by Ralph Gibbs
“I’m surprised there’s not more activity,” Danica said. “There should be plenty of things people need here. Food, shelter, but especially weapons.”
“It’s that last one that worries me.”
Danica looked at her watch. “It is pretty early. If anyone’s here, they’re probably sleeping.”
“It’s a military base. If there’s military personnel here, there should be a guard. Let’s scout around before we head in.” He checked the map and pointed off to the right. “Head that way. There’s another entrance about a mile down the road.”
Coming around a bend, Danica slammed on the brakes to avoid a nearly decomposed body in the middle of the road. It wasn’t the first dead body she’d seen on a road since the plague started, but until now, this road had been surprisingly clean of trash and abandoned cars. So, when she suddenly came upon partial human remains in a dress, it was jarring. Glancing further down the road, Danica felt as if she’d walked out of a library into the aftermath of a destructive riot. Dozens of decomposing bodies littered the field near the main entrance to the base, intertwined with burned or bullet-riddled cars, trucks, and several tractor-trailers. There was even a burned and partially melted school bus with a large hole where the driver should have been.
On the base, a rotor blade was embedded in the side of a building. Its Apache parent lay twisted, broken, and charred nearby. A tank, one of its tracks detached, sat abandoned and blocking the entrance.
“Jesus,” Danica said. “What the fuck happened here?”
“A war.”
“No shit,” Danica said with awe. Stepping out of the truck and looking over the area, Franklin spotted the lifeless bodies of several airmen near the helicopter.
“Let’s get out of here,” Franklin said, getting back in the truck. “Something doesn’t smell right.”
“You sure it’s not the bodies you’re smelling?” Danica asked as she turned their car around. Despite her cavalier tone, she trusted Franklin’s instincts enough to ask the question while following his instructions.
At first, Franklin wasn’t sure what was nagging at him. He just knew the hair on the back of his neck said something wasn’t right. It wasn’t until Danica’s question that he made the connection.
“They’re fresh,” Franklin said, almost more to himself than to Danica.
“What?”
“The airmen near the helicopter. They couldn’t have been more than a few days old.” Danica stepped harder on the accelerator.
“Let me see if I can find another way in,” Franklin said a short time later as he studied the map. “There looks to be a road at the far back of the base that leads up to the runway. We’ll need to pick up some heavy-duty wire cutters and a four-wheel drive, though. Once inside, we can follow the road around the airfield . . .” he twisted the map “—all the way to the golf course—”
“They have a golf course?” Danica asked, cutting him off.
“Most bases do. Then we can wait at the clubhouse until nightfall. I wish I had my night vision goggles.”
**********
Later that evening, they made their way onto the base and left their packs at the clubhouse as they investigated the base for signs of life.
“There,” Franklin said, pointing to a faint glow in the distance.
“I see it,” Danica said as she reached down and stroked Whisper’s fur. She didn’t like bringing Whisper along, but there wasn’t an alternative. He wouldn’t stay near the clubhouse and wait for them, and they couldn’t lock him inside. If anything happened to her and Franklin, Whisper would die of thrust. That would have been as cruel as leaving him inside a car in the middle of summer while she went shopping. She should have picked up a leash.
As they approached the area of the glow using a nearby building as cover, they began to hear loud music and the unmistakable sounds of people laughing, yelling, and an occasional scream. Franklin motioned for them to enter the adjacent forest. Watching from the tree line overlooking the parking lot that served the base headquarters, they both swore.
“Who the fuck are they?” Danica said, shocked. “Nudist Mad Max rejects?”
All over the parking lot, there was a flurry of activity, that mostly included drinking, swearing, fighting, kissing, eating, sex, drugs and dancing to loud music, if you could call it dancing. The men and a handful of women looked like a generational gathering of outlaw bikers of all ethnicities. The men and women sported long hair, short hair, spiked hair, blue hair, green hair, gray hair, ponytails, mohawks, and just as many were bald or close to it. Beards were just as varied, including coloration. One man had a thick, bright yellow handlebar mustache that, if pulled straight, looked like it would jut out nearly a foot on each side of his face. Most everyone was pierced, with some pierced in whatever spot would hold a decoration. And because most were nude, it was not a guess. All were tattooed and armed.
