Again, the chorus.
Gary grinned. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m looking forward to getting a nice, new air filter and a generator to run it on. These people aren’t even using this crap. After what we’ve all been through, we deserve some toys, yeah?”
Smiles and nods. Yes, he’d done a good job picking his team. They were about to project force all over the monkeys living in Burnsville. The monkeys just didn’t know it, yet. He hopped into the back of his pickup truck and grabbed the team’s mounted machine gun with one hand, then slapped the truck’s roof with the other. “Let’s roll, pilgrim.”
The truck pulled back onto the road, right behind the lead SUV and ahead of the other six vehicles, all cars. There had been seven, all equipped with hard-mounted CBs, but the transmission had gone out on one, forcing its occupants to squish in between passengers of some of the other cars. At least it hadn’t cost him any people, since they’d managed to fit elsewhere, and that was the important thing. Going back to Black to ask for more people even before the first shot was fired would not have been Gary’s idea of fun.
Now, the slightly reduced column snaked along the road that ran parallel to a railroad track as it wound its way to Burnsville. He had already scouted it earlier that morning and hadn’t seen much worth worrying about.
Should be easy…
As they approached the bridge—he’d decided it was the safest approach, since there couldn’t be an ambush until the checkpoint itself—a flurry of activity began. Armed men and women, at least six that he counted, scrambled from the nearest house and got into position behind sandbags. No matter, though. The lead SUV, with all that steel plate welded onto it, could probably smash through the single-stack sandbag wall. Dummies should have reinforced that, but then again, this was why his kind was meant to rule their kind, if there was any justice in this world. There wasn’t, but he was going to make his own.
At the checkpoint, the lead SUV drifted left, giving Gary a clear line of fire.
A man wearing some sort of insignia—lieutenant bars, he remembered idly—stepped out from behind the sandbags the moment the vehicles came to a halt.
Idiot.
The man held up his rifle, though without aiming it right at anyone, and blew on a whistle that hung from a cord around his neck before letting the whistle drop from his lips to dangle. “Halt. State your business in Burnsville.”
Gary rested both arms atop the machine gun, leaning over, looking relaxed and confident—and aiming the weapon without being obvious about it. He called back, “Go get your boss’s boss. The head honcho. Run along now, worker-bee.”
The man glanced over his shoulder for reassurance. No doubt, he was gathering his courage to say something brave.
Gary stood poised, ready for the inevitable. People were so predictable, sometimes.
“No one is allowed access,” the lieutenant said, his voice tight with what Gary presumed was fear or anger, though it made no real difference to the scripted outcome. “You have to—”
Bang. The .50-caliber machine gun fired one round, though Gary kept his lackadaisical stance in spite of unwelcome emotions roiling deep inside him. As the beefy report echoed, he shouted above the sound. “Wrong answer. Whoever’s next, come get your lieutenant stripes, and then go get whoever’s in charge of this dump, and if I gotta blow one more head off around here, I’m going to let my wolves off their leashes,” he said, motioning to his own soldiers.
The menacing clack of some twenty weapons being racked echoed through, almost in unison, just like he’d taught them, and on any other day, it might have made Gary smile to see so many Burnsville faces go pale. At the moment, though, it was all he could do just to keep looking relaxed when his stomach wanted to upend itself.
It took a moment before the stunned few who hadn’t dived for cover snapped out of their shock. It took more precious seconds for another one of those soft, stupid townies to take the lead, but eventually, someone did.
The next one up was a woman, attractive enough, in her mid-twenties, probably. “You…You murderer,” she shouted, echoing the same thought that was hammering away at the inside of Gary’s skull.
He stared at her, keeping his face carefully expressionless. With a stony coldness he didn’t feel, he said, “Yup. And?”
The woman looked around, but none of her own people even met her gaze.
Not just idiots. Cowards, too. Yeah, this will work out fine.
