~ A RAID TO END ALL RAIDS ~

I lay on my back staring up at the night sky, an inscrutiable presence looming over me, as formless as the air itself, but I felt its vengeful gaze upon me. I tugged at my arm trying to pull myself free, but it was no use. My hand was impaled to the rock with a six inch railway spike, the striking pain coursing up through my veins. I leaned over with my free arm to pull it out but something cold, hard and solid dug under my collar bone, pressing my shoulders back against the ground. I kicked wildly and flailed about in the air with my free hand trying to grab hold of whatever was there when another metal spike shot through flesh and muscle pinning my upper arm to the ground the other side of me. I screamed in agony, yelling obsceneties at the top of my lungs in a fit of anger and blind frustration "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!!!" …

CHAPTER ONE

The Job Was Simple...

We were up on a steep sloping section of what used to be the old highway running south towards the city. From this elevation we had a complete panorama. I stepped precariously over a wide gap in the road, massive cracks running away at either side, glancing downwards 40 feet to the ground. To the south the whole structure had collapsed in huge segments and snaked along the ground disappearing over a crest. To the North the road rose further upwards, its tall reinforced girders still holding strong after all these years and surprisingly most of the freeway was still intact as it ran further into the distance. But one by one the sections were coming down and it was only a matter of time before the whole damn thing was reduced to rubble - preferably not while we were still on it.

* * *

"Boss, what the hell is this? There are four of us and your only giving me ammo for two, this won't work..."

He leapt towards me, the cold steel of a blade pressed against my throat as he gripped a fistful of hair at the back of my head, his eyes piercing the back of my skull...

"Sure it will you stupid old bastard! It'll work if I say it'll work, so don't give me that half-assed attitude like you can't do. Its stinks! What the hell use are you if you can't kill a couple of no good caravan traders anyway? When an animal gets too old to work you put a bullet through its head, maybe that's the way your heading. You want more ammo?? THEN GET IT OFF THAT FUCKING CARAVAN!! And don't bother coming back unless you got something useful for me!"

I walked out in silent disgust as I left him ranting to himself. The Boss was a fixated with some kind of mining operation he was running down at some school, and it was swallowing all our resources. He wouldn't give me any more details, said it was "top secret", but I'd heard him muttering to himself something about digging into one of those vaults. The kid was damn stupid if you asked me, ain't no one getting into one of those things. In truth he was becoming increasingly agitated and squandering precious ammo and manpower on a hopeless cause. And now he was sending me out to attack some caravans because we were getting desperate for supplies.

* * *

Bullseye stared to the south-east, concentrating through the scope of his .308 caliber rifle towards the mass of rocky cliffs about 15k off in the distance - Cantebury Commons.

"Any movement?" I asked.

"Hang on a second there Mr. G, I think I see someone... 'ello little fella...come to daddy..." he mumbled to himself.

I knew he couldn't see shit. The sight on that rifle was busted to hell, there was no way anyone could see through it. "bang... bang..." He made a couple of mock shooting sounds as he imagined a direct hit. The bolt didn't work either. I kept trying to tell him but any time someone mentioned it he turned psycho. The thing was salvageable but he wouldn't let anyone else near it to be repaired. The only reason he carried it around was because he thought it looked cool, and god help anyone who came between him and his beloved rifle lest they be accused of trying to steal it and get their balls nailed to a dartboard. Bullseye was a proper psycho alright, and he didn't get his name because he was a crack shot either. He got it because he was a damn terrible shot, couldn't hit a Brahmin if he was staring it in the face - both of them, was kinda like a running joke around here. He didn't get the joke though, and it's probably just as well.

