SurviRal (13 page)

 Jenny pulled his hand away from his mouth. “Everything’s going to be okay, honey.”

“It is?” Clint was surprised—and relieved—to hear her say that.

“Yes. I believe God will watch over us. These are normal people around here. This crowd doesn’t look much different than those in the bread lines in downtown Denver.”

Wade suddenly drove up the curb and on to a dirt service road. It was fenced off ahead. For a moment, Clint wondered if this crazy congressman was planning on ramming right through the fence. But then he saw the guards on the other side of it. Several police and military personnel, well-armed. When they saw Wade’s truck coming, they gripped their weapons and stood directly behind the fence. Clint then noticed that that part of it was on wheels, making an entry gate.

“Wait here.” Wade stopped, got out, approached the guards, spoke to them through the fence, and showed his identification. They nodded. Wade came back to the car as the guards rolled the gate open. Wade waved and smiled as he drove through. He really could throw those politician poses around when he wanted to.

They were now inside the fenced-off area of the park, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them on the unpaved service road. No one else was in sight.

“It’s beautiful in here,” Jenny said.

Pine trees lined the road as they wound their way over hills and between rock formations. After taking a sharp turn, something ahead of them moved. It was big and black.

Jenny pointed forward. “A bear!”

Wade drove right up to the black bear on the path, honked his horn, rolled down his window, and yelled.

“Get out the way, Ellie!”

The bear let out an annoyed roar and sauntered into the trees.

“The bear’s name is Ellie?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah. She can be a real pain the ass sometimes. Particularly when she wanders down to the dog park, where we’re headed.”

* * *

Zane felt around the creek bed until he found a rock that looked about the right size. He could grip this one well, and it had a sharp edge. He carried it back to the machine.

Looking around first to see if anyone was watching, Zane lifted the rock over his head and brought it crashing down on the slot where the money comes out.

“Dammit!” He held his hand. That freaking hurt.

A car rumbled over the bridge, slowing as it did. Zane looked up. The passenger stared at him. Zane flipped him off.

“This is no good,” Zane muttered to himself. “Need to drag it into the bushes.”

That didn’t work out. The abominable thing was heavy and immovable. Screw it. After piling up a few bush branches on one side to partially block the view from the road, he went back to work on it where it lay—using slightly less force in his blows.

Zane discovered there was a learning curve to properly directing your aim when smashing something with a rock. He missed the money slot and crushed the keypad instead several times, eventually sending all the keys flying. The unit was built tough, but beginning to buckle where the biggest dent was.

The noise of a group of motorcycles crossing the bridge drowned out the trickling brook sound for a minute. Zane paid them no attention now that he was mostly hidden. Besides, he was making progress. The outer shell looked like it would crack soon.

How much cash was in one of these things? Thirty thousand, maybe? Zane had never been anywhere near that much money before. The thought of it quickened his pulse. Somewhere close by, those motorcycle engines mellowed to an idle and then began turning off. Probably pulled over on the shoulder ahead. In the back of Zane’s mind, he knew he should investigate that. But he couldn’t look away from the treasure chest now. It was starting to give. So close now. Just a few more good impacts in the right place should do it. He kept pounding.

“You’re doing it wrong,” a voice said.

Startled, Zane looked up. His arm was in the air, about to land another blow. But there was a sudden annoying distraction to have to deal with. Three tough-looking guys hovered menacingly above him on the bank. One stood in front of the other two with his arms crossed and head slightly tilted. He wore dark sunglasses and a red bandana on his head. The two behind him looked like typical bikers as well. They were both smiling and laughing.

Zane set the rock on the ATM and stood. When he was up, he saw three additional bikers walking up behind the others.

Six of them.

“You talking to me?” Zane asked.

“Yeah,” the front one replied. “I said you’re doing that wrong.”

“How so?”

“You’re smashing the top cabinet. The only paper you’ll get out of that is the receipt roll. The bottom cabinet is where the money safes are. It’s much tougher to crack.”

Zane looked back and forth between the front biker and the machine several times before responding.

“I see. Well, thanks for stopping by. I appreciate your advice on how to best open my box.”

“All of our box, now,” one of the others said. He stepped in front and jogged down the embankment, sliding some in the process. Just like that he was standing only a few feet from Zane, close enough to smell his B.O. His faded denim jacket with the sleeves torn off looked like it had never been laundered.

Zane looked back up at the others. They all remained in place. The one with the red bandana was still standing in front. He appeared to be the leader.

“What’s your name?” The one who came down the embankment asked.

“Zane.”

“I’m Charlie. Let me give you a hand. Being as we’re all getting an even split, it’s only right we pound in shifts. I’ll go next.”

Zane instinctively stepped in front of him to block his way to the machine.

“That’s not a good idea,” Charlie said. The next thing Zane felt was a deep pain in his belly as all the wind left his lungs. He looked down in time to see Charlie’s fist come away from his stomach and slam into his chin. Zane was instantly on the ground in a fetal position, looking at the ATM machine from a side view. Laughter filled the air up on the bank.

“Here’s your problem,” Charlie said. “You’re using a girlie rock. Can’t make much progress with that.” Zane’s rock hit the ground, bounced, and landed next to his nose. More laughter up top.

“Now here’s a man’s rock. Need the right tool for the job. You just lay there a while, Zane. Too bad you’re so stubborn. I suppose we can still cut you in for a finder’s fee, assuming you remain nice and docile like that.”

