by J. Thorn
“How did you get out?” Jana asked. Her lips trembled with each word.
“Dumbass forgot the back door locks from the inside. We only wish we could have saved Peter,” Ruth said.
Inside the storeroom, the rest of the group avoided eye contact. Ruth waved at them with one hand.
“He didn’t get to her if that’s what you want to ask. Someone get this girl into spare clothes.”
Sally stepped forward and helped Jana into the employee restroom.
“Jay’s still asleep,” Sally said. “Someone keep an eye on him, would ya?”
They all nodded and returned to the storeroom in a noble attempt at giving Jana maximum privacy.
Sally shut the bathroom door. She lit a candle and set it on top of the toilet.
“He didn’t, did he?”
Jana shook her head and wiped tears from her eyes.
“Oh honey, thank God. Let me help you.”
Sally pulled a pair of jeans and sweatshirt from a blue Giant Eagle bag ripe with the odor of raw onions. Jana dropped the blanket to the ground and took off her shoes in order to climb into the new jeans.
“Where ya from?” Sally asked.
“I live in South Euclid but I’m originally from Pittsburgh,” Jana said.
“Oh gross. Please tell me you don’t root for the Steelers?”
Jana managed to smile and nodded up and down.
“Wait. I think I might have a Browns’ jersey in this bag somewhere.”
Sally pretended to flip through her bag in search of the orange and brown garment.
“Thanks. Thanks for helping me.”
“If we don’t help each other now, there’s no hope for the future.”
Chapter 23
John woke with a heavy haze of alcohol fogging his thoughts. Remnants of the nightmare mixed with images of the bar in the early morning. Alex rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. John looked at Alex and then up at the bar. The silence felt menacing and neither man had his bearings. John attempted to stand but staggered into the back of the bar. An empty beer mug slid off the edge of the cooler and shattered on the grimy floor. The sound echoed off the glass block, jabbing deep into their hangovers.
“Shit,” John said.
He kicked at pieces of glass and closed his eyes. The room shifted under his feet but at least it wasn’t spinning like it did hours before.
“Did you sleep?” Alex asked.
“I think so. Had a nasty dream.”
“Me too. Rather not discuss it.”
Alex stood on wobbly knees. He turned the faucet on behind the bar but all that came out was two lonesome drops of rust colored liquid. Alex opened the sliding top of one cooler and lucked upon a case of bottled water. He ripped one from the plastic and tossed it to John, who mishandled the toss and chased the bouncing plastic container across the floor. Alex grabbed one for himself.
John stood.
“Where are the bikers?”
“Gotta be here somewhere.”
Alex followed John around the pool table and toward the stage, neither noticing the dead generator. Dozens of empty beer bottles littered the floor. John kicked them but regretted it immediately, sending a cacophony of chimes through the dead air. A random bra sat perched atop an empty bar stool with its owner nowhere in sight. They continued toward the stage. The old Marshall amp sat there along with an empty guitar stand. Alex stuck his head into the dark backstage area and fanned away an oppressive whiff of pot, body odor and piss. He heaved and fought the bitter taste rising into his mouth.
“They’re gone,” he said.
“Can’t be,” Alex said. “We would have heard the bikes.”
“I’m telling you, they’re gone.”
Alex opened the back door that swung out into the alley. Cardboard boxes stood in a shaky monument against the dumpster. Slimy, black leaves of lettuce stuck to the pavement. John pushed Alex aside and stepped into the empty alley where the Keepers parked their bikes. The unusually bright November sun drove a headache deep into his skull. Like a vampire set afire by the rays, John stumbled past Alex with a moan.
“Now what?” John asked.
“I don’t see what this changes. We’re still hoping to find our families and get the hell out of Cleveland.”
“Really, is that what we said? I honestly don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve gotta find Jana, but beyond that, I have no clue.”
“C’mon, man. Let’s get back in before we get noticed.”
Alex kicked a bottle cap into the alley and turned to go inside. John stood there for another moment before following him, pulling the door shut as quietly as possible.
Alex turned left and walked through the back of the stage. A milk crate sat between two machine guns propped against the wall and two white boxes on the floor. A piece of cardboard ripped from an old box of frozen French fries sat on top of it. Alex picked up the cardboard and angled it toward the front of the bar so he could use the ambient light to read what looked like a message scrawled hastily.
Alex took a full thirty seconds and scanned the note, his eyebrows bunching up in exaggerated surprise.
“Listen to this. ‘Brothers. We enjoyed partying with you last night and regret ditching you this morning. Please accept these weapons as a token of our friendship. Right now, we can’t have nonmembers riding with us. You’re too much of a liability. But we will hook up again. Stay at the ‘Saw for as long as you like but know those holy bastards will be getting a bead on this place sooner or later. Ride on, motherfuckers.’ Whadda you make of that?”
John curled his fingers in a rapid motion, asking to see the cardboard himself without using words. Alex handed it over.
“You think this is from Sully?”
“Probably,” John said.
“Do you know how to use those things?”
Alex pointed toward their newfound weapons cache.
