Crossing Bedlam (25 page)

“Our best bet is to drive one of the armies into the storm,” Lloyd suggests as they hear the sound of gunfire. A few bullets bounce off their armor plating and are replied to by a few bursts from the machineguns. “This may sound strange, but what if we head to the northwest? We can pit the bigger armies against the smaller one and try to escape in the chaos. Looks like the storm is heading south . . . or spinning in one place.”

“Looks like it’s going north to me,” the young woman says while firing at a pack of armor-wearing motorcyclists. The men and women fall at the same time, their bikes having been connected by bars for some ridiculous reason. “We have to forget about the storm for now and focus on our playmates. Stop grinning because you know what I really mean. They’re gaining on us and we no longer have the booster system. Not that it worked in the first place, which means we have a credit with Bart.”

“Love how your mind always snaps back to debts.”

“That’s the way to survive out here.”

“Funny how that mentality was a nightmare for college students back in the day.”

“Guess I dodged a bullet there.”

“Speaking of dodging and bullets, I think we’ve run out of time.”

The roar of several sports cars drowns out their voices as the three armies converge on the jeep. Projectiles are flying everywhere as the gangs fight amongst themselves while trying to stop their prey. Trusting Lloyd to handle the driving and keep an eye on the storm, Cassidy focuses on using the machineguns to cripple the bigger threats. Her primary targets are the enemies with rocket launchers or those who pop out of hatches with grenades. Whenever she sees a vehicle turn, the young woman fires at one of the tires and causes a small crash that always has less of an effect than she hopes. One of her salvos goes wide when the jeep veers to slam into a whirring dune buggy, which spins from the impact and gets sent flying by a tractor trailer. Cassidy launches a few grenades through the pipes, only two of the explosives hitting a target. It is when the last of the projectiles moves oddly through the air that she notices the wind is getting stronger.

The jeep is moving to the south, but she can see that the twister is going to cut them off from the border. Lloyd curses and smacks the steering wheel whenever he alters their course and nothing changes. He pops one of his pills and keeps the vehicle steady, luring another car in close enough to hit the driver in the face with a harpoon. Out of ammunition, he grabs his paintball gun and tries to hit a few bikers, but the lightweight orbs disappear in the wind. The burst of a flamethrower draws his attention to their right where one of the tractor trailers is nearly on top of them. Lloyd guns the engine and swerves around the cab, the jets of fire barely missing their rear bumper. A short burst of Cassidy’s machinegun is a precursor to a bigger explosion and the large vehicle is swallowed by an inferno. The driver screams in agony as the tractor trailer smashes into the southern army and creates enough confusion for the jeep to gain some maneuvering room.

“Hopefully they become more cautious now,” Cassidy says while yawning and shaking her head clear. Having had little sleep, she is struggling to remain focused and cracks open an energy drink from their emergency supplies. “This stuff tastes like sugar-infused sweat and cheap champagne. Any ideas on how to get around that twister? If we can put it between us and the gangs then it’s a straight shot to the border.”

“Do you know any witches or maybe a crazy cowboy?” Lloyd asks with a smirk. Peeking in his side view mirror, he hums a little tune from an old children’s show before sighing at a familiar sight. “One of those four bikers is different. See if you can find out why before the announcer gives you the answer and teaches you that waiting for someone else to do the work is the real path to success.”

“For fucks sake! How does that thing keep finding us at the worst possible moments?”

“Literary suspense? Sadistic writer?”

Having stolen the motorcycle from one of the gang members, the Half-Dead is barreling toward the jeep. The assassin punches any of the bikers that get too close, its touch delivering an itching burn that drives them away. Only a handful of people pay attention to the stranger, most of them assuming it is working for one of the other gangs. After it has killed several of the other pursuers, the Half-Dead is given a wide berth and ignored by everyone except Cassidy. She rapidly curses while unloading the mini-gun, but misses due to her target putting several other vehicles in the way of the barrage. Cars careen out of control as their tires and drivers are punctured by the bullets, none of them hitting the determined Half-Dead. Wanting something more durable to handle the powerful weapon, the rag-wearing figure leaps onto the side of a heavily armored van. The assassin wrenches the sliding door open and begins hurling the terrified occupants out. A few seconds of silence pass before the driver’s body is thrown through the passenger side door.

