Page 46 of Summer's Edge

Hawk has learnedthat the leaders of the war against us are meeting in the middle of nowhere right on the Nevada California Oregon border. It took us all day and part of the night to reach the place and we’ve been lying in the dirt scoping the place out for several hours now.

The meeting’s in an old farmhouse with a steepled roof and a lopsided porch. According to Hawk, the house belongs to Star Riders MC, and it used to be where they auctioned off kidnapped women and mafia brides to the highest bidder.

Now that their only concern is the war against us, that line of business has fallen to the wayside. At least something good has come out of this war.

At least ten presidents of the MCs that have banded together to take us out are in the farmhouse. Along with over thirty guys whose sole job seems to be to form a human wall around the house while the meeting takes place.

Cross is with us, so are Tank and Ice and even Scar. The speech Cross gave after he laid out the plan and before we came out here to surround the place was very inspiring. It made me proud to be one of the Devils. But I see now why the speech had to be such.

There’s no fucking way all of us are surviving this battle.

The necklace Summer gave me is around my neck. And the heart shaped pendant feels heavier than a boulder. I never should’ve taken it. I should’ve finished my goodbye to her and left. Then she’d be too angry at me to mourn me when I don’t come back. Which could very well happen.

The farmhouse is lit up by an old gas-powered generator, so our plan is simple. Take out the generator and plunge everything into darkness then light up the place with a few well-aimed bazooka shots. And kill anyone who tries to run from the house.

“We’re ready,” Cross says over the earpieces. “Everyone prepare. Take out the generator.”

The last instruction is meant for Traps who was an explosives specialist while still in the Army. He’s already in position to carry out the order.

The pop that follows is barely audible, but the house is plunged into darkness almost immediately.

Before my eyes can even begin to adjust to the night, Cross gives the next command and the bazooka projectiles start whizzing through the sky hitting the house or landing in front of it and lighting up the night like a failed fireworks display. Fire engulfs the farmhouse almost immediately, men are shouting and screaming, some running out of the house fully ablaze.

It’s an image that’ll stay with me forever. One of many I do not want to burden Summer with.

“Move, now, go,” Cross shouts. But I’m slow to follow that command.

Fire took my little brother and my grandparents. Fire while they slept. Or did they run out of the house, burning like these men are?

It’s a question I’ll never have an answer for. All I have are the nightmares of them all dying in flames.

But the only way is through.

The only way back to Summer is past all this horror.

I run to join my brothers, aiming a shot at one of the burning men. I hit him square in the chest and he goes down. A mercy killing that almost costs me my own life as a bullet narrowly misses my neck.

After that it’s just kill or be killed.

I know nothing but what’s right in front of me, the stench of burning wood and burning flesh heavy in the air, the smoke making my eyes water.

I kill at least three more men. I bumped Hunter and Ruin out of the way of bullets. My arms and chest are soaked in blood from using my knife after running out of ammo.

And then suddenly all is still and almost quiet. Burning wood makes a lot of noise. The moaning of dying men too. My arm is burning for some reason and the fire isn’t strong enough to illuminate the whole of the carnage.

“Anyone down?” Cross asks over the earpiece. But I hear him normally too because he’s standing right beside me.

I’m afraid to look around to check.

But then my brothers start checking in one by one. Nothing to report. All good.

“All accounted for,” Tank says after a while. “But Edge is bleeding.”

I look down at my arm that is aching as well as burning now. There’s a gash across my upper arm that doesn’t look too deep.

“Just a scratch, nothing to worry about,” I tell them.

“Good, get a count of how many we got,” Cross orders.

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