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Date Posted: 14:56:21 06/29/99 Tue
Author: Bishop, Mofofunk, Pike, Wing & Paladin
Subject: Blood Under The Sun, Chapter Three: Predators and Prey

The phone rang, echoing off of the sheet steel walls of hangar C3 at Midland Municipal Airport. After the fourth ring, A.J. groggily shot an arm out from the covers and fumbled for the handset on the makeshift bedside table, an old 55 gallon drum with a green army blanket draped over it, crowned by the phone, a cheap clock radio, and a lamp made from a used military practice bomb.

'Mrrrf...urrrghyeah?'

'Mr. Hunt.'

'Yeah, A.J. Hunt of Hunt's Air Service. What can I do for you?' Hunt noticed his voice sounded like someone had been working his larnyx with 60-grit sandpaper.

'You can stay out of The Department's current business, Mr. Hunt.'

'What!?' He was completely awake now. He reached over and switched on the lamp, noting the time as he blinked painfully in the light.

'Back off, Mr. Hunt, or you'll need some encouragement. You understand?'

'What encouragement? Understand what? I'm sorry, you've got the wrong number, try the next hangar. Nyuk.' A.J.'s voice raised in pitch sharply, mimicing Curly of the Three Stooges...it was involuntary. Too much TV as a child had planted it into his personailty. Stress brought out the best - or the worst, depending on how one looked at it - of the habit.

'Sorry, Mr. Hunt, you DO understand. There's no way you can't. Do you want your hangars to keep standing? How about those two hangars in New Mexico? Nice trick you pulled with weathering everything. You should moved all of the stolen government property on the inside, however. You don't back off, and those pretty hangars are going bye-bye. The ones in Midland, the ones in New Mexico...AND those ones near Yuma...didn't think anyone knew about THAT, did you? We'll be nice enough to make sure you're inside when we clean up after you, though.'

'Yeah, all right, you got me...what do you want me to do?'

'Just stop digging around. Got it? No more calls to Washington. No more inquiries into the death of one Peter Samms. Cease and desist. Got it?'

'Yeah, yeah, I dig...no more business for me if I don't quit nosing around. Have a nice day, George. Or night, rather.' Hunt growled into the reciever.

'Thank you, A.J. You always were a good Company man.' The heavy and nasaly Texas accent peirced through the handset with sarcasm...this guy had been the main reason Hunt had been removed from service.

'Go to bed.' Hunt slammed down the reciever.

He fumed over the call for a moment, shivering in the cold of the uninsulated hangar, then got up and walked over to the space heater on the other side of his 'room', a carpeted swatch in the corner of the large hangar that housed a midnight black vintage North American P-51C and a brightly polished bare aluminum Curtiss C-46 Commando. A refrigerator, a makeshift sink cut from half of another 55-gallon drum, a stove made from the other half with some piping and a propane tank, a kitchen table with chairs, a bed, a few bookshelves, a large dresser, a desk, numerous filing cabinets and a large load of antique aviation paraphanalia sat in the western corner of the hangar. Hunt swithced the little heater on, dragged it over to the table, grabbed a milk carton out of the fridge and sat down. After a few swigs, he acted on an impulse. Hunt jumped up, walked to the desk 10 feet away and grabbed the other phone. He punched in a long set of numbers from pure rote memory, then flipped the phone upside down and hit a small switch dymo-labeled 'noise'. A click sounded in the handset, and then the other end rang. Three rings, then the phone was picked up.

'Murrow Enterprises.' The sleepy voice muttered.

'Jake. A.J. Need a favor.'

'Crap, Wing', it couldn't wait 'till morning!?'

'Nope. Sorry.'

'Ok, what do you need?'

'Get Murrow Enterprises to obtain my phone records from Gulf Bell and track down exactly where the call I just got five minutes ago came from...my guess is that it's not in the States, probably Mexico, judging from the poor connection quality.'

'Sheesh, Wing', what the hell is going on over there?'

'Nothing I can't handle with some help from my friends. And this DOES concern you, as it was a threat to take us out of business by blowing the hangars here, there, and in Yuma.'

