Holding Their Own XV: Bloodlust

by Nobody, Joe

Ketchum’s soldier, however, did receive an “A” for aggression.

  While Nick stood exposed on the corner, the SUV engine roared to life, the driver punching the accelerator, the front wheels turning to aim the heavy, accelerating vehicle directly at the big guy as if he were a bug to be crushed.

  Nick, acting confused, held his ground, mumbling, “There’s no way you’re going to ruin the front end of that shiny ride just for the fun of taking out a hobo… is there?”

  At the last moment, the SUV swerved, sliding to a stop less than eight feet away from the vagrant imposter. Meanwhile, Bishop centered the red dot of his optic on the driver’s face, his thumb flipping off the safety.

  For several seconds, the two men inside the vehicle seemed to be studying the homeless guy next to their ride. Nick, no longer threatened, calmly returned to rearranging the contents of his cart. In reality, his hand had closed around the grip of a .45 caliber automatic pistol hidden amongst the trash.

  The driver’s side window then began lowering, both Texans ready to open fire if a barrel appeared. None did.

  Instead, a smirking, bearded face thrust through the opening, the driver’s mouth flashing a full grill of gold teeth. “Hey! What’s your name, dude?”

  Looking around as if he wasn’t sure who was being addressed, Nick finally pointed to his chest as if to say, “Who? Me?”

  “Yes, you. There’s nobody else around here, dipshit. What’s your name?” the interior voice jeered.

  “Nick.”

  “Well, Nick, my name is Apollo, and I run this part of New Orleans for Blackjack Jones. You don’t go south, you hear? If I catch you any further south, I’ll kill you where you stand and feed your carcass to my dogs. You understand?”

  “Which way is south?” Nick asked, keeping up his innocent act.

  “You can go that way as far as you want,” Apollo replied, pointing toward Lake Pontchartrain. “Don’t go that direction, or I’ll stomp your ass into the Louisiana dirt. You hear?”

  Nodding vigorously, Nick repeated the warning. “Don’t go that way,” he said, pointing in the direction the SUV had just come.

  “Good,” Apollo replied, and then as an afterthought, the passenger reached toward the cup holder and held up a can of beer. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Yes. It’s a beer. I’ve not seen one of those in a long, long time,” Nick responded, his eyes opening wide with desire as he licked his dirty lips.

  “Well, it’s half a beer. Let’s see how quick you are, Nick,” he harassed the vagrant, tossing the open can over his hood and into the street.

  As expected, Nick rushed for the now-foaming container as it landed, skipped and rolled across the blacktop. Keeping in character, his motion was awkward, half-limping and half-skipping for the prize before it spilled into the asphalt.

  Just as the imposter’s hand closed around the aluminum can, Apollo revved the engine and took his foot off the brake.

  It took Nick’s true speed and agility to roll away from the SUV’s front tires, the big man barely managing to avoid being clipped by the front bumper. As the vehicle sped away, he could hear cackling from the passengers inside.

  For thirty seconds, Nick stood motionless on the corner, watching as the automobile sped away. Twice, while he was still visible in the rearview mirror, the big man pretended to sip from the nearly empty can.

  When he was certain that Apollo wasn’t coming back, Nick waved Bishop and the two locals forward.

  “That was close,” Bishop said once he had rejoined his friend.

  “Those guys are out of control,” Nick replied, shaking his head. “For the first time in their lives, there are no authorities, no laws, no enforcement, and no moral judgments. The world has become a jungle, and they are enjoying the life of a hyena. They only have to be concerned about Blackjack the lion, and he probably doesn’t bother to interfere too often.”

  “Well, then, let’s give them something else to worry about,” Bishop replied, nodding toward the pump station.

  A few minutes later, the foursome was entering the London Avenue Station, Bishop using a length of iron rebar to twist off a rusted padlock and chain.

  It was immediately clear that no one had entered the facility for some time, the dust filling the entrance thick and undisturbed.

