by Cheree Alsop
Magnum grabbed the green-haired girl by the arm. “He’s had enough,” he warned.
“But you barely touched him,” she protested.
He met her eyes with a gaze even I wouldn’t mess with. “He’s had enough,” he reiterated. She quelled under the look. The bell rang and he jerked his head toward the others. “Let’s go.”
They followed him down the hall without a word. I watched them go, fighting to catch my breath and vowing to remind Magnum who had saved his life when the gangs attacked. He met my eyes just before he turned the corner. “Sorry,” he mouthed; then they were gone.
I sat up slowly, holding my ribs that now throbbed with every breath. I leaned my head against the locker. I definitely needed a new hobby.
I WAS DRAGGING THE backseat of a car with the four-wheeler when a familiar motorcycle sped into the junkyard. I gritted my teeth and kept my face expressionless as I climbed off the four-wheeler and levered the seat against the pile of other faded, burned, shredded, or otherwise discarded car and truck seats. Each movement sent pain through my ribs and increased my anger. I tried to lift the seat to move it further onto the pile, but the movement hurt too badly.
I grabbed it with both hands, gritted my teeth against the pain, and threw the chair on top of the pile before I leaned against the four-wheeler and fought to catch my breath.
Magnum’s footsteps were hesitant. “Gotcha pretty bad, huh?”
I refused to look at him. I turned to climb back on the four-wheeler for the next chair, but he grabbed the key from the ignition. I glared at him.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Magnum said. He studied the ground near his feet, then looked up at the sky. “I don’t say that much, but I mean it.”
“Do you enjoy picking on those who are weaker than you?” I demanded.
He glanced at me. “We both know you’re not weaker than me.”
I grimaced. “That’s beside the point. Do you like picking on kids and making them scared of you?”
Magnum shoved a hand in his pocket. He looked at the four-wheeler key in his other hand, then closed his fingers around it, gripping it tight. “I like feeling in control.”
I thought about it for a minute as my anger slowly left. Magnum wasn’t one to open up. I knew I needed to take his words at face value. “So being stronger than others makes you feel in control?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. His fist turned white as he gripped the key even harder. “In control of some things,” he said quietly.
What little I had seen of his home life left little doubt as to what he meant. I climbed off the four-wheeler and fought back a wince. “Could you do me a favor?” I asked.
He looked up at me in surprise. “What?”
“Could you leave me alone until these ribs heal?”
He let out a laugh. “I’ll find someone else to pick on.” He slid the key back in the four-wheeler’s ignition.
I hesitated, then shook my head. “On second thought, keep picking on me.”
He studied me for a minute. Understanding dawned in his eyes and the color ran from his face. “Are you saying you became my target on purpose so we wouldn’t beat up the other students?”
I shrugged. “Not the brightest plan.”
He leaned against the four-wheeler and crossed his arms. “Not a coward’s plan, either.” He paused, then glared at me. “So the punch on my tuxedo?”
I grinned. “Not an accident.”
He shook his head. “You need to come up with better plans.”
I rubbed my stomach. “Tell me about it.”
He nodded at the motorcycle and we both walked toward it. “The little theater?”
“Yep, that was me.”
“The mascot?” he pressed.
I nodded.
He blew out a breath and rubbed the knuckles of one hand. “You really had a vendetta.”
I stared at him. “Vendetta?”
Embarrassment crossed his face. “We’re reading Hamlet in English.”
“You’re actually paying attention?”
He chuckled. “I know. Tell me about it. For some reason, I’m actually interested in school.”
“If you get good grades, you could get a scholarship out of here.”
“That’s what they keep telling me,” he admitted.
I kept my tone carefully even. “Who tells you?”
Magnum was quiet for a minute, then said, “The school counselors. My grades are close to passing. If I work hard, I can graduate this year with a GPA good enough to go to the university.”
I couldn’t help feeling surprised. Magnum had never appeared to me to be the ambitious type, but apparently my assumptions of him had been as wrong as those he’d had of me.
