Crossing Bedlam

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “My head is spinning already, but that might be the smell of whatever is in those things the preachers are swinging around,” Lloyd says before rolling up the window. He turns on the air conditioner only to hear it sputter and groan. “All of your concern about the weapons and the CD player, but you never asked any of the mechanics we’ve met to fix the AC? I’m bringing up my previous topic now as punishment. Do you want to make your life more difficult? Many of your plans become complicated and nearly suicidal. You wear a heavy jacket in the summer, which also makes me question if you have any identity beyond your past. The only time you seem alive is when we’re jumping into action and facing death. Far be it for me to psychoanalyze, but that’s some major self-destructive behavior.”

  “Because maybe that’s the only fucking time I do feel alive!” the young woman snaps, flooring the gas pedal and driving around the end of the funeral procession. She flips off the people that complain about nearly getting hit, but the gesture is unseen behind the closed window. “You want to know what I was before the collapse? A suburban high school student who was on the track team and did ballet dancing on the weekend. I wanted to go to college and become a teacher or a scientist while my boyfriend was going to be a pilot. Then a bunch of brain-damaged, ego-sucking politicians started swinging their dicks around and my future became this hellhole. So fucking forgive me for being passive when there’s nothing to distract me from my own thoughts. At least being in danger gives me focus and I can prove that I’m more than a broken piece of shit among the other broken pieces of shit out here.”

  “Feel good getting that out of your system?”

  “Yes, but I think it got muddled.”

  “Tends to happen when you’re emotional.”

  “I don’t have anything left of my old life.”

  “Then start a new one.”

  “After San Francisco. Have to focus on that.”

  “Or pay attention to the road.”

  “Are you trying to be philosophical?”

  “I mean there’s a man in the road!”

  Cassidy slams on the brakes and wrenches the wheel to avoid the well-dressed man who sprints onto the highway. She notices a collection of pamphlets in the local’s hand along with a look of surprise as she misses him by a few inches. The jeep spins for several yards before a loud series of pops makes it list to one side and skid to a stop. Pounding her fist on the steering wheel, Cassidy can see the man is hurrying toward them and she leaps out of the vehicle to figure out what has happened. Both of the driver’s side tires are destroyed and she crawls underneath the jeep to make sure there is no more damage. By the time she climbs back out, the local is there holding out his pamphlets with a wide grin.

  “I’m sorry to have caused you trouble,” he says, his expression changing slightly when he sees the murder in Cassidy’s eyes. Turning to Lloyd, he finds that the other traveler appears a bit more welcoming than the blonde. “Have either you found Jesus. He-”

  “No,” Cassidy growls, pointing a finger in the nervous Jehovah Witness’s face. Fighting the temptation to draw a weapon on the man, she settles for repeatedly poking him in the nose as she speaks. “I just fixed my jeep back in Wyoming. The room and board cost me a very nice mini-gun as well as a booster system for replacement parts and fuel. This trip has been one headache after another and I’m not in the mood to deal with whatever bullshit your city has to offer. Now tell me where I can trade for some tires and run away.”

  “I don’t know where you can go, but I’ve seen tow trucks patrol the streets,” the man answers, stepping back from the woman. Tucking his pamphlets into his suit pocket, he offers a fancy rosary and a pouch of incense. “These can be used as trade for your tires. As long as you find someone who comes from the sect that needs them. Please forgive me for causing you trouble.”

  “Thanks. I guess you’re forgiven. Just be careful next time.”

  Watching the Jehovah’s Witness leave and the gathered crowd return to their daily lives, the travelers patiently sit on the hood of the jeep. They hope that someone will mention their situation to a local mechanic, but they get the sense that they are not entirely welcomed. For one reason or another, the locals avoid the pair and shy away from eye contact. It would not surprise them to learn that violent outsiders regularly arrive and start trouble, especially if there really is a war going on. The idea that they are already seen as a threat makes their desire to get back on the road and reach Nevada even stronger. After all of the trouble that they have stumbled into, they can tell that the longer they stay in Salt Lake City, the more likely they will have to fight their way out.

