006

Chapter Six

Waking in the morning expecting to feel his soft bed and see his beautiful wife, Johan rises with a great feeling of empty disappointment. For when he opens his eyes, the hard ground and vacant wasteland come back to reality causing an even greater sadness inside him. The stiffness in his muscles is now even greater then the night before due to the terrible sleeping surface and the pattering rain which started sometime during the night. With a groan, Johan rolls over, stands, and stretches. He looks around only to see the rolling dead hills and depressing rain. Thunder rolls in the distance as if some great post-apocalyptic beast is perched in the mountaintops roaring in agony.

Once again on the move, Johan begins to realize how hungry he is. The spinach and sardines just weren't cutting it any longer. The pace of today is much slower then the day prior with the burden of hunger and stiffness. With each step, the grinding sand paper in his joints grows more intense and a persistent headache has arisen deep in his eye sockets.

Cresting the next hill, he slowly trudges along with his head down, this a horrible mistake. Descending the hill into a ditch dug into the earth, a voice rings out causing Johan's heart to stop cold.

"Don't take a 'nutha step," the voice is mean and gruff.

"Son of a b***h," Johan whispers under his breath and slowly lifts his head. Standing about twenty-five yards in front of him is a dirty man with an Uzi clutched in his hands.

"You f****r. What the hell you doin' out here?" he screams

"Just take it easy."

"Take it easy? F**k you!" he screams again shaking the Uzi around. "Give me everything you got."

"I don't have anything."

"Walk towards me, an' don't try nothin funny," he trembles. Johan slowly paces toward the man with his hands raised high. Once within reaching distance, the man lowers the Uzi a few inches.

"I'm gonna search ya."

The bandit begins to pat Johan down and as his hands run down Johan's shaking body the bandit lowers his head. Johan sees his opportunity. With one quick motion, he raises his knee which connects flush with the bandits nose. With a cry of pain, he keels over backwards clutching at his bloodied face. Without hesitation, Johan pulls the Luger tucked into his belt from the small of his back. Quickly looking down the sites, he places the notches on the mans head and squeezes one off. A spatter of blood paints the grey ground and the bandit crumples into a limp pile as the nine millimeter shell finds a soft spot to rest inside his brain.

Johan reaches down to the limp man and and picks up the rusty Uzi from with dirt. Scrounging around in the bandit's pockets, he finds another clip. As he rises to his feet he hears another angry scream. Whirling around, he sees two more bandits cresting the hill, they are caring Uzi's as well. One fires off a burst but misses considerably due to the guns terrible, jumpy accuracy. Johan turns to run, lifts the Luger and rapidly pulls the trigger just for cover fire. Running fueled on nothing but pure adrenaline, Johan flies through the wastes creating as much space between himself and his attackers.

Despite being completely sure he has lost them Johan still doesn't slow down. He sprints and sprints until finally he comes upon a dark and demolished city that takes his breath away. With a look of awe painting his face, Johan slowly stumbles toward ghostly metropolis. Pillars of smoke can be seen rising into the sky from the center of the city which seams to be an old fashioned part of town. His stomach jumps with excitement but then quickly falls again at the thought of the settlement being inhabited by insane bandits intent only on killing, stealing, raping, and eating any victim naive enough to stumble upon them.

Walking almost as if in a dream, Johan basks in the shadows of the dark, vacant skyscrapers. The empty streets are filled with an ominous, ghostly presence. Johan feels like he is being watched from everywhere and for all he knows, he probably is. Oddly there are no cars in the streets, most likely due to the fact that they have all been scavenged away for scrap metal and such.

Walking deep into the towering ruins, the smell of woodsmoke begins to fill the air. With the prospects of finding friendly faces and a way back to D.C. and home to Boston, Johan picks up the pace. The pavement turns to gravel as the towers turn to old stone houses. Johan rounds a street corner and one hundred yards before him looms a large gate that looks almost impenetrable. A sentry is visible keeping watch over the gate to salvation, high on the right side of the sturdy gate.

As he approaches the settlement, the gate sentry stands and observes the disheveled man limping towards him toting an Uzi. The man comes better into view and Johan sees that he is facing a short, rugged black man with long dreadlocks and a big metal ring hanging out of his nose. His bare, muscular arms are also covered in random, exotic tattoos. He beckons Johan with an angered scowl and a thick Jamaican accent.

"Hold up man!"

"Hello..."

"What do ya want?" He looks suspiciously at Johan with a menacing black machine gun locked in his hands.

"A place to sleep and a boat."

"Baha! You a funny fellow."

"What is so damn funny?"

"A boat? You fool, aint no boats in these parts."

"Well, how about the bed?"

"Now why should I allow ya in? How do I know ya aint gonna rob us all once ya get inside?"

"I'm not a bandit..."

"I been told to let all refugees in but try anythin' stupid an' I'll pop ya. Got it?" he waves the gun about menacingly.

"Thank you," Johan approaches the gate.

"I need ya name an' age, so we know who everyone is that is present," he opens a dusty old log book.

"Johan Kristmas," he declares. "Thirty-three years old."

