Originally published in Zen Fiction Review
Copyright William Hammett 2015, 2022
All Rights Reserved
There are twenty bikers
in all. They dress in black leather jackets and wear aviator sunglasses,
as you would expect them to. Beneath their World War I helmets, most have
long hair pulled into ponytails that whip in the wind as they round sharp turns
while riding in precise formation across America. They utter very few
words given the gravity of their mission, which is to clear streets and roads
in preparation for the Apocalypse.
They ride through city and countryside, picking
up trash and tending to the homeless. They escort widows and orphans to
shelters and pass out bottled water and blankets to the thirsty and the
naked. They occasionally call numbers at Knights of Columbus bingo halls
and try to keep order at outdoor rock concerts.
Mostly, they move abandoned cars off streets,
roads, and highways so that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse will have a
straight shot when they're ready to ride as thrones and
dominions peel back the sky like the lid of a sardine can.
When not on their Harleys, the bikers can
usually be seen staring at the sky, waiting.
~William Hammett
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