The Longest Road (Book 2): The Change

by Thompson, A. S.

  “Come on,” Steve whispered, “where are you, Sarah?”

  As his scanning and suppressive fire continued, he watched Travis liberate Collin and Nick. As promised, Steve covered the men, firing seven shots, each dropping their intended targets.

  Travis turned and gave a thumbs up to Steve. By the time Travis fired his last shell, Collin and Nick army-crawled to the exit and met him. The second lieutenant pulled the men up and led them down the beach, away from the bullets and into the darkness of the shoreline.

  Two of the prisoners had now been saved; Sarah was all who remained.

  Where is she? What happened to her?

  Then, the worst possible dilemma presented itself. In slow motion, he was forced to choose.

  He noticed West drop a handgun and stop in his tracks. A few yards in front of the Delta operator was a biker taking aim at a him.

  West was defenseless. Death was imminent.

  In his peripheral, Steve saw Sarah. His lover rose from the ground, dazed and confused. Behind her stood Jimmy Sanchez.

  Steve had one bullet left. One shot. One impossible decision.

  Use the round to kill the man responsible for all evil they endured- a pathway that could also liberate his lover. Or use the bullet to save the life a friend; the man who freed him from jail and gave him this opportunity.

  Decisions.

  ***

  A pack of the bikers changed their aim to Collin and Nick. Both weaponless, both trapped. Both easy targets.

  Without hesitation, West protected his allies and emptied his magazine on the bikers. The last of his kills was a beefy Mexican thug wearing a sleeveless leather jacket. West utilized the left lens of the man's dark-tinted sunglasses as a target. He pulled the trigger and the bullet made a new home in the man's frontal lobe.

  The sergeant major was all business on the outside. Inside, he was impressed in himself for making the shot with an unfamiliar gun from forty feet out.

  As the slide locked to the back, West discarded the weapon into the sand, and then readied his knife again.

  “Sarah!” West yelled, noticing the confused girl rise to her feet. She stumbled around like a drunk leaving a bar. “Stay down! I'm coming for you!”

  She must have been knocked out by the blast,West thought.

  West took one step toward the rescue attempt and then stopped. In front of him stood Ruben Torres, burned and bloodied. West couldn’t tell if it was sweat or tears running down the man’s cheeks.

  “You killed my brother!” Ruben said, passionately infuriated, yet not screaming. Ruben pointed his free hand to the area behind West. His brother was one of the many bodies West took out with a blade. “Look!”

  But West didn’t dare take his eyes off the armed man.

  Slowly, Ruben paced toward West, cursing and saying, “Puta de mierda! Mira a él! You piece of shit! Look at him!”

  West understood the Spanish. As he gazed at the butchery behind him, he couldn't tell which body was the man's brother and frankly didn't care.

  Ruben pulled the hammer back.

  “Dizzy,” he whispered, weeping. Then he increased his volume enough for West to hear. “This is for my brother.”

  Craig West never thought he would die like this. In the early days, he believed he would fall like so many of his brothers on the battlefield. After surviving a lifetime of war, he figured he would simply grow old and pass. Then, the world ended and he just stopped thinking about death altogether. But here. Now. Death crept back into his life.

  So this is how it is, huh, Chucky? he thought. Sergeant Major Craig West clenched his knife tight and waited for the bullet.

  Well, you can throw the knife and get the kill, but would you be fast enough? Hell, do you really want to?He continued thinking, as part of him began to welcome the prospect of death.Maybe this is for the best...

  War was a numbers game. Like everything else, there was luck, sure, but West knew it was a matter of time.

  Maybe this is the battlefield you were destined to die on?

  “You're dead!” Ruben screamed.

  Then, a bullet whizzed through the air and stopped Ruben from pulling the trigger. The round entered the Mexican's right temple, expanded the brain matter and exploded out the other side.

  Utterly shocked, West watched Ruben Torres drop to the ground.

  What the hell? he thought.

