by Justin Bell
“Ain’t no mercy during the apocalypse, slacker,” Max said and the two boys chuckled.
Brad made an act of looking around the parking lot, holding his hand above his eyes as if shielding them from a bright light. “So where are those Ferrari’s anyway? I haven’t seen any.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Max chided. “Cleveland Clinic must not pay their doctors very well.”
“Or they’re smart and got outta here while the getting outta here was good.”
“Speaking of getting out of here,” Max said, pointing at the narrow road which ringed the perimeter of employee parking. The distinct dark shape of their familiar van progressed around the bend, turning gradually and heading toward them.
“Already?” Brad asked. “I was kinda looking forward to a couple more nights in an actual bed.”
As they stood watching, the van angled into their area of the parking lot and cruised to a stop in front of them, the side door opening to reveal Angel seated there.
“Sorry, boys,” he said. “Playtime’s over. We gotta jet.”
They both walked toward the van, Max speaking for the two of them. “Why so soon? Things seem quiet here. Like they were at the mall.”
“Good things can’t last forever,” Angel replied, pushing backwards slightly so the children could climb up into the vehicle.
“Seriously, what’s up?” Max asked Rhonda as he and Brad made their way inside, seeing her in the passenger seat. Phil sat back in the driver’s seat, feeling better now that his head wound was all stitched up.
Rhonda turned to look at them. “That stuff going on in Toledo that we saw. They’re expecting casualties here. Lots of them. And with them some military presence. We all decided it was probably best that we not be here when they all arrive.”
Max nodded as he sunk down into the third-row seat, snapping his belt buckle, Brad just to his left, with Rebecca on the other side of Brad. She was sitting directly behind Angel who sat in the second row next to Winnie and Tamar. They had a full house.
“Believe me, champ,” Phil said from the driver’s seat, looking in the rearview mirror, “we were all hoping to stick around just a bit longer. But we’re on to Philly.”
Rebecca looked up at Rhonda as the motor revved and the van pulled away, veering back to the main road leading out of the hospital complex.
“We’ve got one stop to make first,” she said. “Your mom snagged a phone book from reception in the hospital, and we’ve got a sporting goods store to hit on the outskirts of the city, hoping we can maybe restock some ammunition, considering we had to cut and run in Chicago and left most of the good stuff behind.”
Max nodded. “Good call. Let’s do it.”
The van turned right onto the exit route and moved forward, back to the Ohio turnpike, the next step on the voyage toward Philadelphia.
Chapter Seven
Phil steered the van down the narrow side street, slicing through a group of older brick buildings under the shadows of Cleveland’s downtown structures that stretched up into the brisk lake air. Clouds had parted, revealing the surprisingly vibrant yellow mid-morning sun, and above them dozens of windows shone and gleamed with the morning’s reflection, countless glass portals with nobody on the other side.
From their perspective, the city seemed empty, void of activity save for the occasional shadowed figure moving from one alley to another or skittering across the road, only to shrink down out of view, as if they were shadowy creeping insects, afraid of the daylight. Cars sat abandoned by the dozens along once-busy city streets, but the gang in the van welcomed the relative solitude the city was offering them.
“Where is everyone?” asked Winnie, leaning over to glance out her window.
“Don’t care as long as they’re not here,” Tamar replied. “After what went down in Toledo, I’m starting to think the fewer people around the better.”
“There’s something to be said for the threat you can see instead of the threat you can’t,” Rebecca said, looking out the window on the other side of the van.
“Dag, that’s dark,” Tamar replied, shaking his head.
“It’s only paranoia if they’re not out to get you,” Fields replied. She held a pistol in her hand, one of the few Glock’s they had managed to hold onto, this one a Glock 32 in .357 Sig. They were running dangerously low on ammunition for the pistol, not to mention Brad’s Ruger, Max’s revolver, and the SIG Battle Rifle that was still stashed in the rear of the van. They’d been so concerned with saving their own bacon back at that shot-up parking garage just outside of Chicago that they hadn’t taken a whole lot of time to make sure they had all the weapons they needed.