With the storm getting closer and the Half-Dead practically kissing their bumper, Cassidy reloads the mini-gun and takes every opening she can find. Bikers fall from bullets to the head or their motorcycle’s front tire, some of their bodies tying up the wheels of larger vehicles. Due to the wind and the wide strafing of the big weapon, snipers fall from tractor trailers before they can get a clear shot at the weaving jeep. Cars smash into each other to avoid the mini-gun, which ruins the side of the Half-Dead’s van. Everything she does feels more like delaying the inevitable than winning a decisive blow. Stopping to check the map, Cassidy can see that they are only eighteen miles from the border. If they can reach it then this violent, exhausting leg of their journey will be nothing more than a horrible memory.

“Swiss cheese the van’s hood off and snipe the engine when that bastard is too close to the twister,” Lloyd suggests as he aims the jeep for the edge of the storm. Debris is falling from the sky, most of it rotting garbage that has been tossed out of the trains. “It looks like we have the gangs beaten down here. So we only have to worry about the Half-Dead and the storm. Even if we get across the border, that thing is going to be right behind us. That means no rest, which both of us need. I can’t kill it when I’m nearly asleep.”

“So we use the storm to put the Half-Dead out of commission for a while,” Cassidy whispers, only vaguely understanding the plan. With no better ideas, she fires the mini-gun at the van until the armored hood flies over the vehicle. “I swear I put a few holes in the windshield too. Be nice if I accidentally killed the thing, but it doesn’t seem like our luck is good enough for that. What if the van only stops and doesn’t get sucked into the twister? That means the Half-Dead will still be behind us and can steal another ride.”

Lloyd rummages through their CD’s before putting on the soundtrack to a popular science fiction trilogy. “Trust in yourself and blah blah blah. You know the scene I’m thinking of and timing is everything, kid. Just don’t close your eyes like a sand-covered bumpkin because that’s just asking to miss.”

“I never saw those movies.”

“Don’t make me stop the jeep and educate you!”

“I was more into the other ones.”

“The exploration series where they claim to want peace, but are always fighting?”

“No the series with the acidic creatures and the other one with the invisible guy. Great. Now you have me talking like that.”

“That explains so much about you.”

Cassidy gets her sniper rifle out of the case and puts it through the hole in the door. Doing her best to lay across the backseat, she curses at the bumpiness of the jeep and how the motion is getting more violent as they near the storm. Bigger pieces of debris fall from the twister and forces the more cowardly of the gang vehicles to pull back. Pieces of buildings and uprooted trees land in their path, forcing Lloyd to make sudden turns that always go around the right-hand side of the object. For a terrifying moment, they get too close and feel the back wheels briefly lift off the ground. The instant they touch back down, the jeep lurches to the side and Lloyd battles the steering wheel for control. Fearing that they are pulling too far away from the storm, the sweat-covered killer brings them back and does his best to avoid getting sucked into the churning funnel.

Most of the gang members have pulled back and are trying to complete a wide path that will take them safely around the twister. Only the Half-Dead’s van and a handful of insane drivers remain in close pursuit. The jeep begins drifting towards them as the storm shifts direction and heads directly for the vehicles. Realizing that they are going to cut across the front of their enemies, Cassidy scrambles to get into the dome for a better position. Knowing that it could be a big mistake, she undoes the clips and the bulletproof canopy is ripped from the roof. A rough edge catches her forehead and she tumbles to the floor, but a rush of adrenaline helps her jump back into the fight. Blood drips down Cassidy’s face and she wipes it out of her eyes as she steadies the sniper rifle. Her muscles ache from fighting the wind and she prays that she can adjust for the powerful gales.

The jeep is less than a quarter mile in front of the Half-Dead’s van, which is set to ram them into the twister. Cassidy takes several shots that she cannot be certain have hit, a wall of dust making it difficult to see. She can hear wreckage hitting one of the cars and watches the headlights veer toward the van. Taking advantage of the assassin moving out of position, the young woman takes her time to aim and factor in the wind. Unable to find a perfect shot, she curses and drops the sniper rifle onto the seat. Cassidy unfolds one of the machineguns and unloads while bullets ping off the armor around her. A bullet grazes her arm and another zips by her ear before the Half-Dead’s van sputters to a stop.

“Get us the fuck out of here, Lloyd!” she shouts as she ducks into the jeep. She uses a small tarp and duct tape to block the hole, the flimsy barrier ballooning inside from the wind. “I don’t know if that’s going to hold. Think we’ll make it?”

