by Bradley West
A recuperating Dirty Pete slowly returned from sabotaging the sleeper ’Bago and saw the dying woman writhe on the ground. Muller returned the loaner blade to Pete. “Like the Bible says, it’s better to give than to receive.”
Pete looked at Muller with incredulity. With Norris on the mend, the day would soon come when Muller felt the Sharpfinger one last time. “What the fuck—”
“It’s over,” Muller interrupted. “Segregate any male old enough to hold a weapon. Have them stand apart from the women and children, and cable tie their ankles. On our way out, you and Bailey use them for target practice. Like you said, we don’t want anyone on our trail after what’s happened here.”
With Stenner standing guard, Dirty Pete sorted and hobbled hostages.
“I have a pocketknife,” Johnny whispered to Derek. “We’re good.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Demolition Derby
Sunday, July 19, 2020: Spice Land, Idaho, and Las Vegas, Nevada, morning
Arkar was within eighty meters and had Muller’s head in his crosshairs. The problem was that he didn’t know where Travis was. If even one biker survived the opening volley, it would be a hostage bloodbath compliments of Johnny Gratton’s military arms. Arkar watched Muller fatally wound Tina through the scope; he would have fired had he seen the blade before the lethal slash. Afterward, shooting Muller would only jeopardize everyone else’s life. Muller shuffled toward the RV with four children herded in front. Arkar broke off and sought the other bikers in the low light.
Travis was almost double that distance away sitting on a rockpile behind the T-junction. He didn’t know where the hell Arkar was, but from his vantage point saw Muller slash Tina and shepherd children into the lab RV, crosshairs on the man’s head every step of the way. Travis also had seen the bikers rocking M-4s. At least the SAW wasn’t on display; presumably it was still on that highpoint overlooking camp maybe seventy meters away from Travis’ position. The dawn’s breaking had pushed all thoughts of gambling that the unattended weapon’s firing pin and an ammo box were in place. If he was wrong, he’d be dead and their enemies would possess a weapon capable of mass carnage.
* * * * *
Jaime had remained immobile for hours and was no longer confident that he could move quickly. The pain in his side made deep breathing impossible. His left arm was so stiff, he didn’t know if he could shift it at all. He’d bled plenty despite Tina’s bandages. With the sun up, it was time to shoot several Echoes and trust Travis and Arkar to have his back. He tucked his right hand under his ass and gripped Sal’s revolver. Jaime well understood Yonten’s cryptic “Six” when he’d dropped the weapon. Jaime was Sal’s range instructor and knew that the .357 magnum held six rounds. The Model 27’s four-inch barrel version didn’t lack stopping power or accuracy with the 158-grain bullets moving at twelve hundred feet per second.
Kurt walked around to Jaime’s blind side and landed a kick to the ribcage that might have cracked a pair. Jaime gasped in pain and whipped his head around—he wasn’t expecting the man who’d pissed all over him to walk up like a lamb to the slaughter.
“Time to die, beaner.” Kurt’s right hand clutched the knife Muller had used to kill Melvin. The Soul took a step back in case Jaime lashed out for his ankles. The biker’s next move would be to walk around to the man’s crippled side, lean over and carve off his dick. He’d done it before when they’d discovered a probationer had informed on the TSMC. Kurt and Zax had relieved the snitch of his Johnson, leaving the screaming teen duct-taped to a chair in a cellar. Six hours later when they’d come back from closing down the bar, the dickless wonder was deader ’n hell surrounded by a blood lake. Kurt chuckled at the reminiscence and stepped around the Mexican’s feet.
Jaime’s hand was numb, throwing off his aim. Instead of hitting the biker center mass, his angled shot penetrated Kurt’s scrotum and obliterated a testicle, pierced his lower colon and took out his spinal cord as it exited his lower back. Kurt’s hands flew to his crotch and he squealed like a stuck hog.
Hostages shouted, the blue ’Bago roared to life and a white Ford XLT Jaime hadn’t seen before pulled out, tires spinning. Thirty meters away, two men with M-4s were most of the way to the supply truck when Arkar shot one in the forehead. The truck shielded the other from both Jaime and Arkar. Dirty Pete climbed into the cab and turned the engine over. The unrestrained women and children sought cover, and Johnny hacked at the men’s cable-tied ankles. Arkar saw Zarni sprint for the blue RV and ran after her while seeking new threats.
