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Inside the tent were racks against the walls and more white foldable tables. Military pistols, shotguns and rifles lay on tables and filled crates inside the tent. Dozens of green military ammo cans were stacked in a corner. One table was full of used firearms they’d been taking in on trades, but it didn’t matter; they flew off the tables as fast as they could be sold at criminally high prices. Guns seemed to have the greatest markup of any items in the market; often selling for over 10 times what they normally went for, and people were buying them like hotcakes. Most of the rifles in this tent seemed to be brand new, particularly the crates of M-16’s and AK-47’s. From a quick glance around Tak guessed that this group had somehow acquired their stash from a military base or armory.
The line moved along in front of him as people haggled and bartered for firearms and ammo. They paid with cash, gold, silver, ammo, and anything else the biker’s approved of. A rough looking woman a few spots in front of Tak began pleading with one of the bikers on the other side of the table. Her hair was balding in patches and she looked haggard. Tak could overhear some of what she was saying. “Come on, hook me up; I just need a quick fix. I promise to make it worth it to you. I’ll make you feel good baby… come on… please!” A long haired man behind the table rose his voice to her, “I’m not going to tell you again, get the fuck out of here! Your nasty ass ain’t got shit we want and you’re waistin’ our time.” Then he looked to his big friend, “Bull, get this slag outa here.” Bull unfolded his big arms and started to approach the woman, but she got the picture and quickly scurried off before he could get to her.
A young guy just in front of Tak stepped up to the next available salesman-biker when it was his turn. “Ya I just need some weed man. How much can I get for this?” With that he pulled several golden chains, bracelets and rings from a backpack and put them on the table. The biker in front of him began inspecting the items. Tak got the distinct suspicion that the items were stolen, but before he could watch the rest of the transaction a customer at the far right end of the tables left, freeing up that biker to take the next customer. Tak walked up to the man. He was a wiry mid 30’s white man with a brown pony tail and the name “DOUG” on a patch over the right chest of his vest. Tak noticed that he also had an Airborne tab on his vest. A silver semi-auto was holstered on his right side. “Whadaya need man?” “I need to buy about 50 gallons of gasoline.” Doug grinned, “Ya, most everybody’s out but we got some. It ain’t cheap though. Whatcha got to trade for it?” Tak spoke without expression. “Cash.” The biker smirked. “That’s shit ain’t worth what it used to be. How much you got?” “How much do you charge per gallon?” The man snickered. “200 bucks per.” Tak reached in his front right pocket, pulled out his stack of 50 hundred dollar bills and flipped through it slowly, letting Doug see them. “I won’t play the usual back and forth barter game with you, I’ll just offer all I have right off the bat. All the cash I’ve got; take it or leave it. I’ll give you this five thousand dollars cash for a full tank of gas in my vehicle, which will take less than 50 gallons. No negotiating; I have to have a full tank and all my cash is yours.” Tak hoped the man had started with a high starting offer and was willing to go much lower, which was often the case in bartering. However he wouldn’t be surprised if the man bartered back with him and he ended up having to spend some of his gold. Doug reached out to take the stack of cash as he spoke, “OK; you got a deal.” Tak pulled the cash back before Doug could take it. “Hold on a second. How does this work exactly? How do I get the gas from you? Doug looked up at Tak. “That’s simple. You’ll follow one of our guys to where we keep it, a few miles from here. We can protect it a lot better where it is now than we could here. You pay me now and I’ll call them over the radio to let them know to expect you.” Tak felt like the biker had agreed to his price surprisingly easily, but he handed him the cash, “OK, let’s do this.” Doug took it and smiled as he flipped through the cash as he asked, “What are you driving?” Tak answered back, “I’m in an RV.” Doug started to speak into a hand held radio and then looked back to Tak, “An RV? Describe it?” “It’s a 2002 Coachmen Leprechaun. It’s an old class C style.” Doug seemed to consider Tak’s words before nodding and speaking into his radio. “Doug to base - Doug to base. I’ve got a gas customer coming in soon. He’s paid for a complete fill up, 50 gallons maximum. Zulu Oscer, over.” Static chirped on the radio for a second and then the reply came. “10-4, Zulu Oscer. Pappa Siera, over.” Tak recognized that they were using military code in their communications, but he had no way to know what their coded words stood for. Doug looked back to Tak. “OK man, Bull here will lead you to the gas, follow him. Tak nodded as Bull turned and walked over and looked down at him, towering over him like a giant. Tak got the feeling that he was being sized up… and underestimated as usual. Bull didn’t say a word as he suddenly turned and began lumbering towards the parking lot. As Tak walked back towards the RV he scanned the crowd for his friends, but there were too many faces and he didn’t saw them anywhere.
