by Ralph Gibbs
“Whisper, come,” Danica shouted. The woman didn’t look like she knew what she was doing, and Danica didn’t want Whisper to be accidentally killed. Surprisingly, Whisper came as commanded.
As Danica rushed to the captive’s side, the girl fired, almost fell over from the recoil, recovered, and then fired twice more. The last two shots ensured the man would rape no one else. Danica reached the woman.
“He’s dead,” she said when the woman looked like she would shoot him again. Danica spared a glance toward Franklin. Moving at a steady pace, he was dispensing death every three or four seconds. He didn’t care if they were passed out or running away. Moving from position to position, Franklin fired, pivoted, fired and pivoted again. He smiled as if he were enjoying himself.
Near him, the two freed prisoners, one of whom had taken time to retrieve his shirt, was helping to kill the outlaws. When one of the rescued prisoner’s weapon ran out of bullets, he casually threw the weapon aside, picked up another littering the parking lot, and started shooting again.
“What’s your name?” Danica asked, turning her attention back to the girl.
“Elaine,” the woman stammered. “Elaine McBride.”
“Elaine, I’m Danica. Let’s go free your friends.” The girl silently nodded. Just as they started toward the van, a gunman appeared in her peripheral vision. She pivoted hard to her left as he brought up his weapon and fired. Had he not been drinking Danica would be dead. Instead, his shot went wild. Danica’s shot did not.
Reaching the van, Danica discovered a padlocked chain running through a hole in the sliding door that kept the prisoners from escaping. She found a set of three keys on the first guard she searched.
“Here,” she said, passing Elaine the keys. “Free your friends.” Danica pounded on the side of the van. “North Carolina State Trooper. I’m here to rescue you. Get ready to run.”
“Get us out of here,” someone shouted, followed by several others. As Danica fired off two shots, she noticed the bikers were organizing. Franklin glanced over to her direction and motioned to the forest, indicating it was time to leave. She nodded her understanding. Behind her, the door slid open, and eight handcuffed girls piled out.
“Shit,” Danica said. Throwing her weapon to the ground, she pulled off her shoe and frantically dug out her handcuff key. Passing it to the closest woman, she hastily pulled on her shoe, picked up her weapon and started firing again.
“Oh my god, I’ve never been so happy to see a cop in my life,” one girl said and then went down with a bullet in her side. Danica dropped the assailant as the other girls helped the injured woman to her feet.
“Can any of you fight?” Danica asked. In answer, four of the women rushed deeper into the parking lot, picked up weapons and began raining naked death on the drunk bikers, screaming in rage and terror.
“Elaine,” Danica said and pointed to the perimeter of the nearby trees. “Head to that clump of trees. Once inside, head to the clubhouse at the golf course and wait for us. Do you know where it is?”
“I know where it is,” the injured girl said.
“Good. Head there. If we’re not there in a few hours, take our car and head to the fence line at the back of the airfield. You’ll find a hole in the fence. After that, look for a neighborhood to hide in. Not one close.
“What then,” a woman asked.
“Survive,” Danica said sternly. “Go!” Elaine led the women off.
“Whisper, go with them and keep them safe,” Danica said. He just stared at her. She shrugged her shoulders. It was worth a shot. “If you were a Hollywood dog, that would have worked.” Danica started to angle her way closer to Franklin and noticed one airman missing. Turning her attention to the women she had freed, she watched as one killed three bikers before half her head was blown off. Shocked, she turned to see a large group of bikers emerge from the headquarters building.
“Shit,” Danica yelled. She changed out her magazine, flipped the toggle to automatic and sprayed the group until her weapon was empty. Several men went down; the rest scattered in panic.
“Let’s go,” Franklin yelled as he made for the trees. Danica dropped her weapon, picked up another, and headed for the forest. Whisper and the remaining three women followed behind her.
Reaching the tree line, Franklin and the airman flipped around and popped off a few rounds at their pursuers, forcing them to scramble for cover. Danica and the girls followed suit. The bikers returned fire.