Jaime had made it to his feet and damn near passed out in pain. He casually shot Kurt in the face to shut the man up and focused on his mission to protect the hostages. The best way to do so was to let their captors drive off. It was their handguns against M-4s, though he noted with satisfaction that the shot that had dropped the running biker had come from a long gun.
Travis could make out Burns’ bandaged face at the wheel of the white pickup. He had the same thought that Jaime did—if the bikers were fleeing alone, let them put distance between the 3Mers and their captors. The pickup took a hard left out the gate and the Horizon barreled forty meters behind it. Travis knew that Carla and four kids were in there. If he shot the driver, the high-velocity bullet could pass through the man and kill another passenger. If he shot out a tire, it was a hostage situation all over again. He took the shot at the driver; the windshield cracked and the ’Bago veered left until it came to a halt, engine running.
The door opened and a disembodied arm dangled a child by her neck. Travis had a shot at the backlit man, but other people crowded around him in the shadows. Travis held up and flinched as a report sounded and the girl fell to the ground. The door slammed shut and three seconds later, a man—it had to be Muller—appeared in the driver’s seat with a small child on his lap and another one clasped to his side. Muller put the RV into gear and drove off. Risk a headshot? No. Take out a tire? Least-bad option. Before Travis could fire, the white supply truck came hurtling down the track headed for the crawling girl. The blue Winnebago made the same left turn as the white pickup. The white whale juddered and juked as the driver yanked the wheel to move it randomly side to side. Travis’ shot found the cab but missed his target.
The driver swerved and clipped or barely missed the wounded child. The next instant, the vehicle was on its right side and skidding, raising an almighty dust cloud. Arkar had sniped the driver through the side window at seventy meters, a remarkable shot.
Travis turned to follow the Winnebago’s progress. It was four hundred meters off and accelerating away. He could put a pair of rounds into the back end, but that would be all he was aiming at. He slung the rifle and ran pell-mell down the grade to secure the wrecked vehicle.
Jaime beat Travis to the accident site despite running like Frankenstein’s monster, Sal’s magnum brandished in his right hand. Travis slowed his pace and calmed his overloaded brain. Led by Derek, the freed men sprinted toward the little girl too.
Muller had shot fourteen-year-old Kyaw through the right lung, and Dirty Pete had crushed her lower legs when he’d run her over. Arkar knelt and cradled her broken body in his bloody arms. She was dead. Arkar wept.
Such cruelty and cowardice left everyone speechless. Who shoots an adolescent schoolgirl in the back and has his henchman run her over as she tries to crawl to safety?
* * * * *
Burns parked the XLT next to the five motorcycles left behind by their ill-fated riders. Muller passed them and pulled over. The Brit yanked sparkplug wires and fuses as he followed Norris’ instructions from the pickup. Muller dumped Stenner’s corpse out of the RV, then left Katerina in charge of Carla and the three kids as he doublechecked Elephant Man’s sabotage program. Muller removed the missed fuses and confirmed the bikes wouldn’t run even if someone had spare plugs. He regretted not having kept Dirty Pete’s Sharpfinger since he lacked a blade to slash tires or sever fuel lines. He didn’t even have sugar for the gas tanks.
&nb
sp; “Did you kill Sal and the rest of them?” Burns asked. “I didn’t hear automatic fire when I drove off.”
“That was Bailey and Pete’s job. I don’t know what happened. Best to assume that Maggio’s men survived and are after us.”
“Where’re my men?” Norris asked from inside the cab.
“The Mexican shot Boner and Kurt, and snipers killed Bailey and Stenner. Dirty Pete was behind me in the truck when I turned off. He never made it to the main road: probably KIA.”
“I’m out for two days and you lost every man? I thought you were Special Forces?”
“Those Green Beret pussies couldn’t carry my jockstrap. I spent seven years as a special operator and don’t have time for your shit. The Maggios don’t have any vehicles, but there’s a hippie compound six miles away that does. We’re down to three men—each of us fucked up—plus Katerina and four hostages. We don’t have the firepower to take on the hippies in daylight and would make enemies of anyone who survived an attack. I say we drive far away as fast as we fucking can. Sort out what happened back there and decide on next steps. What’ll it be?”