CHAPTER 17: Disrespect
A s the sun rose on the fifth day since the worldwide economic crash had begun, Tadashi and his henchmen pulled into the long driving leading to Tak’s home in the countryside a few miles south of Marion Illinois. The Order had given them the address. The big Teradyne Gurkha purred as Nobu eased it to a stop in front of the burned out remains of Tak’s home. The vehicle was an almost 20 foot long and nine foot tall bullet-proof SUV that weighed right at 20 thousand pounds. The three men exited it to go investigate with the tracker out and in Shinji’s hands. He watched it with expectation, but it didn’t make a noise.
The main home and the bunkhouse that Tak’s father had made for visiting martial arts students was still a pile of smoking ashes. However the large metal pole barn and the dojo remained. Tadashi entered the dojo’s side door and went to the front large garage doors and slid them up and open as chains ratcheted loudly. Sunlight poured into the 40 by 60 foot building as he looked around. Nobu and Shinji stood quietly in their normal place about five feet behind him. Their reverence for Tadashi was equal parts fear and respect. Tadashi slowly walked around the gym, running his hands over the training equipment. Several large heavy bags hung from the rafters. Racks were filled with various pads and equipment. Tadashi walked to a shelf and picked up a small clear plastic container that had “TAK” written on it. He flipped the hinged lid open and removed a well-worm clear mouthpiece. It had a breathing hole in the center and bite marks lined the top and bottom rows where it had been custom formed to Tak’s teeth. Tadashi lifted the mouthpiece to his nose and inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes. He then turned it so it the rear of the mouthpiece would go in first, and placed it in his own mouth. He clamped down with his teeth against the soft material of the mouthpiece as he closed his eyes, leaned his head back and tasted his enemy. His henchmen looked at each other curiously, but knew better than to utter a word.
Tadashi stepping onto the padded training floor, but he did not bow. Bowing before stepping onto the mats had been instilled in him since birth and he had to consciously fight the urge in order to disrespect this particular dojo. He envisioned the picture of Tak he had from the online newspaper archives and began circling around the training mat to do battle with him. Dust particles floating in the air reflected light as he moved through them, in this place dedicated to hand to hand combat training. Tadashi closed his eyes and sucked the spit back from Tak’s mouthpiece. It was a decent fit... not perfect of course since the individual teeth indentations that marked it were unique to Tak; but it fit Tadashi enough to offer his teeth some protection. He slipped his head left and right as imagined strikes came at him. He lifted his right shin to block a strike and then slowly threw a kick high in the air as he went through the motions of the fight in his head. He opened his eyes and looked around. Hi
s enemy had no doubt spent countless hours training here. He could almost smell the blood and sweat that Tak had shed throughout the years in this very place. He let his eyes fall over the many pieces of various training equipment. The gloves and shinguards to train kickboxing… the gis to train judo… the rashguards for no-gi grappling… the rattan sticks and practice knives for kali… the suits of armor and wooden swords to train kendo. He looked on the wall above a rack of training weapons and froze in place. As he continued to stare at what had caught his attention, rage suddenly burned in him. His eyes locked onto a black sword that hung on the wall above the practice weapons. It was a three foot long wakizashi sword; the exact same size and shape as the sacred Takamura family meteorite bladed sword that this half breed’s damn mother had stolen. This sword was obviously meant to replicate the dimensions of the sacred stolen blade for training purposes. Tadashi moved to the wall and lifted it from the hooks. He pictured the blade that he had only heard stories of as he felt this one’s weight. The actual meteorite sword was truly a thing of legend… a gift from the gods to his ancestor that had been passed down through 37 generations of Takamura men and rightfully belonged to him; so be believed. As rage burned through him he tried to tap into his ancient gift and become Hoshoku; but he could not. The gift could only be access with a focused mind, and he knew that. His inability to tap