Flight To Pandemonium

by Murray, Edward

  No doubt about it, thought Ernie. Cindy had thoroughly torched his plan. Christie asked softly, “Cindy… do you realize what you’re saying?”

  “Yes,” she said calmly. “We have to hunt them down and kill them all!”

  After the shock of her words settled in, Christie asked, “But how can you know they have such bad intentions that you want to kill them?”

  “Christie…they’re bikers…and this isn’t a tribe ride out here. These are the really mean ones. They don’t care about anyone. I know; I’ve been around them. They’re way bad.”

  “But how do you know they’re bad? We’ve never seen them.”

  “That’s just what I asked my father when he got on my case for hanging out with them.” Calmly she added, “I was raped. They killed my brother when he tried to stop them. The rest is worse and I don’t want to say any more. My mother blamed me. So don’t ask how I know.”

  “Cindy, please forgive me. I should have known better than to press you.”

  Ernie was surprised by the revelation. No wonder she was frightened. But if Cindy was right and if a firefight was inevitable, he was troubled by their shortcomings. During his service in the military, he had never once planned a skirmish. All of his experience was defensive. Infantry engaged, but he was rear echelon, always supportive, seldom aggressive.

  His little band had no military experience, most weren’t disposed to conflict, and none were blooded. They had good offensive weapons, but few could use them. Those who could had experience hunting game, not men, and the difference was monumental. Asking his family to commit to warfare seemed insane, almost guaranteeing their death.

  Following Cindy’s surprise revelation, everyone was lost in silent reflection. Far in the distance, they heard the faint sound of rumbling Harleys.

  Cindy shouted, “Now will you believe me? They’ve come back… and they’ll find us… and this time we must kill them… all of them... no pity!”

  Shortly, the rumbling faded again. Resigned, Lazlo said, “Cindy’s right about one thing. There can’t be any other explanation for coming back here. If they were moving on, they should be way upriver by now. They are lookin’ for us.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. We shouldn’t do anything to bring them on.”

  “Perhaps, Christie,” said Ernie. “But we’d be fools if we didn’t get prepared. God help us, but we need to unpack ammunition and get ourselves in position. Ladies, soon as we hear bikers again, please get in the humvees, even you Cindy. Just sit tight with your weapons and drive outta here if it comes to that. Don’t let them block you on this island. You’ll have the advantage that way. They can’t stop an armored humvee with a motorcycle,” he said, intending encouragement.

  “Bullshit… you don’t know a thing about motorcycles,” replied Cindy.

  Ignoring her, Ernie said, “Guys, we’ve got a lot to do… starting with digging a quick foxhole for Lazlo. I’ll explain, so come with me.”

  When finished, Ernie placed a box of grenades inside Lazlo’s foxhole. “Pug will be on the other fifty,” he explained, “but you’re our back up. In the thick of it, they’ll come on the island to get us. Ernie and I will be too occupied to see ‘em coming. From your foxhole, pitch, not throw, the grenades towards anyone who comes on foot. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Cindy joined them and insisted that she learn to pitch as well. Ernie handed out grenades and instructed Lazlo to pitch his well out onto the ice and count the delay before the explosion, an obvious lesson.

  Cindy said, “I’ve seen it. That’s all I need to know.” Ernie reached for return of the grenade. “Nope. I keep this one for my hummer.”

  “Cindy, rattling around your humvee is no place for that. If it happened to go off, it would surely kill you.”

  “That would be the idea… if things really turn to shit. This is for a last surprise.” The implication startled Ernie, but there was no time to argue.

  Meanwhile, Pug fiddled with the gun on the cab of his deuce. If nothing, he considered himself a master of machinery. He thought he understood how to reload a new belt into the gun. He sought Ernie for a live demonstration. Without knowing how to reload, his role was useless, his gun just parked passively.

