The Lazarus Impact (17 page)

CHAPTER 33

The early drive is quiet, almost peaceful. Willy pulls over and stands guard when Sheryl and Brandon have to go to the bathroom. Rocky goes as well, but he isn’t concerned about taking cover in the woods.

In the distance a fast-paced thumping begins to fade in from silence. Willy cups his hand over his brow to shield the morning sun as he looks for the noise.
A chopper
. It gets louder and louder as it comes closer. Willy knows it’s military just by the sound of it, and moments later it’s coming right at him. It takes a sharp turn and hovers over the woods, just past where Sheryl and Brandon went in to squat. Willy feels the swirling winds as it passes overhead. A sharp pain fills his ears and a crushing migraine comes over him almost instantly. The thunder of helicopter blades gives way to the raining sound of gunfire. In an instant, he’s back at war, wading thigh high in a stagnant river. His platoon is just on the other bank, making their way to his rally point but still in the jungle. An air strike was called in, so they need to hustle out, otherwise face a napalm death. He calls out to his men, shouting the last names and nicknames of brethren he’s barely even thought about or remembered for 40 years. There’s no answer.

The air rips overhead as fighter jets tear through the skies. A moment later the entire jungle is aflame, and the tortured screams of forgotten men fill the air behind fading war planes and the muted drumbeat of chopper blades. Charred and melting bodies emerge from the thick jungle and flop into the stale river, sizzling upon impact and leaving behind only the curled and blackened shells of men.

Two survivors, with fire still clinging to them, step out onto the water without sinking in. They run across the surface of the river toward him. A moment later they are on him, their flames consuming him. Willy screams in panic. But the river soon becomes a road, and the jungle becomes a winter forest. Sheryl shakes him back to reality, and Brandon holds a bottle of water just beneath his lips, telling him to take a sip and relax. His eyes fix on the woods at the side of the road. Smoke rises up from a short distance beyond, and there’s an orange and red flicker within.

“Are you okay?” Willy asks them.

“Are you?” Sheryl responds.

“I’m fine. Just had a flashback. A relapse.” His surroundings come back into focus, and in his mind he’s no longer at war.

“Some helicopters just flame-throwered part of the woods,” Brandon announces with excitement in his voice. “You shoulda seen it. It was awesome!”

“Shoulda seen it?  Hell, I lived it, boy,” Willy says with anger.

“I thought they were after us, but it looks like there’s a small crater back there. I noticed a clearing when I was going to the bathroom,” Sheryl says.

“They must be burnin’ all the places where there was impact, trying to kill whatever’s in the meteor dust,” Willy explains.

A moment later the sound of helicopters fills the air again, and several special choppers with large containers attached to their bottoms hover over the same part of the woods. A thick goopy mud is dropped onto the fire.

“And that’s to try to contain it,” Willy says. “Could be cement, tar, or just mud. It’s a wet burn.”

Brandon flails his scrawny arms and jumps up and down to try to get the pilot’s attention. He knows they see him, a pasty, gangly little boy, right smack in the middle of an empty highway. But they ignore him and fly off when they’re done. A sense of hopelessness washes over the group. They’re truly on their own.

Sheryl takes her coat off. Her bad arm is feeling cramped, so she changes from a sleeved shirt to a white tank top. They continue on, this time with Sheryl driving. But a short while later there’s a string of vehicles blocking the road ahead. Sheryl eases off the gas and slows to a coast, but Willy knows in his gut that something is amiss.

“Don’t slow down,” he says. Ahead he sees a man scrambling into a delivery truck and starting it up. “Go ‘round them. Go ‘round to the right and don’t stop!”

Willy reaches over Sheryl and flips on the police siren and lights. Rocky howls with the rising and falling siren blares. Sheryl accelerates in a panic. She veers off the road and onto the rumble strips along the shoulder. Then she takes the police cruiser onto the grass. But it’s too late. The delivery truck rams them just as Sheryl is about to pass and drive on. The car skids on the grass, spins and tumbles. Willy, Sheryl, Brandon and Rocky are thrown around the car as they slide upside down to an almost gentle stop against a nearby tree.

