The Seventh Seal (17 page)

“There is heavy shit going down.”

John opened his eyes and thought for a second that a
rebellious Viking warrior had escaped from Valhalla.  Sully’s red hair
surrounded his upper body, urged on by the dry winter air.  He braided his
beard in various places.  A black, leather vest struggled to hold the bulk of
man inside it.  Numerous patches and symbols covered the vest, many of which
meant nothing to John.  Sully wore a black holster over one shoulder and rested
it on his left hip.  His eyes revealed turmoil, but a certain level of
excitement as well; the outlaw coping with a new, lawless world.

“Why bother to help after you ditched us at the Jigsaw?” 
John asked the question and pulled back from Sully, fearful that he may have
offended the red giant.

“Pure luck, brother.  Like I tried to tell you before: We
were in the area, heard gunfire, and jumped in the fray.  Didn’t know it was
you until I put my crosshairs on your chest.”

John laughed with an uncomfortable tick.  “Don’t know
whether to thank you or run.”

“You might wanna do both,” replied Sully.

Crystal appeared at Sully’s right and whispered into his
ear.  Sully’s expression did not change or betray his thoughts.  She walked
back behind the stage to check on Alex.

“He’ll be okay, but he ain’t goin’ anywhere.  Dude’s lost a
lot of blood and we got no way of fixing that.  Only time can replenish it.”

“How long?”

“Crystal thinks maybe a couple days, or maybe a week or
two.  It all depends on the shape his body is in and how quickly it can heal. 
Settle in, dude.  We’ve got plenty of beer and women to go around.”

John’s face flushed and he balled his fists at his sides.

“I can’t wait.”

Sully handed a beer and bottle opener to John.  He paused
and raised one eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“Like
I
tried to tell
you
: I gotta get to my
wife.  I know she’s alive and I think I know where she’ll be.”

Sully popped the top off of the beer and let the bottle cap
roll through his feet and over the edge of the stage.  It took a suicidal jump
and landed with a puny clink as it hit the concrete floor of the first row.

“I’m listenin’.”

“I need to get back to my house on Plainfield.  If she’s
alive, I know she’ll be there too.  Can’t say for sure, but I think our
neighborhood was one of the first to come under attack.  It’s been long enough
that I doubt they’re patrolling that street anymore.  If she’s still alive, and
I think she is, she’ll be there hoping I return too.”

“And then what?” asked Sully.  “You gonna hang your
Christmas decorations?”

John’s face dropped.

“It’s what I gotta do, and I can’t wait weeks for Alex to
get better and join me.  I’m asking that you either let me go alone or that you
join me.”

Sully put the beer up to his mouth.  The end of the bottle
disappeared into a cavernous mouth.  John watched Sully’s facial scars twitch
with indecision.  With the back of his left hand, Sully wiped the beer froth
from his beard.

“Fuck me.  I’m always up for spilling blood.”

John sighed and sat back on his milk crate until his head
rested on the wall. 

“Can we leave now?”

“Slow down there, cowboy.  I gotta get the boys rounded up,
decide who’s going, smoke a blunt.  Got lots of things to do before we go
marchin’ into another firefight.  Let’s party tonight and we’ll push out at the
crack of dawn tomorrow.  How’s eleven a.m.?”

John’s mouth twisted toward a grin, and then pulled back to
a thin smile.

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Why don’t you go and check on your buddy.  Crystal says
he’s come around.  He’s weak, but at least you can tell him what’s going on.”

Crystal appeared next to John and took him by the hand.  He
followed the sway of her hips up to the flaming-dragon tattoo on her lower
back.  Stretch marks crawled out from under frayed jeans and behind the top of
laced panties.  Crystal spun to smile at John, revealing crow’s feet and
streaks of temple gray.

John followed the woman through a maze of old sets and stage
props, which had not been used for productions in quite a long time and
probably would not be for many years to come.  He walked under the yawning hole
in the ceiling, which allowed the smoke from the fire ring to escape.

Crystal stopped in the doorway of a dressing room and held
up one arm, pointing to Alex’s cot.  Once John entered, she disappeared back
toward the stage.

