The moon shone through the thin curtains of Johnny Boyle's bedroom, and the young boy lying in bed clamped his eyes shut as he heard the front door slam shut and the heavy footsteps come staggering down the corridor. Dad was home from the bar, where he'd been spending most of his nights for the last few years since Mum left and he lost his job. Johnny hoped he'd pass out before he got to his room, and he'd be safe...
No such luck. He tensed as he heard his bedroom door bang open, followed by Dad's boots on the bare floorboards. "I know you're awake, you useless little bastard," Dad slurred. "I'm gonna enjoy this." He lunged forward, shoving Johnny over the side of the bed, where Johnny's head hit the floor, eliciting a cry of pain. Pain which got worse as Dad kicked him sharply in the ribs, snarling "Look at you, you soft little shit. Goddamn little crybaby!" Grabbing him by his hair, he hauled Johnny up, threw him on the bed and laughed as he smashed his fists into his son's face and stomach again and again...
OOOOOOOO
The sun had not yet risen over the horizon when Johnny peered round the edge of the door into the sitting room and saw his father slumped unconscious in his armchair, stinking of booze and urine. Johnny realized how glad he would be if the old man choked to death on his own vomit, and smiled. But he wouldn't be here to see that. Clutching the small bag containing what little money and food he'd been able to get his hands on, the thirteen-year old boy opened the front door and commenced walking down the street in the early morning light, never to return...
OOOOOOOO
It was the sound of a motorbike engine in the distance that caused Johnny, sat on a rough blanket on the ground outside the lonely roadside bar, to jerk his head up and squint down the desolate stretch of highway. From out of the shimmering haze the rider took form, growing larger as he drew closer, until his cycle roared into the near deserted parking lot, just yards from where Johnny squatted, watching him intently. The biker's brown, fur-trimmed jacket was spotted with sand; the lustre had long since faded from his black helmet. His physique was large and powerful, and having switched off the engine, he removed the helmet and a pair of old goggles to reveal a stubbled, strong-featured, faintly intimidating face, which glanced at Johnny with icy blue eyes.
He dismounted his cycle and walked slowly, confidently towards the entrance of the bar. He was an inch from the door when Johnny said "Hey, mister?" The man stopped, then slowly turned and looked over at Johnny, who swallowed nervously before continuing: "I don't suppose you got any...spare change, so I can...get something to eat?"
The biker continued to stare at Johnny, not uttering a word, then stepped closer until he towered over him, nearly blocking out the sun. As Johnny sat in his shadow, he tensed as the big man reached inside his jacket...and sighed in relief as he withdrew a bar of chocolate and held it out to him, smiling not unkindly. Johnny grinned and nodded his head stupidly as he accepted the chocolate, saying "Cheers, mate...that's just great, thanks. Yeah."
He had just started to unwrap the tasty morsel when the man said "You smoke, kid?" He had already produced a pack of cigs and was holding them out. Surprised at his generosity, Johnny nodded and took one out and, thanks to the biker's lighter, was shortly taking a long and grateful drag on it. "I'll be seeing you," the biker said, before striding away and disappearing into the bar. Johnny watched him go.
It did not take Johnny long to finish both the cig and the chocolate. He must have dozed off for a while, because he was startled awake by the sound of a car arriving in the lot near him. The vehicle was painted bright yellow, red and blue, and printed in black letters along the side was 'MFP.' Johnny recognized it as Main Force Patrol, or the 'Bronze' as the glory riders they hunted called them. The car door opened and a single MFP officer, decked out in the familiar black leather uniform, stepped out. He saw Johnny looking at him as he walked by, and sneered "Piece of advice for ya, kid...point them eyeballs somewhere else and piss the hell off, yeah?" He punctuated his comment with a contemptuous flick of a cig butt in Johnny's direction as he walked into the bar.
His attitude was not one that Johnny was unfamiliar with, but it still rankled. The Bronze was the one with a home, a job and money; Johnny had none of that. Who the hell gave a crap upholding law and order anyway these days when it obvious to everyone the whole world was on a one-way trip to hell. Damn Bronze, they made him laugh. Like those ultra-religious types at the foster home the court had stuck him with for a while. Killjoys.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, violent commotion inside the bar. He heard shouting, loud crashes of tables and chairs, glass breaking. A moment later the door banged open and two men emerged: The MFP officer and the biker who'd gone in earlier. The biker's hands were secured behind his back with handcuffs and the Bronze was pushing him towards his car. "Lucky I found you, eh, Toecutter?" the lawman chuckled. "Think I'll get a bonus for bringing you in. Not so tough without your gang of skags, are ya?"
Johnny's eyes moved from the struggling figures to an empty beer bottle on the ground a few feet away. It took only a second of consideration for him to dash over and grab it, then bring it shattering down on the back of the Bronze's head just as he was about to shove Toecutter into the car. As he dropped to his knees with a grunt of pain, Toecutter turned and savagely rammed his knee into his jaw, sending him collapsing unconscious in the dust. Johnny just stood and stared, bewildered and exhilarated by what he'd just done.
"Find his keys, boy," Toecutter told him. "I need to get these cuffs off. Come on, hurry! Now!"
In just a few minutes Toecutter was roaring down the road into the approaching dusk, Johnny holding on tightly behind him. He had a new father now...