**
The man led us down a particularly narrow street. Trees grew over top of it, lending ambiance and soothing shade. It was much hotter in the city than when we were in the mountains, and the shade was welcome. He actually had a door to his establishment--or maybe it was his house; I wasn't sure. We walked into an open dark room; the only light coming through the open windows. Throughout the city, from what I could see, there was rarely any glass in windows--apart from broken shards lying on the ground. The room was divided up by rickety tables, and there was a bar in the corner. It certainly felt like a makeshift bar or restaurant, but it didn't look like it was used too much, so it was hard to tell.
“Would you like something to drink?” the man inquired, going behind the bar. We all looked at each other, the answer was obvious. The man laughed and poured out four glasses of brownish liquid.
“It’s aged for six months, an excellent vintage,” he said.
I was so thirsty that I recklessly drank half the glass without even tasting it. The others looked at me for my reaction. I’m sure I wasn't very helpful, because the booze tasted awful, but I needed to have something, so I knocked the rest of the glass back.
"Well, he's still alive," Martina said.
The others soon followed suit. Within a few minutes, the dark bald man from the market wandered into the bar. He sat in the corner; the bar man who led us in eyed him suspiciously, then asked what he wanted.
“An ale please, barkeep,” he said.
“What do you have to pay?” the bartender asked.
“I have fresh tomatoes,” the bald dark man said, showing an open bag.
The bartender walked over and looked in the bag. “I’ll give you a drink for the bag.”
“Come now, barkeep, you can spare two.”
“Okay, two.” The bartender went and got the dark man a drink, then turned to us, his broad smile returning. I trusted him even less now.
“Do you want bread? I have fresh bread and tomatoes.”
“Yes,” Andy said.
The bartender prepared us a tray of bread and tomatoes and we dug in, eating his food, drinking his booze.
“As I was saying,” the bartender said. “We have mutual interests. We all want this tyrannical rule of Big Simon to end. We can work together.”
“First of all, we don’t really know who Big Simon is, and second of all, how could you possibly help us,” Martina said.
“Okay, okay. If you still want to continue with the charade that's fine with me. You're from the dome city, with your old 21st century guns; that’s fine. Now let’s discuss how we can work together.”
“No offence friend,” Andy added, “but you don’t look like you would be much help in a fight.”
“Me, no, of course not; but I have friends, friends that can help you gain power.”
“Look,” I said. “We’re not interested in becoming the new warlords of this God-forsaken city. Replacing one nut job with one of your friends, who is probably another nut job. No interest to us. We want to make things better around here.”
“Of course, of course, that is what I want too. Don’t get me wrong. We have the same interests, the same desire for these poor, downtrodden citizens. Simon, he’s not good, not good at all for this town. I have friends, friends that are interested in change also. But we need numbers, like Simon.”
“Like Simon,” I said. “Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of—like Simon. What makes your bunch so different from the rest?”
The bartender laughed. “I suppose we’re all the same, in a way. But you will meet my friends. They come here every afternoon. We've been looking for people to join forces with us, to help implement a change.
We ate his food and drank his raunchy booze.
"I'm so hungry," Andy said, "that this meal tastes a lot better than it should."
"Especially the booze," Martina said and we laughed. I thought I saw a frown creep in on our host's plastic smile.
I was just about to start talking to the bald dark man when our host's friends arrived.
“Ah—here they come now.”
In walked a man, followed by two others, who did not look very much different from the two we had dealt with in the market. They had more guns though, I don’t know if that made them better, but certainly more dangerous. The one in front was obviously the leader, smaller than the other two, but walking with his back completely straight and his arms held wide from his body--as if trying to amplify his tiny frame. The three eyed us suspiciously.
“Who are dem?” the leader said to the bartender.
“They're friends, Dan, friends I met at the market. They had an altercation with Simon’s men, sent them packing rather nicely. You would've enjoyed it immensely.”
“Nobody would send me packing so quickly, right boys?”
