The Effacing (Book 1.5): Valley's End Page 5

  The smoke was only ten seconds behind.

  Between the rain, the rumbling and other unusual hullabaloos, Baker, the closest one to the door, made out tugging noises and lowered his head to the door crack, focused.

  “Move out the way!” Jim instructed, letting go of Girder, charging for the door with the intentions of knocking it off the hinges.

  The door miraculously opened.

  “Quickly!” said a man’s voice from inside.

  Lightening blew up in rapid flicks.

  Jim, surprised, froze for a moment in mid-sprint, stunned someone was there. Without a thought, Baker rushed inside. Ann and Maria G6’d in behind him. Rebekah and Girder moved up the stairs, Jim turned to assist. Once they were inside, the entry shut, and the harsh force of the wreckage-filled dust cloud pounded on the door behind them.

  The duplex, darkened but warm, the sounds of heavy wood, maybe a China cabinet, screeched on the hard tiles behind the Six and came to a rest at the door. The thunder rumbled once more. Fragile objects in the house rattled off the shelves, crashed to the kitchen tiles. Behind the Six, glass trembled. The rumbling continued, and increased in strength. The next sound, a million solid fist pounds by the Jolly Green giant on steroids, cut with LSD, hallucinating a Gofer the Groundhog Experience, using his jolly green fist as the monumental sledgehammer of virtue to The End. And The End had become just that.

  A few scattered notes throughout the house began to awe in the darkness, both male and female, children’s distorted cries from above, and then, the final smack of Valley’s End. Everything she threw at them, against the dupe. And the commotion outside gradually weakened, replaced with the exhausted huffs of six incredibly blessed parties.

  A lighter flickered nearby, and a candle lit, trailed by another, and another. The house began to slowly present itself in its totality, cluttered with tough citizens, displaced survivors. Up the stairs and across the squeaky clean balcony, and most likely in the rooms – the children were missing – the people stood in a welcoming, but most disturbing silence. There were men and women, young and older, the ones that most stuck out were those who held the candles. However, their eyes told their story. They’d lost everything. Not just their belongings, the entire neighborhood, obliterated. They had prepared themselves for that day, knowing that after four days of the buildings undergoing heavy fire, without any order, it was bound to happen. The worst of the worst took place during that stretch, a terrorized sentiment no man, woman or child should have to live through. The truth is, these people did live through it, and they couldn’t be any more upset than they were. But they were thankful it was finally over.

  And the Six, gazed their sights upon the surviving residents of Valley’s End.

  CHAPTER 14

  “We thank you.” Rebekah informed the one who saved their lives.

  Out of the other seven who did, the one who saved their lives was the last to start burning a candle. The outline of his face embossed a man in his prime, a mountaineer or high ranking biker gang member, maybe both. Full mustache and imperial beard, red and black flannel that failed to hide his beer belly, with dark colored denim jeans. His footwear was under investigation, hidden through the darkness below his knees, could have been hiking or working boots, or a solid pair of black Durango’s, imaginably with the cowboy spikes in the back. Could have even been a pair of running shoes. No telling through the dark. Maybe he sported a pair of Duckweeds or pink bunny slippers.

  Whatever the case may have been, the Six were grateful of his perfectly-timed kind gesture, and they all took that silent moment to respectfully acknowledge his deed as Rebekah did before them.

  “You’re all welcome to stay,” he said. “My home is yours.”

  He talked as if he hadn’t heard anything about their plan, like word didn’t spread through The End about the group formed to lead the remaining survivors to the docks. Maybe word hadn’t spread that far. At the break of dawn, Rebekah, Ann, Maria and Baker, and the rest of their group hidden away in the duplex up another street, accompanied by a larger group that should have been making its way to Maison Parkway, held a rally on top of a ten story building that was protected like the Carter from New Jack City. More than two hundred residents were gathered together by the head honcho, Billy Rain. Survivors, a cabbie that went by the name Mac, a delivery guy known as Conrad, along with Frank, Brea, Neshia and Chase, of the Wildes family, were supposed to spread the valuable news.

