Righteous Anarchy
Chapter 4: The Bridge
Lilah sat up in bed, stretching her thin arms wide as she woke up to another of God's beautiful new days. She wrapped her tattered pink robe about herself and pattered over to
the mini fridge for her juice. The orange liquid swirled and foamed slightly as its level rose in the glass, coming just short of the brim before the girl stopped pouring. Capping the
carton depicting a picture of an orange, she put it back into the cold appliance among the boxes of take-out. She loved Chinese food, tasty and easy to afford. Taking her glass in
both hands, almost child-like, she padded to the second story window to wait for the sun to rise. The sky was gray, dark and foreboding. It made her shiver looking at the
colorless expanse, reminding her of her cellar in her father's house. It was out in the country, away from the jungle of concrete, glass, and asphalt. The air had smelled fresh
outside and there weren't so many people. But that cellar scared Lilah more than anything else. It was dark and wet and always full of spiders.
The spiders were the more terrifying aspects of that room. Their bloated bodies carried by eight spindly legs and the fanged mouths dripping toxin as if drooling at the sight of her.
Lilah quickly dismissed the thought, trying to quell feeling the approaching panic attack. She had been diagnosed with arachnophobia at the tender age of six, not all that
surprising considering that she froze in fear whenever she saw a spider. She had described it to the doctor as not being able to move or even think when she saw one, she just felt
the fear gripping her and that was that.
She couldn't see the sun as it rose, only the lightening of the empty street below.
Wait...the streets are never empty...
Lilah had never been counted among the intelectually gifted, but it was obvious that something wasn't right. No honking horns, no sirens or yelling. The city, or at least a mile
surrounding her apartment had gone silent. Another icy shiver crawled up her spine. She set down her juice, untouched by her lips, and quickly dressed in her Novice habit. The
black, unrevealing dress with the white collar made her feel more comfortable, like a layer of armor that reinforced her faith in God which she always carried in her heart for
protection.
Making sure her bible, keys and wallet were in her off-white canvas shoulder bag, the young Novice opened the door to her apartment, locked it, and closed it after she left. She
took the stairs, believing that one mustn't get to lazy using modern inventions. Only those who can't move to well should use the elevator in the young woman's opinion.
"Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen..." She counted backwards as she went down the steps, not taking them too fast like her father always told her. "Eleven, ten,
nine..."Counting the stairs had always been a small game for her since she was a child. It held no real significance, but it was fun for her. "Four, three, two, and one!" She hopped
off the last step, her shoes clacking on the hardwood floor, and walked down the short corridor, stopping at the last door. There hung a black metal sign with white letters that
spelled 'Landlord'. Three times, her frail looking knuckles tapped the door.
"Miss Terry?" She called, just above a whisper, not wanting to disturb any other residents. It had become customary that Lilah would say goodbye to the elderly woman every
morning before she was off to church for morning prayers. There was no reply. Again she knocked, and again there was no answer. "Miss Terry?" Her voice was slightly louder this
time. The landlady was so very nice to her, always inviting Lilah down to her room for cookies and sometimes dinner. Lilah always made sure she paid her rent on time, not
wanting to disappoint Miss Terry. She waited patiently at the door, knowing it would open in a few seconds. But it didn't. Lilah tilted her head to one side, not sure what was going
on. She shrugged. Miss Terry was probably just sleeping in. The lady had been slightly ill the last couple of days, the flu most likely. She didn't like doctors and refused to go see
one so Lilah prayed for Miss Terry's health every night.
"Get better soon!" She whispered through the keyhole before skipping her way to the lobby. It was a quaint little room with an old wooden door and a dusty couch that had an end
table on either side. There were aged paintings on the walls, replicas of masterpieces by famous artists that Lilah couldn't identify and an old payphone by the service desk.
It's getting awfully dusty in here. I'll have to ask Miss Terry if I can clean up for her...
