by David Carter
Trigger offered no reply. He braced himself for the pain.
Scarface nodded to the soldier manning the charger cables.
The soldier attached the clips to Trigger’s testicles. He screamed as the electricity pulsed through his genitals and up into his brain at an immeasurable rate of speed. His body convulsed against his bindings; he was under extreme duress, ejaculating and losing control of his bowels, while Spider, Blaze, Ryan, and Doyle watched on in horror, powerless to intervene as a group of soldiers passed by the entrance to the mess hall.
“Enough!” Scarface commanded.
The soldier removed the clips.
Scarface leaned down, staring deep into Trigger’s soul. He snickered as the fight Trigger had initially displayed had most certainly diminished. “Now, I’m a reasonable man,” Scarface said calmly. “We’ll start with something simple.” He paused for effect. “What’s your name, son?”
The pain had almost crippled Trigger’s speech capability. Between the bullet wound on his shoulder and his fried testicles, he almost resembled a drooling mental patient. “Tr—Tr–” he stumbled over the second syllable.
“Beg pardon?” Scarface, asked, amused.
“Trigg—er,” he blurted out. His head drooped over on his chest.
“Your name is Trigger? Or are you asking me to end your misery?”
Trigger summoned all of his strength. “Name,” he replied.
“All right, Trigger. Would you care to explain why you thought it a good idea to assault this camp and take the lives of my brothers?”
“Fuck–” Trigger replied.
“Fuck—what?” Scarface asked, unsure of what Trigger was trying to say.
“Fuck—you,” Trigger replied.
Scarface saw red. He wrenched the charger cables from the soldiers hands and sharply held them to Trigger’s ears, effectively frying his brain.
Trigger’s screams were too much for Spider to bear. Fuck Ryan and Doyle. All for one, one for all, he thought.
He charged out of the mess hall firing his pistol. The three soldiers assisting Scarface hit the deck as their lives were forfeited. A startled Scarface dropped the charger cables and reached for the nearest rifle on the ground. He lined up Spider and blew him away with the entire magazine’s contents.
Spider collapsed on the ground, gasping for air as blood trickled from his wounds. Scarface casually walked over to the brave biker. The shallow sounds of laboured breathing warmed his heart. He reloaded the rifle and placed the barrel between Spider’s eyes and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Spider’s body convulsed as the bullet tore through his skull and drove into the dirt beneath. Tears flowed down Blaze’s cheeks as the sonic boom rippled throughout the clearing.
Spider’s body went limp.
Scarface wanted to be sure he’d taken care of all the intruders. He marched back to Trigger and placed his rifle on the back of his skull. “If there’s any more of you out there, your friend here is next! Come out now and I’ll grant you all the mercy of a bullet. Hide, and you’ll wish you came out while you had the chance. My men will find you. There’s nowhere you can run. Now, I’ll count to five.” He paused. “One!”
“What do we do?” Ryan asked.
“Two!” Scarface continued.
“I’m giving myself up,” said Blaze.
“Three!”
“You can’t do that! He’ll kill you!” Doyle exclaimed.
“Four!”
“That’s the difference between you and me, Doyle. I’m loyal to my family.” Blaze stood and opened the mess hall door.
“Five!”
“I surrender!” Blaze shouted.
Scarface couldn’t believe the image standing before him. “You!” he bellowed with rage. “You’re the traitor behind this mess?”
“You better fucking believe it.”
Scarface pointed his rifle at Blaze, then summoned what few remaining men he had left to search the mess hall.
They filed out momentarily, roughly pushing Ryan and Doyle into the compound. They shoved them down on their knees in front of Scarface. “Kill them,” he ordered.
One of the soldiers cut Trigger’s bindings and ruthlessly threw him down next to Blaze. Four soldiers stood behind the trembling men, each with a pistol aimed at the back of their heads.
“Any last words?” Scarface asked Blaze.
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.”
“And they would be...?”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
Scarface gave the signal. The soldiers cocked their rifles and prepared to open fire.
