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by M B Wood

  "Damn," Taylor muttered. "They’re here." He shifted his binoculars to the main gates. In the periphery of his vision, he saw a family running for the gate. "It's too late, run away," he urged. It was impossible for them to hear him.

  The family continued to run toward the main entrance more than two hundred yards away, dragging children by the hand. A brief crackle of gunfire sounded. The man and woman staggered and fell. The couple was still moving when a wave of ragged men overran them. Clubs rose and fell in a bloody rhythm.

  "Sweet Jesus." Taylor took a deep breath. "That was awful." He glanced toward the main entrance where the gates remained motionless, open. "What? Get those gates closed, now."

  After what seemed an eternity, they began to move but the mob flowed ever closer.

  "Get a squad to the main entrance," Taylor said to Chris. "Right away." He watched the mob approach the gate and held his breath. It'll be close. God help us if they get in.

  The bridge was still down and there was no time to raise it. The river, deepened over winter, was deep and flowed slowly under the bridge to the main entrance. The mob formed into untidy ranks to march across the bridge. As they started across the bridge to the entrance, the gates clanged shut.

  #

  "I almost got them. If you'd nailed those pricks on the horses who'd been shadowing us, I'd have had the drop on them," Skid's voice held an accusatory tone.

  "Aw, man," Fast Eddy MacArthur said. "We killed three of 'em. I'm sure we winged at least a couple more." He spat on the ground. "I figure my boys did some pretty good shooting."

  Skid took a deep breath. Fast Eddy sure fucked-up security on this job, he thought. An' the loud mouth son-of-a-bitch pisses me off all the time. But he's Deacon through and through, and that means I gotta trust him.

  "Eddy, if your boys had picked off those Park assholes like I told ya, we could've walked right in. Understand?"

  "Yeah, well, mebbe." Fast Eddy spat on the ground.

  Skid glowered at Fast Eddy. "Okay, now I've got to figure out how to get past the gate and over the wall. First, I'm gonna give them a chance to submit to the law of the land.” Skid stared into the distance. "You're gonna be the official messenger from my office, the Mayor's office, and tell 'em to comply with the law. Understand?"

  "Er, you'd better run that by me again," Fast Eddy said.

  "If they don't obey the law, I can seize their property."

  "Sure, anything you say, Skid," Fast Eddy said. He looked at one of his lieutenants and rolled his eyes.

  "Look," Skid said. "We're gonna do this legit-like, so those citizens, the draftees, can't object when called to do their duty. Understand?"

  "Legit-like." Fast Eddy stared at Skid and a smile slowly grew on his face. "Yeah, cool."

  #

  Three men in black leather clothing, emblazoned with the red and yellow death's head emblem of the Diablos, advanced with a white flag. Fifty yards from the moat, they stopped and huddled to confer. A large muscular man with a beer-belly emerged and came forward alone as the others retreated.

  "The Honorable Mr. George C. Vukovitch, Mayor of the City of Cleveland, advises you the City of Cleveland has legally incorporated the entire Cuyahoga County into one corporate entity, namely the reorganized City of Cleveland, pursuant to Ordinance 2035.507b, duly enacted by the City Council and signed into law," Fast Eddy yelled.

  "We demand you open the gates and submit to our tax inspection as required by the above referenced incorporation ordinance. You've been notified. This is your last warning." He looked up from the sheet of paper. "You gonna obey the law?"

  From top of the wall, Taylor stepped to the edge of the palisade. He cupped his hands to his mouth. "For your information, the Clan of Rocky River incorporated itself and this territory last November," he yelled. "Sorry, but you're just a little too late." He held back a smile.

  "Our incorporation of Cuyahoga County into Cleveland counts more than yours. You're in our area now. Under our law." Fast Eddy stumbled over his words. "Get it?"

  "Can't be," Taylor called. "It hasn't been put to a vote."

  "Look," Fast Eddy yelled. "Our ordinance is superior to yours, 'cause we're bigger than you, an' you know it. If you accept our conditions, no one's gonna get hurt."

  "Oh, and just what are your conditions?"

  "We're the law in Cuyahoga County." Fast Eddy's words sounded rehearsed. "Our jurisdiction. Because you refused our authority, judgment has been passed, and you forfeited the right to own property in Cuyahoga County. You must vacate this property immediately. If you comply, you can leave without penalty."

