by Davis, James
"Whatever." Hank muttered, shaking his head. He dropped the radio to the ground and started up the stairs.
*****
“Clay, wake up. We need to get on the road if we want to make it to your place before morning.”
“I'm awake,” Clay said in an exhausted, dry voice.
“What time is it?”
“It's 5 o'clock, come downstairs and get yourself some grub. I'll have the map ready by the time you finish eating.”
“Alright, I'll be down in a few minutes.” Clay leaned down to slip on his boots, when suddenly gunshots sounded from outside. Hitting the floor, Clay blindly searched the nightstand for his pistol, finally grasping it; he army crawled to the door. He snatched up his rifle from where he had it propped by the door and slung it over his head and started down the stairs. Hank had his pistol drawn and was peeking through the front window. Noticing Clay, he said quietly.
“That was close, maybe a block away.”
“I know, it scared the shit out of me. We need to get the hell out of here before those shots are aimed here,” Clay said, nodding in agreement.
“We can be on the road in twenty minutes.” Hank said. He hadn't wasted any time while Clay slept. He loaded up the Plymouth with all of the supplies they could gather. He called for his wife, signaling that it was clear for her to come out of hiding.
“We're leaving, right now.” Hank led the group into the garage with Clay following close behind.
“I'll drive,” Clay offered, “You know I'm a better driver.” Hank, unable to argue the point, tossed the key over the top of the car toward Clay. Plucking the key from the air, Clay said,
“Hank, you're going to have to open the garage door manually then close it back after I back out. Closing it might prevent people from breaking in if they think you’re still home.”
“On it.” Hank replied, trotting toward the garage door. Clay looked back at Karen who was busy getting Toby's car seat buckled in.
“Just a heads up, this is probably going to be the scariest ride you've ever been on, so keep that in mind and try to keep the screaming to a minimum.” Clay said in a sarcastic tone.
“Screw you Clay,” she shot back, “just get us the hell out of here.” Clay turned back around and stuck the key in the ignition and gave it a slight twist. The 440 cubic inch Hemi roared to life and Clay flashed a devilish grin at his brother.
“She's a bad bitch.” Hank yelled over the rumbling engine as he flung open the garage door. Seeing that Karen and Toby were strapped in, he eased the car back out of the garage. Hank turned after closing the garage and started toward the car. Out of nowhere a shot rang out. The bullet struck Hank center mass. A grunt escaped his lips and Clay watched in slow motion as his brother slumped to the ground.
“No!” Clay screamed, climbing out of the car, switching the rifle to full auto and pinning the men down in a rain of hellfire.
“Karen, get Toby and lay in the floor, Sarge! Bella! Stay here!” he ordered as he ducked back behind the car to change mags. “I'm going to get my brother!” He screamed as he shoved in the mag and slammed the bolt home. Clay counted to three in his head and then brought up his rifle and stepped out from behind the car immediately spotting the 3 hostiles. He fired a burst catching the first man in the chest, throat, and face and covering the other two in the dead man's blood. Ducking back down behind the car he screamed out for his brother.
“You ok Hank?” No answer. He cursed, “Fuck, Hank you better not be dead!” Hollering louder this time he started
“Hank-”
“Yeah man, I heard you.” Hank said in a gravelly voice.
“Are you okay?” Clay asked.
“Yeah, it hit the plate in my vest. Still hurts like a bitch though.”
“Can you see those bastards from there?” Clay asked as he chanced a quick peek at the attackers.
“No I can't see shit, my back is to the front of the car.”
“Alright, I'm gonna come to you.”
“Karen, baby are you guys ok?” Hank yelled.
“Yeah we’re good, now hurry up and finish these pricks off so we can get the hell out of here!” she said.
Clay joined Hank at the front of the car.
“How many?” Hank asked.
“Two left, I splattered the first one’s brains all over his buddies. The other two are hiding behind that old truck.”
“I'm pretty sure they think I’m already dead, so you go draw their fire while I circle around the house and attack from the other side.”
