CHAPTER 5: CHARRO
8AM, day 4 of the new world
T raffic was even worse this day, and within an hour of being on the highway they agreed to fill up at the gas station since they were down to a quarter of a tank; not including their reserve on the roof. More and more stalled vehicles were on the sides of the roads and the highways were jamming up. Just on the other side of Nashville they passed a flashing sign that read “WE HAVE GAS!”, so they took that exit to go and fill up. The line moved slowly and it took them almost three long hours to reach the edge of the station from the highway exit. It was a large truck stop with restaurants and a convenience store. Tempers flared in the line of cars as some would cut others off to get ahead. It was stressful stop and go driving, and several incidents of road rage broke out in the line. The station had 10 double-sided fuel pump stations, but only two currently remained in service; the rest had run dry. The friends prayed that they would make it before all the gas was gone. Eventually they got close… just a few cars back from the pump... it looked like they would make it. Nathan and Amy left the RV to go check out the store and restaurant after seeing some people walk out with ice cream. Amy called back to Tak, “What kind do you want?” Tak thought for a second, “Anything that’s cold babe.” She smiled and he threw her a wink, which made her giggle before she spun and walked off. He hated for her to leave, but he sure loved watching her go. He looked back to Ringo who sat under the dinette. He seemed to be in a depression; not eating or drinking as he kept his head down. Perhaps a few licks of ice cream would help cheer him up.
He was finally almost to the pumps with only one vehicle ahead of him. When it finished fueling up and pulled forward suddenly a group half a dozen loud revving Harley riders drove to the front of the line and pulled right in front of Tak. They all wore black leather vests with a big back patch that read “SOUTHERN DEVILS MC”. The patch was of a big red grinning devil's face with small black horns. A quick glance told him that this was a group of outlaw bikers. From their tattoos to the “1%” patches to the weapons they openly carried. Open carry wasn’t even legal in Tennessee, but so much had already changed in just the last few days, and these biker’s reflected that reality.
Tak's police badge still hung from his neck as he exited the RV. He walked around all of the bikers, up to about five feet to the right side of the first one who was getting ready to fuel up. He stopped there so he’d be able to fire at any or all of the bikers who might aim a weapon at him, if it came to that. It was a tactical decision; he didn’t want them to find cover behind the man in front of them. It would also theoretically allow each of them to fire at him at the same time; which he didn’t seem worried about. The lead biker looked at Tak and sneered upon seeing his badge. He was a muscular Hispanic man in his early-40’s with a black goatee and slicked back black hair that hung down into a ponytail. He wore no shirt under his black vest, which better displayed his many devilish tattoos and scars on his deeply tanned flesh. The name "CHARRO" was on a patch over the right chest of his vest. He had pock marks on his face and looked like he belonged inside a prison cell. Tak spoke first in a loud, sarcastically-friendly voice as he smiled, “Ya’ll must not have seen the line on your way to the pumps. If you want any chance of getting gas here today you’ll circle back and get at the end of it.” Charro looked at Tak and then spoke to his nearest biker buddy, a chubby bald white man. “He’s a cocky sumbich ain’t ‘e?” The bald biker nodded, “You want me to go smash this pig, Boss? We ain’t got time for no bullshit.” Charro shook his head as he got off his bike, “Nah, I got this.” He walked around his bike towards Tak and raised his voice, “Listen mother fucker; unless you wanna get your head stomped in you’ll get back in your RV and keep your damn mouth shut! There ain’t no law no more, cop… you ain’t got NO power!” Charro’s eyes opened wide as he spoke, making him look like crazed. Tak reached up and tucked the badge under his t-shirt, seeming to just then notice that it was displayed. He could see several of the bikers had dismounted and had hands on their weapons, but none had drawn. Tak replied slowly with a look of unmistakable confidence, “Oh, I’m not here as a cop. I’m just a private citizen who’s not about to let you bully your way in front of all these people who have waited for their turn at the pump. You can go get in line like everybody else.” The gang leader was used to intimidating people and having them cower to his words, but he wasn't having the desired effect on this man. Tak continued, “Drive away now while the only thing that’s hurt is your pride.”
Even as Tak spoke the words, he could tell this man was too stubborn and proud to heed them. Charro wasn’t about to lose face in front of his men, and with this lone cop not even holding a weapon, his decision came easy. He decided to use a tactic that had worked well for him several times in the past. He’d walk up while talking and acting like he was just trying to intimidate him with his words. When he got close enough he’d poke his chest with one hand, which he actually did just to make sure he was in the perfect range for a big punch. Then he’d blast him with a rear right cross that should break his jaw before treating his head like a soccer ball once he fell.
