BORDERLAND BIKER Chapter 4 CHAPTER 4 of BORDERLAND BIKER
Pretty sure the bikes are yours from the picture ID I found in the dry clothing I’m borrowing from the bag on the Wide Glide. Of more importance is the question; am I awake, still asleep, or was I smothered with my pillow, and how did I end up here with one of the Road Warriors?
May have a problem; a man at the end of the pier is coming this way. Can’t risk any confrontations; I’m still weak from what’s happened…I’m leaving on the Warrior…
I can’t believe it; the guy from the pier jumped in front of me. Couldn’t help but hit him. At the same time I hit him whatever was stuck on the back of the Wide Glide’s sissy bar broke lose from the dreamcatcher and dropped to the ground. If I had to describe it; I would say it looked like a glob of pizza that changed into a human head once it was free, grew a huge hand where the neck should’ve been, then using its fingers like spider legs scuttled off into a nearby field of wrecked cars…
Me again, guy’s still unconscious but I think he’ll be ok. He was naked when he ran up here, figured my clothes will be dry when he wakes up. Put him in an old bathtub to protect him from that thing hiding in the cars.
P.S. Starting to remember things, and I’m pretty sure I know who put me to sleep then destroyed the Borderland city I created…If I’m right, it’ll want to destroy the other Borderlands too… can’t wait around
…got to stop it……HILTS
“Raggedy Man,” said Larry looking down at the footprints coming from the pier.
“You mean the same Raggedy Man Hilts ran over with his Warrior,” I added, “then put in a bathtub to protect him from a spider with a human head for a body; the same carnival sideshow Raggedy Man that lured us here and was shredded through Elisa’s dreamcatcher? And how’s it he’s in one piece again; and what’s with the glob of pizza that scuttled off to hide in a field of wrecked cars?”
“Raggedy Man wasn’t always the grotesque parody of the person you’ve seen,” answered Larry.
Dusk had grown darker; drawing a charcoal picture of the pier with a pencil sketched western horizon for background. Surrounding both sides of the pier spreading blackness bordered the sound of breaking waves. With the sun down the charcoal sketch was fast becoming more charcoal than sketch. “Why” by Enigma was playing in my little ear radio.
Larry took a long time before continuing, “Raggedy Man was once a visitor like you, name of Lieutenant Andrew Boss. Ordered by the Navy to fly a restored F4U Corsair from Pensacola to San Diego; the plane after arriving in California was going to be auctioned for a charity called Angel Flight. Angel Flight’s a group of pilots that donate their time and airplanes to fly missions to help needy people in hard to reach areas get medical treatment. Unfortunately he got caught in a huge thunderstorm, became disoriented, flew into the Borderlands and ended up belly landing in a flooded alfalfa field near the town we first met.
“He healed remarkably fast, first into what he originally looked like, then into what chased you. I met him when he was still known as Andrew, although, he preferred being called Andy. Physically there was little change back then.
“When his appearance became repulsive the townspeople began calling him Raggedy Man, laughing at him, giving him ragged clothes to wear; made him an outcast. Only recently did he start chasing after visitors like Elisa and yourself. When it escalated to him trapping Paul and Keino I knew he had to be stopped.”
Dusk had nearly disappeared before we finally started a fire and I asked, “Do the Borderlands always change the way people look? I mean, Raggedy Man could’ve been a grotesque cartoon, something created for a comic book.”
“In the Borderlands we become caricatures of ourselves,”
Larry answered while at the same time feeding bits of driftwood to the flames, “Most often the changes are minor. Andy’s changes, however, were different; it was almost as if he’d been infected and becoming Raggedy Man was the symptom. Which brings up the point, have you seen yourself lately?”
“Why, what’s happened to me?”
“Relax,” replied Larry chuckling, “you’ve the same personality. It’s your looks that have changed, especially since our journey to the city; that trip may have accelerated the process.”
I’d often been called a gangly version of the actor Randolph Scott after he’d been hit with an ugly stick; I could only wonder how much my appearance had altered.
“My changes,” continued Larry, “match my obsession with always wanting to meet the ‘Little Man’ behind the Mysteries of Life curtain. Once in the Borderlands that obsessive curiosity resulted in me developing acute vision, smell and hearing. If it makes you feel any better my changes are even more of an exaggeration than yours.”
Remembering back to when we were on the elevated freeway, “That explains why you were able to spot Hilts from so far away; I couldn’t see him until you pointed him out.”
Larry’s chuckle had grown into a hard to hold back laugh, “Guess we should count our blessings; we could’ve ended up like a guy I once met that was on such a downer his whole life had become a definition of the half empty glass. When he got to the Borderlands his scowl connected to his double chin giving him the face of a bloodhound.”
We both started laughing.
Collecting driftwood, I noticed some broken pallets, one with San Miguel Winery stamped on it. Holding it up so Larry could see the lettering, “San Miguel Winery’s outside of Hollister California, how could one of its pallets have gotten into the Borderlands?”
“Really not that unusual,” Larry answered. “Fact is flotsam from the Borderlands often ebbs and flows in and out of your world. Bits can drift across in the form of the stranger that sits next to you at an all-night café or appear as an unexpected patch of midnight fog along a backroad; ride through it and there’s no telling where you’ll end up.
