The Seventh Seal (11 page)

Both men froze.  Jana remained behind Peter, and looked at
Jake over Peter’s right arm.  Jake’s hand held a steady bead on Peter, the gun
pointed directly at his head.  Jake’s eyes darted around the store.  He then
stole a glance back over his shoulder at the open storeroom door.

“Shut and lock that door with the chain and padlock,” Jake
said to Jana.

“But I can’t—”

“Do it or you both die, bitch.”

Jana moved across the floor, navigating past the empty coffee
cups and cupcake wrappers that littered the floor.  Jake backed into the wall
and turned his right arm toward Peter.  He kept the pistol aimed at Peter’s
face.

“Can you put that thing down, lad?  I’m not armed and I’m
sure as hell not going to rush at a loaded weapon.”

“Shut up,” was all that Jake said.

Jana wrapped the chain around the handle of the door, making
as much noise as she possibly could before finally snapping the padlock into
place.  If anyone inside had heard it, it was too late to do anything about it
now.

“Now move back over behind the ugly Brit.”

“I’m Welsh, you punk.”

Jake turned the gun sideways and pulled it back, cocked and
ready to kill.

“One more word from you and I’ll split your skull with a
bullet.”

Peter held both hands up signifying his supplication.

“Are you going to shoot me too?” asked Jana.  “Why don’t you
pump as many bullets as you can into everyone here.  What is your problem?”

“My problem is that you won’t shut the fuck up.”

Jake stepped toward Jana and slapped her before she could
raise an arm to block it.  Her hair spun around and the slap of skin echoed off
the silent store walls.  Peter bit his lip so hard that a trickle of blood ran
from the corner of his mouth.

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” Peter said.

Jake’s eyes glazed over with rage, and his chest heaved.  He
opened his mouth but nothing came out.  The gun was still aimed at Peter, and
now Jake squeezed the trigger.  Three bright flashes of light engulfed the
store as three explosions punctured the night air, followed by Peter’s body
landing in a magazine rack.  Three scarlet holes appeared in his chest.  Jana’s
scream reverberated in her own skull.  Jake lowered the smoking barrel to his
side.  Sweat poured off his forehead and his eyes never left Peter.  The
Welshman’s eyes fluttered open for a split second, then remained that way as he
expelled a final breath.  Dull thuds started as the others in the storeroom
pounded on the padlocked door.

All of his senses came rushing back to Jake like a wave
pulling the ocean back to its murky depths.  Jana’s screaming and the muffled
protest of the people in the room startled him.  A thin, high-pitched squeal
faded in and out.  Smoke filled the convenience store as the burning spice of
gunpowder tinged their nostrils.

“…you bastard!  You fucking killed him!” Jana screamed.

Jake pulled plastic zip ties from his pocket and wrapped
them around Jana’s wrists.  Before she could resist, Jake pulled them hard,
drawing blood where the plastic cut into her flesh.  He then punched her hard
in the stomach.  Jana doubled over in front of Jake.  He pushed her by the
shoulder to the floor.  While she gasped for the breath he knocked from her
abdomen, Jake looped another zip tie around Jana’s ankles.  Her breath came
back, feeding the racking sobs.

“All he had to do was shut up.  He couldn’t fucking shut up,
could he?”

Jake walked to the storeroom door and called out to those
now imprisoned inside.

“One person out here is dead and another is asking for it. 
If everyone doesn’t shut up, now, I’ll open fire and send all of you to hell. 
Got it?”

The group fell silent, but Jana spoke.

“They must’ve heard the shots.  It’s a matter of time before
they get here.  Why would you be so fucking stupid?”

Jake yanked her up by the hair and smacked her across the
face again.

“Shut. Up,” he said, emphasizing each syllable of the
command.

He pushed his hands through his hair and shoved the gun into
the waistband of his jeans.  Jake walked toward the shattered front windows and
peered into the dark streets of South Euclid.  He shivered and waited for the
searchlights of a patrol, but none appeared.

Jake’s eyes scanned the parking lot and came to rest on the car-wash
building.  He grabbed Jana by her elbows and lifted her off the floor.  Jake
flung her over his shoulder in one motion and pulled the gun from his
waistband.  He slid toward the front door, looked out, and began carrying Jana
toward the car-wash building.  He felt his shoulder digging deep into her
abdomen, and she grunted with each jolting step.

When they reached the office of the car wash, the locked
doorknob would not turn.  With the butt end of the gun, Jake shattered the lock
and opened the door.  A crooked desk sat in one corner facing a greasy window
in the front.  He dropped Jana behind the desk with an ugly thump, and he
crouched under a stack of cardboard boxes.

Searching beams of light came from Warrensville Road toward
Mayfield, creeping along at about four miles per hour.  Marksmen sat in the
back of the troop transport, swinging spotlights over the empty windows of the
deserted businesses.  They paused in front of the BP and then moved on down
Mayfield toward Cleveland.  Jake exhaled and dropped his chin to his chest.

