The words fell on deaf ears. Timmy had taken at least five different helmets down off the wall and was comparing them all individually. If one didn’t measure up, he dropped it to the floor. Right now, it seemed that the Old Glory design was his favorite. Nothing else was coming close. Nearly satisfied, Alex watched his friend compare the flag with another design, one with green snakes about to strike, before eventually opting for the flag.

  Shaking his head at the antics, Alex began to tap a knuckle against all the boring black options. They were much the same. Choosing the one which sounded least hollow, which sounded densest, Alex plucked the half-helmet from the rack and placed it on his head. The size was right, at least.

  Already, Timmy had walked away. Sorting through the other clothing selections in the store, he came back, handing Alex a face mask, a leather jacket, a pair of goggles, and gloves. With the uncovered face, the cotton mask might be a good idea. It would keep out bugs, at least. Viruses might be a different matter.

  There was a sound at the rear of the store. A knocking, a hammering. Shouting. A dog barked. The two friends looked at each other. Without a word, they ran back to the bikes. Alex hadn’t ridden since he was a teenager. Even then, it had been dirt bikes on the farm. Even as he ran toward the bike, he could see that this was a different monster entirely.

  A door slammed open at the back of the dealership. Heavy padded paws could be heard thundering toward the front of the building.

  “We’re going to just have to go for it, man. That’s gotta be the owner. Must have tripped some silent alarm or something.”

  “You said the power was out.”

  “I don’t know how these things work, do I? We need to get out of here fast.”

  “The gate’s locked.”

  “Reckon these babies won’t worry about that. Just get a bit of speed up.”

  The barking was in the same room. The dog was huge. A Rottweiler. It ran toward them, barking, and pulled up short, ten feet away. It snarled.

  Still standing beside the bikes, Alex and Timmy twisted, putting the machines between themselves and the dog.

  “If I try and get on here, he’s going to bite me,” said Alex. “And he looks pissed.”

  “I got an idea.” Taking his eyes away from the Rottweiler, Timmy began rummaging through one of the bags. Alex watched on. There were muffled shouts from the back. Whoever had let the dog in was coming closer. Timmy pulled out one of the ready-packed meals. Ripping away the wrappers, he threw the food to the dog. It didn’t even sniff.

  “Man, even the dog doesn’t want this stuff.”

  “That was your idea?”

  “What do you want, man? I thought he’d like it.”

  The owner was getting closer. There was no telling what he’d do when he reached the looters. That was what they were, Alex thought. Looters. The man might have a gun. Might drag them to the police. This wasn’t going to end well. They needed to get out.

  He had an idea, switched the ignition, and the engine roared to life. From behind the bike, Alex reached across and grabbed the throttle. He gave it some gas while holding the brake firmly in place. He revved, again and again.

  The back-wheel tore through the tiled floor. The sound of screeching rubber pierced the eardrums. While Alex and Timmy knew what was happening, the dog was terrified. It began to back off. When the other bike began to do the same, the Rottweiler edged farther and farther back into the dark. A few more feet and he’d be just far enough.

  “Now,” Alex shouted. “Go.”

  He swung a leg over the saddle and took his seat on the bike. As he released the brake, the wheel finally began to gain traction. Skimming across the surface, the Triumph tried to transfer all her power toward actually moving. Alex leaned, turning to face the broken window. And then, without warning, the tires caught and he was away.

  The force of the movement snapped him back and all he could do was hang on tight. Timmy was following behind. They were out of the dealership, across the smashed glass. Crossing the parking lot. There was the gate. It loomed large. Locked.

  Timmy’s plan had been to hit the gate hard enough that they’d just smash through. The chain was old and rusty; they’d checked on the way in. But it was still a risk. Alex was in the lead and–if the plan didn’t work–he’d bounce back from the fence and be a prime target for the dog, the owner, and anyone else.