Chapter 70
CRASH!
The camp’s main gates flew open as a silver Hummer and three pimped out SUVs ploughed through the mouth of the tunnel and roared into the compound at high velocity. The brotherhood soldiers showered their four captives in blood as the army of gangsters opened fire and pumped them full of lead. The noise was intense. Blaze, Ryan, Doyle, and Trigger lay flat on the ground, praying for the madness to end.
Scarface immediately recognised the Hummer and knew he didn’t have the manpower to fight the sudden onslaught. He ran for all he was worth. He dashed towards the mess hall, heading straight for the manhole in the storeroom. Blaze noticed his cowardly actions and grabbed a rifle from the ground before heading back towards the main gate.
Scarface lowered his feet down into the cavity, dropping all the way to the bottom into the steady trickle of water. He cursed as he tripped over the bodies of the soldiers who’d allowed the assault on the camp to eventuate. He carried on down the tunnel, panting hard as he pushed himself physically harder than ever before. He knew what lay in store for him should he get captured. He had to escape.
Scarface reached the end of the tunnel and clambered up the rungs. He was correct in his assumption: the manhole cover was still pulled aside. Freedom was only two rungs away. He was going to make it.
He pulled himself up and out into the open forest.
“Don’t fucking move,” Blaze said as he cocked his rifle, aiming it at Scarface.
Scarface raised his hands. “You’re gonna have to shoot me, Blaze. I ain’t sticking around the have my insides cut out by Skinny-Jay,” he said.
“As you wish,” Blaze replied coldly, and shot a round into Scarface’s kneecap. He couldn’t afford to let him run. This was personal.
Scarface howled and writhed around the forest floor.
WHACK!
Scarface fell unconscious as Blaze clobbered the side of his head with the butt of the rifle and proceeded to drag him back into camp.
There were no soldiers left standing. Skinny-Jay’s eyes glazed over with anticipation when he saw the piece of shit Blaze dumped at his feet. “A gift in return for your unbelievable timing,” Blaze said. “But first I must ask, what made you change your mind? I mean, last time I saw you I’m certain we left things on bad terms.”
Skinny-Jay chuckled and his golden teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Yo’ I felt bad for lettin’ you motherfuckin’ punks go into battle without backup. And besides, I thought about what you said; killing Scarface and wiping out the brotherhood in New York seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.”
Blaze grinned. “Well, either way, we’re grateful that you showed up when you did.”
“Don’t mention it. I got my motherfuckin’ reward right here.” He gave Scarface a sharp kick. He called out to one of his bodyguards. “Yo’ tie this bitch up and throw him in the back of my ride!”
Blaze removed the keys from Scarface’s belt, and along with Doyle and Ryan, unlocked the door to barracks seven. “You ready to be a hero, Doyle?” he asked.
Doyle stepped through the doorway and flicked on the light. The sight before his eyes crushed his heart. He knew every women by name from their files. The gaunt, terrified looks on their faces filled him with sorrow. Their bodies were malnourished, their skin pale; skeletons contained by withered layers of skin. Their wombs prot
ruded, containing precious lives within, conceived by the seed of evil.
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan murmured. He proceeded to the nearest bunk to remove the woman’s bindings. She trembled in fear as he approached. He slowly crouched, meeting her pale-blue eyes with his own. He gently stroked a strand of hair from her eyes, hushing as he said, “It’s over; we’re here to help; you’re safe now.”
Blaze and Doyle removed the leather bindings which cut deep into the women’s wrists. They’d been on bed rest from the day they’d arrived in camp.
They released all the women from their respective barracks. As Ryan removed the bindings from the final lady, she said, “The babies and children are locked in the main building.”
“What? All by themselves?”
“No, they have nannies that raise and teach the children in the brotherhood’s ways.”
Ryan remembered seeing women from main operations hub join in the fight. “I’m pretty sure they’re all dead by now,” he said.
