Bernie wiped a mound of dust and grime off a stool. “Have a seat,” he offered. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said as he handed her a filthy menu.
“Don’t mind if I do. So what’s good around here?” she asked playfully.
“Oh gosh, best apple pie in town. That’s for sure. Mable makes it from scratch. Her momma’s recipe. She’s off today, though.” He looked around. “Huh, looks like everyone’s off today.” He shrugged. “I do have these potatoes, though.”
“I hear they’re great.” She smiled.
“I’m sure they were,” he said as he leaned on the bar. “I did find this for you, though.” Bernie dropped a handful of sealed crackers and a couple packets of jelly onto the countertop.
“Thank you, Bernie,” she gushed sincerely.
“So how far along are you?”
“Oh, seven months, I think. Give or take. Feels like he wants out now, though.”
Bernie held his hand out. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. Please.” Casandra placed his hand on her belly and guided it around, looking for the right spot. “You feel that? He’s kicking. He likes you.” She went wide-eyed over the idea.
“Or the little fella’s saying, Get off of my momma, ya son of a bitch,” he joked.
“Oh, stop. No, he’s not.”
“So you know it’s a boy then?”
“Yeah, I figured since I was going to raise him on my own, I should get a head start on the planning.”
“Smart thinking. My pop always said be prepared.”
Casandra applied the smallest amount of jelly to each cracker, slowly savoring every bite. She leaned back in her stool to afford Bernie a better angle to feel for the little one. By this point, he had an ear to her belly. It was nice, she thought, someone showing her some attention. Especially Bernie, seeing as if he were to drive off in his truck and head for the mountains alone, he’d probably fare much better than with the group. The imagined sacrifice was very appealing in her eyes.
For Miller, it was a relief to see at least some of them trying to enjoy themselves, despite the circumstances. It hadn’t even been seventy-two hours since they lost Tobias. He knew the man well enough to know they were kindred spirits; duty and family were paramount to both men. The Pepperbush survivors looked to Tobias as a surrogate leader of sorts. Now he was gone. These people respected Sam and Marisol but kept them at arm’s length, whereas Tobias was one of them. Sure, they deferred to Miller’s leadership the moment Takashi was taken, but the kind of trust and camaraderie that Tobias instilled would take time—time that the young captain wasn’t sure any of them had. Miller turned his attention to the front of the diner and the small pile of supplies they had gathered. It wasn’t much. Mostly toiletries, enough for a week tops if they rationed. At least it was something. He looked out to the parking lot and squinted hard against the glare for a moment before diving to the floor. “Bernie, get her down, behind the counter. Now!” he whispered as loud as he could.
Dozens of motorcycles were pulling up and parking in the street in front of the diner. A majority of the riders appeared to be looking directly at Miller.
“Radzinski do you have eyes on this? Any idea how long they’ve been there?” Miller spoke into his radio.
“Copy that. I’m at your ten with Isaac and Damon. I’ve got eyes on the hostiles. Two dozen easy. Probably more. We’ve got the fuckers boxed in and they don’t even know it. They go for their guns, we’re lighting them up.”
“Wait for my signal. If I can’t talk these guys down, we can’t afford to let any of them get away. If they’re linked up with that crew Aiko saw the other day, then we’re in trouble if they call for backup. We can’t handle numbers like that.”
“Roger that.” Radzinski turned to the small group at his side. “Isaac, I want you downstairs. Anyone comes through that door, blow their fucking brains out. You two, either side of this window. The second I start shooting, put as many of those fuckers down as you can. None of them gets away. You understand me?”
“Oh yeah, I got this,” Damon said, smiling for the first time in weeks.
“Well, you don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Elliot added.
“Whatever, bitch. It’s us or them.”
“Shut up, both of you. Damon’s right. Those fuckers come out on top, none of us walk away from this. Am I clear?”
Miller emerged from the diner, unarmed with his hands in the air in front of him. “Hello there.” Miller kept his tone light and welcoming as he inched forward, slowly positioning himself between a light pole and the bulk of the gang. “I assume we’re both here for the same thing. Unfortunately, this place seems to have been picked clean. There’s nothing left.”
