The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

“What the hell's wrong with you, man?” Arnie shook his head.

  “No, clue. No clue at all,” Warren said, joining Arnie.

  “Don't know whether you're brave or got a freakin’ death wish, man.” Arnie laughed as they climbed the cement stairs to the parking lot.

  “I'm going with the death wish on this one.” Warren forced a laugh filled with adrenaline.

  “C'mon, ladies. We gonna bail or are you going to exchange class rings?” Jack said as he ran hell bent for leather to his car. Warren and Arnie made their way to the upper parking lot of Arcadia Falls' High School. There, a 1982 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme waited. It was painted jet-black with red racing stripes down the top, all hot-rodded up with chrome Cragar rims, 50”slicks, and a sunroof.

  Jack already had the radio blaring by the time Warren and Arnie hit the parking lot. Capt. Al, the Rochester hippie DJ rambled on about peace, love, and something about people attacking people in New York City, in his normal gravel mixed with broken glass voice.

  The DJ's stoner-plea was cut off as strains of Run to the Hills could be heard for a mile as Warren climbed into the back seat. It was late spring of their senior year, and they didn’t have a care in the world, except for where they were going to get their next case of beer.

  They all had separate goals for after graduation. Jack was on delayed entry for the Army. Arnie was going back to work on his uncles’ farm and then headed to Ohio for diesel mechanic school. Warren had tons of dreams but oscillated: Art school, draw for Marvel, or maybe teaching. Today, though, it was all about having a good time before the real world kicked in and adolescence ended. The excitement inside the car was electric.

  “So, really, what the hell were you thinking, messing around with that asshole?” Arnie turned from the front seat.

  “No shit.” Jack added, lighting a Marlboro. “You gotta death wish?”

  “Man, you saw Ronnie. What the hell was I supposed to do?” Warren replied.

  “Look at you, finally being a bad ass. Who'd have thought?” Jack laughed while high-fiving Arnie.

  Arnie smiled and nodded. “You do know the DeRueter's are my cousins, right?” Arnie searched the glove box and handed Warren a McDonald’s napkin.

  Warren dabbed the napkin against his nose and shot Arnie a look.

  Jack laughed and exhaled his cigarette, “Dude, every-fricken-body is your cousin in this town, for Christ’s sake. Hell, I bet you’re even second cousins with the stray dog behind the Torchlight Inn.”

  Warren giggled and added. “Yeah, and Tab and his lemmings are dumb as a box of rocks.”

  “Ha. Very funny. For the record, they're not all assholes,” Arnie protested, wagging a finger in defense.

  Warren leaned forward and asked. “Oh yeah, what's the percentage then?” Warren asked.

  They all laughed, and that made Warren smile and relax.

  The Oldsmobile rumbled and the music blared and, finally, Jack spoke, “Hey, what we gonna do?” Jack dropped the car into gear and peeled out of the hectic parking lot.

  “Uh, I dunno. But beer sure sounds good.” Arnie's blonde mustache curled up with his smile. The slow suburban sprawl of the old farm town sped by “Hey, let’s see what Dex is up to,” Warren said.

  “BEER!” Arnie and Jack responded in unison, slapping high fives. They followed Route 21 and headed south toward town. “We can give Frank a call when we get there. Ya know he's always up for some beers.” Arnie chuckled.

  “Hell yeah,” Arnie and Jack shouted.

  Arnie and Jack both laughed and lit cigarettes. Warren coughed and tried to wave the smoke out of his face. His friends just laughed harder.

  “Dicks.” Warren shook his head and laughed. He watched the houses whip by as they traveled down RT 21. They all laughed as the slow suburban sprawl of the old farm town sped by them as they headed toward downtown Arcadia Falls.

  Suddenly, the day had promise.

  6.

  LONDON CALLING

  The Old Shades Pub

  Trafalgar Square.

  London, England.

  April 1, 1985. 4:30 pm

  Elton Reese Habersham III chose to eagerly drink his supper while other patrons of one of the oldest establishments sat, drank coffee, and dined on salads, fish, and other proper evening fare. He was having none of it.