  For whatever reason the blood worm didn’t bait the big fish, Rebekah had a leave-no-man-behind attitude that complemented her authority qualities rather fondly. She expressed to the people of Valley’s End what they needed to know about their situation, the truth about Sworn, and what the original group envisioned on ensuring to stop Sworn and his terrorist organization. She informed them of the courageous citizens and the lives they saved, the lives that were lost during their trials. But she left out one main article, that Jim and Girder sided, maybe even participated, with the same group of pillagers that destroyed their homes. And she hoped that if they did recognize them by their all-black, baggy attire with hoods – which they did – then they would put their ailing differences aside until the bigger problem was abolished.

  The lumberjack biker, all-hands-down, took to the crowd of people on the first floor and walked dead center, evaporated in the clutter that surrounded him, leaving the Six to wonder what they murmured. It resembled a systematized cult that had been concealed behind closed doors – like what secret organization isn’t – and decided to come out the closet with the storm. Only this cult wasn’t the traditional robes, blood and sacrifice.

  “What are they doing?” Ann slipped in, speaking to Rebekah in a hushed tone, eyes on the cluster.

  “Don’t know,” she answered.

  Maria, getting the jitters, looked to all the angered grills of the welcoming strangers that escalated up the stairs and across the balcony. Not feeling too comfortable knowing the devil whispered, not to be judgmental by their orchestration, but she clenched her sidearm, index finger pointing toward the missing floor, ready to tighten up with a tremor that would cause her to pull the trigger, let off a shot due to a self-made diagnostic case of discriminating arthritis. Her self-diagnosis never – for the most part – had an outbreak on fellow human beings, but if something was to go down, she would be prepared for it, just in case.

  “This isn’t good.” Baker stated.

  Ann asked, “What’s that smell?”

  Nobody answered.

  Maria looked to Baker. Baker’s head lowered. He was surly embarrassed.

  Jim and Girder held their awakening silence. They had a feeling they knew what the lumberjack biker and his roommates were gabbing about. After all, Jim and Girder were a part of Trivo’s crew, Rain’s posse. They all dressed alike, and they were all responsible for what happened to Valley’s End in the eyes of the Valley’s End survivors. If that was the lumberjack biker’s topic of discussion, then Jim and Girder were in trouble and already expected it.

  That explained why Jim stood at the door, quailed when it suddenly opened seconds before the dust launched an attack. That was the reason Girder was comfortable enough to burn a bag of that good shit – as he would say it – in the apartment, kick back and light a candle; because they’d run the neighborhood out of the neighborhood. After one look to each other, they put on their NFL Gameday faces, gripped their weapons, finger on the triggers, and stood on guard awaiting their long thought of blaze of glory.

  What Jim and Girder did not know, Rebekah and Ann already knew of Centre City’s little run-in with The End. Trivo told them of it before sticking his hand in that grocery bag booby-trap.

  The lumberjack biker emerged from the crowd, eyebrows low.

  “You must put your differences behind you.” Rebekah said, once again adding a stripe on the sleeve for her honesty, revealing her byline of what had taken place and who was involved, stepping ahead of the Six, tucking her twin XDM in her lower-rear hol
ster. “Our main objective is getting to the docks… and the cavalry should be here any minute. What do you say?”

  The lumberjack biker looked over to Jim and Girder. Then he looked to Baker, and back to Rebekah. “Agreed…” he said. “But… then what?”

  Jim and Girder let go of their triggers.

  “Only you can resolve your quarrels.” Rebekah answered. “But we need to come together for now. What happened here is over… and we must move on before it’s too late.”

  Maria stepped forward, gun in hand, and looked upon the survivors. “Gather all your equipment, all the necessities… and arm yourselves with anything you can find. If you have a gun, don’t pull the trigger unless you have to. Once a shot is fired, it’ll summon anything within the area to our location.”

  Rebekah added, “We stay together, we stay alive. We move out at once.”

  The lumberjack biker raised his right arm, extended his blubbery index and middle fingers beyond the Six, and flagged his two fingers up and down toward the men by the door that shoved the China cabinet in its place.