  Once Pug correctly deduced how the gun worked, Ernie cut several short lengths of the belt for Pug to insert. When Pug did so perfectly, Ernie concluded that the man was a quick learner. He showed Pug how to release the mechanism and clear a jamb. As an afterthought to the minimal lesson, Ernie told him, “Easy does it. Short bursts only or it’ll overheat and jamb. And don’t cross over me with your fire or you’ll shoot me instead.” Pug was as ready as a quick mind and fifteen minutes could make him.

  Ernie returned to his own gun and made ready. He took a deep breath and surveyed his killing field for the first time. He knew live exercises would alert the gang if they happened to be near. He waited. What would be would be, he thought sadly.

  Puppy woofed an alarm. Everyone listened while Christie quieted her dog.

  Cindy called the alarm, “Bikers!”

  Ernie yelled, “Women in the humvees and lock ‘em!” Gathering at his deuce, Ernie said emphatically, “This time we shoot first! Pug, wait for me, and then shoot low for the motorcycles. Sweep the leaders back and forth in short bursts... make the surprise count! If they split around the island, you cover left, I’ll cover right. Lead ‘em slightly and let ‘em drive into your fire.

  Laz, you pick off anyone who gets near us, but stay in your foxhole. Likely be sixteen guns against us, but we’ll take some out before they get close! After that, chaos will reign! Remember… wait for me to get the range! Let’s do it and pray God help us!”

  The first bikers appeared rounding a distant bend. Ernie glassed them while they came into view. They were led by a large bearded man dressed in military camouflage riding a large motor tricycle with a tapered black banner streaming behind him. A ragtag gang followed, more than a dozen choppers he guessed, wisely spread apart, scrutinizing both shores. Ernie returned to his gun, sighted on the lead tricycle, and waited for him to come into range. Ernie noticed that the tricycle had its headlight blazing and the bearded biker swept it back and forth even though it was daylight.

  “Oh shit!” he said.

  As Ernie scoped the range, the leader waived his gang forward with a sweep of his arm. They spotted their tracks in the snow. The advantage of surprise evaporated.

  The gang sped forward as Ernie and Pug fired several bursts. Two bikers quickly fell, but Ernie somehow missed the tricycle, his tracers landing on both sides. Fractured ice erupted all about the motorcycles but they all raced on unharmed.

  Speeding along the narrow lead, the bikers became difficult to track as they flashed by. Each machine gun took out a biker on the far side of the lead. The motorcycles flew apart, spilling their riders, but those following easily avoided the gunfire. As the bikers reached the military vehicles, many fired shotguns ineffectively.

  Aiming upriver, Ernie shot one before they all passed out of range. Meanwhile, Lazlo noticed movement on the ice near the far shore. One of the downed bikers stood up, apparently only stunned by his fall. The man raised a long barreled shotgun and fired twice. His weapon was far more accurate and lead shot peppered the cab and windows of Pug’s deuce. By then, Lazlo had a bead on the man and killed him.

  Ernie looked back upriver without spotting the biker gang. Despite the ringing in his ears, he could hear motorcycles idling. After losing five buddies, they hadn’t moved on as he’d hoped. He yelled for Pug to cut and feed a new belt and then test fire it. Ernie did the same then checked the feed box, surprised by how much ammunition he’d used. His gun was hot.

  Ernie trained his spotting scope upriver where he’d last seen the bikers. Shaking with adrenaline, he had difficulty steadying the glass. He felt as ten
se as his first firefight. He took a deep breath and peered into the scope.

  Presently his burly counterpart came into view standing near a second man. They were doing precisely what he was… reconnoitering the opposition. They gazed long at each other seeking an advantage. Ernie didn’t learn much, but their presence told him all he really needed to know.

  He shouted a warning. “They’ll be back! Can’t see how many, but we killed only five, I think. They were safer close in, so expect that. Those choppers don’t look too stable on the ice… pro’bly why they’re not using their rifles.”

  “Can’t see a damn thing from this hole,” shouted Lazlo. “Warn me!”

  “I think they’ll try driving on the island. Laz… try taking ‘em out on the ice if you can. Pitch grenades into their path, not across. Save your shotgun for onshore.”