"Thank you suh, I be Ramell Kingston, the one who will shoot ya if ya get outta hand," he laughs deep and turns a large crank, lifting the gate.

Johan strolls into the medieval looking town filled with old stone dwellings topped timber, thatched roofs. The woodsmoke is now less powerful as it has been overpowered by the smell of livestock and wet hay. The cold steel of the uzi cradled in his arms creates a much safer feeling then that of the rusty old Luger.

As he passes, Johan can't help but glance through windows into the houses, many of which look like ruddy storage rooms with random junk pilled everywhere. A few old woman stand in their doorways smiling lazily at him as he passes. They all seem blissfully unaware of the horrors beyond their walls. Either that or they just appreciate the fact that they have found salvation from that horror.

Two small children shoot across the street in front of him playing some kind of childish game. Johan feels some relief to be back in some semblance of humanity. Walking further into the shabby old town, he comes to a small hut made of stone, posts, and cloth. Essentially a lean-to. The counter under the cloth ceiling is freighted with various weaponry and ammunition. One older man stands behind the counter while two more wild looking, younger men lean lazily against it. They give Johan intriguing glances.

"Well, well. Who we got here?" the smaller of the two counter dwellers drawls in an undoubtedly southern accent.

"Johan Kristmas," he extends a dirty hand.

"Well hell, you're a old time gentlemen aint ya," the goofy man with a southern accent excitedly shakes his hand. "Im Marty and this is my little brother, Jarrett. We're the Lee brothers. We used to be bandits out there but couldn't deal with the raping and murdering of innocents."

"Good ta meetcha," the taller brother, Jarrett steps forward and shakes his hand. Both brothers are armed with hulking .44 Magnums that pull at their belts holstered in leather sheaths.

"Lookin' to trade in that hunk a junk?" Marty jokingly points towards the uzi clutched in his hands.

"I don't think I could trade it for much. It's all I got after all..."

"You 'Merican?" Jarrett looks quizzically.

"I am..."

"Oh yea? From where 'bouts?" Jarrett beams

"Well, Boston out of D.C." 

"Damn, city boy," Marty punches Johan's arm jokingly.

"Where you two from?"

"Bat-ON Rouge!" Marty hoots in his thick southern accent. "Louisiana, two ragin' cajins!"

"Loud an' proud," Jarrett punches at Marty almost knocking him over.

"I'll tell ya what," Marty calms down. "I like ya, so what if you come out with us on a scavenging trip? Ya can do some 'splorin' and get some 'quipment to trade."

"Sounds good to me," Johan agrees. "I need some warm food and good sleep tonight though."

"Thats no problem, its on me," Marty beams. "You can pay me back once you get a scavenging haul."

"Okay so where can I get some food and sleep?" Johan asks.

"No other place then O'Brien's, let us show you to the old dump," Jarrett glides forward.

Jarrett strides along confidently with a bounce in his step and a goofy lean. The tall southerner is tall and gangly, standing atleast 6'5'' and weighing no more then two hundred pounds. He has short, curly, dirty blonde hair and a clean shaved face. His eyes are green and playful being filled a devilish twinkle. Marty on the other hand is short and muscular but still very thin, standing at 5'10'' and weighing probably one hundred ninety-five pounds. His hair is dark brown and kinky and thinning on top. A thick, twirled, handlebar mustache covers his upper lip. Cool gray eyes sit in their sockets, oozing a crazy coolness. They both wear tight fitting blue jeans filled with holes and red plaid shirts. Jarrett sports a floppy old brown cowboy hat with a tiny black and gold fleur-de-lis pinned to the fabric.

Moving further along, they come to a two story stone building with a large wooden sign hanging above the door. The sign has a cryptically evil looking boar's head etched into it. They stop before it and Jarrett turns with his arms extended to behold his favorite pub.

"This is O'Brien's."

"He's got all ya need inside," Marty nods.

"Booze, food, beds, and the comp'ny of fine women," Jarrett winks.

"There's a young lady in there, by the name uh Veronique Herzanova. She got the biggest t*****s you ever done seen. She used to be some big time porn star before the attacks. Now she the top w***e in O'Briens." Marty gets slightly giddy at the mention of the w***e.

"I had her once," Jarrett almost giggles. "Lets just say she knows how to use what shes got."

"And thats a whole damn lot," Marty laughs heartily.

"But all the girls here is good," Jarrett reaches for and turns the door handle allowing them to duck inside.

The room they come into is dimly lit with a bar in the very center. The walls are covered with posters of nude woman with extremely large breasts. A short fat man with a big white beard and rosy red cheeks sits behind the bar puffing on a joint stuffed with some kind of natural herb. Glazed over, bloodshot eyes sit sunken in his puffy weathered face.

"Thats her there," Jarrett points to a large poster of a voluptuous blonde posing so her large b***s are pressed together and her thin legs spread eagle. "Veronique Herzonova."

"They say them b***s is real too," Marty beams.

"They is bro' I felt em muhself," Jerrett boasts. "Like love pillows made of the finest veal and softest silk."