She opened the wooden door that led into the space between the outer glass door and the afore mentioned inner door. There was a man standing at the glass, moaning and
pawing at the transparent wall, leaving red streaks on its surface. Lilah let out a frightened squeak, falling back into the room and away from the sick man. He was indeed not
well, his very skin seeming to sag off his bones and the eyes white and sightless. The clothes were wet with blood, making them appear too large for him as the weighted material
drooped heavily off the already thin frame. Slowly, he was erased from view as the wooden door slowly swung shut of its own accord, almost as if it wanted to shield the garish
sight from the young woman's view.
Oh no! He needs help, but I don't know what to do!
Lilah didn't know anything about medical practice so she scampered to the payphone and dialed 911. She was answered by three computerized musical notes and a woman's voice
that sounded to happy for the situation.
"We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is currently unavailable due to disconnected lines. Please try again later or call your local telephone management company for
assistance" The same three notes played again. "We're sorry, but the number you have dialed..."
(since this thing won't let me put in a break, just imagine one here)
Alex looked back at the police station across Frankfort Street. Brooklyn Bridge was just overhead, and a very promising way out.
"Thank you, NYPD, for putting your building so close to the bridge." He breathed, a smile creeping onto his features once more. He looked west down the street in the direction of
City Hall and the entrance to the bridge, his dissimilar eyes squinting through the slight blur. The traffic was gridlocked half a block down, as if Alex hadn't been the only one to
think of the bridge as a good escape. Something was missing from it though. There were no horns, no shouts obscene words in numerous different languages. It was completely
silent except the sounds of idling engines.
Maybe if they are all empty, I could snag on from the front of the line and get out of this place all the quicker...
Cautiously, Alex picked his way through the metal labyrinth toward the bridge entrance, peering in the cars for any cash or wallets left behind. His pool cue was ideal for busting
windows that weren't already shattered to get at the goods. No harm in making the best of the situation. By the time he reached the on-ramp, he had made himself a good
seventy dollars, which he folded and added to the fifty in his pocket. He noticed that the closer he came to the bridge, the more messed up the cars were. Some had large claw
marks in the paneling and blood visible from the outside. The escapee was in good spirits, if a little cautious about the condition the cars were getting into, by the time he came
upon a police car. It had also apparently trying to make a run for it using its authority as a shield. There were large gashes all over the body of the vehicle and bullet holes in the
windshield. It was empty as well, much to Alex's amusement, and the door half open. He set down the pool cue and crawled inside, looking for a baton or a more useful weapon
than his stick that was propped against the hood. He found a lot of dried bloodstains and spent handgun casings as well as a single shotgun shell along with a pump action
shotgun. He took the weapon and cocked it to get a feel for the weapon, sending a round spinning into the crack between the two seats.
Crap...now where did that thing go...
He rummaged around in the crack, the shotgun leaning against the passenger seat, and came up with a five dollar bill, a half eaten doughnut (at which he snickered), and his
elusive shell. Alex sat back in the driver's seat, not really in a big hurry. He laid the bulky gun across his lap and tried to figure out how to load his two shells into it. His father had
never let him near guns in his youth, and Mister Loch had always kept the long breechloader under lock and key. Well, under lock anyway. The key had been missing for weeks
now.
He found a rectangle on the right side, just behind where the accidentally ejected shell popped out of, and pressed it lightly. The flap gave, snapping back into place when he
released it. The hole was a bit larger than the shell he had in his hand and seemed like the obvious way to load it. He pushed the shell inside, noting with satisfaction that it stayed
and disappeared when the flap closed. Alex loaded the second shell the same way and adjusted his grip on the weapon so it felt comfortable. He pulled the pump, making sure the
next round was ready to go, and again, another shell went spinning off into the recesses of the between-the-seats void.
Damn it...not again...
He groped blindly for the red cylinder for a few seconds before his fingers closed around something round. The young man pulled his hand out and opened the curled fingers to
find a severed thumb resting in his palm.
SHITCHRISTJESUS!
