American Survivalist: RACE WARS OMNIBUS: Seasons 1-5 Of An American Survivalist Series...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Johnny’s camper was the newest among the myriad of similar sized and styled campers that permeated the RV park. Outside its door stood an especially large and fierce-looking man holding one of the AK-47 rifles.

  “Rip, this here is my right hand. His name is Serb.”

  Ripper paused to look up into Serb’s brown eyes, estimating the other man’s height to be in the neighborhood of six and a half feet. Judging by the wide expanse of his chest and ample belly, Serb was also likely tipping the scales at well over three hundred pounds.

  “He’s a big son-of-a-bitch.”

  Serb didn’t smile. Like Johnny, his head was shaved clean, though a prominent swastika tattoo was emblazoned across the back of his wide skull. He had a wide nose, and wider mouth with thin lips that turned sharply downward into an overly aggressive frown. From Serb’s multiple chins hung a long grey and brown beard that nearly touched the top of his chest. He wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans, much like the other bikers in Johnny’s gang of racist misfits.

  “That he is, and tough too. Serb’s a good man to have, I’ll tell you that. Now c’mon in, Cousin and let’s talk a spell.”

  The interior of Johnny’s camper trailer was surprisingly clean. A small table was to the right, a dining and kitchen area to the left, and a full size bed took up the remaining space in the back along with an attached bathroom. Johnny pointed to the table around which was a three-sided vinyl covered sitting area.

  “Have a seat, man.”

  Ripper sat on the side facing the trailer’s door, making certain he had an unobstructed visual of anyone entering from the outside. He then looked to his right and saw Johnny taking two shot glasses from a cupboard and a bottle of scotch from the counter that surrounded the small stainless sink.

  “This here is eighteen-year single malt. Smooth as a newborn’s ass - pushing a hundred a bottle for this stuff.”

  Ripper emptied his glass and motioned for a refill.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  Johnny emptied his shot glass as well and then refilled both glasses.

  “A little liquor store about twenty miles north of here. Old black guy owned it. We shot him dead and took what we wanted. That’s how we roll these days.”

  Ripper’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took a slow slip from his glass.

  “That right, Cousin Johnny? So how about you tell me how you came to have all those guns out there?”

  Johnny chuckled as he replenished his and Ripper’s glass for the third time.

  “It’s the damndest thing! There’s this guy who shows up a couple weeks back. He’s a fed. Got an EPA badge – environmental whatever. He drives right into our place here, gets out and asks to speak to the man in charge. Well that’s me, right? I’m already thinking we just shoot him dead and be done with it. He’s from the government, the old government or whatever is left of it, and I don’t want that kind of stink in my new home. But this cat, he’s got balls – big balls. He tells me to look up into the sky and no more than ten, maybe twenty seconds later, this badass helicopter passes over us and we can all see it’s armed to the gills. That thing could light us up and that would be that. So this EPA fella, he just smiles and says he wants to help me help him. That’s exactly how he put it – help me to help him.”

  Ripper’s mouth issued a half-frown as he shook his head.

  “You ok with being some government rat’s errand boy? How do you think that turns out for you? What’s to stop them from sending that chopper back this way once they decide your usefulness has run out?”

  Johnny poured a fourth drink and scoffed at the warning.

  “Shit, Rip, prison done made you paranoid. Some dude wants to give me a trailer full of guns, rockets…why the hell would I turn that down? I got myself an army, man! You saw it! I’m the most powerful man around these parts! Every day there’s more people making their way here to join up with me – you included!”

  That was the moment Ripper decided to kill Cousin Johnny. He wasn’t sure when exactly. He just knew it would be soon.

  “How’d you know about that liquor store? Was that your idea or someone else’s?”

  Johnny’s smile quickly vanished as he glared back at his older cousin. He didn’t like feeling interrogated.

  “What’s it matter? It got done and you don’t seem to mind drinking up the result.”

  Ripper’s mouth crept outward into a smile though his eyes were devoid of any humor and even less warmth.

  “That fella who gave you the guns, he was the one who suggested you check out that liquor store wasn’t he?”

  Johnny stood up from the table and pointed to the camper’s door.

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe it’s time you leave, Cousin.”

  Ripper shrugged, feigning indifference while simultaneously plotting Johnny’s demise.

  “No offense intended, you’ve done good for yourself, Johnny…real good.”

  Both men were staring silently at the other when the first explosion rumbled through the walls of the small camper trailer. The trailer door was flung open to reveal Serb’s stunned expression.

  “We’re under attack, Johnny! And they got some serious firepower!”

  Johnny jumped out of the trailer and then froze as he attempted to decipher the nature of the large fireball that rose up toward the late afternoon sky no more than a hundred yards from where he stood.

  Who is doing this?

  As if reading Johnny’s mind, Serb snarled out the source of the attack.

