The abandoned city

This one is a throwback to my motorcycle days when I rode a Harley all over the place...

The shadow in two gallons of midnight rode down main street, loud pipes booming off of the walls, mean looking but not for recognition, that spot was filled years ago. The night called back at him as he passed, but no nods tonight, he was on a mission.

The edge of nowhere hung over everything and that’s how it was wanted, no complications.

Rolling up to a space he chose, he stopped and turned off the engine.

When the engine died, stairway to Heaven vied for the space left the motor had filled, some girly at the box again in the club house.

As the motor pinged in cooling, he rolled a smoke, sat there for a while, absorbing the night.

Another motorcycle came in from out of the darkness, pipes loud; then motor off, stand down. Short Colours: tattooed arms, gold ring embossed with the Harley V and circled with the legend: live to ride, ride to live on stubby fingers strode over.

“Inside,” said the shadow motioning towards the open door through which laughter could be heard. Short Colours changed direction towards the club house to reclaim his missing woman.

Suddenly, death was there and heading towards him so the shadow fired up and rode away to hell and gone.

Out on the open road, all bridges burnt, and wind in the face.

Suddenly there was the skull of death passing the shadow on a black hog and shipping like a bat out of hell, two moons removed from the graveyard where hot and spicy plied her trade.

“If he makes it at that speed he’ll be there before it happens,” thought the shadow.

Lights turning green, shooting right on through to the other side of town where another set sprayed green too.

“My kind of lights,” he thought heading towards the mountain pass a long way away yet.

The motor ticked away the hours up into the hills through fear town, past camp fires beside the road where Indians mooched, their shadows flickering in the dust; up and up to where the air began to thin, the motor never missing a beat, and eventually to revenge pass where the dark was deep to ride through to the other side and down into the valley below.

He rode into the abandoned city where only ghosts lived, the full moon casting an eerie light over everything, and went looking for a place to stay the night.

A shotgun boomed from too close and then there was mayhem and sparks and sliding with some jagged piece of steel coming on too fast to give him the kiss of death.

Rolling, then onto feet running, dive for cover; and then crouching behind a pile of junk, listening, taking stock: no serious damage, a few burns that will heal in time. “What’s going on?”

“Come out with your hands up where I can see them,” said a squeaky voice. “And no funny stuff.”

The shadow stayed where he was and said nothing, trying to think of a way out.

The shotgun boomed again and a hole appeared above his head in the junk.

“Alright, alright,” he said, “I’m coming out.”

He raised his hands and stood up hoping not to get shot.

“Come right out into the road, and keep your hands up.

Then he was blinded by a bright light that came from above somewhere.

“Who’s that?” he said.

“Never you mind,” said the voice, “keep walking.”

“What do I do now?” he asked, trying to figure out what to do.

“What’re you doing here?” asked the voice, sounding gruff but perhaps not gruff enough from the one it came from.

The shadow relaxed a little, wondering if he was right that it wasn’t a man’s voice.

“I was looking for a place to stay,” he said, wishing the search-light wasn’t in his eyes.

“There’s nowhere around here for you to stay,” said the voice trying to sound bigger than it was but only sounding afraid.

The shadow was sure now he wasn’t dealing with a man, and that might give him all the edge he needed when the time came to act.

“I wasn’t planning on stopping just right here,” he said, “but now you’ve done in my ride so it looks like I’m stuck here.” He decided to take a chance and slowly lowered one hand.

“Stop that,” said the voice.

“Just going for my makings to roll a smoke,” he said slowly pulling his pouch from his pocket.

“I’m going to lower my other hand now so I can make it,” he said lowering his other hand to begin the process.

“No funny business,” said the voice a little shakily.

“Wouldn’t think of it,” he said.

He was half way through his smoke when the light went off and all went dark, and that’s when he made his move.

Diving to the side he rolled and then sprang along the ground to hit the deck still moving. The first blast of the shotgun went where he had been standing and the second hit where he had rolled from. Then he was up and into the doorway, the two blasts having showed him where the gun was. His guess was proved right that it was a double-bore shotgun.
It was open with the woman busily fumbling more shells into it. He snatched the gun out of her hands and grabbed her hair and spun her around in front of him holding her so she was blocking anyone else from shooting him. She looked strangely familiar, as if from some dream he’d dreamed.