  "Taylor," Franny whispered in Taylor's ear. "That's them."

  "Who?"

  "The men who killed Stosh."

  "Where?"

  "The two men standing behind the speaker; they're the bastards who raped Cathy and me." Her face was pale. She gripped Taylor's arm tightly. "Don't trust them."

  Taylor raised his voice. "Let me get this straight. You want us to give up our homes and walk away from everything we own, just because you want to claim the whole county. Is that right?"

  "If you'd complied with the law an' submitted to a tax audit, you wouldn't have made this problem for yourselves. We're only enforcing the duly enacted ordinances of the City of Cleveland--"

  "We don't accept your authority,” Taylor yelled. “We don't want representation on your City Council. Remember, one of the founding principles of this country is: No taxation without representation."

  "If you don't comply with the law, you'll be the one responsible for the consequences," Fast Eddy yelled. His face had become red. "You'll make us use force."

  "Force? You're threatening us with force?" Taylor called. "Let me make you an offer. If you don't leave us alone, we'll hunt you down and kill you, all of you. That's a promise." His voice rang across the now-silent valley.

  Fast Eddy threw his hands up and walked back to the other men. Five minutes later, he returned to the edge of the moat.

  "Hey, asshole," Fast Eddy yelled. "The City's got an army. We're the law around here. If you force us to use it, you're gonna get wasted. Understand?" Fast Eddy clenched his fists, arms stiff. A deep flush suffused his face.

  "I hear you," Taylor yelled. "We have no intention of complying with your law. This is our valley and we'll defend it. We're free people and we intend to remain free. Until something better comes along, we'll stay with what we've got."

  Cheers broke out along the wall.

  Fast Eddy held up an index finger and waited. Slowly, silence descended. "Look, shithead," his voice cracked with anger as it boomed over the valley. "If you don't surrender, I'm personally gonna tear you a new asshole after I stomp you into the ground. Got it? You've had your warning." He spat, turned on his heel and rejoined the army with the other leather-clad men.

  Without warning, the leading edge of the army surged forward to cross the wooden bridge and mass before the gate. The rear ranks continued to press forward and spread along the banks of the river.

  The men on the bridge fired at the Clan defenders on the towers above the gateway. A phalanx of men in gang colors pushed forward toward the gate. Gunfire from the army was continuous.

  "Get a battering ram. Break the fuckin' gate down," yelled the scar-faced man pointing with his gun. "Get something to knock this stupid gate down."

  "Uh, yeah, get a log," called the big man at the side of scar-faced man. "Quit using yer hands, they ain't gonna do no good."

  "Boys, shoot 'em if they stick their heads up." The scar-faced man pointed toward the Hill.

  "Hey, hey, make way." A dozen men staggered across the bridge toward the gate with a long, mud-stained log. The scar-faced man pointed to the men carrying the log. "Break that gate down." His voice rose to a scream. "Now."

  The battering ram's blow made the entire entrance structure vibrate. "Harder, hit it harder." The scar-faced man yelled. He paused and stared at the walls above on each side of the entrance.

  He
backed up. "Hey, Zits," he called. "Take over. I want that gate down. Understand?"

  "Ooh, sure." Zits was a pock-faced man with a strong Russian accent. "Okay, you fookers, bash that fooking gate down." He kicked a man on the battering ram. "Harder, fook-head."

  "Me and my administration gotta plan strategy," the scar-faced man said. "Let's go." He retreated from the bridge.

  #

  "Chris, move those people onto the Hill." Taylor pointed to the new arrivals milling behind the main entrance. "Then put a squad at the gate. Use those carts to barricade the gate."

  "Ammo?"

  "Distribute thirty rounds per person." Taylor frowned. He knew they had very little left. "Use it wisely."

  Chris nodded. Thirty rounds was a generous ammo ration.

  "If the gang breaks through, slow them, and then retreat to the Hill. We need time to get our people and livestock to the Hill. If they break through," Taylor said. "We'll cover you."

  "Got it." Chris turned and sprinted to the main entrance.

  Each blow from the battering ram shook the gates. The tough white oak drawbar cracked. It wouldn't last much longer.

