by Schow, Ryan
He moved to the window, felt a creeping dread working its way through his bones. All he saw was a long line of headlights and tail lights below. They snaked through the city like a God-sized Python snake. If this snake coiled itself tight enough, the damage it could do to Portland would be legendary.
“I say we let them go through, then get back to business,” Edwin said. He was about Quan’s size, and reasonable. No one in their right mind would take on that army. Not with a dozen guns and limited ammunition between them.
“We can’t do that,” Steve said.
“Why not?” Edwin fired back.
“Because they’re here now, and they’re slowing down,” Steve said. “If they intended to pass through without incident, they would not have left the interstate. But they did. And now they’re stopping.”
“Great,” Chang muttered behind them.
“What’s wrong, big guy?” Steve turned and said. “We just pull up the rear, eat right up through the ass end until we reach the head, then it’ll just be nothing. A head without a body. The last bit of life to a beast that was no more.”
“You’re high as a kite,” Lienna said.
“Not for years,” Steve replied. “But what I wouldn’t do for a big bowl of Mendocino Purps, or Golden Goat, or even some of the Ghost Train Haze right now.”
“What is that?” Lok asked.
“Different strains of pot,” Cleavon said. “White people pot. With fancy names that make you feel like you’re not just some burnout worried about buying seeds and stems when really all you wanted was the good stuff.”
“He’s right,” Steve said chuckled. “White people pot is the best. Say, Lavon—”
“It’s Lavar,” he corrected, not irritated, or confrontational.
“Say, Lavar,” Steve said, his eyes just as glued to the army below as everyone else’s, “have you tried The Dirty Girl, or Snoop’s Dream?”
“Lavar had a dirty girl once, who could’ve been Snoop’s dream,” Cleavon teased, “but she got the crabs and Lavar was stuck itching his patch for a week before realizing he was getting feasted upon by his sweetheart’s G-string seafood.”
“That’s gross,” Lienna said, but she couldn’t be heard over the ruckus of laughter among them.
“Knock it off,” Brandon said. “These fools are getting out of their vehicles.”
Just then, maybe ten blocks up, an explosion tore a hole into the night, a small fireball boiling up into the sky.
“One of those knuckleheads is actually doing it,” Cleavon mused.
“So should we,” Steve said, his voice teeming with excitement. To Quan, he said, “Boss, what do you say we go smoke a few of these cum dumpsters.?
Quan turned to Brandon and said, “Well, are you ready to sack up?”
Brandon looked down the line at his guys, who were looking back at him with anticipation, and perhaps a bit of fear.
“What do you guys think?” he asked.
Reed said, “I say it’s open season on the SAA.”
The distant sounds of gunfire sawed through a mounting silence. Another explosion erupted, this one closer by a few blocks. Below, men were getting out of their trucks, weapons ready, wondering if they should head toward the sounds of war.
“Right up the tailpipe, Quan,” Steve reiterated.
Brandon peeled off the wall and said, “Follow my lead. If things get hot, split off with your crews and watch the crossfire.”
“And the friendly fire,” Quan added, wanting to make sure no one was hit on accident, or on purpose. He still had concerns about Graham, who—judging by stink-eye he’d been getting ever since he knocked him out—looked like he could not only hold a grudge, but that he might actually do something about it given the circumstances.
As they swiftly descended the stairwell, the dying light of Reed’s flashlight giving them enough of a view to keep them from tripping on the person in front of them, Edwin said, “So we’re really going to do this? I mean, we’re really going to poke this bear?”
“Sack up, Sunshine,” Lienna said. “Unless you have an issue with us hitting your ancestors.”
“They aren’t my people,” Edwin said. “I was born in LA.”
“She just called you a bitch, in case you missed that,” Cleavon teased his friend.
Over the snickering among the group, Edwin said, “I was just saying, there’s no tactical advantage to this.”
“Oh here we go,” Graham chided from up the line. “You play Call of Duty for five years and all the sudden you’re talking like you’re black ops.”