“I think they found the armory,” Franklin said.
At the back edge of the parking area, Danica counted forty motorcycles that were as varied as their owners. That meant, at a minimum, there were forty bikers. That did not include whatever passengers they carried. She estimated there were thirty in the immediate vicinity and in various stages of inebriation.
“That’s a lot of people and a lot of firepower,” Danica said.
In the center of the parking lot and the focal point of much of the activity was a giant bonfire built out of office furniture, lumber, freshly cut logs and anything else that looked like it would burn. The bonfire looked cool, but wasn’t functional, serving mostly as an aesthetic centerpiece. Most of those that wanted to cook, have sex or socialize themselves into a stupor were huddled around nearly a dozen smaller fires, well away from the uncomfortable heat the raging fire produced.
On the surface, the party looked innocent enough. To Danica, it seemed as if a bunch of people were trying to celebrate, or mourn, the end of the world with a drunken orgy. Then Danica spotted the F-16 that had been towed to the edge of the pavement nearest them. Dangling underneath each wing were the bodies of two half-naked male airmen. The airman under the left wing had an apple tied to his head and bullet holes riddled his body. The other airman was also dead from multiple gunshots.
As Danica and Franklin watched the gathering, a biker, dressed only in a black gun belt and carrying a nearly empty whiskey bottle, pulled his pistol and staggered toward the aircraft. From ten yards away, he aimed his weapon at the body with the apple and pulled the trigger. The dead airman’s shoulder jerked from the force of the impact. His second shot hit the front landing gear assembly of the F-16. The third shot missed everything.
One of the nearby men, also nude, laughed, walked over and took the man’s pistol. They had a short conversation and shook hands. Closing one eye, clearly trying to focus, he sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the dead airman’s eye and exited the back of his skull. The force of the impact threw the apple from the man’s head. The second gunman slapped the first one in the shoulder as if he’d won a contest. The loser, looking disgusted, got on his knees, guzzled the rest of the whiskey and then went to work bringing the winner to an orgasm.
“Who the hell are these people?” Danica said, looking away. As she did, she spotted a nude biker exit the back of an SUV carrying his pants. After pulling them on, he reached into the SUV and dragged a battered and naked female from the vehicle by her hair. He passed her to a second biker.
Danica lifted her assault rifle, sighted in, but after a few moments relaxed. She couldn’t kill the man, not without getting herself and Franklin killed. She looked over at Franklin, and he nodded his understanding.
Whisper growled as a second biker took possession of the nude woman. Danica wrapped her arm around the dog to keep him from running off and giving them away.
The second biker grabbed the girl’s breasts as he dragged her to a van and shoved her inside. The girl never made a sound. As the van’s side door opened, Dani
ca glimpsed other captives.
“Shit,” Danica hissed.
“I saw,” Franklin said, sounding disgusted. He motioned for her to follow him back into the forest.
“We have to help,” Danica said, with a dangerous edge to her voice.
“We’ll have to kill a lot of people to rescue them. You understand that.”
“I understand,” Danica said, now with a determined edge to her voice.
“If we fail, you are, at best, going to be killed; at worst, end up in the van with the other prisoners. You’ll probably spend the rest of your life as a sex slave wishing you’d been killed.”
“I know the risks,” Danica said, hotly. “It’s no different from any other woman in combat. Don’t use the fact that I’m a woman keep us from doing what needs to be done.”
Franklin nodded. “We have three advantages at the moment,” Franklin said. Using his hand, he ticked them off. “Surprise, loud music, and most of them are drunk and getting drunker. If we’re lucky, we might get thirty to forty seconds of free-fire before they realize they’re being attacked and overcome their initial panic.”
