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  "Find that tanker or else." Blade wiped his knife on Morales' jacket. "Skid, Knuckles," he said. "Señor Morales will find us a tanker full of gas. If he can't, waste him."

  Skid Vukovitch silently appeared from the corner of the manager's office at JB’s Warehouse. The Deacons had joined up with the Diablos because the firepower of the Diablos' armored troop carrier exceeded anything the Deacons could muster.

  "Sure, Blade." Skid's laugh was forced. "A road trip will be fun." He glanced at Morales like a cat sizing up a mouse.

  "Take the Maquinez brothers with you." Blade gestured toward two hulking men slouching behind him. "Jus' so you've got some company." He leaned back in the chair and smiled.

  Skid swallowed. His smile faded. "Sure, Blade. The brothers gonna do as we say? Y'know how they're always trying to find something to fuck, drink or kill when no one's watching."

  Blade frowned. "Enrique, Jose, obey him. Ya se va?"

  "Si, Jefe." The Maquinez brothers' faces went dark.

  Morales shivered. I'm in for a bad time, he thought. Will I survive this trip? Why did I ever join up with Los Diablos?

  #

  "Move it, asshole." Skid kicked Morales in the buttocks, who’d paused to look up and down Sheldon Road.

  "Ow, it's this way." Morales pointed north on the road. "The tanker went on an' the Jeep, she stop here.” In the distance, he could see a ten foot-tall dirt embankment on which there were armed guards and workers.

  "Okay," Skid said. "We're goin' through these trees quiet-like to take a look-see. I don't want to hear one peep, understand?" He stared at the Maquinez brothers until they nodded. "Knuckles, keep an eye on these turkeys, understand?"

  "Uh, sure, Skid." Knuckles unholstered his Browning handgun and snapped its magazine in and out several times.

  They stopped under a clump of spruce trees, water dripping from the drooping foliage. Ahead, a narrow bridge crossed a flooded ditch leading to a stone-lined opening in an embankment.

  "Looks like a regular fuckin' emplacement," Knuckles said. "I don't see no gas tanker, Morales. You fuckin' with us?"

  The knot in Morales' stomach grew bigger.

  "There's only three guards." Enrique Maquinez raised the .44 magnum and aimed it at the guards. He reached for the lasers' switch. "I can off them."

  "Don't mess with those guards, asshole." Skid showed his teeth. "They've got rifles and cover." He spat on the ground. "Stupid shit." He turned to Morales and grabbed him by the hair. "Where's that big green gasoline tanker?"

  Morales could smell Skid’s hot breath. It stank.

  #

  Morales woke with a start, a sharp pain in his ribs. "Ow." For a second--just a second--he didn't know where he was. He remembered they’d stopped for a break and he’d fallen asleep leaning against a big maple tree.

  "Okay, asshole, we ain't seen no green an' white gasoline tanker." It was Skid. Reality returned. "Now where?"

  Knuckles balled a fist. "Got any other bright ideas where to look?" He grinned and raised a hand as though to strike Morales.

  "Please." Morales hurt all over. He'd found it hard to remember the park's layout. "Mebbe if we take the horse path to the road in the park. I found it when I was on a picnic with the Asemblas de Dios. I was porking this muchacha--"

  "Yeah, yeah. Fuck tellin’ me all the dirty details," Skid said. "Just show me your secret fuckin' path, asshole."

  "It's, it's--I gotta think." Morales scratched his head.

  "Think faster." Skid cuffed him, hard.

  "Ow. You don' have to do that, I'll tell you.” Morales tried to scramble away on all fours.

  Enrique Maquinez blocked his way, smiling.

  "Get up asshole, an' move it," Skid said. "If you steer me wrong, I'll stomp the shit outa you." He wagged his finger at Enrique. "An' if you touch Morales, I'll give your head to Blade."

  Enrique licked his lips nervously.

  #

  An hour later, Morales' couldn’t see out of his left eye as blood oozed from a split eyebrow. In the distance, diesel engines rumbled under a load. He had gotten lost twice. Each time, Skid had pistol-whipped him to improve his memory. Ahead, a road crossed the tree-enshrouded trail, which made it look like an opening.

  "Morales, macho man, check out that road," Skid said. "Let me know if it's safe on the other side, understand?"

