Another chuckle worked its way through the scavengers.
It took them an hour to get up past Hollywood and Highland. The famous intersection was a mess of broken glass, sun-faded billboards, and dead cars. Luke inched the big vehicle between the burnt-out remains of a National Guard Humvee and a pile-up involving half a dozen cars and trucks. A few yards past the intersection, St. George braced his back against an eighteen-wheeler cab on half-rotted tires. He pushed it out of the way inch by inch, his boots scraping on the pavement.
The last half mile to the freeway was the worst, even when the curving road widened out to three, then four lanes. They’d been this way on scavenging runs before, but Road Warrior was a little wider and a little longer than their other trucks so the going was slow. They worked their way up past the big Methodist church at Franklin and a few scavengers bowed their heads or crossed themselves.
The big truck rolled past the parking lots for the Hollywood Bowl and the long-dead marquees for the amphitheater. On the center island stood a concrete memorial to the Bowl, surrounded by long, brown grass. The electronic screens in it were smashed to bits. Lady Bee’s gaze drifted over to the large marquee on her left. There were two half-eaten bodies at the base of it, gray and shriveled from the sun. Dueling vandals had rearranged the letters and numbers into Bible passages or obscenities. “Why are people always so determined to arrange numbers into six-six-six?” she asked aloud.
“Because if this is hell,” Lee said, “it means things can’t get any worse.”
A handful of exes staggered between the mess of cars in the lot and stumbled towards the sounds of life. “Hey,” said Jarvis. “One of them’s in a tux.” He slipped his rifle off his shoulder and into his hand.
Paul looked where the bearded man pointed. “Yeah, so?”
“Might be someone famous.”
“Or it might be some poor bastard who bit it on his wedding day,” said Ilya.
Jarvis pulled a small pair of binoculars from his bag. “Can’t tell who it is,” he muttered. He held them out to Ilya. “Check it out for me.”
“No.”
“If it’s someone famous I need the points, man.”
Ilya smirked. “If you can’t tell they’re either not famous or you’re out of luck.”
“Bastard.”
“It’s nobody famous,” said Paul. He was looking through a small telescope. “No one I recognize, anyway.”
“Damn it,” said Jarvis. “Haven’t seen a good celebrity in over a month.” He gestured at an alabaster statue looming over a stagnant fountain. “Is the statue supposed to be someone famous? Would that count?”
“It’s just a piece of rock,” said Lady Bee. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not just a piece of rock. Same guy who made the Academy Award made it.”
They all looked at Hector. Ilya and Paul both raised their eyebrows.
“What? I got ink so I can’t read a book?” The tattooed man shook his head. “Fuck all you guys.”
The truck rolled to a stop. The road split ahead of them. The right two lanes ran beneath an overpass and up onto the freeway. The left two lanes were Cahuenga Boulevard. Two roads into the Valley. The scavengers moved forward to look at the mass of concrete.
“Sailors beware,” said Lynne. “Here be dragons.”
St. George gave a black sports car a firm shove, knocking it into the overgrown plants on the side of the road. “Just like we planned,” he called to Luke. The hero pointed up the left lanes to the Cahuenga Pass. “When I scoped it out earlier, the southbound side seemed to be clogged the least. I’ll clear a path through the cars. Stay about ten yards behind me.” He looked at the scavengers on the roof of the cab. “Bee, Ilya, Lee, keep me covered, but hold off shooting unless you’re sure I need the help. Everyone else watch our back, make sure we don’t get blocked—”
“Watch it!” shouted Hector.
They all saw the blur coming out of the sky at St. George before he did. Rifles snapped up. He spun and raised his fists just as the ex crashed into the ground. The hero leaped into the air and gore splattered across the pavement.
“Fell off the freeway,” said Hector. He pointed up at the overpass.
“You okay, boss?” called Ilya.
St. George settled back onto the pavement. “Been worse,” he said. He shook a few wet clumps of meat and hair off his boots.
“You need a moment?” asked Bee with a smile.
“I’ll survive,” he said. “Everyone ready?”
They nodded and saluted as he turned back to the road. Luke revved the engine again. St. George took a few strides forward, wrapped his arms across the hood of a green Hyundai, and swung the car off to the side.
They headed up Cahuenga, over the hills, and into the San Fernando Valley.
*