Band on the Run

Gerard gasped and flung himself against the brick of the building, burying himself in the shadows to escape the beams of the headlights. The rain was cold and heavy, and his lungs felt like icy balloons dragging his torso down. Whatever they shot him up with was working, even if he was doing his best to ignore it. He crawled along the wall, keeping his eyes fixed on the narrow alley openings, scanning the streets and sidewalks for the stark white masks of the S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. He was trying to reach his home, to find his brother, to pull him out into the darkness before the guns found him. Before he was dragged away and contained and corrected until he was nothing more than a brainless mutant under BLI control. They had already gotten to Tyler. He was blasted on the spot as soon as Gerard began running.

There was a sound of sirens and tires careening through puddles. Gerard gave a hefty groan and launched himself over a chain-link fence, landing hard on his left shoulder, and then scrambled under a pile of trash bags. He watched the patrol car roam by, flashlights scanning the alleyway for outlaws. He sunk down lower, his hand falling into a cold, sticky pool. For a moment, he felt disgusted and pathetic having to hide in someone’s waste to keep from getting his head blown off. But it was also kind of badass, and that much he was okay with. He could hear the car parking just beyond the opening of the alley. He could only see a small strip of the dark street, and could only make out 4 sets of legs meandering around, poking at things with their guns and rooting through garbage with their boots. He sunk back further, putting pressure on his left arm. His shoulder flared with pain, and he gave out a startled gasp. At once, all four flashlights were pointed in his direction, and he bolted up from his hiding spot, sprinting down into the darkness of an abandoned project house. He ran madly through the labyrinth of empty apartments, and he soon found himself wedged in a corner where two hallways intersected. The steps were heavy and close behind him, and he dropped down onto his knees, readying to plead for his life if he had too, or at least be able to punch them in the crotch if they got close enough. He heard the unsettling noise of a gun charging and loading itself. He felt all his muscles tighten in anticipation, and he dug at the ground when the footsteps stopped directly in front of him.

But it wasn’t S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W.

It was some guy with frizzy brown hair and thick, wicked boots. He held a gun in one hand a pen light in the other, and he was wearing sunglasses, even though it was nearing 2 am.
“You should start running now.” the man urged, pointing both the gun and the flashlight to a door marked ‘EXIT’.

Gerard gulped and began running his palms over his jeans, “Look man, I don’t have any money…” he murmured.

The guy scoffed, “If I wanted your money I would have shot you by now. Get up, and start
running.”

Gerard shook his head, feeling himself fold over, “Can’t. Drugged, and I’m wanted. They’re after me. Everybody hide.”

The man grabbed Gerard’s arm, dragging him upright and practically shoving him into the door, “And I don’t care. Now start walking before I shoot you myself.”

He stumbled down the steps, keeping a sweaty grip on the hand rail, and counting slowly to himself as he heard the sounds of patrols searching for, but never seeing, him. Soon, he was outside on a rickety fire escape, his savior standing very close behind him and laying a hand on top of his, “Now this part’s tricky. But just 11 more steps and you’re free.”

Gerard nodded, breathing out sharply before descending down. On the second to last step,
his foot slipped, and both he and the man tumbled off the stairs and onto the dumpster below, creating a metallic racket that caught the attention of the stupefied police wandering around the abandoned building. The man sprang up, pulling Gerard down onto the sidewalk and shouting a quick apology before darting into a grey Camaro and bringing to life. Gerard lay on the ground, half drugged and half winded, staring up at the tainted Battery City sky.

“Come on, man. If you wanna make an escape you need to start moving.” He ordered, holding his gun at full arm’s length.

Gerard heaved himself to his feet, staggering into the passenger’s seat and leaning against the dash, “Thank you… you saved my life.”

The man shrugged, “Consider it a favor. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why were they chasing you?”

He sighed heavily, picking at his chipped fingernails, “The lottery was a setup. They were shooting and I got away. They caught me in the hall and stuck me with some needle, but I still got away. I don’t know how long I’ve been running.”

The man kept staring ahead, “And now?”

Gerard looked out the window, trying his hardest not to cry, “Water Street. We need to go to Water Street.”

Without a word, the man threw the car into reverse, speeding out from its hiding spot behind the dumpster. They shot through empty streets, the engine roaring threateningly against the walls of the buildings. After a few miles, the man cut the engine and rolled onto Water Street. Gerard squinted through the darkness, making out the outline of a small green house.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered, and crept out the door without closing it.

He kept his shoulders hunched as he shuffled up the walkway, eyes darting in every direction for the faintest hint of movement. Once he tiptoed onto the porch, he tested the door, seeing if he had remembered to lock it before going to work. The knob jiggled as Gerard tugged on it, but wouldn’t budge. So, walking around the back of the house, he opened the kitchen window and crawled through, landing with a heavy thump. At once there was a laser shot behind him, and he ducked down into a ball to save himself.