  “So what religion are you?” Lloyd asks in order to break the silence.

  “Don’t really think about it. Feels like you have to believe that God exists and I’m just not sure,” Cassidy replies, her eyes falling on an approaching vehicle. Spotting a hook dangling from the back of the tow truck, she waves her arm to get the driver’s attention. “Think that makes me agnostic. How about you?”

  “I believe I was born Christian. Only because I vaguely remember my father hitting me in the head with a Bible when I was six,” the smirking man answers while hopping off the jeep and stretching. “Then again, I find myself drawn more to the god of war. Not officially, but my love of violence seems better for that arena. Remind me about what I said in case we run into a very dedicated census taker.”

  “You do realize that there are a lot of war gods, right?”

  “I mean the albino with the whirling blades of death.”

  Cassidy groans and rubs her eyes before rolling to her feet. “Try to keep that to yourself, Lloyd. Last thing we want is to get in trouble. Just once I’d like to get from one end of a state to the other without a headache.”

  “That never happens to main characters,” the killer declares, popping one of his pills before the truck arrives. Considering that people might get the wrong idea, he grabs a pen and writes the word ‘vitamins’ on the bottle. “You said you only feel alive when you’re in danger, but now you want things to be laidback. Pick one path or the other, kid, because you can’t have things both ways. Personally, I’d rather have an adventure because you only live once. Uh, what are we looking at and have we switched genres?”

  The travelers are surprised by the short and skinny woman that gets out of the rattling tow truck. Her hair is styled in blue spikes with a metallic sheen to the gel that keeps them in place. A well-used pair of goggles hangs around her neck and there is a cross-emblazoned blowtorch on her belt, which makes her potential customers think of religious steampunk. Oil and grease are on her simple clothes, so the travelers figure she is a real mechanic and not a fake on the hunt for victims. It takes the woman only a second to see the problem and makes a silent prayer of thanks for finding some work. Smiling and stepping forward, she removes her thick gloves to shake Cassidy’s hand, but refuses to make the same offer to Lloyd.

  “My name is Cami and I’m happy to help,” the woman declares as she goes to move the truck into position. “God is on my side and I’m sure he had us meet for a reason. The two of us will have you back on the road in no time.”

  *****

  The immaculate garage smells of oil and what the travelers are quickly told is a mild incense used by the local churches. Cami happily takes the simple payment from her customers and puts the rosary in a hook-filled cabinet, which is filled with more of the religious necklaces. There is a small bathroom that is as clean as the rest of the place and decorated with framed Bible verses. A locked door leads to the rest of the building, which Cami warns is her private home and only friends are allowed inside. The faint smell of cats surrounds the entrance and the occasional meow can be heard along with the animals hitting the handle. Every tool has a cross etched into it and the mechanic proudly explains that all of them have been blessed by a priest. Showing favoritism again, the woman lets Cassidy examine a ratchet set while repeatedly shifting things away from Lloyd. The only time she is social wi
th the serial killer is when she makes a pot of coffee and gives him a cup. He is still banned from moving very far from a stool while the two women wander the garage to discuss the repairs.

  “It’s only a tire replacement, so you should be good to go by the morning,” Cami says while straightening a picture of Jesus. Seeing a spot of dust on the frame, she searches for a clean rag to wipe it away. “I have everything here, but you should really get a feel for our city. I sense that you would enjoy it if given the chance. Many who step out of the heathen lands find solace within our borders. There is no fear of a violent death and all with evil hearts are dealt with before they can destroy our Eden.”

