by M. E. Betts
Signed, A Well-wisher
"Tell the boys to get to Pantex," Pfeifer snapped to the messenger, who fled back to the parking lot to inform his fellow guards. Duncan exited the bathroom, placing his walkie-talkie into its holster. "Duncan, read this. It may be a lot of hot air, or we may have vermin to go after."
Duncan crossed the room, quickly reading over the words printed on the sheet of paper. He narrowed his eyes as he followed Pfeifer out to the parking lot.
"I'll be right behind you, Pfeifer," he lied as he replayed in his mind the conversation he and Irene had just had. He decided that he wouldn't be going tothe plant.
Adrian grimaced as he peered out the open bay door, noting the approaching headlights that pierced through the deep-blue, pre-dawn sky that was littered with thousands of twinkling stars. He counted at least four vehicles, then spun around and approached the armored truck. Ragtop awaited from the driver's seat, his window open.
The group had been moments away from embarking, with everyone but Adrian seated within the vehicle. Dean and his two companions had planted their share of the IEDs at the various fuel stations listed on the sheet Duncan had delivered to the garage, and the only thing left to do was to pick up Celia on their way out of town. Just as Adrian was getting ready to enter the front cab, with Ragtop at the helm and the rest of the group in the rear cab, they had spotted the glint of headlights in the distance. The group had waited, hoping that the vehicles would come and go without consequence. However, as the three trucks slowed upon their approach of the garage, it became apparent that their escape wouldn't be as simple as they had hoped.
Although the engine was running, Ragtop had neither turned on the headlights nor shifted into drive. Dean and the other two men traveling with them waited in the passenger cab located in the middle of the vehicle. Upon observing the approaching vehicles, however, the three men got ready to climb, via the ladder located in the cab's interior, to the roof of the truck.
"Here comes trouble," Dean sighed, unbuckling his seat belt. He and the other two men scaled the ladder, then crouched on the roof, their weapons drawn.
"Should I cut the engine?" Ragtop asked.
"I would," Adrian said through gritted teeth. "No chance of us knowing who it is in the dark 'til they pull up closer."
Ragtop turned the igntion, quieting the engine, then pocketed the keyring. As the group of vehicles came to a stop just outside of the bay, Adrian and Ragtop saw, to their chagrin, that the party-crashers were none other than Duncan and around twenty of his cohorts. Although Adrian was severely annoyed, he wasn't surprised.
"Fuck me," he whispered as the men began to exit their vehicles.
"Hell-bent," he heard Ragtop whisper from the driver's seat.
"I'd assume this is a late-night test drive?" Duncan menaced as he approached the threshold of the bay.
"I guess you assume correct," Adrian said.
"And you ran it by Pfeifer, of course?" Duncan prodded, taking the walkie-talkie from his hip.
Adrian stared silently at Duncan, thinking of the shotgun tucked inside of his coat. In his mind, he was about to formulate the words, Do it, Ragtop, internally willing the other man to use the remotes already waiting inside the vehicle with him.
Before he could complete the thought, however, he realized that Ragtop was well ahead of him. Explosions were heard from near and far, and the sky lit up in several places, those where the detonations were close enough to afford visibility from the garage. After only seconds, other sounds became apparent, sounds of screeching tires, slamming car doors and other activity in the stillness of the late night. Adrian knew that at each target, some level of chaos was unfolding, including the Pantex plant, about which Pfeifer was likely to have been concerned even before the detonations.
"Just in case you're wondering," Ragtop told Duncan, "that wasn't approved by Pfeifer, either, but there it is."
"Burn it if you got it," Adrian told Duncan with a grin. His hand dove into the left inner flap of his coat, pulling out his loaded, sawed-off shotgun. Although he would gladly have pulled down the bay door to afford himself and his group more time, several sadists had already crossed the threshold into the building. Adrian ducked behind the truck for cover, glancing briefly at Ragtop, who was headed out the passenger door.