  The beaten and beleaguered, Keeper of the Eternal Flame, sullenly, downed another pint, and motioned for Rita, the waitress, to keep them coming. The last glass still held a chill, but he didn't care. Why even bother after all? All was lost. He'd been sitting at the same spot at the old bar drinking mass quantities in hopes to wash away his spiteful indignation at the Keeper's High Council's casual dismissal of his warnings about the so-called kidnapped biochemist and the vision the orbs held. While all the other patrons prattled on, blissfully unaware of the dark future to come, the middle-aged college professor and now, ousted dejected Keeper, he just hoped to drink himself to death before the inevitable apocalypse happened.

  7.

  ACTION THIS DAY

  Enrico Fermi School #17

  158 Orchard Street,

  Rochester, New York.

  April 1, 1985. 1:15 pm.

  Sam Quinones walked nervously all the way from St. Thomas Aquinas Academy on Platt Street, and it seemed like the city was alive with panic. She heard all kinds of sirens going off all around the city. The streets were a jammed with people, and she pulled herself in closer the farther she walked on, as the crazier the streets became. The school district had released the whole city early considering what most of the teachers and staff were calling a terrorist attack. The immediate thought when the junior heard the horrific news was that of the Bible and the end-times. Her grandfather had preached the heated warning with full-throated passion at the Sacred Heart Church on many occasions. That was far too many for Sam's liking. She believed in the words of God and loved her grandfather with all her heart.

  She headed toward Bobby and Katie's school. Her grandfather may have gotten them, but with all the craziness going on, he may have been needed at the Church, so she knew she had to at least stop at the school and find out.

  An unseasonably cold rain storm had engulfed the Flower City and a strong scent of rotting eggs filled the damp air as she made her way down Jay Street. Standing in front of the elementary school, Sam Quinones' mind reeled. There was a sea of kids running around, heading to their buses. Sam saw a few teachers in the throng of munchkins easily. She found Principal Gonzalez by the flagpole, directing students in a calm, but loud voice. His salt and pepper colored head flipped around as if on a swivel. She'd spent the better part of the past ten minutes trying to get a semblance of an answer from anyone when she found him.

  “Mr. Gonzalez, where are Bobby and Katie? Have you seen them? They're supposed to be here waiting for me,” Sam asked.

  The principal was visually distracted, and Sam knew he was trying to direct the early dismissal. He held his hands up, trying to calm her down.

  “Samantha, I saw them heading toward Campbell Street fifteen minutes or so ago. I'm sorry, but as you can see, it's a bit of a madhouse out here.” Principal Gonzalez smiled, mimicking confidence. It was all fake. Sam could see through the thin veil, and the panic and fear in his eyes gave the truth away.

  With a knot growing in her chest, she let out an exasperated breath. “Okay, fine. Thank you. I'll try and find them, myself.” she said and stalked away into the chaos of the bus loop.

  “No. You should get home, Ms. Quinones. Right away,” the principal's voice came from behind her. She ignored him and walked until she hit Campbell Street.

  Sam raced toward home. Her long, thick black hair stuck to her face as the rains began. The streets of Rochester had turned into a madhouse since the news of the terrorist attacks. She had to dodge and weave through car accidents and panic-filled parents at the school, and it was even worse once she reached the puddle-filled sidewalks of Jay Street. She repeated the Lord's Prayer as she made her way hom
e. Her mind raced and worry filled her. She couldn't find her younger brother and sister. She hoped her grandfather had picked them up as she ran through the blur of chaos quickly swallowing up the flower city.

  Halfway home, the rain poured harder and the wind picked up. It showed no signs of letting up as Sam made her way through the streets of the city.

  The shrill wail of sirens and distant screams filled the streets as Sam reached the corner of Jay and Colvin. She froze as a Rochester City Police cruiser flew passed her, sirens blaring and lights blazing. It flew through the intersection just as a brown Chevy Chevette came from the other way, smashing into the front of the police car, sending it smashing into a telephone pole on the far side of the intersection. The pole creaked as in split in half and crashed on top of the cars. A bright flash of white and brilliant sparks filled the street, and then a fire erupted, engulfing the compact Chevy in flames.

