The Damned (26 page)
Authors: William Ollie
Dub said, “You’re going back to your cell, Scotty. Your girlfriend there, well, she’s dead as soon as I get to her. Sit tight and I’ll march your ass back. Run, I’ll shoot you in the leg and drag your ass back. Either way, you’ll be on that cross come sunrise.”
Scott picked up the launcher, grabbed the missile and locked it in place. He’d never held one before, didn’t even know if it would work. He hefted it to his shoulder and stepped around the side of the SUV. Dub raised his pistol and Scott squeezed the trigger, launching the missile directly at the biker leader, who barely had time to register his surprise before the rocket exploded, leaving a shower of blood and bone and chunks of meat where he had been standing.
Karen rose up and looked out through the shattered windshield. “What was
that?
”
Across the street, the gathered crowd stared out at the parking lot.
Scott dropped the launcher, hurried to the sidewalk and picked up his gun, went back to Karen and said, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
They climbed into the pickup, where Scott laid his weapon on the floorboard. He was about to start the engine when headlights appeared on the roadway. He looked up to see a line of vehicles approaching from the west, several Hummers led by a cherry-red Corvette. They pulled to a stop directly in front of the pickup. A guy got out of the Vette. He had short black hair, a black leather jacket and dark pants. He stood next to one of the Hummers, looking out at the jailhouse, at the crowd of people staring back at them.
Scott could hear them through the open window:
Somebody inside the Hummer said, “What happened here?”
“The fuck should
I
know?” the guy said, then, “Ready?”
Then, “Light it up.”
A series of explosions rocked the refrigerated trailer; seconds later came a deafening roar as the tanker truck exploded into a fiery ball that rose like a mushroom cloud, disintegrating the army of bikers crowded onto the sidewalk while the entire front of the jailhouse collapsed in an avalanche of fire and dust and falling sheets of wire and concrete.
The guy stood by the Hummer, staring out at the destruction. The refrigerated trailer was gone, as was Dub’s rolling fuel depot, nothing left but a burning black hole where the front of the jailhouse used to be, dust and ash and charred bones, smoldering bodies and the disgusting scent of burnt flesh. No people, no sign of life anywhere. He got back into his red Corvette, started it up and pulled away from the curb, leading his convoy of Hummers back in the direction from which they had come.
Karen looked at Scott, who looked back at her and said, “Who
were
those guys?”
“Last night Dub was bragging about blowing up a bunch of gangsters. Said it would pave the way for him and his army
to take over. Looks like the gangsters had ideas of their own.”
“I’ll say.” Scott started up the truck, snapped on the headlights and looked down at the dashboard. He had a gun and a tank full of gas, and no idea of what to do next.
“Where to?” he said.
“Anywhere but here.”
He put the truck in gear and stepped on the gas, jumped the curb and roared off down the street. A right and a left put him on the main drag. Somewhere in the distance came a thundering explosion. Gunfire and the staccato sound of automatic weaponry erupted in the night as Scott turned away from the noise. He was heading east toward the expressway when the traffic lights lining the boulevard came suddenly to life.
“My God,” Karen said as Scott pulled to a stop.
They were sitting in front of the burned-out shell of a pawn shop, the display window long ago shattered into pieces. Karen gasped and pointed at a lone television on the window’s shelf, a bullet hole centered in its screen. A wild-eyed hermit as old as Moses himself flashed across a spider web of cracked glass, ranting and raving and shaking his fist.
Scott reached for the radio but Karen grabbed his wrist.
“No,” she said. “Please. I don’t think I could bear it.”
He pulled away from the pawn shop. Minutes later they were rolling down the expressway, toward what, Scott did not know.
Lightning flashed in the distance.
A light rain began to fall.
Scott wondered if it had just been predicted on a dead television with a bullet hole in its cracked and shattered screen.
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