Memories from long ago flashed across Zane’s mind. The first time the school bully tried to pick on him in second grade. It was the last time he—or any other bully—tried that, until Zane got to high school. The same scenario repeated itself there. And so two bully incidents were all Zane was appointed in all his school days. Not counting, of course, all the subsequent high school incidents in which Zane became the bully. It wasn’t his original intention, but after he discovered how much fun it could be he couldn’t resist. By that time his mom was on her third husband, a worthless worm who failed to hide his abject fear of Zane.

The musty scent of the rock next to his nose invoked a different memory. Zane had used a rock as a weapon once before, after a bar fight became an alley fight. He was only defending himself, but the judge didn’t see things his way and Zane spent a year in the Lincoln pen as a result.

Then came the fights on the inside. Zane survived two in the yard in which his rivals produced a shank. Savvy Savage. That’s what they started calling him after the second such incident. But Zane knew he wasn’t all that savvy. He simply discovered the secret to winning fights. It was something he learned in the alley behind the bar. There were three adversaries that night, all better fighters than Zane. The secret was simple: Zane didn’t care if he died. So he was willing to make any fight a life or death proposition, and it didn’t matter what the odds were. Who the hell cares?

The sound of a bigger rock hitting the machine jolted Zane back to the present. His breath returned. Damn if these sons of bitches were going to take his money without having to kill him. In one motion, he grabbed his rock, stood, and dove at Charlie.

“Hey!” a voice yelled from up top. Zane ignored it.

Charlie had just delivered another smash to the machine hull. He had the big rock in a low position and wasn’t ready. When he saw Zane coming, he let go and held his hands up to block the incoming blow. But the force of Zane’s lunge was strong and took them both down. Zane landed on top of him and brought the rock down at his head.

Charlie managed to move out of the way, barely. One of his hands went down to his belt. Zane’s eye’s followed. The hand reappeared, holding a revolver.

Burying his knee into Charlie’s groin, Zane grasped the gun hand with both of his. Charlie got his other hand into the wrestle a little too late, and from an awkward and painful position. Zane quickly had the gun at his neck. The barrel was under his chin now, just for a moment. It was long enough. Zane squeezed Charlie’s trigger finger with three of his, as hard as he could. A small explosion echoed as the top of Charlie’s head erupted in a geyser of blood, skull, and brains.

Charlie went limp. Zane began prying his fingers off the pistol, which still grasped it tightly.

“That’s my brother, you asshole!”

A second figure slid down the embankment. From Zane’s peripheral vision, he saw that Charlie’s brother was also holding a gun, what looked to be a revolver of the same type.

Zane fumbled at the dead man’s hand for what felt like an eternity. When he finally freed the pistol, he stood and stretched his arm out towards the new threat.

Charlie’s brother was now standing next to the creek. His hand was also stretched out. Zane turned sideways as both guns fired. Charlie’s brother missed. Zane didn’t. The brother fell into the shallow water, kicked, and twitched. Zane stepped forward and fired another round into his chest. He stopped moving.

Zane turned to look up the bank. The four remaining bikers were all still there, watching. Just watching. None of them had any weapons drawn. They looked like …spectators. Zane let his arm drop to his side and took several steps forward.

“Anyone else have any ideas about splitting up the money in my ATM machine?” he yelled.

The leader only laughed. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Is your last name Savage?” one of the others asked.

“What if it is?”

“Savvy Savage. Long time. Tommy Falkirk. We were in Lincoln together. I see you haven’t lost a step.”

Zane squinted. “Falkirk. Yeah. I remember you. Kind of. Don’t call me that, please. Nice bunch you’ve fallen in with.”

Tommy shrugged and smiled.

The leader spoke. “Is this your old 500 up here?”

“Yeah. Leave it alone.”

“Don’t worry. We have better bikes. So do you now, if you want. Charlie rode a 1,000. Yours now. Got someplace to go?”

Zane only stared back.

A different one said, “Skip, he just killed the Gustav brothers. You’re inviting him to ride with us?”

Skip turned to his subordinate. “Why not? He handles himself well, and Tommy seems to be able to vouch for him. Did me a favor shooting those Swede bastards. I wasn’t going to say anything, but they snuck an uneven share for themselves at the last job. Probably would have tried to do the same here. Idiots.”

“The ATM is mine,” Zane shouted.

“You’ll never get into it,” Skip said. “Trust me. Rocks aren’t going to cut it. They might bend it, nothing more. By the time you make any progress at all, state troopers are likely to come back and find you with those bodies. And you know what U.S. cash is worth now, all of a sudden? Not much! Up to you, but I recommend you ride with us and go after the real treasure.”

With that he turned and walked away. Tommy waved for Zane to come along before the rest of Skip’s crew filed after him. Zane decided to follow, if for no other reason than to protect his bike.

Up top, he watched them siphon the gas from Charlie’s brother’s bike to top up all their tanks.

Tommy pointed to Zane’s little 500. “Go ahead and siphon what you have into your new tank, if you’re coming.”

Zane studied Charlie’s motorcycle. It was an older Honda 1,000, the model Zane really liked. And it was clean. He glanced between the creek bed, Charlie’s bike, and the four living bikers several times. Charlie’s brother could still be seen lying in the shallow water.

Finally, Zane spoke. “What’s this
real treasure
you mentioned?”

Skip smiled widely. “Guns, ammo, food, gold and silver.”

“Where do we get all that stuff?”

“Homes out in the sticks. These rural survivalist types are literal gold mines. Also, all the idiots bugging out of the cities. Especially bicyclists wearing backpacks.”

Chapter Ten

“I don’t see any dogs,” Jenny said. “Just a heck of a lot of people.”

Wade looked around as he locked his car. “I’m sure there are a few mixed in the crowd. Some dog lovers will feed their pets even before they feed themselves.”

“Believe me, I know. So that’s why everyone’s here? Food?”