“Who else is here?” he growled, as she struggled fiercely to escape.

“I won’t ask again,” he said twisting her arm further up her back.

“Just me and my son,” she groaned; her voice full of pain.

“Tell him to come out, and no more guns,” he said, beginning to get annoyed with the way things had gone.

“Don’t hurt us,” said the woman, gasping in pain.

He released her arm as a boy made him-self known from the other side of the road.

“Leave her alone,” said the boy, his hands empty.

“Come over here boy, I’m not going to hurt either of you unless you shoot at me again.”

The boy slowly walked across and as he got near, the woman ran to him, clutched him to her and faced the man.

“Why’d you shoot my motorcycle, I wasn’t doing you any harm?” he said beginning to feel his injuries from the slide.

“I wasn’t aiming at your cycle,” she said holding the boy tighter.

The shadow picked up the broken open gun and walked over to his bike to inspect it: back tire shredded, peg snapped, bars twisted, tank dented and the forks would need straightening, and he just knew there’d be more that he couldn’t see now in the dark.

“Anyone else around here?” he asked, looking around.

The boy had pulled away from the woman and was looking at the busted up bike beside the road.

“Just us,” said the boy.

“Why’d the searchlight go out?” he asked the boy.

“Dunno; faulty wiring maybe,” said the boy.

“Give me a hand,” said the shadow, and began heaving the bike upright.

Between them they got it righted to rest on its stand.

The woman had disappeared.

“Where’s she gone?” asked the shadow.

“In there,” said the boy, pointing to the doorway the woman had hidden in.

“She got any more guns?” he asked.

“Just the one,” said the boy.

“How about food?”

“Some,” said the boy.

“Why’d she try to shoot me?” he asked.

“Don’t like strangers I guess.”

“Think she’ll try again?”

The boy shrugged.

The shadow sat down in the dust of the road, a bit shaky on his feet now that it was all over. He reached over and tried to untie his roll from the back of the bike but couldn’t quite reach.

“I’ll do it,” said the boy and untied it.

He passed it to the man whose hands were now shaking.

“You hurt?” asked the boy.

“I’ll be ok in a bit,” he said, and put the roll under his head and stretched out in the road and closed his eyes.

When the light came in the morning, the shadow opened his eyes and groaned as he slowly sat up. A cover that had been placed over him slipped off. A fire, still lit was keeping him warm.

The boy, who had been sitting nearby, jumped up and ran to the doorway and into the house.

The shadow got up and stumbled behind an abandoned car to relieve him-self, then sat back down on the cover and rolled a smoke.

The boy came back with a plate and mug.

“What’s that?” asked he shadow.

“Bacon, broken eggs n coffee,” said the boy handing the plate and mug to the man who took it and ate hungrily.

“She told me to tell you, she won’t go back,” said the boy.

“Ok, I hear you,” said the shadow, finishing the meal.

“Where she at now?” he asked.

“Doing her hair,” the boy replied.

“Any machine shops round here, and maybe a tire place?”

“There’s a yard down there a ways,” said the boy, pointing along the road. “They got a lot of stuff there.”

“What’s your name?” asked the shadow, looking at the boy who was dressed in jeans and a pullover that was too big for him. Before the boy could say anything a piercing scream came through the doorway of the house so that if the shadow wasn’t awake before he was now.

He jumped to his feet and was about to tear into the building when the boy grabbed his arm.

“Cockroaches,” said the boy.

The shadow looked confused for a moment, and then it dawned on him.

“Oh,” he said.

“I’ll take you to that yard if you want,” said the boy hopefully.

“Lead on,” said the shadow, and off they went.

“What’s your name?” asked the boy sometime later after an arrangement had been made with the machine shop to fix the bike.

“Shadow,” said the shadow.

“That’s a strange name; why are you called that?”

“Because people don’t normally see me to shoot me,” replied the shadow.

“My mum saw you,” said the boy.

“That’s right, she did; something funny about that. What does she do?”

“She’s the ghost dancer and leads the ghost dance.”

Images from Pixabay

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