Gary kept his gaze leveled at her, until she lowered her weapon as she looked at the cowards backing her up, one at a time, no doubt hoping for them to grow a spine. But they continued to display their yellow bellies, and at last, she snarled at them and spun on her heels, before striding away into town.
Once she was out of earshot, Gary forced himself to grin at her brave companions. He said, “Walking away was the smartest thing she’ll do today. I hope she doesn’t do something stupid to ruin my opinion of her, because it’d be a shame to have to smoke every last damn one of you.”
He paused, for effect, then continued, “But if you all just do as you’re told, this will all be over real soon and you can run home to your little kiddos or whatever. Do yourself a favor, though. Just don’t let your own people screw up you going home tonight. Take care of your own, so I don’t do it for you. Again.”
The answering silence was a relief. If even one of these people had tiny little frog balls, they’d have put a bullet in him the moment he had thinned the herd for them, but not one had the cojones to take him out. Only one of the whole lot of them had even run to the end of her chain and barked, much less bit him back. That woman had more guts than the guys she worked with, which was the only reason he’d let her live after she dared raising her voice at him. Well, that and the fact that people got unpredictable when someone started blowing away women, for some reason. He’d have taken her out anyway, if she hadn’t suddenly found her common sense, but it would have sucked to have to do it.
Black’s plan was working, though. His messed up, miserable plan. Killing that guy was no great loss, and Gary was surprised there were still people that stupid among the living, these days, but the man had been no threat. Killing him just for show, that was no easy pill to swallow. But Gary resolved to deal with his baggage later—after this shit-show had earned him enough of Black’s support for Gary to head to his compound to take what was rightfully his. Black could have his dream of empire. Gary only wanted what was rightfully his. Getting with Black’s program was the price he had to pay, that was all. He told himself that, over and over, as he held his relaxed and care-free posture.
Now, he just had to wait. He glanced at his watch. Nine thirty-seven…Well, they had thirteen minutes to get someone in charge out there, or he’d have to thin their herd again, just to give their leader the proper motivation.
As the golf cart whipped around a corner, Kent kept his shaking hands inside his windbreaker pockets, where they couldn’t be seen trembling. He figured it also made him look more confident, and that was definitely what his people needed. He only halfway paid attention to what the driver was saying.
“…need to teach those bandits not to mess with us…can’t believe no one shot his ass…going to tell his wife?”
That caught his attention. If he survived the coming encounter, he decided, he ought to visit the dead Guardian’s wife and give her the news personally. But that was if he survived. Damn the bandits’ timing, too—he’d just gotten ready to step outside on his way to go see his father-in-law, when the single massive gunshot echoed across the town. Only minutes later, one of his Guardians came running to get him to the north bridge, and she was both half-panicked and half-enraged, feelings he definitely shared as she told him about the situation, her words spilling out at a blistering pace in her adrenaline-fueled rush.
At the moment, he wished he’d never stepped up to lead the town. Let someone else go get shot by bandits…But no, the job was his, and if he didn’t do as the bandit leader had o
rdered, more people would die, and their blood would be on his hands. That, he couldn’t live with, so his course had been set before he ever ordered his driver to pull the golf cart around.
Up ahead, the situation at the bridge became clear. His Guardian had painted an accurate picture of what was going on—maybe two dozen bandits, looking for all the world like this was their town and they were in charge, not even worried about the defenders possibly firing on them. It seemed they had a reason for their confidence, too, since none of the guards were shooting at the bandits. Kent frowned at the sight. If his well-protected guards had when the bandits first showed up waving guns around, they could have probably overwhelmed the bandits, even outnumbered as his guards had been. Or they could have held them off long enough for reinforcements to sweep around and hit the bandits from behind. It was too late, now, though. All those bandits had their weapons out and ready, and they were now well-positioned behind engine blocks and car doors. Now, even though they were at the natural chokepoint the bridge presented, those bandits were perfectly situated to fill the checkpoint guards’ position with a lethal concentration of firepower, both from the ones on the bridge and those who’d taken up position to both sides to create a deadly crossfire.
