Dec. 10, 2011

Kenneth had the girls in his truck and they were moving toward the airstrip before the sun rose.

Andy’s eyes opened and he felt a sharp pain in his side as Kenneth steered the pickup past obstacles on the highway. He sat up and yawned. Andy knew what that pain meant and he thought there was something about this town when he crossed the bridge the day before. An angel was nearby — a great angel.

Andy knew that because he was once such a creature, when he was known as Andras — the raven-headed marquis, cast down for constantly creating trouble and revolt and for inspiring his charges to kill. Andy was a fallen angel and he knew what had happened to the world. He also knew that he had to make his way to Yellowstone in order to get off this world. One way or another, he was going to get into the holy eye and start over in a new world. He harboured no delusions about returning to his former acclaim; he merely wished to get off this doomed world and away from all the sycophantic cretins.

It was bad enough when it was overrun with simple, pleading, ungrateful children but it was now merely a waiting room for the doomed to bide their sordid and salacious times and he did not want to be a part of that slow, inevitable death.

In his grandest time aboard this world, Andras had commanded 30 legions of bloodlusting demons but the past millennium had been brutal to him. He lost his legions at the end of the First World War and had been wandering, at first angry and desperate, but in the last 30 or so years, he’d been renewed and had been hopping from one ill-struck locale to another, seeing each new sign and knowing the end was near.

Now and then he would sense angels, and felt a small measure of comfort in that as he knew he still had time to get into a holy eye.

Yellowstone, the largest, closest and best known of the holy eyes, posed the best option for him to get off Earth. He needed his companions to get there and would need them to help him get in. Defeating a grand angel, or deceiving one, would take everything he knew. Andy was thrilled when he awoke.

He roused his troubled band now and with a singing lilt in his voice, shouted, “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey — time to start rolling east m’chickadees.”

Angel pain always turned to euphoria.

Kenneth also felt a pain as he passed along the upper strip. Stacy sensed him weaken briefly and asked if he was okay. Kenneth nodded and told her the truth. “Just felt something, is all.” His eyes closed tightly and he grimaced.

Carrie thought of the solitary figure on the bridge and wondered about me once again, praying I was okay and sending out vibes of love and gratitude.

Always an optimist and always one to see the bright side of all situations, she cast her vibes into the ethers and prayed I would feel them.

I wish I could say I felt them.

All I was feeling at that moment was cold. A light rain was falling and the relentless creep of December was pushing the shorter days to the coolness of winter.

Ng and his charges spent the night in Corvallis, hunkered down in a dormitory at the Oregon State University. Their task that day was to find some trucks to continue northward to Portland. He had frozen his nuts off in the sidecar the night before and knew that motorcycle travel would now have to be left behind on the coast. Besides, he was certain that Portland would pose threats best handled with better cover and larger horsepower.

Once at the airfield, Kenneth quickly started his already-fueled plane and the three of them loaded supplies aboard.

It was 7:07 a.m. when they shuddered and rattled into the low grey clouds and rose above the Coast Range, away from Newport.

Shivering and peeing against the side of a boathouse, I heard a distant buzzing sound and knew it was a small airplane.

Andy also heard the plane and with a gust of urgency, had his charges outside and rolling out of town on their dirt bikes. The cold morning lashed at their exposed hands and nipped their faces, as Andy raced up to the Coast Highway and then veered east on Highway 20.

It only took me a couple of minutes to reach the south entry to the bridge and I pushed the Dodge, clacking mightily, into the front of a mini-van and bashed it aside. A thin coil of blackish/grey smoke still flitted from the remains of the tanker truck as I growled past and charged toward the north side of the bridge. I actually felt bad when I sideswiped a car with the truck, as if it would harm my standing with an insurance company. Fucking rat puke sons-of-bitches that they were.

As I rolled off the Yaquina Bay bridge and rounded the long corner toward the upper downtown, I found myself hoping that insurance brokers were passed over in the disappearance and were now being relentlessly disappointed and ripped off by a pack of savage insurance frauds.

In fact, numerous insurance mucky-mucks were left behind. Some became powerful warlords while others were mercilessly trampled by sundry, savage death machines. Karma truly is a wonderful thing.

I had no idea which direction the plane had been traveling but opted to keep rolling north and I was soon leaving Newport behind and nearing picturesque Depoe Bay. A memory of my daughter being spat upon by a seal, in a small tourist-trap aquarium, warmed my heart. The heater in the Dodge was now warming the rest of me.

I stopped in Depoe Bay and ransacked a convenience store that was blissfully untouched since the disappearance and I loaded the truck with a wide array of supplies: water, dry goods, canned goods, beer, lighters, gum and other items. The tiny, touristy village, home to one of the smallest ports in the world, had been untouched by evil, likely because of the clusterfuck on the Yaquina Bay Bridge.

