Sabina noted how both Bosco and Clyde were lying on the floor next to one another and looking back at her as if they understood the priest’s unexpected request.
“You want me to take your dog with us?”
Father Garcia nodded as his eyes pleaded with Sabina to agree.
“Yes. I am unable to eat more than a few bites or I become violently ill and regurgitate the food I take in. I’ve lost another ten pounds this past month alone. For me it isn’t a matter of months but rather weeks. Clyde might yet have a few good years left and I don’t wish to have my own illness rob him of that time. He’s been a good friend to me, a loyal companion. He deserves better. You can give him what I no longer can – a life.”
Mika’s gaze had settled upon Clyde’s comically too-large-for-his-body head. The basset hound’s perpetually tired-looking, large brown eyes blinked once and then he lowered his head onto his outstretched paws and began to fall asleep.
The teenage girl’s emotions had become increasingly isolated since the attack in Pullman but now she felt a bond with the priest’s dog that gave her a renewed sense of purpose.
“I’ll take care of him.”
Sabina looked at Mika, surprised by the confident determination within her daughter’s voice. Father Garcia reached across the table to lightly squeeze Mika’s right hand.
“Bless you, Mika. I know you would love him as much as I have.”
Mika’s eyes begged for her mother to agree to take the Basset with them.
“He’s house-broken?”
The priest chuckled.
“Oh yes, very much so! Although…”
Sabina’s eyes narrowed.
“Although what?”
Father Garcia shrugged while appearing slightly embarrassed to broach the subject.
“Clyde can be rather…flatulent at times. It’s actually quite impressive how so much air manages to escape such a relatively small creature.”
There was a momentary pause of silence before the table erupted in laughter. Mika pointed to her brother while giggling hard enough tears were forming in the corners of her eyes.
“Sounds like Clyde is a lot like Jackson!”
As Sabina joined in the laughter part of her realized she had not heard her kids laughing that hard since before their father Jack’s sudden death four years earlier.
For a mother, such laughter was among the most beautiful of all things in life.
She wished it would never end and wished even more that Jack was still alive to hear it.
--------------------
EPISODE TWENTY-THREE:
Eight miles south of Mountain Grove, Missouri
Ripper looked back at the assembled mass of white power seated atop a myriad of motorcycles lined up and down the paved expanse of the State Route 60 and State Route 63 intersection. Since leaving Arkansas the gang’s numbers had swelled to nearly three hundred bikers. Word spread about the power they wielded and how dangerous to their enemies they had become. They were well armed and more determined than ever to continue the work of eliminating racial impurity across the American landscape.
On this day that work included a meeting with the EPA official whose helicopter Ripper had watched fly over him days earlier. He had thought to himself then that he would find out who was inside that aircraft, and today that discovery was about to reveal itself.
The federal government official was of average height and build, with thinning light brown hair cut short over a prominent forehead and a pair of close set, bright blue eyes. Ripper guessed the man’s age to be in the neighborhood of fifty years.
The EPA agent walked slowly from the recently landed military helicopter toward where Ripper stood waiting on the side of the road. The agent’s gait was both casual and confident. Being among Dr. Fenwick Sage’s most trusted and capable field agents afforded him considerable influence within what was a chaotic and cannibalistic federal government. He wore a navy blue windbreaker and tan slacks and wore an expression suggesting he very much enjoyed his job.
“You must be, Ripper. My name is Agent Rydel.”
Rydel didn’t offer to shake Ripper’s hand and Ripper was the happier for it.
“What do you want, Agent Rydel?”
Rydel looked past Ripper toward the assembled group of bikers and grunted softly to himself.
“I’m impressed, Ripper. Your numbers are growing. I do believe you have real leadership potential – far more potential than your Cousin Johnny.”
The agent smiled, revealing a row of recently whitened teeth. Ripper folded his arms across his chest and remained silent.
“More people means you are in need of more weapons, correct?”
The agent’s eyes flickered. He knew he had Ripper’s full attention. Ripper in turn nodded his head.
“Yeah, more weapons would be nice. I have to ask though, and I don’t want no lies coming out of that mouth of yours.”
Rydel’s eyes widened slightly.
“What do you wish to ask, Ripper?”
Ripper’s jaw muscles flexed repeatedly as he glowered at the EPA agent.
“I want to know why you’re doing this. Why give a bunch of bikers, military grade weapons? What the hell are you up to with all of this?”
Agent Rydel’s smile returned.
“Oh, let’s just call it one group helping out another. I represent government interests who appreciate the work being provided by people such as yourself – people who understand the value of eliminating certain groups who have become a pain in all our asses.”