“Pull the trigger and the bad guy dies. You expect a fucking manual?”
John picked up an assault rifle and loaded a clip. The weapon responded with a delightful click. “Just like in the movies,” he said. “Maybe guns aren’t so bad after all.”
“This is nothing like the movies.”
They left the assault rifles standing in a corner and rounded up a bag of chips and half a cinnamon roll. They downed another bottle of water and put three more in their packs. John used a flashlight to find provisions, including a pair of buck knives, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and two syringes. Alex walked behind John and they kept their backs to the cold cinder block, moving closer to the JLTV. John maneuvered to the passenger side and Alex jumped into the driver’s seat. It sat just as they’d left it the night before.
John stuck his head out of the shattered passenger side window. The chill of the encroaching winter slid off of Lake Erie and penetrated his clothes. Lonely sea gulls circled high above the buildings.
“Where to?” Alex asked.
“I hate to say this, but I think we need to head back to the east side. The ‘Sons of Liberty’ turned out to be a bust. I can’t imagine any other groups organizing a resistance. There are probably a few fucking idiots, like us, trying to track down wives or children. I’m not holding my breath for a rebellion.
“I don’t think we can get back using the highway. Even if we could bust through our own roadblock, they’ll know who we are by now. They’ll fire at us from hundreds of yards away,” Alex said.
“Back roads, maybe going through town?” John asked.
“It’s as good a plan as any. At least now we have protection.”
John gripped his machine gun and tapped it on the windshield.
“Go.”
Alex drove through Parma using residential back roads. The JLTV devoured gas but they guessed it had enough to get them back on the east side. The neighborhoods of the west side looked exactly like the ones on the east. The Covenant plastered the sign on many houses. On every block, a tangled mess of vehicles sat on the curb or up o
n the sidewalk. Blood stains on the streets began to fade into obscurity.
The vehicle turned on to Superior Avenue. The sound of the JLTV’s powerful engine reverberated off the canyon of office buildings. Alex crawled to a stop at Superior and East Ninth, three blocks south of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He nodded at the street sign attached to a light post that read “E. 9th, Rock and Roll Boulevard”.
“Shit. That place must piss off the holy rollers.”
John smirked and leaned toward Alex to catch a glimpse out of the driver’s side window.
Alex turned the vehicle left onto East Ninth and slammed on the brakes. The steel blue water of Lake Erie cut a sharp line into the early winter sky as lonely birds circled high above the white-tops. At the shore of the lake, a smoldering pile of ruins stood where the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame used to be. Barren fingers reached high into the sky twisted by explosion and heat. An oversized guitar sculpture stood upright in front of the wreckage, the only recognizable part of the building. Fire seared it black but was not hot enough to melt the guitar. Smoke chased the birds high into the sky.
“Holy fuck,” John said.
“When do you think this happened?”
“Don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I think it does. What if the Holy Covenant has plans to start demolishing parts of the city? I would think this place would be one of the first targets followed by maybe the strip clubs and banks downtown.”
“Yeah, the root of all evil. Titties.” John winked at Alex.
“Well, I don’t see what we can do about it.”
“Uh-huh. If they have the entire U.S. military at their disposal, we’d better be prepared to bend over…”
Alex inched the JLTV down East Ninth. Both men had their machine gun muzzles out the windows but neither found a suitable target. Loose dogs and a pig ran through the desolate streets. They would not have been surprised to see gorillas from the zoo swinging from the power lines.
He stopped the vehicle between Superior and Rockwell on East Ninth.
“Something’s not right,” Alex said.
“No kidding.”
“No, I mean, I think we’re being watched.”
“I haven’t seen anybody since we left the ‘Saw.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t see you.”
“How do you know? They give you survivalist lessons in veterinary school?”
“No asshole, but they do teach it in USMC Basic Training.”
John sat with his mouth open.
“You were a fucking Marine?”
“Semper Fi, bitch.”
Before John could respond, two JLTVs appeared from an alley and sped toward them. The remaining glass on their vehicle shattered as muzzle flashes exploded from the back of both vehicles.
“Get your head down,” Alex said.
He shoved the JLTV into reverse and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The wheels bit into the asphalt and the vehicle lurched backward. John felt the impact of bullets hitting the outside of the JLTV. Alex ducked his head below the dash and did his best to keep the wheel straight.
The rear end of the JLTV smashed into a pizza shop. Daylight vanished as the vehicle plunged deep into the dining room, crashing into the brick oven and coming to a halt.
“Get out, hurry,” John said.
Alex sported a rising welt on his forehead and a bloody nose. He stumbled from the vehicle and dropped to one knee. John hooked him under the armpit and pulled him to his feet.
They climbed through the remnants of brick and drywall. John grabbed his bag and tossed it over one shoulder. He did the same for Alex who stumbled like a heavyweight boxer after nine rounds. John placed Alex’s gun in his hand. The front of both JLTVs appeared on the street outside. They stopped. Combat boots slapped the hard surface as the soldiers sprinted toward them.
