Nolan's Ark Page 19
“BLAZE!”
The engines revved below, as if joining in the call to hurry up.
Blaze’s eyes burned with anger as he straightened up. He staggered right and left on jelly legs. He turned to walk to the ladder but then with a sudden cry of frustration he crashed down and landed a final, devastating punch on Nolan’s cheek.
Nolan’s head slammed off the roof like a basketball.
Blaze hobbled towards the ladder, walking like an old man.
Nolan spat blood. “Don’t you run out on me.”
With a groan he sat up and pushed himself back to his feet. He promptly fell over again. It took a monumental effort to get upright again but he did it. That last shot had Nolan seeing stars.
“You’re gonna run away from me?” he yelled.
No one answered.
He walked over to the edge of Jaws. The two Harleys at the rear were moving off with Rage and Blaze riding shotgun on both. Both men were drenched in blood.
Nolan saw that the blond biker only had one hand on his handlebar. He was holding onto something else in his other hand – a small turtle shell object that was almost glowing in the dark.
“Fuck!”
Nolan’s heart was galloping.
The blond biker steered around towards the side of Jaws and disappeared from view. Eddie’s Harley quickly followed, although the biker chief set off towards the middle of the road. Once he’d navigated through the sea of corpses, including most of his Grim Lord brothers, Eddie hit the brakes, turning the bike around so that he and Rage were facing Jaws. Both men stared cautiously at Goliath further down the street, wary of those big guns moving.
Nolan heard a voice in the distance. It sounded like Axel.
“Nolan! Run!”
A second later, Eddie’s Harley screamed and took off down Hollywood Boulevard. Nolan saw the badly wounded Rage, barely hanging on at the back. It looked like a life-sized rag doll glued to the seat.
“Don’t you run out on me!”
Nolan held a bloody, tightly clenched fist in the air. His heart sank as the night swallowed his enemy up.
“Nolan! Get out of there!”
Nolan snapped back to life. He sprinted towards the sunroof and practically fell down the ladder. With a shriek of pain, Nolan crash-landed on the upper deck, almost tripping over the bodies of the two dead SS agents he’d killed on his way to the roof.
“Fuck.”
He ran for the stairs, his body working at a fraction of its regular capabilities. Nolan was calling on the reserves for this last gasp effort.
“GET OUT!” he screamed.
He bolted down the winding staircase, jumping the last few steps onto the lower deck.
There was no one there. The girls were already out and the bus was empty except for the two dead men lying on the yellow brick road.
Nolan heard the guttural snarl of a Harley fading into the distance. He glanced down the aisle and saw that little turtle shell globe wobbling back and forth on the yellow brick road.
“NOLAN!”
Nolan leapt through the double doors, landing on the road. He ran with everything, which wasn’t much. He chased after the reversing Goliath, which was putting as much distance between itself and Jaws as possible.
The explosion ripped through the night.
Nolan dropped to the ground. He stayed low to avoid the fragmentation, which he knew went upwards post-blast. Like a worm, he crawled past dozens of corpses on the road, taking shelter behind the wreckage of a blood-splattered Harley-Davidson Roadster.
Nolan felt his face burning up on the right side. Like somebody had dunked his head in a bonfire and held it there.
“We should have stayed in tonight boy,” he groaned. “I’m so, so sorry.”
When he deemed it safe to do so, Nolan sat up, still covering his head in case of any lagging shrapnel. He stared across the road at Jaws. The interior was a smoking wreck, the smoke escaping through the gaping holes where the glass windows had once been.
“Damn it,” he said.
Nolan gingerly touched the side of his face. The skin felt strangely damp. A strange, unpleasant scent lingered in the air. Was it gasoline? Or was it the smell of his face cooking?
He sat there, hands shaking. All the pain in his body, no matter how severe, was secondary to failure.
“Fuck,” he said, punching the road several times.
Light footsteps approached from behind.
When Nolan looked up from behind the Roadster, he saw Eagle Boy, Typhoon and Cowboy Samurai. They were standing over him, carrying the shotguns and semi-automatic rifles that Nolan had taken from Kong. He almost laughed at the sight of them in those ridiculous costumes. But he didn’t, not this time.
Axel was sprinting over with Kasey at his side. Behind them, next to Goliath, Nolan saw Viking Chick and Shirley Fontaine locked in a tight embrace.
Eagle Boy and Typhoon helped Nolan up to his feet.
“Agghhh!” he hollered.
“Jesus,” Typhoon said, staring at Nolan’s face. “Nolan…your face man. We need to get you to a…”
Nolan cut him off by grabbing the Remington shotgun out of Typhoon’s hand. He turned around and limped after the fleeing motorcycles. The bikes were gone but Nolan knew what direction they’d gone. West. Well he could travel west too. All the way to the Pacific coast if he had to.
There was smoke pouring off Nolan’s clothes. His t-shirt was shredded on the right side, exposing numerous cuts on his upper body.
Nolan raised the shotgun and fired. A series of ear-splitting cracks lit up Hollywood Boulevard. With each shot, Nolan pumped the forend like he was trying to break the damn gun.
When the shotgun was empty Nolan dropped it onto the road. He grunted and then reached a hand out to those behind him.
“Give me another gun,” he said. “Now!”
Nothing.
Nolan turned around, which was excruciatingly painful.
