HARD ROAD: Heaven Bound

by Terry McDonald

  *

  While Beth and Janie prepared breakfast, Al and Jake installed the batteries in the transport. Agnes and Eva were on guard duty by the utility cut. Jake radioed them to come inside to eat.

  After the meal, it didn’t take much coaching by Agnes to get everyone to agree to a few minutes of stretching and exercise. They were all weary from the previous day’s labor and stiff due to the very uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

  Beth was worried about the amount of time spent without a guard on duty. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to get away from here. We’ve been making a lot of noise ever since we got here and the truck outside running half the night was risky.”

  Agnes agreed. “Nothing holding us back... I hope. Are you sure that big monster truck of yours will run?

  Jake replied. “I’m ready to leave this place too. Beth’s right about the noise we’ve been making. Let’s get rolling.” He went to the transport, climbed into the driver’s seat and engaged the starter. The engine turned over, but didn’t start. He smacked himself on the head and climbed from the cab.”

  “Forgot to fill the fuel preheater with ethanol,” he said, in answer to their questioning expressions.

  His second attempt at starting the vehicle was successful. It roared to life with an outpouring of rancid smelling black smoke that sent the other’s scurrying from the barn. He left the transport running, and joined them.

  “We’ll give if a few minutes to warm up. Mixing all the fuel for this monster makes me wonder how Saint keeps so many vehicles moving.”

  The smoke from the exhaust diminished, and after several minutes, they were able to reenter the barn. Jake backed the MaxxPro into position and they attached the heavily loaded trailer.

  Jake took the driver’s seat with Beth riding shotgun. The rest found seats in the troop area, securing their weapons with the Velcro straps provided beside each seat.

  “Let me warn you,” Jake said before starting the vehicle. “The suspension isn’t made for comfort, and I guarantee a rough ride until we get to the road. Everyone find something to hang on to.”

  The transport chewed its way through the underbrush and sapling pines as if plowing through straw, the inside of the vehicle strangely quiet compared to the noise it made outside. The ride was as rough as he had warned, making the passengers in the rear thankful for the padded seats. A little over two hours later, he swung the wheels sharply to the right onto a paved road and the ride smoothed out. Jake centered the vehicle on the pavement and stopped.

  “Beth, come with me to the rear compartment, it’s time for some basic gunnery training.” He requested Janie go to the front to keep an eye out and asked Agnes to keep a watch to the rear.

  “We’re into this head over heels now,” he said to the group at large. “I’m the only one qualified to drive, and someone needs to know how to man the turret and use the machinegun. Beth will get a gunnery lesson now. Al and Agnes will get a lesson at another time. If any of Saint’s men are within earshot, we’re about to get their attention. From here on out, we’ll need to pay close attention front and rear.”

  He pulled a telescoping platform from the floor of the vehicle, mounted it, and unlatched the roof hatch to give access to the gun turret.

  “Get on the gunner’s platform Beth,” he said, stepping out of her way.

  Beth did as he requested, and Jake went out and climbed to a position beside the bulletproof, glass and steel turret.

  “You sure are cute in there, beautiful.”

  “You need to pay attention to business, Mister,” she replied, flashing him a huge smile. “How come this road is so much more overgrown than the other roads we been on?” she asked, looking at the forest that crowded to the edge of the road, and the thick mass of weeds and small pines taking advantage of the cracks and breaks in the pavement, turning large portions the roadway into a tangled green carpet.

  “This road runs east to west, and it’s a lot wider, so it gets more sun than the roads running north and south.”

  “I can see that,” she agreed, squinting at the early morning sun. She reached for the twin grips of the machine gun. “Show me how to use this thing.”

  “This is the newest model of the M-240 machinegun. The major difference is the two handed grip and the canister ammo feed. Do you feel that lever you’re squeezing on the right hand grip?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the trigger. If the safety wasn’t engaged you’d be spraying the countryside with lead right now.”

  “Oh,” she said, yanking her hand off the grip.

  “Keep hold of the left grip, right here is the safety lever,” Jake continued, reaching to touch it. “Flip it up, grasp the right hand grip, and squeeze the trigger. That’s all there is to firing it. Keep your head back, sight down the barrel and swivel to aim it. You can make a full circle with this turret by turning with your feet. Remember, the sights are only a guide. This is a machine gun, so in reality, you adjust your aiming point based on where you see your rounds hitting. Every fifth round is what’s called a tracer. It makes a streak of light as it travels. That feature allows you to adjust your aim at night. You got all that?”

  “Got it,” she replied. What if I run out of bullets?”

  “That’s a good question,” Jake leaned over the edge of the bulletproof glass surround of the turret. “Hey Al, Beth’s going to hand you an ammo canister. See the round canisters in the overhead rack. Pull one loose and pass it to her.”

  Jake showed Beth how to release the canister. She lowered it to Al and took the one he passed to her. Jake leaned over and demonstrated the procedure to reload.

  “See that big pine over there with a broken limb sticking out from it?” Jake asked, pointing to a tree about a hundred feet away. “I'll move so you don't knock me off. Pivot and see if you can shoot the rest of the limb off where it joins the trunk. Trigger short bursts of about three or four rounds each.”