into it during this moment only made him madder. He yelled a sudden battle shout as he ran to the training weapons rack and sliced several rubberized sticks and swords. As they fell he grabbed the weapons rack and jerked it off of the wall where it crashed onto the floor, spilling its contents across the mats. He then ran across the width of the dojo, this time his war cry sounded more like a maniacal scream as he chopped a deep gash into a heavy striking bag. Nothing infuriated him more than when he couldn’t do something he wanted to, like tapping into his gift. He considered himself a god amongst man, in control of everything around him and even his own destiny. He had the right to take anything he desired; and squashing one of the many two legged insects who roamed the world with him was of no consequence at all. He continued to hack and slash at the heavy bag as he took his fury out on it. Pieces of cloth stuffing flew out as he slashed it a dozen times and more. Finally with a strong chop of the training sword, the bag was cut in half; its bottom half hitting the mats with a thud. He then turned and hurled the sword across the dojo where it clanked against the far side wall. He was steaming mad and breathing hard as he reached down and opened the front of his kimono and urinated on the sacred dojo training mats; his sign of complete disrespect.
His henchmen wisely did not move and kept their eyes to the ground as Tadashi spun and approached them. They knew to keep their eyes down when he was worked up, as he would often reward eye contact with pain. Tadashi stood before them and looked back and forth into their eyes and he suddenly eerily calmed down. He stood for almost half a minute until his men finally rose their vision to meet his. Even though he had stopped his physical outburst, his words still dripped with venom as he spoke matter-of-factly. “I will not only take back what is rightfully mine, but I will kill this half-breed and anyone he’s ever loved or called a friend. It will be written in my sacred family history book; woe be to anyone who dares cross me. It would be preferable for them to have never been born at all. On this I swear.” His men bowed low and truly believed the sincerity of his words.
CHAPTER 18: The Major’s Misdirection
I t was around 8PM when Tadashi and his henchmen arrived at the 200 foot long by 100 foot deep tan-bricked National Guard Armory building in Marion. The Order had been in contact with them over their satellite phone and had given them the location of this building, which was now Marion’s temporary police department. Shinji eyed the electronic tracker; it still hadn’t flashed a light or made a beep. The sun had set and darkness had taken over.
As Tadashi approached the front door his men walked in their customary positions side by side and two paces behind him. They had already seen several people coming and going and knew the front door was unlocked and available for the public to use. A makeshift waiting room had been set up with several chairs along two walls and a soldier was seated at a desk at the end of the room near a hallway that led deeper into the building. All three men scanned the room looking for Tak's face as they knew it from the newspaper picture. Tadashi's eyes darted back and forth as he searched, ready to spring into the business he had come such a long way for. His men knew their roles in keeping others out of the way when he finally confronted Tak. As they entered the room a hush fell over the dozen or so people seated in the waiting area. The trio obviously didn’t fit with in their fancy looking kimonos and the swords they wore. The soldier behind the desk looked at them curiously and didn't speak as he took the sight in… it looked like characters straight out of an old samurai movie had entered the building. Tadashi walked up to the desk and spoke in broken and heavily accented English, "I look… mister Graves. Takamura Graves." The soldier raised an eyebrow. "You look like who? Who’s Grave?" Tadashi leaned down closer to the desk and spoke slowly. “Takamura Graves. Where… Takamura… Graves?" Just then a police officer with a name badge that read "KOWALSKI" walked out from the hallway behind and to the left side of the soldier at the desk. Initially he didn't pay attention to the foreign men, but as he walked further he noticed the short stocky Asian man in his kimono and stopped to take the scene in, muttering “What the...” Shinji turned and looked at him directly and somewhat confrontationally and didn't blink as they stood a mere three feet apart. If his