Transformation Read online

Weed wanted to be mad at someone other than a fellow outlaw, but he kicked it around and it always rolled back to Banjo. It’s all on Banjo, he thought, the entire fucking mess. Muss was right not to trust him. If he hadn’t tried to lynch the negra ain’t none of this would’ve happened. He had no call to do that shit.

  And the more Weed got acquainted with the fellow the more he realized just how unprovoked his attack was. Ron was unlike any black fellow he’d ever met, he and his woman. Weed was of the mind that if you pick a fight you can’t be sore when the other guy kicks your fucking teeth in. Shit, if someone tried to lynch old Francis he’d fucking slay them all. Trashed bikes was getting off easy.

  Weed was an old school biker and operated on the live and let live philosophy. He was content to leave folks alone unless provoked. He would’ve steered clear of Banjo’s revenge quest if he hadn’t been led to believe that the attack was unprovoked.

  In addition, and to be honest, after a hot shower, a decent meal, and his first good night’s sleep in ages, he hesitated. There were many perks to being in this community. As an old bastard he was looked at as harmless and treated like a grandfather. What else would he be doing anyway, scavenging for scraps and looking over his shoulder all the time? He was glad he hesitated. Was it maturity and wisdom or just really good weed and too much liquor? Whatever the reason he’d realized quickly that he was very comfortable in the structure and the folks weren’t that bad. All except that cop, that pig. He was intolerable and something was about to snap.

  Dale watched from the ledge of the former ramp hole, now elevator shaft, as Alvin stepped onto the elevator platform. Looking down he couldn’t see the man’s face but both hands were in his pockets and Dale became more and more on edge. He nodded at Ron who turned on the bumper mounted electric winch. The elevator rose slowly with a whir. As Ron greeted Alvin and Dale searched him, Weed rolled his eyes and kept his head under the hood of a car. He was torn between a deep and lifelong hatred of cops, coons, and cunts and the niceties of having a safe harbor with food and other amenities.

  A rice eater! How many more mongrels will they let in? Weed wondered. But Francis wasn’t dumb, not completely. He knew his choices in the world were very limited and he was lucky to have the Casa de Coon at his disposal. It wasn’t unlike the deals he did back in the day with black, brown, and even yellow to move drugs and guns or stay alive in prison.

  But he was allowed to pick a place to live and he chose the empty third level on the opposite side of the structure from the others on the fourth. He could snore, drink, smoke, and jerk off all he wanted. They’d built him a nice 10x10 room with a cot and a trunk away from the edge of the structure and painted the outside flat black. There was a curtained doorway and no one ever went to that side of the structure on any level for any reason. In fact old Weed setup some alarms, wires with noisemakers on them, so he could hear if anyone or anything tried to enter the structure from that end on the first level. No one ever felt the need to stroll down there and check things out. He had the place to himself.

  He kept at his task, much preferring to work on an engine then to have to play host. After all the folks walked up the ramps and the sound of their bullshit receded, Weed pulled the flannel shirt off over his head. It was hot as hell with that thing on. He wiped his body down with it. He resumed his work and was deep in thought when he felt the presence of someone behind him and spun around.

  “Finally got too hot for you?” Dale was smiling, arms folded and watching Weed closely. He was surprised at the old man’s physique. He wasn’t nearly as feeble as he pretended to be.

  Dale eyed the older man, scanned every piece of ink and scar that cover his body. He raised his eyebrow. Well, well, you’ve done significant jail time, killed at least three men with official club sanction, the club being the Wild Savages MC. Wow Francis you’ve lived the life. Stabbed a dozen times and took a couple of bullets. He grinned. And you took quite a lashing too. Piss off your brothers maybe? The puckered flesh looked old and healed up and the tattoo across his back declaring him a Wild Savage had obviously been there before the lashing

  Weed’s eyes were momentarily wide with surprise, then narrowed to slits.

  “Swastika under the neck bandage I assume.” Dale pointed at his own neck.

  Weed tried to play it off. “Ah shit, busted.” He held his hands up as he thought of slitting this pigs’ throat and smiled. “You got me.”