'Ok, I'll get on it tomorrow. Anything else?'

'Nope...how you been? How's the fort and the rest of the team?'

'Well, we're having fun looking dormant...it's a lot of work to keep out of sight! You can't imagine the kind of trouble I have to go through just took keep everything looking like nobody's been around...at least it's paying off, though, somebody was poking around a while back at your hangars, but they didn't do any damage. Probably figured there was nothing worth taking.'

'Actually, those were probably representatives of the guy I just talked to.'

'No kidding? Wow.'

'Keep your head low...play the same game as the INTies...maybe they'll keep the peace. I doubt it though, Sui's openly strutting around in Death Valley right now. Got some fresh blood with him, we may have to start kicking them around again soon. You're doing a good job, however, Mofo came through a few weeks ago thinking nobody was there. Guess he didn't look hard enough. Silly him.'

'I'm actually looking forward to some action...I'm sick of having to look like a legit business. I want to get out of that syrupy little hellhole they call Albuquerque.”

'All in good time. Don't leave me standing out in the rain.'

'Huh? Okaaayyy...talk to you tomorrow evening. Should have what you want by then.'

'Great, thanks.'

'And Wing'?'

'Yeah?'

'GO TO BED!'

'Soy-ten-ly!'

Click.


Meanwhile, in another part of the world….


“Come on, you bastards, put your back into it!,” the man with the shotgun yelled, strutting back and forth along the top of the improvised wall. He was tall, wearing a cowboy hat and mirrored sunglasses, which did little to hide the ugly scars which crisscrossed his face. The 25 or so men and women working in the morning heat were already starting to feel exhausted, and the day had only just began. Allison wondered when it would stop. Though her body was used to hard work, she knew that the others on “the line” were not so used to it, and made a silent plea that they would all be able to hold up.

It had all started 4 weeks ago; she and 5 friends had decided to take a vacation, choosing to explore some of the cliff dwelling ruins in Arizona and New Mexico and do some climbing. They had just come back from an exhausting day scaling Black Mountain near the Gila Cliff Dwellings just north of Silver City, where they were staying, when the group of handsome men had come into the tavern where they were relaxing. The man who had introduced himself to her was named Kevin, a charming guy who had asked her to dance and bought her a few drinks. Naturally wary, she had decided that being in a group was safe, and that she and her friends would be okay. If only she’d known that these guys were professionals. A few questions which had seemed innocent at the time upon further reflection were calculated and probing; who knew they were there, what did they do for a living, who was waiting for them after they got back from their vacation. It was only as she started to feel very tired and he offered to take her back to her room did she feel the first pangs of suspicion, but by then it was too late. She awoke in the back of a semi-truck with almost 30 other people, who had also been drugged and coerced into service. Her friends were nowhere to be seen, and one of the others, a man named Brian, had told her that he had seen at least 4 or 5 other trucks, which had all appeared to be going off in different directions. He told her he had been grabbed outside of Phoenix, but didn’t elaborate beyond that.

The ride had lasted for 15 more hours, during which they stopped and picked up an additional 28 people who has been “recruited.” Everyone fit the same profile; vacationers and tourists, solitary locals, transients and bums. They were the displaced and the wanderers, the people who fell somewhere between the cracks in the new lawlessness of the southwest. They were people who wouldn’t be missed, or if they were, it would be people hundreds or thousands of miles away, who would know that traveling into the deserts brought its own kind of risk. They would say their good-byes and cry out against the amoral wilderness that had swallowed them whole, and go back to their jobs and their families and forget about the disappeared. It was during this long ride, as the interior started to fill with the smell of feces and urine and fear and helplessness, that Allison had decided that the only way she and the rest of the people would get out of this situation would be if they did something to stop it. She had an advantage over most of the people she was traveling with, though the people in charge had no idea of it. She had been an only child, and her mother had died when she was very young. She was raised by her father, who had made an effort early in her life to make sure she was properly equipped to deal with anything that might arise. He had been a rough man to grow up with, and her memories of childhood were closer to what a recruit might remember of boot camp then happy birthday parties and ponies. She had secretly resented him, and whenever she had complained about anything, his reply had always been the same. “You never know what might happen out there. Be Prepared.” She had thought him insane, but she was glad now, because she might be able to do something to get herself, and everyone else, out of the nightmare they found themselves in.