  Once inside, Charlie and Mr. Rutledge took over, the two Alliance schemers keeping watch over the locals who were now complicit in their plot. The structure’s interior was jammed full of super-sized industrial equipment, including pipes, electrical wiring the size of Bishop’s wrist. An assortment of warning stickers indicating high voltage danger loomed from every corner.

  Using flashlights loaned by the visiting men from the west, Charlie began searching for the three-ring binders that contained the station’s operating procedures and instructions. Mr. Rutledge was busy looking for the main control panel.

  Nearly an hour passed before the two men from New Orleans announced that they had located what they needed. “I want to read this manual in detail,” the retired engineer announced, “but I’m certain these pumps can be reversed.”

  “Let’s head back to the friendly confines of Sister Rose’s underground railroad,” Nick nodded, happy with the report. “And Bishop, this time, you’re taking point.”

  They called it Operation Noah.

  Despite the Biblical reference, Sister Rose sat in silence, listening as Bishop, Nick, and finally, Mr. Rutledge outlined the plan’s concepts and purpose. “Basically, we’re going to fake a flood. Our primary objective is to drive Blackjack and his men out of the city without harming the infrastructure or the remaining residents,” Nick summarized. “There will be violence, shooting, and some number of causalities on both sides. But… in my professional opinion, the end justifies the means. Here is what I mean by that. My years of military experience with both the United States Army and the Alliance tell me that fewer people will die via this operation than if we let things continue on their current trajectory.”

  After a deep sigh, the nun finally spoke. “I can see a million things that could go wrong with this strategy. What if you can’t stop the pump and the city actually floods?”

  “Eventually, the diesel generators at the pump station will run out of fuel,” Mr. Rutledge countered. “There is a manual override on the canal side of the gates. We can stop the inflow of water.”

  For nearly a half an hour, the sister fired one question after another, each of which prompted a reasonable answer. It was her final inquiry that seemed to stump the two conspirators against Blackjack Jones. “I fail to see how this is going to allow you to capture or execute Blackjack Jones, and isn’t that why you’re here? If you do succeed in driving him from the city, how does that justify your risking your lives? And most importantly of all, how does this initiative help your wife heal, Bishop?”

  “It has become clear to both of us that we’re not going to be able to root Ketchum out of his hide using our original plan,” Bishop began. “We had no idea that you and your people were living in such close proximity to his gang, or that our efforts would cause him to attack your community. Now, our only option is to try and smoke him out… drive him out of his burrow… and pray we can catch him on the run.”

  Nick nodded his agreement, “There are several phases of our plan where Blackjack might deem it necessary to become personally involved, to push back against the effort to topple his empire. If he shows himself, then we’ll have a better opportunity to handle him than we do now. If he doesn’t surface and he runs away instead, then at least we’ve weakened him significantly and will have a far less dangerous animal to hunt. Like Bishop said, it’s really our only option other than putting your people at risk.”

  Rising from her chair abruptly, Sister Rose began her normal pacing. The men still seated could almost hear the gears of her powerful mind churning the information laid before her. After a few minutes, she finally stopped and turned to face the four eager faces awaiting her decision.

/>   “While I cannot condone violence of any nature, this scheme of yours wouldn’t be the first time the Good Lord has used a flood to cleanse the earth. We will need a few days to move our people to more secure, hidden facilities before you begin. I wish you Godspeed, gentlemen.”

  Surprised by the level of activity surrounding them, especially given the pre-dawn hour, the two co-conspirators watched as community members hustled and bustled in all directions. True to her word, Sister Rose was evacuating her people.

  While Bishop and Nick negotiated the subterranean maze, they encountered hundreds of anxious and apprehensive refugees fleeing the safety of their accommodations, most of the rushing residents carrying small bags of clothing and other personal belongings as the relocation began.