I was able to fire up a gas generator and get a diesel fuel pump working, after about half an hour of fumbling and swearing and with the Dodge stuffed full of supplies and fuel, I pushed north toward Lincoln City.

About a mile outside the small seaside town, I found another key reason for the undamaged state of Depoe Bay. A car carrier semi-trailer had jackknifed after colliding with another semi-trailer and the Coast Highway was completely closed. I contemplated using some of the dynamite to clear a path but feared I might draw attention to myself, so I turned around and crept back toward Newport. It was 9:09 a.m. when I finally began heading east on Highway 20.

Once again, I had no idea which way I was going and or what I was doing. I was just following a road and seeing where it took me.

As I passed through Toledo, a few miles east of Newport, and took a sharp, jarring corner over a railway crossing, Andy and his crew were entering Corvallis — frozen and testy.

Ng, impatient and irked from trying to get the louts he was traveling with moving, heard the tinny buzz of the dirtbikes in the distance.  At first he thought it was the plane that flew overhead earlier, waking him. He had wandered away from the university in search of a good truck and was walking up a tree-lined street, which held a few large houses converted into frat houses. Then he heard the whine of the distant bikes and raced back in the direction he’d come. Ng felt fear.

Ng never felt fear.

He ran like a skittish child fleeing a dark basement.

He ran from himself as he did in his dreams — a child terrorized by an inner demon it could not understand. A baby screaming — left alone and starving. Ng almost tripped over a curb as he pounded across another wet street. Sharp, wet air filled his lungs, still weak from years in a small cage. His heart strained in his chest and then he realized he was running toward the sounds of the dirtbikes. His sneakers skidded him to an iffy halt. He naturally hit the breaks as he came upon a major road but he found no humour in the gaff. Ng lunged toward the door of a coffee house, knocking over a sandwich board sign that exclaimed in a streaked faux fluffy pink chalk, ‘Todays (sic) student special Gamma Ray Dark.’ Lunch speceal (sic) 8.88 Todays (sic) lucky number – 9.’

The spring hinged door slammed behind Ng and he stuttered forward and emitted a nasally “ehhh” and turned, expecting to see something.

He doubled over and coughed. His head wobbled on his neck from the rasping in his chest. It was the first time in his adult life that Ng had been thusly winded. A small penance compared to the lives he tormented and destroyed.

His ears thumping from the explosion of blood rampaging within, Ng strained to listen for the bikes, or plane or whatever it was he had heard.

The dark, dank coffee shop was a musky mixture of odors, ranging from the still powerful twang of coffee beans to a slightly nauseating twack of month old breads, muffins, bagels, creams, milks and sandwiches. Located across the street from the university, the coffee shop had once been a gathering place of minds — young and old, wise and book smart. Poets and dreamers and musicians and schemers; future politicians, football players, economists and bums.

None of that resonated with Ng. He wasn’t far from the safety of his numbers. They were across the road and just down a ways. He could make it. But he couldn’t move.

Andy sensed Kenneth and vice versa, like the arthritic sense incoming wet weather. The pain is like being stung in the back while driving down a highway with your window down.

Ng’s fear was as acute as that, too. But Andy could not sense Ng, because he was, as Andy the raven-headed would put it, ‘an insignificant gnat.’

It’s a shame, for Ng, because just as he was taking his first step toward the door of the coffee house, his breathing leveled and heart calmer, Andy appeared outside the small bay window fronting the business.

Ng froze. Terror blasted through his bone marrow and his head lightened. He swooned briefly and Andy turned. In the reflection off the window, he saw movement across the green space leading to the university dorms.

Standing a few feet from him, Hex heard Andy’s order. “Take the rest and kill them all.”

Ng barely heard him speak and in his now completely shattered mind, he believed he heard “make reticent cull it full.”

He battled with the meaning as Hex and Andy’s four other demons clopped and splished across the road. Andy leaned against the bay window and lit a cigarette. The cool misty morning harkened him back over the ages, to the land of his birth and a memory of his mother coursed through him, making him turn and glance in the window. His face seemed thinner than usual, he thought.

Sweat erupted from Ng’s face and he trembled as he struggled to remain still. He’d assumed that this dark, terrifying creature could not see into the coffee house. And he gleaned from seeing the others appear and move across the road, that he might be better off where he was.

To Ng’s moist relief, Andy moved away from the window and casually strolled across the road, puffing on his cigarette.

Ng took a step forward and Andy halted, just before reaching the far curb. He turned and looked at the coffee house through the blue smoke of his latest drag and smiled.