“Tao Wop music, you called it Doo Wop, was a bit of the Borderlands that drifted into your world in the 1950s; and except for a few backwater spots drifted back. Too bad; your world could use its magic. Conversely characters from your myths and legends often come here; more accurately flee here before they’re forgotten. From books and movies, fictional beings wanting so badly to live beyond the end of their stories they’ve found ways to escape.”
“That’s it, that’s how Hilts got here,” I interrupted. “You said it yourself; you said he looks a lot like a character you saw in a movie about some Allied pilots that escaped from a German prison camp. Maybe his desire to have a life beyond the end of that movie explains why he came into the Borderlands and created his own city.”
Larry continued, “Not everyone comes here on purpose, many are lost; for some it’s a stopover on the way to someplace else, for others it’s to fulfill bargains they’ve made.”
“And you, Larry, what’s your story?”
“Penance, bargain, I guess it depends on how you look at it,” the answer came easily. “Deal was to help visitors like you ask the right questions, find the right answers; however I may’ve harmed more than helped things with our Twilight Wave adventure.”
Knowing that Raggedy Man a.k.a. Andy Boss was in a bathtub nearby and that there was a head attached to a spider-like hand that ran off into a field of wrecked cars not far from where we were standing didn’t bring peace of mind.
Finally on fire, their lettering changing from ink to ash, the pallets began to burn in earnest; their flickering flames giving strobe light glimpses of the slope behind us. Using that light I pieced together clothes from my bag. Hilts had taken the best leaving me a pair of jeans, an old leather jacket, and tennis shoes. Larry was luckier; neither his chopper nor his clothes had been touched.
“The irony is,” said Larry, “Andy was once a friend; helped me build my chopper, let me use his shop. Well not exactly; actually I found his shop, an old Quonset hut at the end of an overgrown runway a few miles from where you and I first met. Thinking it was abandoned; I began collecting parts and had already started fabricating my bike when he showed up. At first he was cool about it, even helped me mate the motor I’d laser cut from the Pratt and Whitney radial to the Indian’s frame; even helped engineer the modifications that allowed it to handle the extra torque. Guy’s a wizard at plasma welding.
“Here’s another irony, it was Andy that came up with the idea of making the forward cylinder an integral part of the frame instead of using the bike’s down-tubes. Yamaha did it with their Virago and since I’d also cut my engine to be a ninety-degree V-twin I knew it would work.
“At the same time I was working on my chopper he was working on the Corsair. How he’d gotten it from where he’d belly-landed to his shop I’ll never know. I do know the man’s a master mechanic, so I wasn’t too surprised to see the aircraft nearly repaired.
“Everything was going great until I came back one morning to find myself locked out of the shop. Note on the door said he’d been called away and wanted to keep everything safe. Problem was I could hear Andy working inside. Not trusting him, I waited until night, broke in and took my bike. He’s been pissed since. In his defense his physical changes had accelerated to the point where they’d altered his behavior; maybe if the townspeople hadn’t made him an outcast?”
“You mean had the villagers not feared Frankenstein’s creature he wouldn’t have become a monster?”
“I mean,” answered Larry, “that once Andy was exiled his frustration fed on the townspeople’s fear until he grew into the thing you saw at the pier.”
“Hey Larry, I appreciate the accolades, but could you and your friend see your way to giving me a hand?”
Raggedy Man’s voice came from the darkness on the other side of the road. Weak and with no threat, its sound still brought back memories of being chased by a hotrod 40 Ford driven by a hideous looking man with a larger than life head and pair of hands.
Larry shouted back, “Andy, you sound in a bit of hurt.”
“Only wanted your friend’s help; instead, I scared him into jumping onto a motorcycle and taking off. Second mistake I made was standing in front of him thinking he’d stop; got myself knocked out. Awakened inside an old bathtub, been in the ditch on this side of the road since, can barely move.”
Picking up a branch from the fire, Larry shouted, “We’re coming over. If it’s a trap you’re toast. You’ve great recuperative powers, even after being cut to pieces by the dreamcatcher, but not from ashes.”
“Understood, and thanks for calling me Andy.”
Larry made sure both of us had burning branches before we began walking to the top of the road. On the opposite side, beyond the reach of our firelight, was blackness.
“Over here.”
We followed Raggedy Man’s voice down the slope past a junkyard of debris. Shrunken and pale, a shadow of his former formidable self, he lay inside the bathtub where Hilts had left him. Wrecked cars surrounded us out to the edge of our light, one of which had as a passenger a human head that could scuttle around like a spider. Larry motioned for me to grab the tub’s other side. Back up and over the road we dragged it, then all the way down to where we’d camped, finally stopping next to our fire. Not until we’d sat down did Larry say anything.
“Out of respect for my old friend I’ll keep calling you Andy.”
“No more lies, and if for some reason I do start to change back into Raggedy Man I want you two to do whatever you have to do; destroy him, me, end it.”