“Lemme see all of yo’ hands!” a gruff sounding man shouts at them.

Willy reaches back for his shotgun, but he hears a gun fire.

“Don’t reach for nothin’ or I’ll kill every last one a y’all!” The man approaches the car, pointing a gun at Willy. “Get out. Slowly,” he says. Several other men approach the car as well. A gang of marauders. Looters. Criminals.

Rocky gnashes his teeth and barks angrily out the window. Brandon shields his face and body from what he thinks is another crash soon to come. Out the busted back windshield he sees a massive black truck approaching far too fast from behind. He can hear the engine roaring like a beast. He curls into the fetal position and waits for the jolt to come.

CHAPTER 34

Marcus, knowing the mannerisms and stance of his old jail mate, sees what he thinks is a familiar person from a distance. The man points a gun at some people in an overturned police car on the side of the road.
It's Harley
.
What are the odds? Of all the roads I could be on right now, why did God bring me to the one he’s on? Why, when there were so many other directions we coulda gone, and so many miles between here and where I left him?
And why Harley and not some other criminal?
This is my test
.
This must be
.
This is when I’ll have to face the flaws in my vows
.
Kill no man
.
But protect the weak
.
Fight the wicked
. He tucks Thompson’s gun in his waistband and makes a hood over his head with the black blanket.

“Hold on. This might get ugly,” he says to Michael and Amy.

“Just go around. We don’t need any trouble,” Michael begs.

“Well, whether you want it or not, you got trouble. I know this asshole,” he responds. “Get down low, so no one sees you.”

Michael and Amy do as they’re instructed. Marcus puts the pedal to the floor and pulls up hard and fast, screaming the engine and then ripping to a stop on the shoulder of the highway. Harley turns and points the gun toward the truck. Marcus shuts the engine and jumps out, grabbing his scythe from the truck bed.

“Harley!” he yells through his mask.

“Marcus? That you?” Harley asks, stunned by the appearance of Marcus stepping out of a skull- and flame-painted truck, donning the attire of the Grim Reaper.

“Step away from the car,” Marcus says, raising his scythe in a menacing display.

Harley laughs. “You gonna defend these mutha fuckas? This is my mutha fuckin’ road now, nigga. And I expect my toll to be paid.”

“What do you want?” Marcus asks.

“All their shit. And the bitch,” Harley says, motioning to Sheryl inside the overturned police cruiser. ”It gets lonely out here. We need a good fuckin’ to make it through the day. And when we run out of their shit, we gonna eat the kid.” The other inmates laugh with Harley. “The zombies have it right. Once you taste man, you don’t want nothin’ from a can.”

“Maybe we can work something else out. Take some supplies, but don’t bring no harm to no one,” Willy says as he steps out of the rubble with his hands up.

“This ain’t Let’s Have a Deal, old fool. This is I’m Gonna Steal, and I make the rules,” Harley rhymes again.

Brandon stays curled in a ball, in fear, and Rocky barks nonstop. But Sheryl slowly and quietly moves her pistol into the back of her waistband, just above her ass. She tries to cover it with the bottom of her shirt as she steps out of the cruiser and puts her hands up. She positions herself behind the car somewhat, to block her hips from Harley’s line of sight. It’s cold outside, and her stiffened nipples show through her tight white tank top.

“Damn you look good, girl!” Harley says to Sheryl. “I’m takin’ first crack at this one boys,” he yells over his shoulder, receiving hoots and hollers in response. “Step out from behind the car, sweet thang, and let ol’ Harley see that ass.” Sheryl hesitates, not listening to the command. He snaps. “I said get the fuck over here!”

Sheryl steps out to the side of the wrecked car, still holding her hands in the air. She takes a few steps toward Harley and stops.

“Turn around, baby,” Harley says with widened eyes.

Sheryl turns slowly. Without a coat to cover it, the gun is in plain view through the back of her tank top as it pokes out of her slim jeans.

