American Survivalist: RACE WARS OMNIBUS: Seasons 1-5 Of An American Survivalist Series...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  “I guess he’s right. I’m the darkest one here. Guess that makes me the smart choice for some nighttime reconnaissance.”

  Akrim nodded while Sarah punched him in the left shoulder.

  “See – he agrees with me!”

  The three then laid out blankets just behind the motorcycle and scooter and did their best to appear as if they were preparing to go to sleep. Only after another hour had passed and darkness was fully upon them did Preacher slowly stand up and signal with his right thumb that he was going to make his way inside the convenience store. A layer of low-hanging clouds had moved across the sky which effectively blocked out the moon and made the night that much darker.

  Sarah tried to see into the mini mart but found the near total absence of light made doing so impossible. She then looked up into the sky and inhaled the night air.

  “Rain is coming.”

  Akrim sat to Sarah’s right. He nodded his agreement.

  “Yes, I believe you’re right.”

  This time it was Sarah who grew nervous as Preacher’s absence continued.

  “He should be back by now.”

  Akrim chuckled. Sarah turned her head to stare at him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Preacher said the exact same thing when it was you inside there.”

  Suddenly, as if by magic, Preacher emerged from the inky darkness just steps from where Sarah and Akrim sat. His appearance was so silent and sudden Sarah gasped.

  “You scared me!”

  Preacher pretended to be offended.

  “Ain’t that just like a little white girl to be scared of the black man sneaking around in the dark! Now c’mon, we need to move our bikes over to pump one. It’s gasoline. The rest are diesel.”

  Akrim pushed the scooter while Preacher moved the Harley as Sarah walked beside him. All three continued to look into the darkness to make certain no-one was watching them. Once they reached pump one, Preacher held two fingers to his mouth, let out a single, short whistle and then waited. Seconds later, they could hear the muffled sound of a generator being started from somewhere inside the mini mart.

  “Akrim, fill the gas cans first, then the bikes while I keep watch.”

  Preacher stood in front of Sarah to make certain that if anyone came at them, they would have to go through him first to get to her. He glanced back to see Akrim closing the cap on one of the five-gallon gas cans and placing the pump handle into the just opened second can. Once that can was full, Akrim then began to fill the Harley.

  Sarah’s eyes moved upward toward the sky.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Preacher shook his head.

  “No.”

  Sarah closed her eyes for several seconds and then opened them again.

  “I know I heard…there! Look!”

  Preacher followed to the area several miles back on the road they had taken to reach the truck stop. He could see the soft glow of headlights.

  There are hundreds of them.

  “Hurry up, Akrim!”

  Akrim had just finished filling the Harley and was moving on to doing the same for the scooter. He too glanced behind him as he did so.

  “Is it trouble?”

  Preacher nodded slowly while his eyes continued to follow the approaching lights. The hair on the back of his neck rose up as he subconsciously tightened both of his hands into fists.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure whoever is making their way here is not the kind of trouble we want to stick around for.”

  Akrim fumbled the pump handle.

  “Don’t worry about it, we gotta go – NOW.”

  Both Akrim and Sarah’s individual concern was doubled upon hearing the fear in Preacher’s voice.

  Preacher lifted Sarah onto the back of the Harley and then took his own position behind the wheel as Akrim did the same on the scooter. A second later and the Harley’s motor barked to life as Preacher put it into gear and began driving toward the main road with Akrim following close behind. He stopped to turn his head back toward Akrim.

  “Keep your lights off until we get around that bend about three hundred yards up, ok?”

  Akrim nodded silently.

  “What is it?”

  It was Kenton having come outside holding the shotgun he had been given earlier.

  Preacher paused to point toward the approaching lights.

  “You better hide!”

  Kenton’s face went white as his mouth fell open.

  Preacher felt bad for leaving Kenton alone, but he knew that if he didn’t get Sarah moving fast away from the truck stop, the people speeding toward them from the darkness would do something terrible to her. Staying to fight was not an option. There were simply too many of them.

  “Ok, let’s go!”

  The Harley leapt onto the road while Preacher strained to see directly in front of him without the benefit of a headlight. Soon he was doing nearly thirty miles an hour and desperate to come upon the bend in the road that would allow them to turn their lights on and get moving at a much faster pace.

  Finally the road began to curve to the left. Preacher turned the Harley’s headlight on, shifted gears, and pulled down on the throttle, grateful to have the cold night air stinging his face as the motorcycle’s speed quickly approached sixty miles an hour.

