United States Of Apocalypse (16 page)

T
he bikes were taken
off the road and the bodies buried. A few of the people on the street had a small service. Prayers were said. Mike watched from afar.

“They have no idea what would have happened last night if those men hadn’t been killed,” Mike jeered.

“They don’t know any better, Mike. You can’t fault them for being human.”

“I can fault them for being stupid.” Mike pushed off the telephone pole he’d been leaning against. “I’ll see you inside.”

Tynes headed to the small gathering. “You should get back inside soon,” he said as he looked up to the sky. The sun moved far too quickly across the horizon. Tynes was having a difficult time believing that in a few short hours, they would be in the midst of their own private war.

T
wo hours
after the sun betrayed them and set, a tense Tynes and Mike sat in the living room, looking out the windows.

“You sure they’re going to come?”

“They have to. Word of them getting chased out of a neighborhood gets around, and everyone will start doing it.”

“You sure about your plan? Maybe they just start sneaking in to everyone’s backyard and take a house at a time. It’s a damn cul-de-sac. How hard would that be?”

“Not very, but they need to do something flashy and loud. That’s more their style.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure? This is the lives of us and our neighbors you’re risking.”

“Tynes, man up. Until recently, I was a petty criminal looking at an extended stay in jail, courtesy of the great State of New York. I’m figuring out this shit as we go. There are some things I know, and some I don’t. But the D Streeters don’t pussyfoot around anything. They’re going to want to make a statement. Have a little faith in me.”

Tynes was quiet for a moment. In the downtime, Mike checked the rear-facing windows just to make sure they weren’t being blindsided.

“Yeah, there’re some things you need to know. How to bullshit being one of them. I see what you’re doing.”

“That’s helpful,” Mike said, walking back into the living room.

“How many you think they’ll send?”

“Hopefully not all of them.”

“You think they’d send all two hundred here?”

“Two hundred? Is that how many your gang unit thinks there are?”

“They had very reliable data.”

“You realize that’s about ten percent of their total. Right?”

“What the fuck have you got us into, Mike?” Tynes went upstairs and rapidly began scanning the neighborhood through every window.

“I was the one that advocated leaving, remember?” Mike yelled in response up the staircase.

“Shh! I hear something.”

Mike raced up the stairs. It was faint but immediately recognizable.

“Motorcycles,” they said in unison.

“I know the damned guard can hear that. Would be nice if they got off their damned asses and lent us a hand.”

“Tynes, man, I may not have thought this all the way through.”

Tynes turned quickly. “Now? Now you tell me this? What the fuck did you miss?”

“Even if we win, we lose.”

“I’m not into that new-age Zen shit, Mike. What are you talking about?”

“Even if we somehow—”

“Somehow?”

“They’re coming. Can I finish? When...when we stop them, they’ll come back with more men and more guns. A twelve-house cul-de-sac full of pussies isn’t ever going to be able to stop them. We’ve got to leave, and now, if we want any hope of escaping their retribution.”

“So you’re saying we take whoever survives and head for the hills?”

“Well, I was really talking about me and you, but I guess we could take a pretty girl or two with us. Stop looking at me like that,
of course
we take everyone.”

“Sounds like fucking Sturgis out there.”

“You ride?”

“I went one year. They ask cops all around the country if they want to come up during the rally. I had some vacation time, and the money was good.”

“Figures you’d go to the world’s biggest party as the bouncer. Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘Fuck you, Mike.’ Your wife didn’t care?”

“That’s where I met her.”

“She working a medical tent or something?”

“She loved to ride.”

“Are you shitting me? Mrs. Tynes is a bad ass too? We’re going to need to talk about that later.”

“How many you think?” Tynes asked as the thunderous reverberations began to rise in volume.

“Hundred, maybe more.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I still think we should have put up a barricade and took our chances.”

“The path of least resistance, my friend. We put up that wall, and they would start coming in over the backyard fences, and then what? We’d be surrounded and outmanned. This way we let them in where we want them.”

“You’re a more dangerous man than I give you credit for.”

