“Shit!” Lawdog yelled, stomping on the accelerator pedal. They needed this truck and the last thing he wanted was the engine getting shot up.
Feeling exposed on the side of the truck, Mundo jumped clear. He rolled several times and took cover behind the base of a tree. He leveled his rifle and dumped rounds at the house, moving from window to window, assuming that was where the fire had to be coming from. He shot out his mag, ejected it, and was well into his second when someone kicked him in the leg.
He rolled onto his back and started to raise his rifle to the threat but a hand caught it. It was Lawdog.
“Your crazy ass is going to get shot!” Mundo yelled. “Get down!”
“It’s rounds cooking off, dumb shit,” Lawdog said. “Ain’t nobody shooting at you.”
“What?”
“Ammunition. The fire. Rounds are exploding,” Lawdog repeated slowly, as if he were trying to explain something complex to a very young child.
Mundo flicked his safety on and extended a hand toward Lawdog. “Help me the fuck up. Here I am trying to save your ass, trying to provide cover fire, and you call me a dumbass.”
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
The tank was round, mounted on a raised stand, and held five hundred gallons. There was a stained rod hanging on hooks that was used for measuring the depth of the fuel in the tank. While Lawdog readied the tanker for receiving fuel, Mundo flipped open the inlet on the round tank and lowered the rod into it. He pulled it out, then held it against the outside of the tank to see how much fuel was in there.
“A little more than half,” Mundo said.
“Better than nothing,” Lawdog replied.
“You want to use their nozzle?”
“Too slow. I told you, people will probably start showing up soon. We gonna end up having to shoot our way out of here.”
Lawdog uncoiled a heavy hose from the tanker and they dropped one end of that into the inlet on the bulk tank. Lawdog restarted the truck and activated a transfer pump that began quickly moving the fuel. They could hear it splashing inside the tanker but there was nothing quick about the process, especially when they were expecting company at any moment.
The pump on their truck moved fuel at twenty-five gallons per minute. They were around fifteen minutes into the process when it started sucking in air and the transfer rate slowed. Mundo moved the intake hose around, making sure it was catching all the fuel.
“Don’t shove it to the bottom,” Lawdog warned. “That’s where all the shit settles. It will clog things up.”
“I know that,” Mundo grumbled.
Lawdog killed the pump. “Roll up the gear. I’m getting a weird feeling. I’m going to grab some binoculars and check our six before we move out.”
Mundo hated taking orders – they all did – but Lawdog was a senior guy, a lieutenant in their organization. Lawdog took some binoculars from the cab of the truck and climbed up on the bumper, scanning the area.
Mundo finished with the hose and secured everything for the road. “We going to go through these barns or anything?”
“Uh, no. We got company.”
Mundo moved around to the front of the truck. He squinted into the distance but couldn’t see anything without optics. “What is it?”
“Men with guns walking down the road. I told you that fire would draw people.” Lawdog hopped down from the bumper.
“I told you I didn’t have a choice. They were holed up in the basement. Besides, we got men. We can take them.”
“We got business to attend to. We need to get on with it,” Lawdog said. He went around to the driver’s side of the tanker and stashed the binoculars. “Get in.”
Mundo climbed in the passenger side. “What’s the plan?”
“I only see folks coming from the east. We’re going to go west, following the farm road through the field. Once we put some distance between us, we’ll get back on the road.”
“What do you need me to do?” Mundo asked.
“Shoot people if they get close.”
Mundo smiled. “Roger that.”
Two fuel runs that day left The Bond with topped-off trucks and a full tanker. The second run went similarly to the first, with the exception that there was no grenade and no fire. Still, a rural family was left dead and the bulk fuel intended for their farming operations was stolen. That was of no concern to the members of The Bond. A trail of bodies was nothing new to them. It was business as usual.
Was a tornado concerned about the homes it flattened? Did the locust care about the crops it decimated? Did the coyote worry about the calves it ate? The Bond saw themselves similarly. Predators were a natural outgrowth of the circumstance. They were as inevitable as rain. A force of nature as inevitable as death itself.