A burst of blue flame from a pocket of dried salt in the driftwood catching fire separated us from what Andy had left to say, “Would’ve done some whoop-ass damage back at the pier; was at the point where I was blaming everyone for what was happening to me, but a matter of time before I would’ve hurt someone. You stopped that from happening; tricked me into getting too close to the dreamcatcher, got myself shredded, took a while for all the pieces to grow back together.
“As I began to heal I realized part of me was missing. When I saw that guy near your bikes I realized the missing part was the part that’d made me Raggedy Man and that it was still stuck in the dreamcatcher’s web. The dreamcatcher cut it out of me and all I can say is good riddance.”
“The dreamcatcher did what it was supposed to do,” I said. “Not surprised it ripped the bad part out and left the good; actually I’m more surprised you survived the exorcism. Means there was more Jekyll than Hyde in you.”
“So what happened?” asked Larry. “Why’d you come running up here? You must’ve known that in your weakened state you were vulnerable to being infected again by whatever turned you into Raggedy Man.”
“I’d met the guy before, thought he could help me; felt I should warn him the Raggedy Man part of me was still stuck on the Harley’s sissy bar.”
“His name is Hilts,” Larry added.
“Hilts, ya that’s the name, we were friends,” continued Andy. “Like you and I once were except the roles were reversed. Like I’d be telling him about a part I needed to fix the Corsair or Ford and the next day he’d show up with it at the Quonset hut. Big stuff like the welders I’d find inside the shop when I woke up in the morning.”
“Sorta like the Tooth Fairy, I mean Tool Fairy” I added.
“Sorta like I figured out early on he either had a gift for finding things or he could conjure them. That’s why I ran up from the pier. Thought he’d remember me, maybe even help me; didn’t count on him running me over.”
“He wouldn’t have run you over if you hadn’t jumped in front of him,” said Larry. “Plus, he most likely was still disoriented from being given electroshock.”
Larry then told Andy about our trip to the city; deliberately leaving out the part in the letter where Hilts saw a glob of what looked like pizza dough break free from the dreamcatcher, change into a giant spider with a human head for a body then scuttle off into the nearby field of wrecked cars.
Down to coals, our fire radiated just enough light to show the grateful look on Andy’s face when Larry said, “Moving you might be risky. Come morning we’re riding to the summit. Ma n’ Pa live there and I know for a fact Ma’s a healer.”
Andy glanced up at Larry, “Once met the couple you’re talking about, good people. But what if I’ve somehow change back into Raggedy Man and he’s waiting in this tub when they get here; can’t really protect them from him?”
“Larry smiled, “I wouldn’t worry too much about Ma n’ Pa. To be honest, if my suspicions about them are true, my concern would be more for Raggedy Man. Now let’s get some sleep.”
Curling as close to the fire as I could, I thought about us rescuing Andy, recently Raggedy Man, and as crazy it sounds I fell asleep knowing we’d done the right thing.
Larry’s, “Wake up; we’re running late,” opened my eyes to the realization I’d slept the night through without dreaming. Andy looked better now that he was wearing Hilts’ clothes. We’d draped Hilts’ wet clothing out to dry before we’d gone to sleep.
Larry came over to add wood to the fire, “Woke up early to check on things; could hear Andy shivering so badly he was rattling inside the tub. Hilts’ clothes were dry so I gave them to him to wear. Figured they can sort it out later. Also checked the bikes; we’re ready to ride. Still can’t figure how Hilts escaped, let alone was able to bring one of the Road Warriors with him?”
Andy had been listening, “Best get started; you’ve left enough wood and water, I’ll be fine. Oh, and if you see Hilts tell him I’ve no hard feelings about the accident.”
Going over to Andy I leaned down, “If no one’s at the summit we’ll return.”
Checking again to see that firewood and water were within easy reach of the tub, I started my bike. Larry’s chopper coughed to life seconds later.
We’d agreed not to tell Andy about the creature hiding in the cars on the other side of the road.
Neither of us looked back, nor did our speed drop much below seventy until we came to the base of the mountains. We reached the summit a little before noon.
Ma n’ Pa’s store was the first thing that came into view; next their tree house cottage. Surrounding everything were orchards and gardens. Ma n’ Pa stood together at the bottom of some wooden steps that led up to their front door. Larry parked next to the steps; I stopped beside the gas pumps.
“Larry, thought it was you,” said a tall woman, who looked like she’d spent a lot of time outdoors and was standing next to a very tall man that looked like he’d spent even more time outdoors.
Larry waved then turned to me, “Meet Ma n’ Pa, they’ve lived here at the summit forever and have the last place you can get supplies before you reach the Crossroads.”
Having never heard of the Crossroads, I replied, “Crossroads?”
Larry leaned over, “It’s where the Old Ridge Route joins with this road, tell you later.”
“Tell him what later?” said Ma from beside us.
Don’t remember seeing her walk down, but there she was standing next to Larry and smiling.
“Larry,” she continued, “you sound like a tour guide. You and your friend come inside, tell us the latest.”
Optical illusion maybe, but the inside was much larger than the outside indicated it should be. Furnished with sofas, chairs and tables that seemed to have grown into their shapes; they would’ve passed for Salvador Dali’s surrealistic sculpture.