“Good,” was all I said.
He turned to look at me fully. “Good? That’s it?” His gaze darkened. “You’re not gonna laugh or tell me it’s ridiculous?”
I shook my head. “I’m happy for you,” I said honestly. “You should do whatever you want.” A thought occurred to me. “What about football?”
His eyes narrowed. “What about it?”
I kicked a bolt sitting in the dirt. It bounced against the motorcycle’s tire. “I heard you were good at football once. Why not get out of here on a football scholarship?”
“I’d have to play,” he said with a tone that indicated the stupidity of my statement.
I didn’t let it bother me. “So play.” His head jerked up and I felt his stare, but I kept my eyes on the bolt, nudging it with the toe of my shoe. “You could pick it up again. I’ll bet the coach would be happy to have you.”
He was about to reply when a truck turned onto the junkyard road.
Jagger threw open the door to the shack. “This’d be more traffic ‘n we ‘ad in months,” he said as Mick barked with all the threat his tiny body could contain.
I squinted against the sun setting behind the truck. It was hard to make out who was driving, but there was something tied in the back.
The truck stopped a few feet from the shack. A hat bobbed, then Sheriff Bowley climbed out. “Hello, boys,” he said with a smile. He tipped his head. “Jagger.”
“Howdy, Sheriff,” Jagger replied. “I s’pose you been busy.”
“Always,” the sheriff answered amiably. He waved a hand toward the back of the truck. “I brought your bike back with the modifications Magnum requested.” He said the last word as though the request had been more of a demand.
Magnum snorted. “About time.”
I followed them to the back of the truck. It was the second time I had seen my motorcycle brought back in better condition than I had left it. I reached up a hand and touched the flat black side.
“Get ‘er down b’fore Kelson ‘ere starts cryin’,” Jagger said. I threw him a look and he grinned, showing several missing teeth.
I was about to climb onto the truck bed, but Magnum grabbed my shoulder. “Let someone do it who can handle a bit of rough riding.”
“I can ride my own bike,” I protested, but Magnum climbed on the truck anyway.
The sheriff looked at me. “Did you get hurt pulling that truck over, or is it from the bullets?”
I shook my head. “Got in a bit of a fight at school.”
Magnum snorted as he shifted the motorcycle into neutral. “I don’t think you can call it that.”
The sheriff looked between us. “Let me get this straight. You’re riding together and still fighting at school?”
Magnum shrugged. “Got to keep up appearances.”
“That ain’t right,” Jagger commented.
Magnum backed easily down the ramp, then parked the bike at the bottom. “There you go, princess,” he said with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Dark Wing.”
He glowered. “That’s not what I decided on.”
I nodded. “I think Night Goose works better.”
At Magnum’s look of death, the sheriff lifted his hands. “Whoa. I’m not sure if you two working t
ogether is such a good idea.”
“I secon’ that,” Jagger muttered as I went to the shack.
Silence filled the air. I pulled my black riding outfit on over my jeans and shirt, making sure to fasten the bulletproof vest Jagger had given me before zipping up the jacket. I then threw on my backpack and walked back out. “It’s nothing a ride can’t fix,” I said, carrying my helmet and gloves.
I swung a leg over the motorcycle and sat on the newly upholstered seat. “You overhauled it,” I said with an appreciative smile.
“Try to keep it in one piece,” the sheriff replied gruffly.
“Hopefully merchandise runs near Sparrow will slow now that they’ve seen what we did with the last one,” Magnum said.
A laugh burst out of the sheriff before he could stop it. “You boys be careful.”
I turned the key and pressed the starter. The motorcycle rumbled to life with a much louder growl than it had before.
Magnum started his and revved the engine. “Let’s ride,” he said, pulling on his helmet.
“Wait,” Jagger commanded.