He walked towards Tak, who stood motionless with his head slightly cocked and a growing grin on his face. Charro stuck his left pointer finger out as he began motioning with it and was about to poke it in Tak’s chest while he continued yelling. “You don’t know who the fuck you’re messin’ with! Were the damn Southern…” As Charro’s left hand approached his chest, Tak shot both hands out with untelegraphed quickness and tightly latched onto the man’s pinky and ring fingers with his right hand and grabbed Charro’s middle and pointer fingers with his left hand. Before the big biker registered what was happening Tak jerked his hands outwards with all of his strength, which ripped Charro’s hand wide open between his middle and ring fingers. The soft tissue of his hand split almost down to his wrist as blood sprayed from it before Tak let go. Charro started screaming as he held his mangled hand in front of his face in shock. He instinctively squeezed his left wrist with his right hand and looked at the monstrosity attached there as he slowly stumbled around where his men got a good look at it as he went into shock.
The chubby bald friend who Charro had spoken to earlier had his hand in his waistline but hadn’t yet pulled his pistol as his mouth stood open in surprise. Tak stood motionless and locked eyes with him, but kept alert out of his peripheral vision for any other biker to draw a weapon. This biker seemed unsure of what to do and he hesitated… until Tak blew him a kiss. As if on cue the leather clad gunman enraged and went for his pistol; which is what Tak had been waiting for. Tak focused and called forth the predator within. His every sense greatly multiplied. As time slowed to a crawl around him he smoothly drew his XDS and stepped his left foot forward into a firing stance. His left hand supported the palm of his right and both thumbs pointed forward on the left side of the pistol. He lined up his front sights with the man’s nose and squeezed the trigger. A millisecond after the primer exploded inside the round’s brass case and sent its lead projectile speeding out the end of the barrel Tak was moving his aim to the left to line up with the next biker’s face. He had his next shot lined up before the slide of his pistol had even traveled all the way to the rear of the lower receiver from his last shot. He saw the other four bikers beginning to draw their guns in exaggerated slow motion, but they were already too late. Tak had five more rounds and four more targets, not including Charro, who he figured was likely no longer a threat. Tak stayed aimed in on his second target and waited while the spring around the guide rod of his pistol forced the slide back forward while a new round pushed up into the chamber from the magazine. When the pistol was finally ready to fire he slowly squeezed the trigger again; careful not to jerk it and thus cause his aim to be off. He’d have to repeat the process three more times as he quickly Groucho walked towards his RV down the line of bikers, carefully lining up his shots and waiting for his pistol to chamber each new round before firing again and shifting
to his next target.
After his third shot his mind began to strain to release its focus and return his senses to normal around him, like a man holding his breath underwater and wanting to come up for air, but he knew he could push himself farther. He lined up his sights on the next man as he continued to quickly walk down the line, moving as the firing pin struck the round’s primer and shot it’s chunk of lead out of the end the barrel in a fiery blast. He maintained his concentration to stay in the moment and continued to line up his final shot and began to squeeze the trigger. He could focus harder if it was necessary, but he realized that it wouldn’t matter either way. Just an instant before he fired his fifth round his mind snapped back to normal against his will, like a rubber band being accidentally released. Still, it didn’t matter as his sites were already lined up with the nose of the last biker in the line as he finished his trigger squeeze.
Moments earlier Amy and Nathan had emerged from the convenience store when Tak approached the bikers. They had walked up to about 50 feet behind Tak; unnoticed by the bikers and in silent support. They had their pistols drawn and held behind their backs in case it became necessary to start shooting. What she saw after Tak had ripped the lead biker’s hand in two had completely confused and frightened her… she had witnessed the impossible. She had seen what appeared to be fully automatic gunfire erupt from Tak’s sidearm as the back of each of the five remaining biker's heads had exploded in a spray of blood and brains; with him somehow not missing a single shot. But what had scared her most was what she’d seen when looking at Tak as he fired; he had literally been an impossibly fast moving blur as he flashed from where he had been standing down to about 15 feet to his left in less than a second, and she knew it wasn’t her imagination. It was like she had watched a video of him moving in fast forward at ten time’s normal viewing speed. How could he do that? What in the hell was he… an angel? A demon? Had she hallucinated? She furrowed her brown in confusion and just couldn’t make sense of it.
The drivers of the vehicles behind them had also watched the scene unfold and couldn’t understand what had just happened. One particular driver of a stolen red sedan, who was two cars back, was quite interested in the miracle she had just witnessed. She decided then and there that she’d get some answers.