Before I could ask questions, Larry said in a whisper, “As crazy as it sounds, they may have made this Borderland; least ways I ‘m pretty sure Ma did. Fact is, if I had to guess, she may’ve even made Pa. Don’t think they know I know so promise you won’t say anything. But by accident I found out myself.”
“Promise,” I said.
“You boys gotta be hungry,” Pa shouted from the next room. “Table’s set, come in through the kitchen, wash up in the sink.”
Drying my hands I couldn’t help notice the towel was from the Outrigger Reef Hotel in Oahu. Nothing surprised me. If I could visit their Borderland why couldn’t our hosts go relax in Hawaii and catch a few waves, bring home souvenirs?
Lunch was everything the gardens promised. Served on ceramic plates made in their own kiln; what we were eating became a savory footnote underlining Ma n’ Pa’s self-sufficiency. Vegetable kabobs of all kinds barbequed in some secret sauce, lemonade, and fruit for dessert made up the meal.
Throughout lunch Larry did most of the talking, telling about the other Borderland, the Twilight Wave and how we had, with the help of Hilts, barely escaped. Ma interrupted only to ask Larry if Hilts, before he’d escaped, ever found out who’d put him to sleep, made his city disappear with electroshocks, and was ready to put a pillow over his head. She knew most everything else, even knew we were here to get help for Andy and that he’d once been Raggedy Man. Pa, on the other hand, could’ve cared less what Larry was saying; preferring instead to tell me all about a kind of hybrid apple he’d grown, and how he was digging another well, and could I help him install solar heaters.
When we insisted on doing the dishes, Ma insisted we take showers. Pa seconded it by saying he’d smelled both of us coming up the mountain before he saw us.
“Heard Larry’s chopper first, no mistaking that engine’s sound,” Pa said laughingly, handing us Outrigger Reef Hotel towels and pointing us towards the bathhouse.
Next to the kiln and not far from the main kitchen was the bathhouse. Steam billowed out, wooden planks cut to perfection made for sealed walls and floors.
After a hot shower I finished my thoughts aloud, “They’re certainly more than meets the eye.”
Larry talked while brushing his teeth, “Let me guess, you’ve figured out Ma n’ Pa are more than just a nice couple running a general store at the top of a mountain, that Ma knows the answer to most of her questions before she asks them and that Pa’s senses are far more acute than mine will ever be. Am I getting warm?”
“Just guessing, but you’ve got to admit there’s more to Ma n’ Pa than meets the eye.”
“Actually,” Larry continued between rinsing and brushing, “much more than meets the eye may be closer to the truth than you think, least ways with Ma. She’s a mystery, no denying, and one that may never be solved but on her terms.”
Pa’s knock on the bathhouse door postponed our talk, “Thought maybe you two dissolved down the drain,” then handing us our clothes, “also took the liberty of washing your stuff while Ma went on an errand. Speaking of which, she told me to tell you Andy’s going to be ok. Said to tell you she checked on him when you boys were taking showers and that he’s on his way here. Oh, almost forgot, she said not to worry about the thing that scuttled away and hid in the wrecked cars.”
“There’s no way,” I said turning to Larry after we dressed and exited the bathhouse, “Pa could’ve washed and dried our clothes or Ma gotten to the coast and back in this short of time. That is unless they really did create this Borderland.”
“Your promise,” interrupted Larry.
“You mean your friend’s promise not to talk about how Pa and I created this Borderland,” Ma said from behind us smiling. “Pa told me you had a gift for putting puzzles together. Fair hand at puzzles myself, so it didn’t take much figuring to put enough of the pieces together from your story at lunch to know that in Andy’s weakened state I needed to get to him as soon as possible. Had that thing that crawled into the field of cars reattached itself to him before I’d gotten there it could’ve turned him back into Raggedy Man.”
“So he’s going to be ok?” Larry asked.
“Yes, even invited him to dinner; even helped him get his car started. And that spider thing hiding in the wrecked cars, well, it turned out to be a parasite that takes over its host; would’ve changed most anyone into Raggedy Man or something worse.”
Larry looked concernedly at Ma, “You actually looked for it, actually got close enough to see it?”
Ma smiled, “What you mean is, did I hunt it down?”
Slow on the uptake, I finally connected the dots, “That’s what the dreamcatcher ripped out of Andy when he was Raggedy Man, got caught in the webs, then grew into what Hilts saw break loose from the back of my bike’s sissy bar. What happened?”
“What happened,” Ma replied, “without getting into details, is it won’t be infecting anyone again. Of more concern is how’d it get into the Borderlands and why’d it pick Andy as a host? Still wish I could’ve talked with Hilts. Andy becoming infected with the Raggedy Man virus, Hilts being put to sleep by someone so they could destroy his city with electroshock are all related. Actually I’m surprised Hilts was able to escape.” Ma then looked directly at me, “Your entries and exits into our Borderland may even have a role in what’s happening. Hilts will ask the same questions then follow the Old Ridge Route from the Crossroads to where he’ll find the answers.”
“Second time I’ve heard the Crossroads mentioned,” Somehow I found myself talking to Pa. “Didn’t see any sign of a crossroad riding to or from the coast.”
“Wouldn’t have seen anything unless you knew where to look,” Pa said glancing over at Ma.