“They don’t know where it came from.  It’s a good thing you
locked them in the storeroom.”  Jake’s voice reverted back to its cool
delivery.

“Please let me go.  Please,” Jana said.

“I’ve sat tight long enough.  The world’s going to hell. 
I’m taking whatever the fuck I want, starting with you, little lady.”

Jake took a blue bandana from his back pocket and used it to
gag Jana.  She smelled a noxious mixture of cheap cologne and motor oil in it. 
Jake moved his hand to her waist.  He took a buck knife from his pocket and
slid it inside her shirt.  Jana’s white skin gleamed in the moonlight.  She
whimpered and struggled as Jake’s hands kneaded her breasts.  He fondled her
before his gaze trailed down toward her jeans.  Jake used the knife to cut a
long slice up both legs of the denim to the waist, leaving the soiled bandage on
her thigh.  He peeled back Jana’s jeans, exposing black, cotton panties.  Jana
twisted and fought Jake with every muscle in her body.  He stopped.

“Lie still or I will plunge this knife into your stomach. 
It will take days for you to bleed to death.  It is not a pleasant way to die.”

Jana believed the killer and stopped fighting, but her
nervous twitches could not be controlled.  Jake took the knife and cut the top
of her panties on each hip.  He pulled them away and felt a growing heat in his
pants.  He placed the gun and knife next to Jana’s bound feet.  With his hands
on the inside of Jana’s knees, the murderer pushed her legs apart.  He smelled
her and licked Jana’s belly button while he pressed a hand on her pubic hair.

“Anarchy has its privileges,” Jake said as he stood up.

He unzipped his jeans and dropped them to his ankles.  The
ragged and torn boxer shorts landed on top of a crumpled pile of garments. 
Jana looked at the maniac’s grotesque erection and prepared herself for what
was about to happen.  She stared mindlessly at the drop ceiling in the office
and counted the individual tiles.  She heard him groan and felt his skin on
hers.

Jake grunted, and his contorted face crashed hard against
the thin carpet of the office, landing to Jana’s left.  Her brain staggered and
shook with the visuals sent from her eyes.  She could still feel the cool air
against her exposed areas.  A hand reached down and used Jake’s knife to cut
the zip ties from her ankles and wrists, then removed the filthy bandana from
her mouth.  Jana’s lungs burned with the intake of the cool November chill.  A
blanket floated down from above, covering her exposed skin up to her neck.

Jana sat and looked down at the pool of dark liquid that
crept toward her from the ax blade lodged in the back of Jake’s head.  A yellow
handle pointed down and parallel to the rest of the body.  Jana shuffled away
from him toward the corner in an instinctive attempt to escape danger.  She
mumbled and whimpered, trying to form her thoughts into words.  She glanced up
and saw a figure above her.

“C’mon, honey, come with me.  That’ll be the last time that
man says the word nigger.”

Ruth and Sally lifted Jana by her hands and shepherded her
back into the BP.  Jana kept the blanket tight around her shoulders, like a
superhero in a cape.  She left her ripped clothing on the floor of the office,
as it no longer served any purpose.

“How did you get out?” Jana managed to ask, forcing each and
every word from trembling lips.

“Dumbass forgot that the back door locks from the inside. 
We only wish we could have saved Peter,” Ruth responded.

Inside the storeroom, the rest of the group avoided eye
contact with Jana.  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.  Sally
stared at Jana’s fit body, then snapped her head around with a shameful glance.

“Where ya from?” asked Sally,  trying hard to get Jana’s
mind off the recent attack and on to things more mundane.

“Pittsburgh,” Jana replied.

“Oh gross!  Please tell me you don’t root for the Steelers?”

Jana managed to build a moderate 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.”

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.  A few feet away, Alex rolled onto his back and rubbed intoxication
from his own face.  John looked at Alex, then up at the bar.  Reality settled
back into his head like a feather floating to the floor.  The silence felt
menacing, and neither man fully possessed 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, shattering on the grimy floor.  The alcohol-amplified
destruction echoed off the glass block, jabbing deep into their hangovers.

“Shit,” was all John could muster.

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 had hours
before.

“Did you sleep?” asked Alex.

“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 issued was two lonesome drops of rust-colored liquid.  He
turned it off, as if not to waste any precious, brown water.  Alex opened the
sliding top of one cooler and lucked upon a case of bottled water.  He ripped
one from the plastic and, making eye contact, tossed it to John, who mishandled
the toss and chased the bouncing plastic container across the floor.  Alex
grabbed one for himself.  Both bottles hissed in protest of being opened.

John stood.

“Where are the bikers?”

“Gotta be here somewhere.”

Alex followed John around the pool table and toward the
stage, neither man noticing the dead generator.  Dozens of empty beer bottles
littered the floor.  John kicked them, but regretted it immediately as he sent
a cacophony of chimes through the dead air.  A random bra 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 dry heaved and fought the bitter taste rising
into his mouth.

