Seven Days To Brooklyn: A Sara Robinson Adventure (10 page)

He taps her on the shoulder and prepares himself for a chance at grabbing the baseball-bat-fashioned two by four. Ava revs the bike up and shoots toward the bat, freshly dropped by its previous owner. The distance to the bat is a mere forty yards, but the rest of the horde is scattered here and there, trying to hide from the onslaught of fire coming from the rooftop. Shot after shot, Sara drops thug after thug, six in total, before spotting Mac and Ava. Traveling down the street, Ava slows the bike enough to let Mac lean over and grab the bat. Leaning over, with Ava still driving wildly, Mac stretches his body out to grab the weapon, nearly falling off the bike.

“Got it. Let’s go.”
 

Mac is about to lean back up on the bike, when off to the side of the street, a thug lunges out for them, trying to knock them off the bike. His arms are just feet away from Ava’s head, when the crack of the rifle shatters the silence of the rain. The bullet is on target, and his head comes clean off, landing in the street, leaving him standing for three seconds before the body decides it can’t operate headless. Aware that Sara has this street covered, Ava turns the bike back down the side street and heads back where the other three thugs were last standing. Up ahead, the thugs, out of breath, are a little shocked to see the bike come back at them. Mac braces himself as he readies the bat for a home run. Gunning the bike again, Ava darts the bike left and right, then careens to the far left side of the road, giving Mac a well-placed, right-handed swing at the man to their right. The thug has no idea what is coming and is taken off guard and off his feet when the bat smashes him in the face. Another left turn and Ava is quickly rounding the block for another go at the remaining two. Lined up again with the last two thugs, Ava guns the bike again, weaving back and forth. The thugs split ranks and run to opposite sides of the road. The rain is still falling heavily, and it masks what the thugs are holding in their hands. The thugs start pulling the rope, tightening it across the road at chest level. Braking hard has no effect because of the wet brake system of the antique bike. Ava impacts the rope square in the chest, pulling herself and Mac off the back of the bike. The thugs are on them instantly and knock them both unconscious. The last thing they both see is the fist coming at their faces.

The other gang at the opposite end of town happens to be a rival. Hearing the gunshots from the roof sends its members hiding among the buildings, but curiosity gets the best of them, and they start making their way to the other end of town. These two opposing groups have battled before, trying to establish dominance over their turf to establish their own form of apocalyptic government. The larger group, knowing the smaller group of thugs would likely be in town on any given night, decided to leave the comfort of its fortified compound a few miles south of town in hopes of claiming the town as its own.
 

Back on the rooftop, Sara checks her inventory of remaining ammunition. Eight .308 rifle cartridges, twelve rounds of pistol ammunition, the knife, and her wit are all that is left. She is unaware her friends have been captured until she peers over the edge of the roof again. The thugs who knocked them out have dragged them into the middle of the street in front of her, less than fifty yards away. Mac and Ava are slumped to the ground but are slowly coming to. The remaining thugs gather around their brothers.
 

Pointing the scythe up to the roof, the thug yells up to Sara, “If you want your friends to live, you better come out. No more shooting. Or it’s a quick haircut for them.”

The other group is still working its way up the street and can hear the thug yelling at Sara.

“Okay, don’t hurt them; I’m coming down.”
 

The other group that is better armed is wielding multiple compound bows and quickly makes its way down a side street. Seizing the opportunity that Sara’s group has started, the archers fan out down alleyways and opposing streets until they can see what’s left of the rival gang. Seconds later, the silent whoosh of arrows drops the remaining thugs. Mac and Ava are slowly coming to their feet when the other gang steps out into the street in front of them.
 

Sara has made her way off of the roof and is walking down the alleyway, when she spots the rival gang. She is too far away to hear the conversation the leader is having with Mac and Ava but decides if they have not already killed them, then they must want something else. She slowly closes the distance between them, close enough to pick up the end of the conversation, but they are unaware of her presence.
 

The leader of the gang, a six-foot-tall, dark-skinned man, is laying out his terms of passage through the city, when Sara interjects, “Maybe we don’t want to give you our bikes. Ever thought of that.”
 