“Y’all done good,” Thomas said. “We got food, fuel, and a warm place to sleep for a few nights. You earned yourself a little fun.”
A cheer went up from the men. Their efforts were always rewarded and they appreciated that about their leader. It was how Thomas maintained loyalty, how he kept The Bond in line.
“We send a team out in the morning. They’ll go hunting in Chillicothe and bring back party favors. Three trucks. Just like before, we draw straws. Short straws stay here and keep watch.”
“Why can’t we all go?” Mundo asked. “We should just move on and set up camp in Chillicothe. We can do what the hell we want until we get tired of the place. We pick it clean, then move on. Why we got to stay out here in the boonies?”
“You ain’t thinking with your brain,” Thomas pointed out. “Cities have resources but what else they got?”
“People,” Lawdog said, giving Mundo a smug look.
Thomas pointed at Lawdog like a teacher acknowledging a smart student. “That’s right. They’ll be nipping at our heels like starving dogs, trying to take our shit. We’ll have to worry constantly about being ambushed or snipers shooting us from windows. There’s probably other gangs there too – cops, bikers, and bangers.”
“Ain’t no gangs worse than us,” a man said. “The Bond is the ultimate.”
Thomas smiled. “I agree with you there, Noodles, but if they catch us off-guard we could lose people. Ain’t nobody wants that. The Bond is smarter than everyone else. That’s why we’re going to last and they’re going to fade out.”
“What are the mission priorities?” Lawdog asked. “Anything particular we need, besides the party favors?”
“We were able to stock up on medical supplies here,” Thomas said. “I’d never thought of a farm supply as being a pharmacy before but they are, just for animals. A horse bandage works on a man just as well. Some of the antibiotics are the same. The topical stuff is the same. So we’re good on that. Ammo is always a need. Long-term food. Hygiene items. Spare tires for these trucks.”
A man who went by the name Cold Case spoke up. He was one of the two mechanics in the group. “These trucks are getting heavy. Weight is a concern. Anything we can do to keep the weight down would be helpful.”
“You got any suggestions?” Thomas asked.
“Keep an eye out for lightweight gear like aluminum jacks and aluminum wrenches. Think twice before dragging back some heavy crap you don’t really need. It might also be a good idea to pick up a few more trailers. We can pull weight easier than we can haul weight at this point.”
“You heard the man,” Thomas said. “Keep an eye out for trailers. A couple of those box trailers like contractors use would be ideal.”
“Or those boxed-in car trailers like people use for race cars,” Lawdog suggested. “I’ll add that to our list.”
Mundo grinned. “That would be ideal for bringing back the party favors.”
“But you’re definitely good with us bringing back party favors?” Lawdog asked. He didn’t make any assumptions without a clear okay from the boss.
“You’ve earned it,” Thomas said. “No more than one woman per man. We don’t want a riot on our hands.”
“And
no sheep, Mundo,” Lawdog said with a grin.
Mundo grabbed a sack of grass seed from a pallet and heaved it toward Lawdog. He caught it but the weight bowled him over. The other men cracked up. Those two were always jabbing at each other but it wasn’t serious.
“Easy now,” Thomas said. “You’ll need your strength for tomorrow. Save the fight for the enemy.”
Lawdog rolled the sack off himself and took his seat. He flipped Mundo the finger.
“Take three trucks and empty them of all but the essentials. I want that done before dinner because the away team needs to leave before dawn. It gets dark early and I want you out of that city before dark.”
“What about alcohol, T?” Mundo asked.
“What about it?”
“If we score some, can we bring it back?”
Thomas responded patiently. “We been through this shit, man, and I thought I was clear. You guys can smoke all the weed you want. I don’t give a shit. Stay high all day long if you want, but there will not be booze in my camp.”
“A man can drink without getting drunk,” Mundo pointed out.
