Salvation

Chapter 10

Long Beach, California

Michelle calmed herself after the brief conversation with Nick

and prepared herself for the ride.

The medicine cabinet held a supply of cotton balls used

between her toes when applying nail polish.

She soaked two in water squeezing out the excess, and

applied the them as sound plugs putting extras in a plastic

baggy with water. They muffled noise considerably.

Selecting amber tinted riding glasses then packing dark

and clear also, she decided to wear a black spandex

head cover with the spectacle cutout usually employed

during cold weather conditions.

The nose and mouth protection would filter pollutants that

now lay thick in the air.

Lacing up her boots, zipping up her jacket, strapping down

her helmet, she left the condominium frightened, deaf,

and determined.

The 710 north out of Long Beach was grid lock.

Michelle wondered if she would be allowed to even

begin her journey.

A semi truck and trailer was overturned two miles up the

freeway spread across the traffic lanes.

She could hear the muffled sounds of music blaring as

she snaked up the right shoulder of the road, cutting

between lanes of stacked vehicles slowly working her

way along the blacktop.

The music seemed to be of the same song, seeping the

moist cotton balls.

The same song at different parts and volumes as she

slink by one vehicle after another.

Shifting her weight side to side working the throttle

slightly back and forth, up shifting for a moment then

down shifting, breaking, constantly slaloming, reminding

her of Aspen, pristine snow fall, down hill skiing, and the

day's of her youth..

Days that now seemed as questionable as a dream. A

distance and time so removed from her current situation

as to make them illusions created by a terrified mind

desperately seeking escape from a copeless state.

Her eyes watered and stung adding additional elements to

the obstacles emerging out of twenty yard visibility.

Presenting each passing moment with split second decision.

The riding glasses quickly collecting sticky soot and grime

distorting her vision further.

There was no quarter save perfect response to each situation.

Metal debris, broken glass, vehicles tipped over, vehicles on

fire, screaming wounded, panicked pedestrians, congers of

malice, and the silence of death.

Rampant brawls between commuters sometimes taking place

inside cars, but more often outside between the lanes causing

Michelle to swing hard left or right avoiding them.

The semi crash site lay in chaos. Emergency flair tubes lined

the roadway forming a halo of wishful thinking against

smothering layers of atmosphere.

Michelle's wits had found their end. Entombed and suffocating

in a world vaguely resembling her own. As if she'd passed

on and existed in a parallel purgatory of shadow land.

A place where all things manifest a half life of decay.

A military helicopter hovered fifty feet above the crash like

a giant bellowing mantas..It's crew shouted warnings through

bell horns sounding like threats.

"Freeway is closed!...Freeway is closed!".."Remain in your

vehicles!"..Freeway is closed!"

"Don't stop..Don't stop for anything!" Nick's words filled her

head and she bore down..

With no more than three feet between the semi's cab bumper

and a cement median guardrail on the right shoulder..

Lowering her body between the handle bars, squeezing her knees

against the gas tank, no vision beyond her current place and

time.. Michelle opened the throttle hearing her self scream as the

bike slipped the narrow gap.

The road opened on a stiff Santa Anna breeze.

She filled her lungs with the diluted mix, gripped the bars

and held on.

Imperial County, California

2:00 PM

Nick spread a paper map over the seat of his old

Harley Softail in the dirt parking area of the Desert

View Tower.

A landmark perched three thousand feet atop the

Jacumba Mountains resting at the San Diego/Imperial

County line. Built in the 1920's using the area's

abundant native rock, the seventy foot four floor

monument looks much like a displaced lighthouse. To

the east the I-8 highway tumbled and slithered it's way

down the mountains coming to rest then stretching out

again over the Anza Borrego Desert below.

He thought of Michelle and felt a pang of quilt. The ride

out of San Diego had been uneventful. Once clearing the

major metropolis prevailing east to west winds brought

with them bright skies and fresh air.

The only hitch was a forty five minute wait at the U.S.

Border Patrol check point five miles east of the small

town of Jacumba.

Stationed first two miles, then one mile, a quarter mile

from it's approach portables flashed warnings in bright red

LED display.

Turn of radios...Silent approach...Offenders subject to arrest.

Traffic was reduced to a crawl. Armed National Guard troops

with closed circuit radios scanned vehicles.

At the check point traffic was stopped, questioned and searched,

Nick included. He cringed at having to remove the ear plugs

but viewed the risk as minimal. The interfacing Border Patrol

Officers were not wearing sound protection. National Guard

troops were however and they framed the vehicles being processed.

Nick was ordered to produce license and registration, answer

questions regarding his citizenship, where he lived, where

he was traveling to.

"Spires of the Moon" Nick advised.