  Frozen into place, all Sam could do was stare in horror, as desperate cries for help wafted from the wreckage. Without hesitation, Sam ran to the police car. Inside, there were at least two people in the back seat, and a flurry of motion from the spider-webbed driver's side window, indicated the policeman was alive.

  Then the commotion stopped. All inside fell silent.

  She grabbed the door handle and it wouldn't budge. She frantically looked at the front of the Chevy, which was now permanently tangled with the cruiser’s hood. Its fender was crinkled like a metal accordion, preventing the door from opening at all.

  Turning back to the officer inside, and with one powerful swing, Sam smashed her elbow through the window and quickly gripped the door frame. With strength she'd never known she had, she yanked the door free of its hinges as if it were mere kindling wood, and both it and Sam were sent flying onto the rain-soaked road.

  Rain poured down and Sam gasped, as her frantic mind tried to figure out how she was able to pull the door off like that, but a feral snarl caused her to panicked attention to turn to what was attached to the police car door, and then jumped back and screamed.

  The policeman’s savagely torn, severed arm still clung to the door handle in a morbid death grip. A long trail of blackish-red blood trailed back to the cruiser.

  Her gaze slowly, hesitantly, turned back to the officer inside the cruiser. The burning man slumped in the seat. Unmoving, as his pleas for help now fell silent. Only the heavy drumming of rain, on the top of the car and rolling thunder filled her ears.

  Sam cautiously approached, looking, hoping, and praying that God would show her that there was something she could do. As she drew closer, the officer began to groan, then his body shook violently.

  “Ss-sir? Are yy-you okay?” Sam heard herself ask the stupid question. She stepped closer because the rain made it difficult to see.

  The man groaned, and his head suddenly whipped toward her. His eyes were no longer...human. The pupils had turned a deathly shade of black and he snarled like a rabid stray. With his remaining arm, he tore at his seat belt and blood gushed from his jagged, meaty shoulder where his left arm used to be.

  Sam flinched and her stomach roiled and she fought from throwing up. As she stepped away from the thrashing cop, she frantically searched for a way to explain what she was seeing. The man was dead. He had to be. She repeated to herself. But if he were dead, how could he be moving, fighting his seatbelt? Staring at her like a feral beast?

  The dead or undead officer spat blood and spoke broken words she couldn’t understand amidst the raging storm.

  Suddenly something began pounding on the rear window of the cruiser. A bloody hand smashed against the rain-soaked glass.

  And more motion was coming from the burning Chevy.

  Something felt wrong. Not just the fact she’d just witnessed a horrifying fatal car wreck. No. Something...evil. Sam couldn’t explain it but something inside her told her to run and run fast. Feeling her heart break at the loss of life, she knew there was nothing she could do. She made the sign of the cross, said a prayer, turned and ran for home.

  She didn't stop praying until she hit the driveway of her house. There was her grandfather carrying two grocery bags out to his car. She felt a calm come over her as the gentlest person she'd ever known smiled at her.

  “Oh, thank the heavens, my dear. I was so worried.” The elderly man stood easily a foot and a half over Sam and his long arms swallowed her up. She always loved the way he hugged and the way he smelled; like a comforting camp fire mixed with cinnamon. Just like every grandfather should, she thought.

  “Grandpa, Bobby? Katie? Are they here? It's crazy out there. I stopped by the school for them. They weren't there. I didn't know what to do, and...I...” He held her tighter.

  “It's okay, angel. They’re inside. I picked them up once I heard. Ssshhh. You're home now.” His low, soothing voice enveloped her, almost whisking all her fears away.

  The sounds of gunshots caused them to jump. A wave of screams and shouting filled the streets as the storm intensified.

  “You best get inside, Sammie.” The big man firmly pushed her toward the steps of their house. She fought, but her grandfather turned to her, his wavy white hair sticking to his face and raindrops dotting his thick glasses. His warm smile warmed her.

  “It'll all be fine, Sammie. Bobby and Katie will be getting hungry. I'll be back in a little bit. The Marchiones weren't feeling well at this morning's service, and I want to check on them.” He kissed her on her wet cheek - - her hot breath fogged up his thick lenses. They both giggled. He turned and jogged as fast as his sixty-year old body allowed and disappeared into the strange yellow-colored rain.

