Transformation (25 page)

“Yeah,” was all Eddie said. He started to shimmy down the pipes to the ground.

Sal was worried he was too weak to climb down and was terrified of falling but knew the sooner he could get down the better. The slide down the pipe wasn’t so hard but the concrete grated his knuckles raw and the stress and exertions hit him the hardest when he was finally on the ground. He felt his body relaxing and shaking with weakness as he fought to stay on his feet.

Even after they made it to the ground safely, they still had to find a safe haven before they could even catch their breath. They walked on the bus roofs in the opposite direction of the others and clambered down a high fence to the street. It was mercifully clear.

A few blocks away and they had to take what they could get. Sal was simply at the end of his strength and could no longer go on. They entered a large dark drugstore a few blocks away through broken windows. It was pitch black inside and Eddie used a lighter he carried to navigate the cave like aisles, leaving Sal at the front of the store. The man could barely walk and Eddie thought they would both be safer if he stayed back.

He found food, drink, and some pain relievers for Sal. They clambered to the roof of a small building nearby and Sal was done. No longer needing to run, he ate, drank, and laid on his back and fell into a very deep slumber.

Hours later and Eddie was unable to wake Sal. He wanted to move on, but couldn’t leave him on the roof alone and unconscious. Sal was sleeping so soundly Eddie was starting to worry about him. He worried that maybe he’d lost so much blood he wouldn’t regain consciousness. But then he noticed the pills that Sal had taken and picked up the bottle. They were pain relievers with a sleep aid in them. That made Eddie feel better but now all he could do was watch the large man sleep and hope he woke up sooner than later. He tried to sleep a little himself but could only manage a few catnaps.

The sun rose and Eddie was up and pacing the roof, looking around the area, trying to stay busy as Sal slept on. He finally decided to try and wake him so they could move on but even when he got Sal awake, he was so groggy he would lay his head right back down and fall instantly back to sleep.

Almost a full day went by and Eddie was worried. The bottle said to take two pills once a day and Sal had taken five.

31.

Ron backed away out of fear as Francis walked forward, hands held high. But he couldn’t abandon the old man. He was terrified and stepped close to a tree for protection but he held his ground and didn’t flee. The next few seconds seemed to stand still as his mind raced.

Ron had never been so unsure of his actions in all his life. On one hand he knew his only logical choice was to run as fast as he could away from this place and the old biker Dale said was not to be trusted. But then Francis was trying to rescue him. He knew if he lingered any longer, he would most certainly die. He would probably die if he ran too.

Ron found himself stepping forward with his hands up.

The Nazi was closing fast, holding a rifle, pointing it at Weed. When Ron stepped out, he stopped and turned the weapon on him.

Weed struck, once again, at the best possible moment. He’d already had his knife out, open, and blade locked into place. He slipped it from the sleeve of his shirt when he lowered his hands. He was armed.

The young pursuer didn’t see it coming. So great was his hatred for blacks he zeroed in on Ron.

Weed was on him and stabbed for his neck. The young man fell backwards and dropped his rifle as he went down. Before he had time to react, Weed jumped on the prone man, pinning his arms and legs, driving the blade of his knife into his throat. Much as he’d killed Odin. He was amazed at how easy it was to kill most of these folks. None of them seemed to have ever been in a real fight before.

Weed stood, quickly gathered the pistol, rifle, ammo and radio.

“They’re coming,” Ron said.

Weed handed him the rifle. “Then we best be getting a move on.”

Watching the man get murdered made him sick. He knew it had to be done and knew Francis had just saved his life. But what bothered Ron the most was that the murder of this young man bothered him far less than the death of the man that had tried to kill him—twice.

Neither Ron or Old Francis were woodsmen, but Francis seemed to have a keen sense of how to evade his pursuers and avoid detection. It surprised Ron how often Francis would stop to listen, letting their hunters gain ground, and then walk calmly away. Then it all made sense when Francis stopped once, broke a few branches and kicked up the pine blanket to the right and then he led Ron to the left. They walked a mere forty feet or so to a slight rise where they could see the area they’d just left but were concealed in the trees. They watched as the group of men and boys stopped and then continued on to the right. Francis had tricked them into trying to ascend a steep slope. Now about sixty feet out, Ron and Weed watched as the men were struggling up the steep hillside. They all started to bunch up, several were talking and they all started to look around.