  Wasting no time, West retreated to the Douglas-fir behind him. His situational awareness knew that Travis was escorting Collin and Nick away to cover, and that Larry wasn’t coming back to play hero. Then, he knew. The particular sound of bullet, amidst the flurry of gunfire came from a rifle. More specifically from the barrel of a .30-06 rifle.

  Steve...

  ***

  As fast as he could, Steve zigzagged around burning debris, dead bodies and other obstacles. A spray of bullets from a Mac-10 kicked up the sand inches behind his feet, causing Steve to discard his emptied rifle and push harder through the unstable ground.

  Five feet from West's position, Steve dove for cover- another cluster of too-close-for-comfort rounds hit the spot where his feet would have been.

  “Holy flying vaginas that was close,” Steve said, bringing in all of his limbs so nothing was exposed.

  West shifted his position in order for Steve to achieve full cover.

  “Good shot,” West said emotionlessly.

  “Had to make it count,” Steve answered as a bullet tore off a section of bark next to his ear. “It was my last round.”

  “Well, thanks for making it count.”

  “Don't thank me too much, I almost used it on Jimmy,” Steve admitted, then panic struck. “Sarah! I have to get to Sarah! Jimmy has her! I have to get her!”

  Steve scrambled to leave cover, but fortunately for him, West interceded. He pulled Steve back as another spray of gunfire kicked up the earth around the protruding roots.

  “You’re not going anywhere. We’re pinned down.”

  “But Sarah is-”

  “I know. I saw her, too,” West interjected. “I was on my way to get her, then, well, you saw.”

  “Do you hear that? Sarah is calling out to me!” Steve exclaimed. He made another effort to leave the cover, but West physically restrained him again.

  “Hold on, Steve. I know you want to get her, but you're not thinking clearly.”

  Steve fought back.

  “I don't care! Ineedto get her!”

  “You should care! You aren't going to be much help to anyone if you're dead.”

  Steve swallowed and for the first time really thought about it.

  “What's your plan of attack? What’s your weapons situation? What is your physical route? These are things you have to think of in split seconds. If you want to get her back, you have to listen to me. I know you are a great shot and have excellent situational awareness, but you are thinking emotionally. So stop.”

  “I'm listening,” Steve answered, shifting to one knee, “but hurry!”

  “Good,” West said sternly. He peeked his head out from behind the tree. Within seconds, he had assessed the situation. He led off with a grunt, and then said, “Good and bad.”

  “Bad.”

  “There's eight of them left, nine including Sarah. They are taking cover behind the line of trees near the front gate, fifty yards away from us.”

  “That doesn't seem too bad. Wait, why does it sound like they aren't firing at us anymore?”

  The question was more rhetorical as Steve inched his head around the trunk.

  Almost every biker lowered their weapon and made a break for the motorcycles that had not been destroyed by the blast. But as they retreated for safety, they soon realized how compromised safety really was.

  “Where the hell did they come from?” Steve whispered to himself.

  “That's the good and bad. For this fight, I felt compelled to recruit help from the indigenous population.”

  In his mind, Steve translated the sentence into civilian
terms, then asked, “You’re telling me you planned this?” He had so many questions for West, at the top being how he managed to do it, but there were more pressing issues at hand. Sarah.

  As Steve attempted to wrap his head around the situation, West sprang up and readied himself for the forward-pressing attack.

  “When I say go, I'll grab the two handguns from the biker in the leather vest. You take the AR from the one next to him. We don't know the status of their ammo, so check the chambers, and then take everyone out…”

  “No,” Steve said, disagreeing vehemently. “Protect Sarah at all costs. Nothing else matters.”

  Craig West nodded his head affirmatively. “Ready? Let's go!”

  Just like that, the two warriors left their cover and ran into the fray.

  ***

  “Where the hell did they come from?” Jimmy Sanchez roared, cycling through his revolver's six-shot cylinder.

  Surging in through Camp's front gates were at least two dozen infected. The cloud coverage, pouring rain, and generally decreased visibility made it appear that there were a thousand. Every direction Jimmy and his men looked, there was a set of dead, dilated eyes staring hungrily back at them.

