Cannibal Reign (12 page)

“More desert?”

The cowboy stuck the cigarette between his teeth. “Here,” he said, taking his .45 automatic from the small of his back and giving it to Marty. “Better acquaint yourself with that. You’ll likely need it.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, glancing again at Susan.

“The magazine holds seven shots,” Joe went on. “You pull back on the slide to load a round into battery. There’s a slide lock on the side there. It’s like a safety. It kicks some but you and your girl can handle it. The carbine in the back is easy too. I’ll show you how to use that in a bit. Right now we just need to put some real estate behind us. I’ve got some pretty bad hombres after me, and if they ask around back there, somebody’s bound to tell ’em which way we went.”

“Why are they after you?” Susan asked.

Joe dragged deeply from the Marlboro. “Well, let’s just say I gave ’em a good dose of the same medicine I gave those spics back there.”

“Were they trying to rape somebody?” She couldn’t help asking.

“No, they’d done raped her already,” Joe answered quietly. “I killed all seven of ’em, but I didn’t know the bar was full of their friends. It was a Mongol bar.”

Susan gasped. “My God, they were Chinese?”

“The Mongols are a biker gang, Sue.”

“Outlaw biker gang,” Joe added. “And they’re already rapin’ and pillagin’ their asses off.”

“They raped a woman outside a bar?” Susan said, quietly aghast.

“In the back of a pickup.”

“About how many bikers are after you?” Marty asked, looking into the side rearview mirror, half expecting the horizon to be filled with motorcycles.

“A lot,” Joe said. “But don’t worry about it. Where this Jeep can go, their Harleys can’t follow.”

Marty could see Susan sitting forward now with her head in her hands, and he wanted badly to climb into the backseat and hold her, but he didn’t want to do it in front of Joe.

“Where’s the woman now? Did you have to leave her behind?”

“She’s dead. She needed a hospital bad and there just wasn’t one to be found.”

“You mean you had to . . .”

Joe nodded. “That’s what I mean.”

Ten miles farther on, Joe pulled off the highway, drove right through a fence onto a dirt road and then down into a dry arroyo where they couldn’t be seen from the road.

“End of the line,” he said, climbing out.

Marty looked at Susan and then noticed that Joe’s seat was soaked with blood.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, and got out to find Joe sitting in the dirt behind the Jeep, against a rock.

“Get me that carbine outta there, partner. I need to show you how to work it.”

“How bad are you?” Susan asked, getting out of the Jeep with the carbine.

“Bad enough, darlin’. Lemme see that.”

He made sure they knew how to operate both weapons and had them each take a few practice shots.

“Okay,” he said, lighting up another cigarette, this time with a disposable lighter from his jacket. “Off you go now.”

“No,” Susan said, “we’ll stay with you.”

“Get on,” Joe said. “I need time to talk with my wife before I die.”

“The phones aren’t working,” Marty said. “There’s too many people making calls.”

“I don’t need a phone to talk to the dead. Get on now. And ride parallel to the highway whenever you can. Most road warriors won’t be able to follow you off road. Those that can, you just shoot ’em with the carbine.”

Susan knelt beside him in the dirt and gave him a hug. “We’ll never forget you.”

“I don’t envy either of you what lies ahead, honey.”

Marty offered Joe his hand and then he and Susan reluctantly got into the Jeep.

“Hey, partner! Come back here a second.”

Marty got back out. “What do you need?”

“Don’t you let that girl be taken alive again, hear?”

“It was your wife back there, wasn’t it?” Marty said, his eyes filling with tears, his voice thick. “They shot you and took her, didn’t they?”

“Biggest mistake they ever made was not killin’ me,” Joe said. “Love her long as you can, partner, but don’t you be afraid to do what needs done. Hear?”

“I won’t,” Marty said, wiping his eyes with the tail of his tattered shirt and turning to get back into the Jeep.

“Why are you crying?” Susan asked. She looked out the back window to see Joe resting his head against the rock, eyes closed. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Marty said, starting the motor. “He died.”

He drove up out of the wash, back through the hole in the fence, and sped off down the highway, both of them listening to the tires humming against the asphalt. Susan tried the radio. There was no music, just a lot of news. Bad news about civil unrest and the state government’s inability to do much of anything about it. People were being urged to stay in their homes and off the highways.