Weed motioned for Ron to give him the rifle. He took aim and dropped one of the men. The rest went down low and out of sight. He waited another minute then fired another shot at a branch that moved. He handed the rifle back to Ron with a smile.

“Let’s move.” Francis took the lead and walked quietly in the opposite direction. After a few minutes of leisurely downhill travel, he fell back and walked by Ron.

“It’ll take some time for them to discover we ain’t layin’ in wait.”

Ron nodded and for the next hour or more the two fell silent. There was still no sign of their pursuers.

The two had long been walking slowly, now they were dragging their feet. They could barely lift their legs. Francis broke the silence.

“Shit, Ronnie, I need to rest. I mean ‘flat out on my back for an hour or two’ rest.”

Ron looked back. “Me too. Think it’s safe?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” Weed laid down on the thick pine blanket. The cool temperature made for a soft bug free natural mattress. Ron followed suit.

“Francis. It’s getting cold.”

“Yeah, and it’ll get a lot colder.”

“You think we can build a fire?”

But all Ron got out of the old man was soft snoring. He huffed quietly and shook his head.
How can he sleep so easily?
Ron thought there was no way he was going to fall asleep, but shortly he was out cold too.

Ron woke in a panic. A calloused hand clamped hard over his mouth. He struggled for a moment until he heard Francis’ voice in the dark.

“It’s me, damn it.”

The hard grip eased and Ron could breathe freely.

“They’re close,” Francis whispered near Ron’s ear. “We have to move.”

Ron stumbled in the darkness, hands out like a blind man, straining to see Francis, following him mostly by the sounds of his footfalls. He wondered how the old man was moving through the dark so easily. Then he heard Francis stumble and grumble something about a fucking root.

The sky above was barely visible through the trees. When the two looked back, they could see lights bobbing and swaying in the dark many yards away. They could hear the faint crack and crunch of the men passing through the woods. They kept moving through the dark.

Ron was so cold he didn’t shiver and knew that wasn’t a good sign. His body felt almost hot as he walked on, following the faint blob in front of him that was Francis’ back. His breath burned his lungs and his feet felt like someone had pounded his toes with hammers. He was feeling a deep fear that his body would fail him suddenly, and he would fall in the darkness to die in one horrible way or another.

They walked in silence for what felt like hours. Ron finally stopped.

“I have to rest. I’m sorry.” Ron wheezed between breaths.

He heard Francis sigh deeply in the darkness and thought the old man was going to call him a pussy. But Francis had relief in his voice when he spoke.

“Agreed,” was all Francis said and Ron heard him grunting as he went to the forest floor.

Ron knelt and grimaced in pain. Pain in all its forms tormented him. He was starving and weak. But above all the emotional pain of being in a situation so very dismal, he just wanted to give up weighed him down at every step.

A flame jumped to life in the darkness. The tiny flame danced as Francis gathered sticks and cones to burn. Ron scraped up what he could and soon they had a small fire going that was so very welcomed but wasn’t enough.

“We need to risk a bigger one,” Francis said in a hoarse voice. “I’m going to die in this miserable darkness if we don’t.”

On their hands and knees the two men gathered as much fuel as they could. Ron found a few sizable branches. They tossed them on the flames and created a blaze that would surely draw the attention of anyone close by, but they didn’t care at this point. They both fed the flames for almost twenty minutes, gathered a few substantial chunks of wood, and relished the intense heat.

The two men lay on their sides warming their bodies, scooting pine needles into the flames so they wouldn’t ignite the ones around them. Soon the fire had a good base of glowing embers that pulsed as they ignited the chunks of wood above them.

After almost an hour of silence Ron spoke.

“I hate to ask, but you know Dale said a lot of stuff . . . “

“Lots of it was true.”

“Yeah, I figured it was true, in the past. But what’s important is how things are going forward. Dale insisted people don’t change…”

“Agreed. I’d say before all this zombie shit went down he was spot on, but all of us changed for better and worse.” Weed was relaxing, feeling all warm and fuzzy. He chuckled at himself. “I tell you, if you would’ve told me just a few weeks ago that I’d be sitting in the woods with a . . . “

“A spook, a coon . . . “ Ron said with exasperation.