Short answer—they didn’t. And the weapons they did have didn’t have enough ammunition. Since their narrow escape, the gang hadn’t had the time to stop and do an ammunition check, but they decided to make the time as they plotted the course from Cleveland to Philadelphia, a drive that would carry them through Pittsburgh and onto Interstate 76 crossing the state of Pennsylvania.
“You sure this sporting goods store is going to have what we need?” Phil asked, taking a gradual left turn, following the rough directions provided by the city street map they’d liberated from a local gas station.
“How should I know?” Rebecca replied. “I’m hoping just like the rest of us.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We’ll have to find one that does. We’re getting ready to head into the belly of the beast here, Phil. I don’t think we can make that move without being equipped with some serious antacids. If you get my meaning.”
“Yeah. Real subtle.”
“Us redheads aren’t exactly known for our subtlety, buddy.”
Phil glanced in the rearview mirror and caught the hint of a smirk on Fields’ face as she removed the magazine from the Glock and counted rounds.
“We have any more bullets anywhere?” she asked, turning toward the rear of the van. Angel shook his head.
“We’re coming up on the place now,” Phil said. “Next right, then a few more blocks.”
“So far, still quiet,” Max said, his voice as quiet as the streets outside.
“Heck of a lot better than tracer fire and buildings exploding,” Brad replied.
A few moments passed and Phil pulled the van over to the sidewalk, looking out the driver’s side window at Lenny’s Sports Emporium. It was a single floor structure in the back splash of Cleveland’s low-rent shopping district, dangerously close to the wrong side of the tracks. Rebecca was pretty sure it was fully straddling the tracks.
“Angel and I will head in,” she said, saying it like a directive, not a question. “We can identify what we need pretty quick and get back out pronto.”
“Is that a good idea with your shoulder?” Rhonda asked. “I know they cleaned it out and stitched it up, but last I knew, even the most advanced hospitals didn’t have healing potions.”
“It’s fine,” Rebecca replied, rotating her left arm as demonstration.
“Suit yourself.”
“While you guys are fussing around in there, I’m gonna back the van up into this alley,” Phil said, gesturing with a sideways nod of his head. “Try to be inconspicuous.”
Angel nodded as Fields slid open the side door and dropped from the van, landing on the pavement. Angel was moving around the second-row seat and maneuvering toward the open door as well, then soon joined her in the street. Both of them had pistols stashed in their belts, Rebecca the Glock 32 and Angel a Beretta nine-millimeter, and they glanced down each side of the road cautiously, then strode toward the front door.
Lenny’s Sports Emporium was a single-story structure with two large picture windows facing the street. A tacky sign adorned the street-facing wall just above the front door, the entire structure made of generic rust-colored brick. Even as they approached the building, Fields could see through the window and saw the faded image of a gun rack along the right-hand wall, which was pressed up against an old-school savings bank on
that side of the building.
“I’m surprised nobody’s busted in here yet,” Angel said.
“Just lucky I guess?” Rhonda asked. “Or the folks in this neck of the woods made themselves scarce right quick.”
“I’m thinking we want to do the same,” Angel said in a whisper as they approached the front door. “I mean, Toledo is just across the lake. If stuff like that is going on down there, I could see it coming here pretty easily.”
“That’s exactly why we’re leaving town.” Fields dropped to a crouch by the front door, checking out the locking system.
“Gonna break the glass?”
“Rather not,” she replied. “I don’t know what the alarm situation is. Pretty sure there’s no power in this neck of the woods, but you never know.”
“FBI teach you how to pick locks?” he asked.
Rebecca shook her head. “Don’t have the right tools, anyway.”
“Screw it,” Angel hissed and brought his Beretta down in a tight, swift arc. The handle of the pistol struck the front door, and it shattered almost immediately, spraying splinters of jagged, reflective glass all over the stained sidewalk. Rebecca, still in her crouch, drew in a breath.