Nineteen

T
hey hadn’t driven very far before Marty spotted the first of the motorcycles coming over the horizon in the rearview mirror. They were still a few miles back but gaining.

“This isn’t our day, Sue.”

“What?” she said, whipping her head around. “Mongols?”

“Gotta be,” he said, hitting the brakes and pulling quickly off the highway.

“What are you doing, for God’s sake?”

He climbed into the back. “Drive, Sue! Drive as fast you feel safe.”

“But . . . Marty!” She climbed behind the wheel and shifted into drive, pulling back onto the highway as he prepared to fire the carbine out through the back window. “Marty, I don’t know if I can do this!”

“We’ll talk about it later!”

He watched the Harleys closing on them gradually, dodging in and out of the traffic. They flew past a stopped state trooper’s car. The red and blue strobes on the roof were flashing wildly but there was no trooper to be seen anywhere.

“Marty, they’re getting closer.”

“I’m watching them,” he said, holding the lead driver in the sights of the carbine. “I have to let them get close enough to hit them.”

“I think they’ve got guns!”

“Of course they’ve got guns!” he said, unable to help laughing at the pure insanity of the moment. “ ‘I think they’ve got guns.’ ”

“Shut up, Marty! Who are you, Mel Gibson now?”

“Don’t make me laugh, Susan. I have to shoot these guys and I’m trying not to piss my pants back here.”

She swerved wildly to miss a stalled car in the fast lane. “Holy Christ!” she said in terror. “I almost plowed right into that fucking thing!”

“Watch the road, not the mirror!”

There were about forty bikes behind them now, and Marty was aiming for the belly of the lead rider. The guy wasn’t a fat, sweaty, bearded hog as he had expected most of them to be. He looked more like Arnold Schwarzenegger from one of the Terminator movies, and he was driving one-handed, gripping a shotgun like a cowboy on horseback.

Marty fired the first round, shattering the rear window and causing Susan to scream and swerve inside the lane.

The biker began weaving to throw off Marty’s aim, blasting off a round of buckshot that was ineffective at that range. Marty fired again and shattered the headlight. His third shot struck the biker in the chest and the man lost control immediately, dropping the shotgun and fighting to keep from crashing, but he was doomed. The bike went down and flipped over on top of him. One of the bikes coming up ran him over and crashed. Another rider tried to dodge the first bike but clipped the handlebars and flipped over, his bike virtually disintegrating as it slammed into a bridge abutment.

“Got three in one shot!” Marty said.

“I heard three shots,” Susan muttered, checking her speed, not trusting herself to drive much over seventy.

Surprised to discover a gunner in the Jeep, the rest of the Mongols dropped back, shouting back and forth, trying to decide how best to handle this new development.

Marty fired again and hit one of them in the head. A lucky shot, but the rider flew right off the back and his bike continued on for nearly fifty feet without him before heading down into the median and flipping over. The rest of the riders slowed way down after that and allowed the distance between them and the Jeep to increase greatly.

“They’re letting us go. You did it, Marty!”

“I doubt it,” he said, sensing what they were up to. “They’re not turning back. They’ll probably try to shadow us all the way to Mesa.”

“So what do we do?”

“Find a place to get off the highway. Drive cross-country through the desert like Joe told us.”

“I don’t know. What if we get stuck or have a breakdown?”

“And what if these maniacs follow us all the way to my house?”

They continued for another ten miles, the bikers hanging back about a mile or so in the slow lane, letting the faster traffic pass them on the left. Another state trooper streaked by going the other way, lights flashing, but they didn’t think for a minute that he would be any help, and the bikers certainly didn’t seem too shaken up over him.

“Okay,” Marty said, remaining in the backseat. “I know this area. About five miles ahead there’s a rest stop. Pull in and we’ll switch.”

“They’ll be right on top of us by the time we get back on the road.”

“We’re not getting back on the road,” he said. “We’re going over land where those bikes won’t be able to stay with us.”

They passed the sign for the rest stop and a mile later exited the highway. Susan sped up the ramp into an area where military vehicles were gathered. There were armed soldiers wandering all over the place, and a bunch of them aimed their rifles at the Jeep, ready to blast it apart.