Adrian crouched, looking beneath the truck to place the footsteps on the other side. He saw four pairs of boots headed his way. Lifting himself up to the top of the rear bumper, Adrian silently scaled the exterior ladder that led him to the roof of the rear cargo hold, lowering himself to his belly, and slithered over to the other side, the side on which Duncan's men were inching their way into the garage. As he pointed his muzzle at the center of the group, he noticed Duncan, who had slipped back outside. He was conversing with somebody over his radio, someone Adrian guessed to be Pfeifer. As much as he wished to put an end to Duncan right then and there, the other man wasn't within the sight of his shotgun.
He focused instead on those who advanced mere feet away, opening fire as the first in the group rounded the corner to the rear of the truck. He aimed and fired at the third in the group, who took the bulk of Adrian's buck and ball shot, the larger ball. It ripped through his chest, rendering him thoroughly dead. The smaller pellets, for the most part, took a trajectory that caused more minor injuries to the sadist at the rear of the group, though his wounds were severe enough to take him out of the fight.
Adrian heard the bark of Ragtop's pistol while he reloaded, and he watched the first sadist in the procession go down. Ragtop took another shot, crippling the last one in the group. There were more advancing into the garage. His eyes on those who were headed his way, Adrian reached into his bag, taking out one of two cans of bear mace.
Rummaging through the bottom of the bag, his fingertips seized on a zip tie. Quickly checking the settings for the sprayer, he chose the cone-shaped emission. He set the can down onto the top edge of the roof's four-foot wall, the nozzle pointing downward toward the floor beside the truck, and pressed down on the nozzle. He used the zip tie to hold the nozzle down in a continuous, conical stream, then took a quick head count, tallying sixteen in addition to Duncan, before lowering himself down from the truck. From beside the truck, he could hear the cursing and moaning of sadists whose faces had been coated in the stream of noxious spray.
Adrian and Ragtop retreated further into the garage, down three bays from their own, while Dean and his two companions maintained their positions atop the truck. Some of the sadists hung back near the threshold of the garage, distracted by the cloud of mace into which they had walked, while others pursued Adrian and Ragtop. The two of them paced backward with their muzzles raised.
"Let's get this shit done, man," Adrian said. "We got places to be."
Irene parked the gray Chevy on the far side of the diner and truck stop, the side facing away from the garage and service station. From the side she had entered, she couldn't yet see whether or not Duncan had arrived, but judging by the gunfire that was clearly audible, she was guessing that he had. Before the car came to a full stop, Celia threw open the passenger door and broke into a run, heading around the diner and toward the garage.
"Celia," she called after the young woman, though to no avail. "Celia, wait!"
She exited the car, palming the revolver in her holster, and broke into a jog.
Up ahead, around the corner of the building, Celia noted three pickup trucks parked outside the open bay where her father and Ragtop worked. It appeared that one of them was Duncan's, as Irene had predicted. Hugging the wall of the diner, Celia traced the wall of the complex until she reached the lobby, which connected the garage to the rest of the complex. Although the whooshing of blood in her head created a torrent of sound to her own ears, her rubber-soled sneakers created virtually no noise as she crept toward the bay, Irene creeping behind her.
As Celia came within around twenty-five feet of the building, she heard a hushed voice coming from near one of the parked trucks.
Her eyes scanned the darkness in the direction of the voice, and after a moment a tall, stout, bespectacled figure became apparent to her, the lenses of his glasses flaring dimly with the glare of light from inside the shop.
"Duncan," she mouthed silently. "You douche." She listened for a moment to the conversation he was having via his walkie-talkie.
"Listen up, dipshit, and listen good!" Pfeifer was snapping from the other end. "It's not a priority! Of all my men, you're the only asshole on that side of town, worrying about that god damned truck!"
"I understand you have a lot on your plate," Duncan said. "But I'm telling you, he's the reason! It's not Spike. But don't worry, I'll deal with him."
"Amarillo's burning down!" Pfeifer roared, the speaker crackling. Duncan winced, taking the radio further away from his ear momentarily. "I give fuck-all about A.J. or the truck right now! Hurry up and shoot the bastard, then get your ass over to Pantex, pronto!"
