Page 35 of Red's Peril: Part 1

Gun in hand, I leap out, ready to bolster the ranks should that be needed.

But instead of a fight going on, brothers are running out of the Damnation’s clubhouse and heading for the truck. So many pile on all seats are filled, as is the cargo hold. Rock and Beef end up hanging onto the open doors as Lefty shouts at me to get moving and head back to the bikes.

Glancing in my rearview, I see flames flickering around the building they’d just vacated. Driving slower than I had on the way down, if only to not dislodge Beef and Rock, I still reach the bikes in good time. As I’m starting to brake, I hear an explosion, but it seems I’m the only one not expecting it.

Without a word to me, all the men flood out as soon as the truck slows without waiting for me to stop completely. One by one, they race for their bikes, then head off into the night forgetting about formation, just in a hurry to get where they’re going.

“Follow us!” is Drummer’s only terse instruction my way.

The swift end to the fight, the desperation to get back to the bikes can surely only mean one thing.

Fuck, I was right. They’re attacking the compound.

Putting pedal to the metal, I haul my ass out of there fast.

The truck’s no slouch, but even I can’t keep up with the bikes who are able to easily pass slow-moving traffic. Not that there’s a lot at this time of night, but an irritatingly slow eighteen-wheeler gets right into my path.

The others have got a good few minutes start by the time I turn into the track leading up to the Satan’s Devils’ compound. As I draw close, smoke and flames fill the air, as well as the sound of gunfire.

I do an emergency stop when I come upon the bikes parked haphazardly halfway up the track and make a quick assessment. By the orange glow I see, the gates are still locked tight, and the fire is one of the old outbuildings burning on this side of the fence. By its light, I see the Hell’s Damnation crew are pinned between those inside who are doing a fucking amazing defensive job from what I can see, and those freshly arrived. Two of their Damnation’s getaway trucks are lying on their side, seeming to have been blown up in some kind of explosion.

A lull in the bullets and Drummer’s voice booms out, “You’re surrounded. You’ve got no fuckin’ chance. Give yourselves up.”

“Go to hell,” comes back, along with a hail of bullets sent in Drummer’s direction.

“Put this on, kid.” Lefty hands me a Kevlar vest he’s dug out of the back of the truck. “Can you swing out to the sides, take out any stragglers that try to get past you?”

“Dead or immobilised?”

“The latter if possible, but the former if it’s a choice between you and them. Just don’t fuckin’ shoot anyone with a Satan’s Devils cut on.”

I would bristle at the suggestion, but I know I’ve not been tested yet. Unlike many of the brothers, I don’t have military training. All I’ve had has been the likes of Peg and Blade teaching me to shoot and their tips on how not to get shot. Hoping I’m a quick learner and won’t freeze the first time a gun’s pointed at me, I sidle around the truck, and using the scrub and bushes, try to get closer to the action.

Huh. A man comes straight for me, running as fast as he can, his weapon held loosely in his hand as he tries to get away from the fray. All I need to do is stick out my leg and he goes right over, knocking his head on a rock and splitting it open. Confident he’s out, I kick away his gun, then use the zip ties that Blade had told me to always carry on me, and have his hands and feet trussed. Then, picking up his weapon as an extra might come in handy, I crouch and move forward again.

Their last remaining truck having been surrounded, it seems our attackers have decided to flee rather than take more punishment or surrender. It’s immediately clear the truck I drove has become their target. I grin as I pat the keys in my pocket and vow to stop them reaching it. As another decides to make a break for it, this time, I make my move with less finesse involving swinging the acquisitioned rifle at his head rather than relying on nature to help me. In the end, I take three of them down while being hidden, all without wasting a single bullet.

By this time the rapid exchanges of gunshots have died down, and the firing is now just sporadic.

Seeing no more of the Hell’s Damnation heading my way, I move closer, leaving my three zip tied captives behind. I’ve become overconfident and forgotten I have no six.

The first warning I have of there being someone behind me is the bullet hitting my back. I fall forward, agony blasting through me, gasping for breath, thinking for a moment I’m dead until I remember it hit the Kevlar. But fuck me, that hurt, and it got me right in the kidneys. Suspecting I might be pissing blood for days, I play dead.

They might not have had my back, but at the sound of the shot, they’re all there for me. A gun fires followed by the sound of a body falling, and the man who tried to take my life drops to the ground only a short distance from me.

The ensuing silence is eerie, populated only by the cries of night owls, and the odd sound of somebody moaning. I’m still alive. That the Devils have won, and the battle is over is confirmed when I hear Drummer yelling, “Prospect?”

Damn it.I get to my knees, then my feet. Agony floods through me, making me want to vomit and fall back to the ground, but I remind myself I’m bruised not dying and start to stagger toward the prez when a heavy hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Slick’s with Drummer. You fuckin’ take it easy.”

I turn at Blade’s voice, to see, for once, he’s grinning at me, and not evilly. “Thank you,” I tell him, earnestly, my words needing to be aided by a few shallow breaths in between. My back feels like it’s on fire, but I try to show no weakness as I take account of my surroundings. There are bodies on the ground, some still moving, some clearly not breathing. “Three more back there that I took down,” I tell Blade, jerking my head in that direction.

In the light from the flames, I see him grinning at me. “Come on. We’re heading on up to the clubhouse. Seems you’ve got a pass on cleanup.”

“I can help,” I insist, trying to straighten.

“Not tonight, son.” Lefty appears out of the darkness. “Wounded warriors get a pass.”

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