Hell's Highwaymen

by Phillip Granath

  “Shinji, Oliver, get your asses up here. The padre has given me an idea!”

  Outside of the ruined estate, Cesar watched the building intently, his patience all but spent.

  “He ain’t coming out,” Jamie said.

  The biker leader gritted his teeth in frustration but wouldn’t give the smirking gunfighter the satisfaction of a reply.

  “You could always walk on up there ask him he’s made up his mind yet, ask him if he’s willing to surrender?” the gunslinger offered.

  “Fuck you Jamie,” Cesar replied.

  The biker leader knew that if Cort’s reply was anything other than surrender, then he would just shoot Cesar on sight, after all that’s what Cesar would do. The screams that they heard coming from the ruin had seemed like a good sign, and Cesar had begun to think that perhaps his plan to turn the riders against one another had worked. But if that were the case, why weren’t the mutinous riders coming out? Bathed in Cort’s blood and eager to hand over the boy? The most likely answer was that whatever violence had taken place inside of the house, that Cort had won and at least for now was still in charge.

  “Perhaps they all killed each other? And there’s just a circle of corpses in there waiting to come back to life,” Jamie offered.

  “If that’s the case then this next part should be easy. Either way, I’m done waiting,” Cesar said.

  The biker leader pulled his pistol from his belt and gesturing towards the ruin signaled his men into motion. A half a dozen of the bikers, all of his men armed with guns crawled forward and took positions along the rock wall across from the dining room windows. At the same time, the remaining men broke from cover and rushed the heavy kitchen door, knives, clubs and hand weapons at the ready. Licking his lips Cesar grinned and shouted.

  “Give them hell boys!”

  Immediately the men behind the wall opened fired peppering the dining room windows with gunfire.

  “Keep it steady boys!” Cesar shouted.

  At the gunfire erupted four bikers reached the top of the slope shoving one of their heavy bikes in front of them. The group reached the wall, and several of the men attacked the loose stones pushing them aside, desperately trying to make a gap wide enough for the bike.

  “Keep them covered!” Cesar shouted.

  The biker leader knew he would be wasting most of his men’s ammunition just keeping the rider’s heads down, but as long as they got inside the biker’s numbers would prevail. What started to worry him now was the lack of gunfire coming from the building, he had expected some, even if it was just panic fire. The lack of it now either meant Cort’s men were disciplined enough to hold their fire until the last moment or perhaps they were all dead as Jamie suggested.

  The bikers shoved the bike through the gap in the rock wall, and a few seconds later the motorcycle roared to life. One of the men jumped on the machine and raced for the end of the building where the men now gathered around the door. Sections of chain were linked together, the bikers using them as intended instead of as weapons for a change. One end of the chain was hooked into the door’s thick iron loop and the other around the back of the motorcycle. A moment later the cycle’s rider gunned the throttle, the bike leaped ahead and the chain jerked taunt. The door groaned in protest but held firm and the bike was left swerving back and forth wildly, its rear tire struggling to find traction.

  “Get on that chain you bastards!” Cesar screamed.

  The biker leader broke from cover and ran towards the door to help his men. When no shots came at him from the building, he was more convinced than ever that no one remained alive inside. Heeding Cesar’s commands the bikers threw themselves at the chain, pulling at it for all they were worth. A moment later the door let out a deathly scream and then exploded outward in a hail of splintered wood and warped iron. The bikers were thrown to the ground violently, several bloody and peppered with shards of wood. The motorcycle now unrestrained launched forward, its rider let out a shout of triumph. A moment later that shout turned into a scream as the bike smashed into the rock wall sending him somersaulting over the edge.

  Cesar, still running towards his men screamed, “The door is open, get at em boys!”

  The bikers closest to the empty doorway fought their way to their feet and rushed towards the opening. Only to meet a thousand pounds of charging horseflesh rushing out of the darkness. The ghostly steads trampled the first pair of bikers that had entered the kitchen to death without making a sound. The four horses thundered out of the house, forcing the remaining men to throw themselves out of the way or risk being caught under the bloody charging hooves. The fourth horse in the procession carried Shinji, the Mongolian warrior hung low along the side of the running animal. Most of the bikers were still laying on the ground could only watch in startled shock.