“Of course, kid. We still have four more states to travel through,” Lloyd replies before laughing like a deranged madman. He glances through his mirror to see the van get lifted off the ground and disappear into the twister. “I hope an entire fucking trailer park falls on you! If not that I want a bull to repeatedly impale you in the face! Don’t fuck with us, you radioactive bastard!”

“Drive straight, you dumbass!”

“Oops. My bad.”

Even though the storm is still a threat and her vision is blurring, Cassidy finds herself relaxing in the passenger’s seat. It takes her a few minutes to bandage her wounds and mourn another hole in her pea coat, the art sewing still something she has yet to master. The sound of gunfire is in the distance, but she doubts any of the gang members can hit the jeep from so far away. Clutching her locket, the young woman starts falling asleep before a nervous laughing fit overtakes her.

“Better luck next time, Nebraska,” she mutters, her last word slurring into a snore.

Wendigo Season

Cassidy and Lloyd stare at the nicely furnished lobby of the hotel, both of them surprised by the level of cleanliness. A few other patrons are resting in plush chairs while reading books from the meager library or playing a board game. Several children run around a small basketball hoop that has been set up on the far side of the room, a nearby window looking into a currently empty workout room. Talking loud enough to break the concentration of a poker game, a family wearing only swimsuits and towels walks into the lobby. All of them emit the mild odor of chlorine, but they are already arguing over who gets to take the first shower and rid themselves of the smell. Cassidy’s stomach rumbles when a door swings open to reveal a table covered in the remains of a small buffet. She blushes at the warm smile of the middle-aged man who waved their jeep down and urged the pair to follow him to the hotel.

“Good thing I saw you when I did,” their host says while stepping behind the immaculate front desk. He rummages through the drawers for a keycard, his system having been changed by the more laidback dayshift workers. “If you had kept going then night would have fallen. Bad things happen to people in the dark around here. Lucky for you, Rawlins is a relaxing haven for those who’ve escaped Nebraska. Please sign the guestbook and we can discuss payment in the morning. I promise our deal will not make the rest of your journey difficult or delay you in any way.”

“Thanks, Paul, but you’re lucky we didn’t run you over. Might want to stick to the side of the road from now on,” Cassidy replies with a yawn before signing the guestbook. She slides it to Lloyd, who sloppily writes his name down while staring at a tropical fish tank. “We might be in town for a few days because I have to fix our jeep. Unless you know of a good mechanic who may want the remains of a booster system. Not that I don’t appreciate you taking us in, but I want to get back on the road as soon as possible. My mother has waited long enough. Also I’d hate to rack up a big bill.”

“Entirely understandable, young lady,” the man says, handing her the keycards. He pauses to give a small kiss on the cheek of his wife, the woman showing up to whisper about what they need for the kitchen. “Seems tomorrow’s breakfast might be an hour late because we need to pick up a few things. Dinner is still laid out, so feel free to take extra food to your room. I’m giving you a place with two beds, a DVD player, a modest collection of shows and movies, and a mini-fridge. None of that is extra. We know what it’s like to survive the gangs, so we want both of you to relax and enjoy yourselves. As you may have noticed, there’s a pool through those doors. Used to be outdoor, but we built a tunnel and protective structure to make sure you can swim at night. Though I still recommend going together. The Wendigoes have a habit of coming up to the windows and tapping on the glass to scare loners. Not that those monsters will break in because they’re terrified of getting caught and shot.”

“What’s a Wendigo?” the drowsy blonde asks while she gives one of the cards to her companion.

“It’s an Algonquian creature of myth that I think is either a wind spirit or a person who turned into a monster after eating human flesh,” Lloyd answers, earning a few nervous looks from the other guests. Waving to them, he turns to admire a young woman in a bikini until she steps onto the elevator. “The whole thing deals with the evils of cannibalism. Shows up in a bunch of comics and an arcade game based on those comics. Saw it on an early episode of a television show too. Wendigoes are oddly popular in fiction.”

“I’m too tired to hear more,” Cassidy declares, stopping Paul from continuing the conversation. She winces as the bandaged wound on her head throbs, a sign that she needs to clean it again. “If those things are too scared to break into the building then there’s nothing to worry about. We need some rest after everything we’ve been through. Not to mention I promised Bart I’d let him know how the upgrades worked. That way we can find out if the satellite phones work too. Again, thank you for helping us, Paul.”