“Guess that’s one way to do it.”
They both crouched there for a moment, waiting for any sign of alarm or approaching company, but the streets remained silent under the pale blue, cloudless sky. Angel turned and looked up at the looming skyscrapers, only a few blocks away, and all at once pictured the Toledo skyline in his mind, glowing orange tracer fire arcing through the city, the top ten floors of their tallest building suddenly exploding under a plume of orange smoke and white light.
And here he’d thought the apocalypse had come and gone. Turned out, it was still happening, every single day.
“Let’s move,” Rebecca said, pushing the door open with her shoulder and working her way inside. He followed her closely behind, entering the small store. As they’d seen through the window, there was a long mounted gun rack on the right wall with several shotguns and rifles mounted to its carved wooden ridges. It sat on the wall above a long row of cabinets with locked doors, which curved around into a second row of cabinets that were glass encased with weapons visible underneath. As soon as they walked in, a table with several baseball gloves and balls sat in their way, forcing them to work around it. Team jerseys were on a spinner rack just to the right of the table, most of them belonging to the Indians or Cavaliers, and Angel slipped just around that rack as well, making a direct path toward the area where the weapons were kept. A cash register sat on the glass cabinets where the pistols were stored, telling Rebecca that most of the business done in this particular shop was likely gun related, even though there were plenty of other sports supplies filling the place.
If she hadn’t seen its location, she would have thought it was a relatively upscale establishment, with the high-end decor, plentiful selection of inventory, and relatively clean look.
She glanced over to Angel. “What do we got over there?” she asked.
He grunted and one of the cabinets slammed, the muffled crack of wood audible over the still, quiet air of the store. “Had to break into these cabinets,” Angel replied. He was quiet for a bit.
“What is it?” Rebecca asked, veering right and heading toward the glass cabinets and cash register. Even halfway across the store, she could see the plentiful assortment of pistols in the glass case, and even a pair of assault rifles. One was a familiar M4 Carbine, while the second was something a bit rarer, a Bushmaster Adaptive Combat Rifle, pinned to a nice red display with what looked like a full tactical kit adorned around it as if each piece was a valuable diamond. Rebecca’s eyes widened as she saw the weapons.
“They’ve got brand-new automatics,” she hissed. “Those are illegal to sell. This isn’t your normal run-of-the-mill sporting goods store, I’d wager.”
Angel looked at her. “You think it’s some kind of storage repository for the military?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I’m not really sure, but we need to grab the M4 and the Bushmaster,” Rebecca said. “We’re in desperate need of automatics.”
Angel nodded. “There’s some 5.56-millimeter rounds down here, though a lot of it seems to be missing. What’s the Bushmaster take?”
Glass shattered by the front of the cabinet as Fields broke into the display case, withdrawing the large, two-handed assault rifle. She withdrew the magazine. “They normally take 5.56, I think, though this one’s got an aftermarket conversion kit for 7.62 millimeter.”
“Good, that’s good,” Angel replied. “We got a bunch of 7.62. That’s less standard stuff.” He started dragging boxes of ammunition from the cabinets and stacking it neatly on the floor next to him. “We need to get some boxes,” he said.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Rebecca replied.
A moment later she returned with a couple of banker’s boxes that she’d retrieved from an office and then emptied of their contents. Paperwork was far less important in this new world than a more helpful way to store ammunition. Dropping down into a crouch, she began helping Angel pile the boxes of ammo inside.
“So, what you said earlier,” Rebecca started, “about getting out of town?”
“Yeah?”
“You have anything in particular in mind? I mean, besides Philly?”
Angel looked back at her. “Besides Philly? Like, you mean… settle somewhere else?”
Fields shrugged. “I don’t know. This whole thing with Rhonda’s parents. I mean, are they really involved in this whole thing? And did they recruit her daughter? Something smells funny.”
Angel nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know. Startin’ to feel like we’re tumbling down a rabbit hole.”
