Chapter 6: Man Down
October 1, 1998
7:00 PM
The Lucky Clover Motel
Gun fire still ringing in his ears, Shank made it to the parking lot just in time to see Shots roll behind a compact Toyota. Twisting his head to the right Shank saw what it was his friend was rolling away from. Two pick-up trucks, one black and one red, had entered the motel's parking lot carrying three men in each in their truck beds dressed in casual clothing with bandannas or handkerchiefs tied about their mouths. The pick-up beds were also stacked with everything from toolboxes to Sony televisions. The men themselves, looking a great deal like Mexican banditos with the bandannas obscuring their faces, were armed with a variety of handguns that they discharged liberally at the Shots, riddling the car he hid behind with bullet holes.
"Get the bikes!" Shank heard the driver of the black pick-up yell to his comrades.
"The fuck you do!" Blaze shouted as two men from each pick-up dropped down from the truck beds and raced across the lot to where the Psycho's motorcycles rested, seemingly oblivious to the five new bikers on the scene. "Get 'em!"
"Hey!" Shank bellowed as he ran across the parking lot to intercept the four men, his companions right behind. Raising the hefty revolver the big man took a moment to aim, pull back the hammer and let a round fly. He was no marksman, the few gunfights the biker had the misfortune of being in were all gang confrontations and those usually gave one little time to carefully draw a bead. There was no strategy involved in that conflict where the combatants simply tried to fire off as many rounds as possible and hope for the best before running away. Needless to say, Shank and his comrades had never been given much time to develop their skill at gunplay.
Shank was annoyed, but not surprised, to see his shot miss, sailing wide over one man's head. The banditos – they truly did look like something out of the Old West – noticed the Psychos now. They stopped, spun and opened fire, sending a hail of bullets at the five bearded men. The bikers ducked, throwing themselves to the pavement, scrapping hands and elbows in the process.
The four thieves, having rid themselves of the interference from the bikers for the moment, continued there dash to the Harley's when a deafening boom split the night air. Shots emptied both barrels of his shotgun into the legs of one bandit as he ran past, ripping apart flesh and bone. The man cried out as his kneecaps seemed to vanish in a spray of crimson and he staggered to the ground, his pistol jumping from his grasp. One of the thieves saw his partner drop and turned his weapon on the prone biker reloading behind the Toyota but Blaze was back on his feet and firing. Three red holes erupted in the man's back and he fall in a heap.
Seeing two of their number done away with, the remaining pair of thieves hesitated then turned and ran madly back to the safety of their getaway vehicles. Boomer and Slugger opened fire on the same target, their rounds catching the bandit in the side and dropping him to the ground in a heap. The men still in the trucks returned fire, but proved to be rather poor shots, giving the bikers enough time to scamper out of the way once more.
"Come on! Come on!" One man still in the truck bed called to his retreating friend. The fellow offered his hand and began to pull his partner in crime back into the truck when a round from Shank's King Cobra tore through his eye and dropped him lifelessly over the edge of the truck bed.
"Ah, crap." Shank muttered into his beard as he saw the man in the red pick-up reach down and grab what looked like a bottle of vodka. Shank could see a wet rag dangling lazily from the bottle's opening. The bandit pulled out a Zippo from his pocket and set the oily piece of cloth aflame. "Shots, get out of there now!"
Shank saw his friend's head pick up at the mention of his name. Shots glanced once at the man in the truck before taking off, leaping through the air as the Molotov cocktail set the area he had just been crouching in on fire. The flames rose high, licking up the sides of the compact, consuming the Toyota's wheels.
"Run!" Tech bellowed in that gritty, screeching voice of his, firing his Glock wildly at the man in the red pick-up, missing him but forcing the thief to duck.
"Better listen to the kid, buddy!" Boomer shouted to Shots above the thunder of gunfire. He pumped five rounds through the passenger side door of the red truck and saw the driver's silhouette jerk to one side then sag against the steering wheel.
A flash of movement from the black truck caught Shank's attention. He saw that the thief had climbed back into the truck bed and had also armed himself with a Molotov. The big man raised his revolver as the man lit the fuse and wound up to throw. His thumb pulled the hammer back and Shank squeezed the trigger three times. Two bloody holes broke out across the man's chest but it was too late, his arm was already moving forward and the deadly cocktail of oil and fire was sailing through the air.
"The bikes!" Slugger shouted in alarm as the Molotov's trajectory carried it on a downward slope towards where the Harley's were parked. There was the sound of breaking glass and then a sweltering eruption of orange flame that blanketed the six motorcycles. Hot tongues of fire devoured the metal chassis, ate through the rubber tires, and turned wires to liquid.
