Green Bay Run

Chapter Five

Blade tramped on the brake pedal and brought the SEAL to a screeching halt. In his mind’s eye he reviewed all of the books, magazines, and journals on military hardware that Kurt Carpenter had stocked in the Family library. He’d read every one, and he recalled a journal article on the state-of-the-art portable missile launchers in use at the time of World War Three. The weapon held by the burly biker was identical to a photograph in the journal. The man had a Dart, which fired a missile packing enough punch to knock out a tank. And the SEAL was the proverbial sitting duck.

“What are we going to do?” Andy asked nervously.

Blade glanced to the right and the left. The groups of riders on both sides were converging slowly on the transport. He studied their motorcycles, comparing the cycles to those used by a biker gang based in St. Louis known as the Leather Knights. He’d ridden on one of the mammoth machines driven by the Leather Knights. Hogs, he believed they were called. But these motorcycles weren’t hogs. They were much smaller and sported thinner tires. What kind were they? he wondered.

“They’re riding dirt bikes,” Andy declared.

“Thanks,” Blade said.

“For what?” Andrew asked as he picked up his rifle from the floor.

“Nothing,” Blade replied. The man holding the Dart did not appear to be in any great hurry to fire the missile. Why not? Blade shifted his right foot from the brake to the accelerator and drove at under five miles an hour toward the bikers blocking the highway.

“What’s your plan?” Yama asked.

“We’ll play it be ear,” Blade said.

“Why don’t you just blow them to kingdom come?” Yama suggested.

“You know what they want.”

“We should try to save our rockets and missiles for the Technics,” Blade stated. “There might be another way to take care of these clowns.”

“I can take them out,” Yama offered.

“Samson and you will stay put in the SEAL while I talk to them,” Blade directed.

“You’re not going to go out there alone?” Yama responded in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“That’s too risky. One of us should go with you.”

“I agree with Yama,” Samson chimed in. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“You guys are worse than Hickok,” Blade muttered, scrutin-izing the bikers ahead. All of them were armed, either with a rifle, an assault rifle, or a machine gun. Most of them seemed to prefer black leather attire similar to the garments worn by the Leather Knights. Why did bikers have such a penchant for leather clothing?

“They must be scavengers,” Andy opined, and looked at the giant. “If you step outside, they’ll never let you climb back in.”

Blade sighed and glanced at his fellow Warriors. “All right. Yama, you’ll come with me.”

“Why did you hesitate?” Yama inquired.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blade told him, facing front.

“Yes, you do,” Yama persisted. “It’s not like you to be so indecisive. It’s almost as if you don’t trust us. Or one of us, anyway.”

Samson turned toward his silver-haired friend. “I don’t under-stand.

Do you mean me?” he asked innocently.

“No. Me. Blade has his doubts about my reliability,” Yama stated testily.

“I didn’t say that,” Blade declared.

“You didn’t have to. I know you were reluctant to bring me on this run.

You’re worried I won’t be able to pull my weight because of the way I feel about the Technics.”

“How do you feel about the Technics?” Andy interjected.

“None of your business,” Yama said.

“If I truly had grave doubts about your reliability, I wouldn’t have brought you along,” Blade said. “Yes, I’m worried about you. But I don’t know if I’m more worried because of the Technics or the NDE you experienced in Seattle.”

“What does my NDE have to do with this?” Yama queried.

“Everything. You’ve been behaving rather recklessly ever since,” Blade said.

“What in the world is an NDE?” Andy inquired of no one in particular.

“Now is not the time to be discussing NDEs,” Blade said. “We have more pressing concerns.”

Yama eased to his left and bent forward, staring at Blade’s profile. His forehead furrowed as he pondered the implications of his friend’s unusual conduct. He recalled the incident in Seattle, marveling once again at the vivid memories the episode provoked. He had gone to the city, along with Blade, Hickok, and Rikki, to investigate the disappearance of a California Navy vessel. While fighting a vicious gang known as the Sharks, he’d taken an arrow in the back. Due to circumstances beyond their control, his companions had been unable to tend the wound and he had nearly bled to death. At one point, he’d experienced the strangest sensation of leaving his body, gliding through a mysterious tunnel, and entering a wonderful realm where peace and love reigned. He’d encountered a dazzling being of light, his inner Guide. And he’d seen—her—again.

