Saturday, January 14, 2012


The gunfire in the office got the attention of those bikers outside that hadn’t run off to deal with the distant gunfire. They turned, saw that their bosses got shot to hell, and—once the shock wore off—put up their guns and fired upon Ken. The fusillade of firepower shattered the windows and tore up the far wall, but failed to hit Ken. He again ducked, and as the glass fell about him he crawled over to the slain bodyguards and took up their arms.

Ken slammed a magazine home, pulled the charging handle and then guessed where one or more of them stood based on the bullet impacts over his head and the report of the guns. He shifted into a kneeling position, shouldered the weapon and fired three quick shots through the lower wall into the hangar. One of them cried out, and another called Ken’s position. He moved fast, just escaping the return fire, and crawled to the door. He opened the door and leaned out just as two of the bikers made for it and shot them down with a pair of well-placed shots to the chest.

The conscious mind stepped back now, and Ken now ran on experience and training. Feeling the moment shifting his way, Ken went on the attack and assaulted the bikers. He flanked them, cutting three down before they noticed, and kept moving on them without relenting. The violence of action put the Fear of God into his foes, and they turned and ran. Ken didn’t hesitate to finish them all—one shot, one kill—as their retreat turned into a rout. When he finally emptied the magazine, Ken was—again—the last man standing.

Without hesitation, Ken hurried back to the office, recovered his guns and grabbed magazines for them and the rifle from the dead. Quickly loading up, he then grabbed one of the road hogs that the bikers parked in the hanger and road out to meet with his allies. At that same time, the Sheriff and the militia finished off the bikers that intercepted them.

“Here comes the conquering hero.” The Sheriff said as Ken approached, and a few moments later Ken pulled alongside.

“30 dead, including the leaders, Sheriff. The old man is the Canuck, and he knew Franklin. Get him to I.D. the corpse, and some techs to slap a tracker on the plane.”

The Sheriff nodded his head. “Will do. Where are you going?”

Ken smiled. “Off to talk to a man about a picture.” Ken said, and rode off.

No comments:

Post a Comment