The group turns around and sizes up the short girl, noticing she has the revolver in one hand and the bowie knife in the other. Sara grins at the group standing in front of her.

“Not sure you have much choice in the matter, young lady. There is no law now. We are the law. What we say, goes,” the man who seemed to be the gang’s leader says. “But we are willing to negotiate, being as we are a democratic group. Let’s say you guys leave a bike here, and we will let you go, no questions.”

Sara holds the pistol up to let them know she means business.
 

“Mac, Ava, you guys all right?”

The leader looks back at Mac and Ava and then pays Sara a complement.
 

“Good shooting, I must say; .308?”

Sara strains to look through the group but cannot see Mac or Ava.
 

“Thanks, and yes, it is a .308, and no, it’s not up for negotiation. Take the other bike. We’ll leave on this one,” she says, pointing over to the bike with the sidecar.
 

 
“Pretty sure you can take five or six of us out with that pistol, but then we would be on you from this distance, maybe even get you with an arrow.”

Sara sizes him up before answering, “If you are so inclined, let’s get to it. Tired of all this bullshit tonight.”

“Boy, you are a handful, aren’t you? I would give a million dollars for a dozen just like you. Guts, that’s what I like, guts. You’ve got ’em, and I will have to say, I’m impressed. Take your friends and get out of here before I change my mind.”

Sara steps forward another twenty yards as the group splits apart revealing a stunned Mac and Ava. They stumble forward, hanging onto each other as they walk between the group to Sara. Returning the pistol to her belt, she hangs onto the bowie knife, keeping it visible for the thugs to see. Mac and Ava make their way over to Sara as she walks backward, keeping her eyes on the group the whole time. Mac helps Ava get into the sidecar; she took the brunt of the attack and is still out of it. Straddling the bike, he pushes the kick-starter, and the bike rumbles to life. Pulling up next to Sara, Mac slows down to a walking pace as she grabs his shoulder and swings her leg up onto the seat behind him. He slowly accelerates the bike forward and keeps the speed slow as he starts to pass the group, wary of them and wondering if they will keep their word. Looking over her shoulder, Sara looks directly into the leader’s eyes.
 

“Until we meet again,” she yells.
 

 
“You bet, Sara Jean . . . You bet.”
 

She is not sure how he knows her name but is happy to be rolling out of town to the north to Roswell.

The rain subsides a few miles north of town as they ride on.

In town, the leader takes a close look at his prize. The vintage bike glistening in the rain makes him happy.
 

“Was it her?” a voice from the gang says.

“Must be. How many Sara Jean Robinsons do you think are left in the world?”

Retreating inside one of the closest buildings, the gang steps out of the rain. Pulling a paper flyer out of his coat jacket, the leader unfolds it revealing a wanted poster of Sara, a photo of a younger Sara printed in the middle of the page:

SARA JEAN ROBINSON

WANTED: ALIVE

REWARD for the capture and

delivery of S.J. Robinson.

Exercise extreme caution.

CALL SOAC HQ—Contact EDWARDS

DIAL: +699 7767 839487

“What’s the reward?” The thug behind him asks.

“Going to find out soon enough. Where did we leave that satellite phone? Time to make a call.”

9

FIFTY MILES SOUTH of Roswell at 6:30 in the morning, just outside the small town of Artesia, the trio continues its onslaught north to its first objective. A bit chilled by the night air with soaking wet clothing, Sara has retreated into the sidecar and is snuggled up with Ava, sharing a wool blanket. Mac stares blankly ahead, shivering from the cold as he strains to see down the dimly illuminated highway in front of him. The next town comes and goes in a blur. Not wanting to slow down or repeat the previous early morning adventure, Mac keeps the bike moving as he pushes onward to Roswell. A loud bang shatters the low rumbling of the bike engine, followed by a lot of clunking noises, sending the three occupants off to the side of the road.

“Damn it,” Mac says as the bike quietly coasts to a stop.
 