Ma nodded as if giving Pa permission to go on.
Pa continued, “Until about a year ago, Ma and I used the Crossroads to visit friends. I loved those trips.
“Beyond the Crossroads’ entrance is a small valley filled with farms. Beyond the valley the road, we called it the Ridge Route, will lead you into the mountains. You’ll cross four bridges before getting to the road’s end; the first is at the far end of the valley as you climb into the foothills. The road continues, crossing two more bridges the higher you go; finally ends just before the fourth and last bridge.
“Suddenly and without any warning the Crossroads were closed; barricaded with boulders. We never learned why nor did we ever see any of our friends again. None of them came to tell us what had happened. They’d disappeared.”
Larry confirmed Pa’s description of the land, “A few months ago I followed that road for a couple of miles. Boulders must’ve shifted since you folks were there, enough to let my chopper through. Past the barricade the road winds down into a small valley before climbing back up to straddle the crest. I didn’t ride far enough to reach the first bridge.”
The signature roar of Raggedy Man’s Ford interrupted our conversation. Sounding the same as it had when chasing us, it could be heard coming closer, working its way through the gears. Accompanying the car’s sound was the memory of it chasing me. Finally it appeared, downshifting, heading to where we were standing.
Stopping in front of the gas pumps, Andy turned off his engine, “Met Hilts at the Crossroads, seemed to recognize me; said he’s knows what’s creating the problem and is going there to deal with it.
“Ma, I owe you, but something’s saying it’s more important I get back to the shop and finish repairing the Corsair. Will take a rain check on that dinner invite though and a fill-up from your pump.”
“Take all the gas you can,” replied Ma. “Just promise you’ll someday help Pa with his projects. From what Larry’s told me you’re quite the engineer.”
“Deal,” said Andy.
Ma then put her hand on Andy’s shoulder, “None of what’s happened to you since you landed in the Borderlands was your fault. Haven’t put it together yet but I suspect the parasite that turned you into Raggedy Man and what Larry said happened in the Borderland Hilts created were caused by the same thing. Sure I can’t talk you into staying the night, got an extra room.”
“Thanks again for the invite, but I’ve got to get going; and Ma, so you’ll know, Hilts said to tell you he thinks whatever’s causing the problem is holed-up in an old diner at end of the Ridge Route, said you’d know the place.”
Andy had filled his Ford at the pump in a quick minute and was down the mountain and out of sight in another before Ma broke the silence, “Lots of chores to be done, you two can help Pa.”
Larry and I spent the rest of the afternoon working with Pa, work in the gardens and orchards that took our minds so far away from our worries we had to be reminded to come in for dinner.
“Pa, did they earn their keep? Gotta watch them biker types, loafers all of ‘em.”
“Earned their keep, Ma,” Pa answered laughingly. “Larry even came up with a better way of gettin’ water to the fruit trees.”
If conversation at lunch had been dominated by Larry’s talks with Ma, dinner was dominated by silence. Even washing the dishes with Pa pitching in to help, but for the clinking of silverware, was done in silence. Once I started to ask Larry a question and he just shook his head giving me the ‘not now’ look.
“You two are about to bust with curiosity,” said Ma from the living room after we put away the last pan, “so why don’t you come in here. Pa and I are next to the fireplace. Best know what you’ll encounter along the Ridge Route when you go to help Hilts.”
Some type of light gray metal had been made into a fireplace big enough to seat both Larry and I at each corner like bookends. Ma n’ Pa were in front; Ma in a straight back chair, Pa, standing in an American Gothic pose minus pitchfork, behind her. Facing the fire they were illuminated by the same flames providing warmth to our backs. Any country bumpkin expression I’d seen in their faces was gone.
“You’ve known for awhile we built this Borderland,” said Ma looking at Larry, “and yet you never said anything.”
“Told me,” I said.
“No harm done,” continued Ma, “would’ve told you anyway seeing that Larry’s decided to go after Hilts.”
Facing Larry, “When did we decide to go after Hilts?
Larry hadn’t taken his eyes off our hosts when he replied, “About the same time our hosts decided to deal themselves a hand in helping Andy.”
“Well I’ll be,” chuckled Pa, “told ya that one’s smart, sensed it when I met him. How’d ya know?”
“When you’re working in your garden,” answered Larry, “you start singing. Problem is your lyrics become whatever’s on your mind. All afternoon you kept singing about how you and Ma weren’t going to let your Borderland get destroyed; how the two of you were going to set things right.”
Ma looked over at Pa, “Pa, I warned you about getting too caught up in your work, was afraid you’d let our plans slip out.”
“Shucks, Ma, can’t help myself, can’t really be happy unless I’m humming a tune.”
Ma looked at us, then to Pa, “All the more reason I need to level with these boys about what they’re getting into and I know you’ve got things outside that need tending.”
“Ma’s right,” Pa said as he headed for the door. “She’s best at explaining what’s gotta be done.”
Ma laughed a little after the door had closed behind Pa, “Don’t know why Pa said that, he could’ve told you too, but I’ll make it simple. Something, a type of virus, maybe a spore, has gotten into our Borderland, hopefully not all Borderlands, and is destroying it.”
