by Cheree Alsop
“You’d rather be playing Barbies,” the green-haired girl said.
“And you’d be painting your toenails, Snipe,” the pierced boy shot back.
She stuck out her tongue. “At least I can touch my toes. Can’t say the same for you, Uzi.”
“I’ll break your toes,” Uzi shot back.
Without warning, Magnum slugged Uzi in the jaw. He staggered back with his hand to his face.
“Anyone else?” Magnum demanded. They all shook their heads, and Uzi kept his eyes on the ground. Magnum rubbed his knuckles. “They should be here by now.” He glanced at his watch. “They’re ten minutes late.” As if on cue, his phone rang. The theme from Rocky sounded loud in the silent lot.
“Where are you?” Magnum demanded. He paused and listened. “That’s ridiculous!” he practically shouted. “We had an agreement that no one would get hurt.” He listened impatiently to the talking on the other end. His expression grew sober. He nodded. “Fine. We’ll be there.” He hung up and looked at me. “They’re at the Festival.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What made them change the drop?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. They said it would be safer in a crowd.”
“Safer for who?” Uzi demanded.
“For whom,” the girl, Snipe, corrected.
“Shut up,” Uzi snapped.
Magnum raised his hands. “Listen. I know we’re all keyed up, but if we don’t go to the Festival now, people could get hurt. I need you all to focus, understand?” Everyone nodded. Magnum looked at me. “You got my back?”
I nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
We climbed on our motorcycles, and for the first time in what felt like years, I pulled onto the road with a pack of motorcycles behind me. I could picture Zoey on the back of Jeff’s bike waving her arms in the air like some daredevil bird. Joey and Dane would follow on their matching Harleys, while Pete and Roni brought up the rear. It was a mix of bullet bikes and hogs, but nobody cared. We loved the road, and that was all that mattered.
I pulled out on Magnum’s right side. My heart pounded in my ears and I couldn’t stop thinking about the innocent citizens of Sparrow as they enjoyed their festivities, oblivious to the danger around them. I needed to sneak away and call Sheriff Bowley to let him know plans had changed. There was also no way I could walk through the Festival dressed as the Black Rider without creating a stir.
We pulled up to a stoplight and Magnum revved his CBR, anxious to be on his way. His lack of helmet, while stupid, made it easier to talk to him through my own. “I can’t follow you in,” I yelled over the sound of the engines.
“Why not?” he demanded. Anger flashed in his eyes.
I indicated my bike. “I might stir up a crowd. It’d be best if I sneak in.”
He nodded reluctantly, but looked worried. “That makes sense. You sure you’re not trying to get out of it?”
“Never,” I said. “I’ll be there—you have my word.” I stuck out my fist.
He hit my knuckles with his own. “They’re meeting us at the cattle show. See you inside.”
I nodded. The light turned green and I followed them a few more blocks, then turned off. The sound of my lone motorcycle echoed forlornly against the sides of the houses I passed.
I pulled up about half a block from the Festival and hid my motorcycle behind a leaning billboard. I slipped out of my black outfit and shoved it into my backpack, then jogged to the fairgrounds. On the way, I pulled out the card Sheriff Bowley had given me and dialed the number.
“Sheriff Bowley,” he answered, his voice tight.
“Sheriff, it’s Kel—it’s the Black Rider,” I corrected quickly. “There’s been a change of plans. The drop-off has been moved to the Festival.”
“What?” the sheriff said so loud I almost dropped my phone.
“They’ll be somewhere near the cow show, wherever that is.”
“The middle of the fairgrounds in the big blue building,” the sheriff answered. “We’ll be there.”
“Be careful,” I said.
“You too.”
I hung up the phone just as I reached the entrance. I paid three dollars for admission and hurried inside.
Thanks to the sheriff’s directions, I was able to find the building easily. The hair rose on the back of my neck at the sight of a few men who were clearly not from Sparrow waiting near the entrance. The bulge of weapons was obvious at their backs and sides. I wondered how they made it past the gate. Of course, the nice elderly ladies working admittance hadn’t been warned to look for armed drug dealers.