Ava and Sara are looking up at him by now and wondering what happened. Mac looks around at the side of the engine and can see a hole in the side of the block and a piece of metal sticking out of the side of the open hole.
 

“Yep, that’s it. She’s done for.” He says.

“How far is it to Roswell?” Sara speaks up.

“Not sure; last town we rode through was about fifteen miles back. That probably puts us somewhere between twenty to twenty-five miles away.”

Still rubbing a sore head, Ava stands up and gives Sara a boost out of the sidecar. “Guess we are walking.” Ava says.

“No problem. Twenty, twenty-five miles, about eight or nine hours of walking if we don’t stop. Should make it by tonight,” Sara replies as she starts gearing up to make the hike on foot.

“At least the sun is coming up.” Mac is still uneasy on his feet after getting hit in the head. Looking down the road to the north, Sara checks her watch as she adjusts the straps on her backpack. Turning back to her friends, she gives them a nod up with her head while motioning with her left arm for them to follow her. With nothing else holding them at the motorcycle, the trio abandons it and continues single file up the road. Mile after mile, Sara outpaces them and is soon out of sight. Mac is a few yards in front of Ava but continually checks on her to see whether she is still making forward progress. Satisfied that she has not fallen behind, he turns his head back to the front and continues placing one foot in front of the other. The early morning sun quickly traverses the sky and is directly overhead before the duo makes half the distance to the town.
 

“Got to stop. Too hot to keep walking with no water,” Ava yells in a raspy whisper to Mac. She stumbles off the road and down into the ditch, landing on the upslope side.
 

Barely hearing her speak, Mac does not turn in time to see her fall. Walking slowly up to her, he sits at her side.
 

“You okay?”
 

“Just need a rest break; been going for hours and no relief from this blazing sun.”
 

“Yes, better to stop now instead of walking until we drop.”

“How far is Sara ahead of us?”
 

“Not sure; last I saw her was about two hours ago.”
 

Mac and Ava continue their slumber on the side of the road and are unaware of the footsteps coming to them. It is a rhythmic thumping from a short stride, but steady and would seem to come from the north.
 

“Do you hear that?” he says, but it does not elicit a response from Ava.
 

Mac stands and is relieved to see Sara running up to them.
 

“Taking a break on me?” Sara laughs before kneeling down and removing the backpack. She opens the top of the pack and pulls out a couple of used two-liter plastic soda bottles.

 
“Here, this water is okay to drink.” She hands a bottle to Mac, who in turn opens the cap and pours some into Ava’s mouth. Half out of it, half-awake, Ava stirs from near comatose to doing quite well in the next fifteen minutes. Satisfied that she will be okay, Mac takes a couple of huge swigs of water, then asks Sara how far she made it.
 

“Just south of town. Maybe two or three miles, but I didn’t see anyone. Found this water and knew you could use some.”

“Thanks. Just in time. Pretty sure we would have died of dehydration by tomorrow if you had not come back. Give the rest to Ava.”

Pulling the journal out of the backpack, Sara opens it up to the hand-drawn map page, tracing her route from Luckenbach all the way past Carlsbad, New Mexico, and half the distance to Roswell.

Pointing with her finger to the center of the map, she says, “Looks like we are right about here. We can rest off the road up there.” She points behind them at a small rock outcropping above them and fifty yards away. “Looks like there will be some shade by this afternoon, too; then we can push on this evening into Roswell.”

Mac puts Ava’s arm around his shoulder and helps her up. Scrambling up the short incline to the top of the next small hill, the trio make their way over to the rock outcropping before Ava collapses in a heap on the ground. Mac kneels next to her and checks her pulse and breathing.
 

“She’s still breathing. Probably has a bad concussion from getting hit by that freight train of a fist.”

Sara is kneeling next to her holding her other hand. “She just needs to rest. I’ll be back in a while after I find us something to eat.”
 

Sara drops the backpack, opens the top, and assembles the rifle, this time making sure the silencer is tightly positioned on the business end. Mac continues to attend to Ava and does not realize that Sara is gone. As he looks up, scanning right and left, she is nowhere to be seen.