by M B Wood
Coughs and distant muttered curses punctuated the darkness. As the night deepened, the army's campfires gradually faded from flickering orange circles to barely visible dots of glowing embers. Eventually, the valley became quiet.
Chapter 26
Day Two
A blood-red sun climbed above the trees into a brassy sky.
The air was still, warm and humid. In the valley below, the army came to life with a sullen murmur, chasing away the quiet of early morning. The clamor of metal on metal began and grew loud, and then fell silent. The rhythmic sound of marching started.
At the lookout point on the south side of the Hill, Taylor raised his binoculars and viewed the scene below. Through the leafy trees, he saw a collage of whites and yellow with an occasional red octagonal shape flowing from a distant paddock. It was the front ranks of the gang’s army.
Ah, Taylor thought. They’ve made shields from road signs and other sheet metal. It’s their answer to our bows. At the rear came battered U-Haul trailers, many with ladders. The metallic clanking sound of thousands of pieces of equipment and the rhythmic thud of marching feet grew louder as the army got closer.
"Look at all those people." Weitzman put his left hand to his mouth as he pointed with his right. "Shouldn’t we negotiate with them? We can't stand up to a force that large."
"They’re hoodlums. They won’t push us out of here. We'll fight until we win or die. If you're going to leave, you'd better hurry." Taylor hesitated. "Shel, I need you, the Clan needs you. We all need you."
Shel Weitzman did not move.
A hundred yards from the moat surrounding the Hill, the army stopped and formed up into three untidy blocks. A man clad in shiny black leather that bore the bright red and yellow death’s head emblem of the Diablos strode to the front. He raised an arm. For a moment the army was still, quiet.
He dropped his arm.
In unison, the troops in the army beat on their shields and yelled. The noise rolled through the valley like a tidal wave.
Birds rose up in clouds, fleeing.
The man raised his arm.
The army became still. The valley was silent, absent even of the sounds of nature. Again, he dropped his hand. Another wave of noise exploded.
#
For a third time, Skid raised his hand and swept it down. The army again erupted into a percussive chorus. He pranced around, waving his arms, urging the army on. The volume swelled, like a giant savage beast roaring out a challenge to its foe.
All at once, Skid thought of Wagner's Flight of the Valkyries, the part that swelled to a triumphant chorus. It was an omen; he knew he would be victorious. Enough.
He raised his hand. Quiet descended.
“Remember your orders,” he yelled. He dropped his hand and moved to the rear of his army.
A voice rang out, and in unison, the center block of the army raised their shields to form a protective layer--like the scales of a serpent--covering those below.
Skid raised and dropped his hand. The two outside blocks of the army beat upon their shields. The center section advanced toward the palisade. Gang members wearing the Diablos’ colors, those with guns, began to shoot at the defenders on the wall.
Two U-Haul trailers--laden with ladders and pushed by men protected by raised shields--advanced to the edge of the moat. The Diablos continued shooting their guns at any Clan members who showed themselves.
The writhing serpent of shields slithered through the moat’s water to reach the base of the wall, heads barely above the water. Clusters of troops raised individual ladders. Strings of troops snaked up the ladders with shields held overhead. As the first troops clawed ever closer to the top of the wall, the army cheered.
From behind the wall, half dozen containers swished through the air to crash into the moat and burst. Iridescent fluid streamed out over the surface of the water. A moment later, two plastic jugs trailing smoke, arced into the water. Fire erupted with dull thump and raced across the surface of the water. Clouds of thick, black smoke rose, obscuring the palisade.
In unison, a line of archers rose above the top of the wall. Bows flexed and a cloud of arrows sliced into the men who were between the wall and the flames in the moat. The archers disappeared below the top of the palisade.
More plastic jugs filled with gasoline--large Molotov cocktails--dropped into the water, spreading the flames wider. More arrows streaked into the men below. The cries of pain grew louder.
"Ah, gotcha." Skid smiled and glanced at the house high on the edge of the valley. He waved and pointed to the walls of the Hill with a downward sweeping gesture.