Alex was on his back, boots off and sitting on the floor
underneath the cot.  A musty, blue moving blanket covered him from feet to
neck.  John saw scraps of tape stuck to it in various places, artifacts of the
ancients fleeing suburbia.  He crept into the room and heard Alex’s breathing,
uneven and ragged, but consistent.  As John approached, Alex’s head tilted up.

“Ah, it’s you.  I’d much prefer a biker babe in a Catholic
schoolgirl’s outfit.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I only wear that for Jana.”

Alex began to laugh, but it took a violent turn toward a
cough.  When the bout ended, a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his
mouth.  John winced a little.

“Sorry, man.”

Alex pulled his hand from underneath the blanket and waved
it at John.

“Not your fault.  You shouldn’t have to warn a man before
you make him laugh.”

“So what’s the deal?  Is there anyone here that can give you
an accurate update on your situation?”

“Our talkative friend Crystal gave Sully a report.  From
what I could understand, through beer spittle and secondhand smoke, I was hit
in the leg, shoulder, and chest.  The leg wound grazed the surface, and the
other bullet went clean through my chest.  It may have hit a lung, enough to
cause me minor discomfort.  He said that Crystal is worried about my shoulder
because the slug is still in there.  I’ve lost so much blood that if she tried
getting to it, I could bleed out.  On the other hand, if she leaves it until I
start to heal, there is a high risk of infection.  So that’s where we are.  I’m
not sure I’ve decided what I want them to do.”

“Are you sure they’re going to give you a choice?”

“No, not really.  I’ve got vials of drugs we took from my
office that haven’t been smashed to shit through our little adventure.  I’m
thinking about asking Sully to let Crystal try digging it out.  I can dope
myself up real good and, if I do go, I’ll go out on a nice high.  I can’t
imagine letting infection eat me from the inside out.  No one should have to go
that way.  Well, almost no one.”

Alex shook his head and coughed again into his hand.  The
faint odor of decay floated to John.  He reached out to touch Alex, and was
repulsed by the feel of his cold, clammy skin.

“You sound pretty set with your decision.”

“Well, I’ve been laying here with nothing else to think
about.  I can’t even think of finding my family if I’m not healthy.”

John looked around the room and spotted a feather boa
hanging from a dusty coatrack.  He walked over and shook it free of dust mites
and spiderwebs.  John wrapped it around Alex’s head like a bandana.

“I’ll see if I can get the road whores to party with you.”

Alex ignored John’s attempt at lightening the mood.

“You don’t have to wait for me.  Go.  Do what you need to
do.”

“Sully said he’ll come with me, bring his guys and
firepower.”

Alex coughed again.  The fit brought a star-shaped burst of
red to his palm. 

“Rest up.  Hopefully I’ll be back here with Jana and I can
introduce you two.  I think you’d get along great.”

Alex smiled and looked at the ceiling.  He avoided John’s
eyes.  “Yeah, good luck, bro.”

***

Sully and his gang partied throughout the night.  Beer
appeared from behind doors and from under furniture.  John overheard the guys
talking about the timing of the Apocalypse.  The cold winter would keep the
beer chilled well into March, before they would have to worry about it going
skunk.  By that time, they could get the bud in the ground and be smoking
homegrown by June.

John sat on a chair, nursing a beer throughout the night. 
The men did not exclude him from the dice, cards, or fondling of women, but
they didn’t go out of their way to include him either.  John laughed at the
absurdity of the situation.  He sat amongst a group of lawless outsiders
existing on the periphery of society, scoffed at and ignored by the
mainstream.  And now, he himself was on the outside: the taxpayer, the good
citizen, the husband, the homeowner.  John wondered how long it would take for
the roles to reverse completely.  If the Keepers of the Wormwood gained
control, who would they rebel against?  John realized that it did not really
matter to the bikers if they “won”.  They would be happy allowing the Holy
Covenant to control society the same way the capitalists and lawmakers had
before them.  From their perspective, nothing really changed except that they
had fewer enemies.  The Covenant removed the middle ground, leaving two
factions: the Church and those that resist it.  In a strange way, John felt
relieved that his world became black and white.  The grays made people lazy,
apathetic, and depressing.  A woman approached John from his left and sat on a
milk crate, shaking him from his contemplative state.