  Akrim struggled to keep up on the much lighter-powered scooter. Preacher knew the bike could do sixty on a relatively flat surface, but that it had nothing more to give beyond that. He glanced behind him and saw no more approaching lights. Sarah leaned forward with her hands grasped tightly around Preacher’s waist and spoke into his left ear.

  “Where are we going?”

  Preacher inched his chin toward Sarah’s face while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the road in front of him.

  “There’s a bridge that crosses the Mississippi about eight miles north of here. We’ll head into Iowa and go west.”

  Sarah nodded and then placed her cheek against Preacher’s broad, well-muscled back while issuing a silent prayer for Kenton’s safety. He had been kind enough to help them and she hoped whoever was approaching the truck stop would simply pass on by and not do the young man any harm even as her instincts told her such a favorable outcome was unlikely.

  ------------------

  One hour later.

  Ripper sneered at the half-dead old man who sat bound to a chair in the middle of the road in a space illuminated by the collection of parked motorcycle headlamps. Behind the old man stood the two hundred and seventeen remaining residents of Nauvoo, Illinois. A third of those residents were children under the age of twelve.

  Nineteen of the Mormons had died in the brief gunfight between themselves and Ripper’s gang, a fight that had left seven of Ripper’s men dead and three others seriously injured.

  “I’m gonna ask you one last time, old man. Have you seen a black man and a white woman come through here?”

  Bishop Johnson continued to stare straight ahead and say nothing. A deep gash in his forehead oozed blood over his eyes and each breath was a painful process – the result of two broken ribs given to him by the point of Ripper’s steel-toed leather boots.

  Ripper shook his head in disgust.

  “Ok, I tried to be nice. I really-really did. Bring me that one there. Yeah…the little blue dress.”

  A tall, gaunt biker grabbed onto a red-haired seven year old girl and pulled her toward Ripper. The child began to scream as her parents shouted that she not be hurt.

  Ripper grabbed the girl by the back of her neck and then stared at the bishop until finally Bishop Johnson relented and cleared his throat.

  “Ok, I’ll tell you what I know. Just let the child go back to her mother and father.”

  Ripper grinned as his eyes flashed victory.

  “First answer my question, old man.”

  The bishop cleared his throat again before responding.

  “Yes, there were three of them on two bikes – a tall black man, a shorter dark-haired
man, and a young blonde woman. They were asking for fuel. I don’t know where they went after they left the truck stop.”

  “And the nigger, did he go by the name, Preacher?”

  Bishop Johnson shook his head from side to side as he struggled to keep his chin from falling down onto his chest.

  “I don’t know. We didn’t ask their name.”

  “Beast, come here.”

  The Beast emerged from the crowd of bikers to stand next to Ripper.

  “Take the little girl and show these people we mean business.”

  A voice cried out from among the Mormons who stood behind their bishop.

  “Wait! I know his name! It was Preacher. The black man’s name was Preacher!”

  Kenton stepped forward, his eyes wide and his chin trembling from the great fear that gripped him.

  “How do you know this?”

  Kenton avoided Ripper’s gaze while he answered.

  “I spoke with them at the truck stop. I was there.”

  Ripper moved toward the younger man, sensing that precious time was being wasted.

  “How long ago did they leave the truck stop?”

  Kenton continued to keep his eyes on his own feet.

  “They left just a few minutes before you arrived. They had a motorcycle and a scooter.”

  The corner of Ripper’s left eye twitched and his jaw muscles repeatedly flexed as he fought to control the rage welling within him.

  “You mean to say we’ve been standing in the middle of the road for the last hour while that nigger and his white bitch have been making good on their escape?”

  Kenton glanced upward into Ripper’s eyes and instantly regretted doing so. He saw his own death reflected back at him, and the deaths of everyone else who had called Nauvoo home.

  “I don’t know, I guess---“

  Ripper fired and then happily watched as Kenton’s head rocked back as the bullet dissected the center of his skull before the body fell in a limp heap upon the pavement below. Several Mormons cried out while one among them chose that moment to attack.

  It was the thirty-four year old father of the young girl being held within Beast’s grasp. He was called Brother Benson among his people, a man of average height and build, noted for his uncommon patience and kindness toward others.

  On this night though, Brother Benson had no kindness for the man who threatened the life of his only daughter and he had every intention of trying to kill the man whose right hand held her close to him, regardless of how large and powerful that man appeared to be.

  The Beast let the girl go as her father rushed toward him with eyes blazing murderous intent. He caught the much smaller man by the throat, holding him there with his left hand while his right hand quickly formed a fist that then smashed into Brother Benson’s face with a sickening, wet thud.

  “You have no dominion beyond this life. Heavenly Father awaits us while the hell of outer darkness awaits all of you!”