  Dale regarded the man suspiciously and said nothing.

  “You understand why I had to hide all the ink. You folks would have never let me in otherwise, especially you.”

  “Sure I get it. I almost feel sorry for you.”

  “Almost?”

  “Yeah. Surviving out there alone is going to be tough, but at least you won’t have to wear that flannel shirt all the time.” Dale stepped forward and stared the old biker down. “But I know the life you led, the things you’ve done, so I can’t quite get myself to give a shit about you. I suggest you leave now.”

  “Leave?” Weed looked amused. “Fuck you. I ain’t leaving shit. You think Captain Coon and Guido the gorilla are going to cast an old man out into the shit?”

  “They will when I tell them too.” But Dale knew both Ron and Sal were just too naïve and wanted to give the man a chance. And so far the old man hadn’t done anything wrong, but Dale just couldn’t let go of his experience and training. He knew what the old man really was, what he was capable of doing.

  “Then go ahead pig and tell ’em. You know where to find me.” Weed made a dismissive gesture.

  “I’ll give you twenty minutes. When I return, you better be gone.”

  As Dale turned and walked off Weed looked at him, passively and calm, as he wiped grease from his hands. But his thoughts were not so serene. He was glad he hadn’t been holding the big wrench or he just might’ve caved in the pig’s skull. He was getting close to a breaking point. It was getting harder and harder to stay calm.

  Damn it pig. Back the fuck off! He thought as he turned back to the car.

  He’d watched the others in action. They’d be talking about this shit for hours. He kept working on the cars, taking the batteries and placing them on the cart. When the cart was full, he’d start moving them all to the rear of a minivan he’d hotwired. Fuckers were heavy.

  A few hours later Weed drove the minivan loaded with car batteries up the ramps from the second level all the way to the roof. Of course that Dale bitch never returned. But old Francis knew things were rapidly getting close to popping. He could sense it. The cop would have to act soon on the threats he just made if ever he was going to.

  The batteries were heavy and in total weighed nearly 2,000 pounds. The van strained just to move and the suspension was completely bottomed out. Weed made it all the way to the roof where the geek was fiddling with some shit. They unloaded all the batteries placing them side by side on several long planks of wood. He smelled burning rubber and knew the van wouldn’t have made it much farther.

  “Well I’m done for the day.” Weed pulled his shirt off and wiped his forehead with it. The geek didn’t look up.

  “You notice anything different son?”

  Jeff looked sideways then back. “You took your shirt off.”

  “You don’t mind the ink?”

  “No, should I?”

  “Nah, I’m just worried it might scare some folks and well it’s too damn hot to keep wearing the shirt.”

  Jeff was absorbed in what he was doing and didn’t reply.

  “So I guess you’re OK with it.” Weed said softly.

  “Oh sure. Yeah. Sorry.” Jeff turned his attention to Weed, trying to be more sociable.

  Mary had been helping him become a little more integrated into the group because people liked him, not to change him. Jeff helped her separate herself from the abuse she endured. He’d been abused far worse than she had been and had to learn on his own that it wasn’t his fault he was abused, he didn’t do anything to deserve it and he did
n’t ask for it to happen. These talks seemed to help her tremendously.

  “OK then.” Weed walked off bemused. He imagined Porky and the Spade were still debating the situation. He decided to come clean to the lady folk if they weren’t in on the discussion yet. If he could head off the inquisition led by Dale he knew was brewing, he could reduce or even negate its effectiveness.

  Jeff turned back to his work. He didn’t trust the old man whatsoever and had been watching him since he arrived. He had enough experience with real assholes to know when he was talking to one and he gave Dale’s opinion a lot of weight.

