by Rounds, Mark
He decided that maybe he could come by fast and hard, get a quick look and then be gone before anything happened. He got on it and heard the delightful sound of the Harley engine winding up. He was soon doing at least fifty through the residential portion of Kennewick; this was going to be easy.
June 1st, Monday, 5:02 pm PDT.
Kathy Bassman was sitting in her living room. All of her kids and grandkids had gone off to help the Stricklands pack up. They had promised to bring her some soup and any other goodies they could. Food was a little scarce but she had grown up in the area and still home canned some the abundance of the local orchards and truck gardens that they bought at the local Farmer’s Market, so they were better off than most.
Over twenty years ago, she and some of the other wives in the area had welcomed the Stricklands to the area. In the intervening twenty years, she and Ray had retired and then tragically, Ray had been killed on a fishing trip in Alaska.
Mary Strickland had been kind to her, bringing over food and sitting with her when she was lonely. Fiona had been just a little sprite then, and she had tagged along with her mom. Her enthusiasm for everything had been infectious and Kathy was first her babysitter and later her friend. She still got pictures every school year from her and cookies at Christmas.
Kathy didn’t like the fact that the Stricklands had to move and had badgered her son-in-law to stand up to these thugs. Only Mary’s gentle persuasion that they had a safe place to go and that the neighborhood would be safer when they were gone had convinced Kathy that this was the best option. She was determined to do her part though, so she had volunteered to stay home and watch the road in case those juvenile delinquents on motorcycles came by again.
She had sat in her living room peering through half closed drapes for most of the day when she heard rather than saw an outrageously loud motorcycle heading up her street. Then she saw a small man on a very large motorcycle going very fast.
She had been sitting there all day with the radio in her hand waiting for just such a moment and now she used it.
“Connor, can you hear me?” said Kathy keying the mic. At first she heard nothing and then she remembered to release the microphone key.
“Yes Mrs. Bassman,” said Connor.
“There was a biker going by here very fast and he made the turn onto your street. You should see him in a couple of minutes.”
June 1st, Monday, 5:02 pm PDT.
Connor was on the roof of his parents’ house on watch and despite everything his uncle Dave told him about being a sentinel, he was bored and daydreaming. As a result, when Heather’s ski radio beeped, he nearly dropped it.
“Connor, can you hear me?” said the voice from the radio.
“Yes Mrs. Bassman,” said Connor.
There was a pause and then Mrs. Bassman replied.
“There was a biker going by here very fast and he made the turn onto your street. You should see him in a couple of minutes.”
Connor looked out over the front lawn and there were neighbors helping them load cars, plant explosives, carting away supplies and generally milling around. His mom had him move the picnic table to the front lawn where they were dispensing soup and bread to all the people who had come to help. They had worked out a procedure so he followed it. He took the air horn that was attached to a can of freon and let loose with a loud blast.
“There is a biker coming!” shouted Connor into the silence following the air horn blast.
Dave had tried to organize some sort of defense response but there had been so many ideas and arguments that, in order to get something constructive done towards packing, he had given up and said do the best you can, so some people sprinted toward home. Others pulled weapons and found cover. Mothers hustled kids into the backyard and a group of junior high kids, Heather’s son Jason among them, fixed a rope across the street. One end was tied to the trailer hitch of Dave’s pickup truck and the other end was looped through the door handle of Heather’s Camry and over the roof.
Things were still in pandemonium when the biker came down the street. Some people started firing but he was doing at least sixty miles an hour and most of the fire was from inexperienced marksmen so all of the shots were going where he had been and were not taking into account his motion. The big bike hopped the curb as the biker swerved to avoid the pile of bodies at the end of the street. Then he opened the throttle wide and came down the street with the thunder of the big bike’s motor in his ears.