"The gas tanks," Blaze murmured, then his voice rose and his eyes went wide with panic. "Get down!"
The explosion that followed made this order unnecessary as the concussion pushed all six men to the floor. Shank hit the ground hard he could feel the heat against his skin and hear chunks of rubber and scrap metal flying past his face. Breath rushed out of the big man and he began to cough and splutter. Unsteadily, his legs feeling made of water, the biker attempted to rise, only to be knocked to the ground again by another earth shaking blast as the Toyota's gas tank ignited, turning it into a ball of burning wreckage.
Lying with his back against the hard pavement Shank felt his senses begin to shut down. He could not hear anything, aside from a study, droning hum in his ears. He was unable to see anything but bright bursts of color that zipped painfully across the backs of his eyes. He was unable to feel anything except for a somewhat hot sensation in his left forearm. For a brief moment, Shank thought he was going to die out there in the parking lot of that roach motel.
Just as this notion hit the big man he felt air return to his lungs and suddenly he could breathe again. Slowly the fog cleared from his brain and the humming in his ears ceased. It was replaced by the sounds of gunshots, shouting voices, licking flames and squealing tires. The flashes of color behind Shank's eyes disappeared and were replaced by a solid darkness. At first Shank thought the explosions had blinded him then realized, much to his own embarrassment, that he had his eyes closed. He opened them and Shots' face came into view, a look of concern etched across his weathered features.
"You alright, dog?" He asked and Shank looked down at his arm where he could feel a warm, prickly sensation crawling up his forearm – then quickly turned his head away once more when he caught sight of the five smoldering shards of metal embedded in the skin.
"Ah, geez!" He groaned, rolling to one side. "Yeah, yeah. I'm all right. What happened to our buddies in the trucks?"
"Don't worry about them," Shots said, a wry smile splitting his grizzly face. "The guy driving the black pick-up bugged out after he saw the last of his last of his crew get greased by our fearless leader."
"Glad to hear it." Shank groaned again, then heard someone to his right do the same.
"Shots get over here!" Blaze ordered and the former surgeon moved from Shank to where Boomer lay sprawled across the pavement.
The entire right side of Boomer's upper body was in the same condition as Shank's arm. Smoking pieces of metal poked out of his skin; blood covered his arm and rib cage. Boomer's eyes rolled around in a daze as he flopped from side to side until Shots pinned his shoulders down to keep the man still.
"Shit." Shots said as he looked over the other man's injuries then glanced up at Blaze whose face was set with lines of anxiety. "He's hurt bad."
"Yeah? Could you put that in a memo and title it 'Shit I Already Know'?" The Psycho's leader snapped. "Tell me something I don't know, Shots."
Shank rose to his feet and dusted himself off with one hand. He looked at the condition of his left arm and winced, holding the injured appendage tight against his chest. Turning his head, Shank saw Tech and Slugger hurry back over from the spot where the Harley's continued to bake.
"Well the bikes are fucking toast." Tech commented bitterly, a scowl written across his weasely face.
"Literally." Slugger added ruefully. "Everything we had with us just went up in smoke."
"We've got bigger problems right now boys." Shank thrust a thumb in Boomer's direction and then limped over to where he lay. Tech and Slugger followed silently.
"Damn it, man." Slugger said, shaking his head fists clenched at his sides as he surveyed his friend writhing on the ground.
Shots did his best to hold his patient still but Boomer twitched and spasmed like a fish out of water. Laying a knee across one of his shoulders Shots used two calloused fingers to feel the man's neck for a pulse. "Hey! Lay still man. It's all right. You're gonna be okay."
"Bull…shit." Boomer moaned, holding his side.
"Relax, Boomer." Blaze said in a voice softer than he looked capable of using. "We're gonna take care of you. Just lay back and let Shots do his job."
"Shank?" Shots said, looking up.
"Yeah, man?"
"Go get me the bed sheets from the motel room, I can use them to make some makeshift bandages. They won't be great but they'll have to do until we can get Boomer to a hospital." Shots replied and Shank took off into the room before his friend was done speaking.
"That may prove to be more difficult than it sounds." Slugger murmured, taking a look around at the city that chaos had swallowed.
A second later Shank dashed back out into the parking lot, a pair of white bed sheets bundled under one thick, grimy arm. He handed the sheets down to Shots who tore the fabric into strips and carefully wrapped them around Boomer's injuries.
"Try not to bite your tongue off, bro." Shots said, sympathy in his brown eyes, "this is going to hurt a bit."