  Weed found the women down one level, on the fourth, sorting and organizing stacks of food and so-called soft supplies. That’s one thing to be said for these folks, he thought, they really know how to scavenge. They’d already built up an impressive amount of supplies of all kinds. From kitchen cleaners to tampons and everything in between. They’d already filled a large section of the second level with an impressively large amount of the hard goods, construction supplies and chemicals and whatnot, while the food and personal items were all carted up to the fourth level. There was always at least two people out scavenging since he’d been here and everyone was always working on something. No one ever just sat and got shitfaced or baked or just plain old high, but they did take evenings off. They cooked a big meal, shot the shit, relaxed—real pussy stuff and Weed was starting to love it. Fuck Francis you are turning into a vagina, he scolded himself and smiled.

  And the geek. He had the roof half covered in a bunch of solar panels that all fed into a growing array of car batteries, then down to power the common area and his workshop. He had a few wind turbines ready to raise, but everyone decided to continue to keep a low profile for a while so he was asked to wait before he raised them. The geek also had a shitload of satellite dishes in one corner. A few were mounted and pointing in four different directions. He had piles of crap all over. As long as it stayed below the four foot concrete wall he could do what he wanted.

  They worked at keeping a low profile too. Visible things were painted black, covered with black cloth, or in the case of the second level, everything was kept on the inner parking spaces and a plywood wall built and painted flat black to hide the attention getting shapes and colors. It worked because from a distance you might see evidence of habitation if you were looking for it, but there was a great chance no one would know they were all up there.

  Of course the fourth level, their main living space, was the fullest, and the third was empty save for Casa Weed, and the second full of cars and supplies. They’d done their best to keep the very bottom level empty except for a few vehicles they favored for scavenging.

  Weed came down the ramp from the roof to the fourth level and found Spic, Fatty, and Tits sorting goods. Where was the black woman? He wondered, surprised at his own disappointment. Well, Aunt Jemima was off somewhere else and the Whore was off with Guido scavenging. He had a hell of a time remembering their real names because he couldn’t give a shit about them, but the lapses in memory only added to his doddering old fool act. Now, the Whore had better tits than Tits did but Tit’s only redeemable feature was her tits. The Whore acted like a whore plain and simple. Apparently she and Tits had a thing for Guido, or so the gossip goes, and Tits was sore that Guido and the Whore took off together on a scavenging trip.

  Spic and Fatty were thick as thieves and Weed wondered if there wasn’t a little lesbo action going on there. Spic was a hot little tamale and Fatty, well she was a big sloppy pile of a woman. She had that fatty stink about her. It was a combination of baby powder and a hobo’s asshole.

  Despite his general dislike of the darker folk, he found himself taking a shine to the black woman and her man. He really liked chatting with her as she was straight on, no fake smiles or bullshit. He knew when she smiled at him it was genuine and when she looked at him sideways she was clearly thinking he was just a fucking dumb ass cracker. He appreciated knowing where someone stood.

  “’S’cuse me ladies.” They all stopped as one and looked up.

  “I know this ain’t a pretty sight, but I am sore tired of wearing this flannel straightjacket so I won’t frighten you. I have decided to throw myself on your mercies.”

  Weed raised his hands and turned around to model his bare torso. None of the ladies looked alarmed or skeptical but of course none of them knew what any of his tattoos really meant. They let out a gasp when they saw his back and the scars.

  “Should we be scared?” Lisa asked.

  “Nah. I was just worried, at first, that you folks wouldn’t let me in. Then I became more and more worried I’d be turned out to fend for myself.” He swept his arm wide. “Out there. The thought just petrified me and the threats got to be too much. Hopefully now you know me well enough that . . . “

  “What threats?” Lisa asked. She’d picked up on Weed’s bait.

  Well Fatty it’s like this. “It’s Dale. He seems to think I am a bad person. I don’t know what I’ve done, but I’ll do anything to . . . “

  “No, don’t you worry. Dale means well, but he sees a bad guy around every corner. I think it’s his way of feeling useful. Maybe it’s all his training.” Mary said.

  Why thank you Tits.

  Ana smiled. “Well I’m cool with your tattoos and I don’t think you can get kicked out because one person thinks you should be. If that were true, Lisa would be long gone.”

  Lisa smiled and play slapped at Ana.

  Cute little beaner, Weed thought, I’d sure like to sample your tiny tight taco ma’am.