As she was thinking this, her well muscled back was flexing under the white tee-shirt in the hot desert sun, mixing the concrete and rebar for the North facing wall they were constructing. She wasn’t sure, but she had the feeling they were somewhere in Mexico, a few miles south of the border. Behind her, on the top of a small hill that commanded a view of the surrounding scrub-land, was a large hacienda, and the words that occasionally echoed down from the structure were in Spanish. She also thought she’d heard two or three names float down the hill: The General, Clayton, and a name that sounded like Juan Pedros. She had also kept her knowledge of Spanish a secret, in hopes of gleaning more information from their captors. It had worked, to some degree; she had deduced that there were three other projects going on. There was some kind of secret base that had been talked about, somewhere south of where they were now; the armed occupation of a town in New Mexico called Miller, and the rallying of a large number of troops at a railroad town called Nueva Castillo, which she thought might be southeast of The Hacienda.

With a subtle move, she raised her head and took in the construction. They were almost done; in another two or three days she figured the walls would be done. She looked at how it was set up, and had to admire the ingenuity of it all. A ramparted wall, 15 feet high, with carvings built so that foot soldiers with rocket launchers, rifles and so on could defend against attack; and secondary openings at the base, where armed and armored cars could park and command an impressive field of fire. The General was intending success in his venture, but he had also been realistic enough to prepare to defend himself if his plans fell through. It didn’t seem that way, however. From what she had overheard, the new Mexican town had fallen without a hitch, there were close to a thousand people at the hidden base, and nearly 10,000 troops were at the Nueva Castillo railhead. She eyed the Hacienda, paying special attention to the portion of it which jutted out to the northwest, and had 7 or 8 antennas sticking up into the sky. The communications center, it always seemed to be busy, even long into the night. That was her best chance to get a message to the outside world, but it was always so busy that there seemed no chance to attempt a communication. On top of that, the things that would be done to her would be unpleasant at be-

“What’s so interesting, Red? Taking in the fine countryside we find ourselves in?” The barrel of a shotgun, which felt as large as a basketball hoop, was pressed against her neck. She froze.

“No, sir, I was just wondering if it was going to rain again, that’s all.” Whenever it rained the soldiers would get bored and come down to the barracks where they had all been sequestered and choose two or three girls for an evening of “fun.” Lily, a delicate looking girl who had been chosen three times in a row, was found by Allison and one of the others hanging in the shower room, the note she had taped to her naked chest a two word declaration: ”NO MORE.” Allison had felt guilt then, guilt she hadn’t been chosen, because she knew that she could deal with that kind of thing; guilt that she hadn’t acted sooner, guilt that other women were silently enduring that worst kind of torture while she quietly planned and plotted. In the meantime, though, she had to get out of this situation. The man with the shotgun smiled.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head none, Red,” he snickered. “We’ve been watching you, and you’re too valuable out here, with the way you work and all, for us to get you all tuckered out during the down time. Don’t worry though, once this is all finished and you get your re-assignment, I’m sure there will be people lining up for your services. You’ll like Presidio Lago, it’s a regular resort.” Still snickering, he removed the shotgun from her neck and continued back down the line. Allison went back to work, her thoughts turning to her friends and how they were faring….


Maggie carried the tray of food into the large warehouse that had been converted into a mess hall. The soldiers inside were laughing and joking, and as she walked past one of the tables the soldiers started cat-calling her and one pinched her rear. She ignored them and moved on, knowing what would happen if she did what her instincts told her to. Instead, she smiled at the soldier, and walked to the next table, where she deposited the tray of food, moving around the cheap tan bench, giving each man his breakfast. Once finished, she picked up the now empty tray and made her way out of the warehouse. As she did, she looked around. There had to be at least 100 other women serving food, and more then 1000 soldiers in the cavernous room. She had done her best to find out what they knew, and was pretty sure they were gearing up for a large battle. She had overheard the word “invasion” several times, but that seemed preposterous. Who in their right minds would invade the States, what with crazies tooling around the deserts armed to the teeth and looking for trouble? It seemed like an invitation to mass suicide.