“Larry stood up, “You’ve known for awhile something was happening to your Borderland; could tell from your questions at lunch. Finding that Raggedy Man was really an infected Andy and that electroshock had been used to erase Hilts’ city were clues you needed.”
More coals than flame, the fire had drawn bits of darkness into the room making me glad when Ma finally answered, “I’ve got most of the pieces, clues as you say, I need to solve the puzzle. Pa was right about you getting to the bottom of things; it’ll help with what you’ll encounter along the Old Ridge Route. Cleverness is more of an asset than brute strength or so the Greeks believed.”
Now why did I get the feeling she’d meant ancient Greeks, known Odysseus, probably called him Pa, and that riding up the Ridge Route could very well mean meeting a mythical creature or two.
Ma spoke directly at Larry, “You mentioned that after getting past the barricade you rode to the end of the valley and that you could see where the road climbed into the mountains.
“You should also know that once into the mountains the road will follow the ridge; sometimes it’ll meander off, but mostly it’ll follow the ridge. More importantly it’ll cross four bridges; two, the first and the last, go over the river Styx. They’ll not present a problem. Charon guards them and he’s agreed to help you. The second and third, however, are different.”
Larry didn’t ask so I did, “In what way?”
“They’re guarded too,” replied Ma, “but by things that’ll not want you to pass.”
It was Larry’s turn, “Can Charon come with us?”
“Charon’s part of the river Styx; gets his strength from its waters. Away from it for too long and he’ll begin to dissolve. Charon’s quite powerful but only within sight of the Styx.”
Ma’s answer to Larry about the second and third bridges being guarded by things not wanting us to pass prompted me to say, “I was hoping you and Pa might be coming with us,”
Ma smiled reassuringly, “Pa and I will come later; but not to worry, Charon’s agreed to get Hilts to wait at the first bridge until you’ve arrived.”
Larry included himself, so I wasn’t insulted when he stated the obvious, “We’ve no weapons; nor are we NFL linebackers.”
Light from the coals still outlined Ma in her chair. Outside the house whatever chores Pa had chosen to do were beyond hearing. Everything in the room became focused on Ma’s reply to Larry.
“You’ll be given a guide. Charon, unable to come with you, will provide you with one. Didn’t tell me his name, just that the guide says he knows how to safely get past the second and third bridges.”
Larry glanced back at Ma, “Can we trust this guide?”
“I wouldn’t, but Charon’s made a deal with him; and promises with Charon are not to be broken.”
“Larry asked, “Out of curiosity, who is Hilts?”
That Ma was still visible in her chair without any real firelight, or the fact that her forthcoming revelations about Hilts didn’t surprise me, didn’t surprise me.
“Hilts is a runaway. Actually he’s the combination of two fictional characters that ran away from your world after their stories ended. One was from a movie about a great escape from a German prison camp in WWII, the other from a cancelled TV series about a renegade cop turned bounty hunter. They became one person taking the name Hilts after crossing into the Borderlands; melding together like two drops of water when they touch. Hilts physically looks like the bounty hunter, but has the personality of the prison camp escapee; on special occasions I’ve seen the bounty hunter’s personality emerge. Hilts became our apprentice.”
“Like in sorcerer’s apprentice,” I interrupted.
“Ma n’ Pa aren’t sorcerers,” Larry said, giving me a stern look.
Ma smiled at Larry then continued, “Actually your friend’s right; years ago we would’ve been called sorcerers or wizards or witches by some, but I digress. Hilts proved to be quite gifted and against our advice he not only created the city you two barely escaped from but people to live in it. Pa and I never doubted he meant well, but by creating people he made himself vulnerable.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because,” Ma said turning to me, “you have to empower the people you create. To invite real people into your life is the opposite of creating people; it’s symbiotic and of benefit to both and quite normal. To create people, however, can make you host to parasites; sort of like growing your own fleas. Not being real they become dependent on you for existence. Empowering them for any time and the host weakens and in turn dependent upon the people they’ve created. Ultimately the host will begin to believe the people they’ve created are real.”
Sarcasm was not what I intended especially towards Ma, “Let me guess. Whatever’s trying to destroy your Borderland, possibly all Borderlands is at or near the last bridge, Hilts has figured it out, and Larry and I are joining him as support? Does that about sum it up? Because if it does; about all Larry and I can do once we get there, providing we’re able to cross the second and third bridges, is give lots of encouragement. Ma, we’re talking about stepping between folks who create things with their thoughts. Seems to me we’ll most likely be used as cannon fodder. Could even be a liability for Hilts if he tries to protect us.”
“Can Charon keep Hilts from crossing the first bridge until we arrive?” asked Larry.
“That’s the plan,” replied Ma. “Plan’s never been to enter the diner alone. Restarting the jukebox will be a team effort.”
Memories of having to give a gold coin to an Elvis that looked like the Elvis in the movie BUBBA HO-TEP to put into an old Doo Wop diner’s jukebox returned.
“I’ve been there.”
“You’ve been where?” Ma replied.
“To the diner, Charon called it the Styx Diner, even gave me a coin to play B-3 on its jukebox. As reward I got my bike back and was shown the way home; could’ve sworn the bartender was Elvis.”