  Cesar rounded the corner just then and seeing the Mongolian’s desperate attempt to escape pointed his revolver at the fleeing warrior. But the shot was impossible, Shinji hung too low, and a moment later the fleeing horses rounded the edge of the estate and were gone.

  “Let the coward run, we want the boy!” Cesar shouted.

  The bikers stood and charged forward through the open doorway, stepping over the ruined bodies of their less fortunate comrades. Cesar waited until a half dozen of his men were in before stepping inside himself, let them soak up any unpleasant surprises Cort had prepared for them. The kitchen was empty, the riders having abandoned it without a fight it seemed. Cesar found his men crowded around the doorway leading into the dining room. He could see the room was dark except for the beams of light admitted from the now broken windows. That trick with the horses had spooked his men he realized, and no one wanted to be the first man to charge into the dark room.

  “You there, Carlos. Go have a look,” Cesar ordered.

  A biker cowering at the edge of the doorway cringed at the sound of his name, but he knew better than to make Cesar ask for anything twice. Carlos took a breath and stepped into the dining room, he paused there for a moment as if surprised he hadn’t been shot and then cautiously stepped further into the darkness. The floor crunched under the biker’s feet with each step he took.

  “Carlos, what is that sound?” Cesar asked.

  “The floor boss, it’s all covered in broken glass and like a bunch of paper and shit,” Carlos replied.

  “The fuck? Well, just keep going.”

  “Ok boss,” Carlos replied

  The biker took another step forward crossing one of the beams of light from the broken window. A split second later a shot rang out, and his head exploded in a bloody spray. The bikers panicked each trying to dive for cover in the narrow kitchen. Cesar raised the Python and fired two shots randomly into the darkness as he ducked behind the door frame. From somewhere outside the biker leader heard a muted voice shouting.

  “Fucking A! I got one of those bastards!” the voice called.

  The shout was followed by a few muffled cheers.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Cesar screamed.

  The biker leader ducked into the room moving to stand next to the first window while being careful to avoid the light.

  “Stop shooting you fucking idiots!” he screamed, “You just killed Carlos!”

  The cheers from outside died away immediately followed a moment later by a single and muffled.

  “Sorry.”

  “Fucking puntas!” Cesar mumbled.

  The biker leader turned his focus back on the long dark room. His eyes slowly adjusted and he could just make out the far end of the room. Cautiously he moved down the wall, crossing the windows quickly with his pistol raised. The far end of the room was cut short by the collapse of the floor above. Peering up through the maze of broken timbers he could see the muted glow of flickering light. It seemed the rats had dug themselves in deep he mused.

  “Get in here!” Cesar shouted.

  The remaining bikers crossed the dark dining room to join their leader.

  “Up you
go!” he said.

  The first biker hesitated for just a moment and then started to climb up through the rubble. Reluctantly, the dozen men followed after him, each squeezing through the gaps in the broken timbers. Cesar waited until the first of his men reached the top of the narrow climb. He knew that if there were going to be an ambush, it would be there. He watched expectantly as the first of his men reached the top of the climb and cautiously peered over the edge.

  “What do you see?” he yelled.

  “Ahhhh…nothing really, just a door at the end of a hallway,” came the reply.

  “And a shit ton more papers.”

  “What the fuck?” Cesar hissed.

  The biker leader pushed up the pile of debris himself following after his men. When he reached the top, he found just what his men had described. An old but relatively whole hallway that ran perhaps 50ft before ending at a single door.

  “Come on!” Cesar ordered.

  He started down the hallway being careful to stay close against one of the walls as his feet brushed through the nearly ankle-deep layer of loose papers. His men followed behind him reluctantly. As they neared the doorway, Cesar found his heart racing, this was it, there was nowhere else for Cort and his men to hide. Cesar and his men were perhaps 20ft from the doorway when a muffled voice called out.