  The residents of Willop had descended upon the bikers with anxious appetites. West's ingenuity and tactical planning led them to a feast. The bikers were pinned between the beach and the infected.

  “What we gonna do, baby?” Estrella asked, picking up a discarded handgun. She fired at a pair of speedy infected. It took four shots, but they dropped. When Jimmy didn't answer, she asked again. Still no answer. She turned and saw her boyfriend, frozen in time.

  Initially, the remaining bikers waited for an order- Jimmy always told them what to do. Their leader always had a plan, but not now.

  In Jimmy’s mind, it seemed as though the day was out to get him, and the subsequent string of thoughts caused him to freeze. First, there was the betrayal of his best friend. Then, the fights did not produce the result he wanted them to. To top it off, was the explosion and firefight which cost him almost all of his men. Everything was leading to an inevitable retreat, but he didn't want to face that possibility. The Grim Reaper wouldn't allow it.

  “Let me go!” Sarah continued to scream. “LET ME GO!”

  She clawed her free hand at Jimmy's face and followed with kicks to his shins- she missed her intended target: his testicles.

  “Steve!” she called out. “Steve! Where are you?” she cried repeatedly. Tears poured down her dirty, sandy, bloody cheeks.

  Sarah’s aggressive actions caused Jimmy to snap from his mental standstill. He shook off the compounding thoughts, and as they dispersed, they revealed the terrible conundrum that he and his men were in.

  “Let me think, damnit!”

  In order to reload, Jimmy released his grip on Sarah.

  The long-haired, slender bodied girl pounced at the opportunity to run for freedom. Sarah had yet to see Steve, but she knew that he had to be near the beach. So, she took off.

  Two steps into the squishy dash for freedom, a pair of bullets exploded the sand in front of her. Sarah’s hopeful escape was tragically short-lived. Someone didn't appreciate her getaway.

  Sarah turned and saw who that someone was.

  “Nuh-uh,” Estrella said, marching over to her. “Try to run and the next one goes into your head, comprende pendeja?”

  Sarah's lower lip quivered. She looked out to the freedom that Providence State beach symbolized, then back to the bikers and their world of captivity and pure evil. Sadly, the decision was easy.

  “Good choice,” the Mexican woman spat, keeping the barrel pointed at Sarah's head. She wrapped her free arm around Sarah's neck and dragged her back to Jimmy and the others.

  ***

  “Boss! We gotta get out of here!”

  “I'm almost out of ammo!”

  “We’re sittin’ ducks, jefe!”

  “Get us out of here!”

  In the seconds that it took to recapture Sarah, panic wreaked havoc amidst the bikers.

  “Screw this, if you're not gonna do something I will,” one said, trying to rally the rest behind him. The man holstered his side arm and lifted a motorcycle upright.

  Jimmy hated the situation he found himself in. He didn't need his subordinates' vocality to realize the rapid dissension among the ranks. It was all about self-preservation at this point and he knew, but still, the Grim Reaper didn't want to abandon all he had won. He wasn't ready to give up the cushiony life he had murdered and pillaged for.

  So, in an act of re-instilling his role of fearless leader, he shot and killed the biker who tried to abandon the group.

  “No one’s going anywhere!”

  The others looked at Jimmy, then at their murdered brother, then back to Jimmy. Their frightened looks said it all. “What should we do?”

  Jimmy marched over to them and screamed, “Stand your ground and fight, you pussies! You are Los Tres Demonios! We fight and we win! We…”

  Then, another fell victim to a pair of infected. One attacked the biker's legs, and the other tackled him and tore open his throat before hitting the ground.

  At the gruesome sight, the remaining six pulled in closer to one another. They were terrified. Jimmy’s speech, while inspiring and motivating, now seemed pointless and suicidal.

  “Jefe, I'm with you,” one of the men started to say, “but this is a fight we can't win.”

  Jimmy's eyes widened at the blatant heresy. But, when Estrella confirmed and allied herself with the others, Jimmy began to see things more clearly.