The hotel manager grins and slides two pieces of chocolate across the counter. “That’s what the people of Rawlins are here for. Otherwise, there would be a lot more missing people in this area. Get some sleep and I’ll leave information on a mechanic at the desk for you. Oh, and don’t hesitate to let us know if you require anything.”

After grabbing some food and beers from the dinner buffet, the travelers head for their second floor room. Night has nearly fallen and they can taste tension in the air, their hearts skipping every time a shadow flits across the parking lot. The dull hum of generators adds to the eerie atmosphere, the power sources attached to devices that electrify the vulnerable cars. Thin nets cover every opening, but it is obvious that they are there to ward off more than insects. An amorous couple stumbles down the well-lit hallway and gleefully say hello the strangers, their breath reeking of liquor. Only Lloyd returns the greeting while Cassidy focuses on getting into the room and taking a shower.

The young woman tosses her things onto a chair and barely takes note of the neatly made beds. She takes off her bandage to examine her wound in the bathroom mirror, the cut looking red around the crude stitches. Returning to the other room, she finds that Lloyd has already claimed the bed closest to the television. Grabbing the first aid kit, Cassidy slathers her injury in ointment and puts a fresh wrapping around her head. Slipping off her boots and hanging her pea coat on a silver hook, the yawning blonde flops onto the other bed while examining the graze on her arm. The wound is more of a scratch than a cut, which is a stroke of luck she wishes she could have kept for another day. Cassidy has nearly fallen asleep when a beep goes off and she smells warm food, her attention drifting to Lloyd and the immaculate microwave.

“Guess Paul forgot about this beautiful addition,” the man says with a tear rolling down his dirty cheek. He puts half of the food on another plate, which he places on the nightstand between the beds. “I know you’re in a rush to toss your mom off a bridge, but maybe we should stay for a few days and enjoy it. We need to keep an eye on your head wound, the jeep needs work, and I want to stretch my legs. Promise not to cause trouble. Although it’s been a long time since I got to kill outside of self-defense. Hope I’m not going soft.”

“Only around the middle if you keep stuffing your mouth like that,” Cassidy retorts while grabbing a meatball to nibble on. There are a few spices in the food that she remembers tasting before, but it has been so many years that she cannot recall the names. “Let’s discuss our plan in the morning. Right now, I want to let the new bandage and ointment sit for a while before I take a shower. Feels strange being cooped up inside and not having anything to do. Wish I took the sniper rifle out of the jeep.”

Lloyd closes the burgundy blinds, stopping for a second to watch a figure pass beneath a distant light. “We can grab it in the morning. Last thing we want is to get eaten by a ferocious Wendigo. Then again, I really want to see one of these things. Can’t be any worse than the Half-Dead, which I hope is still soaring the Nebraskan skies. Doubt the bastard is dead, which is fine by me because I still think I can take it in a fight. Anyway, we have some movies and boxsets to entertain ourselves with. I always wanted to watch this series, which has a ton of sex and violence.”

“You’re looking at the porno version.”

“Really? How can you tell?”

“By reading the case and not just look at the pictures.”

“You seem grumpy and I’m feeling hyper.”

“That’s a bad combination.”

“Mind if I head to that pool and give you some quiet time?”

Lloyd receives a casual wave due to Cassidy being more interested in finishing her dinner and getting to the shower than being polite. He gets the sense that his friend would prefer he be out of the room while she gets clean and takes a nap. Claiming a big towel, he tucks the keycard into his back pocket and chooses his cleanest pair of boxers to act as a swimsuit. As an afterthought, Lloyd straps the machete to his hip and hides a switchblade in one of his socks. He can hear Cassidy chuckling at his preparations even though the young woman would be just as paranoid. The lock clicks behind the serial killer as he steps into the hallway and heads for the elevator.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lloyd sees someone moving in the stairwell and curiosity gets the best of him. Instead of a Wendigo, he finds a teenage girl struggling with several heavy grocery bags. She reminds him of one of his early victims, but he finds that he no longer has a taste for such an easy and random kill. Hearing a loud buzz from the elevator, Lloyd assumes it is either broken or the drunk couple have stopped it to go beyond kissing. Looking forward to enjoying a pool for the first time in fifteen years, the impatient man takes the stairs and wonders where the cute girl has gone. He is surprised to see her outside and heading across the parking lot, the bags precariously balanced in her slender arms.