  The dirt bike days. That was what he remembered. The fence approaching, just ten feet away and closing fast, he decided to try something. Leaning back, he let out the clutch. The throttle opened. The front tire raised up off the ground. The bike thundered forward. Alex adjusted his weight.

  He hit the fence. The front wheel, two feet off the ground and falling, hit right against the spot where the rusty chain held the gate shut. It snapped. The gates flew open.

  Alex could hear his friend shouting and hollering as they rode away together. They left Riverside, riding faster. With the bikes, the supplies, and the plan in action, they hit the open road.

  Chapter 18

  Once they were out of Riverside, they eased off. There was no need to speed, attracting unwanted attention. In the spaces between the buildings, the columns of smoke were rising up and into the skyline, spilling into clouds. Helicopters circled over distant blocks, moving skittishly above the city like dragonflies above a swamp.

  The plan had been to hit Route 75. It was the best way out of the city, at least by road. Once they were reaching the city perimeter, they could change course and cover less traditional ground. The benefit of the bikes was flexibility. They could go where they pleased, nearly.

  Riding was coming back to Alex, but these Triumphs were nothing like anything he’d ridden before. The layout was the same as those old farm bikes. Throttles, clutches, brakes. It all felt familiar. But there was a smoothness to everything, as well as a danger. Like the finest silk wiping blood from a sword.

  The machine was engineered to an exact degree, balanced perfectly. Alex need only adjust his weight ever so slightly and the bike did exactly as he asked. As he eased off the throttle, pulling into a deserted lot, he was in danger of enjoying himself. A brief moment before the real horror of everything else came back to him.

  Stepping off the bike, Alex finally had a chance to look at himself in one of the wing mirrors. The desperation of the escape had pushed everything from his mind. As well as the faded jeans and the sneakers he was wearing, he’d added a leather jacket from the store, worn over the T-shirt and the Kevlar, as well as gloves and the helmet. The mask and goggles Timmy had handed him were still in his pocket; there hadn’t been time to try them on.

  As Timmy pulled in behind, Alex could see that his friend had taken much more keenly to the motorcycle theme. The helmet with the American flag stole the eye, but the white leather jacket would be dirty in no time. A pair of outsized aviator sunglasses, thick tactical-style trousers, and big biking boots completed the look. On Timmy’s smaller frame, it was in danger of looking ridiculous.

  Taking a moment by the side of the road, they went over the plan again. They’d go down 75, parallel to the lake. When they hit Toledo, they could double check their status. But out near Zug Island, near the city limits, that would be the problem. If they crossed close enough to the river, they’d reasoned, they could use the bikes to travel along the sand, through the yards, along the shorefront. Anything to avoid the stops.

  For the moment, they were content to ride the roads. As soon as they were both ready, they mounted up and began their journey. Alex rode in front, Timmy just behind and to his side, lurking in the peripheral vision but ready to drop back or accelerate away as needed.

  Among the warehouses, the streets had been empty. It was approaching afternoon, the final stretches of September coming to an end. The shadows were lengthening, thrown over empty asphalt. There were guard posts and cars, though they were deserted. They’d left in a rush, hurrying somewhere.

  But beyond Riverside, it was different. They were driving closer and closer to the pillars of smoke above the city. When they turned and headed south, putting the pillars on their starboard side, they noticed the people.

  They were moving. It was slow and inevitable. As the roads widened and the city thinned, the numbers of cars increased. There were people behind the wheel, going nowhere. The closer they came to Route 75, the thicker the traffic became. Everyone who had been told to stay inside the city seemed to have disagreed.

  To keep moving, they kept to the side streets. The alleys. The sidewalks, even. They dipped in and around the parked cars, as the bikes allowed them. The traffic was not quite bumper to bumper this far from the freeway, but it heralded a busy road. A clogged artery of the city, shortening the lease of life. The fat of the land, congested.

