Ever Onward

by Wayne Mee

  Trying to ignore the insane laughter in his head, he focused on the brunette. Suddenly, beyond her bouncing body, beyond the pool and the smoking Bar-B-Q, Chad caught a glimpse of forms moving toward him. Leaning around Jumping Janis, Chad saw more forms pouring out the large patio doors at the rear of the house. Still others appeared on the upstairs balcony.

  Someone had changed the tape. The Byrds had flown. Jimmy H. instead of Janis J.now pumped out their dead lyrics. Gotta love those oldie n’ goldies! Purple Haze roared all around him and washed through him. Vainly he shoved the brunette aside and fought his way out of the chair.

  Excuse me, while I kiss the sky!

  He had made it half way when the shots began. Gears, struck several times just as he reached the apex of his dive, looked like an epileptic in mid seizure. His body, riddled with holes, splashed into the clear water. Pink froth flowed around him. Someone screamed. More shots followed. The screaming stopped. The shots did not.

  Chad frantically groped around for the snub-nosed .38 he had stashed under his towel. The weapon was almost in his grasp when a rifle butt slammed into his head. Purple haze suddenly filled his mind --- painfully.

  “He’s coming around, Boss,” an excited voice said.

  “Good,” a cooler one replied. “Perhaps a dip in the pool will speed things up.”

  Chad heard the words as though from a long way off. Part of him wondered who they were talking about. Then rough hands grabbed him. A moment later he was weightless; then gravity took over and he splashed into the pool. Water went up his nose and down his throat. Opening his eyes for the first time, he fought his way up toward the light. Gasping, he thrashed about. Something was beside him. He clutched it to him. Gears’ face stared back at him, a look of surprise frozen on his dead features. Screaming, Chad shoved the body away. Then someone had him by the hair. More pain followed. The concrete edge of the pool ground into his stomach. Retching, he again opened his eyes. They focused on polished combat boots. He promptly shut them again.

  “Bring him here,”, the cold voice said.

  Chad didn’t like that voice. There was something under its calm exterior that Big Bad Chad would rather not get to know. It seemed, however, that he was to have very little say in the matter. The rough hands were already lifting him again.

  “Look at me,” the cold voice ordered.

  Chad obeyed. He was afraid not to. Pussbag’s bayonet was at his throat.

  Jocco stood before him. His grey eyes bore into him. Though there was a smile on his handsome face, the eyes showed just the opposite. Chad was suddenly aware of his nakedness. As he reached down to cover his genitals, a large woman with brown stubble growing on her shaved head, sneered.

  “Let it hang, Pretty Boy. So far its the only part of you worth shit!”

  Laughter followed, cut off quickly as Jocco turned and frowned. Chad

  reddened, but drew his hand away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw several of the Lost Boys sprawled on the ground. Four girls were huddled at the far end of the pool. Chad’s former pool partner was among them. A man and a woman dressed like soldiers and armed with military rifles stood guard over the frightened group.

  Jocco sat down beside the Louis XIV table. As those wolf-grey eyes stared up at him, Chad felt his knees grow weak. “What’s your name?” The cold voice grated against Chad’s ears, yet he responded quickly. Jocco asked several more questions, then told someone to give Chad a towel. He took it gratefully.

  “So, these ‘Lost Boys’ are yours?”

  Chad nodded.

  Jocco smiled. “Not any more. As of right now all of you are part of my little organization. I’m forming an army. The Army of the Dark Stranger.” As he spoke he drew one of the .45 automatics he carried in twin shoulder holsters. “You and your friends can either join or die.” He cocked his head to one side at the same time as he cocked the gun. “Which is it to be?”

  Chad almost wet himself right then and there. These guys were for real!

  What the fuck did you expect, Chaddy?, the worm’s voice chortled from deep inside his head. I told you that sooner or later you’d have to pay the piper. Shit or get off the pot, Chaddy-boy, shit or get off the fucking pot.

  The muzzle of the heavy .45 swung up. To Chad it looked like the mouth of a really big cannon.

  “I’m waiting,” Jocco beamed.

  “But you can’t...!”

