Page 53 of Resilience

Sam stood. “Nope. Just dark and quiet. You get any sleep?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jordan said, clearly not interested in having a discussion. “See ya.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

Sam headed off toward the bunkhouses. He and Jordan didn’t know each other much; this was only the second time they’d been in the same place. But based on the little bit of evidence he’d gathered, he didn’t see them becoming great friends.

When he got to the bunkhouse he, Monty, and Jay were supposed to be sharing, Jay was nowhere to be seen, but Monty was passed out face-down on the fold-out sofa bed. He’d filled the place to the ceiling with his noxious farts. There was something wrong with that guy’s plumbing.

For about twenty minutes, Sam tried to bury his face in the covers and sleep through that poison, but he wasn’t tired enough to go under in such conditions. He gave up, put his boots back on, and left. He’d find a place to crash in the clubhouse somewhere.

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~oOo~

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The clubhouse smelled of booze, sweat, sex, and ... farts, but the mélange was more bearable than the killing room he’d left. A few lights were still on, enough so he could see around the room. Jay was passed out in a recliner, a bottle of beer lying on his lap and a large wet spot covering most of his leg. Sam grinned at that; dude was going to look like he’d pissed himself. Most of the Nevada Bulls were unconscious in various positions and locations around the party room. Old Ben was stretched out alone on a sofa like he’d fallen asleep watching TV at home. Gunner was passed out on the floor. They could expect a refrain on repeat tomorrow about how he was ‘too old for this shit.’

There wasn’t much in the way of comfortable sleeping options available in here, either. Shit, maybe he’d get his bedroll off the back of his bike and sleep under the stars.

In fact, yeah. That sounded like a great idea. There wasn’t much moon, and no clouds. The stars were dancing tonight.

As Sam headed to the front door, a bright flash of light through the front window caught his eye. He looked again and saw headlights. Three sets. At quite a distance, maybe a mile away.

And then the headlights went dark: the first car, then the second, then the third.

Every hair on Sam’s body stood straight up.

He didn’t understand everything about the club yet, and he’d never been in any kind of dangerous situation in this time wearing a kutte. All the terrible stuff that had happened during the Perro years, he’d been one of the kids in lockdown, worried about his family. He’d never seen the trouble, only the consequences.

Even so, he knew three cars—maybe trucks; they were too far away to be sure of that, but definitely pairs of headlights, so not bikes—coming down a desolate desert road that led to nowhere but this clubhouse at past two in the morning was definitely trouble. It would be suspicious even if they hadn’t cut their lights, but they had, with the pacing of a plan being executed.

He couldn’t see them anymore in the dark, but something in him was afraid to look away, afraid to turn his back.

Then he caught a ghost of movement at the side of the window and leaned that way, straining to see through the dark. He saw a slightly lighter shape moving—the white door of the garage was rolling up. The windows in the clubhouse were all closed and the AC on, but when he focused, he could hear the door’s motor.

Only way to roll that door up was the code, keyed directly into the keypad inside the garage.

Jordan was putting up the door. While three cars sneaked up on the compound.

Sam leapt to the door, meaning to hit the big bank of switches beside it and turn on all the lights, including the overheads—but he pulled up at the last second. Sudden light would warn whoever was coming.

He had to get all these passed-out-drunk Bulls on their feet and alert right the fuck now! “WAKE UP!” he yelled. “TROUBLE! WAKE UP!”

A few vague sounds of stirring, but not enough. Gunner was closest, so Sam ran to him, crouched and grabbed him by his kutte to shake him. “UNCLE GUN!! WAKE UP!! WE GOT TROUBLE!”

“The fuck?” Gunner asked, blinking and trying to knock Sam’s hands away. “What’s goin’ on?”

Old Ben was on his feet and crossing the room. “You said trouble?”

Geno pushed a girl off his lap and struggled to his feet. “What trouble?”

“Three cars, headlights went dark while I watched. They were like a mile away, so they’ll be here any second.” He didn’t hear engine noise yet, but maybe the clubhouse was insulated so well it couldn’t pass through.

Sam’s report got Gunner and Geno moving. Gunner pushed Sam aside and ran to the front window as Sam and Geno worked on getting everybody else moving.

“Fuck!” Gunner called. “They’re coming through now—three goddamn Teslas! Who left the gate open?”

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