“It wouldn’t hurt to stick my head out and yell a warning,” Lloyd whispers, part of him hoping to see a Wendigo in action. He opens the door enough to put half his body through the entrance and clears his throat. “Excuse me! You should get back inside unless you want to get eaten. If you want, we can spend some time by the pool. No need for real swimsuits as long as you have underwear. Uh, you are eighteen, right? Sorry, I should have asked that first. No matter what your answer is, it’s probably smarter to stay inside. If you’re uninterested then we can chat in the lobby until we get bored of each other.”

A low growl slips from the nearby bushes, causing Lloyd to drop his towel and reach for his machete. Distracted by the rustling leaves, he is left open to a large, hairy hand that grabs him by the head. The serial killer whirls around to hack off the limb and come face to face with an inhuman visage fringed by a hood. Another enemy pounces on him from behind and he feels a sharp pain in his neck that makes him think of vampires. Lloyd shakes his head as the mild tranquilizer takes effect, his mind running through what he knows about Wendigoes and making a note that they appear to be venomous. He is partially conscious while his attackers drag him across the parking lot, the one-armed creature staggering from blood loss.

“I already got kidnapped during this trip,” Lloyd complains, his voice an indecipherable slur. Warm drool flows from his mouth and he wonders if Cassidy can follow the trail in the morning. “This shit is getting old and I doubt a barely clothed hottie is waiting for me at the end of this detour. Mythological monsters or not, you better let me go before I get angry . . . or stab you with my big knife . . . or snore loudly. You guys are assholes.”

*****

The cleaver slams down on the table, breaking through the leg bone that its wielder has been battling for the last five minutes. Still having the torso to work on, the brown-haired man grabs a bone saw and begins working on the ribs. Previously removed body parts are being cooked on the stove with four excited children eagerly stirring the soups. They sneak tastes whenever their whistling mother diverts her attention, the pregnant woman putting together a salad from her homegrown vegetables. A bucket of organs is sitting at the far door and waiting to be taken out to a shed where they will be dried. Three older boys are busy setting the dining room table and checking on the filtered pitchers under the carving table. They adjust them to catch all of the blood while they argue what to mix with the crimson liquid. The clan of cannibals are well-groomed and look like regular people, which makes the scene even stranger for anyone outside of the family.

With his head clear of the tranquilizer, Lloyd is able to take in his surroundings and pinpoint several emergency weapons. His eyes routinely fall on the costume that the patriarch discarded, the outfit composed of animal furs, an altered Halloween mask, and large gloves that are tipped with real bear claws. An array of sharp and blunt objects draw his interest, but the fact that he is duct taped to a chair means they have to wait before becoming part of his creative fun. Lloyd struggles against the sticky bonds, which causes his silent guard to hit him in the head with a riding crop. From the smell of the thing, he knows the blunt object has been used on its intended animal and prays that is the extent of its adventures. It is hard to tell because the teenage girl who led him into danger seems disturbingly adept at wielding the flexible rod.

“Wonder how many other pieces of bait are in that hotel,” Lloyd says, rolling his wrists to weaken the tape. The riding crop swings for his face, but he leans the chair back and wrenches the foul-tasting object away from the girl with his mouth. “Little girls shouldn’t play with dirty things. They should also wear more than what you have on, so go change into something that doesn’t scream jailbait. Unless you have a moth problem and that’s the only stuff that survived their appetite. So do you guys normally eat your own or is this a special celebration on my account?”

“Those who cannot feed the clan with their deeds will do so with their body,” the Elder says while finishing with the ribcage. One of his sons is about to help, but he is waved away and another is beckoned to step forward. “I will miss Second Brother, but he would have been a liability. Even worse, he could have bred more one-armed Wendigoes and then our clan would have died. At least now his knowledge will pass on to the rest of us.”

“Guessing you ate your science teachers before they taught you about genetics. None of what you said made any sense,” Lloyd replies while the children rush to poke at him. They sniff at his hands and growl like a pack of dogs until their older sister stomps her foot to scare them into another room. “Looking at the table, you have a pretty big family. Mind explaining this whole Wendigo thing to me? You’re obvious not cannibals from folklore. Though I think I’ve seen a movie or two with people like you in it. Honestly, I think you’re doing it wrong with the pleasant lighting and nice cabin. This place should look like something out of a nightmare with traps and body parts hanging from the rafters. Creepy stuffed animals in every corner and candles are a must too.”