“You sure they’ll panic?”
“Everyone panics when they realize they’re being attacked. It’s because they’re off balance and unsure what they’re up against. Is there one attacker or a hundred? Where are they? Where’s the best cover to keep from dying? Until they know those answers, they’re off balance. We have to keep them off-balance. The longer we do, the better our chances of survival and rescuing the prisoners. Honestly, rescuing the captives is the best we can hope for.”
“I’ll settle for that.”
“When they’re off balance, we move in. Once we do, don’t stop moving. Never stop moving. It’ll keep them from knowing our numbers. If we get pinned down, it’s over. Find a target, fire, and move. Find another target, fire, and move. You ever see one of those cop shows where they assault a drug house?”
“Plenty.”
“Copy them,” he said, standing up. “When we go in, make yourself a small target.” He brought his weapon up to his shoulder and hunched over it. “Like this. If your targets are slightly to the left or right of you, make small pivots and fire. One or two rounds each.” He moved the rifle inches to the left and right. “If they’re far right or far left, turn your entire body toward the target and fire, then back to your line.”
“Got it,” she said after he demonstrated the larger turns.
“Your job is to free the prisoners.”
“Understood. What are you going to do?”
“What I do best,” Franklin said, calmly. “Kill as many of these fuckers as I can. Hopefully, the prisoners can help. If they’re able, tell them to grab a weapon and start killing. If not, point them toward the forest and tell them to run. If we’re killed, at least they’ll have a chance.”
Danica nodded afraid her voice would betray just how terrified she felt. She hadn’t felt this terrified since the avalanche. What the hell was she thinking? They should just leave while they could. They didn’t have to do this. These people were no one to her. Why risk her life for them?
“There isn’t an easy answer to that,” her father once told her when she asked him much the same thing one night at dinner. “Everyone has their reasons for being a police officer and risking their lives for complete strangers. Most do it because they want to make a difference in people’s lives. They know that without them, criminals would prey on the weak and take what they want. Society can’t function like that. “You’ve seen kids at school pick on the weaker boys, right?” She nodded.
“Without us, that same scenario would be playing out everywhere,” her father said. “Try to imagine what life would be like if people could take whatever they wanted without consequences.” Danica no longer had to imagine. How many lives will these outlaws rip apart if they’re not stopped? How many had they already ripped apart?
“Is that why you do it?” Danica had asked her father.
“In part,” her father said, putting his hand over her mother’s hand. “But mostly, I do it to keep our family safe. If I put one criminal away, that’s one less person who can hurt you.”
“Let’s wait a few more hours,” Franklin said. “Hopefully, most of them will be asleep or passed out. You should get some rest, too.”
“Like that’s going to happen,” Danica said, propping herself up against a tree, and then promptly falling asleep.
**********
“You ready?” Franklin asked, gently shaking Danica’s shoulder.
“What time is it?” she asked, quickly getting to her feet, Whisper at her side.
“It’s just past the witching hour,” Franklin said. He reached down and rubbed Whisper’s neck. “Try to hold on to him until the shooting starts. We don’t want him giving away our position. Once the bullets fly, it won’t matter.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“All right,” Franklin said softly when they reached the forest’s edge. “Use the trees to get closer. Try to keep me in sight and watch for my signal.”
“Hey, someone bring me another fucking target,” a biker screamed so he could be heard over the music.
“Danica,” Franklin said, holding out this hand. “It’s been an honor knowing you. If I don’t survive this, tell Matthew I love him, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better father. And tell Paris I said thank you for everything.”
“Thank you,” Danica said, taking his hand. “It’s been an honor knowing you, as well. If I don’t make it, tell Toscana . . . Tell Toscana I did this to keep her safe.”
“I will.”