I avoided meeting their eyes and slipped inside. The building was domed with a fence partitioning the sawdust-covered ground in the middle from the audience in the bleachers on either side. Tall windows ringed the entire building and let in the fading light that filtered through the dusty air in dull beams. Lights lined the top of the building and along either wall to make up for the growing darkness outside.
A man in a blue jacket directed me to the west-side bleachers. I took a seat near the bottom and scanned the audience. The Bullets were already there. Magnum and his gang sat near the bottom corner of the east side. I studied the people opposite me and my heart slowed at the number of unfriendly faces, arms bearing green bandanas, and obviously uneasy demeanors. They were triple the number of Magnum’s gang, if not more than that. I wondered how many officers the sheriff had brought.
Six teenage girls were walking white cows around in a circle on the floor. The cows all looked the same to me, but four men in green vests at a table on the east side scribbled notes on yellow pads of paper. They appeared very serious, for people judging identical white cows. One mooed. Maybe she would get higher points.
Magnum looked at his phone, then said something to the other Bullets. He rose and made his way along one of the rows to the middle of the east side. A young man with a green bandana on his arm stood and gave Magnum his seat. Soon, other men and women began to shift to that area as well. One bore a hawk tattoo. I noticed the same tattoo on the arms of several others; they must be members of the second gang involved in the drop.
I looked around for the sheriff and found him near the fence on my side of the arena. He wore a cowboy hat and would have blended in with the crowd except that people kept recognizing him and shaking his hand. He glanced around, worried he would be spotted.
Commotion rose on the far side of the arena. One of the green bandana gang was making a chopping motion. A member of the hawk gang shook his head. He lifted his hands and said something. Another hawk gang member replied in a shout I could hear over the noise of the arena. The crowd between the two groups began to notice the confrontation. Alarm spread. The first hawk gang member stood up, then stumbled back when the green bandana member drew a gun, shouted, and waved the weapon.
Blood pounded in my ears and my breathing sounded harsh and loud. The scene before me slowed until every detail stood out in sharp contrast.
The crowd around the gunman screamed and scrambled to get away. Members of the audience rose with weapons, the sheriff’s deputies dressed in civilian attire. A shot rang out and the hawk gang member fell over, clutching his chest. Other guns were drawn. More shots were fired. The sheriff’s men were pinned down, unable to shoot for fear of hitting the bystanders. Several members of the audience screamed while others dove for cover. Magnum tripped backwards in his haste to gain some distance from the fight.
The sheriff below me shot at the leader of the green gang. The man grabbed his shoulder, then turned and fired in our direction. Bullets whizzed through the air. The audience searched for shelter. Screams of fright and pain filled the arena. The sheriff’s deputies defended the crowd the best they could, pulling them to safety and hiding them behind any cover they could find. I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless and worthless in the midst of all the shooting. I crouched and ran down the bleachers to the sheriff’s side.
The shooting stopped with Sparrow citize
ns, gang members, and deputies hunkered down. The leader of the green bandana gang had a gun to Magnum’s head and was forcing him into the middle of the arena. The few deputies who were on the west side couldn’t get a shot at the gang members without exposing themselves. Those on my side were pinned down. If they moved, innocent civilians could get hurt.
“Keep down,” I heard a familiar voice say. My heart slowed.
I spotted Uncle Rick a few rows away from me, Aunt Lauren, Cassidy, and the boys crouched around him as he tried to shield them with his body. My heart stopped entirely at the sight of Madelyn and her father next to them. They must have found each other in the audience and decided neighbors should watch cow judging together. It must be a farmer thing.
“Sheriff, what do we do?” I asked.
He turned to me and recognition flickered in his eyes. “You’re Jagger’s boy?”
I nodded. “This is a mess.”