  The cannon boomed, taking with it Chad’s objections as well as a tiny chunk of his left ear.

  “I’ll join! I’ll join! Just fucking-well don’t shoot me again!”

  The gun lowered. “I thought you’d see the light.” Jocco turned to George the Man. “Bring them all into the living room in five minutes. Dress the men but leave the women naked. And get that body out of the pool.”

  George saluted smartly, then began barking orders. Chad and the others were hustled toward the large mansion. Five minutes later, now dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, Chad again found himself standing before the man with the wolf-grey eyes.

  There were eleven of them left. Chad and the other six men stood in a line, their eyes downcast. Crazy and Cowboy had at first refused to follow orders, but after Pussbag sliced off Crazy’s ear, the Lost Boys jumped into line right quick. Crazy, a towel pressed against the side of his head, needed to be held up by Four Wheels and Cowboy. Chad could dig that. His own ‘ear-job’ was only a nick, but blood still trickled down into is long hair. The four women, ranging in age from fourteen to twenty-something, stood shivering in a huddle. Despite the heat, goose bumps stood out on their naked flesh.

  Jocco’s soldiers formed a circle around them. The two women among them, Pam Gliss and a relative newcomer named Eva Madeau, both brandished M-16’s. Pam the Bitch looked tough. Eva Madeau looked tougher. Tim Galt had dubbed them the Bitch and the Butch respectively. Pam seemed to have enjoyed it. Eva had grabbed Tim by the balls till he howled.

  The leader of the Army of the Dark Stranger now addressed the Lost Boys. His tone was quiet and commanding, a patient father instructing his wayward offspring. The gist of it was this: Chad was now a sergeant, the Lost Boys was his platoon. Jocco would return in a week or two; when he did he expected to find things changed. Radically changed. The taking of drugs would stop. The partying would stop. They would gather cases of food and supplies from the local stores. They would comb the city and bring any survivors back here. They would not mistreat those they found, yet neither would they include any of them in their group. When Jocco returned, all would be ‘tested’. As sergeant, Chad would be held personally responsible for any and all screw-ups. Did he and his little buddies all understand?

  Most of the Lost Boys merely nodded. Chad, however, heartily agreed. Ever since the Change --- hell, even before it, he’d been caught up in a never-ending story of sex, drugs and rock n’ roll.

  Party hearty, Dude!

  Yet underneath it all there had been the fear. The heart-stopping, cock-softening, wake-in-the middle-of-the-fucking-night kind of terror that made the family jewels crawl up in a corner of your gut and cry Momma! Oh, he’d hidden it from the others, and at times, even from himself, but down deep the worm was always there, always eating away at him.

  And now Mr. Goodtime had indeed delivered his bill just as Wormy-baby had said he would. A part of Chad was even glad Jocco had come, for now he wouldn’t have to worry about what decisions to make while trying desperately to look cool.

  Where to go; who to trust; what the fuck to do?!

  Now Jocco would see to all that. Bad Chad was still leader of the Lost Boys, but now they weren’t lost any more. Jocco had lifted a great weight from him, set him on a path and given him a purpose --- and all it had cost him was an empty crown that he never really wanted in the first place.

  Had he been there, Lt. Walter Pinkton would have had an apt quote for the occasion:

  ‘But if you hide the crown,

  Even in your heart,

  There will He rake for it!’

>   Looking into those wolf-grey eyes, Chad realized that Jocco would not be content to use a rake. No way, Hozay! This cold-hearted mother-fucker would use a chainsaw! And a Christly BIG one at that!

  “Are there any questions?”

  Chad shook his head.

  “Good. My squad and I will be leaving now. But we’ll be back.” There was a pause, then: “See that my orders are carried out, Sergeant.”

  Chad nodded, and received a hard smack on his still bleeding ear from Eva Madeau. “Salute, Shit-head!”

  Chad drew himself up and saluted smartly. “Yes, Sir!”

  Jocco smiled. “You learn fast, Sergeant. See that your men do as well.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Jocco turned to Eva. “Bring the brunette.”

  The husky woman grinned and yanked the frightened girl away from the others. She screamed and tried to pull away, so Eva thrust the barrel of her M-16 into the open mouth. The brunette ceased her struggling.