“Alright, let me get into position. I'll signal when I'm ready.” With that, Clay got up in a crouch and circled around to the back of the car. To his left was a small concrete smokehouse Hank used to smoke wild game after a successful hunt, as he dove behind it, bullets whizzed over his head sounding like a swarm of pissed off hornets.
“Alright, get ready to haul ass in 3...2...1...” Clay yelled as he stuck his rifle around the corner firing three round bursts at the two men hiding behind the truck. A barrage of bullets answered back, sending chunks of concrete into Clay's face as he pulled out the empty mag, replacing it with a fresh one. Taking his cue, Hank sprinted from his spot in front of the car and ducked around the corner of the house. He slowed his stride reaching the back corner of the house, crouching low and hugging the wall as he peeked around the corner into the backyard. It was clear, he had to move quick, he stayed low as he ran toward the opposite corner of the house. He rounded the corner and hugged the wall as he slowly made his way back to the front of his home. Ducking behind an old beat up truck the two men were steadily pouring round after round into the smokehouse where Clay was hiding. Hank had a clear shot at both men from his position. He flipped the legs of his bipod open and slowly laid down on his chest taking aim at the pair behind the truck. Hank flipped the selector to single fire, lined up the sight on the man's face, and squeezed the trigger. His head exploded, raining blood and brain matter down all over his buddy. Seeing that both of his friends were dead, the man jumped inside the truck frantically trying to twist the key to start it. When nothing happened, the man looked over toward the house seeing Clay and Hank making their way toward him.
“Fuck!” The man screamed as he tried one last time to start the truck.
“Get out of the fucking truck!” Clay and Hank screamed at the same time.
“I'm sorry mister, this wasn't my idea.” the man’s words fell upon deaf ears.
“Wasn't his idea,” Hank mocked, yanking the driver’s side door open. Clay reached in and grabbed the man by the collar of his dirty white shirt giving him a hard tug from the driver’s seat and throwing him to the ground. The thug scrambled to his feet, making it upright just in time to see the butt of Hank's rifle slam into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back and blood began to seep from the fresh wound on his temple as his body crumpled to the ground.
“What do we do with him?” Hank asked. Clay stepped forward pulling the large K-Bar from its sheath,
“We finish the job, this prick won't hurt anyone else.”
“Fair enough,” Hank said as he stepped aside. Clay knelt down, grabbing a handful of the man's greasy hair and yanked his head back exposing his throat. He swiped the cold steel across the trachea, cutting deep enough to scrape the man's spine. Immediately the man's eyes opened as his hands went to his throat to staunch the flow of blood. A pool began to form around them as blood gushed from the man's neck. His eyes traveled over to Clay, seeing no sympathy for him.
“This didn't have to happen,” Clay said calmly, wiping the blood off of his knife. A gurgle was his only response as he tried to take his last breath.
“Alright, let's get back to the car and get out of here, they might have friends.” Hank said, as they sprinted back toward the driveway.
“Karen, are you guys ok? We’re leaving now.” Hank stated to his wife.
“We’re fine babe. Let’s get out of here,” she said as Clay threw the car in gear and backed out of t
he driveway. As they made their way down the street, they could see plumes of smoke rising high into the sky.
“Looks like the city is burning,” Clay said as he swerved in and out of stalled cars on the road.
“I cannot believe how fast this happened. It hasn't even been a full day yet.” Karen said, shoving Bella’s giant frame to the side.
“It looks like some of the towns we saw overseas,” Hank said looking at the destruction flying past his window.
“You remember that second tour in Afghanistan, it's going to get a lot worse real fast.” Clay added. As they turned onto the next road, they could see about three blocks down that a roadblock had been set up with armed guards patrolling on both sides.
“Shit,” Hank said spotting the roadblock
“Can we avoid that?”
“We can try,” replied Clay putting the car into reverse and backing up about thirty feet.