Ng could only make out his dark figure across the road. He couldn’t see the flickering, shiny blackness of Andy’s eyes. But he could feel him. He froze again and sweat bead production resumed in what had become a prodigious strike in Ng’s temples.

Andy smiled and turned back toward the university at the same time muffled gunfire erupted. He smiled again. He knew the sounds of those weapons. He didn’t hear other weapons firing. The smile stayed on his face as he idled toward the sounds of continued, one-sided gunfire, which halted as quickly as it began. Andy lit another cigarette and unholstered a large handgun from beneath the Outback slicker he relied upon to keep his ancient bones warm.

Ng had slinked to a vantage point at the coffee house door and watched, with laboured, stinky breath, as Andy rounded a corner and disappeared.

None of Ng’s men stood a chance.

Hex, May, Peterson, Calder, a dim, foul thug and ‘Crest,’ so named for the white smile that beamed from his dark face, came at the bikers from three directions and half of them were mowed down in the first hail of gunfire. Hex yelled for their surrender and they promptly dropped their weapons.

Very Scary Perry was hit in the shoulder and was on the ground, defeated. His weapon was dangling in a holster on his hog. He wondered where Ng was and thought he may be behind this ambush.

Hex signaled for the survivors to gather by Perry, a man kept from the disappearance for a great number of reasons, the least of which being his unquenchable thirst for all things poisonous and ingesting them. At this moment, Very Scary was trounced out of his generally small mind on some mushrooms he found in the bar in Newport.

And for that fact, Very Scary Perry Mansfield would experience one of the more pleasurable departures — of the many millions that would occur in the next year. May’s first slug hit him in the stomach and he let out a hysterical woof noise. He was laughing when her second slug hit him in the face.

The five assassins did their work and polished off the rest of the bikers in a final hail of bullets.

Approaching nearby, Andy smiled again and thought he might like to stay in this town for a spell. It held treats and surprises. They stopped for gas and just came upon this wonderful opportunity to thin the herd.

Ng stumbled through the back of the coffee house and skiffled away down a back alley, his heels heavily digging into the crushed gravel.

As Ng was fleeing the toothed shadows of a black wolf, Kenneth banked his trusty Beechcraft Musketeer Super III out of Santiam Pass, following Highway 126, and Carrie, seated in the back, felt relieved to see blue sky ahead, over Redmond.

I continued to drive toward Corvallis, passing through the sleepy villages of Eddyville and Blodgett. They appeared normal. No vehicles angled into trees or ditches; no piles of clothing here and there.

Ng picked a house at random, believing that would give him the best odds of not being found, several blocks from the university grounds.

Andy praised his charges for their swift and efficient professionalism, once again earning himself their dying devotion, and informed them that they were going to spend the day in Corvallis. Standing in a cool, misty morning, on the grounds of Oregon State University, feeling lucky not to be standing in snowfall, the five demon warriors whooped and cheered, their asses wet and bellies empty.

They set off on their freshly gassed bikes and Ng, standing at a slightly ajar back door of a pre Second World War red brick home, once again strained to listen, trying to determine where they may be or going.

Andy didn’t have a clue. He just wanted some comfort for the evening. He knew the weather was just going to get shittier as they got into the Cascades, just the other side of the Willamette Valley. He was formulating a plan to forage for a few trucks, so they could cart their bikes with them and stay warm heading east to the land of ice and snow, and internal eternal fire. They needed to rest up. The next while may be strenuous, he realized.

I was weaving through Philomath, on the outskirts of Corvallis, when Andy turned into the drive leading to the Hilton Garden Inn. His crew followed him inside and he led a back-up power search and establish mission. That easily accomplished, Andy lit the hotel vacancy sign, had a chuckle about it, and then proceeded to draw a big, fat, hot bath.

His charges did their lecherous thing — beginning with the consumption of crack and meth.

Andy’s cavalier attitude gave Ng an edge, so Ng believed. Like the shadow of a cat, he skirted the Hilton, using all available cover and reconnoitered to the best of his ability. When I drove past him, he nearly soiled his trousers.

Clack-clack-clack past the hotel; I was stunned to see lights on from within and on the sign. The decision to become concerned took a few seconds. The Hilton looked warm and inviting. I imagined sitting in its hot tub with a case of beer and a couple of fatties and the comforts of life teased and taunted me — the devil’s allure licked at my genitals.

Oh yeah. Signs of life usually mean threats of death.

I decided to park up the block and take a peek.

Ng saw me emerge from the truck, a shotgun in each hand. He saw its taillights blink as I pressed the fob. He saw me head directly toward cover and begin edging toward the lighted hotel.

Inside, Andy was adding more hot water to his bath and sighed contentedly.