The area between the forest and the parking lot was a field of sparse and sporadically placed trees that helped hide their approach. Terrified of being spotted at first, the closer she got to the bikers, the more confident she became. She started to get the feeling that as much as these people were drinking, she could have approached wearing a cowbell and riding a unicycle in the middle of the afternoon and they wouldn’t have noticed. Glancing over at Franklin, she froze and grabbed Whisper when he raised a clenched fist which she knew, thanks to every covert operation movie ever made, meant freeze.
“Fuck you, you piece of shit, motherfucker,” a bound airman shouted as he and another prisoner were dragged across the parking lot, toward the plane. Most of the bikers laughed as the two men were dragged past them. The belligerent airman kicked out and hit one of the drunk observers in the shoulder, knocking him over. In return, a guard punched him twice in the stomach.
As they reached the F-16, the dead bodies were cut down and replaced with the two new captives after their shirt and T-shirt were ripped off.
One biker placed an apple on the difficult captive’s head as the other wrapped an ace bandage over the top of the apple and beneath his chin. At the firing line, the original two contestants looked ready to engage in round two. When the outlaws finished securing the apple, the captive shook it off.
“Shove that apple up your ass,” the airman shouted. He spit on the outlaw.
They punched him in the stomach and face several times and then replaced the apple. It was hard to tell if the airman was still conscious. Satisfied, the four guards ran over to stand by the two contestants who were both chugging whiskey from a bottle as if this evening’s entertainment was to see who could be the drunkest and still hit the apple.
Franklin motioned Danica forward. Danica, with Whisper in tow, rushed to the next closest tree and saw that Franklin was preparing to engage the contestant group. The loser from the last round was the first to finish his bottle and take the revolver from a guard.
Danica didn’t think Franklin could take all six of these men alone, even with the element of surprise. Franklin looked to be reading her thoughts as he motioned for her to take the three on his right.
Picking out her first target, Danica sighted in on the handlebar mustache man at the back, hoping when he went down, the others wouldn’t notice. Even a few seconds of inattention wo
uld buy her the time she needed. Flipping off the safety and taking in a slow breath, she shot the man in the head, pivoted, engaged the second target, pivoted and dropped the third. The second man she shot was trying to crawl away. She heard the echo of Franklin’s rifle, and the biker lay still.
Checking on Franklin, she saw that he was already moving forward. Danica took the time to scan the parking lot and noted that only three outlaws seemed to question the gunshots. Most of the other bikers were either too drunk to notice, passed out, or were under the assumption the contest had started. They’d seen the two prisoners being dragged through the camp and knew what that meant. Danica was surprised more people weren’t watching the contest. Had the contest become so routine it was boring?
Of the three who were questioning what they heard, two were quickly convinced that it was just the contestants having fun. However, one outlaw still seemed puzzled. He moved to get a better look. His eyes went wide as he spotted Franklin cutting down the two prisoners. The man started to raise his arm in warning, but Danica swiftly sighted in on him and put a single round through his upper chest. The outlaw was propelled backward and landed face first in the campfire.
A half dozen bikers scattered as embers exploded around them. A few of the bikers laughed at the unfortunate biker, but the rest realized something was wrong. As they looked around trying to figure out what was happening, Danica sighted in on the two bikers lounging in beach chairs near the van sharing a bottle, dispatched both and then shifted her aim back at the small alert group. Others around the parking lot were also starting to take notice. The element of surprise was fading. Danica shot one man in the head and another in the kidney. She barely missed one man reaching for his weapon. He scattered with the rest of his group, leaving his clothes and weapon behind. The panic phase was underway.
As she reached the front edge of the SUV, a man stumbled from the back, holding a pistol, his pants around his ankle. Whisper rushed forward and clamped his fangs on the man’s arm and shook it as if his arm were a squeaky toy. The man screamed and stumbled to the ground, dropping his weapon as Whisper continued to tear through his flesh. A naked woman stumbled from the SUV, picked up the weapon, and took unsteady aim at the outlaw.