“It was nice at the mall… and the hospital. Quiet. It almost felt like a life.”
“Probably about as close as it’ll get for a while.”
“We should find a place like that.”
Angel stopped piling ammunition in the box for a moment and looked at her. “We? Like you and me? Together?”
“Yeah. I guess. I mean, you’d want that, right?”
“Sure I’d want that. Maybe after we do this thing in Philly, we can find a place.”
Fields nodded, her eyes dropping down.
“Don’t give me that look,” Angel said quietly. “It was your idea to launch this attack against these ‘enemies of liberty’ or whatever. To take the battle to the people doing this to our country. In the name of law and order.”
“I know. You don’t have to remind me. People died, remember?”
Angel lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, Becky. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” she replied. “You’re right. I am the law and order queen. I’m still the law and order queen. We need to do what’s right to ensure that these attacks on our country don’t continue. And ensure that the people who caused them are brought to justice.”
“It feels like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“Well… I mean… like you said. Belly of the beast. We barely survived the fight against Ironclad back in Chicago. And that was a tiny fraction of what we might be going up against. Seeing what was happening in Toledo… seeing that city being destroyed right before my eyes. It puts things in perspective.”
“I get it.”
“But you’re not changing your mind.”
“Nope. Rhonda and her kin, they gave me a shot. Let me prove myself. Oh and they saved my life. I’m not running out on them now, no matter how tempting it is.”
Fields smiled. “That’s why I like you, Angel,” she said. “If you’re on board, I’m on board.”
“Good. Because the apocalypse wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Rebecca’s cheeks flushed, and she rolled her eyes. “You’re so stupid.”
Cardboard scraped as they pulled more ammunition from the cabinet, stacking it in neat rows in the banker’s boxes, grabbing all they could grab, knowing they’d likely be needing it in the
days and weeks ahead.
***
The shadows from the surrounding buildings draped over the dark van, casting all within the vehicle in a vast and quiet darkness. Phil made sure the parking brake was on and the engine turned off as he leaned back in the driver’s seat and looked out through the bug-smeared windshield at Lenny’s Sports Emporium directly across the street. Both the shop and the bank next to it were lit by the morning sun, nearly glowing against the drab backdrop of broken down brick buildings and poorly maintained roads, this strange oasis of modern business class excellence among run down urban sprawl.
“How long they been in there?” Phil asked, looking over at Rhonda, still seated in the passenger seat.
She shrugged. “Ten minutes maybe? Fifteen.”
“How long does it take to grab ammunition?”
“You getting antsy, Dad?” Max asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“Every time we hang out in a city for too long, bad stuff happens. Every single time.”
“In and out, Phil, they should be in and out,” Rhonda interjected. “Don’t get all worked up.”
“Rhonda, I’m not —”
“Heads up, everyone,” Winnie’s quiet voice came from the rear of the van, and immediately everyone’s voice halted in mid-speech. “Do you hear that?”
Everyone remained quiet, listening for the phantom noise.
“I hear it,” Rhonda whispered. “Sounds like an engine.”
“A loud engine,” Phil continued. “Sounds diesel.”
“There,” Brad said, pointing toward Rhonda’s side from the second-row seat, and as everyone followed the path of his finger, a dark green shape emerged from a narrow road to the right of the bank. As it rounded the corner, Rhonda gestured with her hand for everyone to drop low in their seats. Slowly and methodically a Humvee military vehicle completed the turn and rolled down the road past the sports store. It was narrow and angular, the distinctive shape easily recognizable by everyone in the van, and a single gunner sat in a roof mounted turret, hands clasped around the firing mechanism of a fifty-caliber heavy machine gun. It was a dark green vehicle with a narrow and angular armored plate hide, evenly contoured around the rectangular transport. As Phil peered out just over the dashboard, the Humvee continued on, moving past Lenny’s Sports Emporium with barely a hesitation, then continuing up the road to their left and out of view.