“Oh, shit!” she said, getting on the brakes and slowing just in time. She cut the wheel and rolled into a parking spot, then got out and ran toward the soldiers, who were watching her as if she were crazy.

“We’re being chased!” she shouted, pointing back at the ramp. “Bikers are trying to kill us!”

The soldiers looked toward the ramp and stood waiting to see. Within fifty seconds the Mongols came rolling into the rest area smelling blood, but the moment they saw the soldiers they put the coal to the fire and roared right on through toward the exit.

“Shoot them!” Susan was shouting. “You’re letting them get away!”

The troops watched as the last of the bikes rumbled through, and then stood looking at her.

“Why didn’t you shoot them, for Christ’s sake? You could’ve gotten every damn one of them!”

Marty took her by the arm and walked her back to the Jeep. “Sorry, guys,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s been a rough day.” Then to Susan, in a lower voice, “Your breast is showing!”

“Oh, shit,” she said, grabbing at the shirt to cover herself.

“We’ll just hang here for a minute,” he said. “I can get us to Mesa without the highway now.”

“Maybe we can get these guys to escort us,” she said, getting back into the Jeep on the passenger side.

“Susan, they’re not our personal bodyguard. They’re men with guns and they just got a pretty good look at your tit.”

“It’s not a ‘tit,’ ” she said thinly. “It’s a breast.”

He chuckled wearily. “Do you know how stupid you sound?”

A couple of troops came up to the Jeep.

“What’s going on?” a tall sergeant asked. His name tag read
FLYNN.

“We were attacked on the road,” Marty said, wishing he’d hidden the carbine lying across the backseat. “Those bikers murdered our friend and his wife earlier today. They just tried to do the same to us.”

The sergeant stood looking at him, noticing the weapon in the back. “Where did you get that?”

“It belonged to a friend,” Susan said. “This is his Jeep.”

The sergeant stooped so he could get a better look at her. “Are you injured?”

“No, but Marty is. He’s got a stab wound in his shoulder and a gash to his head.”

“It’ll be okay,” Marty said, wishing she would shut up. “We’re going to get going in a minute.”

“Get a medic over here,” Flynn said to the other soldier. He turned his attention back to Marty. “Is that the only weapon you’ve got?”

Marty considered lying but thought better of it, since the pistol was concealed under his shirt, rather than under the seat. He knew he should have thought to stash it there, but Susan had jumped from the Jeep so fast he hadn’t had time to think.

“No, I’ve got a pistol too.”

The sergeant stood looking at him, waiting for the medic. “Where is it?”

“Under my shirt.”

“I’m going to ask you to leave it in the Jeep while you’re being treated,” Flynn said.

“That’s fine,” Marty replied, the feeling of sweet relief spreading through his veins.

A woman in uniform, complete with helmet, appeared at the sergeant’s side with a large green bag over her shoulder. “Who’s injured?”

“This man has a stab wound to the shoulder and a gash to the head,” Flynn said. “See what you can do for him.”

He stood by while Marty stashed the .45 in the glove box, then walked off to join the other troops as the medic began to probe Marty’s wounds.

“Thank God you guys were here,” Susan said to her. “Those maniacs were trying to kill us.”

“If I might make a suggestion,” the medic said. “Woman-to-woman. You need to start making yourself less noticeable.”

Susan self-consciously doubled her grip on the shirt. “I was a little freaked out . . . but that’s good advice. Thank you.”

“Where are you two headed?” the medic asked, pouring peroxide onto Marty’s head wound and sopping at it with a wad of cotton.

“Mesa,” he answered, wincing slightly.

“Married?”

“We’re just friends,” Susan said.

“Are you prepared to die for her?” the medic asked, her tone very frank.

“He’s almost done that a couple of times already,” Susan said, sounding oddly proud.

“The way you prance around in front of men,” the medic said flatly, “I believe it.”

“She was just freaked out,” Marty said.

For a fellow woman, the medic didn’t seem to have an ounce of sympathy. “You endanger us all by drawing attention. You understand?”

Susan looked down at the pavement. “Yeah.”