  As they continued toward the edge of Sister Rose’s secluded network of paths, the pair encountered an older couple who could manage the move themselves, but were having extreme difficulty with the logistics of bringing along their meager possessions. Bishop noted that while filthy and worn, their clothing was of a higher quality than most of the other natives he’d encountered. The woman’s sizeable, emerald-cut, diamond wedding ring was another indicator of their previous wealth.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” Bishop offered, reaching for the golf bag the husband was using to haul their scant belongings. The monogrammed bag had no doubt attended meetings with global movers and shakers and toured some of the most prestigious courses on three continents. Today, that same container rode on a two-wheel cart, pulled by its owner through a devastated city. Instead of irons and woods, it was stuffed with a blackened pot, a metal drinking cup, and miscellaneous clothing.

  “Thank you,” the gent uttered as Bishop pulled the carrier’s wheel free of a snag. “Are you the two men from the Alliance who are going to give us our city back?”

  “We’re going to try,” Nick replied, holding out a hand to assist the feeble woman with a difficult step.

  “God bless both of you,” she stated with a firm voice. “Sister Rose has done so much for us, but to be honest, I’m glad something is finally being done about those vermin who’ve been ruling the roost around here. Both of you should be careful… there are very dangerous men out there in the streets.”

  “I was a banker,” the husband announced, and then he paused, a melancholy sensation overtaking him as the memories flooded back. “We lost everything in the collapse.”

  Bishop nodded, having gotten accustomed to strangers declaring their former status. It was a common phenomenon since the apocalypse, people often blurting out what their occupation had been early in a conversation. It had taken Bishop a while to realize that the past was the only thing some poor souls had left to hold onto. The man next to him was saying, “I know I don’t look like much right now, but I was successful in a previous life. I accomplished much. I got things done. I was a winner. I know I am not in a position to earn your respect today, young man, but at one point, I had the world by the tail and believed the sky was the limit.”

  “With any luck, you’ll get a chance to put your skills and experience back to work again,” Bishop responded, not knowing what else to say. “New Orleans will need people like you when the recovery begins.”

  “Well, I had begun to doubt whether the Big Easy would ever know normalcy again. I can thank you for the glimmer of hope I now see. Good luck and take care, young man,” the banker replied as he reached to support his wife along the bumpy path.

  After watching the older couple continue on their way, Bishop and Nick hit the trail again. “I wonder if they’ll make it long enough to see things get back to where they were?”

  Shrugging as he climbed over the burnt beams of a collapsed building, Bishop replied with a question of his own, “And even if they do, will they ever achieve their former glory? That guy probably had more stocks and bonds than we could count. At his age, and considering the limitations of his health, there is no way he will ever accumulate that kind of wealth again. How in hell do people like him live with that?”

  “Maybe they’ll be thankful just to have three a day, clean water to drink, and a flush toilet.” Nick suggested. “Losing everything has a strange effect on a lot of people.”

  “I would think the wealthy would take it the hardest. Speaking for the underprivileged masses, we didn’t have anything to speak of before it was all taken away.”

  They traveled to the edge of the hidden path not far from the overgrown park where Sister Rose’s men had taken them out with blow guns. Glancing down at the hand-drawn map Nick had made with Charlie’s assistance, the big man commented, “The apartment complex is four blocks west. Time to pretend we’re homeless again.”

  A short time later, the two thespians were sneaking into the travel agency’s back door. They could hear the hum of the replacement generators, a few dim lights showing in the darkened windows of the building that housed a portion of Ketchum’s crew.

  They scouted the complex, both wanting to make sure their last shenanigans hadn’t resulted in someone posting a sentry. Neither Bishop’s night vision nor Nick’s thermal were able to detect any sign of security.

  The sun was about to crest in the east when two bent shadows scurried across the street and into the complex’s garage. A moment later, Nick tested the customized pickup’s rear doors. They were unlocked, which prompted the big man to give Bishop a thumb’s up and then begin hoisting himself up and into the crew cab’s backseat.

  In a flash of pre-dawn hustle, Bishop rushed to the generators and repeated his spiking of the fuel supply. After pouring a glass jar of sandy soil into each tank, he replaced the caps and darted back for the garage.

