by Eric Vall
I left the safety of the dark and dead neighborhood behind as I made my way farther into town. I couldn’t leave before I at least got to peek in a couple windows and see exactly what was going on behind closed doors. I didn’t want to be surprised by anything should this group of bloodthirsty thugs come looking for vengeance.
I kept my rifle close and used every scrap of cover to make my way towards the gas station and state trooper HQ at the center of town. The bikers that were still outside were far too distracted or drunk to notice when I had to move in the open, and, at least for the moment, no new bikers were rolling into town.
I made it to the gas station and the parking lot of motorcycles. Then I hid among the rows of various colored vehicles and noticed that almost all of them still had their keys in the ignition.
The gas station itself consisted of a small store area stocked full of gas cans and an attached body shop. The doors to the shop were wide open and the interior was full of spare parts and extra tires. If there was at least one half decent mechanic in the group than these guys had more than enough parts to keep the whole gang running for at least a couple years.
I crouched low among the bikes as the roar of motorcycle engines filled the air. Two bikes came rolling into town, and they parked at the far end of the parking lot.
“Wooo!” the first biker, a bald man with a large scar running across his scalp, exclaimed. “What a fucking day!”
“You’re goddamn right,” the second biker, an older man wearing an eyepatch, agreed.
Both of the men started to unload gear from their saddle bags.
“When will the National Guard learn that the roads around this area are ours?” the bald man asked.
“Hey, if they wanna keep sending out small patrols it’s fine by me,” the eyepatch man said before he turned to his buddy and grinned. “Just gives us more guys to kill.”
“That’s true,” baldy said with a nod. “The farther out we go the less exciting the area is. I miss how it was in the beginning.”
“Hell yeah man, those first weeks were a fucking bloodbath,” his buddy replied as he slung a M16A2 over his shoulder before he pulled a couple spare magazines from his saddle bag. “I heard rumors though that the boss is getting as bored as we are.”
“Oh yeah?” the first man asked as he too pulled a M16A2 from where it had been tied on the back of his bike.
“Yeah, I think he is itching for a fight,” patch man said.
“I don’t blame him,” the scarred biker replied. “You heard if we are gonna do anything about Lanceton?”
“Nah, but I know a few more guys were sent up that way a couple days ago when we rode out,” eye patch biker said.
“Well come on, let’s go turn in these weapons for some booze and see if anyone brought back any fuck toys while we were away,” the bald man said as he started to walk away.
“Hell yeah brother,” the eye patch wearing man said. “I could use some entertainment.”
I tightened the grip on my rifle and clenched my jaw as I watched the two bikers walk away. Part of me wanted to shoot them right now, but I knew better than to give into my emotional impulses. Based on those guns they had with them, they had been telling the truth about the National Guard, and I pondered what to do with the intel.
For a while I stayed put while the two bikers traded in the guns at the old grocery store. It was my next stop because even from my closer spot I could not get a good look inside. A single large biker sat by the front entrance. He took the guns from the other guys, inspected them, then disappeared inside. A moment later he came back out with a case of cheap beer and a couple bottles of whiskey. Clearly satisfied with their trade, the two men took the alcohol and made their way towards the apartments. The whole thing was strangely civil given all I had witnessed today. Someone here had enough brains to not just let the troops go wild with the supplies.
I waited another five minutes and then moved up towards the store. I used the heavy shadows cast by the sporadic fires and surrounding buildings to approach without being seen by the man at the door.
He sat there, blissfully unaware of my presence, with an M16 on his lap and a cigarette in his lips. He hummed a tune I didn’t recognize and bopped his head along to some imaginary beat. I made my way around the back of the building and was pleasantly surprised to find a second door. I was less surprised to find that it was locked.
I pressed me face against the small glass window in the top of the door and peered inside. The building looked less like a grocery store and more like a warehouse now. There was a large stockpile of guns, ammo, and even what looked to be a small collection of grenades and explosives. There was also a pile of non-perishable food that could easily feed my group for four months, and enough booze and alcohol to keep us drunk for just as long. Beyond that there seemed to be a small stockpile of boots, mens clothes, and bedding. There was undoubtedly more in there but I wouldn’t be able to know what unless I could get inside.
The loud ringing of a bell filled the air, and the raucous laughter around me started to fade in response. The few bikers I could see looked up from their fire and headed off in the direction of the noise. Best I could tell the bell ringing came from the State Police HQ, and I wondered if their leader was going to address everyone.
I flattened myself up against the wall and snuck a peek around the corner. The bikers all gathered around the front of the HQ as the guards stepped aside and the front doors swung open.
A tall man with braided brown hair, and a long reddish brown beard stepped out, and the crowd went silent as the doors swung closed behind him.
“Good evening gentlemen,” he shouted.
The mob roared in response to the man’s words, but they hushed as he raised his hands.
“What’s the plan boss?” someone in the crowd yelled out.
“I’m glad you fuckin’ asked,” the boss began before he took a large swig from a dark bottle. He wiped his mouth and grinned wide. “Since the lights went out, things for us have been good. There has been violence, sex, and drink enough for everyone.”
