by James Hunt
“Take out the trash,” he said.
Jake walked back into the bar lounge pulled a stool over to him. The bartender poured a glass of beer and handed it to Jake. Jake took half of it down in one swig.
The girl from Jake’s bedroom walked out and sat on the barstool next to him. Her makeup was smeared across her face, and her hair was tangled. The bartender poured a drink for her and slid it down. Before she could grab it Jake snatched it up.
“What the hell, Jake?” she asked.
Jake finished the beer he had, slammed it down on the counter, and then backhanded the girl. She flew off the stool and smacked the floor hard. Jake took a sip from the fresh beer and gently placed it down.
The girl crawled away from him. Blood dripped from her lower lip. Jake picked her up by her hair and jerked her head back.
“You don’t get to drink until I’m not thirsty anymore,” Jake said.
Jake tossed her forward. She stumbled in her heels and then disappeared to the back of the clubhouse.
The other members of the MC chuckled from the bar. Jake walked back over to his stool, sat down, and finished his drink.
***
The line of bikes out front stretched twenty wide across the parking lot. You could see the door to the clubhouse was open from the street and the patches on the backs of members could be seen inside.
Jake stood in a circle surrounded by his MC. The worn faces of men who’d lived their lives in the wind, sun, and rain looked at their president, hungry.
“Diablos, this city is dead. If we want to make it, we have to keep moving. We scoured the city for as many working bikes as we could. They’re all older models, but they run. Each of you is here because you’re the strongest of our club. You represent who we are, and what we do,” Jake said.
Frankie stood at Jake’s side, his hands behind his back, watching his leader.
“We’re riding south. We hit town after town and take what we find. This is our time, Diablos. The strong are powerful again.”
The men around Jake were dangerous and wild. Pistols hung from their hips and shotguns rested over their shoulders. The bikers shifted their weight on each foot with a vicious cadence, itching to wreak havoc.
“Let’s ride,” Jake said.
Night of Day 7 (Mike’s Journey)
When Mike, Sean, and Nelson finally made out the sign for the airport sixty yards ahead of them, Mike knew they were making good progress.
The closer the three of them moved to Pittsburgh International the more plane wreckage they saw. It looked like a few of the pilots were able to glide their aircraft in on its belly, but the majority of the planes were mangled heaps of metal. Seats, wings, jet engines, luggage, and fuselages littered the fields around them.
Other travelers along the road were scavenging through the wreckage, hunting through the luggage like grave robbers looking for a quick score.
Mike could see the sun sinking behind the airport itself. The tarmac was still and hauntingly quiet. He could make out the distress signals people painted on the outside of the terminals when the realization of being stuck finally came to fruition. “HELP” and “S.O.S.” were painted in large, red letters.
“Hey, you think we should scope out some of this stuff? It might be a good idea to see what we can find in all this,” Nelson asked.
“I’d rather not stop. We’re still close to the city. I want to put as much distance between the masses and us as possible. We just need to focus on getting to the cabin,” Mike said.
Sean tugged at his father’s sleeve.
“Dad, I’m tired. Can we take a break?” he asked.
“We’ll rest soon. We just need to go a little bit further,” Nelson answered.
Mike could feel the burning in his feet from the long day of walking. Each step hit the blisters on under his toes like knives. He couldn’t imagine how Sean had kept up as well as he had.
“Let’s keep an eye out for a good place to make camp tonight. The sun will be going down soon,” Mike said.
A 727-jet liner fuselage sat a half-mile up the road. The plane had crashed just outside the airport tarmac. Most of it was still intact. The pilot had a successful crash landing. The emergency doors were thrown open and the plane was abandoned.
“Better than a Holiday Inn,” Nelson said.
The sun finally disappeared under the horizon and Mike checked the front and back of the plane for any food and water. The food cart was flipped on its side with each of its drawers pulled open and completely empty.
Mike moved to the first aid stations, but those had been wiped out. The only things that remained were a few small bottles of liquor that had rolled under the cart that nobody bothered to pick up and check underneath.
Nelson and Sean reclined a few seats up in first class and found a pair of pillows left behind from the passengers. Sean passed out within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.
Mike leaned back in the row across from Nelson and Sean. Mike leaned back and Nelson tossed him a pillow, which hit him in the face by surprise.
“Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” Nelson said.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Mike could feel the weight of the day bearing down on him. The burn under the bandages on his arm was sore and in need of redressing. Nelson was right. He was in no shape to make it through the night without passing out. He was melting into the chair underneath him.