“They’re gone,” he said, dumbfounded, to nobody in
particular.

“Can’t be,” Alex said.  “We would have heard the bikes
firing up.”

“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, testimony to a deceased hamburger
platter.  John pushed Alex aside and stepped into the empty alley where the
Keepers had 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 groaned.

“I don’t see what this changes.  We’re still hoping to find
our loved ones and then 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 haphazardly 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
a message scrawled on it.

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 with a disgruntled
look.

“You think this is from Sully?”

“Probably,” John responded.

“Do you know how to use those things?”

Alex pointed toward their newfound weapons cache.

“Pull the trigger, the bad guy dies.  You expect a fucking
manual?”

Alex began laughing in spite of their predicament, holding
his side.  John caught the vibe and hitched with a growing giggle. 

When the moment passed, John picked up an assault rifle and
loaded a clip.  The weapon responded with a delightful click.

“Just like in the movies,” he said to Alex.

“This is nothing like the movies.”

They left the machine guns standing in a corner and rounded
up a bag of chips and half a cinnamon roll.  Calling it breakfast, they downed
another bottled water and put three more in their packs.  John used a
flashlight to find provisions: 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 of the businesses, moving closer to the military
truck.  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 man-made fabrics.  He shivered and drew his shoulders back into
his chest.  Lonely sea gulls circled high above the buildings.

“Where to?” Alex asked, shaking John from his silent
meditation.

“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.”

“Yeah, where is Che when you need him?”

Alex smiled at the Guevara reference.

“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.”

“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
truck 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 had plastered The Sign on many houses.  On every block, a
tangled mess of vehicles sat on the curb or up on the sidewalk.  Blood stains
on the streets had begun to fade into obscurity.

The vehicle turned on to Superior Avenue.  The truck’s
powerful engine roar reverberated off the canyon of office buildings.  Alex
crawled it 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. 9
^th
, 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 on to 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 wind-whipped whitetops. 
Drawing back from 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 had
seared it black, but had not been hot enough to melt the guitar like other
structures nearby.  Smoke chased the birds high into the sky, originating from
dozens of pockets of smoldering ruin below.

“Holy fuck,” said John.

“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, who was not amused by the timing of the
joke.

“Well, I don’t see what we can do about.”

“Uh huh.  If they have the entire US military at their
disposal, we’d better be prepared to bend over….”

Alex inched the truck 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 don’t know, but 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, Doc?  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, the revelation dropped in his
lap.

“You were a fucking Marine?”

“Semper Fi, bitch.”

Before John could respond, two jeeps appeared from an alley
and sped toward them.  The remaining glass on the truck shattered as muzzle
flashes exploded from the back of both vehicles.

“Get your head down!” Alex screamed.

He shoved the truck into reverse and slammed the accelerator
to the floor.  The wheels bit into the asphalt, lurching the vehicle backward. 
John could feel the impact of bullets hitting the outside of the truck.  Alex
ducked his head below the dash and did his best to keep the wheel straight.

The back of the truck smashed into a pizza shop.  Daylight
vanished as the truck plunged deep into the dining room.  It crashed into the
brick oven and came to a halt.

“Get out, hurry,” John yelled.

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 Alex 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 stood upright, but like a heavyweight boxer after nine rounds.  John
placed Alex’s gun in his hand.  The front of both jeeps appeared on the street
outside.  They stopped.  Combat boots slapped the hard surface as the soldiers
sprinted toward the truck lodged in the oven.

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.  John 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.  He vomited 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,
overflowing with ripe garbage.  The old, rusted wheels resisted at first, but
gave away under the men’s muscle.  A split second before the troops could fly
through the door, John and Alex positioned the dumpster against the wall.  They
heard shouts of frustration 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 12
^th
Street. 

Bullets sliced the air just above their heads.  John waved
his hand in a strange instinct, treating them like annoying insects.  Soldiers
crouched and attacked from Superior.  John spun and returned fire on the
Warriors of Christ.  His spray of bullets crawled up the office building behind
the soldiers, shattering 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.  When he fired,
his bullets followed a trajectory toward the target.  Two soldiers dropped like
ragdolls to the pavement.  The others took cover behind their jeep, which was
parked in the middle of Superior.

With their pursuers dodging fire, John and Alex ran north on
East 12
^th
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, a step or
two behind John.

Two blocks down the alley, it opened up behind the Greyhound
bus depot.  They ran as fast as they could through the narrow alley.  When they
got to the end, still more deadly insects buzzed the air above their heads. 
John turned to see their pursuers entering the alley at the other end.

John found a door into the bus depot and threw his shoulder
into it, to no avail.  Alex crouched down and fired back at the attackers. 
They stopped advancing and returned fire from behind dumpsters and stacks of
pallets.  John looked down the block and saw a door hanging open.