The ripping sound of automatic weapons cut through the noise of battle. The line of archers on top of the wall collapsed. The gunfire slowed to a popcorn-popping pace. Voices in pain screamed without stop.
The flames on the water flickered out. Blackened bodies drifted downstream amid the flotsam of broken ladders and arrows. Floating bodies contorted, slowly and without hope.
"Again." Skid pointed to the left wing of his army, which began to move forward. This time the snake-like procession crossed the moat without opposition.
Another cloud of flaming pots arced through the air into the moat. Eruptions of flame made holes in the army's ranks, but they continued to advance. Troops clambered up the ladders like streams of ants seeking something sweet, reaching the top of the wall in ever-increasing numbers.
Within the palisade, a thin line of brown-clad defenders faced the wall. They fired steadily at the intruders as they came over the wall. More men appeared on top of the wall, replacing those that dropped.
The chatter of automatic weapons started again. One after another of the defenders within the palisade fell. The thin, brown line became ragged, which then broke and ran. More of the gang’s army flowed over the wall in ever-increasing numbers. Slowly, they assembled into ranks and started toward the Hill.
#
From the lookout point, Taylor stared through the binoculars. "Ah, now I understand," he said. He saw a swath through the woods up the side of the valley leading to a house with an overhanging deck that had a clear view of the main entrance. Pale blue smoke drifted from the deck. He estimated that there were at least ten marksmen with automatic weapons positioned there. "That was the noise we heard last night. They cut down trees to get a clear shot at our defenses.”
Franny nudged him and pointed to Ted Callioux, who had just arrived.
"What do we do now?" Ted Callioux asked. His eyebrows split by a deep furrow.
"Fall back to the Hill." Taylor frowned.
"I sent a squad down to reinforce them," Ted said.
"Recall them," Taylor said. "The snipers will get them."
Callioux sprinted off.
The sound of gunfire started anew. Taylor pointed to a messenger. "Tell Sam Wylie it's time.”
Minutes later, a gasoline motor coughed into life and then revved-up. It was for a generator. The engine changed tone and slowed, becoming louder and more resonant.
Taylor watched the gang’s army climb in formation up the road leading to the main entrance of the Hill. Before them fled the few survivors of the squad that had tried to stem their assault over the wall. He could see more and more of the gang's army flow over the outer wall. They too, began to move toward the Hill.
"Sir," a messenger said, gasping for air. "The gang's army has reached the entrance to the Hill."
"So?" Taylor had a feeling that something was wrong.
"It's not closed."
"What?" Taylor bit his lip to control his anger.
"Our people waited for the squad to get back. They didn't realize the people coming up the road were the gang's army."
"Who's in charge?"
"Well, Callioux is now in charge. Before, it was Dr. Weitzman. He wanted to keep the entrance open for our people."
"Go and get me an update. He hesitated, "Tell Callioux to do his duty."
Dear Lord, he thought. A favor, please.
&nb
sp; "Taylor." Franny handed him his bulletproof vest. "Please, put it on. Shouldn't you take charge?"
"No. They'll get it closed. They have to." He gave her the binoculars as he put on the bulletproof vest.
More large Molotov cocktails arced over the wall, landing among the attackers at the almost-closed entrance and bursting into flame. Archers on the walls above popped up in groups, each firing a volley of arrows. Three men pushed a large boulder off the tower by the gate. It bounced once and began to roll down the road through the army's ranks, its passage marked by a trail of scattered bodies and dark stains. Another cloud of arrows rained down on the gang’s army below the Hill.
A metal drum dropped from the entrance tower and exploded. A ball of fire rose above the towers that guarded the entrance. Smoke billowed around the entrance to the Hill, a black cloud rising in a mushroom shape. Flames again erupted in front of the gate.
Blackened figures ran screaming down the hill.
The gang’s army wavered, backing away from the entrance.
Franny pointed. "They're near the outer palisade."