Jason and his friends pulled hard on the rope so it popped up right in front of the biker. The rope came up so suddenly that the biker had no time to avoid it and probably didn’t even see it. Danny was clotheslined going at least sixty miles an hour. The rope pulled taught and the first thing to give was the door handle on Heather’s car which popped out and flew away at a crazy angle. Then the combined momentum of the bike and rider pulled the rope out of the hands of Jason and his friends, but not before it had unseated Daniel. The bike, somewhat stabilized by the force of the spinning wheels carried on for a hundred feet until the reduction in power and the lack of steering control caused it to flop over in the yard of one of the neighbors down the street.
Daniel fell over backwards and lay there in an awkward heap right in front of the Stricklands’ house. The biker was not moving much as the fall had knocked the wind out of him. Chris Vaughn was the first to recover. He ran over to the man on the ground and with his shotgun aiming at the hapless biker.
“Stay down!” shouted Chris.
Then Chris looked up and saw the neighbors closing around the pair with weapons and menace in their eyes.
“Stay back everyone!” shouted Chris at the gathering crowd. “He may be infected.”
“Why don’t we just shoot him and pile him up with the rest?” shouted someone from the crowd.
“Because there are some questions we should ask,” Dave in a more reasonable tone. “He talks better when he is alive, don’t you son?”
Daniel brushed the hair out of his face and looked up at the shotgun. He hadn’t planned on being captured; all he wanted to do was ride by, tell Kevin what he saw, and then be, at least for a little bit, a hero with the gang.
Meanwhile, Connor watched from his perch above the street. Something was familiar about the biker. Then he recognized him. It was Danny Bury. They had been really close through junior high as his parents had lived just down the block. Danny was a nice kid that got picked on because he was small and had very little self-confidence. In the seventh grade, Connor had shot up to six feet tall and was able fend off the worst of the bullies. Then Danny’s folks got a divorce and he moved across town to live with his mom in the middle of their eighth grade year. They had stayed in touch for a while, but Danny started running with a faster crowd in his high school, and then he dropped out altogether, so they fell out of each other’s lives completely until now.
“Hey Danny,” shouted Connor. “Stay right where you are. Uncle Dave, don’t shoot him, please!”
“I hadn’t planned to, Connor,” said Dave. “Why don’t you come down here and see if we can talk to your friend.”
Connor safed his rifle and then slid down the ladder in back. He made world record time getting around the front. He pushed his way through the crowd and stopped short. It was Danny alright, the scraggily beard and the face tattoo couldn’t hide the boyish face of his friend. He also had a couple of visible lesions. He was obviously infected. People were standing around, not getting too close but still very curious and scared.
“Hey, Connor,” said Danny shakily. “Just like old times.”
“You know this guy?” asked Chris.
“Yeah,” said Connor a little gobsmacked. “We went to school together and stuff.”
He looked his old friend over, taking in the biker colors, the general lack of hygiene, and the abundance of tattoos. It looked like his friend and at the same time looked like a complete stranger.
“What the hell are you doing in a biker gang Danny?�
� said Connor after an embarrassingly long pause.
“Man, I don’t know,” said Danny shaking his head. He pushed up into a sitting position and was holding his head with hands, resting on his legs.
“High school sucked, ya know? So I dropped out. The real world sucks too, but people quit beating on me when I joined the gang.”
“So what were you doing riding down our street?” said Chad a little more gently. He remembered Danny too, and had always felt a little sorry for him.
“Look, if I don’t tell you, you’ll kill me,” said Danny with a panicky voice, “But if I tell you Kevin will kill me. I am so fucked no matter what I do.”
“You’ve got the Plague,” said Amy who had come out from the house. She was now standing close to Connor and the two young people were holding hands.
“I remember you,” said Danny gazing at Amy. “I thought you were the prettiest girl in the world in junior high. You would even talk to me when I was hanging around with Connor. Geez, what should I do?”
“I can see the lesions,” persisted Amy. “You’ve got it.”