“Where do you suggest we go?” Norris asked. The hatred and contempt in his voice could have stopped a man’s heart.
“Head to where they least expect us to—due north to Canada. Put on our lead boots and take a long, long drive. Once we’re far away, I’ll pick a side road off Route 95 where we can hide. Let the scientists finish the Dark Cure to give us currency.”
“Or we head into Boise and hire a dozen hard men, come back here and hit them while they’re regrouping. Unless the prospect of more violence upsets you.”
Muller couldn’t stand that insolent asshole, but he let it go. “It would take us at least until tonight to roll up, finish the Cure and trade shots for shooters. That puts us back here at first light tomorrow at the earliest. The Maggios just killed five of ours to one of them after we surprised them last night. Give them another day to prepare and we won’t do any better even with ten men. We need to retreat and regroup. I killed a girl back there, and we have three more children in the RV, plus their scientist. I did what I had to do to ensure that they come after us in a blind rage. That will be their downfall.”
Norris reconsidered his low opinion of Muller. “Fine. Play it your way,” he said and pulled his head back into the pickup.
Muller tenderly walked back to the RV—fucking Melvin had jabbed him good.
* * * * *
Travis knew there weren’t enough of Muller’s men left for them to mount a counterattack, but he nonetheless directed Tom to man the SAW and light up anything unfamiliar. If that included Spice Landers, so be it.
Erinn repacked Jaime’s wounded shoulder and gave him injections of antibiotics and painkillers. Rosa tended to the wounded Mexican, though he spent more time comforting her than she did looking after him. “We won’t rest until we find Juanito and Lupita,” he reassured her.
“First my husband and now my children,” she wept. Jaime put his good arm around her and drew her close. He couldn’t promise to return her children unharmed and stayed silent rather than provide false hope with soothing words.
Johnny burrowed into the overturned supply truck, seeking mechanics’ tools and the remaining weapons. Repairing the green sleeper ’Bago and the Telluride were the first orders of business. They caught a break when Derek’s inspection of the truck’s cab showed that Dirty Pete had kept what he’d ripped out of each vehicle. Johnny was a wiz with a soldering iron and set to work on the components as Derek dragged yet another corpse roadside.
Pat, Kyle and Tien covered Tina and Melvin’s bodies with cotton sheets while Pat prayed. Tien and Kyle excused themselves to help Johnny unload the jumbled contents of the supply truck.
The Burmese mourned Kyaw in private. Zarni wrapped her body in a shroud and prayed while Arkar and Yonten gathered rocks and built a raised stone platform. To keep wild animals at bay, they’d later cover her with more stones. Zarni collected a few of Kyaw’s favorite personal items to decorate her bier and accompany her soul to a new body. She made a pledge to return one day to remove Kyaw’s skull in the traditional manner, accompanied by the proper Naga rites. Father and son worked in silent efficiency, their hard work constraining their bottled-up rage, grief and concern for Schway’s safety.
Travis stopped to pay his respects. “Arkar, the murder of a child, any child—but particularly Maung’s daughter—is unforgivable. Even if they let the children and Carla go, I swear that I won’t rest until they’re all dead.”
Arkar nodded.
“I will go with you,” Yonten said.
Travis looked at the intense youth and recognized the makings of PTSD and the thousand-yard stare. So it begins. He put his hand on Yonten’s shoulder. “The three of us will kill them all.”
After Derek’s jackpot, Travis searched the dead bikers for clues to where they may have gone. He came up with knives, pistols, phones, wallets and five sets of keys. At a minimum, there were missing motorcycles to find, but he was confident they wouldn’t be far away. Barb drove him down the perimeter road in the ATV until they found the disabled Harleys. Travis made sure they weren’t booby trapped and left them where they stood.
Sal checked the green Forza and confirmed what he’d feared—the contact details of their guide into Canada, and maps of BC and Thunderdome’s GPS coordinates were in the glove compartment of the stolen Horizon. Their enemies knew, or would soon know, where they planned to cross the border and their ultimate destination. The 3M would never be safe so long as their adversaries were alive.