He looked back at the scene. “We can’t shoot or the citizens around us will be targets. We need a diversion.”
“I can do that. Stall them for me,” I said. I slipped back between the bleachers.
“Wait,” I heard the sheriff call, but I pretended not to notice. If a diversion was needed, I would provide one. I wasn’t sure what I planned to do, but at this point anything was better than watching the gangs pick off easy targets out of anger over their failed drop.
From what I had seen coming in, members of both gangs were at the doors under probable orders not to let anyone in or out until the drop was done. Who knew what orders they had been given in case things dissolved into a shoot-out. I looked around desperately; there had to be a way to get out of the building without anyone noticing.
A small gate near the middle of the wall caught my attention. It looked like an entrance for the sheep and cows that were shown. A single gang member with a green bandana stood in front of the exit, his gun resting casually in one hand.
I made sure no one was watching me and dropped down behind the stands. I crept silently through the shadows and was almost on top of the gang member when he finally spotted me. He lifted the gun, but I blocked it with my right hand and drove the heel of my left into his jaw. His head snapped back and he staggered, but he refused to let go of the weapon.
I slid my hand down and grabbed the gun, then chopped his arm with all my strength. His hand opened convulsively and he yelled. I punched him in the throat, cutting off the shout, then slammed the barrel of the gun into the side of his head. He crumpled to the floor. I pushed through the gate without looking back to see if anyone had noticed our scuffle.
I darted across the fairgrounds without heed for the thick crowd. People were rushing away from the livestock building. No one appeared to know what was going on, but the sound of gunfire was unmistakable. I cleared the admissions gate and sprinted to the billboard where my bike was hidden. I ripped off my backpack and pulled on my gear, then was on the motorcycle and driving back to the admissions gate without any idea of what I would do when I got there.
The ladies who manned the entrance stared in shock when I gunned the motor and drove past their stand against the flow of the crowd who fought to leave. I turned left and followed the fence. The sheriff needed a distraction. It had to be enough to leave the gangs exposed and the deputies able to take them down without hurting citizens. I wracked my brain for ideas as I drew parallel to the livestock building and turned toward it.
People shouted when I flew by. I dodged around several women huddled behind a corn dog stand and barely missed a mass of young children being herded toward the exit by two frantic teachers. Families hid behind the balloon dart and toss-a-ring booths, while several groups of students peered from the other side of the bathrooms. The students pointed at me when I drove past. I took a small detour around a lemonade stand and, for lack of a better plan, was about to drive straight into the livestock building when I noticed the warehouse next to it.
The roof was aluminum and sloped toward the cattle building with a fifteen-foot or so gap in between. The cattle building had a solid row of huge windows all the way around it to let in light. If I could get on the roof, I could possibly jump the motorcycle through one of the windows and draw the attention of the gangs so the sheriff’s men could take them out. It was a long shot, but it was also the best plan I could come up with.
On impulse, I drove west around the building. The roof was low, but there was no way to get up on it. Several people were watching me; their expressions bore mixed looks of fear from the commotion inside the building and awe at my appearance. It was obvious they knew about the Black Rider.
“I’ve got to get on the building,” I shouted, pointing at the roof. “I need your help!”
To my relief, men and women hurried over. A tall man in a bright orange hunting hat pointed at a hot dog stand. “That would make a good ramp. Come on.” He and several other men hefted the stand and turned it so it leaned against the wall. He looked back at me. “Good luck.”
I gunned the motorcycle up the makeshift ramp to the roof. The bike took the slope with ease. When I reached the top, I paused only long enough to locate the middle window that would put me right on top of the gang. I would draw their fire and give the sheriff’s men a chance to take them down.
I took a calming breath, then rolled the throttle. The familiarity of my actions made them almost second-nature, even though I had performed the maneuver only once before. I gunned the bike down the roof, then braked hard and popped the clutch. My front tire jumped in the air just before I reached the edge.