“You’re hit,” Danica said, seeing blood running down Franklin’s arm.
“Apparently, I fucking attract lead,” he said in disgust as he inspected his arm and shrugged. Whisper trotted over to Franklin and nuzzled him, wanting to be petted. “Hello, Whisper.”
“The other man?” Danica asked.
“Dead,” Franklin said as he scratched Whisper’s ears.
“I lost one, too,” Danica said.
“Ryan,” Franklin said to the airman. “Take the ladies to the clubhouse. I’ll cover your retreat.”
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said, heading deeper into the forest as two of the three remaining women followed.
“Danica, you go with him,” Franklin ordered.
“I’ll stay.”
“I’m staying too,” the remaining woman said. “The name’s Tech Sergeant Victoria Hunter. Air Force Security. This is my base and my fault—”
“Sergeant Hunter, there’ll be time enough for recriminations later,” Franklin said. “Right now, let’s just concentrate on not dying.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Now recovered, the remaining bikers were massing in force. While there were more than a dozen dead and just as many wounded, a significant group was still massing against them.
“Spread out and wait for them to enter the field. Then open up on them,” Franklin said. “Then we’ll head out. That should keep them pinned down long enough to cover our retreat.”
The bikers, now cautious, sent three scouts into the field. Just as Danica and Franklin had, the scouts used the trees as cover to get closer to the forest where they’d disappeared. Hidden in the forest, Franklin, Danica, and Victoria waited.
“Get ready,” Franklin said.
When one scout was close enough for Franklin to hear his heaving breathing, Franklin shot him. The trio then took potshots at the massing biker gang to keep them pinned down.
One scout jumped out to get a clear shot at Danica but was dispatched by Sergeant Hunter. The remaining scout did not make the same mistake. However, when the biker gang opened up in mass, sending a massive barrage of bullets toward the forest, they killed him themselves. After a few harried moments, the firing stopped.
“They must have fired every bullet they had in their weapons,” Danica said, almost laughing.
“Time to go,” Franklin said. He fired off three shots and started for the clubhouse.
CHAPTER 57
Sergeant Hunter hugged the women, who were in various stages of dress, as she entered the clubhouse. While waiting for Franklin and his group to meet up, the women rummaged through Franklin and Danica’s pack looking for clothes. Only Beatrice, one of the smaller women, fit into a pair of Franklin’s pants, and Elizabeth wore one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers. Franklin’s only other shirt was being used as a rag to stem the tide of blood from Debbie’s gunshot wound. Carman and Halsey wore a pair of Danica’s pants, and Sacha had on her only other shirt and a pair of her panties. All of them were still barefoot.
Ryan removed his shirt and handed it to Sergeant Hunter, who accepted it gratefully.
“We can’t stay here,” Franklin said, keeping watch at the door. “They’ll be looking for us.”
“It’s a big base,’ Sergeant Hunter said.
“We got guns,” one girl said.
“Not enough,” Franklin said.
“There’s a lot more at the armory,” Sergeant Hunter said. “I only showed them the smaller weapons cash. I know where there’s another armory stoc
ked with rifles, grenade launchers, machine guns, and enough ammo to last a decade.”
“How’s the girl?” Franklin asked.
“Her name is Debbie,” Beatrice said. Beatrice was holding Debbie’s hand, comforting the girl as Carmen held a shirt over Debbie’s wound.
“Debbie’s not doing good,” Carmen said. “She’s lost a lot of blood, and I can’t stop the bleeding.”
“Do the best you can,” Franklin said. “If I had a satellite phone, I could call Paris.”
“This base is full of satellite phones,” Sergeant Hunter said. She shrugged at Danica’s look. “It’s an air force base. We deploy, drop bombs, and then call the family. I can find you a half-dozen near the armory. Hell, there’s probably a few in the armory.”
“Where is this armory?” Danica asked.
“It’s close to the headquarters building,” Ryan said.