“You want me to kill people?”
Rydel shrugged while the smile remained.
“Sure, whatever you want, Ripper. So long as you keep your activities outside of the G.C.U.A. locations we have little concern over what you choose to do with the weapons we give you.”
Ripper scowled. He was unfamiliar with the acronym.
“What is G.C.U.A.?”
Rydel’s smile lessened as he put both of his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“Government Controlled Urban Area – primarily large cities that are now under the direct control of the federal government. We won’t tolerate having that control compromised by groups such as yours. Keep your work beyond those areas and we won’t have a problem, understood?”
It was Ripper’s turn to smile.
“Yeah – understood.”
Rydel nodded.
“Good! So I have some more assault rifles and ammunition for you to distribute among your people here, and also another gift for you as well.”
Ripper’s eyes narrowed as he suddenly grew suspicious of the EPA agent’s intent.
“What is it?”
Agent Rydel’s almost manic smile somehow managed to increase its width.
“Not what, Ripper, but rather WHO!”
Ripper looked across the small field behind Rydel and saw another figure emerge from the military helicopter.
Now that’s one big son-of-a-bitch.
“The gentleman coming this way is simply called, the Beast. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? I understand he’s something of a legend among those who think as you do.”
Ripper did in fact know of the name though was visibly stunned to actually be in the presence of the man himself. He recalled watching the news coverage of the Beast’s trial. The litany of hate crimes he was charged and convicted of. Among the white power prison population across America, the Beast was indeed a thing of legend.
“Beast, this is Mr. Ripper. He’s in charge of this operation. Please make certain you remember that. We gave you your freedom and that freedom remains dependent upon you following this man’s orders.”
Ripper looked up into the darkly inhuman, flinty stare of the six-foot-six, Beast. The man’s shoulders were incredibly wide, like granite bookends to an equally impressive, sculpted chest that appeared ready to explode out of a thin, white t-shirt. Matching flame tattoos extended down the sides of each of the Beast’s massive, heavily muscled arms.
The huge knuckles of each of his scarred hands had a letter etched into them, spelling out the word PAIN. His head and face were shaved clean, the skin smooth and without blemish. The nose was somewhat prominent, the chin equally so, sitting below a set of full, almost feminine, pouty lips.
“I kill anything that’s not white…niggers, half-breeds, sand niggers, spics, gooks, and their sympathizers. You down with that?”
Beast’s voice was a low tremble, like some ancient battle horn announcing the arrival of the apocalypse. Ripper found himself quickly nodding his approval.
“Yeah, man, I’m down with that.”
Though the Beast’s mouth widened into a smile the eyes remained devoid of emotion.
“Good, then let’s get to work.”
Rydel clapped his hands together.
“Excellent! We have an assignment for you. Call it a test-run of your new-found freedom, Beast and your ability to take direction from Mr. Ripper here.”
Ripper looked behind him and was greeted by several set of eyes staring back. The gang grew restless, wanting to be back on the road and away from the stench of a federal agent who believed he had the power to tell them what to do.
“What’s this assignment, Rydel?”
The EPA agent pointed toward State Route 63.
“About forty miles north of here, right after you cross the Big Piney River, there’s a roadside bar called, The Pit. Since the Race Wars started the place has become something of an operational center for a Mexican biker gang called, The Diablos. You heard of them?”
Ripper shook his head and then spit a large glob of mucous inches from Rydel’s recently polished pair of black leather loafers.
“No.”
Rydel ignored the small puddle of greenish ooze that sat next to his right foot.
“This Diablo gang has recently taken to offering protection to other Hispanics in the area. That has included the killing of several white families. It started with cars driving Route 63 but they’ve since expanded their operation into attacking private homes. They show up, rape the women, kill the men, and burn the house. We estimate they’ve done this, ten or twenty times in the last few weeks alone.”
Ripper gave an indifferent shrug.
“Why should we give a shit what some no-name wetbacks are doing?”
Before Rydel could provide a response, the Beast whirled on Ripper and growled his own reply.
“Because they’ve killed white people without provocation, that can’t be allowed, right? We kill them, not the other way around.”
Ripper tried to hide his fear of the much larger Beast, but his voice betrayed his weakness as did his eyes that moved quickly to avoid staring back into the big man’s unblinking stare.
“Hey, get out of my face, man.”
Instead, Beast inched closer, looming directly above Ripper’s head.
“I said step off or you and me are gonna tangle.”
Beast smirked as he backed away.
“Oh, is that right?”
Ripper cleared his throat as he nodded.