“Well, I could have told you that.” A large gray-haired biker stepped forward, apparently their leader. “We cleaned this place out weeks ago. Bunch of heroes running their mouths then, too, huh, boys?” He leaned his head back in the direction of the gang.
Impressed by their leader’s bravado, most of the gang laughed. Some simply lowered their heads in disbelief at Miller’s approach. Others took a moment for a quick drink or to light a cigarette.
Miller took another step toward the pole but stayed just left of it. He didn’t want to tip off the gang that he was inching toward cover. “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, sir. Let me introduce myself. I’m Captain Miller, United States Army.”
“I don’t much care who you are, but it’s about time you came out of that diner, boy. Was about to tell my men here to unload on your cars to wake your asses up.” The head biker couldn’t have been more unimpressed with Miller’s credentials.
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” Miller replied.
“Those things aren’t for you to decide.” The head biker’s demeanor changed in an instant. “Those are your vehicles parked over there, right? You know, the ones with all the people crouched down behind them?”
“I’ll be honest with you, sir: we’re just passing through. We don’t want any trouble.”
“You’re a little thick, aren’t you, boy? I’ll make this real simple: your stuff, give it to us,” the head biker demanded.
“We don’t have anything. We’re looking for supplies, just like you.”
“Oh, I never said we didn’t have anything. We just want more. It looks to me like you got some guns, and I’m sure you’ve got a bit of fuel in those vehicles. Not to mention I know I saw a few women over there. They’re always useful, right, boys?” The head biker said, followed once more by laughter from his crew.
Behind the cover of the vehicles, the closest of the group could overhear the exchange.
“Oh God. They’re going to take us. What are they going to do to us?” Samantha began to panic.
“Shut up. No one’s taking you anywhere,” Vanessa insisted while trying to force a pistol into the girl’s hand. Samantha wouldn’t take it.
Miller continued negotiations, though they were quickly deteriorating. “Sir, I understand now that this stretch of road is yours. We are obviously trespassing, and I apologize. If you’ll allow us, we’ll just turn around and go back the way we came. No harm, no foul, friend.”
“Haha, friend. I don’t think you understand, son. I call the shots around here. I tell you what to do, and you do it. We’ve got you outnumbered at least five to one from what I can tell. Maybe more. I want your guns, your gas, and your women. Now.”
“Oh, fuck this guy. I’m taking his goddamn head off.” Radzinski couldn’t hear the conversation, but from his vantage point, the biker’s body language spoke volumes. Damon and Elliot stood ready in the shadows.
“Wait just a second now. Perhaps a deal can be fostered here,” Lancaster suggested from the relative safety provided by the vehicles. “If we just give him half of the guns and a few of the women, I’m sure he will let us leave peacefully.”
“You’re incredible.” Marisol pushed him aside. “Shouldn’t you be in a corner shitting your p
ants by now? Get the fuck down and keep still before I put you down.” She turned to Soraya. “This isn’t going to end well. Make sure everyone knows where this is headed and to be ready.”
“I am on it.” Soraya made her way down the line of cars, relaying Marisol’s message along the way.
Miller continued negotiations. “We have no food and our vehicles are running on fumes. If you take our guns, we’re as good as dead.”
“Well, you got that part right. You are as good as dead, son. Look around you. There’s no way out of this. I’ll tell you what, seeing as I’m in a good mood today, I’ll make a deal with you,” the head biker said as once more laughter erupted from the crowd of anxious bikers. “Tell your people to throw their guns over the vehicles, put their hands on their heads, and stand up.”
Lancaster attempted to stand but was yanked down hard by Marisol. “Keep the fuck down. I’m not telling you again.”
The head biker continued his demands. “You and your men head back the way you came, on foot. Your women and supplies stay with us and everyone gets to live. That’s the best offer I’ve got.”
