Ripper had been sentenced to seven years after having been found guilty of aggravated assault against a fourteen-year old black teenager who Ripper declared in court, “Had it coming.” The teen had leaned against Ripper’s bike and then muttered something under his breath when Ripper pushed him away after leaving the bar he had sat inside for most of the day getting comfortably numb on a cocktail of alcohol and amphetamines. The assault charge was one of many similar offenses Ripper had compiled during his still relatively young life.
Once inside Attwood, Ripper quickly proved himself a man worthy of both fear and respect within the loosely-affiliated White Power groups that were engaged in a constant pushback against the Black and Hispanic gangs. While he missed the freedom of the open road and a willing woman to pass the time with, Ripper found prison offered him ample opportunities for drugs, power, and further sexual conquest, and when he was given the chance to slice up some niggers and spics, all the better.
When security inside Attwood began to fall apart as news of the chaos that had come to the outside world spread inside the facility’s fortified walls, Ripper realized his true purpose in life had finally arrived. He would be God’s hand. He would be the deliverer of justice to the inbred scum intent on destroying a nation.
The time of the mongrel horde was over.
The age of the white man had returned.
And don’t forget to find that nigger preacher so he gets what’s coming to him too.
Not a day went by without Ripper contemplating what he would do to the black inmate who had dislocated his jaw several months earlier during a brief confrontation between the two men in the prison showers. Everyone called him Preacher because some of the other inmates considered him a man of God. Ripper was convinced he knew better though on account he found it impossible that anyone other than a white man had the capacity to actually read and understand the Good Book no matter how well they pretended otherwise.
I’ll find the filthy ape and open his throat from one ear to the next. Nobody takes a shot at me and gets away with it -NOBODY.
Until that moment arrived, Ripper knew he had to satisfy himself with his travelling road show of white-power vengeance. He would continue to ride from town to town and city to city with his growing band of brothers in tow and do what should have been done a long time ago – eliminate every last racial interloper inside of America to ensure a future bloodline free of the malignant tumors that had long been any race that was not white.
If it ain’t white, it ain’t right.
Ripper nodded as a smile crept across his smooth-shaven, weather-ravaged face. He peered up at the body of the young Mexican boy who hung motionless just above his head. The child had been no more than ten years old. Ripper took great pleasure in knowing that meant the boy would never have the opportunity to spread the disease of his race. With the boy’s life ended by the rope that dug into the soft and disgustingly dusky-colored flesh of his neck, the threat of potential reproduction had been successfully terminated.
“Get me my shotgun.”
An older member of Ripper’s “pack”, a balding, middle-aged man who went by the name Slack, quickly delivered the pump-action Remington shotgun and a box of shells.
“Here you go, Rip.”
Slack stepped back purposely avoiding Ripper’s stare while wondering what their leader had planned. Ripper’s unpredictable and often volatile nature was a constant threat that hung over the gang, keeping them on edge and always vigilant for what might be coming next.
“All eyes on me!”
Ripper snarled the order to the motley collection of hard-worn men and women who had joined him since his recent escape from Attwood. He had left the prison with just nine other men. Since then the number in Ripper’s pack had swelled to nearly seventy as word quickly spread among other like-minded Texans that he was a man intent on setting things right and pushing back against the hordes of Mexican invaders who had decimated several small Texas border towns.
They were all armed, angry, and quite determined to extract white-powered revenge upon those who they believed had for so long done them wrong.
“We came to this place and freed it from invasion by the half-breed scum who thought wrongly that it belonged to them! We know better though, don’t we? We know that this country has and always will, belong to US!”
A chorus of boisterous cheers erupted. Ripper smiled, enjoying another moment of adulation from his fellow bikers.
“We hang these bodies not out of cruelty, but out of kindness. It represents a warning to others like them that they best get the hell out before we find them first! Because when we do find them, there will be no forgiving the fact they are dark-skinned abominations deserving of nothing less than death!”
The pack shouted its approval as several guns were pointed into the sky and fired.
“Today I intend to leave a bit of an exclamation point and it goes something like THIS!”
Ripper pointed the shotgun at the corpse and fired it directly into the body’s groin, obliterating the area in a grotesque spray of blood and remnants of flesh.
The pack cheered again as Ripper’s misshapen broken teeth flashed a satisfied smile.
“See how easy it is! Make no mistake brothers and sisters, this is to be the Crusades of our time! With every drop of the interlopers’ blood we spill, we are closer to returning this country to its rightful place!”
Ripper then moved to the next hanging body and fired into it before moving to the next and then the next until he had shot into the reproductive area of each of the twenty-seven hung bodies. With every blast of the shotgun the pack gathered around him and cried out its blood-soaked approval.