  Beth flipped off the safety, reached for the right hand grip and doing as Jake instructed, pivoted the turret. She fired a short burst and hit the tree about three feet below the limb.

  “I see what you mean,” she said. She fired another short burst. More chips flew from the tree, made an adjustment and fired two more bursts. The limb splintered and fell, severed neatly at the trunk.

  “All right, I pronounce you gunner first-class. I’ll join you back inside. Leave the hatch open and the platform up.”

  Jake kept the speed low, avoiding washouts and large potholes in the road. Six years of neglect and the long winter had taken its toll. Brush and skinny little pines took advantage of every crack in the pavement. The area was so rural they encountered few abandoned vehicles. Jake figured, in another five or six years, most roads in the US would be impassable. It reminded him again of the book he read many years ago. “Yep, ‘The Earth Abides’.”

  Beth interrupted his thoughts.

  “You sure know a lot about this big truck.”

  “You bet. This was the workhorse of the Middle East.”

  “It seems pretty easy to drive. Do you think I could learn how?”

  “How about right now?” he suggested.

  “Right now?”

  “Why not,” he replied, “It’s not as if we’re trying for a speed record. I’ll show you the basics and we’ll switch sides.”

  A short time later, Beth was in the drivers’ seat.

  “Just remember what I said. Foot on the brake, drop it into gear and easy on the gas pedal.”

  Jake had her start, stop and, though limited by her inexperience with the difficulties of backing with a trailer attached, go a short distance in reverse a few times. As she became acquainted with the positions of the fuel and brake pedals and the feel of the steering wheel, her initial nervousness turned to growing confidence. After a while, she braked to a stop.

  “I like driving,” she said. “It makes me feel free from the world.”

  “That it does,” Ja
ke agreed. “You can keep driving if you like. Watch out for ruts and holes, and increase your speed as it feels comfortable.”

  They drove in silence, with Beth intently watching the road ahead for nature's obstacles, and Jake intently watching for humans. The trouble came from behind them.

  “Jake,” Eva called out, “we’ve got a motorcycle about a half mile back coming on fast.”

  Jake instructed Beth to stop and put the gear in park. As soon as the forward motion ceased, he rushed to the platform and swiveled the turret to face the rear, checking to be sure the safety was off the machine gun. The motorcycle, a Harley, slowed and came to a halt about thirty feet behind them, to the right of the trailer. An obese bearded man, with sand colored hair, climbed off and pulled a forty-five caliber pistol from his side holster. He was dressed in a well-worn and faded Alabama State Patrol uniform.

  “Who the hell are you?” He shouted above the noisy engine of the transport, looking at Jake high above him.

  “Jake Markett,” he shouted back. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You don’t ask the questions here Mister, I do. John Saint’s looking for you.”

  Jake called down for Beth to turn off the ignition.

  “Well sir,” Jake said in a conversational voice, “this machine gun you see pointed at you says I ask the questions. My advice to you would be for you to toss your pistol over towards the truck or I’m going to cut you down.”

  “You don’t know who I am,” the man blustered. “I told you, I’m with Saint's group. You better climb down here if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Are you an idiot? I’m going to tell you again to toss your pistol or you are a dead man. I’d rather you be alive, but dead will be just as good. You’re running with a gang of rapists, cold-blooded killers and cannibals. You’ve got five seconds to make up your mind before I cut you in half.”

  Jake took aim and began to count a quick cadence, as if in a hurry to get to five. At four the man called out, “Hold it, hold it,” and tossed the pistol.

  “That was very wise of you, Mister. Now stand where you are if you want to see the sun rise again. I enjoy killing John Saint’s men. I’ve already killed a bunch of you sons of bitches.” Jake called down through the turret. “Agnes, would you mind stepping out of the truck and coming around back, I’ve got a little job for you?”

  Agnes appeared at the back of the truck a few moments later.

  “What you need done, boss?” she asked.

  “Walk over to where you’re fairly close to him, stay to the side out of my line of fire and about ten feet away will do.”

  Agnes stepped over the trailer hitch and did as requested, keeping her eyes glued to the man.

  Jake spoke to her. “The man you're looking at is stupid. I think he's dumb enough to lie to me. Do you think you can hurt him without getting hurt yourself?”

  Agnes sized him. “No problem boss.” She strode purposely to the man and at the last moment turned to deliver a powerful sidekick to his knee. From thirty feet away Jake heard it break. The big man fell to the ground, cursing and writhing in pain.

  “You fucking bitch. God damn you to hell!” he screamed, reaching desperately for the pants cuff of his broken leg.

  Agnes moved and brought her booted foot down with a vicious stomp to his forearm. Once again, Jake heard a bone snap. The man screamed even louder and started crying.

  “Stop hurting me, goddamn it,” he blubbered.

  “He was reaching for a pistol in an ankle holster,” Jake said. “Take it off him, and if you don’t mind Agnes, would you rip the microphone off his cycle?”

  She did and she removed a sheath of paper protruding from his saddlebag before returning to the rear of the transport. “You want me to hurt him some more?”