From the corner of his eye, Kent caught movement to his right. There, he recognized Brooke’s familiar shape, along with a few other people, rushing down the street toward the bridge. He turned to his driver and said, “As soon as I jump off, get your ass over there and stop Brooke and whoever’s with her from coming over here. I don’t need no one else’s mouth getting me shot.”
He hated phrasing it like that, but it was the truth, and he didn’t have time or the luxury of phrasing it more delicately.
The golf cart skidded to a halt, and Kent hopped out. The golf cart tires squealed as it pulled out, the driver rushing away to follow Kent’s instructions.
Good. One less thing to worry about—he didn’t want to get shot because of her mouth, but he also didn’t want her to get herself killed. This was precisely the kind of situation where her firecracker personality was the last thing anyone needed, including herself.
On the bridge, the bandits had parked a pickup truck in the lead, and it had a big old machine gun mounted on a spindle in the truck bed. A burly man with an icy stare that gave Kent chills stood leaning against the machine gun, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care. His eyes tracked Kent like a cat watching a mouse. That was the feeling he got, and at the moment, he rather felt like a mouse…
Kent stopped about fifteen feet from the truck, more like twenty from the nearest sandbag position, and regarded the bandit leader as he did his best to look far more confident than he felt. He said, “You wanted to talk to our leader. Here I am. You probably shouldn’t have gunned down one of my people if you wanted us to cooperate, mister.”
The predator standing in the truck bed smiled down at him, but otherwise made no move. “Yeah, well, it was important for your people to figure out real quick who was in charge of the situation. That way, I only had to kill one of them, instead of wasting everyone. Because that’s what happens when some idiot townies tell me no. I sure hope you don’t make that mistake, though. Seems like a nice town. It’d be a shame to waste it.”
Kent wasn’t sure in what way the man meant “waste”—how nice it was, or by killing the residents, if he could—but it was a moot point, really. Even if his people had fought these bandits and won, it seemed likely that this was only a small group of them. How many did they really have? Kent only had fifty, maybe sixty, he could rely on to defend the town, and the bandits he was talking to numbered maybe half that—and this was just the ones they sent to talk to him. They probably had a whole mob hiding over the next hill. Damn that guy Danny for being right. And damn Frank for coming here now, instead of weeks ago, when it might have helped.
Kent pushed the bitter thoughts away. “Yeah, it would be a real shame. But, I don’t know what you think you’ll get here. We don’t—”
The bandit shook his head and make tsk sounds, then said, “No, no, no. You got this all wrong. I know what I’m gonna get here, and that’s your full cooperation. Because if I don’t, I’ll just have to try again, talking to the next guy in charge of this place.”
“Next guy?”
The bandit smirked at him openly. “Yes, because you’re going to find it awfully hard to talk when I paint your head all over this really nice bridge. So be a good little boy and get your ass over here to come talk to me, while you still can.” He motioned with one hand toward the lowered tailgate of the pickup truck on which he stood.
Kent almost looked over his shoulder to the friendlies behind him, but caught himself before he did something that would make him look so weak…Each step was an effort of will, but he did his best to walk into the lion’s den without looking stiff and rigid, terrified, like a dead man walking. “Yeah. Let’s talk. Talk is good.”
Abram wasn’t even halfway to the bridge yet, when the golf cart skidded to a halt directly in front of Brooke, cutting off their path.
The driver motioned frantically to Brooke as he hopped from the cart. “You can’t go over there. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? We have to get you inside.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and stood with her feet shoulder-width apart, glaring at him. “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m sorry, Brooke, but this is direct from the man in charge. He can’t do what he’s got to do if he’s worried about you, and last thing we want right now is a gunfight. Now, I have to rally up more people in case this turns ugly, but Kent wants you safe. Get on the cart, and you too, Abram. I got room for one more, and I’ll come back for whoever we leave behind. Hurry, though—Kent is in danger until we get more rifles on the line. Oh damn, you can help me with that, too. Quick, get on.”
