is thrown through the passenger side door.

  With the storm getting closer and the Half-Dead practically kissing their bumper, Cassidy reloads the mini-gun and takes every opening she can find. Bikers fall from bullets to the head or their motorcycle’s front tire, some of their bodies tying up the wheels of larger vehicles. Due to the wind and the wide strafing of the big weapon, snipers fall from tractor trailers before they can get a clear shot at the weaving jeep. Cars smash into each other to avoid the mini-gun, which ruins the side of the Half-Dead’s van. Everything she does feels more like delaying the inevitable than winning a decisive blow. Stopping to check the map, Cassidy can see that they are only eighteen miles from the border. If they can reach it then this violent, exhausting leg of their journey will be nothing more than a horrible memory.

  “Swiss cheese the van’s hood off and snipe the engine when that bastard is too close to the twister,” Lloyd suggests as he aims the jeep for the edge of the storm. Debris is falling from the sky, most of it rotting garbage that has been tossed out of the trains. “It looks like we have the gangs beaten down here. So we only have to worry about the Half-Dead and the storm. Even if we get across the border, that thing is going to be right behind us. That means no rest, which both of us need. I can’t kill it when I’m nearly asleep.”

  “So we use the storm to put the Half-Dead out of commission for a while,” Cassidy whispers, only vaguely understanding the plan. With no better ideas, she fires the mini-gun at the van until the armored hood flies over the vehicle. “I swear I put a few holes in the windshield too. Be nice if I accidentally killed the thing, but it doesn’t seem like our luck is good enough for that. What if the van only stops and doesn’t get sucked into the twister? That means the Half-Dead will still be behind us and can steal another ride.”

  Lloyd rummages through their CD’s before putting on the soundtrack to a popular science fiction trilogy. “Trust in yourself and blah blah blah. You know the scene I’m thinking of and t
iming is everything, kid. Just don’t close your eyes like a sand-covered bumpkin because that’s just asking to miss.”

  “I never saw those movies.”

  “Don’t make me stop the jeep and educate you!”

  “I was more into the other ones.”

  “The exploration series where they claim to want peace, but are always fighting?”

  “No the series with the acidic creatures and the other one with the invisible guy. Great. Now you have me talking like that.”

  “That explains so much about you.”

  Cassidy gets her sniper rifle out of the case and puts it through the hole in the door. Doing her best to lay across the backseat, she curses at the bumpiness of the jeep and how the motion is getting more violent as they near the storm. Bigger pieces of debris fall from the twister and forces the more cowardly of the gang vehicles to pull back. Pieces of buildings and uprooted trees land in their path, forcing Lloyd to make sudden turns that always go around the right-hand side of the object. For a terrifying moment, they get too close and feel the back wheels briefly lift off the ground. The instant they touch back down, the jeep lurches to the side and Lloyd battles the steering wheel for control. Fearing that they are pulling too far away from the storm, the sweat-covered killer brings them back and does his best to avoid getting sucked into the churning funnel.

  Most of the gang members have pulled back and are trying to complete a wide path that will take them safely around the twister. Only the Half-Dead’s van and a handful of insane drivers remain in close pursuit. The jeep begins drifting towards them as the storm shifts direction and heads directly for the vehicles. Realizing that they are going to cut across the front of their enemies, Cassidy scrambles to get into the dome for a better position. Knowing that it could be a big mistake, she undoes the clips and the bulletproof canopy is ripped from the roof. A rough edge catches her forehead and she tumbles to the floor, but a rush of adrenaline helps her jump back into the fight. Blood drips down Cassidy’s face and she wipes it out of her eyes as she steadies the sniper rifle. Her muscles ache from fighting the wind and she prays that she can adjust for the powerful gales.