Travis and Barb returned in the ATV. Sal, Jaime and Derek clustered around as Travis waved them over. “I found five Harleys up the road. They’re missing plugs and fuses, but maybe that’s it. I’ll ride up to Spice Land’s HQ and see what they can do. We’ll need our supplies plus a backhoe to dig a mass grave and flip the supply truck upright. Maybe they can lend us a mechanic to fix the Silverado and help with the rigs down here. It’ll take hours before we have three or four vehicles roadworthy to search for Carla and the kids. Does anyone have any ideas of what we can do in the meantime other than sort out the white whale?”
Sal looked around the group of traumatized faces. “Let’s see if we can find our spare shortwave radio.”
* * * * *
The second night at Meatball Matt’s home was less contentious. Greg hobbled around on a crutch and assembled sandwiches while Steph nursed Tyson and tried to convince herself that he’d soon be as good as new. They went to bed early and slept intermittently, getting up to check on the baby.
Matt shut himself inside the den and worked through multiple tasks. He booked a fully fueled Cessna Caravan and a pilot for Monday morning. Then he called his favorite pawnbroker and sold Stephanie’s engagement ring for ten thousand in cash. Third, he referred to Greg’s lab equipment printout and tried to acquire every medical device in Las Vegas that could make the Dark Cure. Few medical equipment supply houses still had interactive websites, and he ended up with more addresses and phone numbers than he did actual orders. It was after two in the morning by the time he loaded his Sig Sauer.
Tyson provided Steph with a natural wake-up call, but Greg was up before dawn. He cleaned up and noted that his leg was mending well. With a chunk of muscle blown out the back of his left thigh, he’d walk with a limp the rest of his life. In a Covid-20 world, it seemed like a small price to pay. In the kitchen, he fried bacon for four in anticipation of Mona’s arrival. He winced at the grease spatter singeing his hands and double-checked the instructions: 3158 megahertz at 8:09 for five minutes.
Mona arrived at 7:45 and passed on the blackened bacon in favor of cold toast, OJ and coffee. She examined Tyson and declared him fit for the procedure. “I’ve booked OR One at 11:30. The anesthesiologist handles infants with ease, so that’s not a concern. We should arrive no later than 9:30 so I can prep.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Greg said. “I don’t expect this call to la
st more than five minutes. We’ll find out where they are and figure out the closest airport. My only worry is that they may already be in Canada and will have to return to pick us up.”
Matt joined them in silence. Yesterday’s double- and triple dealing had left a sour taste. “Since I’m the odd man out, give me a rundown of who will be on the call.”
A measured Stephanie supplied basic background on the four Maggios, with Carla’s new role suggesting she’d be the lead participant. Like an FDR fireside chat, the four adults huddled around the radio set. Greg tuned in two minutes early and they listened to seven minutes of white noise. He nudged the setting, hoping in vain that Sal was broadcasting next to the agreed frequency. His palms were sweaty.
“Reboot it,” Matt said. For something he’d convinced himself he wasn’t interested in, a ticket out of Vegas suddenly was attractive. Mona might have something to do with that, though he wasn’t certain what to think about a woman twenty years older and twice as smart.
As the blue light reached full power, a voice sounded, but it wasn’t Carla’s or Sal’s. “CQ, CQ, CQ.”
“QRZ,” Greg said, reading off the instructions.
“This is 3M. Over.”
“It’s Steph and Greg. We’re in Vegas. Tyson has an operation later today. We expect to fly to you Monday. What’s your current location? Over.”
Travis read off Sal’s code list of towns and regional airports. “We are at Cobalt. The closest airport is Bananas. Over.”
The excitement showed in Greg’s normally monotone voice. “Copy that, 3M. Airport is Bananas. Tomorrow same time, we will advise our ETA, but we’ll aim for early afternoon. We have two new 3M members to vote on—a doctor, and a software engineer and computer network designer. Mona and Matt are their names. Over.”
“The same group that took Tyson attacked last night. They murdered Melvin, Tina and Kyaw. Two hours ago, we recaptured our camp and killed five. Four Echoes escaped including Muller and Burns. They took Carla and three children in the Horizon. They disabled our vehicles and we’re working on them. Top priority is to recover our people. Over.”