“Yeah, I have had it for a while now,” said Danny looking down, “but the Slash keeps it cool, and as long as I stay in the gang and do what they tell me, I get enough to keep it under control. If I don’t get some tonight, I’ll start to lose it, ya know? I’ll go crazy and start biting people and shit. You have to let me go!”
“Where do you get the Slash?” said Chris quietly.
“You’re a cop, ain’t ya?” said Danny pointing a finger at Chris. “I know the fake friendly voice and the little questions that turn into big questions. I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”
“Danny, what were you doing here?” said Chad more forcefully. “It wasn’t just for old home week.”
“Look, please just let me go Mr. Strickland,” said Danny pleadingly looking at Chad. “I promise you won’t see me again ever. If I don’t go back, that fed will cut me off, I’ll get the zombie disease and you don’t want that, do ya?”
“Who is the ‘Fed’ Danny?” asked Chris.
“I don’t know his name,” said Danny. “They just call him the ‘Fed’. He showed up with a truck load of Slash and guns. He kinda runs things ya know?”
“So is that were you get the Slash?” asked Chris.
“You’re doing it to me aren’t ya? You fuckin pig! Well, I am done talking to anybody. I want a lawyer.”
“Danny, there might be a lawyer or two in the crowd here, but we aren’t calling the police,” said Connor getting a little angry now. “The guy who keeps asking you the questions is my … ‘cousin’ … Chris.
“But look at the pile of bodies at the end of the street Danny, look at them! There are no cops and there is no jail. If you don’t tell my folks stuff, important stuff, you’ll be on that pile with all your other friends. I don’t want to see you shot, but it’s not like I am in charge around here or anything. The best chance you got to walk away from this is to tell us everything you know.”
“Connor is talking sense,” said Chad. “Why were you here?”
“Look it was Kevin see,” said Danny. “He sent me here.”
“Who’s Kevin?” asked Chris a little more forcefully.
“Shit, I am so dead,” wailed Danny. “Look, its Kevin Erwin see, the football player. He was a RUB, before … well before.”
“What’s a RUB?” asked Chad perplexed.
“Rich Urban Biker,” said Chris, “guys that pretend to be badass bikers but really are lawyers or dentists, or in this case, a pro football player.”
“Yeah, like that,” said Danny pointing a Chris. “He thought that the ‘Fed’ was taking too much Slash and not thinking too good. He wanted someone to go have a look at what you guys are doing. He said the girls would like it if I did.”
“Son,” said Chris calmly. “You know he was using you don’t you?”
“You think so?” asked Danny looking like the scared teenager he really was under all the bravado.
“He was playing you like a violin,” said Chris. “I‘ve heard of this Erwin character. He is huge and was a pretty good lineman, but he is also a PR nightmare for the ‘hawks. He slapped his girlfriends around and he failed more than one drug test. Word was he was on the way out.”
“It ain’t the way he tells it,” said Danny defensively, “But he isn’t a nice guy. You should see what he does to women; and they just line up for it. I don’t get it.”
“So what did he want you to do?” asked Chris.
“Just see how you had prepared is all. You know, see if there was there a lookout or did you have lots of guns? He figured to spring in on the ‘Fed’. Show him up ya know?”
“I can see it,” said Chris, “you think he wants to run the operation then?”
“I dunno, probably,” said Danny.
“So who is the ‘Fed’,” asked Chris.
“Look, I never seen him before, but I heard Kevin call him Macky or, or, Max or something like that.”
“It wouldn’t be Macklin would it?” asked Chris innocently.
“Yeah, that’s it!” said Danny brightening, “Macklin. You know him?”
“Sadly, I do,” said Chad.
“Are they going to hit us again?” asked Amy nervously.
“Macklin is pushing them to do it tomorrow,” said Danny, “but if it is tomorrow, it will be late. The guys, especially those strung out on Slash, sleep late, like one o’clock and then party till dawn. Those are the only ones who he can get to go; those guys who are desperate for their fix.”