The motorcycle cleared the span between the buildings without a problem. My front tire hit the window as I crashed through the livestock building. Glass shards glinted off my helmet and gloved hands.
The seconds in the air felt like an eternity.
“Kelson!” a surprised voice called. I couldn’t tell if it was Madelyn or Cassidy who said it.
Flashes of light burst below me as gang members turned their guns up toward their unknown attacker. Bullets hit my motorcycle and shattered my headlight. Icy shards of pain shattered across my chest as others peppered my body. My breath caught in my throat. Gunfire sparked from the far side of the arena. Gang members began to fall.
Madelyn’s hazel eyes appeared in my mind. She asked me to be careful even when I couldn’t promise her I would. She understood what drove me. Our pasts were different, but we were both fighting to redeem what we saw as our faults. In that instant, I realized neither of us had been in control of the situations we felt defined us. We were both trapped, victims who refused to quit fighting. I wanted to survive.
I could see Magnum below, the barrel of the green bandana gang leader’s gun pressed to his head. They stood in the center of the arena. The gang leader was turning at the sound of the shattering glass, his actions slowed as my brain analyzed every millisecond of the fall.
I centered my weight on the pegs, hoping to land on my back tire like before, but the tire clipped the fence that surrounded the arena. I jolted forward and felt the bike slip to one side. A part of my mind said that I had been lucky to land it once; I definitely wasn’t going to be lucky this time.
I hit the ground on my head and back, then slid to the middle of the arena floor in a daze, grateful that I at least wore a helmet. Gunfire echoed around me as my motorcycle skidded toward the gang member who held Magnum hostage. He turned at the sound of the crash and Magnum, ready for the distraction, ripped the gun from his hand and trained it on the man.
The sheriff’s men had taken advantage of the distraction to move in on both sides. There were enough officers in the arena to take down both gangs. Weapons were dropped and hands rose in the air. I closed my eyes and listened to a few more scattered gunshots, then silence fell across the arena. Pain wracked my body. It hurt to move and it hurt to breathe.
A cow gave a nervous moo. My disjointed thoughts noted that it was giving one more try for first place. Even cows had showmanship.
THE RUSTLE
OF CLOTHING and the sound of boots on metal heralded people climbing the fence to reach the middle of the arena. I thought vaguely that it would be easier for them to go around, then a hand touched my chest as knees thudded to the ground next to me.
“Is he dead?” a voice asked. I recognized Magnum’s demanding tone through the haze that filled my mind.
“I’m not sure,” a voice belonging to the sheriff replied. “We need to take off his helmet.”
“Surround us,” Magnum barked. Footsteps shuffled. “Now turn around and face out.” The footsteps complied.
Hands worked gently under my chin and loosened the strap, then my helmet was pulled free.
“Kelson?” Magnum said in surprise.
The sheriff felt for my pulse. The light from the ceiling pelted my eyes with demanding ferocity. I coughed and pain convulsed through my ribs. I opened my eyes and squinted at the two faces hovering above me.
“He’s alive,” Magnum breathed.
“Is everyone all right?” I croaked, fighting to pull in the breath that had been knocked from me in the fall.
The sheriff nodded. “It worked. No one was killed and the gangs are down.” He shook his head. “That was crazy.”
I took a tight breath and winced at the pain. “The Ashbys, Madelyn?”
“Everyone’s being moved outside; we’ll find out soon.” The sheriff eyed me worriedly. “You need an ambulance.”
“I’ll survive,” I said, though the pain that coursed through my body said the next few days might be uncomfortable.
The sheriff pulled open my riding gear and found the bulletproof vest underneath. He sat back on his heels, his face white with stark relief. “Looks like Jagger’s work,” he said.
I nodded, then put a hand to my pounding head. “He’s full of surprises,” I said despite my aching ribs.
“Tell me about it,” the sheriff replied.
“You wrecked my bike,” Magnum said, still in shock. “You said you’d never ridden one before.”
I took a shallow breath. “I lied. Sorry about that.”