Now, a year and a half later, he still hadn’t come to complete terms with the Near Death Experience.

The NDE had changed him. Where before he had been quite naturally concerned about the prospect of his own demise and done everything in his power to prevent his passing, after the NDE he found his concerns obliterated. He couldn’t worry about the possibility of dying if he tried.

After all, of what consequence was death when he knew it was simply the method of passing from this life to the next, from the planet Earth to the higher mansions? He’d tried to explain his newfound perception to several of the other Warriors, but he discovered they were incapable of fully comprehending because they hadn’t been through what he had been through.

How could an immortal explain the concept of eternal life to those who viewed themselves as mere mortals?

Yama gazed at Blade as the SEAL narrowed the gap to the bikers, reflecting. Perhaps he was being too hard on the giant. Blade wouldn’t have agreed to bring him on the run if there were any serious doubts about his ability.

Unless…

Unless Blade had brought him along to test him, to evaluate his performance, to see if the NDE and his feelings about the Technics had made him too careless, too unstable for the post he held. Which would also explain Samson’s presence. Blade had never taken Samson on a run before. Why now? Why on this trip to Green Bay? Blade knew that Samson and he were good friends. Had Blade brought Samson along to keep an eye on him? Would the head Warrior do such a thing? The notion angered him, and the anger provoked him even more. He prided himself on his consummate self-control. If he felt anger, then maybe Blade was right.

Maybe he was unstable. He became aware of Blade speaking and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“…eyes on the ones on the side of the highway.”

“Will do,” Samson replied.

“We’ll leave the front windows rolled down. If we roll them up, the bikers might open fire,” Blade said. He stopped the SEAL 20 yards from the bikers ahead and shifted into park. “Hand my guns to me, would you?”

Samson twisted in the seat and reached into the storage section comprising the rear third of the SEAL. Their supplies, ammunition, tools, and spare parts were piled high. Lying on top of the pile was a shoulder holster containing a Dan Wesson .44 Magnum and a Commando Arms Carbine. He grabbed the weapons and passed them to the giant.

“Thanks,” Blade said. He placed the Commando between his legs and swiftly donned the shoulder holster, tucking the .44 Magnum under his left arm.

The four bikers on the right side of the road drew to within ten yards of the SEAL and stopped. They sat on their cycles, staring malevolently at the transport.

Blade looked to the left and saw the nine bikers on that side do the same. He lifted the Commando and glanced at the farmer.

Andrew had his Winchester in his lap, his finger on the trigger.

“Don’t fire until I give the signal,” Blade told him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Andy said. “If it was up to me, I’d plow right through them.”

Blade gestured at the biker armed with the Dart. “Do you see that missile launcher?”

“Is that what it is?”

“Yeah. And if that bozo fires, the SEAL will be blown to pieces. Do you still want me to try and plow through them?”

Andy gulped and shook his head. “Not really. We wouldn’t want to do anything rash.”

“When the shooting starts, duck down,” Blade advised, and thrust his door open. He slid out with his back to the transport, warily surveying the bikers, ready to fire at the first hint of hostility, and pulled back the cocking handle on the Commando.

Samson slid into the driver’s seat and poked his head out the window.

“Be careful.”

With a nod, Blade stepped to the front of the SEAL just as Yama came around the passenger side.

The bikers blocking State Highway 46 kept the barrels of their weapons pointed at the ground.

“The guy with the Dart is mine,” Blade whispered.

“Got you,” Yama responded softly.

They advanced cautiously.

“Howdy!” called out the man holding the portable missile launcher. His fleshy round face split into a broad smile, but his cold brown eyes belied the friendly greeting. He wore a green shirt and faded jeans. “You are two of the biggest sons of bitches I’ve ever seen!”