“Gee?”

His head popped up at the sound of his nickname, and he saw his brother, Mikey, crouched behind the island with his shaking gun still aimed at the window. “I thought they’d killed you,” he said rather stoically, “I was waiting for them to come get me, too.”

Gerard only shook his head, watching the sad way Mikey came over and sank to his knees, wrapping his brother in his arms. He sniffled softly, “We need to leave.”

Mikey nodded, scooting away, “I know, I’ve packed everything we’ll need.”

He motioned to a set of three boxes and two duffle bags. They grabbed whatever they could carry, and hobbled out to the strange man and his car, loading everything into the back. Mikey wandered to the back of the house, tearing down the tarp that covered his motorbike. He had been waiting for weeks to escape. He sped out first, thundering down the street and zipping through the foggy darkness. The man and Gerard were close behind, laughing hysterically over the sound of the engine. They were out of the city within the hour, the sunrise stretching out in glorious purples and pinks in front of them.

By the time they reached any form of civilization, the sun was a high and hot, covering
everything in a piercing white light. On the horizon, mirages shimmered and disappeared, scattering under the cars’ wheels as they darted past. Finally though, they saw the outlines of buildings and cars gleaming on the hazy horizon. It wasn’t much. A hodge-podge of buildings hammered together with plywood and topped with homemade tin roofs. They were covered in graffiti, all of it hypnotic and sensual. A girl of about 17 waved them down, her orange bandana flapping in the wind as the bike slid to stop in front of her. Mikey pulled off his helmet, squinting through the sandy air, “Where are we?”

The girl smiled widely, and then walked over to an over turned milk crate placed behind a small podium. She pulled on a length of old computer cords, giggling madly as a tattered, discolored canvas rolled down the side of one of the buildings. The words ‘WELCOME TO THE ZONES’ were painted in large, unsteady green letters, outlined in silver glitter. Around the phrase were drac heads and guitars, and one skillfully drawn unicorn bounding over the word ‘ZONES’.

The girl cleared her voice, pulling a piece of folded paper from the pocket of her denim jacket, “Welcome to the zones, lady boys and gentle ladies. Please line up single file for your gun.”

The three men shuffled to a dirt clearing, bags and boxes at their feet, their bikes parked haphazardly near a pile of rusting cars. The mystery man strolled over to the girl, giving one of her pigtails a tug, “Don’t go bossing around new recruits, Blitz.”

Blitz beamed, and tromped over to a large vending machine, tapping on the glowing box with her fists, “Now, you’ll be responsible for your gun, as you only get one. Standard BLI issued ray gun, with silencer and rechargeable clip. Decorate at your own discretion.” She explained, and placed a very large kick to the side of the machine.

The first gun rocketed out, skidding across the dirt and landing against Mikey’s shoes. He bent down, dusting it off and looking from it to the girl, “What in God’s name have you gotten us into?” he shouted at Gerard, smacking his bicep with the gun.

Blitz scrambled between them, waving her own brightly painted plasma canon, “No need to fight, duckies! The good doctor can explain everything.”

Mikey huffed down at the girl, “We’re trying to get away from those BLI creeps. We don’t need a little kid getting in the way.”

Blitz narrowed her gaze, lips pulling into a tight pout, “Little kid, huh?”

Her fist shot out and caught him in the stomach, making him gasp and double over, gun clattering into the dirt. She sneered down at him, flicking the orange hair from her eyes, “You gonna play nice now?”

Mikey nodded, and gasping, elbowed Gerard in the hip, “Finally found somebody bitchier than you.”

Blitz smiled and kicked the machine a few more times, handing Gerard a shiny, white gun.
She put her hands on her hips, smiling at the stupefied men in front of her, “Now that you have your guns, you’ll need a name.”

“A name,” Gerard asked incredulously, “What kind of name?”

Blitz smirked, “It’s your alias. I’m Lady Blitzkrieg. Jet Star is the guy who saved you. All the
Zone Runners have nicknames. Gives BLI a mask they can’t rip off.”

Mikey laughed, still sounding winded, “What? So we can just pick whatever we want?”

Blitz shrugged, “Guess so. I made mine up.”

There was a moment of silence before Mikey’s face lit up and he shouted a proud, “Kobra Kid!”

Gerard snorted loudly, clutching at his sides, “What the fuck man?”

Mikey shrugged, making this odd sort of giggling noise before he spoke, “We’d been talking about ditching Battery City for weeks. I had some time to think.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration. Blitz was tapping at the ground impatiently, blowing chunks of hair from her eyes, “We don’t got all night, y’know.”

Gerard frowned, scratching at the base of his neck, “I can’t think of anything.”

She just huffed and started walking towards the plywood buildings, Jet Star close behind her, “Then come this way. Pony’s pretty good at making up names for people.”