  “He's right, baby! We gotta get outta here! Fuck all this shit! We got this skinny white bitch, we can use her later! Trade her for supplies and shit! But we ain't gonna live if we stay here!”

  The Grim Reaper was struggling mentally. To tuck tail and run would mean that he was a coward. He had never backed down from a fight. But this wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter. Estrella was correct. If he wanted to live to see another day, he would have to issue the retreat order. His pride was shattering. His ego deflating. He went from having it all; respect, a loyal army, a conquered people...to losing everything.

  “Fine! Vamos! Estrella, you girls are with me in the car. Everyone else find a bike! We’ll meet up down the road.”

  Jimmy fired four rounds at approaching infected to clear a path to the Crown Victoria. It was the only police vehicle that survived the C-4 explosion. All its windows had been shattered, but the tires were still inflated and by all outward appearances, it was roadworthy.

  Jimmy circled around the back of the car and flung open the driver's side door. Estrella opened the back right passenger's door, and pulled Sarah in after her. As Jimmy leaned to get in the front, he saw a pair of men running up from the beach, guns blazing.

  “Pinche guero!”

  “Steve!” Sarah screamed. “Steve! Over here!”

  ***

  As Steve and West carried out their blitzkrieg offensive, they killed everything in their path- living and dead. Staring down the semiautomatic rifle's sights, Steve showed no mercy or hesitation. He caught a glimpse of his soon-to-be-wife and nothing was stopping him from reaching her.

  The first five rounds he fired put down five infected. Now it was a clear path to the three bikers who remained. Unfortunately for him, the gun jammed and Steve was forced to temporarily delay his assault.

  “Come on,” Steve growled, cycling the bolt.

  West, too, was an unstoppable force. The sergeant major dispatched a set of infected, and then turned his sights on the bikers.

  The three thugs started up their motorcycles and kicked back the stand. Before speeding off, they opened fire on West and Steve. They managed to squeeze off a few rounds before West returned lethal fire.

  One took a round to the heart, another a shot to the head. Two shots, two out of the three remaining bikers, dead. The last man ditched his bike and ran for Jimmy's car.

  ***

  As Steve cleared the jam, h
e caught a stray round. The .40 caliber bullet entered his left trapezius, above the collarbone. The impact from the bullet knocked the rifle out of his hand and sent Steve spinning to the ground.

  “Steve!” West shouted, hustling over. He dragged his injured companion behind metal debris, just in time as the last remaining biker blindly emptied his semiautomatic pistol in their vicinity.

  “Fuck! It burns!”

  West quickly examined the wound.

  “It went out the other side, but you need to stay put…”

  “Steve! Help!” yelled Sarah from the back of the Crown Victoria.

  Both West and Steve peered over the metal covering. They watched Estrella pistol whip Sarah for the insubordination. The impact knocked Sarah out cold, and her body slumped against the black leather seats.

  In that instant, the pain surging through Steve’s body vanished. His mind covered up every sensation except rage. Steve’s only focus was on the successful recovery of his love and fueled by that love, Steve lifted up his injured body. He turned to West and despite the sergeant major’s advice, he said, “Help me or kill me. Those are your only options.”

  West offered his hand, and Steve pulled himself up.

  “You got a plan?”

  Steve assessed the scenario.

  The last biker discarded his empty handgun, and dove through the Crown Victoria’s passenger-side window. Before he was able to pull his legs inside, an infected clamped its teeth onto the biker's ankle. Then, as the biker howled in pain, another infected grabbed on to the biker's leg. The two undead yanked the man from safety and within seconds, they had his stomach ripped open and organs exposed.

  “Get me the rifle!” Steve commanded.

  West did as instructed. Both men had heard the sounds of the Crown Victoria coughing to life. In seconds, it would start and Jimmy would be gone.

  Steve pressed the stock against his shoulder. Immediately, a tremendous amount of pain returned as he attempted to steady the AR. For the sake of his love, Steve fought through it. He heard the Crown Vic’s engine come alive, but kept his focus down the metal sights.