Brooke glowered at him, but she hopped into the passenger seat and motioned for Abram.
Abram climbed into the back, taking one seat. That left Owen and Frank. Of the two, if left alone, he trusted Frank’s age to give him the edge in common sense. “Owen, hop on. Frank, stay here, and stay out of view. If this goes ugly, I don’t want you getting hit in the crossfire.”
Of course, Abram and his people had been relieved of their weapons, so there was little they could do to help in any case.
Owen hopped aboard, too, looking wistfully at the bridge. Abram followed his gaze, but there didn’t seem to be anything going on at the bridge, at the moment. It was soon out of view, as the golf cart took a corner.
He overheard the driver tell Brooke, “Let’s get over to the on-duty barracks. We’ve got to rally up as many people as we can, show these assholes who’s got more guns.”
Abram shook his head to himself. There was no way these bandits had thrown all their people out onto that bridge. They had to at least have a bunch of snipers with scopes, out in the tree line. Snipers were a great force equalizer…He was glad to be with his niece, out of view, and didn’t intend to go back, but he felt an overwhelming urge to go back for Frank—he wanted all his people with him, if this went ugly and the town became at-risk to be overrun. At least he had Owen, there. And Brooke.
My niece…
Gary hopped up from his seat atop the truck’s back gate. He wasn’t stupid—he’d had one of his people man the machine gun, where they could keep this asshole away from it if he got suddenly brave, but this Kent guy was properly timid. Pupils blown wide open, voice shaky just like his hands, Kent wasn’t one Gary had to worry about playing hero. In fact, just to prove his point, Gary left his barbwire-wrapped baseball bat lying in the truck bed when he got up—leaving it in reach of the cupcake he was talking to.
Just as he’d suspected, the man looked at the bat—and did nothing. Gary smiled at him, a genuine grin. This was a guy he could work with, a guy who seemed likely to get with Black’s program. Gary felt a bit silly for having been worried they’d fight back. As long
as he didn’t back them into a corner, there was no way this town was gonna fight back over wine openers and beans, or whatever they grew here.
He turned to face Kent directly. “So, you see, twenty percent isn’t all that much. It’ll cost you more to try to go lone wolf. This world needs order, and we’re bringing it. Get on board or get put down. If Black doesn’t spank you for misbehaving, he’ll just let nature take its course, let you deal with the bandits in this world by yourself. I promise you, this little town isn’t more than a speedbump to some of the bandit gangs shaping up around here.”
He grinned. Black’s racket was a good one. And even better, it was true—if he was going to keep things orderly, that meant restoring order, and that, by definition, meant they weren’t the bandits anymore. They were the government, now. And like the government, you paid your taxes or bad things happened.
Kent’s lips flatlined, probably considering the difference between Gary’s own people and the bandits.
But screw Kent’s opinions. If he wasn’t smart enough to play ball, Gary would damn well find this town a different coach, one who would.
Kent said, “I get it. I don’t make decisions by myself, though. I have to talk to the city council, and—”
Gary snapped his fingers and interrupted, “I get that. Order, man. Gotta have it. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you two days to figure out who you want to kneel down to, the ones who can protect you or the ones who won’t ask for taxes, they’ll just take it all.”
“And if we don’t want to kneel to anyone? What happens if the council wants to keep our ‘taxes’ for us?”
Gary let his smile fade. “I like you, Kent. I respect you, and I know you want what’s best for your town. But if you can’t keep your people in line, then that respect isn’t going to save them. Understand? Lose some taxes, or lose everything you got, because if we have to come make you do the right thing, it’s going to take a lot more than twenty percent to pay for that operation—and Black will want to make sure we send a message that the next town won’t miss. Got me?”
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 22