  As they passed the cars, Alex could see inside. Some people had everything, their entire lives piled up in the back of a station wagon. Others had nothing, perhaps a worried wife or a cat in a box. The cars were moving slowly, trying to navigate their way out of the city. But there was a problem.

  The lockdown. Alex realized it before they’d travelled too far. These cars were not heading anywhere. Everyone had the same idea, to get out on the freeway and drive, but they were being turned back. Cars were circling the city blocks like sharks, looking for a point of attack. But there was none available. Instead, they were travelling in endless loops.

  On one quiet street, a clear sight of Canada over the river, Alex saw a couple park their car and exit. They were staring at the river, considering the crossing. It wasn’t far. For a fit, healthy person, Alex reasoned, it might be possible to swim across.

  But what waited on the other bank? Relations with the northernmost neighbor had not been good in recent years. The idea of crisscrossing the border on a Detroit afternoon was a distant memory. Those bridges had been burned on the altar of free trade.

  Perhaps these people didn’t realize what awaited them on the other shore. Perhaps they didn’t care. Alex watched as he rode past. The two were embracing. He continued to watch in his wing mirrors, slowing and wondering what they would do.

  The couple didn’t move. Alex was getting farther and farther away. But, as he watched, he saw figures moving in and around the car. They jumped in, drove away. The couple, their moment of quiet contemplation shattered, chased after the car, which curved and snaked away, stolen. Society was coming apart at the seams, Alex told himself.

  Rouge River was approaching. Zug Island was ahead, the ghost of the steelworks cutting a clear figure against the skyline. There were rail bridges on and off the island. Lined along p West Jefferson, they were nothing but piles of rubble. Not just closed down but destroyed completely.

  As they approached the bridge on West Jefferson, the traffic was thicker than ever. The cars hadn’t moved in a long time. Slipping through on the bikes, there were people asleep in their vehicles. Waiting for anything to happen.

  Up ahead, there was a stop. They were turning back cars. But the congestion was such that there was no way to turn. Stragglers struggled back up the road on foot, leaving their cars behind, making the problem even worse.

  Still a few hundred feet from the block, Alex couldn’t yet see the intricacies of the problem. He knew they’d be unlikely to find a way of sneaking past such a protected position. But it would help to get a look at the obstacle ahead. He slowed the bike beside the rows of abandoned cars, hearing Timmy do the same behind.

  Now at nothing but a crawl, the bike felt more cumbersome. Alex could feel himself leaning hard to change direction, felt himself catch against the parked vehicles as he went past. But there were no shouts. The entire road was quieter than he expected. The illusion of chaos with no one inside.

  There should have been the din of a hundred engines. The constant blather of horns, demanding passage through. The shouting of people leaning out of windows. But there was none of that. Everyone had left.

  Alex hit another mirror. No one said anything. He looked over his shoulder. The driver of the car hadn’t even looked up. She was slumped in her seat, head rolling back. Asleep? The skin was that same gray. She was still. Unstirring. Alex rode on, leaving the shattered mirror on the road beside the car.

  The bridge was old but it still worked. It was a mechanical drawbridge; it split in half down the middle and could raise and lower in response to ships needing to pass. Unlike the rail bridges, there was a way of closing it down without having to destroy it completely. The cops had the bridge raised and no one was able to cross.

  They stopped the bikes. The hours were dragging out. A few more and it would be dark. Together, the two discussed whether it’d be easier to cross once night fell. They might be more hidden, but overhead the helicopters were buzzing by regularly enough. The cops’ triggers might be itchier when they were less sure. Immediacy had a value all its own.

  Cutting the engines, they ducked low and rolled the bikes through the cars. Most of these were deserted. Those left inside were either dead, sleeping, or close to both. Even now, Alex struggled to comprehend how quickly this had all become real. A city should not have broken down this fast. If this was happening in the rest of the country, well… He couldn’t even entertain the thought.