“Now that’s a nice piece,” Harley jokes. “Lemme get that for you.”

Harley walks over toward Sheryl and reaches out for the gun in her waist. Without warning Marcus flings his cloak open and draws his gun. He squeezes the trigger with a prayer on his lips. The lone bullet fires directly into Harley’s throat. Harley drops his gun and falls backward to the ground with a gurgle. In an instant Sheryl pulls her gun as well, firing at Harley’s men. She manages to drop one with a head shot and clip a second with a round to the shoulder. The others scatter behind the truck. A moment later the delivery truck engine starts and begins to pull away. Willy grabs the rifle from the back seat of the destroyed police cruiser. He cranks off two shots at the tires. A tire blows out and the truck yanks to the left, flipping onto the driver’s side. Willy runs out after it, leaps up onto the passenger side door, and fires two shots down, killing the driver inside the cab. The final car speeds away, but not without Willy blowing out the rear window and putting a few bullets into the gas tank. All that remains is Marcus’ monster truck, the busted up police car, and several dead bodies.

And Harley... He struggles to breathe, still clinging to life with all the strength he has. Marcus stands over him and looks down upon him. He kicks Harley’s gun away and takes a knee beside him, preparing to put him out of his misery. He closes his eyes and prays in silence for the life he is about to take.

The pump of a shotgun beside his head interrupts his solemn thoughts. His eyes burst open to reveal Brandon standing next to him with Willy’s gun pointed at Harley’s face. Marcus slaps the barrel to the side just as Brandon fires. A divot rips into the frozen grass beside Harley’s head. Brandon stares down, blank, emotionless. Rocky sniffs at Harley, having jumped out of the police cruiser when Brandon stepped out.

“This is my kill, little man. You don’t need to be doing this,” Marcus says to him as he stands up to look down over Brandon. “You got your whole adulthood to go killin’ bad guys if that’s what you want. But no child should ever have to take a life.”

“What if I like it?” Brandon says through a haze. He stares at the gushing wound on Harley’s neck.

“You shouldn’t,” Marcus says.

Brandon steps back beside Willy and Sheryl. Everyone stands with gun in hand. With Harley’s and the other marauders’ weapons there will be even more firepower to go around. But Marcus only uses his blade to kill demons. He drops Thompson’s empty gun to the ground, thinking of him and how he died at the prison.
Retribution
.
A life for a life
.
An eye for an eye
.
But how do I do it? How do I kill Harley, how do I end it?
He thinks for a moment, and then it comes to him.
I’ll let God take him
...

He kneels beside Harley and removes the mask from Harley’s face. A pool of blood spills out from underneath it. If he didn’t bleed to death he would’ve eventually drowned in his own blood. Marcus watches as he gasps for air. He begins to twitch and shake. His eyes roll back into his head, showing nothing but the whites. Rocky's hair stands on end and he starts to growl and bark viciously at the spectacle. Then every hole begins to purge; piss, shit, and bloody vomit comes out of Harley all at once. Marcus hopes it was fear of eternal consequences that caused this, but he knows it happens when people change. It happens to all of them. Marcus stands up. When Harley’s yellowed eyes roll back down from their lids, Marcus brings his scythe down onto Harley’s head to finish the job. He dies instantly. Marcus kneels again and says a prayer for his own soul, asking the Lord’s forgiveness for all he’s done. And although he prays for Harley’s soul as well, he convinces himself that a demon like Harley doesn’t need a burial. He takes a few moments to gather himself. As much as he didn’t like Harley, he did spend a significant amount of time with the bastard behind bars. It wasn’t a great loss, but it was a loss nonetheless.

“Y’all are going west?” Marcus asks.

“Past the quarantine,” Willy says.

“You can ride with us,” Marcus says, motioning to his truck.

“Us?” Sheryl asks.

Michael and Amy peek their heads over the dash to see the aftermath of the gunfight.

Amy waves to everyone. “Hi!”

“Marcus has some serious explaining to do,” Michael whispers to her.