The radio went silent, and Duncan sighed as he slid it into his back pocket with his left hand. His right went for his holster, drawing a large-caliber, snub-nose revolver. When Celia saw the weapon appear and saw Duncan shift toward the open bay door, she broke into a quiet run, quickly reaching him and leaping onto his back before he could turn around.
About twenty feet behind her, Irene's eyes went wide, and she drew in a sharp breath. "Celia!"
As Adrian and Ragtop paced backward, away from the advancing group, Adrian thought for a moment that he had seen the flash of another set of headlights from outside, but this time on the far side of the diner. As his eyes scanned the dark area, though, he became unsure that he had seen anything, so he put the thought out of his mind and focused on the enemies at hand.
Just before the sadists rounded the corner, Adrian and Ragtop split up. Adrian entered the nearest bay, and Ragtop crouched behind a table cluttered with tools. Ducking behind a partition, Adrian raised the twin barrels of his shotgun and pointed them into the cluster of sadists, the closest of whom were around fifteen feet away. He nodded briefly at Ragtop, then pulled the trigger, unloading another buck and ball shell. He promptly reloaded, this time with a regular buckshot shell. The emission of the B&B shell was followed closely by four more reports from Ragtop. Bits of splintered metal and wood rained down upon the nearby area.
The three sadists who were left standing ducked into the next bay down from Adrian. His last shell, combined with Ragtop's fire power, had claimed the lives of three sadists and the limbs of two more. A sixth wriggled on the floor, half-alive and bleeding out from severe trunk wounds. Before Adrian could duck for cover, a sadist from the next bay stepped out from behind the partition. He fired at Adrian, narrowly missing. As Adrian aimed his muzzle, he heard Ragtop's pistol discharge and watched as the shot missed the target. The sadist's gun was hit, however, leaving his hand throbbing from the impact, but otherwise intact, as the weapon skidded across the floor.
Adrian smirked, staring the sadist down for a moment and waiting to see if he would go for a weapon. The sadist, proving resourceful, stomped down onto the curved extremity of a 42" crowbar that lay nearby, grasping the shaft in his hands as he flipped the implement upright. Before Adrian could respond, the sadist lashed out with the crowbar, knocking the shotgun from his hands.
As it clattered to the cement floor, Adrian's hands went for his interior duster pocket, his eyes on the advancing, crowbar-wielding sadist. Just before the enemy and his implement came within striking distance, Adrian pulled his hand free of his pocket, his fingers wielding another can of bear mace. He fingered the nozzle, unleashing a torrent of the toxic spray into the sadist's face.
With his target distracted, Adrian wrenched the crowbar free of his grip, turning it on him in his blinded state. The bar contacted the sadist's cranium, producing a distinct cracking sound. The sadist crumpled, and Adrian retrieved his shotgun from the floor, throwing the crowbar casually into the bay.
From slightly down the way, Ragtop contended with the final two enemies, other than Duncan. Adrian noted that the latter man was still nowhere to be found. Raising his muzzle, he realized that he would be unable to target either of the two remaining sadists from his current position. Clinging to the heavy shadows provided by the low light, he made his way around the vehicle in the next bay, stalking in a quiet semi-circle until he had one of them in his sights. He heard Ragtop's gun go off, and an instant later, there was the sound of a crumpling body and the grinding, metallic sound of a handgun hitting the cement floor.
Just before Adrian's finger squeezed the trigger to dispatch another shell at the last of the sadists, he heard another gun being fired, piercing the sadist in the back of his head and bringing him down. From the sound of it, and from the entry wound, Adrian was sure that the shot hadn't come from Ragtop's gun. It sounded as if it had come from his right, opposite Ragtop. A moment later, Irene appeared from around the corner, into Adrian's field of vision.
"Is it clear?" she whispered.
"Celia!" Irene cried out, hurrying to close the gap between herself and the child, who was currently mounting Duncan's back.
The confused man stumbled slightly. "What?" he gasped. "Who?"
Irene raised her revolver as Duncan tried to go for his gun, which he had dropped when Celia jumped onto his back. She was unsure, though, of whether or not she was a decent enough shot to make the attempt with Celia clinging to the man's shoulders. Before he could pick up his gun, however, Celia cut to the chase, nudging the muzzle of her .22 Magnum into Duncan's rear shoulder and firing once. Duncan went limp, and Celia jumped down as his crumpling body slid to the ground.