  She ran up the steps and turned, and her grandfather was lost in the foggy rain and smoke from the many fires that roared all around Jay and Colvin Streets. Sam tried to put the terrible images of the policeman and the accident out of her mind, but they refused to go away.

  Sam waited for a sign of him, but Bobby called from inside, she waited as long as she could but her grandfather was gone.

  8.

  RUBICON

  North Main Street

  Arcadia Falls, New York.

  April 1, 1:30 pm.

  A cold rain splattered the windshield and Jack turned on the wipers. A flurry of activity welcomed them as they drove through the bustling streets of the small town. Making their way over the bridge that crossed the creek, separating the north and south parts of town, it was much too busy for a typical afternoon.

  Passing the elementary school, they saw several buses lining the street. A flood of kids hastily filed onto them. The parking lot was packed with anxious parents, grabbing their children to take them home. Something didn’t seem right to Warren.

  “That’s a little weird,” Warren said.

  “What, man?” Arnie threw the cigarette butt out of the window, and then reached for another.

  “What’s with all of the buses...and the parents coming to pick the rug rats up so early?” Warren leaned forward and placed himself between Jack and Arnie.

  “Uh, who cares? We’ve got a free day, man.” Jack took a drag from his Marlboro.

  “I don’t know, man.” Warren shook his head. “Guess there really might be something serious going on.”

  They continued past the Deacon’s Den, a video arcade, hang out spot for teens in town. They pulled in front of the post office, and Jack downshifted. With a rumble, the glass packs shuddered.

  “Hallowed be thy Name” boomed out of the speakers as the car came to a stop.

  “He has to be up by now.” Warren got out of the backseat and smiled at Dex’s pride and joy: a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z28, with the words, The Blitz was painted in metallic silver on the passenger side door.

  “Man, I hope Barry has beer. I’m thirsty as hell,” Jack said, a smile on his freckled face

  “You’re always thirsty, man.” Arnie said.

  “Fuckin’ A, right, brother. Jack nodded.

  They both laughed.

  “Oh, I’m sure he will. He has
to be good for something,” Warren never liked Barry much. He was a user who took advantage of Dex.

  They made for the door next to the post office. It was open, exposing the stairs that led to the apartment above.

  Dex met them at the top. A cigarette in one hand, a copy of Fredrick Nietzsche Beyond Good and Evil in the other. He was a slim guy with shaggy brown hair and lightly freckled skin. He always wore a mischievous smirk, bursting with excitement. This time, his face was grim.

  “Oh, man, I’m so glad to see you guys. I heard Jack’s car coming all the way from the elementary school.”

  “Fuckin’, A!” Jack chortled, giving a thumbs up sign.

  “School sent you guys home early?”

  “Where’s the beer at?” Arnie and Jack spoke together. Arnie ran into the kitchen and Jack followed. They made a beeline for the fridge, which held paradise in a can.

  “Uh, yeah, guys, go ahead. Keep it down, though. Barry ain't feeling good, and he's sleeping,” Dex said.

  Warren, last coming up the stairs, tried to catch his breath. “Yeah, they said it was some kind of electric issue.” He wheezed and was shocked how dead tired his best friend looked. Dex looked like death warmed over, his eyes bloodshot. Warren hoped he wasn’t getting to the wake and bake stage of his pot smoking.

  “Dude, your eyes look like two piss holes in a snow bank. A little early don't you think?” Warren said, trying to say it with a smile.

  “Ohhh, did someone say stoned? I'm in,” Arnie said while Jack just nodded with excitement.

  “Hell, no.” Dex shook his head and grimaced. “It was freakin' Barry.” Dex waved them inside the apartment.

  Warren shook his head, trying really hard not to say something snotty about Dex's older brother. “So, what did he do this time?” He knew it still came out bitchy.

  “Damn, man. You won’t believe this bullshit. He called in sick to work, went bar-hopping in the city and ended up getting too shit-faced to drive home.” Dex rubbed his eye with the back of his hand and yawned.

  “What an asshole,” Warren said.