  Shortly the bikers came into view. They separated into two groups, spaced unevenly. Ernie warned, “Both sides of the island this time! Pug, you’re left and I’m right. Just cover your side and don’t try to follow ‘em around. Lazlo just try ‘n keep ‘em off our backside. Here they come!”

  Before coming within range, the bikers began swerving erratically from side to side, presenting difficult targets. Using the screen of trees at the broad end, they reached the island without a shot being fired. The gunners found the bikers nearly impossible to target as they swiftly passed by.

  Lazlo couldn’t see that his grenade exploded beyond his target without effect.

  “Lazlo,” screamed Ernie, “Pitch ‘em along their path, not across it!”

  As Ernie predicted, they maneuvered close to the cobbled shoreline, presenting only glimpses as they passed by the trees. One after another, the bikers emptied shotguns upon the military vehicles from both sides. None of the bikers went down. All stopped to reload before beginning another pass.

  When Ernie returned to his gun sight, he saw the tricycle stopping on the ice directly in front of him. The man raised a short barreled shotgun. In the next instant, Ernie’s helmet flew off. He felt a shocking pain to his scalp and shoulder. He settled halfway into the cab before he caught himself and nearly fainted. Blood streamed into his eyes. Taking deep breaths, he got a grip on himself and realized that he wasn’t mortally wounded. But he also realized that he could no longer operate the gun, already a futile effort at such close range. He reached down to retrieve his belt of grenades and fainted dead away into the cab.

  Pug blazed away at two bikers, missing them. Another drove onto shore in front of Christie’s humvee. He halted, stood up with his military rifle, eyeing Pug standing on the deuce with his back to him. Pug stood tall inside his ring, firing his fifty aiming as low as its mount permitted. Leaning over at an angle, he was desperately exposed. The biker unleashed a rifle burst into Pug’s head and back. Pug slumped lifeless beneath the ring.

  Lazlo saw the biker take aim at the last moment, but had only a grenade in his hand. Realizing he was too late, he could only retrieve his rifle and shoot the man as he paused, screaming a belly laugh at his deed.

  With both heavy machine guns out of action, an emboldened biker followed onshore and unslung his rifle. Alerted this time, Lazlo shot him without hesitation. Watching two comrades fall quickly on the island, the other bikers boldly circled close to shore surely aware both big guns were silent.

  During the frantic minutes of fighting, Cindy’s humvee had been pelted with blast after blast from the shotguns. At first, she cowered low in her seat below the windows, fearful that she would be wounded. A cacophony of machine gun fire and exploding grenades rang around her, terrifying her.

  Realizing that her vehicle protected her from every assault, she sat up observing the battle, and with surging adrenalin, grew angry. She was useless sitting in her humvee. She started her machine and looked for some way to help defeat the bikers.

  The galvanizing moment came when she witnessed the pig biker cruelly shoot Pug in the back and then laugh sadistically. Their own guns were now silent and they were losing! Memory of her rape flooded her mind. The death of her brother had ended in the same fashion… with sadistic laughter.

  She placed the grenade in the pocket of her parka, backed her humvee driving around Christie, and then entered the ice. She knew better than anyone how to compete with bikers and knew she had the far superior ride. She would avenge her brother and enjoy a sadistic pleasure of her own if they came near her.

  As Cindy turned to maneuver around her, Christie opened her door and screamed for Cindy to stop. Puppy seized the opportunity to bound out of the vehicle running alongside Cindy. Cindy slowed and merged behind a biker who had swerved to engage her but avoid the dog. As the biker raised his shotgun to fire, Puppy attacked. Instead of firing at Cindy’s vehicle, he lowered the shotgun and fired directly into the Malamute’s head.

  Enraged by the death of Puppy, Cindy pulled even with the pig and slowly drifted closer. The man raised his shotgun. The biker expected her to swerve, and she did so slightly – feigning surprise to encourage his bravado. Then instantly, she swerved her machine exactly as she had practiced. Using wheel and throttle, she brought her machine into a fishtail slide, striking him thunderously, hurling him through the air. She brought her humvee back in line.

  The biker behind her moved in to replace him hoping he might get lucky.