As she exited the warehouse and crossed the small alley to the storage building that had been turned into a massive kitchen, she passed one of her friends, Geraldine. They exchanged a secret glance, wary of any observers. They had talked only a few times, mostly late at night, though they had managed to sneak off and make love for a paranoia filled 15 minutes that had not been worth the pleasure. Her thoughts turned to the rest of their friends, most of whom were scattered around Nueva Castillo, and the trip they had been on a few weeks ago. She and Geraldine were going to tell everyone they were in love, but that group of assholes had definitely interfered with that plan. Right now, how everyone would react was the least of their fears. Joan and Christine were okay for now, if unhappy. Both were Society Girls, used to being waited on, not vice versa. Maggie figured they should count their blessings that they hadn’t been used for other, more unpleasant diversions. To that end, Maggie reflected, Allison and Helen were unaccounted for, Allison since the town they had been abducted in, and Helen had been taken off for “special duty” the second night they had been in town. Allison she wasn’t worried about; if anyone could weather this situation, it was her. Helen, on the other hand; she was always hiding behind her moral fortitude and her disdain for people who weren’t “normal.” Helen had been the one that she and Geraldine had been most worried about judging them harshly. Helen, who was saving herself for marriage. Helen, who had avoided drugs and alcohol, Helen, whose idea of a good time was going dancing and then spending the remainder of the evening playing gin rummy and gossiping. Maggie worried about how she was doing most of all; she might already be dead or worse….


In the narrow bunk on the sleeper car, the two men sweating over the young woman grunted and collapsed against her, the sweat from their bodies mingling with hers. With a sigh of exasperation, she turned and looked at them over her shoulder.

“That’s it? I didn’t even come you, you bastards!” She was smiling, and they smiled back at her. She rolled over onto her back, and with her hands started to see if she could get them back into the mood. One of them reached for the bottle of Tequila next to the bed, but she stopped him with a gentle squeeze. “Uh uh, Garcia. You won’t be good for anything if you have much more of that swill.” Removing her hand from him, she took the bottle and a healthy swig, then leaned over and took him in her mouth. Luis, next to him, made a disappointed sound, and she soon began alternating between the two of them. Soon, they were ready again, and within moments both were inside her again. As they worked, she stared at the window.

The train was moving smoothly along the tracks; but, as it had for the last 3 hours, the window outside still showing nothing. They were traveling in what had to be the longest train tunnel ever built. The General must have money to burn with a set-up like this, she thought, then all rational thought was burned away as she felt the orgasm build inside of her. With a high, thin scream, she peaked, and lost control of her muscles, falling onto Luis. Both continued to move until they had quickly finished again. Exhausted, they all lay together for a moment. Her face against Luis’ chest, she smiled to herself. The old Helen would have been outraged by the ravenous sexual beast she had become, but that person was gone. Early on, she had realized that these men would take it whether she wanted them to or not, and so had decided that they would never have the satisfaction of seeing her scared. Indeed, by letting herself enjoy it, she had enjoyed more freedom in it, had been given her own room at Nueva Castillo and her choice of who did and didn’t visit her.

Then, early last night, she had been told to pack her few belongings for a trip, and taken to the train. She had been sitting in the small room she had been given, reading a worn copy of National Geographic when there had been a knock at the door and Luis, one of her regulars, had entered, followed by a shy young soldier who Luis had introduced as Garcia, his cousin. Luis had explained that Garcia was unskilled in the ways of women, and that he greatly desired to be made a man. Helen had agreed, a small smile on her lips as she realized that both wanted her at once. She looked over at the small wind-up clock on the foldout table next to the bed. 8:13. The train trip was supposed to be 6 hours, and they had been going for 5 already; she was going to need to freshen up before they got wherever they were going….

She pushed herself up, crossing the small compartment in three steps to the sink set in the wall. She put some water in the bowl and splashed it over her face, then turned to the two men, who were staring at her with glassy eyes.