The others were still back there, standing in the middle of the road where he’d left them. There was no sense of urgency, no fire in their bellies and most definitely no will to catch up with the fleeing Harleys and their son of a bitch human cargo.
What was wrong with them?
Looking over his shoulder again, Nolan saw that the road was empty apart from a silent horde of parked cars. He thought quickly, running his eyes over those abandoned vehicles. There were no other people on the street. All the voters had gone. Gone where? Were there still homes to go to?
Nolan soaked up the emptiness. It was like standing amidst the ghostly aftermath of a stadium after a big concert.
As the adrenaline wore off he felt the pain intensifying. It was everywhere, literally everywhere in his body, but his face was the most troubling of all his wounds. He wondered what hospitals were intact in the region. There was SCH at Hollywood. He’d try there first.
There was also something else he had to do.
Nolan staggered his way back towards Goliath. Viking Chick and Shirley Fontaine approached him first, walking side by side, a look of concern on their faces.
Axel and Kasey were behind them, stuck together like Siamese twins. Their relief at being reunited was palpable.
The three male Retaliators meanwhile, were celebrating further back. They were acting like they’d survived the sinking of the Titanic. And Nolan understood – he truly did. The fight was over for these people. It hadn’t been about revenge for them and it never would be. It was about surviving and being reunited with loved ones and that sort of thing. Friends and family. Nolan was selfish for thinking it had ever been about anything else.
“Nolan,” Axel said. “You’re hurt man. How bad is it?”
“I’ll live,” Nolan croaked.
“You saved us,” Viking Chick said, taking his hand and squeezing softly. Even that hurt. She smiled although it was clear that Nolan’s facial wound bothered her. “You did that Nolan. And you helped me find my sister. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Nolan said. He looked at Eagle Boy. “Didn’t take you long to figure Goliath out did it? Good shooting man. Now all you need is a decent costume and you’re all set to go.”
Eagle Boy smiled. “Thanks.”
Nolan nodded. “No problem bird shit.”
“Nolan,” Viking Chick said, letting go of his hand. “We need to take care of that wound – that’s an open burn and it’s at risk of infection. We can’t just leave something like that.”
Nolan shook his head.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “You guys are going to take Goliath and get the hell out of Hollywood. Tonight. This thing – it’s big and I don’t know if there’s any coming back from it. If it’s like this everywhere else…who knows? Thing is it ain’t even the bombs that’ll do it in the end. That was just the equivalent of a starter pistol. It’s us, down here on the ground. That’s the big worry.”
Nolan stared down the empty road.
“Axel.”
“Yeah?”
“If you get a chance,” Nolan said. “Go check on your mother.”
With that Nolan limped over to Goliath, leaving the others standing in the street behind him. His first stop was on the upper deck where he approached the nearest bedroom. He stood in front of the door, his bloody hand lingering over the metal handle. Then, wincing at a fresh jolt of pain in his face, he pushed the door open and walked into the dark bedroom. The air was stale and warm. Despite this the bedroom was the most peaceful space that Nolan had encountered all night. It felt like walking out of a battlefield into the quiet calm of a church.
He flicked the light switch on.
For a while he stood in the open doorway, staring at the blanket with Diesel’s body wrapped inside.
 
; “I blew it pal,” Nolan said. “But it ain’t over.”
He limped over to the bed, picked up his dog and felt a terrible emptiness in that familiar old weight. He brought the bloody blanket close to his face.
“You can’t come with me,” he said. “Not this time old buddy. We’re going to put you somewhere quiet and let you sleep.”
He hobbled downstairs with Diesel in his arms. When he walked outside the Retaliators, Axel, Kasey and Shirley, were in deep discussion about something. They fell silent when Nolan walked out with the bundle.
They watched him walk past. Nolan felt their eyes all over him, but he didn’t stop.
He went over to a gray Jeep Cherokee at the side of the road. The driver’s door was lying wide open, which suggested the vehicle had been abandoned in a hurry. With any luck the keys would still be right there in the ignition. A full tank of gas would be a nice bonus.
“Nolan,” Axel called out. “What are you doing man? Where are you going?”
Nolan reached the Cherokee and took a look inside. Nice and clean – the interior smelled brand new. Somebody had loved this car. Best of all, the key was right there at the end of a long silver chain dangling out of the ignition. A half tank of gas – that would do.
He put Diesel in the backseat. At the same time, Nolan noticed a few toys lying on the floor, trapped in the space between the passenger seat and the back. He saw a spelling game, a cuddly bear, and a miniature-racing car still in the box. There was some kind of pink gadget that resembled a kid’s iPad poking out of the map pocket.
Nolan shook his head. He gave Diesel’s blanket a pat and then walked back over to Goliath.
The others, perhaps sensing the futility of questions, allowed him to pass without interruption.
Nolan went upstairs to the prop wardrobe. He opened it up and grabbed a steel head shovel and a small dagger – a dagger that was always strapped to Chuck Kowalski’s leg in Goliath. It was perfect for carving an inscription.
With tools in hand, Nolan stepped back outside. He was breathing heavy and the pain almost certainly building to an excruciating crescendo.
This time he stopped beside the others for a second. He offered them a pained smile – it was the best he could do. Slowly, Nolan approached Viking Chick and gently placed a hand on her bump. He held it there and felt life inside.
She smiled and mouthed the words ‘thank you’.
“Good luck,” he said, turning towards the road again.
Then Nolan limped away and though he heard them calling after him, nobody followed.
The End
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