Page 15 of The Last Sanctuary
The bikers slammed open the door, the glass quivering in the frame, and swaggered inside. The bell jangled in warning. The four bikers gave up on the empty vending machine and sauntered to the counter.
“How can I help you, gentlemen?” Phil asked.
“Give us all the painkillers and antibiotics you got, Pops,” said the thin, pony-tailed one. He wore a leather vest with a skull emblazoned on the back.
“Please,” said the second guy, the lithe one that moved like liquid mercury. His coal-black hair framed an angular face. He gave a languid, mocking smile. He scratched his goateed chin and perused the empty shelves with a disinterested, heavy-lidded gaze.
“We’re happy to give you a few,” Phil said, still polite, his voice tight. There were six bikers now, all big and intimidating, all armed. Phil tried unsuccessfully not to let them see his fear. “We’re rationing the supply to last as long as possible so more people get what they need. With the hospitals closed, this is the only medical care people can get.”
“You mistake our graciousness,” said a third man. He was blond with hair shorn close to his skull. A scorpion tattoo snaked up his neck. His squinty eyes were set deep in his fleshy, shovel-shaped face. Several empty backpacks were slung across his shoulders.
He placed the backpacks on the counter. He lifted his rifle and set it down beside the backpacks. The barrel faced Phil andCarl. He stroked it fondly. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a sinister smile. “As you can see, we aren’t asking.”
Chapter Six
Raven crouched lower. Her pulse throbbed against her neck. Her brain screamed at her to flee. There was nowhere to go, no way to sneak out without drawing attention to herself.
The tranq gun pressed against her thigh, reminding her that she wasn’t completely helpless. Still, one dart gun against six rifles and several big-ass dudes with fists as large as her head wouldn’t do much.
Her best bet was to stay small and hidden, using the gun as a last resort.
“Now, let’s try this again,” the biker with the scorpion tattoo said. “Fill these backpacks with everything you’ve got.” He paused, a sly grin playing across his lips. “Pleaseandthank you.”
“You can’t just come in here making demands and steal our stuff!” Carl scowled, his voice rising in fury. “That’s against the law!”
Ponytail half-turned, his hand shielding his eyes as if he were looking for something. “I don’t see any law here, do you, Scorpio?”
“There are no laws now,” said the biker with the scorpion tattoo. “No police, no judges, no courts. Nothing. It’s all gone to hell.”
“This is a civilized society!” Carl whined.
“Oh, I assure you we are quite civilized,” Ponytail said. Slowly, with exaggerated movements, he turned and hocked a massive loogie onto the floor. Scorpio laughed darkly.
Raven tensed. They were baiting him to entertain themselves, but Carl was too stupid and thick-headed to see it. They were cats playing with a meal before they bit the mouse’s head clean off.
Carl’s face purpled, his jaw pulsing. “You can’t go around stealing because you feel like it, taking a man’s livelihood right out from under him. It’s thugs like you who ruined this country in the first place!”
Several of the bikers stiffened. The lithe one’s smile dissolved. “Shut your fat ugly mouth and give us what we want.”
“I suggest you listen to Dekker,” Ponytail drawled.
Phil shot his son a warning look. “Carl.”
Carl ignored it. He pointed his finger at dancer-guy—Dekker’s—face. “You won’t get away with this, you filthy son of a?—”
In one fluid movement, Dekker pulled a pistol from a holster at his hip and aimed it at Carl’s flat nose. No surprise flickered in the bikers’ faces, no hatred or even anger. Dekker’s expression was smooth, his black eyes dull and flinty. “I’m hungry, tired, and I’ve had a long day. Test me one more time?—”
Phil stuck both hands in the air. “We mean no harm. We’ll get you what you’ve asked for.”
“No, we won’t.” Carl was shaking, his eyes bulging, but he would not shut his stupid mouth. “We’re not letting you thieving scumbags steal what’s rightfully ours.”
He didn’t get that they were the predators, and he was the prey. He didn’t get that they wouldn’t have bothered with him if he’d stayed still and small, if he hadn’t turned aggressive himself, challenging their dominance—the one thing men like these would not let slide.
Scorpio sneered. “You little pissant.”
“You think you scare me?” Carl snarled. He started to reach for something beneath the counter—a baseball bat, maybe. Or maybe a rifle. “You come in here with your big guns and you think you can tell me what to do? Well, you’ve got another think coming, buddy, if you think?—”
“Don’t do it,” Scorpio warned him.