“Just wake me up when you need to rest,” Mike said.
“I will,” Nelson said.
Mike folded his arms in his lap and closed his eyes. His eyelids slammed shut like the steel doors of the mill at the end of the day.
***
It wasn’t until Mike felt his wrists pinned to the arms of the seat and heard Sean’s screams that he woke up. He jerked his arms, but they wouldn’t budge. He squinted his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Nelson’s head was bent to the side, a massive lump forming across his temple.
Mike’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He couldn’t make out the people in front of him. He could only hear the shuffling of feet and the murmur of voices.
“This is all they have?”
“Yeah, I searched these two and that’s it.”
“What about the other guy? What’s he got?”
Before the man could get close Mike kicked the man’s knee sending him to the floor with a thud.
“Goddamn asshole!”
“Grab his legs, Tim.”
“Screw it. It’s not worth it. Let’s just grab the rest of this shit and go, man.”
Tim sent a nice right cross to Mike’s cheek before he left. Mike’s ears rang. His mind went foggy with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to orient himself.
The sobs coming from Mike’s left gave him a point to focus on. They grew louder until they completely replaced the ringing caused by the punch. He looked over at Sean who was struggling to free himself.
“Sean, are you okay?” Mike asked.
“I can’t move my arms,” Sean replied.
“Just hang on, buddy. Nelson,” Mike said. “Nelson!”
Nelson didn’t move. Mike jerked his wrists attempting to free himself, but it was useless. He bent over and started tearing the tape with his teeth. He picked at the tape over and over until he finally had a tear. He tore the piece, splitting the duck tape in half. He yanked his hand free and peeled the tape off his other wrist.
Sean was squirming, trying to get free. Mike had to climb over Nelson to reach Sean whose tears were streaming down his face.
“Dad! Dad!” Sean cried.
“Hold on, Sean.”
Once Sean was unbound Mike pressed his fingers against Nelson’s neck to check for a pulse. Mike leaned in and listened to see if Nelson was breathing. Nelson was breathing and Mike could feel the faint beat of a pulse.
“Stay here, Sean,” Mike said.
Mike tore out of the emergency exit and glanced around in the d
arkness, but the attackers had vanished. Lightning streaked across the sky followed by a deep, rolling thunder.
When Mike entered the plan Sean was resting his head on Nelson’s shoulder, hugging his dad.
“Sean,” Mike said.
Sean ignored him. Mike reached his hand, placing it on Sean’s arm, but Sean jerked it away violently.
“Leave me alone!” Sean said.
It wasn’t any use trying to argue. The kid was scared, tired, and the one person who could help him was lying unconscious right in front of his eyes. Mike walked back over to the entrance of the plane to keep watch. He pulled the gun from the back of his waist and clicked the safety off. In between the cracks of thunder he could hear Sean’s faint whimpers.
***
“Dad?” Sean asked.
Mike’s attention switched from the water dripping from the plane’s emergency exit frame back to Sean and Nelson.
“What happened?” Nelson asked.
“How are you feeling?” Mike asked.
Nelson touched his finger to touch the outline of the lump on the left side of his head and winced when he made contact.
“It was a rough night,” Mike said.
Nelson, still disoriented, turned to his son.
“You all right, buddy?” Nelson asked.
Sean wrapped his arms around his father, burying his face into his shirt. Nelson cradled the back of his son’s head as he rested against him. His eyes looked up into Mike’s.
“Did they take everything?” Nelson asked.
“All of our packs are gone,” Mike answered.
“Well, I’m glad you two are okay. What are we going to do now?”
Mike had thought about that all night. He thought about how they were going to finish the trip to the cabin that was at least another three full days of walking without any food or water. He knew the further they traveled into Ohio where the cabin was located the fewer towns there’d be to try and gather supplies. Right now the only place that was close enough to do them any good was the one place Mike wanted to avoid.
Nelson noticed Mike glancing back toward Pittsburgh International and picked up on what he was thinking.
“I hope you printed our boarding passes before we left,” Nelson said.
***
The muggers form last night confirmed what Mike already knew would happen: that people were getting desperate and traveling around, looking for easy scores. It wouldn’t be long before people started organizing into gangs to survive.
That’s what Mike feared awaited them in the airport. It had been a week since everything stopped working. No power, no water, no food, no modern conveniences, nothing. He’d already watched his neighbors turn on each other, and that was in the first week. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen a month from now.