"Just…do it." Boomer grunted. Shots pulled the sheets tight and knotted them. Boomer screamed, a high, whining din that made Shank grimace. "Ahh! Fuck…you, Shots."
"Yeah, I know." Shots smiled, then handed one of the strips up to Shank. "Tie your arm with this, make sure you pull it tight."
Shank took the strip of cloth and nodded grimly as he wrapped the sheet around his arm. He gasped sharply as he pulled the crude bandage tight and tied it off. Together, Shank and Shots helped Boomer climb to his feet.
"We've got to get him to a hospital." Shots told the others. "The bandages will stop the bleeding for now but I can't tell if any internal damage has been done. We need to get him some professional help."
"I thought you were a professional?" Slugger commented, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I was." Shots snapped back, adjusting his grip to better support Boomer's considerable bulk.
"How are we even supposed to get to a fucking hospital?" Tech said, a note of panic in his voice. "Our wheels just got turned into rubber and chrome soup!"
"Calm down, kid." Blaze said looking around the Lucky Clover's parking lot slowly. His eyes fell across the bullet riddle red pick-up truck. 'We can take the truck. Some of us will have to ride in the back but I don't think anyone will mind too much. Will they?" The rest of the biker clan shook their heads. "Good. Let's hurry it up then."
The group reached the truck and quickly emptied it of the stolen loot as well as the body of one unfortunate bandit then, carefully and gently lowered Boomer into the bed of the truck. Blaze raced around to the driver's side and hauled the door open. He dragged the driver's body out and stuffed his pistol, a Glock 19, into his waistband before climbing behind the steering wheel. Shots jumped in on the passenger side as Shank, Tech and Slugger hopped into the back with Boomer.
"You boys all set back there?" Blaze called into the back, pulling aside the small window that separated the truck cab from the truck bed.
"Get this heap moving!" Shank said with a thumbs-up for good measure.
"Alright, where's the closest hospital?" Blaze asked, shifting the pick-up into gear.
"Saint Jude's," Shots replied, "take Borne all the way up until you reach Royce, then turn onto Mill, it's on the opposite side of Maple Street."
"Got it." Blaze put his foot down on the pedal.
In the back of the truck Shank felt a few raindrops sprinkle down across his shoulders, a moment later it was pouring down without relent. Overhead a lightning bolt tore across the dark sky. Water dripped down through his thick beard and over his eyes.
"This…sucks." Boomer muttered from where he lay.
"What next?" Tech sighed.
Shank wondered the same thing as the pick-up rolled down the street. The pain in his arm was distracting so he did not register the noise at first, then, abruptly his head shot up as a deep, rumbling bellow, like the roar of a lion, filled his ears. Another lightning bolt split through the clouds and Shank shook his head, smirking. He must have been getting old, he thought. He was starting to hear things.
Author's Note: Here's another update for you, my Readers. A short chapter and not one of my best but I hope you enjoy. Stay tuned for more updates here as well as for Come Clean soon. I would also like to thank all of you who have left kind and encouraging reviews they are what keep me inspired and writing. Now, time to extinguish some flames.
The Extinguisher: (Please look in the Reviews section on the site to see which flames I am referring to.) Today, I received flames from the same person using different names they included: Guess Who, You Know Who and You Don't Know Shit.
First of all, my personality challenged friend, congratulations on such creative use of progression throughout your name, very witty…for a six or seven year old, maybe. I'd also like to point out that you didn't even bother to review my work. You see a review would have been to say something like "Good" or "Bad" you however, chose to be anal retentive and nitpick. The important thing about a story is that it should be engrossing, full of conflict and interesting characters. Perhaps I missed a few minor details but let me tell you that according to Tom Clancy's book Rainbow Six there IS a magnum 7mm for the Remington. Also the police in the game Resident Evil did use a Mossburg shotgun…read David's Journal for proof in the game.
Anyways, my point is that if the characters are interesting, the plot has depth, and good conflict is abundant then overlooking a few details doesn't matter. What does the type of bullet have to do with advancing the story in an interesting way? Nothing. People read stories to be entertained by how the plot plays out and what happens to the characters involved within that plot. If we nitpicked over every little, insignificant inaccuracy we saw or heard or read we would never be entertained. A story should be exciting and full of interesting characters…small details that mean nothing overall should not matter. I hope you have found this educating and I hope that you will continue to read and review my work in the future. Remember, a review is something that gives your opinion on the chapter/story i.e. "good" or "bad". Understand? Have a good day and thank you for reading Three Days In A Nightmare.