"Yes, I expected that. I don't think they can get past the electric fence on the north side. That's keeping them confined."
"You've got something planned, haven't you?"
"Let's go to the other look-out point."
#
"Uh, Skid, I ain't getting to kill no one," Knuckles said. "It ain't fair."
"Go up the hill." Skid absently pointed to the promontory formed by the two branches of the Rocky River. He continued to watch the battle unfold through binoculars.
"Uh, how am I gonna get to kill someone up the hill? There ain't no fighting goin' on up there."
"You oughta be able to get a clear shot at the hill from there." Skid pointed. "There's always some asshole stickin' his head up, understand?"
Knuckles enjoyed killing almost as much as sex. He didn't care who or how he killed, just as long as he got to kill. "Uh, okay. I'll be up the hill if you need me."
He climbed the hill until he found a clear view across the valley. He leaned against a tree and peered through the telescopic sight on his SKS rifle. He panned the walls of the Hill.
Wait, he thought. He had overshot a face. He brought the scope back to where he'd seen the face. Nothing, he thought and waited patiently. A woman's head popped up. She glanced briefly toward him.
Hey, I've seen that bitch before, Knuckles thought. Lemme see, it was last year, yeah, when we got the new van at the Nature Center an' we got our rocks off. So, she's here now, he thought. She'll do.
At that moment another face came into view. Well, fuck me, he thought. If it ain't the mouthy asshole who gave Fast Eddy a buncha lip. If I blow him away, Eddy'll owe me.
The two people moved along behind the wall, heads bobbing in and out of view. Patiently, Knuckles waited for a clear shot. They came to a standstill and waved as though signaling. The woman was slightly in front of the skinny dude. He aimed at her heart.
You're mine, he thought.
Blam! He fired the rifle just as the woman started to duck down. She staggered and disappeared below the wall.
Gotcha, he thought. He felt a rush and a warm, almost sexual glow of satisfaction creep over him--it was just the fix that he needed. Now, he thought. Lemme get the skinny fucker.
If I go higher, I can get a better shot. Knuckles climbed to the top of the escarpment. Wow, the view is great. Now, I can see the mouthy asshole. He braced his rifle against a tree and sighted in on the wall. After what seemed like a long time, the skinny dude finally stood up and waved his arms. He was still just long enough to line up a heart shot.
Blam! The man went down like he'd been jerked over. Again, Knuckles got that warm, pleasant-all-over feeling.
He looked around. Something had happened. Our boys and the conscripts are on the move. There was a lot of shooting going on. There were two giant boxes moving down the valley, followed by two groups of camo-clad men firing automatic weapons. And there was a bunch of men on horses.
"Oh, shit," Knuckles said. Where's Skid? He thought. There ain't no one there to protect him. He ran down the hill in leaps and bounds, slipping and sliding, to get back to where he had left Skid.
Gunshots intensified into a chorus, coming closer.
#
Chris moved the trucks and the horse-mounted militia to the west entrance above the valley. A scout brought the news of the slaughter on the palisade from the house on the hill.
"Okay, listen up," Chris said. "We've got to get every single one of them." She pointed to the squad leaders. "You and you, take your men to the south, and you to the west side. Wait until you hear the first shot, then move in, quick." She knew her father's killer led this gang. She wouldn't rest until she found him.
Silently, they moved into positions where they could see the snipers on the deck.
“Open fire,” Chris said.
The opening volley lasted thirty seconds.
“Cease fire,” she yelled.
No one on the deck moved. They were all dead.
Several shots rang out from inside the house. Chris’ men charged into the house, firing continuously. Moments later, silence fell. Two militia died and four were wounded in the assault. Cautiously, the militia searched the house. Inside were two dead gang members ripped apart from multiple bullet shots.
"Hey, will you come and take a look at this?" O'Connor called from the doorway.
"What is it, Jack?"
"It's a whole box of ammo. At least a thousand rounds.” He cracked the barest trace of a grim smile. "This could make things a lot more fun. Now we've got ammo to burn."