“Left here,” Hank said quickly pointing to a small back road at their left. Clay made the turn and they slowly drove down the road as Hank studied the map of the city.
“Stop here,” Hank said, satisfied that they were far enough away from the roadblock.
“What now?” Karen asked quietly from the backseat.
“What now?” Clay repeated. Hank thought for a moment studying his map before replying “We can't go this way, University and Sparkman are going to have checkpoints, they'd be parking lots at this point anyway.” he paused, thinking as he tapped his marker on the map in front of him. Putting the marker to his mouth and removing the cap with his teeth he began to draw a new route as he spoke
“Go north four blocks and then make a right. From there we'll make a left on Triana and head northeast past the civic center.” He stopped and turned to Karen
“That area’s still blocked off right?” She nodded
“Yes, it should be, they were preparing for some big monster truck show this weekend.”
“Perfect!” Hank exclaimed.
“We'll head past there about 20 miles and then we'll head north…here,” he said, tracing a sharp left turn with his marker on the map and continuing,
“it should be smooth sailing back to your house from there.” He put the cap back on his marker and placed it in the visor above his head, folded the map, opened the glove box and shoved it in. Clay gunned the throttle, eating up the four blocks in a hurry, barely slowing down to make the next turn. The rear end slid and started to come around to the front as Clay pedaled the car sideways around the corner, muttering to himself, “them Duke boys don't have shit on me.”
“You’re gonna miss Triana,” Hank said frantically as he had a death grip on the seat and door.
“Calm your tits.” Clay replied, sliding the car around another corner, then mashing the throttle to the floor causing everyone to sink back into their seats as the car rocketed down the road.
“You hurt this car and I'm gonna cut off one of your damn pinky toes,” Hank said with a nervous chuckle.
“There's the civic center, the turnoff is about twenty miles and we'll be clear from there,” Hank said as they sped down the empty street.
“Think we can get some tickets?” Clay asked, nodding at the giant monster rally banner. Hank chuckled
“Sure buddy, I’ll go online and order two for this weekend.” Toby, who had been relatively quiet given the circumstances began to whimper and whine before flying into a full-blown tantrum.
“The baby is hungry.” Karen said, trying to calm the boy.
“I could eat.” Clay hastily agreed. Hank reached into the backseat retrieving a small tan backpack. Opening it, he retrieved four granola bars. He tossed two to Karen in the backseat, handed one to Clay, and tore open the wrapper of his own before taking a bite. Speaking through a mouthful of granola, Hank said,
“I don't want to be in the city a minute longer than we have to,” he paused to swallow before continuing, “about another half hour, and we can try to get ourselves a proper meal.” Clay nodded,
“Being here after dark is asking for trouble.” No one spoke as the car raced down the quiet road, only a few abandoned vehicles littered the road as they had expected.
“Our turn should be coming up,” Hank said, breaking the silence. Clay made the sharp left turn apparently disregarding the brake pedal altogether.
“Ten miles down the road, there's an old gas station, we can fill this thing up and get some real food in our bellies.” Hank instructed. Clay nodded, pressing the gas pedal further toward the floor.
Twenty minutes later, the family piled out of the crowded muscle car stretching their legs and backs as Bella and Sarge wandered off to explore. Hank placed the key in the lock and turned it, lifting the lid of the trunk and peering in, suddenly, he heard what he could swear sounded like a jet engine. If a jet were a few hundred yards away and getting closer.
“Someone's coming,” Clay said pointing toward a set of bright white headlights that sat entirely too high to be on a car, it was fast approaching from the direction they intended to travel. Hank squinted into the dark attempting to make out what the loud roar and high mounted headlights were attached to
“What the hell is that?” he shouted as the sound grew almost unbearably loud.
CHAPTER 4
“Hank, is that a damn monster truck?”