He hurried back to the shack with more haste than I had ever seen the old man use. The three of us waited in the rumbling silence until he came back out carrying a black bundle. I grinned when he handed it to Magnum.
Magnum accepted the bundle warily and straightened it out. His eyes lit up when he recognized the vest. “Awesome,” he said.
Jagger nodded. “If’n you ride wi’ Kelson, you always wear it.”
“I will,” the Bullet leader promised. He pulled the ballistic vest on with an awe that made me wonder when the last time was he had received a gift of any kind. He zipped it up, then shrugged into his jacket. “Thanks, man.”
Jagger waved him away. “Go ‘ave fun and stop trouble if’n ya find it.”
“We will,” Magnum said.
I led the way out of the junkyard with the knowledge that Magnum was smiling inside his tinted helmet whether I could see it or not.
WHEN WE PULLED UP to the junkyard an hour later, all thoughts of the fight and my ribs were far from my mind. Magnum shoved his visor up and grinned. “Now I know why you like this bike.”
I climbed off and patted the seat fondly. “Not a bad ride.”
“And did you see the looks we got? People are freaking out that there are two Black Riders now.”
I nodded. “I have a feeling crime’s going to drop drastically around here.”
He set his helmet on the passenger footrest and took off his gloves. “What now?”
I shrugged. It wasn’t late enough to go to the Ashbys’ and eat, but I was tired of sorting through junk. “I could teach you how to fight.”
Magnum bristled. “I know how to fight.”
I nodded. “You brawl like a boxer. I could teach you how to fight with finesse.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that?”
I held in a sigh. “Take a swing at me.”
He shook his head. “No way. Have you seen the shape you’re in?”
I nodded. “Come on. Trust me.”
He held up his fists. “If you’re sure about this.”
“I am,” I said.
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He punched at my head. I stepped to the side and caught his arm, then ducked and used his momentum to send him over my back and to the ground. Dust rose around him, then settled slowly as he stared up at me in surprise.
“That’s finesse?” he asked.
I nodded.
He clambered back to his feet and attempted to dust off his black clothes. “I suppose I could use some of that.” He paused. “But I have a better idea.”
“What’s that?” I asked slowly.
He grinned. “Come on.”
I followed him to the back of the junkyard where I had piled the tires in rows by size and tread. He pushed the biggest pile over.
“Hey, I stacked that,” I protested.
“And I’m sure you’ll do it again. Look.” He climbed inside a stack of tires. “Now you duck behind another stack and I’ll pop out. With our matching clothes, it’ll look like the Black Rider is super fast. If we can get our timing down, no one will know what hit them.”
I laughed, but did it anyway. When I was hiding, Magnum hesitated. “How will I know you’re gone?” he asked.
“I’ll yell. Be ready. It’ll distract them anyway.”
We practiced for several minutes, then switched positions.
“Go!” Magnum yelled.
I jumped out from the tires and did a roundhouse kick. “Take that, evil bad guys!”
He laughed so hard, he collapsed behind the tires. “I’m glad you didn’t say that when you fought us in the store. I would have laughed to death.”
“Not intimidating enough?”
His face was red from laughing. “The mighty Black Rider slays evil with his witty name-calling.”
I chuckled. “It could be worse.”
“Oh, really?” he said when he could breathe again. “How’s that?”
“Their name could be Dark Wing.”
He made a swipe for my legs, but I jumped out of reach. I tripped on a car hood and it skidded across the dirt with a screech.
“What’s that?” Magnum asked.
We both stared at what appeared to be a full-sized metal door embedded in the ground.
“Ya found it!” Jagger exclaimed.
We both jumped at the old man’s appearance. He rubbed the few pieces of hair on his head excitedly. “I couldn’ ‘member where I left et!”
“You lost a door?” I asked wryly.
He shook his head. “Not jus’ a door, ye sarcastic cuss—my bomb shelter. Open et up!”
Magnum looked at me dubiously. I shrugged and reached for the C-shaped piece of metal that made up the handle. It took both of us and Jagger’s crowbar to lift the metal door. A smell drifted from the exposed hole that almost floored us.