“Okay, boys, time to get dressed. A lady must have her privacy. Go on, scoot, scoot.” She waved her hands towards the door, and both sat up and slowly started dressing. After a few moments, they were in the fatigues they had been wearing, and with a last pair of smiles, had exited the room. She turned back to the sink, draining it and reaching for a towel, when something exploded outside the window. She was blinded by it, and dove for the floor, covering her head. After a moment, she realized that she hadn’t heard an explosion, and opened her burning eyes. They gradually adjusted, and she realized that they had emerged from the tunnel. She stood and looked out the window, and suddenly all thoughts of a shower were forgotten.

The train was on a cliff that had to be a thousand feet up, stretching down to what had to be 5 or 6 miles of the bluest lake she had ever seen. Looking ahead, she saw that the tracks meandered down around the rim of the lake to the only area she could she that was level with the water, an area maybe ½ a mile wide and a mile long, which seemed to be taken up with a settlement of some kind. From what she could see, the rest of the area around the lake was all solid cliff stretching up to the edge of emerald green rainforest. To the right of the distant town, a massive waterfall fell 400 feet from above into the lake. A quick glance showed 3 or 4 other waterfalls also feeding into the lake. That was not the most impressive thing in the area, however. In the center of the lake, maybe a mile from the shore, was an island, which at first appeared to be a massive hunk of rock, but on closer inspection revealed itself to be a castle, jutting up into the crisp morning eye. Helen involuntarily took a deep breath of amazement; she had never seen anything more beautiful then the lake. Almost without thinking, she said the name of the place which she had only overheard, but knew without a doubt that this was where she was.

“Presidio Lago.”


It started the way many things do, as a piece of information that had been added as an afterthought to a bunch of useless facts that had been told for 20 minutes. Tesla had been on the phones all night, calling in every favor she had, digging around for as much information as she could glean. The other people in the Phoenix AVA office on the night shift had carefully avoided her, knowing how worked up she had gotten over the disappearance of Brian Lindsey 4 weeks before. Her “secret” crush on him had been no such thing, except to the young bespectacled information analyst who had started working there 4 months before. He had disappeared while supervising the transfer of some car parts one Friday night; the bodies of 3 of the other 6 men who had been working on the job had been found, but of he and the others, there was no trace. Tesla had tried and tried to get the permission of the supervisor, a sweaty, smelly man named Tom, to use the resources of the AVA offices to try and track them down. He had refused, and then finally last night he had “taken ill” and stayed home for the night. He’d never know that Tesla had deliberately put bad roast beef on his sandwich to get him out of the office. As soon as she had heard he wasn’t coming in, she had pawned off all of her regular duties on the rest of the night staff, and spent a frantic evening calling in every favor she had.

It was almost 9 in the morning; she was talking to a man named Franklin, in the Albuquerque office. He was going on and on about how his town had been quiet but the area surrounding it had been a mess, and no one matching Brian’s description had appeared in the AVA chapter there. He had then gone on to talk about how nice it would be if someone DID show up, since he was undermanned and overworked. Tesla was already done with the conversation, but was so tired that she couldn’t form the words to politely say thank you and hang up, and didn’t want to burn anymore bridges by being rude to him.

“….Yeah, especially with the people who keep calling here, looking for tourists,” he finished.

“Uh huh,” Tesla replied, doodling on her notepad, staring at the clock and thinking that a Mondo Muffin with ham sounded good.

“I keep telling these people that the AVA isn’t a locator service, and that if they’ve lost track of friends and relatives, then maybe they should come on down and look for them themselves.” Tesla nodded, stifling a yawn.

“Yeah. Creepers out there will take anyone they think might be easy pickings.” She started playing with her pen.

“Exactly. Besides, how do they know that these people haven’t felt the call of the road and become Vigilantes or Creepers themselves? It’s not as if every person out there in a car is a man, right? There are some badassed women out there too.” Tesla started to nod again, then stopped, and unconciously sat up straight.

“What do you mean?” Franklin sounded confused.

“What do I mean what? I’m just saying that women can hold their own pretty well. Equal rights and all that.” Tesla shook her head.