  “Cesar? Compadre, is that you out there?”

  The biker and his men froze in place, it was Cort’s voice. After a brief pause, Cesar shouted back, “Si, it is.”

  “You come for your answer I suspect?” Cort asked.

  Cesar laughed in reply, “I have!”

  The biker leader gestured for his men to move in closer to the door.

  “Well, I got an answer for you, just hold on a second. This is something I want to tell you to your face,” Cort said.

  With that, the doorknob turned, and the door slowly began to swing open. Cort stood squarely in the doorway framed in a soft glow that filled the small room. The flickering light spilling out into the darkness of the hallway. Cesar raised his pistol and rested his sights squarely on the cavalryman, he was about to pull the trigger, when he realized Cort’s gun was still holstered. What could he be playing at Cesar wondered?

  “Cesar? Is that you?” Cort called out.

  “It’s me,” Cesar replied.

  Cort squinted and peered awkwardly into the shadows.

  “I can’t see you, it’s awfully dark out there,” he said.

  “I’ll come forward into the light,” Cesar offered.

  The cavalryman bent down and lifted an oil lamp. He turned the wick up, and light poured into the hallway.

  “No need, I’ll bring the light to you.”

  With that, the cavalryman hurled the lamp at Cesar. The biker leapt back, the lamp fell short shattering against the floor and bursting into flames. Cesar laughed and raising his pistol fired at Cort, but the cavalryman was already diving back into the room, the door slaming shut behind him. Cesar charged forward hitting the door hard with his shoulder, but the aged wood refused to give way. He stepped back and began to kick at the door viciously.

  “You can’t run Cort, you’re a dead man!” he shouted.

  Behind him, one of Cesar’s men began to scream. The biker turned and found the hallway engulfed in fire, the thick layer of paper was catching fire and quickly spreading down the length of the hall. All of this paper, it was a trap he realized. One of his men was already down on the ground and covered in rolling flames. Several more danced around wildly as flames covered their arms and legs. The rest of the men were already rushing back towards the ruins, running from the flames, pushing and fighting one another as they tried to escape back down debris slope. As the papers around Cesar caught fire and his legs began to burn, he heard Cort’s voice call through the door.

  “You can’t run Cesar, you’re a dead man.”

  Father Callahan cringed at the screams of the dying men coming from the hallway, the sounds highlighted by the occasional thuds of desperate fists against the door. Cort moved past him and back towards the window where Oliver kept watch.

  “Any sign yet?” he asked.

  “No,” Oliver replied.

  “Well, he better hurry. The Padre may be the only one able to open that door, but I doubt it’s going to last for very long when that fire really starts rolling or this whole damn place for that matter,” Cort said.

  Father Callahan glanced in Cort’s direction, and after a pause, Cort added, “Sorry Padre.”

  “Don’t apologize. I would have burned this place down myself given half a chance,” the priest said.

  “Hey Cort?” Danny asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “I know this is my first gunfight and all, but you may have overlooked one crucial point in your plan,” the teen said.

  Cort followed Danny’s gaze up to the crack between the door and its frame. There a thick curtain of dark smoke was pouring in at an alarming rate. He followed it up towards the top of the room and realized the ceiling was already obscured by smoke.

  “I think we’re all going to suffocate before we get a chance to burn to death,” Danny said.

  “Shit.”

  The cavalryman turned back towards the window.

  “What does it look like Oliver? We may be moving sooner than I thought.”

  The Dragoon leaned forward trying to peer through the dirty glass. Below him half a dozen bikers ran back and forth in confusion and panic. He could see at least a few of the men had escaped the fire in the house and were now being pulled through the broken windows on the floor below them, Oliver grinned.

  “Absolute bedlam Leftenant, absolute bedlam,” he said.

  Just then Jamie rode into view. The gunfighter was galloping up and down the wall shouting orders at the bikers. He had one of his Scofields in hand and was quick to point it at anyone that was slow to obey him.