The brothers followed them into the first building, an abandoned arcade, through a hidden door on the side. It was dark and smelled heavily of incense and cigarettes. On the shelves were piles of vinyl records, with various knick-knacks strewn between them. The walls were also covered in graffiti, as well as torn bits of band show fliers. Blitz led them back to a small room at the end of the convoluted shack. There wasn’t a door, only a heavy velvet curtain tacked over the opening in the wall. There were a set of candles on either side of the door, filling the entry way with a weak orange glow. Blitz held the curtain up Mikey and Gerard to crawl under, where they were met by men huddled over a large block engine. Jet Star walked forward and started whispering something into the ear of a bearded man in a leather duster. Blitz pushed up between them, tapping a man covered with tattoos in the shoulder, “You got a minute?” she asked sweetly.

All three turned around, looking at the strange men in dress shirts and slacks, dirty duffle bags at their feet. The one with tattoos pushed up his welding mask, blinking dumbly at the men with soot ringed eyes, “Blitz, who are these people?”

Blitz smiled and shrugged, pointing back at Mikey with her thumb, “Call this one Kobra Kid. Other guy doesn’t have a name yet.”

For a moment, the five men regarded each other with cold, judgmental stares. Finally though, Gerard began to fidget, and blurted out, “We need a place to hide. Just for a little while.”

Tattoos smirked and flipped the mask back over his face, “Really Blitz, next time you pick up a couple of Walkers at least radio in and warn us.” He mocked, pressing the torch to a pneumatic tube on the engine.

Blitz choked a little and began to laugh, pointing at Gerard with a shaking finger, “They’re not… oh whatever.”

The man with the beard looked at the two of them through his sunglasses, his eyebrows in a tight line, “You need a place to hide, and you think you can just crash here?”

Gerard gulped and backed himself against the wall, “Hey, your little Jet friend was the one who played hero and brought us here!” he snapped back, trying to get the shake out of his
voice.

A man in polka dot leggings cracked a sly smile, before bursting out with giggles and nearly knocking the engine of its stand, “We’re just fuckin’ with ya. Grab a chair.”

Gerard huffed and glared at the group, before flopping into a chair with an indignant yelp. Mikey, or Kobra as he was now called, sat down beside him, eyeing everyone in the room with a faux expertise. There were 4 men and one girl, Blitz. They all had on very strange outfits, tight jeans and shirts with ridiculous colors and graphics. Not to mention they all had on old leather boots, which gave them a sense of authority and intimidation. Jet Star was off in a corner, turning knobs and pushing levers on what looked like a very archaic transmission machine. The other three were now standing in front of Gerard and Kobra, their welding masks and sunglasses gone, leaving only blank and dirty faces. Gerard, now finally standing still and the adrenaline leaving his body, was overcome by a thick and drugged exhaustion. He slumped forward, his forehead resting on knees, and began to speak into his lap, “So do you guys have names?”

Tattoos gave a look to the other men, before clearing his throat, “I’m Fun Ghoul. Polka dots here is called Show Pony. And the man who started it all, Dr. Death Defying.”

Kobra looked between them, then at the microphone and radio sitting on a table in the corner. “You a DJ or somethin’?” he asked incredulously.

The doctor narrowed his gaze, crossing his huge arms in front of himself, “What if I am? You part of S.C.AR.E.C.R.O.W.?”

Kobra shook his head, and Gerard looked up, looking pale and drawn, “We’re running away. They tried to kill me.”

Ghoul cocked his head to one side, running a hand up the length of one of his arms, “You’re not assassins or some shit, right?”

Gerard shook his head, slumping back in the chair and kicking his legs out in front of him, “I won that fucking lottery. Turns out they just wanted all the queers dead.”

The men didn’t answer at first, so Gerard continued, “They took us to BLI headquarters, put all of us in this tiny ass room with no chairs or windows. Then the guns came. I slipped away but they were chasing me when Jet found me.”

There was a heavy silence, and Blitz began to pace nervously beside the single window in the room. The doctor watched her from the corner of his eye, but still not letting the strangers out of his sight.

“It’s a fucking drac fest!” Blitz screamed, and pulled her gun from her side, bolting out of the tiny room.

Jet, Ghoul and Pony weren’t far behind, each of them holding their guns close to their chests. The doctor was strolling out, before he looked back at the men in the chairs, “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna fight.” He said bluntly, and grabbed what looked like a rocket launcher from the floor.

Kobra smirked, picking up his own gun and tucking it safely into his pocket, “Do it now and do it loud.” He mumbled, standing up and making a move for the curtain.

“Wait!” Gerard shouted, grabbing a hold on his brother’s sleeve.

“What?” Kobra asked, panic evident in his voice.

“I thought of a name,” Gerard whispered, “Party Poison.”