Scott Williams - The Pulse

“Quick! We’ve got to find a place to hide,” Grant said. “I don’t like the looks of this. There must be nearly a hundred of them! I don’t think they can see us yet. Let’s get the bikes down there behind that pileup of cars and get out of sight before they get here.”

The pileup he was pointing to was the scene of a multiple-vehicle accident that must have occurred just as the pulse hit and the drivers lost control. Some were smashed against the guardrail, and an overturned GMC Yukon was halfway on top of a crushed compact car. As they made their way around it and pulled the bicycles out of sight into the jumble of vehicles, Casey saw to her horror that there was a dead woman hanging upside down from her seatbelt in the Yukon. A pool of blood had dried beneath the crushed car under it but Casey turned her eyes away before she saw another body. It was a gruesome place to hide, but they had no other options. The lane to the far right was just clear enough to allow passage of one vehicle at a time, and they could only hope the motorcyclists would go on by.

“Is it a motorcycle gang?” Casey asked in a whisper, as the first few in a seemingly endless line of loud Harleys reached the foot of the elevated section.

“Probably,” Grant said. “Or a motorcycle club , as they would prefer it.”

“What would they do to us?” Jessica whispered.

“Maybe nothing. But I don’t want to find out. Two beautiful girls out here with no law and order and no one but me to try and stop them…it’s not worth taking the risk. Now keep down, and don’t move!”

The first of the motorcyclists crested the rise in the bridge and streamed by the pileup in pairs and groups of threes and fours. They slowed down, gawking at the wreckage, but none of them stopped. Some of the riders had female passengers behind them. All of the bikes were loaded down with saddlebags, duffels, and other luggage strapped to sissy bars, forks, and handlebars, and without exception, all were Harley Davidsons from the 1980s or earlier, running obnoxiously loud straight pipes. Some of the riders were carrying guns in plain sight: pistols in holsters at their sides or shotguns and rifles slung over their backs or strapped to their machines. As they passed by, Casey could see from the patches on the backs of their jackets and vests that they were indeed members of an organized club. She had heard of the name Bandidos somewhere before, probably in a movie or something, but it didn’t mean much to her. Whatever Grant called them, they looked like a gang to her, and she was really glad that they were hiding right now instead of pedaling along in plain sight of these bearded, tattooed, and greasy-looking bikers. When the last of them finally rolled past their hiding spot, she felt a flood of relief. Grant was right, there must have been more than a hundred motorcycles in the roaring procession, but all of them were focused on getting to wherever they were headed to, and soon were far enough away that it was safe to come out.

“Bandidos,” Grant confirmed. “They’re the dominant club in New Orleans and most of the Gulf Coast region.”

“Are they like the Hells Angels or something?” Jessica asked.

“Yep. Definitely an outlaw motorcycle club. They usually don’t mess with regular people unless they get in the way of one of their criminal enterprises, but in this situation, it’s not worth taking a chance.”

“I’ll say. They sure look like they could take on anybody. Where do you think they’re going?” Casey asked.

“Who knows? Probably somewhere to hook up with other chapters in their organization; there are thousands of Bandidos here in the South, and other, rival clubs as well. Riding those old Harleys with their simple engines, they’ve got an advantage now over most people, including law enforcement agencies. There’s no telling what they’re up to.”

“I’m starting to think I’m going to like staying at your cabin in the woods,” Jessica said.

“I’m telling you, any place away from people is the place to be in a situation like this. That river is not on the way to anywhere, and most people with criminal intentions would have no reason to go somewhere they wouldn’t expect to find lots of people to take advantage of. We’ll be so much better off when we get off the highway. The cabin is at the end of a dirt road that is miles from even the nearest crossroads. We’ll be safe there—or I should say at least as safe as anywhere I could imagine, in this country, at least.”

The sound of the motorcycles had completely faded when they remounted their bikes and started moving again. Daylight was fading fast, but Grant insisted on getting past the drawbridge, even though he admitted it was unlikely that it would be opened. They had not seen any sign of ship or barge traffic on the vast lake all afternoon, and there was little reason to think that the authorities would deliberately open the bridge and cut off one of the main evacuation routes out of the city. But still, he didn’t want to take a chance.

“Once we’re past that drawbridge, we’re past the last potential major obstacle between us and the cabin. If I sleep at all tonight, it will be because I know that. But I probably won’t sleep, because there’s no way of knowing who else may come along in the night.”

“I think we should keep a rotating watch, the way Uncle Larry says you have to do on a boat at night when you’re out at sea.”

“That’s a good idea. Yes, let’s do that every night until we are safe at the cabin.”

The last few miles they covered in the twilight took them across the middle reaches of the Causeway, where land on either end was at its most distant. There were other people in this desolate stretch of roadway over the water—refugees from the city who had made their way this far and also stopped for the night to camp, and others who had been here since their cars stopped, still waiting for someone to come and help. Most of those in the latter category were too weak to move by now and had little chance of survival. Riding past them was heartbreaking to Casey, but she understood that she could do nothing for them. They barely had enough water between the three of them to last until the next morning, after exerting so much energy in the afternoon heat. Grant said they would cross some streams shortly after they reached the north shore the next day and that they would have the opportunity to refill their water bottles then.

When they finally pushed their bicycles across the steel grate of the drawbridge, full darkness had descended upon Lake Pontchartrain. Though they were now only eight miles from Mandeville, where there should have been a blanket of city lights covering the shoreline, there was nothing but blackness, making it impossible to see land to the north. Likewise, there was no glow from the direction of New Orleans to the south. Instead, in the absence of man-made light pollution to obscure the heavens, the stars that filled the sky overhead were more brilliant than Casey had ever seen them. Out here in the open with no trees or buildings to block her view, she could see even more of them than she had the night before on Grant’s front porch. It was simply amazing to her how much of the natural world she had missed before while living in the artificial insulation of modern technology. She couldn’t help but marvel at this newfound natural beauty, but she would trade it back for her old familiar world in a heartbeat, and she knew Jessica would too. Grant, she wasn’t so sure about. He seemed almost in his element in this new reality, and she was more impressed with him all the time as she saw how he seemed to have an answer for every problem that arose. She attributed it to his unusual upbringing with his adventurous parents, and of course, to his own chosen field of study that promised a continuing life out of the ordinary, mundane working world that most people had to fit into. He reminded her a lot of her Uncle Larry, who certainly had carved out a lifestyle for himself that most people wouldn’t have dared to dream of. People like Larry and Grant may have been outsiders in some ways in the “normal” world, but she was beginning to see that in this new reality they might have a distinct advantage over those who had chosen more conventional lives. She knew Uncle Larry could take care of himself in just about any kind of crisis. She just hoped he could do the same for her dad as well.