“Please, can we see our children?” the woman begged. She explained that once the babies had been weaned off breast milk, they were to have no contact with them. This poor woman hadn’t seen her twin boys in nine months.
“Of course you may,” Ryan sympathised. “Can you walk?”
Some of the women tried to stand, but they were much to weak. Ryan assured them they’d be reunited with their children as soon as medically possible.
Ryan and Doyle marched across the compound towards the operations hub. The large building was divided in two halves. The first half was a primarily a classroom—a large space filled with tables and chairs. A blackboard was screwed to the wall with some basic maths equations still visible from the previous day’s lesson. Doyle stepped through one of two doors in the dividing wall. What he saw shocked him. It was a nursery/birthing room complete with child incubators, cribs, and medical equipment. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Doyle said to Ryan as the cries of two squirming newborn babies rang from the see-through incubators.
They returned to the classroom and opened the second door in the dividing wall. The sole remaining nanny of camp Tahawus was inside comforting the children. She didn’t put up a fight, submitting to Doyle as he cuffed her, all the while perplexed to see the faces of so many frightened children staring back at him. “Are you going to take us away?” the oldest of the children asked.
Doyle’s heart broke in two. The boy wouldn’t have been more than six years old. “Yes. We’re here to take you some place safe. You don’t have to live like this anymore.”
“What about my father?” the boy replied. “He said we’re being prepared to serve and honour those who came before us.”
Doyle was unsure of how to respond.
“Your father has gone to serve,” Ryan answered.
“I’m going to call my superior for help,” Doyle said to Ryan. “We need paramedics, now.”
“You know what that means for you, right?” Ryan replied.
“I don’t care. I did what I set out to do. Who knows? Maybe the inquiry board will go easy on me once they find out what’s been going on up here.”
Ryan agreed. Doyle went and made the call.
As he returned to the compound, he saw Blaze helping Trigger into his clothes, before grieving over Spider and Ace’s bodies. Both men were holding one another tightly, tears freely flowing as the hole in their hearts grew beyond measure.
“He should have let me die,” Trigger mumbled.
“Don’t be like that,” Blaze answered. “Spider lived and died for the patch. He did what many wouldn’t have the courage to do. He loved you, man; that was his way of showing it.”
Trigger knelt beside Ace, his best friend and brother. He wasn’t sure how he would go on without him. They shared a once-in-a-lifetime bond. He wept bitterly.
Blaze left him to grieve, and farewelled Skinny-Jay. “Make sure Scarface gets what’s coming to him,” he said.
“You can bet your motherfuckin’ ass I will.” Skinny-Jay gave him one last toothy grin for the road, and made a hasty exit before the authorities showed up.
Chapter 71
Doyle’s superior was in complete and utter shock after Doyle had contacted him regarding the brotherhood’s operation, so much so that he’d personally flown to Camp Tahawus by chopper. He wanted to see the grimy details firsthand.
The remaining brotherhood-nanny talked freely in exchange for a reduced penalty while paramedics gave the women and children a thorough examination, and after listening intently to what the she had to say, Doyle’s superior finally had a grasp on why the camp existed.
Camp Tahawus had been built back in the late 1970s by the then leader of the Aryan Brotherhood, Stefan Wagner. He believed so deeply in the historical roots and traditions of white power that he’d decided to bring back the dominant race before its extinction. He was a notorious killer. He’d kill a black man for merely looking in his direction. His vision to bring back the Nordic bloodline as the dominant global race was everything to him. The crossbreeding of blacks and whites—weakening the gene pool—sickened him to the core. Being of Nordic blood himself, he founded Camp Tahawus, along with a handful of like-minded believers, keeping the sanctity of their race, culture, and bloodline intact.
After carefully seeking out women of Nordic heritage, he would make them victims to his vision—to be bred with only the finest seed that Wagner had to offer. Little by little the brotherhood grew, keeping only those true believers in the knowledge of his obsession.