  There were ten guards beside the bridge. They were all armed. Alex and Timmy had their share of guns, at Timmy’s insistence, but there was no use getting into a gunfight with the law. That wasn’t the point of this. This was about survival. Quietude and cunning would be far more effective. Over his shoulder, Alex heard a whisper.

  “Hey, man. You saw those people back there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “They were…you know. Sleeping, some of them.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That was like the guy you saw, your neighbor? That skin and those eyes?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Man.” Timmy sat down, propping up his bike with his shoulders. An idea struck him. “So, er, how close did you get?”

  “Not that close.”

  “But, like, close enough I have to worry? How close is close?”

  “You don’t have to worry.”

  Alex watched the guard post. They weren’t doing much. Standing, watching. Providing a presence. A clear signal that there was no way anyone was crossing this bridge. But the bridge was not the only thing they had to worry about. There was a small dock, down by the river. Sneaking around the side, Alex got a better look at it. There was some kind of old barge tied to a mooring. No one was paying it any attention.

  From here, Alex could see across the river, too. There were open roads. There were empty streets. This was the official city limits. Beyond this, people were on their own. But inside these limits? They were just as alone. Stuck with one another. Stuck with themselves. As Alex surveyed the scene–the bored guards and the raised bridge–a plan began to kindle inside his head. He turned to Timmy.

  Chapter 19

  They moved together, working in sync. But their paths split. Timmy would sneak through the line of cars, getting as close as possible to the bridge without being seen. Alex would head to the river bank, down to the moored barge. They had to remain unseen.

  Alex cut away from the road immediately. The guards, when they were not watching each other, were watching the line of cars. There wasn’t much to see now. The abandoned, still vehicles presented a fine barrier for anyone trying to access the freeway. They were not paying much attention to the tree line.

  After a discussion, he had been able to convince Timmy to hide his white leather jacket along with the bikes. It was hardly designed for sneaking. Alex could see his friend now, flitting between the cars, heading to the opposite side of the road. His destination, the control hut for the bridge, was drawing closer. Alex watched the movement and made sure his accomplice was in position before he reached the river bank.

  There was a five-foot drop to the shoreline. He could see the river from here. A slow, ambling brown sludge, snaking through the city. On the surface, the water didn’t seem to move. It crawled along, a heavy flow streaming toward the mouth, hidden by the scum which floated to the top.

  So far, no one seemed to have spotted him. Alex teetered behind a tree, watching a guard taking a leak over the bridge and into the river. The man’s eyeline was exactly where Alex needed to be. He waited. And waited. The man did not seem to stop.

  Finally, the guard finished, stretched, and turned back to his colleagues, and Alex moved. There was no way to remain steady on the ground. The sneakers were so worn down on the soles, there was no grip. Even as he moved, Alex knew he’d be falling. And he fell, slipping and sliding down the grassy bank.

  There was noise. Any noise was too much but the sound of shifting dirt and snapping twigs bellowed across the quiet river. Cursing as he slid, Alex reached the bottom and collapsed into a heap. But there was no time to lick his wounds. He was up and running, ducking behind a barrier.

  With his back pressed up against the metal, Alex caught his breath. He listened, savoring the second. There was no sound, this wasn’t like GUNPLAY. This was real. If they’d spotted him, they would be shouting. They would be mobilizing. There would be an indication. They hadn’t heard him.

  Alex sighed. This was hard. Nothing about working in an office had prepared him for this. But the barge was in front of him and, with it, the plan. It wasn’t a complicated idea. A classic distraction. It depended heavily on Timmy being able to work the bridge controls and being able to time his actions to the second. The more Alex thought about it, the less sure he was that it would work.

  Timmy was supposed to be the man with the plan. He was supposed to be the one figuring all this out. But here they were, chasing down one of Alex’s weird ideas again. He knew Timmy loved being able to rely on a well-thought out, prepared course of action.

  He didn’t have the heart to tell his friend that he was making this up as he went along. But Timmy had to know. It’s why Alex spent at least a minute staring at situations before acting.

 

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