“Let the word of our power spread my brothers and sisters! Let our good deeds put deserving fear into the hearts of the dark-skinned evil doers so that they know we are coming for them!”
A swell of hoots and hollers echoed across the small town square joined by the crackling cacophony of repeated gunfire. Ripper was about to turn away from the pack when a dark blue flash of motion revealed itself to him down the street some hundred yards from where he stood.
It was a young, dark-skinned woman.
Ripper held up his hand as his eyes narrowed on the corner of the small red-bricked building the woman was attempting to hide herself behind. He pointed a long-fingered right hand to the area across the street.
“We have ourselves a little more action, boys - over there. Go get it and bring it to me.”
Slack and two other men took off running toward where Ripper pointed, their eyes gleaming with the lust of the hunt. The rest of the pack watched and waited, just as hopeful they might yet be witness to more cruel fun.
Seconds later the three men were dragging a very frightened pregnant woman across the street to where Ripper stood waiting. Slack grunted as he threw the woman to the ground directly in front of Ripper’s boot clad feet.
“Well-well-well…hiding from us were you?”
The woman’s eyes looked around her frantically as both her hands instinctively covered her seven-months-pregnant womb.
“Don’t think she even speaks American. Nothing more than another dirty animal who made her way here illegally. Probably her people who have been setting all those little towns on fire along the border and killing all the white folk.”
Ripper’s cold smile remained on his face as he leaned down to stare into the young woman’s panicked eyes as she tried desperately to avoid his gaze.
“You look at me. Right here, you look at me.”
The woman stared at the man who spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand. His long face was sun-burnt, with dark eyes framed by deep lines that ran from corners of each orb outward toward the upper half of his cheeks. His mouth was a cruel slash that sat above a strong, prominent chin. He appeared to be just over six feet, with wide shoulders and a lean, sinewy body clothed in a dust-stained white t-shirt and faded blue jeans.
If not for the frightening cr
uelty both in his eyes and voice, she might have found the man almost handsome.
“I want you to know that thing growing inside of you ain’t ever gonna be born alive. No…I’m gonna watch as it’s cut out from you and then smashed against the pavement below. You understand what I’m telling you?”
The frightened and confused soon-to-be mother heard the sound of another woman’s voice from somewhere behind where the man in front of her stood.
“C’mon Ripper, let her be. She’s pregnant. It ain’t right. We can kill the men, the old ones…but I didn’t sign up to rip babies out their mother’s bodies.”
Ripper whirled toward the voice. He immediately knew who dared to speak out against him and knew too she must be punished or else he risked possible further insubordination.
“Shut your hole, Tangine.”
Tangine Melbourne had joined up with Ripper’s pack three days earlier and quickly found herself the object of nearly all the men in the group’s attention. She was just over thirty years old, blonde haired and blue eyed with a face that had not yet been completely ravaged by years of heavy drinking and smoking.
“Ripper, I’m just sayin---“
Tangine wasn’t allowed to finish. Ripper took two quick steps and then smashed the butt of the shotgun into the left side of Tangine’s jaw, sending the woman sprawling backwards onto the ground.
“Anyone else got something they’d like to say?”
Multiple faces quickly looked to the ground hoping to avoid Ripper’s wrath. Still, Ripper noted the discomfort in the eyes of most the women and even some of the men. To ensure order of the pack he needed their respect. A certain degree of cruelty would be accepted, but too much could result in dissent.
The former Attwood prisoner walked slowly to where the Hispanic woman remained kneeling upon the paved street.
Despite the would-be mother’s hands still covering her swollen belly, it made an easy enough target for the hard toe of Ripper’s leather biker boot. He kicked her once, and then again, and again, and again until finally she lay on her side unmoving and gasping for breath.
“There, I didn’t cut the baby out of her now did I?”
Ripper glared down at Tangine who was by then making her way unsteadily back onto her feet.
Some of the men were licking their lips as they watched the injured mother attempting to crawl away from where Ripper loomed over her. Ripper instantly recognized their need and saw his giving it to them an opportunity to reaffirm his position as leader.
“If anyone wants to have some fun with her before we ride out, have at it.”
As Ripper began walking away from the pregnant woman, four men moved to surround her. Seconds later they had her pants pulled down and the first of the four men’s dirt and sweat-drenched body was grunting over her while the other three held her in place. After the first was finished, there was a second, and a third, and then several more men wandered over to participate in the taking of the nearly unconscious pregnant woman.
Her name was Marbella Sanchez. She was just a few weeks past her nineteenth birthday, a diminutive yet athletic young woman who, like so many others her age, was in a terrible hurry to grow up. The father of her child had been a boyhood friend of her father’s who she had initiated a relationship with last year. The two were happily reckless, lost in the lust of a young woman and an older man’s desperation to cling to his own quickly fading youth. When she told him she was pregnant he denied being the father, and then soon after, he denied her entirely and disappeared back across the border into Mexico.