  "Sí. When you want to cross?" Morales asked. "After dark?" No one crossed open areas in enemy territory during daylight.

  "Now," Skid said, his voice hissing harshly. "Get going." He banged Morales' swollen ear with his pistol.

  Morales stumbled across the road, almost wishing for a bullet to end his misery, heading for the path where leafy branches made it look like a sanctuary. As he entered the path, a sound on his left made him turn. From behind a tree protruded an AR 15 .

  "Shut up," a camouflaged uniform said in an exaggerated whisper. "Don't move."

  Morales raised his hands. "Don't hurt me. Kill me, but don't hurt me no more." The fates have it in for me. I have gone from one set of devils to another.

  "Who's across the road?" the camouflaged uniform asked.

  "They Diablos, man.”

  "Why're you here?"

  "We lookin' for a gas tanker that came here yesterday. They sent me ahead to see if it's safe." Weariness consumed Morales; he was hurt, he was hungry and very, very afraid.

  "Tell them to come over," the person in camouflage said. "Tell them it's safe.”

  "Please, you don' understan'." Morales fell to his knees and clasped his hands together in front of his face. "They kill me for doin' that. Knuckles an' Skid, they Deacons." He started to shake. "Jus' kill me, please. I can't take no more." He put his forehead to the ground and began to cry.

  "Jeez," the person in the camouflage uniform said. "This little shit is somewhat the worse for wear."

  "Chris." Morales heard a whispered voice say. "They're coming. Two are wearing colors. Looks like a gang to me.”

  Morales saw a dozen people in camouflage--each with a rifle--appear out of the woods.

  Oh, Dios, he thought, I've led them into a trap. Blade will slice me into pieces, soak me in salsa and piss on me. I'm a dead man.

  "Wait 'til they get to this side of the road," the person called Chris said. "See if they'll surrender."

  The Deacons and Diablos started across in single file.

  "Freeze," a voice called. "Move and we shoot."

  Knuckles, in the lead, raised his gun and rattled off a volley of shots. Guns replied from the woods.

  Jose Maquinez staggered, holding his thigh. The rest fled into the woods.

  Six men in camouflage advanced to the edge of the road, firing constantly. "Don, Pete, follow them," Chris said. "Find out where they came from, but be careful." The one called Chris turned and said, "Get that vermin off the road." She pointed at the downed man.

  Morales saw it was Jose Maquinez.

  "Okay," a man in camouflage said. "On your feet, scumbag."

  Maquinez screamed as the two men pulled him to his feet. There was a pool of blood on the road.

  "Charlie, Jack," Chris said. "Warn the guards at the entrances there's a gang nearby. We've got to tighten security right away.”

  #

  After being assured he would not be sent back to the Diablos, Morales talked freely. He told the person named Chris the Diablos had raided the National Guard Armory in Brookpark, where they had gotten an armored troop carrier and fifty full-auto M-16 rifles.

  Jose Maquinez passed out and never regained consciousness.

  Chapter 16

  Preparations

  That evening, after Chris's encounter with the Diablos, Taylor met with the team leaders in the Hall on the Hill.

  "Perimeter defense." Taylor's eyes lit on Stolz. "Stolz and Clayton, that's your responsibility. Give us an overview.”

  "Well..." Stolz detailed their defenses. "It's still a large area to protect.”

  "It won't stop a serious attack. We
don't have any heavy weapons," Clayton Nickolas added. The room grew quiet.

  "How about the road entrances?" Taylor said.

  "All the roads into the park have been choked down to a single lane." Stolz shrugged. "We used big concrete cubes."

  "Well, Clayton," Taylor said. "What about the troop carrier?"

  "If it gets inside or has a clear shot at us, it'll be a disaster," Clayton said. "We've got to ambush it."

  Taylor pointed to one of Stolz's workers. "Higgins, how's the perimeter defense around the Hill?"

  "We’re completely surrounded by water that's at least three feet deep." Jim Higgins was a thin, tired-looking man who spoke rapidly. "The embankment is from four to ten feet in height. That swamp mud was a bitch to pile up. I couldn't build a barricade on it. I even got the track-hoe stuck." Higgins' face reddened. "As well as the dozer.”

  Taylor caught Clayton's faint smile. An embankment of soft mud would stop the troop carrier. "How wide is the old river?"

  "Thirty to sixty feet. Much of it still has water," Higgins said. "I didn't dig there 'cept to get material.”