  Joining Nick in the backseat, the two hunters stayed low and out of sight. “Remind me never to put a lift kit on my pickup,” Bishop whispered. “You can’t see what is in the backseat until you’ve climbed into the cab. Who knows what kind of ne’er-do-well might be hanging out in there?”

  “Or you could just be smart enough to lock your truck,” the big man replied.

  Nick was just screwing a cancelation device onto his pistol when the first generator sputtered and quit. Its twin soon bit the dust… literally.

  The sun was up by the time the first cursing man stumbled out of the complex and approached the silenced energy makers. Either sleepy or hungover, he apparently didn’t notice that both units had again broken at just the same time. Like before, he ventured immediately to a row of nearby gas cans.

  As he began to fill the closest generator’s tank, a second biker-type appeared at the door. “Not again?” the man grunted as he hurried to help his comrade.

  The new arrival was more alert, removing a large pistol from his belt. “Did you see anybody loitering out here? No way both of these units stopped running again. This is the second time in three days!”

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the first responder realized what his friend was implying. It took the two men only a few minutes to check the area and verify they were alone.

  Within a quarter-hour, five more of Ketchum’s gang had arrived outside, including the same woman who’d first discovered Bishop’s handiwork and the man named Lefty who drove the blue pickup.

  “We must be getting bad gasoline,” Lefty concluded. “It’s just not possible that four of these fuckers just crash and burn like this. Somebody help me load them up. I’m going to raise hell with the guys down at the warehouse.”

  Bishop and Nick heard and felt the two disabled units being loaded in the bed. A minute later, Lefty was climbing in behind the wheel, Crow joining him in the passenger seat.

  Out of the shadows, the co-conspirators sprang upright at the same instant, Nick shoving the barrel of his pistol into Lefty’s ear, Bishop dropping a length of paracord over Crow’s head and then pulling it tight around his throat.

  “Drive or die right here,” Nick growled in a menacing tone.

  It took the terrified henchman a moment to regain control of his key ring, and then the big tr
uck’s diesel engine fired to life. “Head to the warehouse,” Nick ordered, pressing the muzzle even deeper into Lefty’s skull.

  “What do you guys want? Food? Let us go, and I’ll get you more grub than you can swallow in a month,” Lefty offered a few blocks later.

  “Drive and shut up,” Nick ordered.

  Two blocks from the warehouse, Nick ordered their chauffeur to pull over. “This will do. Park next to the curb right here.”

  After doing as he was instructed, Lefty tried to negotiate again. “What do you want, dude? You want the truck? Fine. Take it.”

  “Where is Blackjack?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lefty stuttered, suddenly realizing he was facing far more than a couple of desperate homeless men. “Nobody knows.”

  “Bullshit!” Nick barked, making the unnecessary, but very effective motion of cocking his pistol.

  “Since the Army came for the barge, he’s been in hiding. Nobody knows where’s he’s living… at least none of us do!” Lefty insisted. “Crow and I are just nobodies around here. We’re just hired hands!”

  “How do you contact him?”

  With the pitch of his voice now unnaturally higher, Lefty responded, “The guy I report to… my boss… he uses a special radio frequency. That’s the only way Blackjack talks to anybody.”

  “Get out,” Nick then commanded. “Do it real slow. Get cute, and I’ll give you a second mouth in the back of your skull.”

  Lefty, after a glance at the now purple-faced Crow, did as he was told. Once he stepped on the pavement, Charlie and three of his men appeared from a doorway.

  Bishop gave the paracord some slack, allowing the blood to again flow freely to Crow’s brain. “Your turn,” the Texan commanded as Nick covered the passenger with his weapon. “Nice and slow.”

  “What… what are they going to do with us?” Lefty asked in a pleading tone as the homeless men began tying his hands with a length of cord.

  “They’re going to eat you,” Bishop responded with a straight face. “You guys should have shared your food with them a long time ago.”