“No, no, why did you just mention women? What’s that all about?” She could almost hear Franklin’s shrug.

“Oh, just that a bunch of people have been calling here recently looking for women who were in the area and disappeared. Seemed a bit higher then the regular amount of calls we get, that’s all.” Tesla’s response was quick, all traces of exhaustion gone from her now.

“How many?”

“Look, Tesla, it’s an anomaly, that’s all. Just like that one time there were 8 people who tried to register as THE Groove Champion in 1 day. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“How many, goddamnit?” She heard his exasperated sigh, then the sound of rustling paper through the scratchy phone connection.

“Okay, just a minute….” There was a pause, and Tesla reached for the pack of cigarettes that was sitting on the blotter, lighting one up and looking around the room. As she did, she caught the eye of Willis, one of the younger guys who had started working there a few weeks before, who was talking to his girlfriend on the phone. She waved him over, and he nodded, hanging up the phone and navigating through the desks. “Alright, here it is. Uh….we got about 185 calls in the last 5 weeks about young women who have disappeared while in the area. Maybe a 3rd of those were repeat calls, so about 125 women total. But Tesla, you know how those things are. The family calls, all frantic, and then the next day the kid walks in, having spent an extra day or two on the road, and it’s a happy reunion and the family doesn’t bother to call and let us know. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, sure. Look, do me a favor, choose 20 names at random and call them and find out what they heard, if anything, okay?” Noises of protest came from the earpiece.

“Look, Tesla, I’ve got other things I need to be doing right now; I can’t waste that kind of time tracking down your ghosts.”

“Fine, than read me names and numbers and I’ll do it myself. “ Franklin sighed again.

“Okay. Got a pen and paper?”

“Yeah, just a second.” She covered the mouthpiece and looked up at Willis, standing next to her desk. “Hey, I need you to go to the files and pull all the names and numbers of people who have called here looking for missing visitors to the area. Then, call the AVA chapters in other major cities: Dallas, OK City, Tucson, Roswell, Santa Fe, El Paso, Nevada. Ask for the same thing. You’re looking for women, but men also. Get the names and numbers of the relatives, and either have the offices call, or call ‘em yourself. Find out if any of them came back. Get as many people listed as you can. Have Derek and Walt help you as well.” Willis, scratching all of her instructions into a well worn notepad, looked up at her.

“What’s up, Tesla? You find something?” She shook her head.

“No, just playing a hunch. Oh yeah, and have Marie go down to the Mondo and get us some breakfast.” Willis nodded.

“You realize, of course, that when Tom gets in, he’s going to string you up.”

“I don’t care. Now get going.” With a nod, he turned and walked off. She spoke into the mouthpiece again. “Okay, Franklin, on second thought, give me all those numbers.” After he protested for a second or two, he began reciting them, and she started writing them down.


Joe Fumbled with the keys to the bathroom of Ralph's Gas-4-Cash, The keys were attached to an old muffler that weight close to 5 pounds. Finally he got the key into the lock and opened the door, the stench of fecies imminated from a pair of shit stained pants the lay in the corner of the room. Joe gagged in disgust, holding his breath he finished his business and went around to where they were finishing up on his Clydsdale.

' Someone might want to clean out the restroom...' joe said, taking in the fresh clean air. Out behind the station rotting hulks of cars sat baking in the morning sun, in the between the car Bodys next to and old '64 Hermes Asteroid, sat a beat-up Huey Chopper. Opon further inspection Joe noted that despite the deteriorated condition of the body the old Gunship was in prime mechanical shape...

' for the Clydsdale and a Grand shes all yours..' Stanley said, wondering over towards the Vigilante.

' you got yourself a deal, sir' Joe said smiling as he shook the grease monkeys hand.

' as long as you take the Big Irons off the roof..' Ralph Replied pointing at the twin 30mm setting atop of the Clydsdale...

The sun was ablaze in the middle of the sky when Joe finished the pre-flight check. The Chopper lifted off heading towards the Mescalero Indian Reservation. Paladin chukled think off the great deal he had just made, having sold choppers for a living back in '76 he knew an incredible deal when he saw one, seeing as a grand was petty cash and he hadn't paid a penny for the truck...