Marbella’s parents were understandably upset. They were living in the United States illegally and now had the added pressure of their only daughter being with child. Then the Race Wars came and with them the resulting chaos along the American-Mexican border. Marbella was sent north to the small town of Blossom, Texas where her parents had relatives who told them of a free clinic that would help young women like their daughter. Marbella was living with a family of cousins for just three days when the city’s power grid went out. Two days after that the water supply was shut off. Then the stores were broken into, homes robbed, and hundreds fled leaving the small town almost entirely abandoned. Marbella remained behind as the Hispanic female nurse who ran the free clinic was still in Blossom doing her best to continue providing healthcare services to what little of the population remained.
And then Ripper and his fellow bikers arrived to murder those Hispanic families who had stayed behind. The health clinic was broken into, its drugs taken, and then the facilities burned with the nurse still inside. Soon after, some of Marbella’s cousins were among those hung from the street lamps.
For nearly an hour the men of Ripper’s gang lined up to rape the young woman. She made certain to keep both her mind and her eyes closed to the immediate world outside of herself. She felt almost nothing, her body grown numb from the shock of what was being done to her. She focused on thoughts of childhood, those too long ago days of innocence when life was still full of wonder and promise and the joys of simply being alive in a country as vast and remarkable as the United States.
Even as the inky-black blood pooled underneath Marbella’s body, the result of the miscarriage caused by Ripper’s repeated kicks to her stomach, the men still continued to take her. They laughed and sneered, made jokes, and then one would finish only to be quickly replaced by another.
Only when the warm Texas sky erupted with the sound of a low- flying military jet did the men back away from Marbella’s torn and bleeding body. Ripper was heard shouting over the sound of the jet’s passing.
“Time to go, we need to keep heading north! I figure they’ll be sending more military into Texas soon. I intend to be long gone by the time they do. I got people up in Arkansas who will want to join up with us – little place outside of Harrison. Good folks who think like we do. We could be there by late tomorrow if we get to going, so saddle up. We’re out of here!”
Ripper neglected to tell his band of racist malcontent rapists the true reason for his demand they continue to make their way north, deeper into the country’s interior.
Preacher.
Before making good his escape from Attwood Prison, Ripper had ransacked the warden’s office and located Preacher’s personnel file. There he found multiple care package delivery notations from an address in Dearborn. He knew that likely meant family – family Preacher was sure to try and return to during the Race Wars chaos.
Ripper intended to make the long journey to the address in Dearborn and find Preacher so he could deliver to him the justice required of all false prophets – death. If other members of the Bible-quoting nigger’s family were also there when Ripper’s gang arrived, then all the better.
“Hey Rip, what about the woman?”
Ripper looked back at Slack and then his eyes wandered slowly over to the seemingly catatonic pregnant woman who remained lying in the street bleeding out slowly from between her half open legs.
“Leave her. She’ll soon be as dead as the thing that was growing inside of her.”
Soon the small town of Blossom was filled with the roar and rumble of motorcycles as Ripper and his gang sat upon their steel-framed horses like some demonic gathering of an impending apocalyptic parade and slowly made their way back onto the main highway that would take them north into Arkansas.
Ripper glanced into his rear-view mirror and saw the twenty-seven mutilated bodies that still hung from the town street lamps. The image brought another cruel smile to his worn and weathered face as he imagined himself to someday soon be a great and powerful general in the emerging war to save his country’s soul.
God bless America…
---------------------
EPISODE THIRTEEN:
God help us, seven hundred and sixty-two of our very best killed during a single attack. Maybe Tennison is right – just torch ‘em all and be done with it.
General Reg Thompson felt one hell of a headache coming on.
A goddamn dir
ty bomb, but who did it? The Mexican drug cartels? The radical Islamists? The White Power gangs who have tripled in number over just the last few weeks?
The general shook his head and then looked silently at the framed photograph of his wife and their two daughters. The three women were safely secured away from the madness infecting the rest of the country in the fortified compound that was the Camp David retreat nestled some 60 miles in the hills northwest of Washington D.C.
General Thompson looked up, interrupted by a soft knock on the other side of his office door.
“Sir?”
The general motioned his personal aide, Colonel Rory Tennison into his office. Colonel Tennison was nearly fifty years of age, the only son of a multi-generations military family who prior to the Race Wars madness, had been on the verge of being promoted to the rank of general. Tennison stood just over six foot, with a lean, powerful build and an equally strong albeit quiet personality. The general trusted his aide immensely and valued his judgment even as the two men continued to disagree on how best to coordinate an effective response to the ongoing Race Wars conflict inside of America.
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