John pushed past a tire that came loose and found its way into the kitchen. He climbed over it and past a stainless steel prep table. Alex stumbled behind him. John reached a door in the back of the restaurant and stood in virtual darkness. He threw all of his weight into the steel push bar. Blinding sunlight exploded when the door burst open into the alley. John reached back and yanked Alex over the threshold. Alex stopped and bent over as his hangover took hold. He vomited what was left of the previous night’s beer and covered his eyes while they adjusted.
“Over here. Help me block the door.”
John motioned for Alex to grab the other end of the dumpster. The old, rusted wheels resisted at first but gave away under the men’s muscle. A second before the troops could fly through the door, John and Alex positioned the dumpster against the wall. They heard shouts and pounding but the stubborn dumpster did not budge.
“This way,” John said.
Alex grabbed his gear and gun and followed John down the end of the alley. They ran past open bags of garbage, stacks of milk crates and other dumpsters until the alley opened up on to East 12th Street.
Bullets sliced the air just above their heads. John waved his hand at them like annoying insects. Soldiers crouched and attacked from Superior. John spun and returned fire. His spray of bullets crawled up the office building behind the soldiers shattering the building’s windows as it climbed. The powerful gun rattled his teeth and shook his bones. Alex appeared next to John. He had his rifle tucked inside his shoulder and his right eye over the sight. He fired and two soldiers dropped like ragdolls to the pavement. The others took cover behind their vehicle, parked in the middle of Superior.
John and Alex ran north on East 12th Street toward Lake Erie. John turned at the first alley on his right and sprinted down it.
“Make sure it’s open at the other end,” Alex said.
The alley opened up behind the Greyhound bus depot. They ran as fast as they could through the narrow lane. When they got to the end, still more bullets buzzed the air above their heads. John turned to see the soldiers entering the alley behind them.
John found a door into the bus depot and threw his shoulder into it. Alex crouched down and fired back at the attackers. They stopped advancing and returned fire from behind dumpsters and stacks of pallets. John looked further down the alley and saw a door hanging open.
“This way,” he said.
They swung the door open and jumped inside. John sprinted through a mechanic’s garage where a tow truck sat in the opposite corner. A garage door faced Superior and old windows bordered it on each side. John ran to the truck while Alex moved as many fifty-five gallon drums as he could in front of the door.
John pulled the door of the tow truck open and spotted a keychain dangling from the ignition. He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. At first the engine coughed and protested, refusing to awaken from its comfortable slumber. John tried it two more times until fumes spewed into the air. He hesitated, fearful of flooding the carburetor. On the final attempt, the truck came to life. John revved the engine. He turned on the headlights, nearly blinding Alex as he sprinted toward the passenger side. The gas gauge hovered near the quarter-tank mark.
Alex jumped in the passenger seat. Light appeared around the edges of the back door as the soldiers pushed the drums of oil back into the garage. John pushed the clutch to the floor and threw the stick into first gear. The torque of the transmission in low gear growled, startling the men. John drove forward, pushing the barrels of oil hard into the door.
He looked over his shoulder as he put the truck in reverse, swung it around and slammed the accelerator to the floor heading right for the garage door. Alex ducked below the dash as John drove the truck straight through it.
He turned a hard left on to what he hoped was Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard with the detached garage door still covering the windshield. It slid down toward the front like a sheet of snow melting off the roof. The truck rumbled and shook as it chewed over the door and spat it out behind the rear wheels. Soldiers scrambled into Euclid Avenue, firing their guns at the fleeing tow truck. John put a hundred
yards between them and the soldiers as bullets kissed the exterior of the truck.
Alex sat up and looked out the passenger window. They heard it before they saw it. A military helicopter circled high above Lake Erie. It fell into a beeline toward their vehicle.
“They see us,” Alex said.
John shifted from second to third gear, pushing the truck toward fifty miles per hour. Although it was not designed as a getaway vehicle, the tow truck handled well. It raced down Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard through the Cleveland State campus and into Midtown. Several deserted and dilapidated buildings towered over the area, a tribute to the once-mighty industrial power of the Rust Belt. Before the copter could zero in on their exact location, John jumped the curb and shoved the truck down into first gear. He drove it through the open garage bay of one of the towering brick dinosaurs and then killed the engine. Both men sat in silence. Looking over their shoulders and through the back window they heard the copter overhead.
John climbed out first. He crouched down and slithered toward the open garage bay. The helicopter circled back over Euclid Avenue.
“They didn’t see us duck in here,” John said.
Alex appeared next to John, his rifle pointing out toward the street.
“We gotta roll the dice. Do we wait here or keep moving?”
“If they didn’t see us, we might be safe here temporarily. But they will canvass the area.”
“True, but it would take them a helluva long time to search every one of these abandoned factories.”
They stopped talking and listened as the copter’s blades echoed off in the distance. Several JLTVs raced down Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard toward East Cleveland and past the wounded buildings.
John set his gun up against the wall and pulled a bottle of water from his bag.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine. Nice job with the driving, man.”
“Thanks. You going to show me how to shoot like that?”
“Not unless you want to invite all of those fuckers to watch.”