“Not sure where that stands on the ranking of compliments. We’ll revisit that as well. Here they are.” Mike said, matter-of-factly.

The street lit up as the first of the single headlights swept onto the street. The noise was so loud it pushed out all thought. Mike noted that the fear in his mind would have done that as well.

“I think I could literally shit my pants right now, I’m so afraid,” Mike muttered.

Tynes pulled his gaze from the window and the approaching motorcycles. “What? What did you just say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Bullshit, you just said you could crap your pants.”

“I said no such thing.”

“Mike, I’m four inches from you.”

“I really said that out loud?”

“I’m going to the other window.”

“Yeah, that would probably be a good idea.”

Motorcycles crammed into the large circular street end. They were parked fairly uniformly at first and then became more jumbled as more bikes drove in. They also began to pull onto driveways and lawns. Most riders had dismounted, yet none had moved too far away from their rides. As the engines shut off, the thunder finally subsided. Mike wasn’t sure if he’d gone deaf or not as the resulting quiet was as all-encompassing as the noise had been.

“Residents of Blyleven Street, Murkediem sends his regards. We are representatives of the D Street Demons come to seek retribution for the wrongs performed upon our group.”

“Sounds like a damned lawyer,” Tynes grumbled.

“Bet you had plenty of reasons to hate those guys. Lawyers, I mean. Am I right? All those police brutality charges, I’m thinking.” Mike made a “tocking” sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he mimicked a nightstick rapping a skull.

“I’m not liking the show of insanity right before a battle, Mike.”

Regibold, the representative, spoke again. “Fine citizens, if you but hand over the transgressors, we will deal a swift justice to them and leave your beautiful neighborhood unscathed. Deny us though, and not one of these houses will stand by the end of the night. I will give you…” He turned his arm to look at his wrist, an expensive wristwatch displaying the time at 7:27. “I’m feeling generous. You have until 7:30 to give them up. That’s three minutes. Three minutes more than any of my frie—”

Mike fired his rifle, blowing through Regibold’s turned forearm and into his chest. He fell over, a shocked expression quickly melting away to resignation.

“What the fuck, Mike!” Tynes shouted. Many of the D Streeters were now returning fire in every conceivable direction.

Rill, who had been newly appointed by Mike’s bullet as the leader of this offensive, was directing his men.

“Staying the course, man. You know one of your neighbors would have given us up in a heartbeat if they even thought for a second they’d be spared. Now, we’re all in this together.”

“Well shit, that’s kind of smart.” Tynes had started firing his weapon, as had a few of the other residents. They had the benefit of cover and crossfire, but still they were vastly outnumbered. Gang members that had initially crouched down were now beginning to move toward the houses, using parked cars and trees as cover. Glass shattered all around Mike as he drew a heavy concentration of fire.

“Moving to a new window!” he shouted, quickly backing away and going to a new room. Mike shoved rounds into his magazine as quickly as he could and peeked his head out the window.

“Whoa, maybe should have started here,” he said when he realized his view gave him a much better angle on the war waging below. D Streeters were pinned down in front of Dutch’s house as he was laying down a heavy suppressive fire. “Good for him,” Mike commented. The house next to it, the Houlihan’s, Mike thought, had fallen. He could hear muffled screams coming from inside. The door had been kicked in; a rifle that sounded like it could take down an elephant roared within. Two gang members ran back out, and a third stumbled and fell down the front stoop, a fist sized hole in his back as he fell face forward onto the welcome mat.

The house on the other side was smoldering. Flames began to lick at the windows, and smoke was pouring out. It was only a matter of time until the structure was fully ablaze. Without the help of a fire brigade, the odds the whole street would burn were vastly increased. Mike shot the two D Streeters that had exited. They’d been in the midst of a high five when Mike had blown through the neck of the one on the left. His head lolled to the side as his spine was severed. He’d spun away, leaving the other to dive for cover and wildly look about for the shooter who had killed his partner in crime. Unfortunately for him, he was well within Mike’s sights. Mike hated the thought of shooting a man lying on his stomach, but he hated the thought of that man shooting him even more. The shot struck high in his back and blew out his lungs and heart, killing him as instantly as is possible with a high caliber round. He did not dwell long on the casualty. He sought targets that were moving in on Tynes’ house.