  “That son of a bitch,” Oliver said.

  “What is it?” Cort asked.

  “It looks like Jamie is trying to take charge down there,” Oliver replied.

  The Dragoon unshouldered his rifle and cocked the hammer back as Cort stepped closer to see for himself.

  “Put him down Oly, I’m tired of him dogging our backtrail,” Cort said.

  “With pleasure Leftenant,” Oliver replied.

  “No,” Father Callahan said.

  Both Oliver and Cort turned to look at the priest in surprise.

  “If you’re going to insist that I carry a gun and break my vows, then It only seems fair that I should get to pick whom I shoot,” Father Callahan said.

  Oliver and Cort glanced to one another for a moment and then back to the priest.

  “I want to shoot Jamie. If I’m going to break my vow to god, well then by god I’m going to make it worthwhile!”

  Even now Jamie couldn’t help but admire Cort. The old bastard had managed to turn a completely hopeless situation into merely a bloody massacre. The Horde had started this chase with 24 hardened bikers, and now barely a dozen remained, with many of those wounded and burnt. Jamie had planned to kill Cesar eventually and take control, but now it seemed that Cort had saved him that trouble. The biker leader and most of the men he had taken into the estate were at the moment very busy burning to death. All Jamie had to do now was gather up the remaining bikers, show them who was now in charge and then of course deal with Cort and his riders.

  “You there,” Jamie shouted.

  A biker that had been standing idly by the rock wall and watching the smoke pouring out of the ruin turned and looked up at Jamie in confusion. He opened his mouth and pointed to himself, the universal signal for, “Who, me?”

  “Yes you!” Jamie shouted.

  “I want you to gather the men up. I want the dead, and the wounded kept separate. I don’t want no one sucking anyone dry unless I say so first,” Jamie commanded.

  “What?” the biker replied.

  Jamie grinned and casually pointed his pistol at the man, “Now…” he
began.

  Just then a bullet zipped past Jamie’s head and on reflex he shot the biker he had been talking to twice. The rest of the bikers began to scatter, and Jamie wheeled his horse around eager to find the shooter. He hadn’t even taken charge yet, and he already had a mutiny on his hands it seemed. Then over the sound of the flames, he heard the breaking of glass. Jamie glanced up and to his left already kicking his horse into a run. To his utter shock, Father Callahan stepped out of the broken window with a rifle raised to his shoulder and pointed down at him.

  “You have got to be fucking shitting me!”

  Jamie spun his horse hard to the right and dug his spurs in hard aiming for the rock wall, the animal immediately bolted forward. The gunfighter fired blindly behind him doing whatever he could to buy himself a few more seconds to escape. His mount reached the rock wall and lept, just as a heavy bullet tore through Jamie’s side. The gunfighter was launched forward out of the saddle and went tumbling down the muddy slope.

  The riders let out a cheer as Jamie tumbled out of sight. A moment later those cheers were answered by gunfire as the few remaining bikers with both guns and ammo opened fire.

  “Fucking move Padre!”

  The priest staggered out onto the steep roof and began to move across it, the whole time fighting to reload his rifle. Cort climbed out of the window after him and fired a few shots at the biker’s shooting at them from below. Danny followed next and then Oliver. The group raced down the roofline as fast as the steep angle and rotted shingles would allow. The priest finally managed to reload the old rifle and slammed the breach shut, just then Cort reached forward and grabbed hold of his shoulder. He glanced up and found that he had run out of roof. Just a few steps ahead of him the roof line had collapsed in on itself and to make the path even that much more inhospitable, those ruins were quickly becoming engulfed in flames.

  “Thank you,” the priest said.

  “We need to keep moving Leftenant!” Oliver shouted.

  Cort glanced back and could see why the Dragoon was concerned. The remaining bikers, at least those without guns, were moving along the edge of the building below them. They were too close to get a shot at from the roof, but if they got underneath them, the riders would have no chance to jump down and make a run for it.