“Everything on this base is close to the headquarters building,” Sergeant Hunter said.
“True,” Ryan said. “Except for the clubhouse.”
Franklin took a moment to decide. “Tell us where it is and Ryan and I—”
“Bullshit,” Sergeant Hunter said.
“I don’t think so,” Danica said at the same time.
“You are not leaving me behind,” Sacha said, with a mixture of both terror and savagery.
“Me either,” Halsey said, hotly.
“Someone needs to watch the others,” Franklin said.
“I know the combo to the armory, so I’m going,” Sergeant Hunter said, with an air of finality to it. “Airman . . .” she looked at the nametag on her shirt, “Álvarez, you stay with the women.”
“Fine,” Franklin said. “We don’t have time to argue. Ryan, load the women in the car and hide out in one of the nearby neighborhoods.”
“How will we meet up again?” Ryan asked.
“I’ll fire off three shots at the top of the hour,” he said. “Not two minutes after or three minutes before. At the top of the hour.”
“Got it,” Ryan said.
**********
Inside the armory, Sergeant Hunter handed Franklin a satellite phone. “I told you I could find you one.”
“What are we calling ourselves?” Sacha asked as Sergeant Hunter began to pass out the M16s with the grenade launcher attachments. There were also enough fatigues in the armory, so everyone was properly clothed, including flak jackets and helmets. The only thing missing was the boots.
“What do you mean, what are we calling ourselves?” Halsey asked as she tightened her flak jacket and took a grenade launcher.
“We’re a squad, aren’t we?” Sacha said. “We have to have a name. All the famous squads have them.”
“I don’t think that’s right,” Halsey said, stopping to look at her. “Name one.”
“There’s Suicide Squad—”
“That’s a movie,” Halsey said with annoyance.
“It was a comic book first,” Sergeant Hunter said evenly as she put on her vest and fastened the strap to her helmet under her chin.
“How about Death Squad?” Sacha suggested.
“We are not calling ourselves ‘The Death Squad’,” Halsey said using air quotes.
Sacha beamed. “Victoria’s Hunters?” she said.
“Oh, hell no,” Sergeant Hunter said. “Besides, this isn’t my command.”
“Franklin, what’s your last name?” Sacha asked?
“Turnipseed,” Danica said and laughed at their reaction.
Sacha’s face soured. “I . . . I don’t think I can work with that.” She turned to Danica. “What’s your last name?”
“It doesn’t—”
“Justice,” Franklin said, cutting her off. Now he smiled. Sacha and Halsey also smiled.
“Now, that, I can work with,” Sacha said. “Justice Squad?” She looked at her feet and wiggled her toes. “Barefoot Justice Squad, maybe?”
“I’m leaning toward Victoria’s Hunters,” Halsey said.
“No,” Sergeant Hunter said.
“It flows off the tongue,” Sacha said.
“No,” Hunter said more forcefully.
“Paris?” Franklin said into the satellite phone. Everyone quieted down and looked at him.
“Paris’ Marauders,” Sacha silently mouthed to Halsey.
“Marauders of Paris,” Halsey mouthed back.
“Jesus, Franklin, where the fuck are you?” Paris asked.
“Arnold Air Force Base. We got caught in the mountains.”
“You were the middle of that shit?”
“We were.”
“You’re lucky all of you aren’t not dead.”
“It’s just Danica and me,” Franklin said. “The rest stayed behind.”
“Apparently, they’re the smart ones. So, you’re in Tennessee. Didn’t you tell me once you hated Tennessee?”
“I did and do.”
“You never told me why.”
“It’s Tennessee. Nothing more needs to be said. Isn’t there a place you hate?”
“Virginia.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right.” He could almost hear the tears.
“How’s Matthew?” Franklin asked, changing the subject.
“He’s doing fine. Anita’s latched onto the boy. Never leaves his side. Toscana is looking after them both.”
“Gunilla?”
“She’s tall, blond with fair skin and big tits, which, thanks to her pregnancy, are getting bigger. She’s very popular.”