"Lee boys!" the old fat man waddles over with a pitcher of beer in each hand.

"O'Brien, how you been?" Marty accepts the mug.

"I'm hangin' in there," O'Brien chuckles with a slight lisp.

"O'Brien, this beer tastes like piss," Jarrett chuckles.

"Well that must be 'cus I pissed in it," the short man laughs in a high pitched cackle.

"You're full a s**t," Jarrett takes a large gulp.

"Who is this fellow?" O'Brien looks at Johan.

"This here is Johan Kristmas," Marty introduces them. "O'Brien, Johan. Johan, O'Brien." Johan shakes the pudgy little hand of the merry barkeep.

"Where you hail from Mr. Kristmas?" O'Brien asks.

"Boston..."

"How'n tha f**k yer get here?"

"Umm, long story..."

As Johan turns away to avoid the conversation, his eyes meet with non other then the famous Veronique Herzanova who smiles and gives him a wink. He turns away quickly to avoid her seductive spell. Marty draws Johan back to reality with a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Johan needs a bed and some chow. We're coverin' his tab so he can be fresh for a scavengin' trip tomorrow."

"Alrighty," O'Brien waddles back to the bar and fills a mug for Johan. He waddles back across the floor and Johan takes the beer, taking a long sip. Marty drops a handful of coins into O'Brien's hand for compensation.

"That should cover everything ya need."

"That don't include miss Herzanova over there," Jarrett ribs him playfully.

"Don't worry about that," Johan strides to the bar and sits staring deep into the wall with his blank, pondering gaze. Still more thoughts funnel around his mind, thoughts of his beautiful Martina. Thoughts of what his best friend Saul was doing or thinking. Whether either of them were even still alive at the hands of this incredibly selfish, anarchistic world. O'Brien shuffles back to Johan and drops a small basket before him.

"Hey bud, here's some pop'n'corn."

Hungrily Johan takes a large handful of the dry, white kernels and shoves it in his mouth. With a giant gulp of beer, Johan washes down the popcorn. Marty and Jarrett flank him on either side, taking their places at the bar. Jarrett nudges him with his elbow.

"Get something more substantial ta eat."

"All I gots some pork steaks so it'll have ta do..."

"You got them beans?" Marty asks.

"I always got them beans ya foolish bastid," O'Brien cackles.

"Give us some of 'em too," Jarrett bangs his mug down to say he's finished with the first round. As Marty gazes off to the crowd of skanky, half naked w****s gathered in the corner, his eyes flicker when he notices Veronique and all her cleavage looking longingly upon his new buddy. With a swift elbow to the ribs, Marty gets Johan's attention.

"Hey Johan, I see miss Herzanova eyein' you."

"She's all yours," Johan sips his beer with another mouthful of popcorn.

"Whadya mean?" Jarrett gasped.

"I mean, I have a woman. The best damn woman to walk this earth." Johan explains.

"She'll neva know," Marty nudges him once more.

"Really, Im fine," Johan takes another, longer sip.

"Well I guess I'll take a 'nuther whirl," Jarrett stands and walks gleefully to the huge breasted prostitute. He flirts a little and drops a handful of coins down her heaving cleavage. She grasps his hand and places it on her butt and continues to walk him up the stairs.

"That damn fool," Marty chugs the rest of his beer. O'Brien emerges from the back carrying two large bowls which he then drops down in front of Marty and Johan. One bowl is filled with two large, grayish steaks oozing with juice. The second bowl is filled to the top with baked beans that appear to be filled with hunks of thick salty bacon. Johan's mouth instantly begins to water.

"Holy s**t," Johan smiles wide, "Im so damn hungry."

Finally, O'Brien places down a loaf of rock hard bread and leaves them to their meals. Marty stabs one of the steaks with a large knife and gnaws at it whole. Juice runs down his face and drips off his chin. Johan breaks off a piece of bread and uses it to scoop up some of the thick beans. The beans are delicious and rich as Johan shovels them in greedily with pieces of the crusty bread. With a bestial hunger deep in his belly, Johan takes his pork steaks and wolfs them down, juice running all over himself. The pork is extremely moist and salty and goes perfectly with the beans as the flavors remind Johan of he and Martina's favorite restaurant back home famous for it's world class barbeque and entertaining local musical acts.

Once completely full, Johan leans back with satisfaction. Marty stands and wipes off his mouth. Quickly, he scans the various catalog of available women to find which flavor his tongue craves today.

"Now time ta work it off," he scampers over to the gathering of woman in the corner and gives the biggest butt of the group a firm spank which causes her to jump in alarm. Marty drops some coins into her hand, scoops off her feet and carries her upstairs. Johan stands, stretches his aching joints and turns back to O'Brien.

"Which room am I in?"

"Which ever one is open," he cackles loudly. With that, Johan warily ascends the stairs and strolls down a long hallway. He comes to the fifth door on the left and turns the knob and creeps inside. Quickly stripping his clothes away, he drops into bed and is asleep before he hits the pillow.

Author's Note

Suggestions?