The laughing crowd of thugs went silent as the head biker fell flat on his back—a single gunshot wound to the forehead. A slight column of smoke escaped the breech of a sidearm Miller had concealed in the back of his pants. “Open fire!” he yelled as he felled a second biker, then a third before ducking behind the light pole. His fellow soldiers and the survivors of Pepperbush released a relentless flurry of bullets upon the unsuspecting gang.
The bikers scrambled for cover. They had done this many times before, but Miller knew by the way they carried themselves that they weren’t accustomed to their victims putting up much of a fight. Most of the gang fired wildly. Some took cover while others tried to run away. Soraya carefully lined up her shots from behind the engine block of a truck. Each bullet claimed a raider. Marisol and Isaac likewise put down their share of would-be attackers. Lillian stayed behind cover while Vanessa stood above her, firing into the mass. The thought of what these men intended for her and the other women in the group enraged her. She thought of Jim and his attempt on her life as she indiscriminately unleashed on the gang with a hail of bullets. Radzinski’s crossfire from his high vantage point sealed the gang’s fate. The few remaining raiders who stood their ground panicked as those around them fell. Those still standing tried to run. Exposed and disoriented, they were all cut down in a merciless hail of gunfire.
Only a few weeks ago, most of these people, survivors of Pepperbush and gang members alike, had never even fired a gun. Now everyone involved, whether alive or dead, had a hand in the taking of another man’s life.
The entirety of the gang was put down in mere minutes. Some tried to crawl away. Others lay in place in the hope of not being seen. A few disoriented and badly wounded scavengers crawled toward Miller’s group in the confusion. They were put down permanently as Miller and the others pressed forward into the gang’s ranks. Shoulder to shoulder, they marched, killing everything that moved. In the distance, a few gang members limped away, some helping their brothers in arms, others fending for themselves. All were cut down. Steady gunfire gave way to random pops. One here, two or three there. The untrained civilians were still randomly firing, unaware that the battle had ended.
“Cease fire, cease fire. Everyone, stop shooting!” Miller shouted, waving his hands in the air. “It’s over. They’re all down. Soraya, Rachel, fan out. I don’t want any more surprises today. Marisol, Sam, go with them. If any of those assholes are still alive out there, put them down.”
“Yes, sir,” Rachel replied as she and the others made their way to the battlefield.
Shattered dishes and splintered furniture littered Ben’s Diner. Those who managed to duck for cover were filthy with it. Casandra lay motionless behind the counter. A stray bullet had found its mark in her right shoulder. Another bullet grazed the side of Bernie’s head as he heaved Casandra over the counter and threw himself on top of her just after the gunfire erupted. The hardwood floor beneath them was soaked in a puddle of blood.
Bernie was the first to rise. Dazed from the headshot, it took a moment to clear the ringing. Beneath him, Casandra lay unmoving, her wound gushing. Both of them were soaked in red. He flung off his shirt, balled it up, and applied pressure to the wound. “Somebody help me!” he screamed.
Aiko was the first on the scene. She was already en route to the diner for an impromptu checkup on the pregnant woman when the gang showed up. Her first obstacle was getting Bernie out of the way. He remained steadfast, pressing on Casandra’s wound as if letting go meant her very life would pour from the hole.
“Okay, okay, ease off, Bernie. Let me in here,” she said, guiding his hands away from her patient. No sterile blades in sight, Aiko ripped Casandra’s top open at the bullet hole. “Help me lift her, Bernie. Let me see the other side.” Aiko felt around while also listening for Casandra’s heartbeat. A wave of relief washed over the medic’s face. “You can lie her back down now, Bernie. Gently, gently.”
“How bad is it, Doc?” he asked, balling his hat up in his hands.
“Bullet passed clean through. A couple of stitches, clean dressing, and some antibiotics,” she began.
“You mean…” Bernie interrupted.
“Yes, she’s going to be just fine, Bernie. Now, if you’ll just have a seat over there, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Ma’am?” Bernie was at a loss.
Aiko tapped herself on the side of her head, followed with a nod at the man.
Bernie held his hand to the side of his face; it came back drenched in crimson. “Oh, yeah.”