“Yeah, that’s right. Those people behind us – they follow my lead, got it?”
Beast glanced at Rydel and then grunted clearly unimpressed by either of the other two men he stood next to.
“Yeah, I got it. Now let’s go kill us some brown-skinned pigs.”
Rydel looked at Ripper, waiting for the gang leader to agree to do just that.
After several seconds of simmering silence, Ripper nodded.
“Ok, we’ll pay that bar a visit.”
Agent Rydel lifted his right hand and wagged his pointer finger from side to side.
“Not a visit, Mr. Ripper. You are to kill every single person in the place. I don’t care how you do it just make sure it gets done. Prove to me you can follow simple instructions and you’ll have more weapons delivered to you and more freedom to make your own rules out here. I am offering you both freedom and power, Mr. Ripper. I suggest you take it.”
Ripper felt as if an unseen noose was slowly tightening around his neck. He considered shooting Rydel and the Beast right there and being free of the both of them. Instead Ripper gave the EPA agent’s assignment his snarling approval.
“I said we’d do it. Are we done here?”
Rydel smiled and then quickly turned around to make his way back to the awaiting helicopter, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the Beast as possible.
“Good, I’ll be in touch, Mr. Ripper. Make good use of those weapons!”
As Rydel entered the military chopper, Ripper glared up at Beast. He kept his voice low to ensure no-one else in the gang overheard.
“I’m in charge here. I don’t give a damn how tough you think you are, if you challenge me, you’re a dead man.”
Beast loomed like some great, unmoving statue and said nothing, his silence only adding to his already considerable power of intimidation.
Ripper knew then there would be no controlling the Beast.
I don’t care if he’s Rydel’s new pet. I’ll have to kill him. It’s not a matter of if, but when.
Two hours later Ripper stood with a pair of binoculars held to his eyes peering down at the entrance to, The Pit. A row of motorcycles were parked outside the dilapidated, single-story bar. Ripper counted fourteen total. He estimated there to be at least twenty inside, a number far less than that of his three-hundred strong.
Not to mention this thing standing next to me.
“Let me do it.”
Ripper lowered the binoculars and looked up at Beast.
“What, by yourself?”
The Beast’s full-lipped mouth hinted at a grin. He seemed to be able to clearly see the biker bar without the aid of the binoculars.
“Ten minutes.”
Ripper considered the likely possibility the Mexican bikers inside The Pit would blow the outnumbered Beast to bits.
Dead Mexicans and a dead Beast - sounds like a win-win to me.
“Hey, you wanna play Mr. Badass, you go right on ahead. Take your ten minutes and show me what you can do with it.”
The Beast held up two oversized fingers.
“Give me two rifles.”
Seconds later saw Ripper’s gang watching silently in hungry anticipation as Beast casually made his way down the gently sloping hill toward the bar’s entrance, each of the big man’s hands holding a loaded AK-47.
Without pausing, the door was kicked in and rapid gunfire immediately followed.
The sound of screams filtered outside of the bar, accompanied by several rounds of various weapons returning fire. The AK-47’s unmistakable bark roared out again and then again until mere moments later, all went silent.
Ripper glanced to his right and saw Serb staring down at the bar with his mouth hanging half open. Though Serb was almost as large as the Beast he was not nearly as muscular or powerfully built, and it was clear to Ripper that Serb, like so many others in the gang, was in awe of their newest member.
“Look!”
Serb was pointing down at the bar’s entrance from which emerged Beast who dragged a short, amply-bellied man behind him, his right hand clamped around the other man’s thick, dark-haired pony tail.
Ripper tried to hide both his disappointment and disbelief.
The son-of-a-bitch is still alive.
Not only was the Beast still alive, he appeared to have been untouched. The man on the ground who struggled in vain to free himself from Beast’s grasp was not so lucky. The front of his white t-shirt was drenched in his own blood, the result of a bullet wound from one of Beast’s AK-47 rifles.
The Beast’s face was devoid of emotion as he continued to pull the Diablo gang member into the middle of the road. Once there he stopped and kicked the heel of a size-fourteen leather boot into the man’s face, breaking his nose and dislodging several teeth. Ripper’s jaw clenched as he overheard several people behind him gasp. Their fear and respect of the Beast’s ferocity and power was growing exponentially.
&n
bsp; The Diablo member held up both his hands and begged for the Beast to spare his life. His words came out in a series of gasping gurgles as he coughed up thick streams of blood that then trickled out the side of his mouth and down his quivering, stubble-covered chin.
American Survivalist: RACE WARS OMNIBUS: Seasons 1-5 Of An American Survivalist Series... Page 28