  Still smiling, Jocco turned and walked back to the parked vehicles. Pussbag and the others flowed after him, drawn along like gulls following a shark. Before leaving, George the Man leaned toward Chad, intent on imparting a bit of sage advice.

  “Don’t even think of running, Limp-dick! Jocco wouldn’t like that. Just do as he says and things will work out fine. And remember, we WILL be back.”

  When they were alone again, the Lost Boys crowded around Chad. Some were angry, some were scared. The three remaining girls were crying. Crazy sat slumped on the floor, the towel stained with his own blood still pressed to his missing ear.

  Four Wheels asked the question that was foremost in all their minds. “What do we do now, Chad?”

  Chad’s answer was quick in coming. “You heard the man, you’ll do exactly what you’re told to do. We all will.” He glanced down at Crazy. “We’ll start with getting Crazy fixed up. Girls, see to it. Smoke, Four Wheels, go get rid of Gears’ body. Cowboy, cook us up some more steaks and don’t burn the fuckers this time!” Chad fixed them all with what he hoped was a ‘cold stare’ of his own. And no more pills or booze! After we eat we got a lot of work to do. Now move it!”

  Slowly at first, but quicker as the realization set in that they too once again had some purpose in life, they began to carry out their appointed tasks. Watching them go, a smile of his own slowly crept across Chad’s face. He had never really liked being king. Too many fucking decisions. But he sure as hell liked being the boss. A big fish in a small pond was what he was meant to be. The smile grew into a grin, the grin into a laugh. Life for Big Bad Sergeant Chad was once again sweet.

  Chapter 21: ‘THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA’

  Acadia National Park

  Maine July 20

  Flame’s new Harley led the way over the low bridge. Behind her came the two vans. The tow-truck brought up the rear. A bullet hole on the passenger’s side showed that it had been a rough couple of weeks in more ways than one.

  On either side of them the sea sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sun. Ahead lay Acadia National Park, a mountainous kidney shaped chunk of the Maine coast that thrust a dozen miles out into the cold, blue Atlantic.

  They had just come down from Bangor, where they had spent a few days with Maybelle Smith and her group. Maybelle was the new Mayor of Bangor, elected unanimously by the seventeen survivors of that fair city. Maybelle, in Josh’s words, was a real pistol!

  Grey haired and portly, she had almost singlehandedly gathered all the remnants of humanity she could find and was well on her way to forging a new community. A month after the old world had died, Maybelle Smith was already building a new one.

  Josh and his group had been well received. With the lights and power and now all the phones being off, news of any kind was welcome. A week or so earlier another group had passed through. A man and a woman from Halifax, Canada. They had a four year old with them and were heading for Florida. Like Josh’s party, they had stayed for a few days, wished Mayor Maybelle well, and left.

  Twice on the way from Mt. Washington to Bar Harbor they had met other communities. Unlike the good folks at Bangor however, these other groups had not rolled out the welcome mat. In Augusta the I-95 off ramp had been guarded by armed men. They wanted no trouble, but they also wanted no outsiders. South of Bangor, in a little village called Green Lake, they had been shot at. People it seemed, were very leery of strangers.

  Just over the heavy wooden bridge they stopped at the Acadia National Park Information Station for a detailed map of the park. The main reason they had come here was that Billy had an uncle in a little fishing village called Bass Harbour that he used to visit during the summers. Though he hadn’t been back for five years, he still had fond memories of working on his Uncle Jim’s lobster boat.

  So far they had looked up several relatives of the group at various locations. None had been found. No-one, not even Billy, expected to find Uncle Jim alive and well and still lobster fishing, but they had to at least go through the motions.

  Passing through the quaint little village of Somersville, they saw two men coming out of a hardware store. Both dropped their bundles and ran down a back alley. Shouting for them to stop only made them run all the faster.

  Flame sat on her Harley in the middle of the street, a look of disgust on her tanned face. “Not large in the balls department, were they?”

  “At least they didn’t shoot at us,” Eddy remarked.