“Well, yeah that would have been a few of the choice names that came to mind, but like I said, a lot's changed. Now there ain’t no races, just people. And honestly, you ain’t like no blacks I ever been around.”

Ron grunted, a mix of feelings about the comment. He stopped talking. He was so distracted he’d barely thought of anything other than staying alive, but now thoughts of Donna flooded his sober mind. Weed could see the shift in his mood, a change in his face.

“Hey man, sorry about all that went down.”

“Did you do it? Build the bomb?” Ron looked Francis in the eyes.

“Nah. I got no reason too. It makes no sense.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I’m too tired for diplomacy so I’ll just say again, I think that young fellow mixed up some shit that just blew.”

“Yeah.” Ron wasn’t sure what he’d accomplish if he knew anyway. He looked down, exhausted and wondering why he was fighting to stay alive. He realized he was still fighting to get back to Donna and that thought deflated him. He lay back on the cold pine needles.

Weed was watching Ron. He could see the man’s despair. He wished he had a blunt to offer him, a shot of hooch, but all he had was words and he was fucking awful with words.

“Sorry man.” Fucking awful!

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence watching the flames dance, staring into the embers. Both thinking very different thoughts.

“Ronnie, I’m sorry I dragged you along on this shit.”

Ron looked up. “Why are we here anyway? I think I am supposed to be mad at you. But you do seem to be trying your best to get me out of this mess.”

Weed chuckled. “Yeah, I was aching for some road time, didn’t want to go alone, and most importantly I needed . . . “ Weed paused. “Well, it sounds so god-awful stupid now but my stash is gone and . . . “

“Aw jeez,” Ron moaned. “We are here because you needed some dope?”

“Um, yeah, but it’s good dope. I mean really good shit.”

“You mean you dragged me into the bowels of a white supremacist stronghold to get some weed?” Ron was incredulous. “Me? Of all people?”

“Aw shit, Ronnie. I honestly didn’t think a soul would be in the place. I was just messing with you. For the distraction. For both of us.”

Weed looked down at the fire and couldn’t help but laugh. “Shit, Ronnie I told you. It’s really good shit.”

Ron tried to be mad, but couldn’t help but crack a smile at just how ludicrous the situation was.

“A mean comment or silly prank is messing with someone, but this . . . This shit is just crazy.”

“It’s your fault my brother.”

“What? How in the world can any of this be my fault?”

“Well as I remember it, you came to me to get high. Then you smoked the last of my shit—my gold shit too. Then you agreed to come with me to get more.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to any of this.”

“You were pretty high, and drunk too. How was I supposed to know you couldn’t handle your shit.”

Ron was still bemused. “And there’s nowhere else to get more weed than a white power compound in the middle of nowhere?”

“I told you, it’s . . . “

“Good shit, I know.”

“No, it’s
really
good shit. I mean it. World class. Look Ron, I’m sorry about all this. I really thought no one would be here, and we’d just gather up some stuff and be off.”

Ron didn’t care. He flopped on his back once again. The loss of Donna lessened any anger he might have for Francis and dulled any amusement he might have at the situation. He just wanted far away from all these fucked up people. He looked up at the stars and wondered what was next. What would he do if he did make it all the way back to the garage? He had a thought.

“Francis. Dale told me bikers were racists, hardcore racists. This all started because one of your buddies tried to hang me.”

“Not all. Not all hardcore. And Banjo wasn’t my buddy. Before all this shit his MC and mine were bitter enemies. Stupid shit really.”

“MC?”

“Motorcycle Club.”

“And it turns out he didn’t tell us the part where he tried to string you up.”

“Really?”

“Yep, hoodwinked us but good that Banjo.”

Ron did see the irony of almost being lynched by one biker and saved from it by another.

“So what’s next?”

“Well, if we aren’t killed by the Nazis, freeze to death, starve, fall off a cliff, get eaten by the dead or a wild fucking animal—I don’t know guess I was hoping we could get back to the garage.”

“What about your weed?”

“I thought that was off the table.”

“I don’t know. After all this, it seems like a waste to leave empty handed. I’ve got nothing to go back to.”

“Well in that case, let me tell you what we need to do next.”