Ma looked at me as if seeing me for the first time, “Was Elvis, and he’s missing. Since then the music’s stopped. Simply put, that jukebox is the keystone to our Borderland; things become discordant when it’s not played. All Borderlands have jukebox keystones, some in different forms; ours is the jukebox at the Styx Diner. Without their keystones Borderlands begin to break apart.”
“So Elvis has left the building,” I had to say it, “and that’s bad because he’s your Borderland’s disk jockey and it’s his job to make sure the jukebox is always playing.”
“Whatever’s happen to him,” replied Ma, having taken no offense at my attempt at humor, “he’s not, as you put it, there to disk jockey; that you were able to enter the Styx Diner, let alone actually see Elvis, is almost as much of a mystery.”
Pa in the meantime had entered the room with an armful of wood announcing his presence by passing between us, placing it on the fire then walking over to stand behind Ma.
Larry turned towards me, “Describe Charon and the Styx Diner; they’re Borderland folklore. Having seen neither I’ve always been skeptical of their existence.”
Glancing at Ma I felt, that like Pa, I was asking permission to share what I’d seen with Larry, “Charon rides a blue Hayabusa. Together they look joined as a horse and a man were once thought joined to make a centaur. Can’t really remember much about the inside of the diner; except for Elvis behind the bar and the jukebox I didn’t see much else. May’ve been people or just pictures of people painted on the walls across the room, can’t be sure and…”
“And what,” Ma and Larry said at the same time.
“His shadow…”
“What about his shadow?” said Pa, but it wasn’t Pa’s ah-shucks country bumpkin voice that’d asked the question.
“Don’t laugh, but his shadow didn’t follow his body’s movements. It seemed to move on its own.”
In an instant Pa changed. Larry didn’t see it because he was facing me. If I’d blinked I wouldn’t have seen it either.
In Pa’s place was an eight foot figure of light, actually ribbons of light like the ones seen intertwined and dancing together on the bottom of swimming pools. In synchronized shades of blue they moved, ebbing and flowing in brightness.
Larry glanced over to Ma then to Pa, who’d already changed into our ah-shucks host again, then back to me, “That’s it then; we’ve got to catch up with Hilts and jumpstart the jukebox.”
Ma winked knowingly in my direction as if we’d just shared Pa’s secret, then nodded in agreement, “When you two are ready both your bikes are out by the gas pump.”
Pa reached into his pocket then walked over to Larry, “I want you to take these pills; they’ll, when added to a gas tank full of water, change the water into gasoline. Gasoline, not wine; so don’t go drinking it.”
Pa then handed me an electric guitar. “Recognize it?”
Was it the Fender guitar I’d played for years as a studio musician? Whether it was or wasn’t really wasn’t important because without any power there’d be no music. But I took it trusting Pa knew what he was doing.
“Looks like the guitar I use at the studio.”
“I thought you might recognize it. Oh, one more thing; you’ll have all the power you want when you need it.”
I asked the obvious, “When?
Pa smiled, his eyes sparkling with the same blue that had animated an eight foot figure of light minutes before, “You’ll know exactly when to play; just don’t lose it, that guitar’s key to saving this Borderland.”
Shadows cast by the moon carpeted the ground outside.
“We’ll leave tonight,” said Larry. “Moonlight’s clear enough to see the road and it’ll give us more time to catch up with Hilts.”
Larry was right, the sooner we got started the sooner we’d meet up with Hilts; get together and come up with a plan. Hard to believe the fate of Ma n’ Pa’s Borderland depended upon an over the hill studio musician, an Old School chopper builder and a character created from combining a character from a cancelled TV series with a character from an old WWII movie; all we needed to complete the group was the Cowardly Lion. Ma n’ Pa had to be applauded for their faith.
Following Ma n’ Pa outside underlined the intensity of the moon’s light, how hard the stars were to see, and that the shadows were near daytime sharpness. Our bikes twinkled like jewelry in the moonlight. My Wide Glide and Larry’s chopper never looked so clean; the buildings behind seemed painted in bold relief.
Pa came over and stood between us, “Your bags are filled with extras, strapped some ponchos around your sissy bars. Ma baked the extras and I figured you could use the ponchos when you get to higher elevations. Gets cold past the first bridge, shouldn’t be any snow though, still early, might even get to see some leftover fall colors.”
Pa held out a tooled leather guitar sling, “Got this in Brooklyn; guy normally makes seats for choppers,” then walking around me. “Here, let me strap that Fender on your back.”
Pa had walked behind me; strapped on the Fender and was out of sight when we started our engines. With a wave to Ma we rode away.
Back on the Ridge Route Larry decided to clear out his bike’s cobwebs and left me looking at the quickly shrinking question mark on the back of his sissy bar; and with no doubt my Wide Glide would never be a match for his radial engine chopper in a race.
By the third corner I’d lost sight of him, by the fifth we were side by side; not because I’d caught up, but because he’d didn’t want me to miss the entrance to the Crossroads.