  The slim character on the right of the China wore a quarter-length black leather jacket over a ruffled Hawaiian button up and blue jeans; the tad-bit bigger young man, opposite him, dressed in a white raincoat with the Red Cross Blue Shield emblem in large print across his back – their shoes probably the same as the lumberjack biker’s. Both of them stared to Jim and Girder as if they couldn’t wait until the event was over and done with, so they could finally extract their revenge while the thought was still fresh on the brain. Similar to how Baker felt about avenging his birth mother’s death, and Girder felt about Jim leaving him to rot – even though they were still together – mentally staging the perfect time to abandon their hostility in a rampaging fit of self-righteous anger.

  After the intense stare-down, that lasted for about three sizing-up seconds from both sides, the China Cabinet Boys slowly but surely removed the cabinet from in front of the door.

  The lumberjack biker reached underneath his gut and came back with a small, shiny .380 reserve pistol; a girly gun for such a manly man. “We got a boat to catch.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The smoke cleared, but the rainwater bucketed down.

  “Wait a minute.” Maria said, steering her head around the corner of the dupe. She turned back to Rebekah, eyes wide. “Sworn’s men.” she said.

  “How many,” Rebekah asked.

  “Four. But there has to be others nearby, maybe surrounding us now.”

  Rebekah pulled the poncho’s hood over her head, moved into Maria’s position and peeped around the corner, turned back to Maria. “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

  Ann was behind Maria. She said, “What do you mean, take care of it? Just let them do their rounds and then—”

  “Can’t do that,” Rebekah said. “They’re baiting them in.” She looked to Maria. “When I give you the signal, get everyone up the street as fast as you can. Keep your eyes open in the rear for Trackers. They’re around here somewhere, which mean Bleeders are too.”

  Maria nodded, and with a wave of her hand, motioned for Baker.

  Ann said, “We’ve seen this before. They spread out in three groups of four. Their vans must be nearby.”

  Rebekah looked to Ann’s hunting knife. “Can I hold that for a while?”

  “Sure.”

  Ann handed Rebekah the blade. She put it in her lower-back, looked to the group.

  It could have been a block party the way they filled the streets. It was either that or a reenactment of The Gangs of New York, the contemporary version, Before the Battle. Hell, it was both. A new age party gang before the battle. The China Cabinet Boys held a tire iron each, an average built guy wearing a soaked Oakland Athletics jersey two sizes too big – with even bigger blue jeans – gripped a Louisville Slugger in both hands. Some young trendy kid in a green and yellow striped shirt, tight, red denim jeans and a dog chain hanging from his belt loop, down his thigh, going back up into his back pocket, carried a fire axe. Even the girl in the parka – her face shielded by its furry hood – held a ridged 12’ kitchen knife. Jim and Girder stood just behind Ann, game face on, guns gripped, ready to do the damn thing. Others had rusty pipes or bricks, hammers and saws, blunt objects and such. And the few that held firearms were pulling up in the rear of their fortified regiment, from revolver pistols to banned fully-automatics.

  And Baker, running through the crowd, smelling like everything the garbage regurgitated, informing the mob of their new objective and possible threat.

  Then, Rebekah hit the corner.

  Ann tapped Maria’s shoulder, lifted a brow. “What’s the signal?”

  Maria, stunned, said, “I guess we’ll find out,” and stuck her head around the corner.

  CHAPTER 16

  Rebekah walked center street, hands high. The heavy rain outlined her clothes in a mystique, highlighted, protective aqua colored aura. Three of the marks – all four, black fatigues and reinforced vests – raised their MTAR 21s, and with their flashlight attachments, held her under a three-man spotlight.

  “Hold it right there, miss!” one exclaimed, advancing on her position.

  She kept walking toward them.

  “Ma’am,” he enforced. “Stop where you are. Are you infected?”

  The other two, beaming their flashlights, followed. The fourth stayed behind with the bag, reaching at his ear to hit the talk button on his communicator.

  “No.” Rebekah answered, however, moving forward, hands still rose. “But—”

  “But… nothing. Miss, on the ground! Now!” he ordered, still advancing.