master said the word or initiated a fight he was ready to cut this man down without hesitation. Tadashi's tone got sharper and anger could be heard in his voice through the language barrier. He slowed down his words more and said them louder, "Takamura Graves! Where Takamura Graves!?" He turned towards the police officer who had just walked in and walked up to him and immediately poked his badge as he continued to speak to the soldier at the desk. "Omawarisan, Graves wa Omawarisan desu!" The officer stepped back with his right foot and put his hand on the butt of his pistol as he reached up and swatted Tadashi’s hand away from his badge. "Hey, hands off pal. You need to calm down." The soldier behind the desk stood up quickly and spoke to Tadashi. "I don't know what language you're speakin' but I don't like your damn tone. You'd better..." Kowalski raised his left hand and interrupted him. "Graves you say? You askin' about officer Graves?" Tadashi considered taking these men out then and there, but if Tak wasn't in the building he'd need information. He turned completely to the officer, fearing him and his sidearm none at all. "Hai... Yes. Graves. Omawarisan... Police." He reached into a fold in his kimono and produced a printout of a picture of Takamura and a few officers that had been taken just a few days prior. He pointed to Tak's face and repeated his name slowly. Kowalski nodded, "Ya, I know who he is. I'm just an auxiliary officer but sure, I know him. Who are you all and what's this all about?" Tadashi closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head in frustration. Couldn't this fool tell he didn't speak his language and wouldn't know what he was talking about when he went on like that? Nobu understood the thought process his master was going through and spoke quietly to him in their native tongue. "Master, may I explain the situation to them in English? I believe I can make some progress here." A look of disgust came over Tadashi's face, and he didn't try to hide it from anyone in the room. He practically spit as he spoke, "Do it." He crossed his arms and waited. The soldier spoke to officer Kowalski, "Hey, this guy's an asshole. Just tell em to come back in the morning and talk to the Major." Nobu stepped and spoke slowly in accented but still understandable English. "Sir, please forgive for my English. We seek mister Takamura Graves. He is a Marion policeman. May we see him please?” Kowalski nodded in understanding and replied slowly himself. “Yes, I know him. I'm not sure where he is, but the Major... he knows." As he said "Major" he nodded his head back over his right shoulder, subconsciously indicating with his body language that he was somewhere deeper in the building. "He's sleeping but
you can ask him after eight o’clock in the morning." Nobu nodded and seemed to understand. "This... Major... he is police boss? He sleeps here... in building?" Kowalski nodded and understood that the men, or at least the one in the black kimono, were of little patience and wanted what they wanted right now. He was used to that, especially in the last few days since the collapse had begun and everyone wanted their emergency taken care of immediately. "Ya, he stays here but he's off duty now. You'll have to come see him tomorrow. He can answer your questions about Graves." Nobu turned and gave the news to Tadashi in Japanese. After a few sentences a sense of understanding seemed to come over him. Tadashi turned to the officer and a mischievous grin came over his face as he spoke with his heavy accent, "Thank you." Kowalski pursed his lips, revealing his disdain for the men in front of him. "When you all come back and talk to the Major you'd better change the way..." With unexpected speed Tadashi sprung forward off his back leg towards Kowalski, as if he'd be hurled out of a huge rubber band. The bent second knuckles of each of the fingers on his right hand shot straight out towards the officer's throat in a "tiger claw" striking technique. It was designed to take up less vertical space than a regular fist and thus not accidentally run into the chin on its route to the windpipe. Kowalski's Adam's apple was pushed completely to the back of the inside of his throat before it ruptured, forever destroying the integrity of his esophagus. The strike snapped with so much power that it unnecessarily sent Kowalski off his feet, flying into the row of seated civilians waiting in the lobby behind him. He grasped his crushed throat with both hands, futility trying to inhale as his face turned red.
ROAD TRIP THROUGH THE APOCALYPSE Page 9