The job was simple. Stake out the MSR (main supply route) leading out of Cantebury Commons and into the wasteland. Hit the first caravan to come through and then get hell out of here with as much loot as we could carry. Me and Bullseye waited up here on the bridge where we'd set up a makeshift shelter from some corrugated iron sheets, a couple rotten mattresses lay inside with some empty ammo boxes, and some empty suitcases to carry the loot. Big Toe Joe and Randy Ray waited down on the ground hidden behind a rocky outcrop. We'd keep our eye out for the target and as soon as the caravan was under the freeway I'd fire the first shot. That would be the signal for Randy and Joe to come out of their position and open fire on the caravan. From our vantage point on the bridge we could keep watch for any follow up attack and provide fire support if necessary. It was the perfect ambush - textbook style. The only problem was our lack of firepower. We had 2 ineffective assault rifles, 1 chinese pistol, and a busted sniper rifle between us. And not enough ammo to hold a sustained fire fight. But the guys were eager for a scrap and I knew they'd rip anyone apart with their bare hands if need be.

* * *

The small tin shack was dark and stale inside, thick cigarette smoke clung to the air and the smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils as I stubbed another red hot cherry into his face and he let out a feeble groan. "How can you be certain that the caravans still take the same route?"

"Because they know that route, its familiar to them, and they always stick to the familiar... they already mapped it out..and they travel at night..always at night.. please.. I'll tell you anything!" His eyes pleaded with mine like a frightened dog. "Uncle Roe is the one who organises them, that's why they all meet there. And since they've been carrying more equipment than usual they've been travelling more often, they pass through nearly every-"

"How much more than usual? Just what the hell have they got up there?" I tightened my grip on the Wastelander's throat.

"Much more! ...word is that a some private contractor has been investing in their stock, they have too much to carry in one go, and with more stock to sell they make 3 times as many -"

"Who's the contractor?"

"I don't know... I swear!" My fist made contact with the side of his skull as I repeatedly punched him in the side of the head, his face beginning to bruise and swell. I never felt sorry for these damn Wastelanders. Like rodents scurrying through the wastes, scavenging in ruins, picking at scraps. If they were smart they'd make something of themselves, not spend their whole lives digging in the dirt. "okay.. okay.. please.. he's just some lone wanderer, nobody knows. They say he came from one of the vaults. He regularly meets with the caravans at the Commons but that's all I know.. I don't know who he is..."

"And how many guards will be escorting the goods?"

"One!"

"Surely with more caps to spend they can afford to hire more guards, they'll want to protect the merchandise."

"But they don't, they only use one guard! More guards means more mouths to feed, it only slows them down. They travel as light as possible, bigger numbers only attracts more attention, they say its safer with 1 guard, less complicated, that's just what they say.."

"He's lying!" shouted Big Toe, "I'll get him to tell the fucking truth, lemme 'ave a go you soft old git! I'll get him to spill the beans!"

"Did you hear that, my friend wants to tear you into tiny pieces...", I pulled the wastelanders face up towards me "...so you better not be lying."

"It's the truth I swear!!!"

His corpse slumped to the ground like a sack of shit, the hot barrel of the 9mm still smoking as blood spread across the floor beneath my feet. I'd put him out of his misery, out of pity more than anything. But he was the lucky one. His companion still tied to the chair had Big Toe Joe getting to work on him. His poor weak skeletal form was dotted with patches of red bloody mass, as Joe grabbed another handful of flesh from his torso and hacked away with the rusty lawnmower blade. Big Toe liked to skin his victims alive, and he was none too fussed about the tidiness of his work. His other favourite game was cutting off the toes of his victims and then watching them repeatedly stumble as they tried to run away - he sometimes kept the big toe as a souvenir. His latest project spat and gargled for breath as his lungs slowly filled with blood, and Big Toe laughed maniacally has he forced more of the flesh down his victims throat, stifling the screams...

There was something different about this new generation, an evil streak that ran deep. Things were changing. Back in my day you simply killed to survive, violence was a necessity. But to these kids it was a sport. Violence was their only pleasure, and they lived for pleasure. I couldn't help but feel intimidated by their remorseless sadism. I suppose when violence becomes a way of life it's only inevitable that things begin to escalate out of control - another good reason to get out of this game before they lost patience and I became their next form of amusement.

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