Karen exclaimed as she and the two brothers stood stock still gaping at what was approaching. The truck was hauling some major ass down the street. The driver slammed on the brakes causing the giant tires to bark and chirp as it came sliding to a stop just a few feet from them. The truck looked like the original Bigfoot. It definitely wasn’t like Grave Digger or any of the new trucks that usually come to town for the typical events or meet and greets. Clay and Hank stared at the old truck until the door flew open and a wiry man with red hair jumped down from the cab.
“What do you want?” demanded Clay, clearly not in the mood to deal with their shit. The wiry man's face morphed into a goofy grin as he replied:
“We don't want no trouble, saw y’all out here and figured you might need some help.”
“Thanks, but we're all set, just grabbing a bite to eat,” replied Clay.
“Where'd you steal the ride?” Hank accused, clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries. The skinny man glanced back at the truck as he spoke
“This old thing? I was all set to drive it in the rally this weekend…Seems that's been canceled due to the grid going down,” he continued, walking closer.
“You got a nice ride yourself, ‘69?”
“71,” Hank corrected him.
“Look man, we appreciate your concern and all but we were just leaving, we got somewhere to be.” Clay interjected, “is there something we can do for you?” Clay felt something hard press into the back of his head and the bald man spoke for the first time from behind them
“Yeah, you can very slowly raise your hands above your head.” The redheaded man quickly pulled a pistol from the waistband of his jeans that had been concealed by his black t-shirt. Pointing the gun at Hank he spoke:
“You two, hands in the air, slow!” The pair had no choice but to comply, raising their hands in the air as the bald man went to work relieving them of their weapons. He removed Clay's pistol from its holster and unsheathed the knife on the opposite side, handing both to his associate, who quickly shoved them into the waistband of his jeans. Moving to Hank, he reached around and removed his pistol, stuffing it into the waistband of his own dirty jeans.
“Check the car.” the wiry man reminded him, still keeping his weapon fixed upon Hank. After a few moments of snooping around the car, the man returned with both men's rifles. He handed Hank's rifle to the other man who returned his own pistol to his waistband.
“Come on over into the light where I can see y'all.” he instructed, leading them into beam of the headlights.
“You too,” he continued, addressing Karen, “and bring the boy.” Karen walked over holding Toby to join her husband and his br
other.
“On your knees, all of ya!” he ordered.
“You should leave while you have a chance.” Hank threatened the men,
“I'd go far, and I'd get there fast.” Ignoring the threats, the bald man pulled the pistol from his waistband, pointed it toward the sky, and fired three quick shots.
The rumble of an engine starting somewhere nearby filled their ears. A set of bright lights came into view, much like the set before had. The ground rumbled beneath their knees as the second truck barreled toward them. This truck didn't stop as the first one had; instead, it was heading full speed toward the car. It hit the car head-on, sending glass flying.
“You motherfuckers!” Hank screamed as the tires crashed down on top of his car. The sounds of glass shattering, and metal twisting, only just audible above the sound of the truck's engine. The group watched in horror as ten thousand pounds crushed years of painstaking work in Hank’s garage and more importantly their only way of getting to Clay's family. The driver pressed the gas and the engine revved louder as the back tires of the truck finished turning the car into an unidentifiable mass of metal, glass, and leather. The truck circled around, the engine roared as the truck came full speed directly toward the group. This all proved to be too much for Karen who erupted into tears, she was certain she and her entire family were about to become roadkill. The truck finally skidded to a stop just five feet from them.
A large, shirtless, grizzly of a man jumped down from the truck, spitting as his muddy brown work boots hit the ground.
“Howdy folks, name’s Roy, where y’all headed?” Still fuming, Hank spat
“Right up your ass for what you did to my car you piece of sh-” he was abruptly silenced as the butt of his own rifle slammed into the back of his head. Roy chuckled walking toward them as he replied.
“Now calm down, you'll get your chance.” he stopped in front of the two men. Looking up from his knees, Clay spoke calmly.
“If you walk away right now I won't put a bullet in your head.” Flashing a grin at Clay, he instructed his friends to let him go.
