The Seventh Seal by J. Thorn Page A

didn’t want
to waste precious ammo on you.  That was my main concern.”
    “Where did you guys come from?” John asked.
    “From our mama’s pussy,” said Sully.
    The other bikers around the cooler chuckled and nudged each
other with their elbows.  The card game paused, and the slithering women turned
to face the conversation.
    “Yeah, I would hope.”
    But John’s voice cracked and stuck in his throat.
    “Just fuckin’ wit’ ya my man.  We’re the ‘Keepers of the
Wormwood’, or ‘The Keepers’ as we like to call ourselves.  We ride out of
Cleveland, mainly Parma.  Most biker gangs get into selling whores or drugs,
but not us.  We usually end up buying them from other gangs.”
    Another round of robust laughter filled the smoky room.  “We
do our best to uphold the outlaw lifestyle of the Old West.  We steal from
banks and businesses and then party our asses off until the money runs out. 
Then we do it again.  Simple as that, my friends, simple as that.”
    “How many Keepers are there?” asked Alex.
    “In Cleveland, a hundred or so.  The dozen you see here are
the only ones we know are still alive.  There are other chapters nationwide,
but…”
    Sully let his words trail off while waving his hand in the
air.
    “But you have no idea what’s happened to them,” said Alex,
finishing his thought.
    “Does anyone?  We haven’t fired up our bikes in days.  Been
holding out here, drinkin’, smokin’ and fuckin’.  Ain’t much else to be done.”
    The women smiled and resumed the lustful dance. 
Bleach-blonde hair cascaded over thin bodies, tanned dark from many miles on
the road.
    “Have you checked out the neighborhood yet?” John asked.
    “I think I’ve answered enough of your questions for now.  We
still have no idea who the fuck you two are.  Believe me, there are dudes here
that would like to slice your neck.  Get on with your bad selves.”
    John and Alex took turns telling their respective stories,
starting with their introduction to the First Cleansing.  The bikers listened
and nodded, occasionally asking questions for clarification.  Sully
interjected, repeating names and jargon mentioned only once in the story.  By
the end of the retelling, John would have sworn Sully’d stood beside him at St.
Michael’s.
    “The Holy fucking Covenant.  Doesn’t surprise me at all. 
Those churchgoers have been plotting for years.  We claim separation of church
and state, but those motherfuckers outsmarted us all.”
    John looked at Alex and the realization smacked them hard.
    “Why do you say that, Sully?” Alex asked.
    “If this shit has gone down the way you say it has, who else
could’ve organized it?  Listen.  You got soldiers breaking into homes and
fucking shooting people on their sofas.  Jeeps, Humvees, and tanks rolling down
the streets.  You think they randomly coordinated all of this on their own?”
    Emotionally and intellectually spent, Alex and John leaned
back until their shoulders brushed the wall.  Wordless, they each downed the
rest of their beer, then accepted another.
    “How in the hell are we supposed to fight off the whole US
Army?” Alex asked.
    “I have no plans on fighting the entire army.  I plan on
maintaining my lifestyle for me and my buds.  If we can forage enough beer,
dope, and women to keep us happy, the fuck with everything else. Like always.”
    John sat up straight and searched into Sully’s eyes.
    “Are you telling me you don’t care what happens?”
    “Why should I?  Nobody gives a fuck about us.  We’ve lived
as outsiders our entire lives.  We’ve stood against the standards of ‘moral
citizens’.  I say, fuck ’em all.  As long as they don’t raid the ‘Saw, they can
have this godforsaken place.  Their religion fucked it all up, and it’s about
to kill ’em too.”
    “John and me, we have family we need to find,” said Alex.
    “My family is in this room.  You’re more than welcome to
party with us for