He would spend days, hours, years, shaping and moulding the young minds born into his family, to fulfil their purpose, to go forth around the world and spread the word of the true dominant race, planting seeds among the thorns and nurturing them into a powerful army.
Unfortunately for Wagner, he never lived to see his vision come to light. In 1982, after robbing a gas station at gunpoint and murdering an innocent bystander who happened to be of African American decent, he was arrested. During his trial it was discovered that he had claimed countless lives in the name of white power, and was subsequently sentenced to death by way of electrocution.
As Wagner sat in ‘Old Sparky’, he died in the knowledge that his legacy would live on with those he’d entrusted with his plan. Over many generations his army had grown into a world-recognised organisation where drug smuggling, human trafficking, and living by their own laws became their moral code. At the heart of it all was the sacred bloodline. Wagner raised the infants at Camp Tahawus until they were old enough to fight and teach the next generation, by which time the oldest boys would be ready to start their own chapter of the Aryan Brotherhood offshore, safe in the knowledge they knew nothing other than what they had been taught from birth. They couldn’t be misled by anyone or anything.
In Wagner’s eyes, the kidnapped women were nothing more than child bearers. They were forcefully tied down and repeatedly raped until they conceived. Any women that didn’t fall pregnant within a specified time frame or was too old to bear any further children were ruthlessly murdered and tossed into the nearby Hudson or left in the Adirondacks for the wild animals to devour. He cared not for the women; they were fed the bare minimum in order for them to carry an infant until such a time as they were ready to give birth. Many female infants were put to death. Only a lucky few survived—as a handful of women were deemed necessary for the camp’s operations: tending to the young, preparing meals, teaching the children. They learned their history and place within their society and served the brotherhood with great devotion. Doyle had been witness to that as even the women had joined in the fight when attacked.
Wagner’s sons had been present on that fateful day when he’d fried in Auburn Prison. They, in turn, had sons of their own. One of them was named Cyrus. He was groomed to be the next great leader of the brotherhood. He accepted his role with gratitude. He’d kept the beliefs of his grandfather alive during his reign, and vowed to take the secret of Camp Tahawus to his grave. Everyone had assumed his youn
g son, who now lay in a pool of blood in the camp’s compound, would take over the mantle on the event of his death. But there was a problem that he couldn’t come to terms with. Cyrus, while being of Nordic blood and heritage, was sterile. He couldn’t produce a son. He’d lied and entrusted a fellow brotherhood leader with a secret, that his ‘son’ was indeed not his own.
The secret remained buried for many years until the man’s love for alcohol caused his mouth to run away with him while on an overnight trip for supplies. The secret was out. Cyrus did his best to contain the rumour—that he wasn’t fit to lead the brotherhood—and murdered his comrade in cold blood. Unfortunately the authorities discovered his body and Cyrus was convicted and sentenced to do time in The Tombs, where he’d met Scarface. They were like brothers. Cyrus grew to love and trust him. His thoughts and beliefs about the origins of white power were in tune with his own. Scarface had even given up his newly acquired girlfriend, Gwendoline, without question. Cyrus had asked that she be used for a greater purpose to benefit the brotherhood’s goals after discovering the blood running through her veins was pure. Prison was no barrier for such information. Everything had its price. It was only later on that someone had discovered her true identity, and she was taken out into the woods and brutally murdered.
The death of the man who’d started the rumours about Cyrus silenced everyone. Any talk of the subject soon vanished. Cyrus was still the respected leader of the brotherhood nation, not only state-wide, but worldwide. The camp was churning out obedient, brain-washed soldiers faster that they could handle them. But they made it work. Over time they discovered that less was more, and kept to a strict number of offspring at any given time. With numbers growing around the world, Cyrus still managed to run the organisation from inside a prison cell, such was the vast complexity of their operation. The street-version of the brotherhood was purely about financial gain. Just about any thug with white skin and an overly aggressive nature would be encouraged to prospect and be welcomed into the family, unaware of the true foundation upon which their culture was built.