“What is that?” Magnum demanded, plugging his nose.
“I ‘spect ets my canned pork,” Jagger replied, unconcerned.
Magnum and I exchanged a glance. “You canned a pig?” I asked.
He nodded. “What else ya gonna do with et?” He stuck his bum leg out and knelt down gingerly. “I know ets around ‘ere somewhere.” He fumbled around the lip of the door for a minute, then exclaimed, “Aha!” He pulled something and a lightbulb flickered on.
Magnum and I stared at a set of dusty steps that led into the earth.
“Go’n then,” Jagger said.
“This feels like Silence of the Lambs,” Magnum breathed in my ear.
I hesitated at the top.
“Oh, come on,” Jagger growled. He pushed past me and limped down the stairs. His crowbar banged loudly on the wooden steps.
Magnum and I exchanged a look before we followed Jagger into the musty hole.
The light led to another light, then another. We reached the bottom of the steps and stopped in a space about eight feet square. A dirty bed with twisted blankets sat in one corner and a table lined with what appeared to be Jagger’s now-green canned pork took up the opposite side. I squinted into the gloom, surprised to see that Jagger had vanished.
“This is crazy,” Magnum said quietly behind me. “What is this place?”
A light flickered in front of me, showing a rectangle against the dark wooden wall. “Ya comin’?” Jagger called back.
I walked through the door, then stopped in surprise. Magnum ran into me, swore, then froze when he saw the contents of the room.
Guns of every possible make and model sat on shelves along the walls and on a table. They appeared older, but were in good condition behind glass that kept the dust, moisture, and cobwebs from getting to them.
“This is awesome!” Magnum exclaimed. He reached out to touch the glass. “Seriously, Jagger, this is amazing! Winchesters, Remingtons, M16s, M21s, a Flamethrower!” He looked at the old man who
was surveying his collection with pride. “What is this, a Vietnam weapons cache?”
Jagger nodded. “Pretty much. I’ve kept it ‘round since my time in ‘Nam.” He winked. “I know a guy. Never know when ya might be needin’ somethin’”
“Like a Minigun?” Magnum asked, his eyes wide as he studied the Gatling gun in the corner.
Jagger nodded. “Exactly.”
Magnum looked back at me. “This is so cool, don’t you think?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and peered at the weapons. “Yeah, but what are you going to use them for?”
“Defendin’,” Jagger said as if I had asked a stupid question.
Magnum’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re a city kid. Have you ever shot a gun?”
I admitted defeat and shook my head.
Both Jagger and Magnum stared at me. “Well, now’s the time to do it!” Magnum exclaimed.
Jagger slid one of the glass doors open and Magnum grabbed several different guns. He hurried back up the steps like a kid with an armful of candy. Jagger picked up boxes of bullets, then limped up after him.
I looked around the room one last time and my eyes landed on a box of grenades. There had been several times since my arrival in Sparrow when I felt I had landed in a twilight zone, but this one beat them all. I shook my head and hurried up the stairs.
Magnum already had car headlights set up and was taking aim at them with a pistol.
“Use bo’ hands. Et’s more accurate tha’ way,” Jagger instructed. Magnum complied, cupping a hand on the bottom of the pistol. He then lifted the gun again and closed one eye. “Watch ‘er wi’ the kick,” Jagger said. “Ya drop et, ya buy et.”
Magnum squeezed the trigger. A bang sounded and the glass on the headlight shattered. Magnum looked at Jagger with wide eyes. “That was awesome!”
Jagger nodded, looking as pleased as if he had fired the gun himself. “Kelson’s turn.”
Magnum grinned and grabbed a different gun off the table they had improvised from an old Chevy hood. “This’ll be better for him.”
Jagger looked at the gun, then shook his head. “I don’ think that’d—”
Magnum glared at him. “Let Kelson try.”