  “Thanks, but I have to get to San Francisco,” Cassidy replies while sipping the barely palpable coffee. Worrying that the disappointment of her host will cause the repairs to take longer, she puts a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing for us. You see this locket? My mother’s ashes are inside and her dying wish involves the Golden Gate Bridge. So this is about family and honoring the dead. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “That is an important journey,” the mechanic states, snapping her fingers at Lloyd before he can touch a wrench. She scowls at the man and hurries to make sure nothing has been moved while her back was turned. “Sorry for this, but I’m very particular about where my tools are and who can touch them. There is a darkness about you that makes me think you are an evil influence on the world. It would be rude for me to deny you help, yet I would appreciate it if you respect my boundaries.”

  “You’re an odd one,” Lloyd claims over the lip of his drink. Slurping down the last of the coffee, he looms over the short woman and runs a hand through his hair. “I can tell when I’m not wanted. So I’ll take a walk around and come back in an hour or two. This evil man promises to avoid your territory and be out of your hair soon.”

  Not wanting to get too close, Cami stretches to pat Lloyd on the shoulder while turning him toward the exit. “Thank you for your understanding. I will look after your friend and jeep. Trust that I won’t turn her against you.”

  “You’re one of those people who don’t hear their own words, huh?”

  Feeling uncomfortable around the mechanic, Lloyd turns to get out from under her touch and backs out of the garage. She politely closes and locks the door behind the serial killer, who they can still see through the window. He tucks his hands in his pockets before walking out of sight, leaving the women alone.

  “How do you know there is a darkness about my friend?” Cassidy asks, following her host to a collection of tires. Not wanting to wait for an answer, she catches the spikey-haired woman by the wrist with a small amount of force. “I’m well aware of who and what he is, but one could say that I’m not any better. Outside of this place, one has to kill and steal to survive. I’ve done both and worse. What makes me worthy of your kindness and not my friend?”

  “It’s in the eyes,” Cami sweetly replies as if the answer is obvious. Freeing herself from the traveler’s hand, she wrestles the necessary tires out of her collection. “Your friend shows no remorse for what he has done. His eyes are cold at their core and one who pays attention to such things can tell that he enjoys being evil. You, on the other hand, still have a spark of humanity in your eyes. There is a desire to be forgiven and live a life where you no longer have to sin in order to survive. Christianity is all about forgiveness, but I believe the sinner must want it before such a gift can be given.”

  “Honestly, I haven’t decided on if I want it or not,” the blonde states, hiding her smirk by turning to examine a bookcase in the corner. All she finds are various versions of the Bible and a collection of wholesome picture books. “I’m not going to pretend to be a philosophical or deep person. My list of beliefs are rather simple. You do whatever it takes to survive without betraying those you care about. Everyone in the Shattered States is broken in some way. I have a few more rules that involve enjoying sunsets when I can and never trust someone who hides their weapons. That last one is situational. Do you want me to help with the repairs?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m more than capable of doing it myself.”

  “Sorry if I offended you.”

  “It was no . . . oh dear.”

  “What is it?”

  Cami points at the rear of the jeep where the bumper is about to fall off and the muffler is at an odd angle. The women move the vehicle onto the car lift, raising it high enough for them to get a clear look at the undercarriage. A few of the brackets have snapped, the remaining ones having barely enough strength to prevent the exhaust system from crashing to the floor. With a sigh of relief, Cassidy sees that nothing else is broken and the muffler is only cosmetically scratched. A single dent is the worst of the damage that she figures came from going over discarded parts on the road. Finding rough-edged pieces of metal embedded in the bumper makes Cami wonder how the other object did not get trapped beneath the jeep and dragged all the way back to the garage.

  “I was so busy checking the tires and axles that I forgot about the rest,” Cassidy admits while running her hand along the undercarriage. She picks out a few leaves and scraps of Nebraskan gang member, which she can finally reach thanks to the lift. “Not to mention I was really angry at that Jehovah’s Witness. Makes me almost miss the days they only went up to your house. Sorry about the mess. Do you have something I can put this garbage into? I have trash bags in the jeep, so I can take the stuff with me.”