  Cindy slowed, allowing him to catch up until the biker slowed, wary of her tactic. As he raised his rifle to fire, she swerved into his path and braked hard. Having a grip on his chopper with only one hand, the man lost control and fell off his bike sliding ahead of Cindy’s humvee. Cindy swerved, correcting her course, and deliberately drove over the frantically crawling man.

  Aware of a new contest, the burly gang leader raced to confront the action. Watching the first event from behind, he was unsure of what had happened. After Cindy’s merciless run down, he realized that he was facing a skillful adversary. The speeding humvee appeared unarmed, an inviting target. He doubled back to the broad end of the island. There he gathered the remainder of his gang for a frontal rifle attack planning to avoid his companions’ fatal mistakes.

  Meanwhile, Lazlo had been running from one side of the island and back trying to assist Cindy. When a lone biker chose a shortcut across the island to rejoin his leader, his timing brought him facing Lazlo who fired his shotgun… twice for revenge.

  Lazlo returned seeking Cindy’s humvee. She reappeared far down the island, just rounding the narrow tip. Lazlo raced toward her fearing he was too late to help. Cindy was confronted by the tricycle leader and two of his gang.

  When Cindy rounded the corner, she realized she was facing a new tactic and slowed to decide on a strategy. Spread apart running nearly parallel, each biker carried a military rifle balanced on the handle bars. When each opened fire on her, she swerved from side to side to throw them off. Nevertheless, powerful slugs pounded her armor and windshield. Very quickly, her visibility was obscured, and a slug finally penetrated the thick laminations of her shattered windshield.

  She could see only the dark outline of the tricycle against the ice. Of them all, she feared that brute most. She stepped on the throttle and focused on the obscure image.

  The tricycle brute, late realizing that his prize seemed intent on ramming him head on, swerved sharply. Cindy corrected just in time to hit the tricycle on the sweep of its swerve. In the calamitous collision, Cindy smashed her face on her steering wheel. Her humvee slid along on the ice and came to a stop high centered on top of the tricycle. Blood poured from her nose. She ignored the blood seeking her grenade.

  Physically stunned, Cindy was disoriented in her steeply tilted vehicle. Brought to her senses by more gunfire pelting her armor, she tried backing off the wreck, but her tires only spun on the ice. Shifting, she succeeded in rolling forward, this time with her rear wheels off the ground.

  She now had a much bette
r view. She could see a man kneeling directly in front of her firing at nearly point blank range and she couldn’t stop him unless…

  Dismissing any notion of her own harm, she grabbed the grenade with both hands. When the biker ceased firing to reload, she armed the grenade, opened the door, counted three seconds, then hurled it under the door of the humvee, then slammed it closed.

  The biker finished reloading and stood to fire as the grenade rolled past his feet and stopped. He moved to kick it away, but wouldn’t remember anything ever again.

  Cindy’s humvee rocked with the explosion and tilted backward once more. Then she remembered… there was one more biker somewhere. She glanced around and found her forgotten shotgun. She saw a man outside just as she suspected! Without delay and without losing her resolve, she opened the door and rolled outside on the ice. Scrambling to the rear of her tilted vehicle for cover, she could see a man’s boots moving. She brought her shotgun to bear on the boots.

  “Cindy… you alright?” called Lazlo. “Where are you?”

  Abandoning the shotgun, she stood up shouting, “Lazlo! Oh my God, it’s you! I came so close to killing you, but Lazlo… look out! There’s another one around somewhere. He must be hiding.”

  Pointing, he said, “You mean that one over there?” Not far, the prostrate body of a ragtag biker lay under his chopper. “You took ‘em both out in that crash, I just finished him.”

  “Oh my God! Lazlo, are there any more?”

  “Don’t think so; not on the island for sure.”

  “Where’s that brute on the tricycle? I don’t see him anywhere!”

  “In hog hell.” Lazlo pointed underneath her tilted humvee.

  “Good! I won’t even look! Fuck him!”

  “Cindy… you’re hurt. Let’s go find Christie.”