The medic opened a foil pack of sutures. “I’m going to sew these up.”

“I appreciate it,” Marty said.

The sergeant came back across the lot and offered a digital ACU jacket to Susan. “Put that on and keep it zipped.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, never having felt so much like a tramp in her life. Didn’t these people realize she was a victim, for God’s sake?

“I put out a call on those bikers,” Flynn said. “But I wouldn’t count on anything being done. When you get back out on the highway, you’d better keep your eyes peeled.”

“Actually, we’re going right out the back of the rest stop,” Marty said. “We’re going to try keeping off the highway.”

“Might not be a bad idea,” the sergeant said, and walked off again.

“Where are you guys going from here?” Marty asked the medic, whose name tag identified her as Emory.

“No idea,” Emory said. “We’re waiting to decide.”

“You don’t have any orders?” Susan asked.

“After that asteroid hits, our orders aren’t going to mean shit. We just plan on getting as far away from the impact area as possible.”

“Call your sergeant back over here,” Marty said.

“Why?”

“I might be able to help you decide which way to go.”

Emory got on her radio and called the sergeant back over.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“Sergeant, believe it or not, I’m the astronomer who took the asteroid public.”

“That so?” the sergeant said, not entirely convinced.

“It is, and I might be able to offer you a suggestion as to where you don’t want to be tomorrow morning.”

“How’s that?”

“Because I work at Mesa Station, and I’ve actually seen this beast with my own eyes. Most of my calculations have it hitting in the tristate area of Wyoming, Montana, and South Dakota. I formed a couple of orbital models that predicted it would hit farther north, but none of them predicted that it would hit any farther south than Wyoming. There’s the remotest possibility of it hitting in the Great Lakes, but that’s it.”

“Washington says it could it hit anywhere between Central America and the North Pole.”

“Well, Washington is wrong. If I were you guys, I’d head due south. This thing’s blast radius could be anywhere from five hundred to a thousand miles, and nothing within that distance is going to survive unless it’s deep underground.”

“Washington says closer to five hundred miles.”

“That was before their nuclear blast may have given the damn thing a boost.”

“I’ll talk to the lieutenant,” the sergeant said, turning away. “Appreciate the information.”

“Maybe we could go with you guys?” Marty said to Emory.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if any of the men were within earshot. “You don’t want to come with us, regardless of where we go.”

“What’s that mean?” Susan said.

“There are eleven women in this unit,” Emory said. “And as soon as it gets dark tonight, we’re hauling ass down the highway.”

“But you’re in the Army . . . aren’t you all like family?”

Emory drew the needle through the flap in Marty’s shoulder wound. “Where did you find her?”

Marty smiled at Susan. “She’s actually a genius in her field.”

“Which is what? Home decorating?”

“Hey!” Susan said. “I’ll have you know I’m a professor of astrophysics.”

Emory drew another stitch through the wound. “That explains it.”

“Well, we can’t all wear camouflage for a living,” Susan snapped.

“Please don’t shoot her,” Marty said. “I know she’s a little mouthy, but she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

Emory finally cracked a smile. “Lucky you.”

Susan shook her head and went to sit in the Jeep.

“She’s pretty,” Emory said quietly. “I’d jump ’er.”

Marty looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “What happened to ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’?”

“Maybe I meant I’d like to beat her up.”

“Maybe it’s both,” he said with a chuckle.

Emory finished stitching and dressing his wounds and turned to close up her bag.

“Are you really in that much danger here?” he asked her.

“Fifty horny guys with M-16s? No law and order? What do you think?”

“They can’t all be animals, can they?”

“No, but we’re not hanging around to find out who is and who isn’t. We’ve got rifles too, and we’re splitting before they’re taken away from us.” She gave him back his shirt. “You’re good to go. Take these antibiotics with you.”

“Thanks,” he said, shaking her hand. “Should I say anything to the sergeant before we go?”

Emory shook her head. “Just go.”

“Want to jump in and go with us?” he asked as she walked with him toward the Jeep.

“I can’t bail on my friends, but thanks for the offer. Look after the princess.”

“I’ll try,” Marty said, opening the door and getting in. “I’m Marty, by the way.”

“I’m Shannon.”

“Good luck, Shannon.”