“Shut up!” Brandon turned and hissed over his shoulder.
They hit the first floor, fanned out into the lobby, wordless and in a tight formation. Quan thought they moved well. Then again, that was easy when you weren’t taking fire. Pretty soon, if things went south, they would be in the firefight of their lives. Edwin was right. There was no tactical advantage to this.
“Did your guys get your blades back?” Brandon asked at the lobby’s front door.
“Yeah,” Quan replied.
Brandon said, “Knives out, consider a squeezed trigger our death sentence. Am I clear? Weapons free only if things get FUBARed.”
“Clear,” everyone said, nearly in unison.
“Then let’s roll,” he said, moving out into the street, back around the building and down several blocks.
When they circled around to the tail end of the last vehicle, they crept up on its rear bumper and held position. The two occupants remained inside with the engine off. Apparently, if the front of the convoy was under attack, and if there was a swift, ferocious response, not everyone needed to join that party. In fact, it looked like the guys in back might actually be bored.
“Are you kidding me?” Lavar asked. “They’re just going to sit there?”
There was no way they could go in with knives. What were they going to do, Quan wondered? Just open the truck doors and stab them to death? They pulled back ten feet, found cover on the side of the road. A bunch of abandoned cars pushed to the side of the road.
“We need to get religious with this,” Steve said. “I’m talking balls out, cut up through the line until the heat gets too hot, then we high tail it back to HQ.”
“That’s a stupid idea,” Graham said.
“You just picked your face up off the floor thirty minutes ago,” Steve snapped, “so maybe you don’t get a say in this.”
That was one of the things about Steve that Quan liked: his loyalty to his crew. Then again, Quan liked that he was protective and vengeful as well. The American made for a good role model for the others.
“You’re talking about a knockout blow like it was a fair fight,” Graham growled. “It was a sucker punch and everyone knows it.”
“You hit him with his hands tied behind his back not once, but twice,” Steve said. “So maybe you just sit back and try not to get us killed.”
“Says the guy wanting to go in like Butch Cassidy,” Reed said.
“Steve’s right,” Quan interjected. “At least, if we want to go in this way, he is.”
“This is a hard pass for me,” Edwin said.
“Figures,” Lienna replied. “We can hit the worst of our people, but he can’t hit the worst of his.”
Stepping toward her aggressively, Edwin said, “If I crawled up on top of that truck and grabbed a pair of binoculars, I couldn’t see the head on this snake, as the white boy calls it, and you want us to attack? This isn’t about hitting ‘my people.’ This is about not getting killed.”
“We’re fighting it here or in Yale,” Gang announce, short on words until now. “I say we do the stupid thing and hit them now.”
“I second that motion,” Lienna said.
Brandon looked around at them like they were crazy. Quan wondered if the man was having second thoughts, or getting a case of the chicken shits.
“Well?” Quan asked.
Brandon looked at his crew who was looking back at him, either u
ncertain or scared. Brandon filled the silence quickly. To Quan, he said, “We’re more like a local crew than a hit squad.”
“You’re only a local crew because you don’t know the joys of being in a hit squad,” Steve said. “Trust me, it’s better this way. More action.”
“Think of it like a hit and run,” Chang added, resolute. Looking up the line he said, “We don’t have the full force of them to contend with. All we have is the vehicle in front of us and the element of surprise. Now that element is going to run out sooner than later, but like Steve said, once things get too hot, we bug out like our asses are on fire.”
Quan stepped in front of Brandon and said, “We’re going to work in two man teams. One of you up each side with Lienna on the outside flank with me. You guys know the game Leapfrog?”
Heads were nodding in the dark.
“Good,” he said. “Brandon and I will take the first two men, me on the driver’s side, Brandon on the passenger side.”
“When you pull the cab door open and you’re firing on your guy,” Brandon warned, “watch the crossfire. That’s the most important thing, watch the crossfire.”