His charges lolled about in a pair of rooms on the second floor, ingesting dangerous drugs. They were the champions, damn it.

Ng watched as I tried a side door and then shouldered up to the front of the hotel and slipped carefully inside. He changed his vantage point, feeling less the hunted and more the hunter. He expected to hear popping sounds. All he heard was the cool December wind and between gusts, the caws of crows and ravens. Several had taken up perch on the hotel.

Once inside, I was immediately worried. Six dirt bikes were scattered in the foyer, messy tracks leading to the back of each from the door I had just come through.

I shoulder holstered the 12 gauge and checked to make sure the 10 gauge was good to go. The Glock was also ready for action. But I wasn’t.

Ng saw me creep out the front doors and slink back to the Dodge. He saw its taillights blink and watched as I stepped up into it. A second later, the truck quickly pulled away and he saw its taillights flicker one more time as I recklessly skidded around a corner and disappeared from his sight.

I barreled up a series of roads and pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot. Clacking past the front of the store, I noticed large holes in the glass doors. A car in the parking lot was charred black, resting on white-grey rims. The vehicles next to it were singed to various degrees. Looters had done a good job here. I opted not to step inside in search of supplies.

I stopped the truck in the parking lot, just before the road, and tried to figure out what I should do. I was doing fine before seeing the hotel all lit up.

Curiosity was gnawing at my stomach. Who was in that hotel? Were they friendly? Should I flee? What harm would it do to drive by again?

Ng saw the truck turn the corner and begin rolling toward the hotel. He stepped back into his shadows again. Once again the arrival of that truck had scared him witless. Ng was growing weary and the damp cold was making him crazy, he reasoned.

I clacked up to the hotel in a crawling idle and, stopping in front, searched windows for signs of life. ‘Vacancy’ glimmered off the wet metallic black of the hood of the Dodge.

My right thumb leaned into the horn.

Ng’s skin strained to keep his innards inside. He barely restrained the urge to flee. Only his completely psychopathic entirety gave him the foolishness to remain in place. A sane or normal person would have been scampering through yards, down alleys and streets away from the Hilton, where crows and ravens continued to arrive by the minute. Dozens of them leapt from perches on the hotel when the horn blared, as startled as Ng.

Bath water running, Andy did not hear the horn.

Setting a clump of crack on a bed table and exhaling messily, May stiffened and hissed, “shhh.”

Hex and Peterson looked at one another.

“That was a car horn,” Peterson said. Hex cackled. May grabbed a handgun from the bed-side table and looked out the window, which was at the back of the hotel.

Hex trotted out of the room and entered the one across the hall. He looked out the window and saw the black Dodge, appearing ominous down on the wet street.

“Heads up!” he shouted.

Andy started in his bath and water sloshed onto the bathroom floor. He bolted from the water, wrapped a towel around himself and scampered from the master suite he’d commandeered.

Andy came upon his charges, huddling in the room Hex had entered.

“Some truck sitting there,” Hex reported as Andy entered the room, dripping.

Andy looked out the window.

His eyes latched onto mine. I flailed in surprise and fear. Crows and ravens once again leapt from their perches on the hotel.

“That’s exactly what we need,” Andy said to his crew. “Right there, that big bastard of a truck — that’s exactly what we need. That and another one. Go get it for me.”

Hex and Crest volunteered for the gig and as they slipped their boots on, Andy, still holding the towel around his waist and still staring down at me, ordered them to bring me in alive.

“Don’t see many folk going around by themselves. May, you and Calder slip out the back and survey the perimeter. Do it first. Hex, wait until May gives you the word that it is clear out there. This could be a trap. This might have something to do with those greasy slugs you extinguished this morning.”

With a whir, I opened the window and waved up at Andy. He waved back. I felt a surge of optimism. Maybe this is just some people just like me — lost and wondering what the fuck they did to deserve all this shit, I hoped.

Andy held up a hand — made a sign to say ‘wait one second’ and then gave me a thumbs up sign.

Ng saw Hex round the corner of the hotel and begin moving toward the Dodge, careful to keep in my blind side. Crest appeared behind him.

I didn’t see Hex until he jammed his pistol in my face, the barrel smashing against my nose, splitting it open.

“Fuck!” was all I could say. Hex and Crest dragged me from the truck and forced me to the ground, a pistol grinding into the back of my right ear.

I heard the Dodge turn off and one of them grabbed my hair at the back of my head and hoisted. I rose achingly to my feet, blood lining my mouth from the gash on my nose.

I heard one of them remark about the weaponry in the truck and they laughed.

With a few kicks to the backs of my legs and ass, they moved me forward and into the hotel, where I met Andy — the man who saved my life and gave me hope for the future.

Ian Cobb/e-KNOW

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