She glanced briefly at Duncan's expressionless face as he lay in a heap on the gravel, then turned toward the open bay.
"Let's go find my dad."
"Is it clear?" Irene asked, inching toward Adrian.
Adrian nodded. "Yeah," he said, panting slightly. "I think so."
Another figure rounded the corner behind Irene, this one shorter in stature.
"Dad!" Celia cried, running to her father for a brief embrace. "Let's get out of here."
"I still don't know where Duncan's lurking," Adrian said as he embraced his daughter briefly.
"He's dead," Celia said as they all started toward the truck. "I shot him."
"As confused as I am," Adrian said, "I'm fine with sorting it all out later."
Dean and his small group approached, jogging lightly.
"All clear on our end," Dean said, "dead or at least incapacitated. We should get going before any of them get up, undead or otherwise."
"You're damn right," Adrian said, breaking into a full run and motioning for the others to follow him.
The group piled into the truck with Ragtop at the wheel and Dean in the front passenger seat. The rest of the group seated themselves in the rear cab.
Ragtop turned the ignition and threw the truck into drive. "Prepare yourselves, everyone," he said through an intercom, his words reaching the passengers in the rear cabin. "May well wind up being a bumpy ride."
He pulled out of the bay, navigating through the parking lot toward the highway. From there, he turned left, heading westward on I-40. His headlights sliced through the dark as the truck barreled forward.
The group watched quietly as a chaotic Amarillo sped past their windows. Most residents they saw were panicking as much of the town burned, and the rest were presumably sleeping through it.
Irene leaned toward Adrian beside her as he gazed out his window. "I'm sorry I turned you in," she said. "I didn't know Celia was your daughter."
Adrian spun to face her. "You--"
"She made it right, dad," Celia interjected, turning to face Adrian from her seat.
"I didn't know you were her dad," Irene reiterated. "I thought she was just a kid left alone with no one to care for her, getting ready to be taken advantage of again. And here I was, a mom with no kids left to care for. I lost my babies back in April. I didn't want to lose Celia, too."
They drove
past a gas station, about a block down on their right, that was engulfed in flames and smoke. Dozens of people battled the blaze, using two fire trucks. None of them appeared to care much as Ragtop blazed past, if they even noticed.
"I overheard Duncan," Celia said, "talking on the radio to Pfeifer. There's no higher-ups anywhere on this side of town. They're all busy in the industrial strip and at Pantex. If we make it past the gate, we should be in the clear."
"Speaking of which," Adrian said as he gazed out his window, "looks like that test will be coming up momentarily." Roughly a quarter-mile ahead was the west gate, beyond which highway 40 led out of town.
"Buckle up, Celia," Adrian said.
"Shit," Dean said, reaching to his left with his right hand. "Me, too." They all buckled themselves in, bracing themselves for the impending impact. Ragtop pressed the gas pedal down, lowering his head and glaring over his brow bones. He bared his teeth slightly as he barreled down on the gate, lit up in his headlights. Although two men were assigned to the gate, they both ran for the eastbound lane as they observed the towering, bulky, well-armored vehicle menacing its relentless way toward them. They hopped over the concrete median and ran further still.
The barrier consisted of a lowering arm, which snapped immediately upon impact without so much as slowing the truck down, and a semi-trailer parked sideways across both westbound lanes of the highway. Ragtop and his passengers held their breath as the V-plow struck the trailer. Everyone in the truck, driver and passengers, were squeezed against their seat belts. Some of them suffered minor whiplash and likely bruising from their restraints, but otherwise they were unharmed.
Although they were rattled, Ragtop managed to keep control of the vehicle as it pushed the trailer aside, making a gap big enough to drive through.
"Oh, it's gonna fit," Ragtop said through gritted teeth, his right boot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Metal groaned and whined until the truck freed itself of the obstacle, coming out the other side and continuing to speed westward down I-40. Cheers erupted from the passengers.