Seth lay in the street on his back, grasping his neck, his right shoe scraping against the pavement as his knee rose and fell. Jeremiah repeatedly pulled the man’s hands away from the wound in an attempt to apply pressure to the drenched gauze. Blood gushed from the hole in his neck. He gurgled, spitting the red all over his face and the medic who was trying to help him. Seth allowed one blood-soaked hand free from his wound to grasp at the air, desperately pointing to a figure beyond Jeremiah. Isabelle emerged from the bushes a few feet from the scene. Her head tilted to the side when their eyes met. Both pairs of eyes went wide, his in terror, hers with wonder.
“You have to stop fighting me, Seth!” Jeremiah shouted. “Get over here and hold his arms down, woman! Yes, I am talking to you, Isabelle. There is no time to waste!”
Isabelle took her time getting there but eventually knelt as close as she could to Seth without interfering with Jeremiah. She kept his arms pinned to the ground, all of her weight leaning forward on his wrists. He wasn’t going anywhere. She leaned in, appearing to apply more pressure, but she merely sought a better, a closer view of his face. She would not break eye contact. Neither would he, for that matter, as he choked on his own fluids. Jeremiah fought, desperate to pinch off the severed artery. Seth’s spasms slowed. He blinked a few times, each breath taking a little longer than the previous until he stopped moving at all. The two of them never lost eye contact. Isabelle watched every last drop of life drain from Seth’s face.
“You can get up now,” Jeremiah said. “He was dead before he hit the ground. I don’t like to let them die alone if I can help it,” he said, searching for his next patient.
Isabelle said nothing. She released her grip, took a long look at her bloodied hands, and then wiped them off on her dress.
“I have other wounded, but if you need to talk, I can make the time,” Jeremiah offered.
“Talk about what?” She looked confused.
“Your friend Seth. We did all we could for him. Take comfort knowing that he died helping us all.”
“I don’t know him,” she replied coldly while walking away. Isabelle paused for a moment. She strained her neck, turning around to glare at Jeremiah. Over and over she pressed her sticky hands together and slowly pulled them apart.
Jeremiah was in a hurry and already halfway across the street, his mind focus
ed on the next patient.
Periodic shots could be heard in the distance as the group tended to its wounded and gathered supplies from the fallen gang. A few of the survivors jumped at every stray pop. Reflexively, Vanessa ducked for a moment, then continued policing up weapons and ammo. Lancaster grabbed his Stetson and ducked behind a car, nearly knocking her over in the process.
“Asshole,” she muttered.
“This guy’s got a pocket full of cash and not much else,” Ayn said, throwing the useless paper aside.
“Same here. These guys weren’t very bright for all the shit they were talking,” Markus added. “Are any of you guys finding food? Anything to eat?”
“Nada,” said Ayn.
“Not a drop. I know they said they had all kinds of stuff,” Vanessa remarked.
“They said.” Sam grinned.
Vanessa used all she had to heave a rather large man onto his back so she could better access his vest pockets. “These guys have to have a camp somewhere. It could be close. We should look for it,” she suggested.
“Too dangerous, darling.” Sam was against the idea of looking for trouble, regardless of the likely reward. “This might be all of them, but for all we know, they could have just as well been a small scouting party. No, I think the best course of action is to leave the area immediately.”
• • •
Nisha was having a particularly bad time with Seth’s death. A blood-soaked sheet covering his body would be her last image of the man. They never spoke much, but she saw him around town enough and Isabelle and Tobias were friends with him, so that made him interesting to her. As curious as she was, she never gathered up the nerve to ask Isabelle to introduce them. Now she never could. She often thought about it alone at night: the four of them getting together for drinks, her and Seth hitting it off, Isabelle taking notice and forcing Tobias upstairs early.
“We all must go sometime, my dear,” said Lancaster with a smirk as he casually strolled by.
Nisha was trying to pull herself away. Her final goodbyes to the man nearly had her smiling again. Lancaster destroyed that. “Go fuck yourself,” she sobbed.
The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll Page 13