As the Chopper rounded the bend in the road it had been following, Paladin noticed a road sign that said Mescalero Reservation 8 miles..' BEEP BEEP' the low fuel warning light flashed, the red light flashed across Joe's confused face. The gauge read full, thumping it with his finger it lower to empty... 'SHIT!'.

' Mayday, Mayday, this is chopper 069'er, i'm running on fumes here attempting to make an emergency landing approxamently 6 clicks short of Mescalero, on the Artesia side...'

The Chopper sat down roughly jarring Paladin into the instrument cluster. He shook of the daze as he climbed out of the chopper into the blistering sun...The distant roar of engines approaching from Artesia startled Paladin...a black Soverign and a Dark Blue Courchelle... ' AWW SHIT!!!' paladin yelled Removing the 50cal machine gun from the cargo area of the chopper..
Bullets danced in the sand around Paladin as the 2 brothers from Waco took wild shoots at the downed aviator.....

The four men were sleeping in various positions around the table. Pike constantly moved in his chair, mumbling in his sleep as if plagued by bad dreams. Bishop seemed almost dead; he did not move much more then his rising and falling chest, occasionally readjusting his body to be slightly more comfortable. Johnny snored, though not loudly; and Mofo, head on the table, smiled in his sleep, as though remembering a puppy he had owned or a forgotten girlfriend. Mary had awoke at dawn, and quietly moved through the kitchen, preparing breakfast. It was while she was doing this that she heard the distant thump, which she instantly recognized as the impact of military grade ordinance. She crossed quickly to Johnny and gently but firmly put her hand on his shoulder.

'John.' He shot awake, looking around and then up at her.

'Huh? What is it?' She said nothing, just inclined her head, listening for the impacts again. They sounded a moment later. His eyes got wide, and then hardened. He stood up, pounding the table as he did so. 'Wake up! Wake up!' He yelled. Bishop awoke and immediately scanned the room for trouble; Mofo shot under the table and looked around, and Pike, leaning back in his chair, went over backwards and rolled up onto the balls of his feet, reaching for his shoulder holster, realizing only as he ended in a crouch that his pistol and holster were across the room. After a moment, Bishop looked at Johnny.

'What the hell? What's going on, Johnny?'

'Listen, man.' For a moment, all five of them were stock still, not moving a muscle. The sound of a distant explosion rolled across the countryside.

'Oh, shit.' Pike moved first, breaking into a run as he made a beeline for the hat-rack by the door where they had left their pistols the night before. Mofo scuttled out from beneath the table and followed him. Johnny started for the backdoor, Mary running into their bedroom. Bishop paused for a moment. Pike looked back at him as he was hurriedly strapping the holster on. 'What the fuck are you waiting for, Bishop? A written invitation?' Bishop shook his head slowly, as though lost in thought.

'No, man, its just that I'm more used to leaving the area where heavy artillery is being dropped then running headlong into it.' Pike shook his head in exasperation.

'Jesus man, don't sweat it! Mofo and I got your back. Come on!' There was obvious excitement in his voice, and it was obvious that he was happy to do something, anything. Bishop nodded and started across the room. As he did, Mary came out of the bedroom carrying a pair of revolvers, a pump action shotgun, and an M-1 Sniper Rifle. She gave him a quick smile as she disappeared out the back door.

The three cars parked in front of Johnny's residence all roared to life. The purr of their motors was met by a complementary growl from the rear of the house, and a Jet Black 62 Sovereign, followed closely by a 64 Royale, shot past the three cars and onto the road, heading back towards the Reservation entrance. The 3 cars moved onto the road behind them.

'Red watch 3, Red watch 3, this is Red lead 7,' Johnny's voice came from the CB speaker. 'What is source and location of environmental disturbance, over?' The voice of a young man came back to him over the radio.

'Red lead 7, this is Red watch 3. Source appears to be 4 miles south-southeast of our position, possibly including airborne traffic, over.' Johnny gave a silent nod to the radio. It looked like the creepers were finally paying attention to their corner of the world.

*****


cont'd

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