The crowd cheered and hollered again.
I was certain nothing good was going to come from this little meeting, but at least it gave me a chance to get a more accurate count of the bikers. There was a crowd of about eighty guys in total including the boss. I rounded up to an even hundred because there was a good chance there were a few guys who had decided to skip this get-together or were out on missions.
“Lately though,” the boss continued as the crowd hushed, “things haven't exactly been going our way. We took a hit last week when that National Guard caravan came poking around.”
“We got the fuckers in the end!” someone yelled.
“True, but we didn’t get them all,” The boss said after he started to pace back and forth. “And then there is the matter of our guys going missing up near Lanceton. We have clearly gotten too soft since taking this town. We can’t keep letting people poke at us without repercussions.”
“What are we gonna do about it?” another man asked.
The boss stopped pacing, turned to face the crowd, and grinned wide. “We are going to kill every-fucking-one. Get your guns ready boys because tomorrow we start a new campaign of bloody carnage. We’ll ride for Lanceton first, find out who’s been shooting up our boys, and burn that fucking city to the fucking ground.”
The roar that arose from the crowd was one of pure destructive glee. The bikers started to shout and pound their chests as the very thought of violence and carnage got them hard.
“We won’t stop there,” The boss yelled out over the mob. “We’ll ride out farther than we have before, and torch everywhere we touch. When we’re done with this forest, the only things left living in it will be us and the fucking women we drag back to service us.”
The boss stood there, crossed his arms, and laughed as his mob worked themselves into a crazed frenzy.
“Fuck yeah, you’re the man!” someone shouted.<
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“I know,” the boss replied. “You don’t get here if you aren’t. Now go: drink, party, and sleep. Tomorrow we will remind this part of the new world why we aren’t to be fucked with.”
I shook my head and clenched my jaw. This wasn’t good. There was very little chance that my group could hold out against dozens of bikers even with our elevated position. They might not know where we were located, but it sounded like soon it might not matter.
They were going to search everywhere.
It was also clear that a fate worse than death waited for the girls if these assholes captured them, and I couldn’t let that happen. So I let out a sigh, looked up at the partially clouded night sky, and shook my head.
This was no longer just a scouting mission, and my night wouldn’t be over until I had kicked these mother fuckers in their dick.
I looked around the corner and saw that the crowd had started to disperse, and the boss had disappeared back inside the HQ. Half a dozen guys were heading my direction, and I took that as my cue to return to the neighborhood on the outskirts of town.
It took me a while to traverse the homes, but I moved slowly, stuck to the shadows, and made it safely back to the house I had camped in earlier. Then I setup the barricades in front of the doors again, returned to the second story room, and started to come up with a plan.
Fortunately, I was good at plans that involved destruction and death.
I observed the camp for the next couple of hours and was happy to see that everyone still gathered outside passed around bottles and cracked open cases of beer. The guys getting drunk would make it easier to sneak around unnoticed. However, it also meant that they might react in strange and erratic ways once I decided to go loud.
As I watched the gang, a plan started to come together in my mind. I didn’t need to kill them all and trying to do so would probably just get me killed. So instead my plan revolved around trashing their bikes, stealing some gear, and making them second guess going on the warpath.
I would start by being quiet for as long as possible. The longer I could keep my presence hidden from my enemy the better off I would be. There were only twenty-ish guys hanging around outside so I could start by sneaking gear from the warehouse to that old truck. As long as I could remain hidden I could pretty much fill the back of the bed before I ever started to make noise.
Once the truck was full, my time for stealth would be over. I would start by ruining as many of the motorcycles as possible. Even if I could not kill that many of them, taking out their rides would buy us time. I didn’t need to kill everyone, but I couldn’t leave before I dropped at least a few of these lowlife scum bags. Then, before the bikers truly caught on to what was happening, I would slip out of town in the truck, stop to grab my bike, and head back home. I had enough hardware that even if I were followed I could be able to take them out before I even reached Lanceton.
A large part of my plan hinged on the old truck, which meant before I could do any of this I needed to make sure that it actually ran. If it didn’t, I would have to rethink everything completely, but that was okay, since I had a few backup plans.
I stood up, stretched, and made my way back outside. At least checking the truck was a more exciting task than what I had done for the past few hours.
The rusted blue pickup truck was only a couple blocks away from my little safe house and getting to it was no problem. The truck bed was badly rusted, and contained a black tarp, a rusted red toolbox, and a couple, dust covered, gallon jugs of water. It seemed these bikers were both dumb and bad at scavenging their surroundings.
I slipped inside the truck, but the keys weren’t in the ignition. Finding them now would be an almost impossible task so I popped the plastic off the steering column and pulled out the ignition wires.
Time to get old fashioned.
There was a group of three bikers about thirty yards away who laughed and joked with one another. If this plan was going to work, I couldn’t skip checking if the truck ran, but I clearly had to do it fast. So I struck the wires together, and the pickup rumbled to life with no trouble. I turned off the vehicle a second later and then leaned over the seat so that no one could see me if they looked in the front window from a distance.