  “I’m sure the man simply misjudged your speed and level of attention,” Cami says before putting on her googles and going about cleaning the jeep. Dislodging a curious piece of debris, she nearly screams when a severed ear falls to the floor with a plop. “What did you do before you came here? I mean, you can . . . do we need to get a priest to give last rites and bury whoever this is?”

  “There are some really dangerous places out there.”

  “But how did parts get stuck in the undercarriage?”

  “Because I ran over their original owners.”

  “On purpose?”

  “In my defense, they were trying to kill and rob us. In that order.”

  The mechanic looks distressed as she examines the ear, which Cassidy eventually tosses into a trash bag. Ignoring the muttered prayers of the other woman, the blonde gathers all of the garbage and puts it near the exit to get rid of on their way out of town. Leaving the bathroom door open, she cleans her hands and worries that Cami will ask her to leave without doing the repairs. Instead, she finds her host returning from putting the bag in the dumpster, the mechanic slipping on a fresh pair of thick gloves. The woman does a little more cleaning of the area and prays for the souls of whoever she threw away. It is obvious that she has been shaken by the discovery, so Cassidy takes a seat at the worktable and waits for the mechanic to regain her original glowing smile.

  “How much will I owe you for the extra repairs?” she asks, cringing at how she goes directly to business. Unable to look the other woman in the eye, she focuses on the broken brackets and shredded tires. “I can tell you about my adventures if that will help. That may take a little time and I’d need Lloyd here to fill in stuff that I wasn’t around for. He had to save my life in Indiana, but I did the same for him in Michigan.”

  “Pray with me and that will be enough for the extra repairs,” Cami whispers, hopping onto the stool next to her guest. She pours herself another cup of coffee, her hands shuddering a little as her imagination runs wild. “I apologize for my reaction and putting doubt in your mind. God says that we shall not kill. Though there are always exceptions such as those who are unable to be saved and insist on being a threat to the innocent. Perhaps all of those you killed were beyond redemption. I’m sorry. I know nothing about your situation, so it’s not my place to pass judgement. I’ll start on the tires while you find your friend. The bumper and brackets will require some welding, which I can do tomorrow.”

  Sensing that the mechanic
wants to be alone, Cassidy does her best to smile warmly and grabs her pea coat from where it is hanging on the wall. She is tempted to retrieve her handgun from the jeep, but the vehicle is too high for her to reach. It may also upset Cami even more, so the blonde heads out the door with a worm of apprehension in her mind.

  *****

  Unsure of where he is, Lloyd stops at a corner and tries to find a landmark that can guide him back to the garage. His walk has been frustrating with locals being nice to his face and openly badmouthing him as soon as they stop interacting. Children have spit on his back and strangers have bravely attempted to condemn the serial killer to hell. Normally, Lloyd would make a mess and go into hiding until the initial panic has subsided, but the incidents are so sudden and bizarre that he is unable to react until after the person has left. There is also a sense that he is being watched, which brings his attention to cameras that are hidden among the signs and rooftop statues. Waving to one of the barely camouflaged devices, Lloyd hopes he has its attention and shrugs in an attempt to portray that he is lost. When nothing happens, he casually flips a bottle cap from his pocket and sighs when he realizes that he forgot to designate what each side means.

  “Demon in human skin!” a man shouts from behind Lloyd. Unsurprisingly, the local is wearing an ironed dress shirt and jeans while waving a Bible in his hand. “You do not deserve salvation. Be gone from our city and join your destructive brothers and sisters in the anarchy lands.”

  “Sorry, but I’m an only child,” Lloyd replies, hoping to get a laugh from the preacher. He steps away when an angry finger is jabbed into his chest. “All kidding aside, I’m only passing through. My friend and I had an accident. We’re out of your hair once our jeep is fixed. Don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of Cami’s garage. I got turned around because all of these streets look the same. By same I mean boring.”