  "Thanks," Taylor said. "Let's see, we've got to move the food stores onto the Hill." He looked up from his notes. "And get the cisterns filled. Shel, can you take care of that?"

  "Yes, I'll do that.”

  "Thanks. Any comments?"

  "Why don't we try a sneak attack on this gang?" Shirley O'Connor asked. "Like we did on the Warehouse gang?"

  "Ted, what do you think?" Taylor said. "You've seen more of this gang than anyone else here."

  "Unfortunately." Callioux cleared his throat. "This gang's different than the Warehouse gang. First, there's about two hundred--all well armed. Second, they're sending out patrols, so I don't think we could surprise them." He furrowed his brow. "Also, they've covered a half-dozen or so trucks with planking and sheet metal, which I'm sure, is in preparation to attack us."

  "I didn't know that." Shirley sounded resigned.

  "Maybe we should all move to the Hill," Taylor said. "Fred, does the Hill have enough shelter for everyone?"

  "No. Lately I've been working on the defenses, not housing.” Fred shrugged. "Which means we sure don't have enough for the Edgepark people on the Hill."

  "Fred, you're relieved from all work except to build shelter on the Hill," Taylor said.

  "If you say so." Fred’s eyebrows rose.

  "Stolz, have one of your crews help Fred. Got it?"

  "Yes," Stolz said, "but what if--"

  "If you run into any bottle-necks, solve them. See me only if you have a major conflict. Is that clear?"

  "Yeah." Stolz did not look happy.

  "From what Ted said, I'd guess we've got very little time left. Wylie, help Shel with the food and water."

  "Sure, Taylor.” Wylie nodded. "No problem.”

  "Chris, put your squads on higher alert. Coordinate your efforts with the Edgepark people. Set up a horse courier system." The furrow between Taylor's eyes deepened.

  "Taylor." Chris Kucinski hesitated. "The Edgepark folks have walkie-talkies. I talked them into giving us two."

  "Good." Taylor's eyebrows rose. "Very good, Chris." It confirmed his hunch promoting her was a good decision. He’d seen she was cool under fire and was mature beyond her years and had a toughness unusual for one so young.

  "They've also prepared some surprises for the Diablos,” Chris said. "Y’know when we got the stuff from the construction yard? Well, we gave them a couple of generators and some fuel. They've been busy ever since. They made eight big crossbows out of pickup truck leaf springs," Chris said. "They gave us four. They really make the explosive bolts fly."

  "Explosive bolts?" Taylor looked up. "What kind?"

  "They got two kinds," Chris said. "One explodes on contact. The other has an armor penetrating head.”

  "Armor penetrating?" Clayton's normally sleepy eyes opened wide as he sat up. "Through how much armor?"

  "In tests, it punched a hole in half-inch mild steel," Chris said. "The problem is, no one knows if they'll penetrate the troop carrier's armor."

  "Chris, get together with Clayton." Taylor felt a sliver of hope. "Figure out how to get the most mileage from them.”

  Clayton nodded.

  "Tactics. Clayton will brief each squad individually." Taylor pointed to the slender black man with close-cropped grizzled hair.

  "We now have three squads armed with high-powered rifles; there’re two more from Edgepark. We’ve brought the Clan militia up to about one hundred, with forty more from Edgepark. Unfortunately, they’ve only got small bore weapons and handguns," Clayton said.

  Taylor looked up from his notes. The room became silent. "Evacuate the horses at the first sign of trouble. We don't have fodder or water on the Hill. Nor do we need to deal with panicked horses in the middle of a battle. Jack, you're taking care of that, right?"

  "Yeah." Jack nodded. "We've got contingency plans."

  "That about covers it." Taylor folded his checklist. "A determined and well-prepared force can hold off three times its own number. Remember that." He saw most of the leaders nod. "I expect all of you will do your duty to protect your family and the Clan. Is that clear?"

  Chapter 17

  Tempered By Fire

  Blade leaned over the table and stabbed his finger toward Skid. "You will attack the south entrance before dawn.”

  "Sure." Skid picked his teeth. "We gonna get any support?"

  "Take the truck with the machine gun," Blade said. "When we hear your attack, we'll start at the north entrance."

  "That road is blocked with a ditch, here." Skid pointed to the map spread out on the table. "How you gonna get past that?"