Blade did not bother to respond. He halted eight yards from the row of bikers and slanted the Commando downward. One of his favorite weapons, converted to full automatic by the Family Gunsmiths, its original five-shot clip replaced by a 90-shot magazine, the Commando resembled the ancient Thompson submachine gun.

“My name is Bruno,” the burly biker announced. “Who might you guys be?”

“What do you want?” Blade responded, ignoring the question. “Why have you blocked off the road?”

Bruno scowled. His right hand supported the Dart, which rested on his right shoulder, and his left hung by his side. “You’re not being very polite, sucker.”

“I’m just getting warmed up,” Blade said contemptuously.

Bruno took a menacing stride forward. “You’d better watch your mouth, prick, or you’re history.”

“You plan to kill us one way or the other anyway, so what’s the big deal?” Blade replied.

“Who says we’re going to waste you?” Bruno asked. “All we want to do is talk.”

Blade sighed and glanced at the skinny biker on the left who shifted nervously from foot to foot and repeatedly hefted an assault rifle, apparently eager to cut loose. “Don’t play games with me, Bruno. I know what you’re up to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Blade said. “I’ve met your type before. You’re a scavenger. You make a living by taking what you want from those who rightfully own whatever you steal. You prey on anyone and everyone, and you’ve probably killed dozens of fine, innocent people. What you don’t steal, you buy on the black market. Like that Dart, for instance. Where did you find your little toy?”

Bruno grinned slyly. “You think you know it all, don’t you, smart guy?”

“Where did you obtain the Dart?” Blade asked, repeating his question.

“From the Armorer, a guy in Detroit who can supply any weapon you want if you can meet his price,” Bruno disclosed, and eyed the missile launcher proudly. “We traded him seven women for this baby.”

“Seven women?”

“Yeah. We hit a small town a while back and found seven foxes living there. They were real prime, if you get my drift.”

“You’re disgusting,” Blade remarked.

A belly laugh burst from the biker. “Am I, now? Well, Mister Goody-Two-Shoes, if I’m such a bad cat, how come I didn’t just blow you away the second I laid eyes on your van?”

“Because you want the van for yourself,” Blade stated flatly. “You don’t want to destroy our vehicle if you can help it. So you set up this ambush, hoping to draw everyone inside out in the open where your buddies can gun them down.” He paused. “But your ploy hasn’t worked. We have friends in there ready to take off if you open fire.”

Bruno snickered. “And how far do you think they’d get? If I can’t have your van, nobody can.”

“We’ve heard that line before,” Blade said.

“Tough dudes, huh?” Bruno commented, and chuckled. He gazed past the giant at the green van. “Why can’t I see inside that thing?”

“We have the curtains closed.”

“I’ve never seen a vehicle like yours,” Bruno mentioned. “I bet it’d be worth a ton of gold to the right party.”

“Like the Armorer?”

“Or the Commies. Or maybe even the Technics.”

Blade tensed. “The Technics deal with the likes of you?”

“Up yours, mother,” Bruno snapped, then added, “Yeah, they do. What of it? We keep them posted on everything we see and they fix our bikes for us and give us guns.”

A convenient arrangement, Blade realized. The bikers served as eyes and ears for the Technics, an arrangement similar to the pact the Technics had worked out with the Leather Knights in St. Louis. The Technics weren’t yet strong enough to subjugate the Midwest, so they maintained a spy network to keep them apprised of ongoing events.

Crude, but effective.

“The Technics are all right,” Bruno went on. “They treat us fairly. And they let us do whatever we want with the foxes we snatch.” He paused.

“You got any foxes in that van?”

“No,” Blade said.

“Too bad,” Bruno stated. “I could go for some fluff. We might even let you live if you had some women for us.” He snorted. “Except for those Technic bitches. I had one once. Boy, was she lame in the sack. Those Technics can’t screw for beans.”

Blade felt his abdominal muscles tighten.

“Yes, sir. I could go for a little fuzz right about now,” Bruno said. He was surprised when the other guy, the one in blue who hadn’t spoken a word, suddenly took a step toward him.

“How about a little lead instead?” Yama asked, and before any of the bikers could hope to react to his threat, he leveled the Wilkinson and fired.