Mike tried to convince Nelson to stay in the plane with Sean, but he insisted on coming to help. Mike finally caved. If he did find a stash of supplies he’d need all the help he could get carrying it.
Clothes, trash, and abandoned airport equipment littered the tarmac. The massive jetliners stood motionless. Some were lined up at the terminals, while others stood frozen on the runways, never leaving the ground.
Mike thought about how everyone on board started to complain the moment everything shut off. He could hear the mumbles and groans on the plane, people cursing under their breath that they’d been inconvenienced by what happened, but if they’d taken off thirty minutes earlier they all would have crashed, and most likely would have died.
Mike kept his eyes alert. He scanned the tarmac for anything unusual, or out of place. He couldn’t afford anyone getting the drop on them now. As much as Nelson said he was okay Mike knew that he wasn’t going to be of much use if things went south.
“How do we get in there?” Nelson asked.
“We’ll have to go up to the main entrance. I’m not sure how to get in from the tarmac,” Mike said.
The three of them walked around the outside of the terminal and followed the monorail to the airport drop off and pick up area. A few of the monorails were stuck on the rack in between destinations.
“Dad, what’s that on the windows?” Sean asked.
When Mike looked up at one of the monorail windows, he could see dried bloodstains smeared across the glass.
“Dirt,” Mike said.
Nothing moved. Mike still hadn’t become used to that. All the times he’d complained about people moving to fast, and now he’d give anything to see a car speed around the corner of the building up ahead.
Then Mike saw him. It was only for a second, but he saw the flash of brown hair duck back into the airport. He pulled Nelson and Sean down behind a luggage carrier.
“What’s wrong?” Nelson asked.
“They’re people inside,” Mike said.
“Do you think they’re dangerous?”
“I don’t know, but if they’re keeping watch, then they must be protecting something.”
Mike pulled the pistol from his waist and clicked the safety off. He peeked above the luggage carrier to the door the man had gone inside.
“We should move to the corner by the front of the building. Sean, you stay close to your dad, okay? If anything happens you two run, got it?”
Both of them nodded their heads.
“Stay behind me,” Mike said.
Mike led the three of them in a single file line. He kept the gun clutched in both hands, his eyes scanning the area. He slammed his back up against the corner of the building. Nelson and Sean followed suit, catching their breath. Mike placed his index finger over his lips.
“C’mon,” Mike said.
Most of the automatic glass doors were shut. A few had been smashed and the rest had been opened manually.
The crunch of the glass behind Mike made him freeze in his tracks. Nelson mouthed “Sorry” and stepped around the remaining shards.
Mike found one of the opened doors and stepped through. The airport was musty. A week of no air conditioning and continually being baked in the sun caused everything to stink. Mike motioned for Nelson and Sean to move in close. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Look for food. You’ll want to take non-perishable items. Anything in a can or a wrapper should be okay. Bottled water is another good thing to grab. Also, be on the lookout for backpacks we can use to store what we find, okay?”
“What about weapons?” Nelson asked.
“I don’t think we’ll find anything like that here, but if you do grab it.”
Mike squinted his eyes, trying to see deeper into the depths of the airport, but he could only see as far as the light from outside would reach through the windows. No windows, no light. The only things visible were security lines and metal detectors.
Tables and chairs from the food court were flipped on their sides and backs. Broken glass from display cases and vending machines scattered the floor. Sean reached down and picked up a candy bar and showed it to his father. Nelson gave him a thumbs up. Just as Sean pocketed it they heard a crash coming from the back of the Burger King kitchen.
“Stay here,” Mike said.
Mike climbed over the Burger King counter, landing quietly on the other side. He could feel his pulse beat faster. A dim light glowed under the crack of the door leading to the kitchen. He raised his weapon, his knuckles turning white against the black composite of his 9mm and burst through the swinging door.
A group of people was huddled on the floor, all of them with their hands up in surrender. A family with two small children, a young woman, a middle aged man, and an overweight man dressed in a TSA uniform looked at him.
“Hey, man. We don’t want any trouble. Just take what you want and be on your way, okay?” the TSA agent said.
Mike kept his weapon aimed, but moved his finger from the trigger. He glanced around at the group. Each time he swept the pistol over them they crouched lower to the ground. Finally, Mike lowered his gun, clicked the safety back on, and tucked the pistol
in the belt of his pants.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Mike said.
“Mike?” Nelson called from the counter.
“We’re good, Nelson. C’mon back,” Mike answered.
The TSA man extended his hand.
“Clarence Furns,” he said.
The two men shook hands.
