The Last Hour

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“This is it. This is the end. Finally, we will have our chance to stop the tyranny and terror haunting us all,” he thought to himself as he searched the horizon for any sign of the rising sun, but to no avail. His disappointment could not stifle his excitement to carry out a final clash that had been building for millennia. The deserted road laid out in front of him, inky and silent, as the frigid night air whipped against the outside of his leathers, keeping him alert at the tail end of his long ride. Every corner he swept around held the hope for a glimpse of the dawn sun or the sparkle of the city skyline in the distance.

He rounded yet another dark, desolate bend, and his eyes focused on a gas station, like a glowing beacon on the horizon. Glancing at his fuel gauge, he figured he should fill up before setting off on what promised to be a thrilling day.

The giant, green clover emblem glowed through the pitch-black night like a welcome beacon for weary travelers. It reminded him of a much brighter light from long ago, helping to bring about this mess. He shifted in his seat, trying to soothe his burning back muscles. It seemed like the perfect time for a pit stop.

His Harley Davidson grumbled stubbornly, much like an old biker might, as he swerved into the lonely service station and slowed to a stop. The rusted green and white pumps had chipped, faded paint and looked like they had seen better days. One flickering fluorescent bulb overhead provided all the light he would need for this slight intermission. He took off his helmet and enjoyed the dewy air smacking him in the face. A deep breath let the light mist significantly cool his insides. It felt good. He enjoyed the tingling of his tanned cheeks in the surrounding icy mist.

He rubbed his eyes, and, taking a better look around, spotted a lanky, red-headed young man in an expensive suit. His loosened tie hung limp around his unbuttoned, lipstick-smeared collar. The man, putting gas into an impressive red sports car, stood marveling at the stranger’s ivory hog with love and a glimmer of longing in his eyes.

It was an extraordinary piece of modern machinery. Exquisite chrome intermingled with the impeccable ivory-coated steel and blended to form a mechanical marvel that could outrun the devil himself. Despite the extensive journey, not a smudge of dirt or a scratch on the windshield had perverted its perfection.

“You know they sell these,” the stranger said with a smirk while admiring his own arctic blue eyes and flowing gray hair in the bike’s mirror. “You could buy one of your own Red.”

Red considered this and laughed, running a hand over his tailored suit.

“I don’t think it would match my Armani.”

He tightened the navy blue tie around his stained collar while skeptically inspecting the immaculate bike and the mysterious stranger. He had come from the mountain pass. On a night like this, the mountains were humid and filled with mosquitoes, black flies, and every other form of flying pest, yet the ivory paint and acrylic windshield remained pristine.

“No, probably not,” the stranger chuckled, “They require some maintenance and muscle to handle…not exactly the forte of the Armani types.”

The stranger pulled a comb from the pocket of his jeans and ran it through jugular-length silver hair that faded into jet-black ends, slicking it back and into position with the grease that lent to its shine.

Red scoffed at the stranger’s remarks and disheveled appearance. He turned to go pay for his gas, and with the ring of the bell over the gas station door, left the stranger alone in the stillness of the predawn darkness.

It was the perfect time to show Red. Showing them had always been the tranquil part. They always wanted to see it. They always wanted to know. Some would even beg and barter through tears for him to share with them. It didn’t endure for long. They would scream and cry and sometimes even beg him to stop. But not this one… he could handle it. The stranger could feel Red’s anger and strength, like a heartbeat in his palms.

Usually, he would have been more selective, but his obligations had to be fulfilled. The swanky suit, pompous car, and even the watch screamed extravagance, yet Red possessed none of what the stranger could offer. Some people would spend their entire lives searching for it, but he would give it away to Red for no other reason than to spread the word. The first potential he had come across. Like giving sight to the blind.

“Ding.”

The sound of the bell echoed through the night as Red stepped out and hurried to his car while the stranger started towards him. As they crossed paths, the stranger reached out, laid his hand on Red’s shoulder, and met his gaze. In an instant, Red’s face changed from aggressive and insulted by his audacity, to heartbroken, hollow, and hopeless. Through Red’s bloodshot eyes, the stranger fed the truth into his mind. Flashes of a snow-white lamb with crimson streaked across its neck lying limp in the arms of a sobbing woman, both surrounded by her grand, black-feathered wings. Children’s bodies floating downriver with helpless gazes from hollow eyes that all focused on him as they passed in a parade of the paranormal. Fly-infested corpses, dressed in clerical robes, piled high and face down against a red sky. The sun settled into the glow of a burning tomb as the stench of sulfur lingered.

His vision smeared and shifted to a lineup of horses. Each one whinnied as they stomped the barren ground beneath them; stirring up clouds of swirling dust. Black, white, and red coats, but the fourth was nothing more than a pale skeletal structure, exhaling hot, steaming breaths from its nostrils without any noise. Silence prevailed. Nothing came from the horses; there was no sound when he tried to scream. Only the lingering bitterness of copper in the back of his throat.

Red immediately overflowed with dread and regret. He fell to the concrete in a disheveled heap. His grief and fear poured out in a flood of uncontrollable tears. The shame and terror slashed and clawed at him, forcing him to cover his face and expose his cowardice.

“That’s what they all say.” The stranger chuckled, turning his back to Red and lighting a cigar. He started towards his bike and, upon looking at it, rubbed his lower back.

He returned his gaze to Red, who was still a blubbering pile of turmoil.

“Hey buddy,” he leaned down like a longtime friend, “How about you drop me off in the city? Then you can finish what we started here.”

Instinctively, Red reached into his suit pocket and produced a set of keys with a custom silver tag that read ‘Y.O.L.O.’

The stranger snatched the keys and considered the key chain for a moment. Seems appropriate, he thought, then, turning his back to the pathetic lump in front of him he said, “Get in.”

Red remained inconsolable as he climbed into the passenger seat, and the stranger knew why. Side effects, of course. His fiery hair contrasted with his drained complexion and exaggerated his anguished look, making him resemble a sickly Victorian-era child. He sat in silence with the terrified expression of a doomed swine in the slaughterhouse.

After retrieving the black leather satchel from his bike, the stranger tossed it in the back with a thud, climbed into the driver’s seat, and looked at his new acquaintance.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said to Red as he started the slow purr of the engine. “I’ll do you a favor to relieve some of that burden.”

Red turned to the stranger with swollen, hopeful eyes, wishing and searching for any sort of comfort.

“You can tell them…” the stranger grinned, nodding as he stared down the first signs of dawn. He put the car into gear, then turned a devilish face to Red and said, “But you can’t save them.” He hit the gas pedal, and the two peeled out of the gas station towards the sunrise, leaving nothing but dust, dew, and a polished, ivory Harley Davidson in their wake.