  “What do they all mean?” Mary asked.

  Tits, if you ask me no questions I’ll tell you no lies, he thought.

  “They mean that a long time ago I was a stupid kid that ran with a bad crowd. I served some time too. But now these are all just symbols of mistakes I made in the far past and daily reminders of how blessed I am to have made it through such dark times.”

  “And the scars?” Mary continued her question then caught herself. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking about that.”

  “Those?” Weed smiled. “I got them scars from patting myself on the back too many times over the years.”

  The ladies all chuckled and took his humorous answer as a deflection. Weed meant it as a ploy to make himself look upset by the memory of the incident rather than launching into a rant fueled by a red hot anger he still felt to this day. He needed to sound like a remorseful old fool, not a dangerous old psycho.

  Weed grew somber. For a rare moment he spoke the truth. “I was accosted in jail by a criminal element. I was left to die . . . “ And then he resumed his lies. “It’s what turned me completely away from that life. The Lord does work in mysterious ways.”

  Weed grimaced at the memory and tried to hide the anger he still felt to this day. He was young, hadn’t even been patched in for more than a year, when he took the fall for an older member and did some time. He was washing his balls the first night when the Latinos grabbed him in the shower. He fought them hard, especially since he at first thought they wanted him for his tight fresh asshole. But when they belted his wrists and hung him from a shower head he knew what was coming. They lashed him for twenty minutes with a stripped extension cord. But all them spics were dead within twenty four hours and the lashing got some time shaved off his sentence. Most importantly to this very day his asshole still made a noise when he farted.

  The ladies were all smiles. He had them.

  Mary jumped up and ran down the ramp to the second level to fetch more supplies to sort. Weed chatted a bit with the remaining ladies about dinner, the weather, and the like. The ladies had some culinary surprise planned for the evening and Weed was excited. He excused himself as the ladies continued to sort and shelve all the goods. He was headed to the third level and back to Casa de Weed for some hooch and a smoke from his shrinking supply of happy tobaccy and then a nice long nap. When he woke from his nap, he’d have the munchies, dinner would be ready, and the su
n would be setting. A perfect sissified evening he thought with a smile.

  As Weed walked the length of the third level to his tiny abode, the sounds of his footfalls echoing slightly in the quiet, an enormous explosion suddenly startled him. The next thing he knew he was getting up off his ass and rubbing the back of his head where it struck the concrete. He watched as dust rained down from above. Holy flaming fuck! He thought. What the hell was that?

  He stood, slapping dust off his body. His ears were ringing and his heart pumping painfully fast. He had a bad feeling he wouldn’t be getting his nap anytime soon.

  4.

  Ellen had grabbed a few things off the shelves as they vacated the grocery store. Karen was empty handed.

  In the daylight she saw what she managed to grab and it seemed so useless. A bottle of ketchup, gallon of vinegar, and a jar of pickles. She let the jar of pickles crash to the ground. The ketchup bounced once and slid away. She opened the vinegar and poured it over Trevor’s face. He came to immediately, sputtering and cursing. The dead paused, swaying on their feet and watching him.

  “Trevor! Stand up!” Ellen screamed and pulled at his arm, Cooper grabbed his other arm and helped him to his feet.

  Karen watched as the dead backed away. But she could see the crowd behind them trying to push forward. She felt her heart beating wildly and her breath coming in short gasps.

  Trevor was on his feet but was visibly shaking. “I really need to lie down.”

  “Not now.” Cooper took Trevor’s elbow to keep him standing. He looked around for a path out of their situation. He could see the dead streaming in at the far ends of the lot from all directions. Even with their fear of Trevor, the zombies would eventually get pushed into them by the press of bodies behind them. Already the circle was getting smaller. They were in the middle of a rather large parking lot and the closest thing was the store behind them.

  “We have to go back to the store.”

  Karen looked around, desperately hoping there would be another option rather than going back into the store. But being the tallest she could see better than anyone that the store was their only hope. Ellen and Cooper were holding Trevor upright, fighting to keep him on his feet.