  "Listen up, form a semi-circle around the gate," Chris yelled. "Not so close." The squads moved into formation. "Frank, you’re in charge."

  "Okay." Frank's eyes lit up at the command. "Right away."

  From above, Taylor waved to get the militia leaders' attention. "Del Corso, Phelps, Washington, Rice. Put your men on the palisade. Get ready with the bows."

  Taylor turned to Wylie. "Move the catapults to the edge of the Hill. Load them with fire pots and wait for my signal."

  "Hah," Wylie said as he hurried off.

  "Taylor," Chris Kucinski said. "We're positioned and ready." A line of militia snaked its way onto the palisade. "We'd better do something; those gates won't last much longer."

  "I need a few more minutes." Taylor scanned the scene.

  "How many are out there?" Chris asked.

  "Maybe two hundred wearing colors, y'know, hard-core gang members. There're ten times that number who don't have guns, only clubs or whatever." Taylor panned his glasses over the Clan positions. "Ready." He got a thumbs-up gesture from a figure on the palisade. He made a stabbing gesture toward the enemy.

  A flock of arrows lofted over the palisade to drop on the army clustered about the main entrance. A chorus of screams rose. The battering-ram crew staggered and dropped the ram. They struggled to pick it up. A skinny, pimply-faced man in gang colors yelled and waved at the battering ram crew.

  Another flight of arrows arrived.

  The battering ram again slammed down onto the wood planks. The screams got louder. Bodies cluttered the bridge, with arrows sticking out at odd angles. Some of the bodies still moved but most lay motionless. Half of the original attacking force remained standing on the bridge.

  A third volley of arrows arrived.

  The survivors on the bridge fled, tripping over bodies, pushing those who didn't move fast enough. Some jumped off the bridge to wade or swim away. Another flight of silent death fell from the sky. Blood ran off the bridge, forming a dark tongue in the slow-moving water. The metallic smell of blood and the stink of torn guts drifted to the Hill.

  "That's better." Taylor watched through binoculars. The army had moved away from the entrance and out of range. On the palisade, the militia stood jeering at the retreating army.

  In the distance, Taylor saw that the gang members had their rifles raised. "Look out," he yelled. “Get down.”

  Automatic weapons erupted into a sustained, booming yammer. Half-dozen Clan archers toppled, some into the waters of the moat. More collapsed backward onto the catwalk. As the firing ceased, screaming started inside the Clan’s walls.

  #

  The cries of the wounded were a constant backdrop for the rest of the day. Shots occasionally rang out. Taylor could see the army had set up camp in the pastures below the Hill, adjacent to the Rocky River. Like a dirty stain, they slowly spread out around to the south and east sides of the fort.

  As the day waned, a steady stream of wagons and carts filled with supplies and equipment arrived. All, he saw, were guarded by gun-toting men. The army settled in and built campfires.

  A line of troops surrounded the Hill. Darkness closed in. Isolated screams, raucous laughter and shouts punctuated the quiet. Campfires flickered fitfully; slowly fading into a sea of dull, red glows that stretched around the Hill.

  The Hill was under siege.

  #

  "I want their numbers, their armaments, where they’re camped and their security." Taylor stared intently at the squad and militia leaders. From the lookout point on the south side of the Hill, the gang's campfires below seemed almost endless. Overhead, through the gaps in the foliage, stars sparkled with a hard brilliance. "I want scouts outside to see if there's any gap in their encirclement. Ted, handle it."

  "Gotcha." Callioux turned to leave.

  "Before you go, there's something everyone must hear." Taylor took a deep breath. "I'm not going to tolerate a repetition of today's performance on the palisades." He made eye contact with each squad leader. "Becoming a target is stupid. Yes, stupid. You, as leaders, are responsible for preventing this type of useless sacrifice. You read me?"

  Phelps' militia group had suffered ten dead and fifteen wounded on the wall this afternoon.

  "Do all of you understand this?" Taylor asked.

  Each leader nodded. None spoke.

  "We have to destroy the army's leadership, the hard-core gang members who have the automatic weapons, the ones wearing colors. Once they're taken out, the rest will be easy.”