“Well that explains why these bikers aren’t so tough, don’t shoot straight, and do all kinds of dumb but aggressive tactics. They are probably all high,” said Dave.
“Anything else, Danny?” asked Chris.
“They got this big truck thing,” said Danny. “It looks like a tank on wheels; and they robbed some guy who collected old guns and got some sort of World War Two machine gun like from the old movies. They were putting that in the top when I left.”
“Thanks Danny,” said Chris. “Now what are we going to do with you?”
“You can’t shoot him!” said Connor with some heat. “He gave you all the information you wanted.”
“There is that,” said Chris.
“Look, Danny has done some dumb stuff,” said Connor, “but he is still just Danny Bury, the little kid down the block who all the knuckleheads in junior high school used to pick on.”
While he was talking, Connor glanced down at his old friend. There were tears running down his face. Connor could see that it was all Danny could to keep from crying out loud. The tough biker was gone, at least momentarily. Sitting there, surrounded by fifty or more hostile armed adults and at least that many curious kids, he looked like the scared seventeen year old he really was.
“Yes, Connor,” said Dave kindly, “it was dumb, but it’s now kind of up to him what happens next. If we let him go, he might go blab everything he saw here to Macklin and his clowns.”
“I won’t!” said Danny who was really scared. “I won’t a say a word!”
“I actually believe you, son,” said Dave. “But that will be an even bigger give away. You go back and say nothing, your friends will guess in a minute that something is up then all they have to do is withhold the Slash and wait for you to panic. I don’t know where to get Slash for you, otherwise, we would keep you here for a couple of days until Macklin did whatever he was going to do and then let you go.”
Chris looked at Dave with a question in his eyes. He knew that they were going to hit the road just as soon as they could. Then Dave gave him the barest hint of a wink. An idea blossomed in his head and Chris nodded.
“What we need is to give you some believable story,” said Dave with a smile. “That way, you could go back and tell Macklin and Kevin something, stick to your story. No one will ever find out because we certainly won’t tell.”
“Anything man,” said Danny. “I’ll tell them anything you say.”
/>
“That’s not good enough,” said Dave. “You have to believe it son. They are going to ask pretty hard questions. You better have good answers for them.”
“Just tell me man,” said Danny as the desperation crept into his voice. “I’ll say anything.”
“Well like I said,” Dave went on in a friendly tone, “we are bunkering up here. If things get really bad, we may light out for Fort Lewis, but you need to tell them that it’s like a Saturday before the plague you know? People are still mowing lawns, there was a block party going on. There is a problem though.”
“What is it?” said Danny worriedly.
“You’ve been gone too long and it’s getting longer while we talk,” said Dave as he walked over to the Harley. It was an older bike, a classic Harley chopper, with lots of chrome. Danny had obviously taken good care of it. Dave killed the ignition as it had been idling and the back wheel was spinning slowly ever since Danny fell off.
“So here is the story son,” said Dave. “You tell them that some yahoo with a pistol came out and shot at you and hit the bike. They will believe that because they have been shot up a couple of times here already.”
Dave checked to make sure no one was in the line of fire, walked back about twenty feet, and then drew his .44 mag.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing old man?” shouted Danny as he watched Dave take aim on the bike and then he tried to stand. Chris’s shotgun appeared out of nowhere and the act staring down the barrel of a twelve gauge settled him right back to the ground.
“I am giving you a believable story,” said Dave as he fired twice.
BLAM! And the headlight shattered into a thousand pieces, the slug ricocheted and took out one of the mirrors for good measure.
BLAM! And the fixture that connected the tank to the fuel line was gone along with a sizeable chunk of the fuel tank before the slug burrowed into the turf under the bike.
Then with a grunt, Dave stood the bike up, being careful to avoid the cascade of gasoline from the damaged tank and popped the kick stand down and then let the gas run out.