  Bass Harbor turned out to be deserted. Uncle Jim’s house, tired and worn by the winter gales, looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years.

  “Uncle Jim never was too tidy,” Billy said. “I guess when Aunt Elie died a few years back he sort of let things go.”

  Brad nodded and they left the little village and continued along the coast. West Tremont was equally empty. Five miles further they came to Seal Cove. Driving over the little bridge that led to the fishing village, both boys were amazed to see what looked like water running up hill. The tide was high and working its way up river, causing ripples and waves in the fresh water stream.

  As they drove through their third deserted village of the day, Ken suddenly pointed at some smoke. It came from an outdoor chimney, the kind set up to cook lobsters and clams for the tourists. Josh stopped opposite the weathered building. A faded sign hung over the door. Lobster Bar & Grill. Flame, fearless as usual, had driven into the sandy yard used for a parking lot. Eddy pulled his van up behind Josh’s and reached for his rifle.

  Brad turned to the boys. “You know the drill. Stay with the van and hold on to Og. Tina will stay by Eddy’s van. Don’t move unless we call.”

  Ken nodded, clearly unhappy to be treated like a kid. Jessie shut the pup in the van and grabbed his bow. Og’s mother, Princess, would go with Josh. She was getting very good at sniffing out strangers, and would freeze like a Pointer when she picked up a new sent. The pup, Og, had yet to learn his mother’s tricks.

  The four men cautiously approached the building. Flame was already poking around the outdoor fireplace. A large pot of lobsters boiled merrily away. All had their weapons ready.

  “Hello inside!”, Josh yelled.

  No answer.

  Josh called again, getting the same response. Billy moved around one side while Eddy took the other. Flame watched Josh for the nod. When it came, she kicked in the door and flattened against the outside wall. Princess

  froze, her neck hair up, a deep growl rumbling in her throat.

  “We mean no harm,” Josh yelled, “but come out NOW!”

  An old man appeared at the door, one hand held a wooden mallet, the other held up his pants. A look of startled indignation worked on his weathered features. The fact that he was toothless made him look even more comical.

  “Jesuth H. Chritht! Who ta hell ‘er you lot?! Can’t a man take a dump wi’out bein’ scared shitless?!”

  The guns were lowered and Josh offered his hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, old fella. We didn’t mean to frighten you.”

&n
bsp; The ancient mariner shuffled forward. Flame stepped up behind him. Turning, he saw the tall beauty, then the large gun in her hand. Startled for the second time in as many minutes, the old fisherman instinctively raised his hands. His baggy trousers fell about his skinny knees. Flame smiled and patted his bald head.

  “You don’t waist any time, do you, Curly?”

  Yanking up his pants, the old man’s reply was as fast as her own. “At my age, Red, I aint got a whole lot left ta waist!” He winked at the tall woman, then turned to Josh. “You ta skipper o’ this here crew?”

  Josh introduced himself and the others, then called Tina and the boys over. The old man’s eyes lit up when he saw Jessie and Ken.

  “I’m Gus Kenner.” He walked over to the cauldron and stirred it with a broken oar, then turned to the boys. “You boys fancy Sheddas?”

  Ken peeked inside. “Looks like lobsters to me.”

  “That’s ‘cause they are lobsters, lad. Best damned soft shelled lobsters in Maine! Why, ta President himself stood right there were you stand now! Ate three o’ my Sheddas he did, n’ took a case back with him!”

  “How long ago was that, Mr. Kenner?” Tina had moved up and was looking in the pot.

  “Oh, long ‘for my Suzie died, n’ she’s been gone over twenty year now.” He peered at Tina for a moment. “You look a lot like my Suzie, way back when.”

  Tina smiled and Gus favored her with a toothless grin, then turned to Josh. “You boys come from the mainland. It bad over there?”

  Josh shrugged. “Bad enough.”

  Gus scratched his scruffy beard. “Figured as much. Everyone in Seal Cove just up ‘n blew away. ‘Cept for Mat ‘n Heather. Nothing left but dried kelp, ‘ceptin’ it weren’t kelp.”

  Josh looked at Brad. Both had caught the mention of the other names. Josh asked about them.