“I don’t care what they say.  I think it’s so romantic.  I
wish I had a guy that would do that for me.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know nothing about it.”

“I think I do, sweetheart.  So many times, the last thing
I’ve said to my man as he walked out the door was something stupid, like ‘and
don’t be late, asshole’.  Or, ‘don’t forget cigarettes on the way home’.  That
eats me up inside.  I’ve lost men after that and I’ve had to live with those
words forever.  With you, I think you got something like that going on.  I
think you need to talk to her, clear the air before your spirit can rest.  It
almost don’t matter if she lives or not; it’s for you, ain’t it?”

John stood and kicked his milk crate into the wall.

“What gives you the right, bitch?”

The woman smiled and exhaled a blue cloud of smoke toward
the broken mouth in the ceiling.  She stood and stepped right up to John.  He
tasted the tobacco and beer on her breath and felt the soft cushion of her
breasts on his chest.  John’s breath lodged in his chest.

“Because I know men, honey.  She doesn’t need you anymore
than she needs a vibrator.  I can see the guilt in your eyes and I can feel it
in your heart.”

“You don’t know me,” John replied.  But his knees buckled,
and he thought the floor shifted under his feet.

“I think I do.  There are certain things we’re privvy to
that you’re not.  We’ve been pushed to the margins of society for so long that
we’ve developed sensitivities to things you blindly walk past.  My great-grandmother
came here from the heart of Romania.  I’ve received just an echo of her Sight,
but it’s enough for me to smoke you out.”

“I need air.”

John left the odd biker chick standing by the milk crate. 
He looked over his shoulder at her as he walked toward the back exit.

“They are at the corner of Mayfield and Plainfield,
Sergeant.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

The sergeant turned and sent the cryptic hand motions to the
others.  He saw the light reflect off of the scopes as the men turned toward
their anticipated targets.

“Do not, I repeat, do not engage except on my command.  Is
that clear?”

“Yes Sergeant.”

The young soldier stood back and removed the safety from his
weapon.

***

The morning brought an unusual snow squall.  While not
uncommon for lake-effect precipitation to douse the region with a chilling
rain, a major November snowstorm was rare.

Jana picked up her walking pace.  She’d kept well behind the
two soldiers leading the way, and in front of Commander Byron.  The old soldier
would never admit it to a woman, but Jana knew the march was taking its toll on
his withered muscles.  Byron’s head lolled, and he spent a good deal of time
staring at the ground four feet ahead.  His arm tensed and shook at the end of
the cane, straining to provide equilibrium to a bent frame.

“This is it,” Jana declared.

Jana stopped walking.  She stood in the middle of Mayfield
Road, facing the road sign attached to the telephone pole at the corner. 
Bullet holes punctuated ‘Plainfield Road’ in odd and profane ways.

The two soldiers stopped and turned toward Byron, awaiting a
command from him.

“How far down to take us to your house?”

Jana ignored the awkward turn of phrase. 

“We’re on the right, where the road also bends to the
right.  I’m guessing ten or twelve houses.”

“Sit.”

Commander Byron moved past Jana as she sat down on the
curb.  Her long legs spread out over the edge of the road, collecting dozens of
dying snowflakes on her denim.  The two soldiers moved closer and stood on each
side of Byron.  The trio refused to let any word escape its cell and find refuge
in Jana’s ears.  Byron did most of the talking while the two soldiers stood and
nodded in agreement.  Byron addressed Jana again.

“The street under yours, Winston.  Which is the house that
sits on you?”  Byron’s eccentric word combination understandably confused Jana.

“You mean the street behind mine.  Yes, that’s Winston.  Not
sure what you mean about the sitting part.”

Byron’s English and use of vernacular dissipated with his
ability to walk without a limp.  He slouched on his cane and pushed words at
Jana, as if the physical ordeal had left him little energy to continue
Americanizing his speech.

“I will not wait to strike you in blood.  Answer me.”

Jana shook her head, expelling snowflakes in every
direction.  She stood and pointed to the row of houses that backed up to her
street.