“I smell smoke!” Tynes shouted from down below, he’d gone to the first floor shortly after Mike had moved rooms.

“Radley’s house is going up!” Mike answered back. A hail of bullets caused Mike to duck down.

When the barrage calmed down, Tynes shouted up.

“I’m fine, but company is coming!” Mike had taken a quick glance to see combatants moving around the side of the house. The shooting had been meant to keep him from seeing what they were doing. “They’re coming for the backdoor! You need help?”

“The day I let some damn asshole gang members into my house is the day I can no longer call myself a cop.”

Mike realized Tynes was talking to himself, but he’d answered the question as well. He’d probably take it as a personal affront if Mike showed up. Mike still tried to make it an easier job for Tynes by taking out the slowest of the five heading their way. He missed.

“Fuck, perceived insults or not, he’s going to need help.” Mike was halfway down the stairs when the back door was broken open. This was immediately followed by the chattering of the heavier HK 7.62 round Tynes was shooting. On the heels of that was the 9 mm, which seemed to be the preferred round of criminals everywhere. He did not see Tynes and figured the man was in the kitchen giving him a clear shot at the backdoor. That angle gave the intruders a clear shot at him as well. Mike eyed the dining room table, wondering whether it would stop a bullet if he turned it over. He figured that was all Hollywood made up bullshit and pressed on.

The multiple cracks of the newly introduced combatants quickly drowned out Tynes’ heavier round. The shots were deafening. Mike was five feet from the opening that led into the kitchen. A gang member ran in and through the kitchen, trying to come up and flank Tynes. Mike was better prepared for this eventuality than the man he now faced, but not by much. Mike reflexively pulled on the trigger three times. The first struck where the chest plate met the man’s neck, the second struck flush in his Adam’s apple, and the third tossed the top of his skull off like a shorn cap. The man was dead before his face smacked down onto the hardwood floor.

Mike dived to the side, hitting the wall hard. A bullet grazed his cheek as another man showed. Mike fired back twice. The first missed. The second hit the man in the side. He stared down the barrel of the man’s weapon and closed his eyes in preparation for the meeting with his maker. He was surprised at how little it hurt when he heard the next few gunshots.

“You can open your eyes now,” Tynes said, coming around the corner.

“I’m not shot?” Mike squinted through his right eye.

“A little bit. Come on, I hear engines.” Both were afraid it meant gang reinforcements were coming; it was quite the opposite. The D Streeters, having come across an opponent willing to fight, were doing what most bullies do: they were leaving faster than they’d come. Shots still rang out as the gang tried to cover their retreat, and Tynes’ neighbors were still flush with battle adrenaline. Dutch was the first out, getting to his hose and desperately trying to get some water on his neighbor’s house. How much longer they had with the gravity fed systems was anybody’s guess. Mike figured it was a lost cause then realized it wasn’t Dutch’s neighbor’s house he was trying to save but rather his own. Some of the residents came out as if in the midst of a daze. Some immediately went to Dutch to aid in his firefighting efforts. Others cried for help as they or someone they loved had been hurt.

“Holy shit.” Mike looked over the mayhem. The battle hadn’t lasted more than ten minutes, yet thirty-two D Streeters were on the ground, dead, dying, or injured enough that they were out of the fight. “I’m going to help HOA man.”

“Not yet. Some of these scumbags could still be plenty dangerous. We need to restrain those still living.” Almost as if to reiterate this point, a gangly, unkempt man with a bullet hole in his leg stood and took a shot at Dutch. Tynes and Mike made quick work of putting him down. Dutch waved when he realized what had just happened.

“That’s like that cop sixth sense shit, isn’t it?” Mike asked.

“More like common sense. They’re injured and pissed off, makes for a bad combination. In my garage, above the worktable, there is a container full of zip ties. Could you please grab me a handful?”