  “No, I think he understands we don’t give a damn who he works for. You can come back in. By the way, thanks, that was very nicely done.”

  “Anytime boss, my pleasure.” she replied.

  Jake, spoke to the man squirming in pain.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time. Who are you?”

  “James Baker. My name’s James Baker!” His voice was shrill and filled with pain.

  “I’m not glad to meet you, Baker, but now that I have, let me ask you. What do you do for a living?”

  “Mister,” the man said, still blubbering. “What the hell are you asking?”

  “I asked you what you do for a living.”

  “I work for John Saint. I’m the Captain of the third platoon.”

  “Thank you sir, and may I ask you, what are doing out here?”

  “Goddamn it man, I'm hurting... I’m just out riding.”

  “Oh I see, riding, enjoying the fresh air, getting close to nature. That’s a good answer, but I believe you’re lying. I don't care if you're hurting. As a matter of fact you need to hurt more ... Agnes, would you mind coming back out?”

  The man cried out desperately, “No! I’ll tell you.”

  “Hold up Agnes, I get the feeling he doesn’t like you,” Jake said. “What are you doing out here. Don’t lie. A lie will cost you another bone.”

  “The roadblock ahead called they heard shooting down this way. I was sent to check it out.”

  “How much further is the roadblock?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered, maybe three or four miles.” The pain hit him even worse. He curled into a fetal position, trying to sooth his knee and his broken arm at the same time. His blubbering and crying grew louder.

  Jake paused a moment before continuing, looking at him lying there, searching for a trace of compassion within himself and finding none. “I believe you, Baker. How many men and vehicles are at the roadblock? You’re doing okay so far, but don’t make me call out the lady again.”

  “Two motorcycles, a truck and eight men, that’s the truth Mister, I swear it.”

  “One more question,” Jake said. "How many people does John Saint have now and how many are soldiers?”

  “If I answer, will you let me go?”

  “Absolutely,” Jake assured him.

  “The last head count was three hundred thirty eight and he's got six platoons of soldiers with twenty each.”

  “Is that all,” Jake said sarcastically, “I thought he had an army. If you are indicative of the quality of his men, he’s leading a gang of losers. I’ve got a message for you to deliver to the punk. Tell him the ones who have been killing his men say for him not to cross Interstate 75, and we’ll let him live for a while longer. If he crosses the interstate, the Angels of Heaven will kill him and his men. Do you think you can remember that?”

  “Yes sir,” he replied plaintively, “I can remember that.”

  “Do you remember my name?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Jake Markett.”

  “Do you remember the name of the lady that broke your bones?”

  “Agnees.”

  “Close enough. Before we drive away and kill the men at the roadblock, you need to apologize for calling her a bad name. Call her by name and make me believe it or I’ll have someone else out who’ll hurt you even worse.”

  “Miss Agnees,” he called out, “I’ll be begging your pardon for calling you a bad name.”

  “That was very nicely said, Mister Baker. I know she doesn’t forgive you, but you bought your life. I bid you goodbye for now. Tell John I’ll pay him a visit when I have time to waste on killing him. Have a nice day.”

  Jake climbed back inside,

  “What do you think,” he asked everyone, “did I sound crazy.”

  “Crazy as a loon, and scary as hell,” Eva answered for them. “That was very strange.”

  “That was for Saint’s benefit. We’re about to move, and some bad things are going to happen.”

  Jake resumed his seat and had Beth restart the transport.

  “Take it slow and drive to about thirty or forty feet from them before you stop. They’re g
oing to want to ask questions. I’m going to kill them. You can put your head down when the shooting starts, but I doubt they have anything that can penetrate three inches of bullet proof Lamglass.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Three miles later, they rounded a bend, and saw the roadblock ahead. It was at the far end of a short bridge crossing a creek. Saint's men had parked their pickup sideways, effectively blocking the two lanes. Beth drove to the near end of the bridge and brought the vehicle to a stop. Jake reached for the microphone clipped to the dashboard, flipped a switch over to the outside speakers and turned the volume to full. His voice boomed when he spoke.

  “You need to move your vehicle to the side. Saint sent us to check the next roadblock up ahead.”

  Jake handed the microphone to Beth.

  “Leave the switch open,” he instructed as he left his seat and moved towards the rear. “All of you move to the front and scream like crazy people when I start shooting. Janie, you stay behind the others so you can’t see.” He climbed into the turret and swung to face the roadblock.

  “I told you to move the truck,” he shouted.

  “You’re a damn liar, Mister,” someone shouted from behind the truck. “There ain’t no more roadblocks, and we see the nigger gal driving that tank you’re riding in. Saint ain’t sending a nigger out on his business.”

  Jake’s eyes were searching for the positions of the men. Two were using their cycles as ineffective shields, and several were standing behind the truck. His count was up to six before he replied.

  “Gentleman, I was hoping we could have a nice conversation, but the beautiful woman you see is my wife, and I have to tell you, she doesn’t like it when people say the word ain’t.” As he was speaking he managed to spot another man crouched in concealment behind some bushes off to the left, bringing his count to seven. They all had rifles pointed towards the MaxxPro. “She’ll be mad if I don’t kill you for misusing our beautiful language.”