“As the team in front of you is eliminating their targets, the next team sprints forward, moving like wildfire in a windstorm,” Quan said. “We’re going to run out of ammo at some point, so make sure you know your round count, and grab whatever weapons you get out of the vehicle. We don’t want to run our mags dry if we can help it, or we’re literally going to be the clowns who showed up with knives to a gun fight.”
Quan finished what he was saying, and everyone paired off. That’s when he realized Lienna was right by his side, looking up at him. The woman wasn’t big on words, not this little pixie among a pack of testosterone-laden trigger-fingers, but the fire in her eyes was bright enough to push back the darkness.
“On my lead,” Quan said, his stomach in his throat, but his mind clear of all distractions and hesitation. To Brandon he looked up and said, “Ready?”
Brandon nodded, then he turned to his guys and saw they were ready as well.
“Go!” Quan hissed.
Quan ran up on the first truck, pulled on the door handle and found it locked. Dammit! The men inside turned, wide eyed and adrenalized as they scrambled for their weapons. Quan flashed with panic, then fired through the glass at the same time as Brandon, killing both men.
“Doors are locked!” he called out to the others.
The next two raced past them, and then everyone was on the move. Quan opened the door, collected their weapons and spare mags, then sprinted ahead just as the doors to the vehicles ahead were opening up to retaliate. All hell was officially breaking loose, but by the look of it, they’d taken down, or were in the process of taking down, six vehicles.
“Move!” Quan called out to Brandon as the squad neutralized their targets and other targets were emerging.
Everyone moved quickly and efficiently, leap-frogging forward, but it was clear to Quan they could only run two cycles. That meant twelve vehicles at best. He moved anyway, seeing no quit in Brandon. They were about to run the third cycle. It wouldn’t work. The back three teams were rushing forward when too many of the truck doors in front of them opened up and opened fire on them. They dove for cover, knowing they’d pressed their luck too far. Looking for an exit, Quan saw they were at an intersection and unable to flee without running out into the open.
“Back, back, back!” Quan shouted.
Everyone backtracked, bullets skipping off the asphalt and making plinking sounds as they struck the metal trucks around them. When it looked like the wave was about to break over the top of them, Quan turned to Brandon and said, “Get everyone back to your HQ, I’ll provide cover fire and then catch up.”
Brandon didn’t hesitate to flee, which pissed off Quan the slightest little bit. A leader would have stayed and gotten his men free first, in Quan’s estimation, but whatever. Quan made the call and Brandon complied. The two teams now flooded past Quan as he and Lienna provided cover fire for them. The mass of SAA soldiers were closing in though. Pretty soon it was just Quan, Lienna, and one unknown ahead. The man was dug in and firing on the SAA.
“Is that Graham?” Lienna asked.
“Yeah,” Quan replied.
Graham bolted for cover, taking a round to the back of his shoulder escaping. He didn’t let the injury slow him much, for he was still moving fast. But the SAA saw the wounded animal and took chase. Lienna and Quan stepped out and shot all three SAA, saving Graham’s life. A moment later, the bearded man ducked behind the same vehicle and tried to catch his breath. Bent over, heaving, his shoulder obviously stiff, he looked up and growled at them. “Are you two just going to sit there and do nothing, or are you going to get in the fight?”
Lienna shot him in the head without hesitation.
“Thanks,” Quan said as the man dropped dead on the asphalt. “Let’s get back to HQ.”
The two of them ran through the night, the sounds of gunfire at their backs, pushing them hard, not letting them rest. Within ten minutes, they managed to catch up to the others.
“Graham was hit,” Lienna said, winded. “He tried to be the hero for too long.”
Brandon slowed his pace, but then a fresh line of bullets stitched up the streets behind them and they ducked inside the closest building, navigating thought the first floor and emerging on the other side. When they were out back, they crossed from property to property, cut over a few more streets, basically zig-zagging their way through the neighborhood on their way back. When they came upon Brandon’s HQ, both teams slipped inside, and that’s where Brandon lost it.