"It won't be fun." Chris's face was like a slab of gray stone. “Let’s go.”
The squad boarded the trucks, released the brakes, and without the engines running, coasted down Cedar Point Road. O'Connor's horse mounted militia followed behind. At the bottom of the valley, Chris stopped and pointed. "Listen up. We'll take the road to the bridge, and then push north. The trucks will lead and provide cover for the two squads. Use the fire pots on those with rifles. Remember, the ones we really want are those wearing colors, the gang members. Show them no mercy."
She turned to O'Connor. "Take six rifles and half of the ammo for your horsemen. Push the army east and north.”
Side by side, as the two trucks advanced, their catapults throwing large Molotov cocktails into the army. Flames blossomed within the confined ranks of the army and human torches ran screaming through the ranks. Each time, like a giant amoebae, the army surged away from the flames.
From the armored boxes on the trucks, the militia fired continuously at the gang members wearing colors.
The army nearest to the trucks retreated and swung south.
O'Connor's horsemen charged at the advancing army, guns on full auto. The army wavered as its front ranks collapsed. The hail of lead from O'Connor's men drove them back, north toward the trucks. More flames erupted from Molotov cocktails.
The army broke. As the gang members ran, sharpshooters on the trucks picked them off.
#
Gunfire from the house on the hill stopped. Taylor knew the trap was set. As he climbed up on the wall, Franny joined him to catch a glimpse of conditions below their line of view. "You shouldn't be here." As he jumped down, he heard a distant shot.
Franny yelped, staggered and fell onto her back. Blood gushed from her neck. She twitched twice and went still.
Taylor tried to stem the blood flowing from her throat with his hands, but it pulsed out between his fingers. As the flow of blood slowed, she stopped breathing.
He laid his head on her chest. She had no heartbeat. "Franny," he said. "No, not you, Franny." He stared at the blood oozing from her neck and the blood dripping from his fingers.
It's on my hands. I caused this. His heart lurched and sank like lead. I caused this to happen.
A rattle of gunfire made him raise his head. It had become much louder.
Already, he realized
. A river of blood has flowed, and before the day ended, more will flow. Something stirred inside him, a rage that consumed him to the point of not caring whether he lived or died. He felt an urge to kill, to kill as many of those responsible for this attack as he knew how.
He left Franny where she lay. He peered over the wall. He saw the Clan’s forces had caught half the army between Wylie's electric fence and the Hill's defenses behind the palisade. The trucks drew close. Smoking trails arced away from the back of trucks, splashing fire on the army. Guns fired steadily from the trucks. The gang’s army continued its retreat.
The horse-mounted militia charged.
The army, now more like a mob, fled. The swirling mass of the army's remnants swept the gang's leaders closer and closer to the walls of the Hill.
It's time, Taylor thought. He climbed onto the wall and waved to the archers. "Now," he yelled. "Kill them, kill all of them."
Rows of bows moved in unison. Every Clan member who could use a bow joined the barrage, men, women and children. A huge flock of arrows rose and fell like a rain of gray death onto the writhing mass of color.
A mighty force struck Taylor in the chest, spinning him around. As he fell, his world faded into a blue haze.
#
The steel-tipped arrows fell from the sky in droves, killing dozens of gang members. The army scattered and ran. More arrows and unceasing gunfire followed. Control disappeared; armed gang members fought as individuals.
The trucks with men firing guns pressed ever closer.
"Where were ya?" Skid yelled. "We gotta get outa here."
"Oh, man." Knuckles was breathless from his breakneck run down the hill. "I nailed that skinny asshole who mouthed-off at us. I got him but good. An' that bitch--"
"Gimme a fuckin' break." Skid's face was contorted with rage. "Tell me your life story later. We gotta get the fuck outa here. Those bastards have trucks and a shit-load of guns. An' those spineless shits in the army turned tail. There ain't any of our boys left. Let's go." They headed south.