It is a remote area in Idaho where a meteorite touched down

a long time ago. Nick used it figuring the authorities would be

confronting commuters destined for populations such as

Los Vegas, Phoenix, or even El Centro a half hour east.

The Border Patrol Officer cocked his head looking at Nick

for a sign of sarcasm. He didn't see any.

Handing back his identification the agent advised.

"Stay on the freeway. Do not attempt to transverse any

inner cities..There are patrolled fueling stations ahead..

You will see signs on the road pointing them out."

Nick picked the man's brain learning the west bound side

of the freeway was in the process of shutting down.

An effort to quarantine the greater San Diego area.

He asked the officer if he'd heard any new information

out of the L.A. area.

The officer shook his head. "You don't want to go there."

Nick pushed back. "I have a friend trying to get clear of

L.A. east bound on the 10."

The Border Patrolmen smiled and jerked a thumb at his

own back. "Your friend has one of those jet packs, right?"

"Fuck it" Nick mumbled and slipped the sound plugs back in his ears."

"Tell you one thing." The agent yelled.."This gets any

worse I might see you out there at that Spires of the

Moon!"

Nick nodded not really hearing the man while strapping

on his helmet. He pulled the clutch pushing the

shift lever down with his left boot toe engaging first gear.

A single through lane merged with the double lane freeway.

On both sides of the road was a large graded lot containing

dozens of confiscated vehicles. Most all showing signs of violence.

Flattened tires, broken windows, bent and twisted bodies...

"Californians don't like to give up their cars.." he thought

twisting open the throttle.

Los Angeles, California

Detective Pigg stood at the entry of apartment 12 gazing

at a thrashed living room.."Godzilla's been here" he mumbled.

If he'd known then just how close to the truth his first inkling had

been he might have turned around, before it was too late,

and simply gone home.

Samantha waited quietly in the middle of the room arms folded

taking in Hal's reaction.

The front entry was swung half open due to misalignment

of a new door stop.

The final resting place of victim number 1 wedged between

the door and the inner wall it normally flushed against.

The face was that of a young man in his early twenties.

The shredded back of his charcoal gray dress shirt matched the

harrowed flesh that lay beneath it like a tailored suit.

It appeared to Hal the wounds were the result of extreme

masochism or extreme sadism.

The only logical conclusion in favor of masochism would be

the man lay down directly in the path of a rotatiller.

Bloodied wood chips embedded under the fingernails of

his clutched hands seemed to match claw marks on the

inside of the door.

"This fellah wasn't putting up a fight..Just trying get away

from whom ever killed him."

"There's another one in there." Samantha pointed to the

bathroom.

Victim number 2 was an older man..Maybe forty. Long

silver hair and a goatee. Lean and muscular in a sinewy

way. Like victim number 1 he too was face down, however

uniquely suspended from the bathroom ceiling.

Staked at the wrists and feet. Anchored to the 2x4 studs

hidden above flimsy rotting wall board by sunk to the hilt

common kitchen knives.

The kind family and friends use to carve the Thanksgiving

turkey or Christmas ham.

Unlike festive individuals gorging themselves on tradional

trimmings such as mashed potatoes and gravy, whole cranberry

sauce, or pumpkin pie requiring a deliberate uncinching

and extension of belt sizes, victim number 2 was in the

process of losing weight.

His large intestine hung two feet below a gaping jagged

wound torn from scrotum to breast plate.

Stepping closer Hal made a mental note. The knives

employed were not the murder weapons. Even the

dullest edge couldn't possibly have created the ripping

two inch wide channel the man's inner's spilled through.

The murder weapon was the same instrument used on

the first victim near the front door.

"Did you see this?" Hal said turning to Samantha.

She had remained with her back to the doorway.

"What?" Her voice was low and her eyes showed a

helplessness.

"Are you alright?"

"Maybe you were right Hal..Maybe I should have

waited outside.

"Listen." His voice quiet and soothing.."I've been

around you know?"..Her eyes brightened a bit

drawing Hal's reference to her own words..

"I've seen it all, but this.....This is just plain

spooky."

She nodded turning toward the bathroom.

"Did I see what?"

He reached and gently touched her arm.

"No. You don't need to look at it..I can tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"First, where is the other victim?"

She whispered, "in the kitchen."

"Thanks. Why don't you step outside and get

some air?...I can handle this."

She smiled.."You want me to go outside and

take a couple of deep breaths of that crap?"

"Well,..you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean..I was thinking

about ordering in some coffee, you want some?"

He nodded, "Actually coffee sounds great lieutenant."

She nodded turning back to him. "Detective."..

His eyebrows raised waiting for her.

"We're still on channel 5...You can call me Sam."

Tags: Fiction

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