by Bijou Hunter
Ready for battle, the younger Volkshalberd men lift their weapons and chant their messiah’s name.
Invisible in the dark sky, the surveillance drones drop the firecrackers in the same way as the last two nights. The singing and banging end as people scatter at the sound of what they worry is gunfire. The young Volkshalberd swing around with their weapons, unsure where the attack is coming from. Finally, they run for the front gate, where Wyatt continues to make a commotion.
“They’re coming through the gate!” yells a young Volkshalberd as if subconsciously helping our team.
The rest of the Village hurries to their tents. Steph Marks still stands at the doorway of the meeting hall. She doesn’t run and hide. She barely glances at one of the armed guys standing next to her.
Her arrogance reminds me of Lonnie. He thought he was untouchable in Cleveland. Bronco Parrish and the Executioners couldn’t lay a finger on him in his town. Except the Killing Joes didn’t run Cleveland. We controlled a few fucking miles. But Lonnie saw himself as a superior fighter, untouchable against the losers of the world. After all, he had a giant. That’s why his last words after I pulled out my hacksaw were, “You belong to me.”
Steph Marks and her brother think the Village belongs to them. They have over seventy people to act as human shields. No one can touch them.
The bitch never has a chance to think otherwise. Bronco’s rifle shot blows off the top part of her head. The guy next to her dies before processing how he’s covered in her brains.
As we rush toward the building, I strap my rifle to my back. I’d rather have my hands free. My knife and pistol are hooked to my waist if I need them.
The tapping of suppressed gunshots signals Conor and his crew have joined the fight. The young Volkshalberd fire back at the invaders.
I remain just behind Bronco as he hurries into the large open building. The TV still plays loudly in a back corner. Faintly, over a radio, the guards cry out for help at the front. Their calls go unanswered as the five men inside hold steady and protect their torch bearer.
As soon as I enter, I spot Marks sitting in a large brown recliner with a blonde woman’s head bobbing over his crotch. Even as the world comes down around him, the pig can’t be bothered to give a shit.
A young man fires at Bronco, but I move in front of the bullet. The burn in my chest doesn’t register as I rush the asshole. He hits the wall hard. His head quickly turns to pulp under the power of my fists. His asshole friend tries to shoot me in the back, but Bronco’s bullet ends that bullshit.
A third Volkshalberd stops trying to shoot at Lowell and turns his gun at me. I slap his rifle away and lift the fucker by the throat. His blue eyes widen. I think he begs. I know he pisses himself. I feel no pity. He needs to die so I can return to Bronco’s side.
Behind me, Lowell fires on men trying to enter the building. Drummer counts out five incoming threats. Akron shoots his rifle, counting back down to zero.
Bronco gets in a small firefight with a toad-looking fucker playing buffer for a still-disinterested Marks. I see my president pinned down behind a desk.
Picking up a spare TV screen on a nearby desk, I send it flying at Marks’s fanboy. My throw is as spot-on as Pixie’s with the watermelon. Our kids will no doubt be superstar pitchers.
Until now, Marks’s gaze remained fully focused on the TV. Is this really the man the Volkshalberd chose to worship to their own doom? I assume he’s more charming when coked-up. Right now, he seems like a stupid old man trying to enjoy one last orgasm before he finally pays the price for an entire life of waste and selfishness.
The asshole finally wakes up from his TV-induced stupor and stops watching a damn car insurance commercial. Shoving down his recliner’s footrest, he knocks the woman out of his way. Before the motherfucker can flee, Bronco grabs Marks by his long stringy hair and yanks him back into the chair.
Like when he butchered the Killing Joes in front of me that fateful date, Bronco doesn’t trash talk. He stares down into Marks’s eyes while slitting the bastard’s doughy throat.
These men go way back. Bronco was the son of a violent drunk and a crazy woman. John Marks was born into luxury. Decades ago, Bronco took Elko from this man. Marks should have walked away for good, but he couldn’t let himself get beat by trash like a Parrish. Now, he gurgles and gasps, wanting so desperately to live just one more day. Bronco only smiles.