“So, she’s fine?” he asked again, to get across his point.
“Isn’t that what I just said? They already have her heading into the Mountain. I haven’t seen her in a week. They wanted me to head in with her, but I told them to fuck off. They know I’m waiting for you and Danica.”
“About that. We may have hit a snag.”
“What kind of snag?” Franklin gave her the rundown.
“Shit. Hang tight. I’m coming to get you.”
“Thanks, Paris, but I don’t think we can wait.”
“I can be there by morning.”
“They’re probably out looking for us, and I don’t want to take a chance on them stumbling on us when we aren’t ready. And, honestly, I don’t know that they don’t have more captives. We only rescued the ones we knew about. The girls we rescued think there’s more. I can’t leave them to that fate. If this group leaves, we might not find them again.”
“Understood. I’m still coming. I’ll either get you or avenge you. Is the runway clear?”
“Yes.”
“You better not be dead when I get there. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” he said and hung up the phone.
“Paris says she’ll be here by morning.”
“Do we have a plan?” Sergeant Hunter asked.
**********
“Eat my Barefoot Justice!” Sacha screamed as she fired her grenade launcher. Danica and Halsey stared at the tall woman who looked as if she had just graduated high school. Of the group, she was one of the few women spared raped. Because Sacha still looked like a kid, there was an unspoken agreement between the women to keep her at the back of the van. The men never really took the time to choose a girl. When they wanted sex with a woman, it was usually the first one they laid their hands on when they opened the van. Sacha was grateful for their protection, but also felt a deep sense of guilt for letting them protect her.
Despite her trauma, there was a plucky resilience to the girl’s personality that would have made her a great superhero sidekick, if there were such things. At the same time, there was an underlying cool recklessness to her that made her dangerous to everyone.
Once Franklin and Danica established that the bikers were mostly still hanging around the headquarters, the original plan was for Franklin and Sergeant Hunter to make their way around to the front of the building. Once Danica started her attack, they would dash in behind the bikers and catch them in a crossfire. N
ow, there was a new plan.
When Danica arrived, it looked as if the outlaws were making preparations to leave. They were moving the injured to a truck and throwing the dead on the dying bonfire. Though, if they were leaving, Danica didn’t know why they were bothering to dispose of the bodies. A couple of the outlaws were overseeing the activity while quietly sitting on their bikes drinking a beer. When Sacha yelled, most of the outlaws froze and stared at her wide-eyed. Some dropped the injured or dead in shock and looked like they would run. Then the motorcycles blew up.
“Goddamnit,” Halsey yelled at Sacha. “You were supposed to wait.”
“I’m sorry. I think one of them spotted me.”
Halsey looked at her skeptically and then fired her own grenade. Danica followed up. The grenades did their damage, but there were still plenty of outlaws who ran for cover and started peppering their position with bullets.
“Shit, there’s a lot of them,” Danica said. “I guess we didn’t kill as many as I thought.”
Halsey, an average-sized African-American with short hair that looked out of sorts at the moment, gazed at Danica stoically. In a peculiar and unsettling way, Halsey reminded Danica of Wade. It wasn’t that she was a psychopath; it just seemed she was emotionless at times, like a robot. She was Batman to Sacha’s Robin.
“More for us to kill,” Halsey said. The three women set to work trying to kill as many of the bikers as they could.
**********
“Damn,” Franklin said. “They were spotted.”
“We better hurry,” Sergeant Hunter said. Hunter was cast from the same mold as Franklin. She was taller than Franklin, though not by much. As a result of a high school car accident that left her boyfriend dead, she had a faint scar that ran from the middle of the left side of her nose almost to her jawline and then curved down to terminate near her chin. It almost looked like a horse had kicked her. When still in school, she tried covering the scar with makeup, but it was still noticeable. It was like a road through a snow-covered neighborhood. The snow might be five feet deep, but there was always a slight indentation to indicate where the road was.