  “It’s got to be the niggers! I think it’s coming from behind the tree line over there!”

  Both Johnny and Ripper looked to where Serb was pointing. From behind the trees Ripper heard the somewhat muted sound of a detonation followed by another massive explosion that hit the center of the biker encampment. Ripper knew it to be the result of a mortar attack. People screamed in terror while a few of the men finally began to fire into the trees that stood nearly a quarter mile away.

  Johnny pointed to the steel-framed horse trailer.

  “Well don’t just stand there – we got to fight back!”

  Slack made his way back to Ripper and whispered into his ear.

  ‘You want us involved in this or to lay low?”

  Ripper’s eyes followed Johnny and Serb as they ran toward the horse trailer and only when he knew them to be far enough away not to be able to overhear did he respond.

  “Keep everyone together and away from the fight unless it goes bad then we shoot our way out of here. For now, we watch and wait. The less of Johnny’s people make it out of this alive, the better for us, got it?”

  Slack nodded and was about to turn away when he paused to look at his leader.

  “What about you?”

  Ripper issued his jagged-toothed grin.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be doing what needs to be done. You just keep our people safe and ready.”

  Several more of Johnny’s men were firing into the trees when another explosion shook the earth hard enough Ripper almost fell to the ground. Johnny screamed for people to get out of the way as Serb carried one of the two RPG-7s on his right shoulder.

  ‘Show ‘em what we can do, Serb!”

  Serb aimed the RPG and fired, sending a flame-streaked missile toward the trees as Johnny’s gang shouted out their approval. The big man’s aim proved poor though as the missile detonated nearly fifty feet short of the tree line.

  “Let me see that!”

  Serb towered over Ripper and shook his head.

  “Go to hell. I got this.”

  Ripper hissed his disgust.

  “You’re too far away! Either man up and get yourself closer or let me do it!”

  Serb’s eyes widened with fury as his right fist clenched tightly and he prepared to take a swing at Ripper’s head.

  “Do what he says! Give it to him!”

  Serb threw the just re-loaded RPG toward Ripper who proceeded to calmly place it onto his own right s
houlder.

  “That bike there – let me use it.”

  The chopper’s owner, a short, middle-aged biker with thick rimmed glasses and a sad attempt at reddish-brown facial hair opened his mouth to protest but was quickly cut off by Johnny.

  “You heard the man – give him your bike!”

  Ripper placed himself atop the smallish motorcycle, careful to keep the RPG on his right shoulder. The bike’s engine started easily. He put it into gear and crept forward, taking a second or two to become acclimated to the bike’s personality. Then he increased his speed, heading directly for the tree line as another mortar blast exploded to his right and catapulted the bodies of three of Johnny’s men high into the air before they fell back crashing to the ground in a disjointed jumble of broken bones and torn flesh.

  Once he was no more than a hundred yards from the trees Ripper slid the bike onto its side as he jumped off while both his hands kept the RPG’s aim steady. He had already calculated the general proximity of where the mortars were being fired from behind the trees. With a brief pause to make certain his aim was true, Ripper fired the missile and then watched it arc across the clearing and then disappear into the trees.

  He was quickly rewarded with a considerable explosion followed by a collection of pained screams.

  His aim had proven true.

  Oh, shit…

  Two large four wheel drive trucks emerged from the trees with several armed black men standing inside the truck beds with rifles aimed at Ripper. The first shots missed short, sending remnants of dirt and grass exploding into the air several feet above the ground.

  Ripper dropped the RPG and ran back to the bike, his face a tight grimace as he expected to feel the unmistakable sting of gunfire ripping into his back. The men in the trucks continued to miss though as Ripper sped away back toward Johnny’s encampment, bellowing a command as he did so.

  “Light ‘em up, boys!”

  By the time Ripper once again stood next to Johnny, several bikers holding AK-47s had formed a line and were firing at the still-approaching trucks. The sun was sinking lower into the sky, creating a gloom that was then illuminated by the weapons being fired from both sides of the clearing.

  “Here you go, Cousin.”

  Johnny handed Ripper one of the assault rifles. Ripper grinned and then joined the biker line and fired at the trucks which had by then come to a stop halfway between the tree line and the trailer park, the vehicles’ exteriors riddled with bullet holes.

  A chorus of defiant cheers erupted among the bikers as they began shooting their guns into the sky. Ripper was not among those who cheered though. He sensed the battle was far from over.

  From the main road another round of gunfire silenced the bikers’ premature celebration. Nine more trucks were making their way toward the encampment. Despite outnumbering their dark-skinned enemies, several of Johnny’s men panicked and began scrambling to escape on their bikes despite Johnny’s demand they stay and fight.