  At some level, Taylor welcomed this conflict as a means to get rid of the gang. Even if it meant sacrificing some of his own. For just the briefest moment, the face of Vivian appeared in his mind's eye. He focused on the group before him as guilt nagged. Soon, some of those faces will be stiff, cold and lifeless. More are going to die.

  For an instant, he had a vision of a field of endless bleached skeletons and grinning skulls. He shook his head and the vision disappeared. "I've got an idea how to do this," he said. "It goes like this..."

  #

  At dawn, a thin fog lay over the valley below the Hill. The gang’s army stirred to life with a rumble of massed voices. As the sun emerged, it burned off the mist and to reveal the encamped army that looked like a dark, squirming mass filling the valley.

  The smell of cooked meat wafted over the Hill and reminded the Clan farmers it was their livestock they had left behind. The hours passed and the army still did not move.

  Within the Hill, Stolz’s crew braced the main entrance gate by the river with a mound of dirt. They’d also stocked the palisade walls with stones, boulders and bundles of arrows. An ant-like stream of children carried water and forage up the Hill.

  Wylie's people armored two large dump trucks with planking, mounting a catapult on each. Mechanics had reduced the trucks' exhaust systems to a whisper.

  Throughout the day, the sound of hammering came from the valley below. Scouts went out, but none got close without encountering guards. The gang was up to something.

  Scouts came back with word the gang’s army had gaps in their cordon of guards around the swamp on the north side of the old river. Jack O'Connor and thirty armed men with horses waded through the swamp and then climbed the steep side of the valley to the ridge above. On a bluff overlooking the valley, they hid in a patch of scrubby crabapple trees surrounded by briars and waited for nightfall.

  The tri-axle trucks moved from the Hill to the northwest gate. Whatever sound the trucks made was drowned out by the noise from the army. When the trucks reached the northwest gate by Shepherd Road, they disappeared under the dense foliage. By late afternoon, the pace of activity slowed. Even the Hill became quiet. A pall of smoke rose over the army's encampment; it was time for the evening meal.

  O'Connor flashed a mirror at the Hill. A brief series of flashes replied. He listened carefully, b
ut heard neither the sound of trucks or gunfire. Ten minutes later, the trucks rolled to stop by the briar patch to join Chris’ group.

  O'Connor said quietly, "How did it go?"

  "No problem." Chris gave a thumbs-up gesture. "Callioux's people took out the guards near the river ford. They were like silent death, dropping them one by one. The others never saw us, never heard us. They don't know we're here," she said.

  #

  "Stubby," Skid called. "I've got a special job for you."

  Stubby raised his head at the summons. "Sure thing, Skid."

  "See that house up there?" Skid pointed. "The one that's got a deck sticking out over the valley?"

  Stubby squinted at the top of the hillside. "Yeah."

  "Okay, grab some supplies and take those boys up there before dark." He pointed to a group of men. "Understand?"

  "Sure thing, Skid," Stubby said. "Whatcha want us to do?"

  "I want you there tomorrow. When we attack, you're gonna blow away those assholes on the wall. When I give you this signal." Skid raised his hand and made a downward sweeping gesture. "You let 'em have it. Y'understand?"

  "Sure thing, Skid."

  "Keep your binoculars on me." Skid glared at him. "If you shoot at the wrong time, I'll kill you.”

  "Sure, sure, I got the picture." Stubby nodded. "As soon as the boys are ready, we'll motor on up."

  "Stubby, go the back way, on foot, quiet-like. I don't want those assholes to know you're there. Understand?"

  "Sure thing, Skid." Stubby had a grin on his face.

  "Stubby." Skid smiled without warmth.

  "Yeah?"

  "No drinkin' or smokin' dope. An' forget about taking a chick for a gang-bang. I want you sharp in the morning. Understand?"

  "Yeah, sure, Skid.” The corners of Stubby's mouth turned down.

  "I'm gonna send Knuckles to check you're comfortable. Understand?" A smile spread across Skid's face.

  "Yeah, sure, Skid." It was well known Stubby didn't like Knuckles and had once lost a fight with him, too.

  Skid put the citizens to work, preparing for the day of reckoning. They filled the night with the sounds of coming and going, axes ringing as they bit into wood. Occasionally came the sound of branches breaking and the thud of a falling tree. Smoky torches along the palisade wall reflected off the moat.