If Pixie’s correct about each life being a version of the same story, this scene has played out many times. I’m sure there’s even a version where Bronco catches a bullet, and Marks survives. But the best varieties involve this wannabe tyrant slowly bleeding out on his flaccid dick while my president gets to relish ending a family he’s hated since his first boner.
PIXIE
Lana lets me hold Carina while she checks on the older girls. I haven’t cared for an infant since Future was one. As Carina watches me with sleepy eyes, I imagine a baby with Anders. Is he ready to have a child when he’s still one in many ways? Should I remain focused on his broken heart?
“Topanga asked about Perry,” Mama says, joining me on the couch and checking the phone device, which shows Future sleeping in his portable baby cage.
Peeking at the image of my brother in the guest room, I whisper, “What about him?”
“Would I still want Perry, if he’s alive?”
“Do you?”
Mama studies the sight of her son. “After you left with Anders, the Volkshalberd were enraged. They made threats against us. To protect himself, Perry was willing to give Dove to that awful despotic dolt. I was willing to die rather than participate in my child’s suffering. I don’t think Perry and I make sense.”
“You never did.”
“He was the best I could find there,” Mama says defensively. “If I didn’t continue a bloodline with the Volkshalberd, they wouldn’t have let us stay.”
Patting her hand, I smile. “You created Future, and the world is better for it.”
Mama’s frown evaporates into a proud smile. “He is such a ray of sunshine. Just like his sisters.”
“Lana said the Woodlands women are organizing supplies for the Village. Some of them are going out there tomorrow. Also, a doctor is coming. Do you think we should go?”
“Though I don’t want to, I believe I will. Your father would do so, and Zest had the best heart. Though I’ll never be that good, I can try,” Mama says and rests her cheek against my shoulder as I run my index finger along Carina’s little chin. “Dove shouldn’t go. She isn’t strong like you. When Marks wanted to use your body, you played your tricks on him and never showed fear. Dove reeks of terror. She cried all night long when you disappeared. Her heart isn’t safe in that place, even for an hour.”
“What are we whispering about?” Topanga teases as she and Lana join us on the couch.
“Where is Dove?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“In the basement with Summer, Sidonie, and Desi,” Topanga answers while giving me a smile that says she knows I’m hoping to distract her. “Future is sleeping in the guest room. Dunning is on the patio, watching porn or maybe a horror film.”
Relenting, I explain, “Dove shouldn’t go to the Village tomorrow to help, but Mama and I are going.”
Lana fixes her baby’s booty and whispers, “I’ll be home with Carina. I can watch Dove and Future.”
I smile at the shiny blonde woman and then at the devious blonde woman. “Is tonight’s thing with the Village dangerous? The men came back before and said it was easy. Is tonight the same?”
Topanga smiles wider. “Our men are badasses, Pixie. Don’t worry.”
Lana’s slightly worried expression feels more real. I look at Carina and see a lot of Bronco in her little face.
“Will you have more babies?” I ask Lana since I feel guilty for making her lose her smile.
“No, we think four is enough.”
“No boys for Lana,” Topanga announces. “And no girls for me. Still, Dunn
ing is as beautiful as any girl. Baby,” she calls out to where he sits in the backyard alone, “stand up and spin so we can admire your beauty.”
Without looking back, he lifts his right hand and gives her “the bird.”
Topanga smiles at me. “I taught him that. His father was all, ‘We don’t want him to be rude.’ But I was like, ‘His father is a biker, so how polite should he really be?’ Anyway, I won that argument by distracting Lowell with a blowjob. Feel free to use that winning move.”
“Is the blowjob or the middle finger your winning move?” Mama asks.
“Both,” Topanga announces and stands up.
Lana leans closer while Topanga pours herself another glass of wine. “She’s nervous about Lowell, but I’m sure they’ll be fine. They’ve run Elko for decades. The guys know what they’re doing.”
Nodding, I admire Carina, whose eyes widen when I get closer to her face.
Lana grins. “If you kiss her nose, she’ll act horrified. It’s funny.”