  Bishop Johnson had somehow managed to stand despite still being bound to the heavy wood chair beneath him.

  The Beast threw the unconscious body of Brother Benson back into the crowd of terrified Mormons and then proceeded to grab hold of two of the chair legs that held the bishop and with a savage roar, lifted the old man several feet off the ground.

  “I am the hell you speak of and my justice fears no god!”

  The upper front portion of Bishop Johnson’s skull flew into the hard pavement again and again until nothing of that skull remained but a broken, oozing pulp of blood and bone. The chair had broken apart as well, leaving the Beast to stand there holding two fragments of wood in each of his hands which he then threw with disdain at the wide-eyed and trembling Mormon survivors.

  “Look at the men among you who choose not to fight! You are a disgrace to your race!”

  The Beast turned around and growled his instructions to the other bikers while looking over Ripper’s head as he did so.

  “Finish it.”

  The night’s previous stillness was torn asunder by the crackling explosion of multiple gunfire as the Mormon crowd screamed in pain and terror and then finally went silent, their bodies piled atop each other as a large pool of slowly expanding blood gathered beneath them.

  Ripper noted how it was the Beast and not him who gave the order to kill the Mormons. He also noted how quickly and without question the others followed that order. They were in awe of the Beast, and that made Ripper’s own position as the biker gang’s leader an increasingly precarious one.

  I need to do something before he turns on me.

  “Slack, come here!”

  Slack, still carrying a smoldering AK-47, jogged over to where Ripper stood.

  “Yeah?”

  Ripper pointed toward Serb.

  “I want you to take Serb and Beast and hit the road and find Preacher. Feel free to kill the other two, but I want Preacher kept alive until I get there, understood?”

  Slack was clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of riding with the Beast.

  “Me and Serb can handle it. We don’t need a third.”

  Ripper jabbed a finger into Slack’s narrow chest.”

  “I ain’t asking your opinion on that, ok? Between you and Serb you can handle the Beast. Keep him in line and if that gets too difficult, you have my permission to make it right.”

  Slack’s eyes widened slightly as he leaned closer toward Ripper’s face and whispered a question intended to make certain he understand exactly what Ripper was asking of him.

  “You saying I have your authority to…you know…deal with him?”

  Ripper nodded just once.

  “I’ll be hanging back here till morning. There’s fuel to take, homes to look through for gold and jewelry, we should make a real nice haul from this place. I’ve been told Mormons have money so we don’t want to head out until we’ve given the place a good looking over. I’ll get you your cut when we catch up. The three of you can make better time than all of us together. We can meet up in a little town called, Claire. It’s in the middle of Iowa about forty miles north of Fort Dodge off of 169 and two days ride from here.”

  Slack glanced around to make certain no-one else could overhear his conversation with Ripper.

  “Iowa? Why do you think I’ll find them there?”

  “Because Preacher will be avoiding the urban areas same as we are. The best way of doing that from here is to cross the river into Iowa. Now get your ass moving, Slack. The longer you wait the tougher it’ll be to catch up to them. And remember, I want Preacher alive.”

  Moments later both Serb and Beast followed Slack’s instructions that they were to head out to try and catch Preacher and the others he rode with. Before starting his chopper, the Beast looked back at Ripper with a thick-lipped, sly smirk etched across his smoothly shaved face. Beast knew the true motivation behind the task – Ripper wanted him away from the gang and the challenge his presence was to Ripper’s authority.

  “See you soon, Ripper.”

  Ripper glared back at the big man but said nothing, happy to merely watch as the three motorcycles made their way into the awaiting Illinois night.

  I don’t think so, asshole.

  -------------------------

  EPISODE TWENTY-NINE:

  Lu Phan had never ridden a horse before and he found himself terrified to be standing so close to one.

  Silas Toms ran an abnormally large-knuckled left hand gently down the grey and white mare’s neck while slowly checking over the placement of the bridle and the harness connection that attached the horse to the hand-built wooden wagon Silas had built with his father nearly seven decades earlier.

  Earlier that morning Lu had been awakened by an especially loud whistle coming from the cabin’s front porch. He rose to find Silas already dressed in a pair of olive colored slacks, a surprisingly clean white dress shirt and whistling three more times before the former rancher strode back into his home and gave his guest a quick nod.

  “Tha
t should do it. She’ll be here soon enough.”

  Lu had no idea what Silas was talking about.

  “Who will be here?”

  Silas ignored the question and focused instead on putting slices of cheese and cured meat into a paper bag and then filling a thermos full of water from the kitchen sink.

  “You should get ready. There and back is a full day’s journey.”