GB96 - Carla's Way Part 9

Headlights glow on the road, coming around the corner.

The wires that you and Stef set up would’ve been all but invisible in daylight. At night, the bikers never have a chance. The chaos is abrupt and complete as Gregory Harris is snapped off his bike, and the others have no chance of stopping. The roaring of engines and screams of pain hit sharply as bikes and bodies slide and tumble all over the driveway.

Not a single one of them manages to avoid the wires; they were coming in too hot, and riding too closely together in their formation. That was easy to predict, but just to be sure their van has a screwdriver in all four tires to make damn sure that they didn’t bring it with their war party.

You count six bikes; you’d hoped to get them all, but you knew better than to count on it.

You could have strung the wires at neck level; you might have killed at least Gregory that way, but you went with chest level instead.

Men groan and writhe on the pavement. Limbs are out at unusual angles and broken bones are evident. Your mother is a healthcare provider; growing up with her, you couldn’t help but absorb certain things, like the offhanded way that she would refer to motorcycles as ‘donor mobiles’.

Half of these guys aren’t even wearing helmets.

You and Stef emerge from the swamp with your masks up. One man has his phone out. You kick it out of his hand and slam your heel down on his wrist, then kick him in the head. Stef is doing the same to another one. You wrestle a pistol away from another severely injured man and smash him in the nose with it, then throw it into the swamp.

One guy’s getting up, and Stef doesn’t see him.

You swing the heavy revolver over and shoot him without hesitation. He topples to the pavement with a cry as the shot echoes through the swamp. The frogs and cicadas resume as your ears ring, and you lower the pistol. That should deter anyone else from trying to get up. You aren’t sure where you shot the guy; you aren’t trying to kill him, but you can’t risk this ambush turning into an actual firefight. You and Stef are not qualified for that.

Stef comes to her senses; she froze when you fired that shot, but it was necessary.

You kneel over Gregory Harris. He’s bleeding from his head. One arm is broken, and all his fingers are broken on the other hand. The vests provided them no protection from the asphalt; the bare arms and faces of these men are scraped all to hell.

Stef has it together. Holding her gun in both hands, she watches the others, but no one’s in any condition to do anything.

“Don’t,” she warns, pointing the gun at a guy who still has one working arm.

“Two of your guys aren’t here,” you tell him, patting him down. You come up with his cell phone and press it into his broken hand. He groans in pain, but he’s too tough or too proud to cry out. “You could call them to get their guns and come get us. Or you can call them to come and take you to the hospital.” You press the muzzle of the revolver against his forehead. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to be out of the state of Florida before I come for you, and you’re in no condition to protect yourself. Lots of swampland out here. Sometimes people just don’t come back. You got to the count of three to decide.”

His teeth grind.

“Three,” you say, cocking the hammer. You’ve seen a lot of movies.

“All right,” he grinds out. It’s not as though there’s anything else he can say.

“Get the fuck out of Florida.” You take the gun away from his head and get to your feet. Stef joins you, and you pause beside a man who isn’t hurt as badly as he’s acting. You hesitate for a moment, then shoot him in the leg.

He screams and grabs it as you and Stef vanish into the black of the swamp.

From your hiding place, you watch the road with Stef. Letting the bikes and the wire do the work was the easy part. Now you have to make sure that these guys actually leave, which will be a little trickier. Once they’re at the hospital, you can break into Gregory’s house and make sure that tape is taken care of. Then you’ll burn it down. Just to be sure.

“Satisfied?” you ask Stef.

She nods grimly. After a moment, she looks over at you.

“Guys like this can’t let shit go,” she says.

“Look who’s talking.”

“I’m serious. They’ll come back.”

“I know. I’ll be ready,” you reply.

You will. You always thought that your mom was crazy, but she wasn’t wrong: you can be good at things when you apply yourself. You just had to find the right thing and the right reason to reach out and grab it.

[ End ]