  "Don' worry, I got it all figured out." Blade explained his plan. "An' you move out at three a.m. Unnerstan?" He pointed his knife at Skid.

  Skid sniffed and nodded, just barely. "Yeah, I unnerstan." He imitated Blade's pronunciation.

  "Everyone else moves out at four-thirty. Unnerstan'?"

  #

  Leaves rustled in woods around the Oxbow. Water gurgled over the spillway. A hint of pink in the east brightened the dark sky.

  A dark shape overtook the Clan guard on the Oxbow's south embankment. A guard dog tore into the fray with savage growls. Two Molotov cocktails arced through the air and whoofed into flames, lighting the embankment with smoky yellow light.

  More explosions on the road revealed a line of shadowy figures. Guns flashed and boomed from the guardhouse at the Oxbow’s entrance.

  #

  Phelps awoke. It was dark. Through the door of the shelter, he saw flames flickering by the distant guardhouse.

  "Up, dammit, get up," he yelled.

  In the distance the gunfire intensified. Around him, militia struggled with their gear. "Move it," Phelps yelled. They trotted toward the guardhouse outlined by flames.

  "Heads up," Phelps said. "Someone's over there."

  A gun fired, flashing brightly among the trees.

  Phelps fired twice. A figure dropped. When he got to the fallen figure he examined it. "Gang member," he said. "He has a full auto M-16.”

  Phelps led the squad toward the gatehouse. As the shooting slowed, he positioned the squad between the bank of the oxbow lake and the pine trees. Gunfire picked up.

  "They've never attacked at night," Shirley O'Connor said. "That's what MacPherson told us. He should've warned us." She wore her resentment openly. She hadn't gone with Jack, her husband, when he took the horses to safety. Before their move to the Oxbow, rumor had it their marriage was on the rocks. In these close quarters, there was no concealing their stormy relationship.

  "It isn't his doing," Phelps said. "He's not the one shooting at us.” He pointed. “Go to the shelter. Get the families moving to the Hill, now. Take Jones and Diaz and have them keep the north gate open--it’s our way out."

  "Anything else?" she said.

  "Find out if we're going to get reinforcements. Send a report to the Hill that there's no sign
of the troop carrier here. Also, the bridge into the Oxbow is still holding." He gave her a gentle shove on the shoulder. "Okay, O'Connor, scoot."

  Shirley disappeared into the trees.

  The squad resumed its advance.

  As the day brightened, they saw gang members in leather jackets among the trees approaching the south entrance to Oxbow. They slowed in the face of crackling gunfire.

  "Jeez, they've all got automatic rifles," Phelps said.

  On the road from the south, a boxy-looking dump truck moved toward the entrance to the Oxbow. A booming chatter came simultaneously as chunks of wood splintered off the gatehouse.

  Phelps lowered the binoculars. "Shit, that dump truck’s got a heavy machine gun. Uh-oh," he said. “They’ve seen us.” As branches shattered above, he embraced the ground. "Fall back toward the shelter house," he called. "We can't do anything against that.”

  Shirley crawled up to him. "Phelps." She was panting. "They haven't finished evacuating the children and old people.”

  "Damn. Did our trucks arrive?"

  "Yes. Two came from the Hill. They said they put militia at the north gate and have come to pick up the noncombatants."

  "Any word from MacPherson?" Phelps aimed his gun at a figure silhouetted against the brightening sky and fired. "Gotcha, you bastard."

  "Yes, he said to abandon Oxbow. The north perimeter of the Hill is also under attack." She was still panting. "Our trucks will come back after they drop off the civilians."

  The bang-bang-bang of rapid-fire guns erupted in the vicinity of the Park shelter house. Automatic weapons started to chatter.

  Nearby, somebody screamed, "Help me, I'm hurt."

  A half dozen leather-clad men emerged, firing as they moved toward the shelter house.

  "They're behind us, too." Phelps swore. "Stop them from reaching the shelter." He raised his gun and began firing.

  Ten long minutes later, from the north, two trucks with boxy appearances from the wood planking used to armor them, rumbled toward the Park shelter. The trucks turned around and approached the shelter in reverse.

  "Shirley, get a load of this." Phelps handed her his binoculars. His frown eased. It was the Clan militia.

  "About time," she said. Her voice had a scolding tone.