“Hey, what the fuck was that?” I heard someone in the distance ask.
It seemed that the bikers were not drunk enough to pass the noise off as nothing.
“I think that truck just started,” a second voice said.
“Bullshit, you know that none of that shit runs,” a third guy said.
“Well I better go check it out anyway,” the first voice said.
“Alright, fucking weirdo,” the third man chuckled.
I got out of the truck quickly as one of the bikers, who had been partying around a fire came my way. Then I slipped into the rusty truck bed, pulled the black tarp over myself, readied my pistol, and kept my breathing shallow.
“Swear I heard this thing turn on,” a drunken biker muttered as he pulled open one of the doors. “Oh shit, someone tried to hotwire this thing.” The truck shook as the door was slammed shut. “Did one of you guys try to get this thing running?”
“No, fuckhead, trucks don’t work anymore,” someone yelled in response.
“Yeah, guess so,” the drunken man slurred. The truck shook again and I heard heavy breathing on the other wide of the tarp.
“Well, is there anything there?” the second voice called out.
“Nah,” the drunk man said. “Guess we have just been drinking a little too much.”
“No such thing,” the second biker said. “Now get back here and finish your goddamn beer so you can have another.”
The drunk man above me let out a wheezing laugh that started to grow more distant after the truck shook one last time.
I took a deep breath and sat up just enough to peek over the edge of the lip of the truck bed. The bikers twenty yards away were already too preoccupied with their drinks to notice me again, so I climbed out and crept back towards the house so I could look over the area one more time.
With my getaway vehicle in working order it was just about time to put this plan into action.
Once I returned to the house, I pulled out my spotters scope and surveyed the scene. There were eleven bikers still outside, and all of them swayed and staggered drunkenly. I picked a path through the town that would lead me to the now unguarded grocery store warehouse and put the scope away. There were multiple routes mapped out in my head in case I needed to escape or find a quieter path. I did one last check of my weapons to ensure the guns were locked and loaded and then sunk once more into the darkness.
The bikers were about to see what happened to those who thought they could live without consequences.
They were about to see what happened when you pissed off an Army Ranger.
Chapter 15
By the time I reached the makeshift warehouse three more bikers had gone inside for the night, but two of the remaining bikers decided to take up a spot right in front of the grocery store, so I flattened myself up against the side of the building and pulled out my knife. I couldn’t go loud yet or this whole night would be a waste, but I didn’t think a couple drunk bikers would be a problem.
I peeked around the corner and saw that both men were leaning against the wall talking as they passed a cigarette between them. There was no direction I could approach from and remain unseen, but with how badly these two slurred their words I was not sure if it actually mattered. So I rushed around the corner and drove my knife into the base of the first guys skull. Once the knife was in, I twisted my wrist and felt his spine pop.
“Oh shit,” the second guy exclaimed as he dropped the cigarette and went for his pistol.
The dead man dropped to the ground as I yanked my knife from his neck. Then I stepped over his body and cut the throat of the second guy before he could even get his gun free of his holster.
The biker grabbed his opened throat with both hands as blood poured o
ut between his fingers. He tried to scream for help, but it was too late. Instead he only made a wet gurgle as even more blood bubbled out of his open mouth.
Then he dropped to the ground on top of his buddy.
I cleaned my blade on the dead man’s jeans and sheathed it. Then I picked up the first guys body, took him around the back of the store, and lifted him into the dumpster. Then I jogged back around and grabbed the second body. I added it to the dumpster pile and made my way to the front door as I glanced into the town. It seemed my small fight had not attracted any unwanted attention, and I didn’t see anyone or hear an alarm.
The warehouse door was unlocked, and I made my way inside. There were more guns and ammo in here than I had seen in any one place since leaving the army. Thankfully only a small portion of their ill-gotten gains was military with the bulk of the firepower being shotguns, hunting rifles, and tricked out AR-15s. There were half a dozen frag grenades and twenty pipe bombs sitting on a shelf near the back. The gang’s whole arsenal was an organized pile of hardware that was barely contained to one side of the store.
I made my way down the small path left open between the guns and the alcohol. Then I went to the shelf of explosives, hung a couple grenades off my vest, and grabbed six pipe bombs. They would be the perfect weapon to trash some bikes and cause a scene. I also grabbed six bottles of high proof alcohol, removed the lid, and tore up a random T-shirt to use the cloth for wicks.
An explosion was good, but it would be over quick. Fire, on the other hand, was a threat that needed to be dealt with before it spread.
And when these guys dealt with the fire, I’d start killing them.
“Hey, is that blood,” I heard someone mutter, so I looked out and saw another biker out front. He stared at the ground where his buddies had died but his eyes were glazed over and I suspected he was drunk.
The biker, a younger guy with a thin mustache, grinned and shrugged. He took another drink from his beer and continued walking. “Looks like someone had fun. Hope they didn’t kill her, since I wanna have some fun too.”