Alex flung the digit away and fell out of the car with a terrified shriek, the shotgun sliding a few feet away under a blue sedan. Shakily, he sat up, ruefully rubbing his jarred elbow
as the image of the thumb stayed present in his mind. He shook his arm, trying to rid himself of the tingling sensation.
Whoever came up with funny bone, I am really gonna give them something to laugh at...
He looked up to see what looked like a gorilla with leathery hide instead of fur. Its flat, reptilian skull harbored two, beady eyes that gleamed a fierce orange. The long, corded
arms nearly reached to white hood of the patrol car its short legs had dug into. What really grabbed Alex's attention were the wicked talons that ended the strong fingers and the
numerous pointed teeth in his drooling mouth. That toothy maw stretched wide and a sound that could only be described as a combination chorus of screaming babies and howling
wolves ripped through the early morning air and Alex's eardrums. It leapt impossibly high into the air and came down like a rock at the prone human. Fear snapped his attention
back to the present and he propelled himself backwards on his butt, skidding along the pavement as a clawed hand slammed into the asphalt where his chest had been previously.
His own sweaty hand closed around the barrel of the shotgun as the thing came for him and he swung with all his might, smashing the wooden stock across the thing's face. It
screeched again, the sound ripping through Alex's brain like a razor as he got a firm hold on the gun's grip, screaming in terror himself. He rolled under the sedan as the claws
went for him again. The talons raked gouges along the earsplitting metal, giving Alex a clue where the other gashes had come from, had he paid attention and not been terrified
from all reasonable thought.
Ohshitohshitohshitohshit!
The monster had him trapped, and it knew it. The sedan seemed all too fragile as it leapt into the top, bouncing the car on its weak shocks. Alex flattened himself after getting
nipped in the head by some metal tube, while trying to keep his body as close to the center of the vehicle as possible. Alex's screams decayed into whimpers the longer the car
bounced. The thing shrieked in what Alex could have sworn was joy as it rocked the car back and forth, the wheels coming a few more millimeters off the blacktop each time.
That...that...whatever it is...is going to flip the car!
All he wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and wait for the bad dream to end, but the bouncing vehicle on top of him did little to encourage that fantasy. The left tires came a
full foot and a half off the ground before slamming back down, Alex screaming all the more, but an idea came to mind. The right tires raised and in a spur of bravado, the man
rolled out from under the car before the rubber wheels hit the asphalt again. When the car tilted to the right a moment later, he had a clear view of the monster riding the car like
a surfboard. The shotgun came up and Alex squeezed the trigger. There was less than ten feet between him and it, so even a horrible marksman like him could grasp the concept
of point and squeeze. The muzzle roared and the reptilian thing screeched as it toppled off and the left side came back down as Alex's body was pressed into the pavement from
the force of the shot. There was a sickening crunch and a loud bang, almost like another gunshot, followed by another scream from the opposite side of the car. Alex scrambled to
his feet awkwardly and made his way around the back to find the monster floundering in its own greenish blood. The right arm was crushed and trapped beneath the left rear
wheel. The tire had blown out, which had been the bang he had heard, on the thing's hide, burning it before the rim bit into the limb and held it in place. Alex stayed his distance
from the flailing claws of the intact left arm. He saw the effect of his shot, small oozing holes sprayed across its left arm, face, and neck.
Better put it out of its misery...I wouldn't want to be left trapped like that in pain...
Though, when he thought about it, the screams seemed more enraged that pained. The man cocked the shotgun again and climbed onto the trunk and out of its reach. He leveled
the shotgun with its head and pulled the trigger, the blast knocking him on his backside again and obliterating the monster's head. In a way, Alex was glad he had fallen, as he slid
off the trunk. He didn't want to see the splattered remains of reptile monster brains. He pumped the shotgun again and looked up the bridge. Mismatched eyes saw at least three
more hunched shapes, maybe more, making their way towards him in the distance. His blurred vision couldn't distinguish specific features, but it was enough to get him moving in
the opposite direction to get off the bridge. This was defiantly not the way to go. He had to find another escape route.