CHAPTER 6: THE ORDER
T he ancient Order of Hoshoku is built on well-guarded secrets. They conduct their business in the shadows of normal society. They believe that those who carry the Hoshoku gift are ordained by the gods to protect the emperor of Japan and his royal family. The order's purpose in life is twofold; to protect the emperor at all costs and to ensure that the Takamura lineage pass on their gift, ensuring it never dies with any generation. They are fanatical in their endeavors. They believe they are justified in taking whatever means are necessary to ensure their mission’s success. They eliminate any enemies of the emperor; regardless if they are real or merely perceived. They train their members to be extremely effective protectors and assassins. They train in every weapon and killing method known to man from ancient and modern times. They live a life of structured days filled with intense training. They have no mercy once the decision to eliminate a target has been made, regardless of collateral damage. The end result of furthering their goals is justified, even if a few innocents are taken out or victimized from time to time. After all; mere mortals are beneath them. They believe that any action they take in the name of the Order is “good” since they are doing the will of the gods, as ordained to them almost a millennia ago. Over the generations their hearts have become hardened to any suffering they cause; a necessary sacrifice required to ensure the success of their mission. One Takamura male with the Hoshoku gift is always near the Emperor to provide protection as his elite guard, as has been done for almost 900 years. The few men with the gift who remain in The Order take week-long shifts guarding him.
Currently only five living Takamura men comprise the male members of the order with the Hoshoku gift. They are 59 year old Hayato; the current patriarch of the family, his 34 year old son Tadashi, and three of Hayato’s younger half-brothers; born of the same father with different concubines. Almost a hundred other carefully vetted followers serve and support the Order as full time employees; treating those with the gift like they were gods walking the earth. They have followers and supporters in the highest positions of power and influence within Japan's society, and many supporters in other locations worldwide, which gives them tremendous financial resources.
The Order has always been an offshoot of the Takamura Clan. Throughout the centuries not all Takamuras believed that their purpose in life was to merely serve the emperor or even pass on their gift. Members of “The Clan” often believed they were ordained by God or the gods, depending on their belief system, to simply do good and make the world a better place wherever they went in life; not to simply live a life of service to anyone in particular. They often pointed out the words that the first Takamura man to receive the gift had written down; “You shall prey upon the evil and corruption in this world and in the hearts of men.” The Takamuras who did not follow the tenants of The Order often hid from or fought them, for The Order was unbending in their beliefs and ruthless in their efforts to secure any men with the gift or women who carried it.
Hayato’s sister Chika, who was Tak’s mother, had escaped The Order 33 years ago and taken the sacred Takamura family history book and meteorite bladed wakizashi sword with her. In all the time since then not another male with the Hoshoku gift had been born into The Order; a curse they blamed upon the theft of their sacred sword. The Order had searched feverously for her and the stolen sword and book, but had not been able to find a trace of her.
The Order was based out of the ancient Takamura Castle in the beautiful countryside of Kamakura Japan. Takamura castle had been constructed in 1186 AD by the Shogun of Japan, Shogun Minamoto Yoritomo. He had it constructed as a gift to his adopted son and most elite Samurai guard, Yukitaka Takamura, after he reportedly witnessed the gods bless Yukitaka with the Hoshoku ability. More of a walled barracks than a castle, the structure held a large interior courtyard that was centered on the very spot that a beam of light had shone down on Yukitaka's face when he’d received the gift. The castle was an old but well-made and maintained wooden and stone structure. Over 40 wooden rooms surrounded the outside of the courtyard, just inside of a 20 foot tall and five foot thick gray stone wall that surrounded the entire structure. It was right at 50 paces from one side of the wall to the wall opposite it. Inside the open central courtyard was a myriad of combat training equipment; most of it placed on the outer edges of the courtyard in order to leave a large central space open for combat training. Underneath the entire squared complex were two hidden underground levels of highly guarded, secure rooms.
CHAPTER 7: TADASHI TAKAMURA
O n this day Hayato looked at his oldest son in the courtyard above through a monitor from an air conditioned room in the second subfloor of the castle. Hayato was a mid-50’s, short, wide-shouldered muscular man at just over five and a half feet tall and almost 200 pounds. His long gray ponytail hung to the center of his back. The room offered quite the contrast as it was filled with modern technology in the form of advanced computer workstations and large screens mounted on the near 900 year old stone walls. A dozen followers of The Order worked in the room, wearing traditional brown kimonos that marked them as servants, workers, or the middle class. They monitored various computers and security cameras not only around their castle but also at the Emperor's palace in Tokyo, almost 57 kilometers away. A trip via the regular train system would take over an hour, but there was a secret underground pipeline that went from this subfloor directly to the palace. A man sized rocket pod could make the straight line trip in just under five minutes as it traveled at several hundred kilometers per hour.
Several other servant-like workers shuffled around the castle, busy with various tasks. Most of them had been born into The Order and had served at the castle all
of their lives, just as their parents had. These loyal and true believers kept the basic things maintained and running, prepared food, cleaned, and assisted with darker tasks when necessary. They believed in The Order and most would lay down their lives for it if need be. The fact that they were well compensated didn’t hurt things either. The Emperor funded The Order, as each Emperor before him had done; so money was no obstacle for most anything The Order needed.
ROAD TRIP THROUGH THE APOCALYPSE (The Hoshoku Chronicles Book 2) Page 3