Covered with brush the entrance to the Crossroads was nearly impossible to see, that is unless you knew where to look. Larry not only knew where to look but was able to find the wheel tracks left by Hilts. Following the tracks past the barricade, our path widened becoming a narrow two lane road; none of it reclaimed by weeds. Upon closer inspection I could see why. Fused into an uninterrupted layer of melted rock the road continued into the distance as a black winding ribbon.
Wooden fences spaced every fifty yards, with oak trees following on each side running parallel to the road, provided borders for nearby fields of grain.
Beyond a set of beautifully banked switchbacks, where flatland became less flat in the process of becoming foothills; Larry stopped. Ticking like clocks, our cooling motors measured time, “This is as far as I came. Ahead the foothills lead on to the first bridge then into the mountains,” Larry continued after squatting down to touch the road, “and you don’t even want to know the temperatures required to melt this rock let alone fuse all of it together. And while you’re at it take a look at the tire tracks. From the entrance to here they’ve shown themselves to still be the radial tire Warrior; meaning Hilts either can’t or won’t conjure up his Softail Custom or Triumph.”
Bending down beside Larry, “Let’s hope it’s won’t. He’ll need to conjure things if he gets in trouble.”
Larry walked over to his bike, “I agree, let’s also hope we’ll be of help to him not a hindrance. Moreover, I’ll be interested to see if the bridges are fused together like the road.”
Riding into the foothills left most of the farms in our wake, where but for the exception of a few power poles and lines, broken in places, signs of past habitation were disappearing. Behind the next curve and with no warning, we came to the first bridge. Expecting to see Charon we weren’t disappointed, for no sooner did we get off our bikes than he materialized, out of what seemed to be nothing, riding towards us with a passenger held tightly in front of him straddling his Hayabusa’s gas tank. On closer inspection his passenger appeared to be a not too happy imp. Webster defines imp as a small demon or a mischievous child. Jimmy Cliff’s “Many Rivers to Cross” was playing in the hearing aid size radio I always wear in my ear.
This wasn’t a child; to the contrary, Charon’s passenger was staring at me and with very old eyes. Eyes that revealed an ancient wisdom that wanted me to know the Borderlands and those that create them would soon be gone, and…
“Don’t look into the imp’s eyes! Should’ve warned you my little friend will get you to believe or do most anything if he can hold your gaze,” Charon shouted at the same time he twisted me around, “and we’ve a problem. Our little friend’s decided to back out of our deal; says he’s changed his mind about being your guide, says he was told he doesn’t have to honor the promise he made to me.”
At the same time he said promise Charon tore the imp’s head off, threw the body over the bridge then jammed it directly onto my bike’s headlight.
“Don’t worry, he’s still alive, least ways enough to make good on our deal; won’t tell me who told him he could break his promise.”
Starting my engine turned on the headlight which shown through the imp’s more than wide-awake eyes.
Charon bent down to look directly at the imp, “You’ll get your body at the last bridge; any tricks and our deal’s void.”
WIZARD OF OZ author Frank Baum created characters that could live as heads so why not the Borderlands; I mean, I was already pretty sure I’d ridden on a yellow brick road.
Charon turned, “Ma asked that I help you, told me what was at stake; even asked me to get Hilts to wait and to get you guys a guide. Got you the guide, but sorry to say Hilts got past me.”
Larry walked over to stand beside Charon, probably more out of curiosity than to study the bridge, “Honor to meet you. Many, myself included, thought you a myth, something out of Borderland folklore. Sorry to hear about Hilts, Ma wanted us to ride with him. How’d he get by you?”
Charon seemed for the first time confused, “It was like he was a lamination, two people; one minute I was talking to him on this side of the bridge, the next second Hilts, or part of him, had projected itself to the other side of the Styx and was riding away. He left this behind. I didn’t touch it, was waiting for you guys.”
Larry stooped down to look at what Charon was pointing at, “It’s a life size negative of Hilts; talk about your celluloid hero. Ma wasn’t kidding when she said he was a created from combining two fictional characters. Question is,” picking up the negative, “how much or what part of him is left?”
“Can’t say for sure,” Charon answered, “can say your friend looked different when he rode away; fainter, thinner, like a part of him had been drained away.”
Larry rolled the negative into a tube then tied it across his handlebars, “We’ll get this back to him. Hilts is tough, don’t count him out. Speaking of counting, can we count on the guide to help us?”
Before Charon could reply, the imp spoke, “I want my body back so I’ll help you,” The imp then rolled one of his eyes so he could see me. “Not even your friend Hilts can cross the second bridge unless he knows where to look for the traps.”
The third bridge is, well, I know of no one that’s ever crossed it. Your only hope is to take the alternate route. I can show you.”
Larry had heard enough, “Let’s get this over.”
Dawn was upon us, stars were winking out and the moon had given up trying to outshine the morning sun.
Charon moved to the side letting Larry and I pass; as we rode by he gave us a small salute.
“Would go with you fellas if I could; but gotta stay within sight of the river Styx. Ma’s probably already told you why. Guess I’ll see you at the last bridge; oh, and if the imp gives you any trouble feel free to toss him.”
CHAPTER 5 COMING SOOOON
People can buy BORDERLAND BIKER at: (iuniverse.com then click on Borderland Biker) OR they can go to:(www.cafepress.com/Derrel)