“That is Winston and it runs parallel to Plainfield.  If we
head down Winston, you should be able to see the back of my house.  I will
recognize it when we’re close.”

She threw a knowing look at the guard who’d watched her urinate,
then continued.

“I want to know what happens to me before I take you there,
Commander.”

“Let’s go,” said Byron to the guards, ignoring Jana’s
question.

“Wait!” she shouted.

The two soldiers moved beside her, ready to grab and secure
each arm if she refused to cooperate with the plan.

“I am to get you there,” said Byron.  “What happens to you
after that is not for my concern.”

Jana stomped a foot into the fluffy snow pile; the soldiers
grabbed her wrists.

“You told me I would be turned over to Father and that no
harm would come.”

Byron ignored her yet again and hobbled down the sidewalk
toward Winston, with the guards pulling Jana along behind.

***

“They’re moving back down Mayfield towards Winston.”

The sergeant looked through his binoculars and confirmed the
message from his men in the field.

What fools
, he thought. 
Do they really think we
won’t notice them coming in the back door
?

“Make yourselves known, but don’t engage.”

***

Two soldiers stepped into the barren street.  Dead leaves
and random trash hugged the corner of the fences.  Electrical lines spread out
across sidewalks and lawns like dead serpents after a flood.  No more than
fifty yards away, the marksmen pointed their weapons toward the approaching
party, making sure the deadly red dots of laser scopes landed on their chests.

Byron halted the two guards and continued, moving closer to
the armed soldiers.  He saw the youth in their eyes and the glaze inspired by
the Warriors of Christ.  Commander Byron held up both hands and called out to
them.

“Brothers of the Holy Covenant!  How I am happy to see you! 
I am Commander Byron, soldier of God and servant to Father.  I have a delivery
for him.”

Neither soldier moved.  They stood with legs apart, ready to
fire at the slightest indication of trouble.

“Please contact your superior officer and let him know of my
arrival.  The delivery is behind me.”

Byron swung his arm around to where the soldiers and Jana
stopped in the middle of the road.

“If you come closer, we will engage,” said one of the soldiers
to Byron.  “Wait until we can verify your identity and mission.”

The other marksman turned and marched back down Winston. 

Byron sighed, then dug a crumpled cigar from his pocket. 
The continuing snow accumulated everywhere, turning the old warrior into a
vision of the Yeti.  The bright-blue flame of his lighter chased the falling
snow away and gave birth to the rolled tobacco leaf.  Byron drew in his breath,
pulsing the orange glow on the end.

The first soldier returned.  He whispered into the ear of
the other, who nodded, then spoke.

“Drop your weapons to the ground.  Walk backwards towards
us.”

Byron nodded to the two soldiers holding Jana.  They let go
of her, and she swung her arms down in defiance and disgust.  The cold clink of
metal rang up from the frozen asphalt as automatic weapons hit the ground. 
Byron and his guards turned their backs to the men, and commenced pacing
backward.  Within minutes, the Warriors of Christ had snapped the plastic zip ties
on their wrists.  One of the marksmen grabbed Jana by the arm and led her ahead
of the others, but did not secure her.

***

“He has arrived with the girl.”

“Secure them all in the house and get your soldiers off the
street as quickly as possible.”

Father’s voice snapped through the tinny speaker of the
two-way radio.

“When can we expect you?” the sergeant asked his absent
superior.

“Two hours.  If Commander Byron does anything but smoke,
shoot him dead.”

“Yes sir.”

The sergeant set the radio on the table and looked up into
the barrel of a gun.  The blast knocked him through a picture window and into
the driveway of the next-door neighbor, his dead body sliding across the ice
and into the grass.  Other blasts rang out.  Jana found herself balled up on
the hardwood floor of her living room while a close-range gunfight ensued
around her.  She heard screaming and more shouts, broken glass, and the pulsing
repetition of machine-gun fire.  Jana crawled toward the front door, coughing
and spitting as suffocating, acrid smoke filled the room.  She reached forward
across the threshold until a black boot crushed her wrist to the marble tile of
the foyer.  Jana heard the fine bones in her wrist break as the pain raced to
her brain.