  The other two caught up. Now, the three of them stood side-by-side, close enough to creating a six foot spread in front of her, guns targeted at her face and breasts. The fourth, twenty feet back, observed. Rebekah instantly assumed she could silently take the three in front of her, and then the fourth without a problem. In four seconds tops.

  She knelt to the asphalt on her right knee. Two of them released their assault rifles to dangle on their straps behind them, the lead, in the center, still aimed. Rebekah quickly reached up with her open right hand, rammed her palm into the lead’s lower-chin with all her force. His jawbone fractured, teeth slammed together, and the force of the blow shifted his brain just a fraction of a millimeter, sending him on a free-fall toward the wet macadam.

  Her left hand went in her lower-back, body inclined to the left. Her right foot, under the chin of her opponent to the right as her left arm extended – Ann’s hunting knife in hand – to the guard on the left, through his esophagus. Both men, simultaneously, began to fall in place. The first hit the ground.

  Her adversary with the bag, twenty feet out, pressed a finger to his earpiece. Rebekah, still holding the blade, hit a 360 degree spin from the left as the blade slipped out of the guard’s throat, and released it at the end of her turn. The two bodies splashed onto the soaked pavement, the blade flung twenty feet out, directly into the final marks chatter box before he could get a word out. And he lay where he once stood.

  Three motions, the old one-two-one take-out method in 3.7 seconds. To be executed by professionals only.

  Rebekah looked back to the duplex, shrugged her shoulders to Maria, who’d witnessed the incident, walked toward the corpse twenty feet out, retracted Ann’s blade from his mouth and snatched up the earpiece. Picked up his MTAR 21 and slung the strap across her neck. Maria flagged the mob to follow and they all rushed toward Rebekah.

  “I take it that was the signal?” Maria said, once the group caught up.

  Rebekah didn’t entertain her question. “We should get to the others before Sworn finds out we hit his men,” and placed the communicator in her ear. Her eyes widened.

  “What is it?” Ann questioned.

  “I can’t make out what they’re saying.” She pressed her palm against her ear. “Just a lot of rambling.” Then she looked up the street, and back to Maria. “Where are the others?”


  “On the next street…” she replied, with a point of the finger.

  “Get everyone there. I’m going to check on the resistance.”

  “What?! Hell no,” Ann objected. “You only took out one group, and there’re two more out there.”

  “Okay. Sounds like fun. I don’t want to risk losing anyone else, so I’ll go by myself. Plus we need to find out where that blast came from.” Rebekah finished.

  “No,” Ann retorted. “I’ll go with you.”

  Maria interjected, “Hell no.”

  “It’s my decision, cuzo.”

  “No, it’s mine,” Rebekah objected, “and you need to stay with the group.”

  “What?” Ann quizzed. “After what we just wen—”

  “Yes,” Rebekah cut Ann’s wisdom. “After all that just happened, you should be with the group, the more the merrier, right. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

  “Rebek—”

  “We don’t have time to argue!” Rebekah believed, reaching for the enemy’s bag of bait at her feet. “You need to get going now... all of you.”

  “But—” Ann started before she was cut off again.

  “But what… you catching feelings?” Rebekah asked, not wanting a response, smirked. “You did enough, Ann.” She held the earpiece, heard static and nodded toward the downed man. “And I’m sure he called it in. So you should hurry before it’s too late. They think I’m alone.”

  And without another word, Rebekah grabbed the hefty bag and began walking in between the alleyway headed south, toward Maison.

  CHAPTER 17

  She tossed the heavy bag into a fenced back yard three blocks down and continued to search for the remaining soldiers on patrol, maybe spot their transport and make good use of it. Another four blocks up, she looked west, found the next four bad guys, their flashlights danced up the street. She figured they wouldn’t be an immediate threat to the group and kept moving south, along the backside of badly beaten condominiums, in the shadows and through the surprisingly deserted alley. Surprisingly, meaning the sick would normally stalk the cuts, lying in wait until something drew their attention – and something must have already alerted their senses.