“But what if I’m scaring her? She doesn’t know my face. Up close, I could be terrifying to her little brain.”
Lana’s smile grows at my worries.
Then Topanga returns and asks loudly, “Will you be giving Anders any giant babies?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Like, what month?”
“No, I mean, are you using protection or rolling the dice?”
“I don’t know about the dice, and I’m not sure what protection you mean.”
Topanga suddenly laughs. “I forget how you don’t know things.”
“You don’t know them either,” Mama growls.
“Oh, but I know that I don’t know,” Topanga says, pretending to be serious. “I learn that lesson every damn day.”
When Mama still frowns, not getting the joke, I smile at Lana. “I really don’t know what the dice are.”
“You can use medicine to avoid getting pregnant. Or condoms.”
“Oh, we haven’t done the condoms. I don’t know what he wants. It’s only been a few days.”
“Well, you’re young,” Topanga says and drinks her wine very quickly. “Not the icky kind of young but young.”
Mama isn’t sure what to make of the woman while I just admire Carina. I wouldn’t mind a baby. But I don’t know what Anders wants, and he’s the one with the broken heart.
“Is it acceptable to be worried about the men?” I ask Lana after we go upstairs to tuck Carina into her baby cage.
“Yes, but I’m sure they’ll be okay.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t tell Anders that I loved him enough. What if he dies without really knowing?”
Until I see Carina dozing in her pretty wooden cage, I hadn’t realized how scared I am of losing Anders. He’ll never have a little baby of his own. He’s missed out on too much already in life. Now, he’ll never have his own Carina. I should have said I loved him more.
After I hurry out of the room to avoid my tears bothering the baby, Lana follows me to the walkway.
“Anders has seemed so different since he brought you to his home,” she says and hugs me. “As if he’s awake now. He wouldn’t be that way if he didn’t know you loved him.”
Despite her kind words, I still worry I wasn’t good enough to Anders in our short time together. When Papa died, I never feared he didn’t know I loved him. Ever since I was old enough to remember, I enjoyed his company. We laughed and played and cuddled. Papa knew I cherished him.
But Anders has so many cruel voices in his head, telling him ugly lies. I’m just one person, telling him loving words for such a short amount of time. If he dies, will his last thought be the ugly lies or my beautiful truth?
Then, I remember the vile words DeAnna said about Anders. I haven’t had the heart to tell him. But my silence might get him hurt, too.
I return downstairs to where Topanga and Mama ignore each other. Sitting in between them on the couch, I look at Lana nearby in a chair.
“In the clubhouse’s restroom before they stuck me in the toilet,” I begin, and Topanga and Lana instantly lean forward to hear more, “DeAnna said when Wyatt becomes president, he plans to kill Anders. I’m afraid to tell my grand sequoia what they said. Those hags knew I was in the restroom. They might have been saying lies to upset me. But what if Anders is in danger? I should have told him. Wyatt could hurt him tonight.”
“No,” Topanga says, waving away my fears. “Wyatt won’t be anywhere near Anders tonight.”
“How do you know?” Lana asks. “Did you hear their plan?”
“No, but I know Bronco, and Wyatt sets him off. So, of course, he’ll assign Wyatt to a spot away from him. And Anders always follows Bronco around. Meaning, Wyatt and Anders won’t be in the same place.”
“But what about after tonight?” I ask, and Mama takes my hand to comfort me. “DeAnna said they would put a bullet in his big head. Is Anders safe in this community?”
Lana doesn’t help by looking as freaked out as I feel. But she’s a new member of the Woodlands community, too. I remind myself that she only came here after Carina was born, and the baby is still very small.
Topanga pats my free hand and shushes me. “I know hearing those bitches talk shit about your man got you riled up. I’d be just as pissed if they said that about Lowell. But here are a few facts that should help calm you, okay?”
