James Hunt - Broken Roads

“Fear,” he said. “Fear grows with legend, Frankie. He tells the story to one person, they tell another, and each time they do the story grows more intense, gruesome. When people see the Diablo patch they’ll know what they’re dealing with.”

Jake finished cleaning his hands and tossed the rag onto Bobby’s body.

“Take out the trash,” he said.

Jake walked back into the bar lounge pulled a stool over to him. The bartender poured a glass of beer and handed it to Jake. Jake took half of it down in one swig.

The girl from Jake’s bedroom walked out and sat on the barstool next to him. Her makeup was smeared across her face, and her hair was tangled. The bartender poured a drink for her and slid it down. Before she could grab it Jake snatched it up.

“What the hell, Jake?” she asked.

Jake finished the beer he had, slammed it down on the counter, and then backhanded the girl. She flew off the stool and smacked the floor hard. Jake took a sip from the fresh beer and gently placed it down.

The girl crawled away from him. Blood dripped from her lower lip. Jake picked her up by her hair and jerked her head back.

“You don’t get to drink until I’m not thirsty anymore,” Jake said.

Jake tossed her forward. She stumbled in her heels and then disappeared to the back of the clubhouse.

The other members of the MC chuckled from the bar. Jake walked back over to his stool, sat down, and finished his drink.

The line of bikes out front stretched twenty wide across the parking lot. You could see the door to the clubhouse was open from the street and the patches on the backs of members could be seen inside.

Jake stood in a circle surrounded by his MC. The worn faces of men who’d lived their lives in the wind, sun, and rain looked at their president, hungry.

“Diablos, this city is dead. If we want to make it, we have to keep moving. We scoured the city for as many working bikes as we could. They’re all older models, but they run. Each of you is here because you’re the strongest of our club. You represent who we are, and what we do,” Jake said.

Frankie stood at Jake’s side, his hands behind his back, watching his leader.

“We’re riding south. We hit town after town and take what we find. This is our time, Diablos. The strong are powerful again.”

The men around Jake were dangerous and wild. Pistols hung from their hips and shotguns rested over their shoulders. The bikers shifted their weight on each foot with a vicious cadence, itching to wreak havoc.

“Let’s ride,” Jake said.

When Mike, Sean, and Nelson finally made out the sign for the airport sixty yards ahead of them, Mike knew they were making good progress.

The closer the three of them moved to Pittsburgh International the more plane wreckage they saw. It looked like a few of the pilots were able to glide their aircraft in on its belly, but the majority of the planes were mangled heaps of metal. Seats, wings, jet engines, luggage, and fuselages littered the fields around them.

Other travelers along the road were scavenging through the wreckage, hunting through the luggage like grave robbers looking for a quick score.

Mike could see the sun sinking behind the airport itself. The tarmac was still and hauntingly quiet. He could make out the distress signals people painted on the outside of the terminals when the realization of being stuck finally came to fruition. “HELP” and “S.O.S.” were painted in large, red letters.

“Hey, you think we should scope out some of this stuff? It might be a good idea to see what we can find in all this,” Nelson asked.

“I’d rather not stop. We’re still close to the city. I want to put as much distance between the masses and us as possible. We just need to focus on getting to the cabin,” Mike said.

Sean tugged at his father’s sleeve.

“Dad, I’m tired. Can we take a break?” he asked.

“We’ll rest soon. We just need to go a little bit further,” Nelson answered.

Mike could feel the burning in his feet from the long day of walking. Each step hit the blisters on under his toes like knives. He couldn’t imagine how Sean had kept up as well as he had.

“Let’s keep an eye out for a good place to make camp tonight. The sun will be going down soon,” Mike said.

A 727-jet liner fuselage sat a half-mile up the road. The plane had crashed just outside the airport tarmac. Most of it was still intact. The pilot had a successful crash landing. The emergency doors were thrown open and the plane was abandoned.

“Better than a Holiday Inn,” Nelson said.

The sun finally disappeared under the horizon and Mike checked the front and back of the plane for any food and water. The food cart was flipped on its side with each of its drawers pulled open and completely empty.

Mike moved to the first aid stations, but those had been wiped out. The only things that remained were a few small bottles of liquor that had rolled under the cart that nobody bothered to pick up and check underneath.

Nelson and Sean reclined a few seats up in first class and found a pair of pillows left behind from the passengers. Sean passed out within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

Mike leaned back in the row across from Nelson and Sean. Mike leaned back and Nelson tossed him a pillow, which hit him in the face by surprise.

“Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” Nelson said.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Mike could feel the weight of the day bearing down on him. The burn under the bandages on his arm was sore and in need of redressing. Nelson was right. He was in no shape to make it through the night without passing out. He was melting into the chair underneath him.

“Just wake me up when you need to rest,” Mike said.

“I will,” Nelson said.

Mike folded his arms in his lap and closed his eyes. His eyelids slammed shut like the steel doors of the mill at the end of the day.

It wasn’t until Mike felt his wrists pinned to the arms of the seat and heard Sean’s screams that he woke up. He jerked his arms, but they wouldn’t budge. He squinted his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Nelson’s head was bent to the side, a massive lump forming across his temple.

Mike’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He couldn’t make out the people in front of him. He could only hear the shuffling of feet and the murmur of voices.

“This is all they have?”

“Yeah, I searched these two and that’s it.”

“What about the other guy? What’s he got?”

Before the man could get close Mike kicked the man’s knee sending him to the floor with a thud.

“Goddamn asshole!”

“Grab his legs, Tim.”

“Screw it. It’s not worth it. Let’s just grab the rest of this shit and go, man.”

Tim sent a nice right cross to Mike’s cheek before he left. Mike’s ears rang. His mind went foggy with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to orient himself.

The sobs coming from Mike’s left gave him a point to focus on. They grew louder until they completely replaced the ringing caused by the punch. He looked over at Sean who was struggling to free himself.

“Sean, are you okay?” Mike asked.

“I can’t move my arms,” Sean replied.

“Just hang on, buddy. Nelson,” Mike said. “Nelson!”

Nelson didn’t move. Mike jerked his wrists attempting to free himself, but it was useless. He bent over and started tearing the tape with his teeth. He picked at the tape over and over until he finally had a tear. He tore the piece, splitting the duck tape in half. He yanked his hand free and peeled the tape off his other wrist.