“Yeah, but how many times does a drinking man say, ‘Oh, one more ain’t gonna hurt?’” Thomas said. “Then he has another and another until he’s falling down drunk. A man don’t want to drink alone either, so he’s always got buddies drinking with him. Then you got a whole camp full of drunk-ass men who can’t defend themselves. I got your back and you damn well better have mine. You can’t do that when you’re drunk. If booze is that important to you then I got no place for you.”
Mundo sighed loudly and looked down, chastised. It was always him bringing the topic up because he missed drinking more than he missed a lot of things about the old world. Some of the guys would bitch about missing a particular food, video games, or going out to the club. Mundo didn’t care. Mundo missed drinking and Thomas didn’t show any sign of weakening on that point.
Noticing that Mundo had quit arguing but had not clearly conceded, Thomas addressed him. “We good, Mundo? You understand the rules, right?”
“Yeah, T.”
“I hope so. What’s the penalty for being drunk?” Thomas was aware they all knew the answer but he wanted them to say it. He wanted Mundo to hear it again.
“You get beat to death,” several men said.
“By who?” Thomas asked.
“By everyone,” Lawdog said. “Cause you put everyone at risk.”
Thomas smiled. “That’s right. And I don’t have to point out that there’s some strong dudes in this room. Getting beat to death by this group is gonna hurt. You got me?”
Thomas was pleased to notice that even Mundo was with the program now, nodding along with the rest. “That’s good. Now what’s for dinner?”
“Shish kebabs, baked potatoes, some grilled vegetables, and macaroni and cheese,” Buddha Boy announced.
“Damnation.” Thomas grinned. “That sounds pretty damn good. Y’all best be getting to work on that. Sooner you’re done, sooner we can all eat.”
Thomas’s strategy of announcing what they were having for dinner achieved its desired effect. Hunger motivated the men and they rushed into their work. If he’d allowed them to put their chores off until after dinner it would have taken twice as long. He was also amused to find that this tactic worked on himself. Hearing what awaited them when the trucks were emptied, Thomas pitched in to help alongside his men.
4
The strategy they used in Chillicothe was the same they’d used in Columbus, and in several smaller cities along their route. The three trucks ran in a tight convoy, sticking to around thirty-five miles per hour once they entered the populated parts of the city. There were six men per truck; a driver and a navigator rode in the cab with four gunmen riding in the bed. The olive drab covers that normally protected the truck bed had been removed to allow the gunmen to see their surroundings. One of the trucks pulled a livestock trailer, a new addition picked up on the way into the city.
They’d used a different strategy in Toledo and had learned since that experience. There they’d chosen to not alarm people with their presence. They drove along, searching for the supplies they needed. They didn’t appear threatening and made an effort not to fire their weapons. That “kinder and gentler” approach nearly got them killed. Organized elements within the city had seen their trucks and correctly assumed they held all kinds of goodies. They could have even assumed that The Bond soldiers were an aid convoy there to help folks. Either way, the locals boxed the convoy in and forced them to fight their way out of the city.
They’d lost two trucks, which they’d since replaced. They lost three men, which they’d not been able to replace. The Bond couldn’t just allow anyone off the street to join. You had to have the right credentials -- military with a gang background – and they weren’t exactly accepting resumes.
A lesson had been learned there. They understood that it was better to send in a small, agile force of fighters rather than to commit their entire convoy to the mission. Those small groups scavenged, looted, and occasionally brought back women for entertainment. The bulk of the convoy never passed through the center of a city now. They camped on the outskirts and launched raids into towns. When they moved on, they stayed on outer beltways or took side roads to skirt the city.
The other thing they’d learned was that there was no benefit in trying to present a peaceful presence. They found no advantage in trying to appear non-threatening. When they went in, they cranked their menace to full volume. They didn’t waste ammo blasting away at windows, cars, and signs. They did expend it on people, though. If you were unfortunate enough to be out walking around when The Bond hit town, you were probably going to die just to set an example.