  Chaos had taken hold, and Ripper knew inevitable death for many would be the result. He intended to not only keep himself alive, but take advantage of the disorder and thus improve his own immediate future.

  He looked to a back corner of the expansive trailer park and saw Slack doing what he was told to do – keeping their own people away from the confrontation.

  A bullet hissed inches from the left side of Ripper’s head and then buried itself in the chest of another biker who stood directly behind him. It was Merc, the man who had first brought Ripper and his gang to Johnny’s encampment. Johnny dove to the ground, his eyes wide with the realization he might actually die as well. Ripper stared down at his cousin with open contempt. Johnny proved himself a coward unworthy of leadership, a frightened animal scurrying in the dirt because of a few gun-toting niggers.

  “Sorry, Cousin Johnny…it just has to be this way.”

  Johnny’s mouth formed a near-perfect o as he held up a pair of shaking hands in front of him.

  “What the hell are you---“

  Ripper fired two rounds from the AK-47 into Johnny’s face and then quickly looked up to see if anyone else had seen him do it. He found Serb standing no more than twenty feet away staring back at him.

  Both men proceeded to aim their assault rifles at one another.

  “You have a choice, Serb. I could use a good, strong man like you to join up with me and my people. Johnny was weak. You know that. He had you all cooped up here in this place getting soft. Our kind don’t do well sitting put. We need to roam. We need to ride. So decide right now - are you with me or are you a dead man?”

  Serb jutted his chin upward in a temporary show of defiance as his eyes glanced downward to the body of Johnny and then returned to hold Ripper’s gaze in his own. Gunfire continued to erupt around both men as Ripper stood unmoving, awaiting Serb’s decision.

  Finally the big man nodded.

  “Yeah, I’ll ride with you. You’re right – Johnny had gone soft.”

  Ripper’s grin communicated his approval. He watched as the men in the pick-up trucks suddenly turned around and headed back toward the main road, likely retreating back to the safety of their own territory over in Fayetteville.

  “Hey, Serb how much time does it take to get to Fayetteville from here?”

  Serb nodded again, pleased to hear Ripper already preparing to take the fight to the enemy like he felt Johnny should have done days ago.

  “No more than a couple hours.”

  Ripper walked toward Serb and then stood directly in front of him.

  “You round up the best hundred of your gang. The rest of this bunch are worthless moochers. We’ll leave them behind. Between your hundred and my people we’ll be two hundred strong. Bring that trailer with us and what say you and me make our way to Fayetteville and go kill us some scum-bag coons.”

  Serb’s smile was that of the wolf on the hunt.

  “Yeah, that sounds good, Ripper. That sounds real good.”

  Two hours later…

  The journey from Harrison to Fayetteville actually took just ninety minutes. Ripper, Serb, and Slack watched the bridge that was the main entrance into the city that had once enjoyed a population of some 70,000 prior to the Race Wars. That number had since been reduced to a third as people fled the violence that had overtaken the once idyllic community.

  “So the niggers pretty much control all of it, huh?”

  Serb nodded.

  “Yeah, word is they took over City Hall and the historical district…burned entire neighborhoods down. Lined up white people and shot them dead in the streets, hundreds of them in one night.”

  Ripper’s eyes narrowed as his upper lip curled into a pronounced snarl while the words spit out from between clenched teeth.

  “Well ok then, I guess it’s up to us to set things right. We’re gonna kill them all, every damn one of them.”

  A short time later found Ripper aiming an RPG missile at the two trucks blocking the bridge. The armed men in and around the trucks never saw it coming. Both vehicles were lifted several inches off the pavement as the windows blew out and the interiors filled with blood and flesh from bodies torn asunder by the detonation. A second missile was fired to make certain none remained alive to prevent their crossing the bridge.

  Ten minutes the heavily armed gang drove its motorcycles through the streets of Fayetteville and headed to the multi-storied City Hall building. Darkness enveloped the city. It had lost power nearly three weeks earlier. The flickering light of candles burning inside City Hall could be seen from the street outside.

  Ripper shouted to the gathering of bikers waiting just behind him.

  “Twenty of you go around back and block the exit. Anyone comes out – shoot ‘em!”

  He then looked at Slack who was holding one of the RPGs on his right shoulder.

  “It’s all yours, Slack. Aim for the three monkeys standing on the porch.”

  Three armed black men stood just outside the red-bricked City Hall main entr
ance. They were passing a pint of gin between them and laughing. A second later and they were obliterated by the RPG missile. Ripper looked at Slack and grunted.

  “Damn, Slack you’re a deadeye with that thing! Good job, son!”

  Ripper pointed to his left where Serb stood holding the second RPG.

  “You’re up big man.”

  Serb paused to aim and then fired. The missile raced across the street and then detonated against the exterior of the second floor where the outlines of people could be seen running past a window. The sounds of screams poured out of several broken windows.