Once I nod, she continues, “Wyatt will never be the Executioners’ president. Everyone in this community except for Wyatt and DeAnna knows this fact. Even Taryn knows Conor is who Bronco plans to tap for the top spot. So, when Wyatt and his bitch bride talk shit about how they’ll run things, they’re living in a fantasy world. The founding members of the Executioners will have a say. They want Conor as president. Not only because he’s calmer and smarter than Wyatt. It’s also a gift to their dead friend, Wheels. When they look at Conor, they see the man that helped build the club.”
After thinking about her words, I ask, “What if Wyatt still decides to hurt Anders?”
“Baby, that shithead doesn’t have the balls to challenge Bronco in a fight. How the hell will he grow testicles big enough to take on a giant?”
Her words are meant to soothe me, but they only reaffirm how people don’t realize my blond bear bleeds just like everyone else.
“Anders is very big, but he has been hurt so many times. I don’t want anyone else scarring his body.”
“I know, but you’ll need to learn how to tell when people are full of hot air.” When I frown at her wording, Topanga shrugs. “Lying? Full of shit? Bragging?”
“Like John Marks,” Mama says, and I exhale uneasily.
“Can you understand how the rules are confusing?” I ask Topanga. “Taryn and DeAnna can shove me into a toilet without getting in trouble because they’re special. But they’re also not to be believed?”
“They get special treatment because of Rooster and Bambi, who founded the club. Those bitches haven’t earned anything themselves. DeAnna’s family has a little money, so she feels like a princess or some shit. But Wyatt cheats on her just like he would if he married a waitress or a homeless chick. DeAnna will stop being special the day Wyatt gets bored of her. Taryn will always be special because she came out of Bambi’s snatch. That’s just the way the world works, but Bronco is the one who calls the shots. Notice how your man is always with him, and DeAnna’s man is always somewhere else? That’s what really matters. Not some crap they say in a restroom.”
“So, I shouldn’t tell Anders?” I ask, wanting to avoid upsetting him.
“I’ll talk to Lowell about it. You and Lana are still new to this world, and talking club business with your men isn’t easy. I have no trouble blurting shit out to Lowell, and he keeps no secrets from Bronco. If they think Wyatt is a threat, they’ll deal with him. You just worry about getting healthy and settling into your new home.”
Exhaling easier this time, I squeeze Mama’s hand. Topanga might rub us the wrong way with all her joking, b
ut she’s been very loyal and honest.
No matter what anyone says, though, I can’t shake my fear for Anders tonight.
ANDERS
Bronco and Lowell drag John’s and Steph’s bodies to the center of the Village. Despite my wound, I keep watch over my president and VP while they wait for the adult Volkshalberd to shamble over.
People sob in the distance. Likely the parents or wives of the men killed. The Volkshalberd don’t believe in Christian heaven or the Dandelions’ new lives. They accept some kind of afterlife but only for those worthy enough. I doubt the dead assholes make the grade.
My shoulder and back hurt where the bullet tore open flesh on its way through. I might need a few stitches, but I’ve felt worse. I wish the pain stung more. I’d prefer a distraction from the sight of these starving people staring at me.
Most days, I struggle to find empathy for most people. I’ve rarely seen the purpose of caring. I’m surprised I can feel empathy at all. But I do, for my people.
And my family was starving less than a week ago. I didn’t let myself really imagine what that was like for Pixie. Leaving her behind after our visits would have been impossible if I thought about her suffering. I knew her little brother’s body looked weird, as did her sister’s sunken cheeks. They were losing weight fast. Bronco warned me that would happen, and I pretended their suffering was short term.
Except if those assholes hadn’t shot at me, Pixie and her family would still be here. And we wouldn’t know about John Marks. How much longer would the blockade go on? Weeks, months?
Those ugly voices in my head point out how Future wouldn’t have survived that long. One day, when I visited with Pixie, she would have told me how her little brother was living his next story. She would cry, and a part of her would know I helped kill him.
Guilt isn’t something I deal with often. I don’t let myself feel bad about the things I did in my youth or when I was high. I pretend they weren’t my fault. Or if they were, life sucks for everyone. I view my time with the Killing Joes as separate from who I am now. Killing my club brothers and suffering through withdrawal were the prices I paid to forget my sins.