The one exception to that was if you were an attractive woman worthy of an invitation to the after-party. That invitation came in the form of being zip-tied and hooded until the mission was over. Anyone else wandering the street, tending a garden, scavenging, or otherwise minding their own business was likely to be shot.
The couple of times they’d tried it since Toledo had established this as a sound approach. When they hit town, they were the baddest of the bad. They were not people you wanted to fuck with. They were not travelers whom you should attempt to rob, you shouldn’t try to steal their vehicles, nor should you try to engage them in a firefight. The safest thing for you to do was run. If you couldn’t run, you had better burrow into a deep hole and stay there until they were gone.
In Chillicothe they hit a suburban shopping center first. While the conditions from town to town varied, they’d found these shopping centers located away from residential districts to be less ravaged than those closer to the population centers. This one didn’t have a grocery store or a gas station, the two things that interested most people right now. They pulled their trucks into a central lot and parked them alongside each other. A single man was designated to watch the trucks.
“You know the routine,” Lawdog said. “You need us, you fire a shot. Do not leave the vehicles for any reason.”
“Ahh, why I got to stay here and watch the trucks?” Joker complained.
“Because you ain’t good for nothing else,” Mundo jabbed.
“Yeah, fuck you,” Joker said.
“Knock it off and listen,” Lawdog growled. “We’ll split up by truck teams. Stay close to your team. My team is going to hit the restaurants and see if we can scrape up any food. Skitzo is running second team. You guys will be hitting the sporting goods store and the department store next to it. Third team is under Droopy. You guys are going to hit the drug store. If that place is cleaned out, head down to the building supply store. We’re needing some big waterproof lockers for storing stuff. Can’t just keep throwing shit in the truck like it’s a closet. We need some organization. Any questions?”
“We supposed to haul all that back here to the trucks?” Droopy asked. “Why can’t we just take our truck with us?”
“‘Cause that ain’t how we
doing it,” Lawdog said. “We leave the damn trucks here. If you find a bunch of stuff we need, put it out front with a guard on it. We’ll go around and collect it when we’re all done.”
“He’s just too sorry to walk down there,” Mundo said. “His ass is getting lazy in his old age.”
“I’ll show you some old age when I kick your ass around this parking lot like a soccer ball,” Droopy warned.
Mundo laughed and Droopy lunged at him. Mundo twisted and slipped away.
“Get moving,” Lawdog said. “You fools are wasting time.”
The teams moved off, the men adjusting gear and clothing that had shifted during the truck ride. Lawdog and Mundo were on the same team. Mundo walked with an energy none of the other men felt, like he was walking a foot off the ground. He always acted like he was jacked up on something but that was simply the way he was wired.
“Better watch fucking with Droopy,” Lawdog cautioned. “He’ll catch your ass one day and mess you up good. He’ll squeeze you like a tube of toothpaste and wring all your insides out.”
“Ah, we just playing,” Mundo said.
“You just playing. Cat like Droopy don’t ever play. Shit is always serious for him. He get a hand on you, you might be a dead man.”
“He get a hand on me he better hope I’m a dead man.”
Lawdog laughed. Mundo would never learn. He was going to pick on the wrong man one day and that was going to be the end of him. Since Joker, back guarding the trucks, was from their team, Lawdog had five men total, compared to the six the rest of the teams had. They were going to hit some of the chain restaurants and see what they could find. They had no expectation they’d find a working freezer full of steaks or a steaming plate of mozzarella sticks but there might be other things they could use.
Most people who hit these places were after canned foods but there were other things a group the size of The Bond could use. They found bags of tortilla and potato chips, condiments, jars of olives, pickles, and sun dried tomatoes. Sometimes there were cases of pasta and noodles stashed away in storerooms. If the restaurant had a bar they often found items that people seeking beer and liquor overlooked, such as those tiny cans of juices used to make mixed drinks. These items weren’t staples the men could live off of but they could certainly spice up a bland meal.
Brutal Business: Book Three in the Mad Mick Series Page 3