“Tell me everything about Graham!” he roared in Quan’s face.
“It’s like Lienna said,” Quan said calmly. “He stayed in the fight too long. Guys with a hero complex tend to die first.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lienna said.
“Stow it, bitch!” Brandon thundered. “I don’t need your explanations or your sympathies.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Quan said, standing in front of the man.
Brandon shoved his shoulder, but Quan made himself boneless, absorbing the shove to his left arm while using the twisting momentum to counter. His right hand shot out, struck Brandon in the throat. Instead of hitting him with a fist and killing him, Quan bent his thumb and struck the man’s Adam’s apple with the first joint of his thumb. Brandon staggered backwards, gagging and holding his throat. Quan made no advancing move, so everyone just stood there, not sure what to do.
“It’s okay,” Quan finally said to the others, his hands up in a gesture to stay calm. “I can understand why he’s bothered. He lost a friend, one of his soldiers.”
“No one really liked him,” Cleavon said. “But he was kind of crazy and, at one point in time or another, he saved all of our asses.”
“I understand,” Quan said.
“Your good luck is out the window now,” Steve said, leaning casually against the wall, just outside of the glow of a few candles Reed was lighting.
“Meaning?” Levar asked.
“Six is a lucky number,” Lok said. “Five is a better number.”
“What are you talking about?” Edwin asked, upset by Graham’s death and showing it, if only in the slight edge of hysteria present in his voice.
“Six was a lucky number,” Lok said. “But the number five stands for energy, adaptability, independence of thought, and action.”
“So that’s better than luck?” Lavar challenged.
“Skill is always better than luck,” Lienna said. “Five also stands for an unwillingness to conform. Which means you are no longer cowards hiding in buildings.”
“You’re five righteous bad asses who are going to Yale with us to kill the Chicoms,” Steve said. “Right after these SAA vermin get the hell out of Portland and on their way.”
“Won’t we have to go through them?” Cleavon asked.
“He makes a point,” Lienna said.
/> Everyone turned to Quan. Before he could speak, however, Reed said, “We put a dent in them tonight. They may have some problems in the front of the convoy, but the rear is going to be thinking of us when we’re gone.”
Across the room, Brandon was swallowing hard, trying to clear his throat, which sounded hoarse. Quan wasn’t afraid to look at him, for he pushed Quan first and Brandon knew it.
“We shot the shingle off a roof of a stadium,” Quan finally said, rather dismissively. “What we took from them just now was insignificant.”
“Don’t minimize this,” Brandon said, his voice thick and gravely. “Graham died so we could take that shingle.”
“He died because he was stupid,” Lienna said. “We’re better off without him.”
The look on Brandon’s face could’ve stripped paint off a wall, but Lienna held her own, unblinking, unflinching. The woman was tough, but she also knew the odds were now seven to five, and Brandon just got checked.
“We need to get some sleep before day break,” Brandon finally said.
“Can I trust you and your men tonight?” Quan asked.
“Can we trust you?” he fired back.
“Of course,” Quan replied.
“What about her?” Brandon said, pointing to Lienna. “She’s got a smart mouth and no understanding of family.”
“I assure you she understands many things,” Quan said quietly.
“And she knows who her family is,” Steve added.
“You’re not worried about a girl, are you?” Quan ruminated, tempting fate a bit. “She’s five foot four, one-oh-five at best. What’s she going to do to a man your size?”
“I’m one-oh-three,” Lienna said. “And it’s not polite to talk about a woman’s weight, age or vigor in front of strangers.”
Brandon snorted hard, air only sucking into his left nostril. It was a strange look, and his eyes were hard and full of judgment, but that only meant he was ruffling his feathers in retreat.
“We’re going to sleep on this side of the room,” he finally said, “and your team will sleep on the other side. Think of a line between us and don’t cross it.”
“We won’t cross it,” Lienna said.
“Because if you do,” Brandon continued, “that means we’re no longer friends.”