The two followers chimed in their approval. Dan turned a chair around backwards and pushed it close to me. He sat down, his arms on the top, a handgun hanging in one hand, looked straight at me, perhaps a foot from my face. “So, you think you’re tough enough for this town. I haven’t seen you around. Did ya get run out of your last town? A girl—what she here for—pleasure?”
Martina jumped at the provocation. She used one arm to hold Dan’s gun hand down, and held her rifle to his forehead. “I don’t approve of that sorta talk.”
Dan laughed. “Easy little lady, easy.”
His tone changed, mellowed. “I’m just playing, seeing what I’m dealing with. Good choice Ralphy.” He said to the bartender. “We need people like youse in dis town, to free it from da grips of Simon.”
“And maybe put it right in yours,” I said.
“We're all the same, I reckon. We all want what we don’t have, now don’t we? But its time for change, time for Simon ta go. He getting fat and lazy, living on the mountaintop. He been dere since de last attacks. He was lucky to get to de top of de hill—he’s had his run—time for someone to gut de pig—right boys?”
His henchmen laughed. They were two barrel shaped goons.
“Maybe he is an animal that needs gutting,” I said, “but maybe there are others too.”
Dan and I looked at each other long and hard, waiting for the other to flinch. Martina had removed her gun from Dan’s forehead, but she was still holding it at the ready, not aimed directly at him, but that could have changed quickly.
Dan turned to the bartender Ralphy and ordered some food and booze. They took a table not far from the bald dark man. They ate like ravenous animals, wiping their hands on their dirty rag clothing. They did not give anything to pay; yet were treated much more politely than the bald dark man. They held tight to their guns, like they were the only things of value in the world. The meal was over and they were wiping their faces with their greasy forearms.
Just then, shadows of other figures darkened the doorway.
"Those guys look familiar," Martina said, recognizing the pair staring in the open window.
"From the market," Andy said.
"Place's getting a little too busy today Ralphie," Dan said. His two henchmen began to rise.
"Youse looking for something?" Dan said to the two curious newcomers.
“There they are,” the voice said from outside the bar, looking in on us and ignoring Dan's question.
"Yeah, it's one of the goons from the market all right," Andy said.
"Be ready boys," Martina warned. We each gripped our guns.
I heard a gasp from the bald dark man, who had remained silent until then.
The two goons from the market came just inside the doorway.
"You four gotta lesson to learn," one said, pointing at us.
"This ain't Simon's territory," Dan said.
"I wasn't talkin' to you little man, but I'll deal with youse too if you don't pipe down."
Doug let out a soft whining noise.
"Be quiet Lloyd," Andy said.
"Not only did you mess with our business," the market goon said, "but you emb
arrassed me."
There was the sound of a table being shoved aside by one of Dan's men. Martina, Andy, and I got up and faced the newcomers. Doug didn't move, but Dan and his men got up seconds after us. We all turned to face the common enemy in the doorway. I heard a couple of shots sound loudly in the bar. It must've come from Dan or his men.
"Ya bastard!" one of the market goons cried moments after his body rocked from the shots.
"Watch out," Doug cried, falling to the ground in a fetal position.
The market goon groaned as he lurched forward, taking several long steps as if he was trying to catch up to his falling body. He went across the room and fell into the bar; his large body bouncing off of it and landing on a flimsy wooden chair, cracking it in two.
"Crap, there's more!" Stoneman cried as we notice several other men coming into the bar.
"Ya messing with da wrong crowd!" one cried and starting firing.
Lights flashed from the 21st century gunfire exploding in the tiny place--the sound deafening.
There was one good window in the outside wall to the street and it quickly shattered in the gun battle that erupted. Between gunshots, hunched behind his bar, I heard Ralphy groan as he heard his front window shatter.
"Down," Martina cried and I kicked over the table we'd been eating on. Dan's gang had initiated fire and Big Simon's men were concentrating their return fire on them--but the space was tight and anybody could've been hit.
Martina, Andy, and I ducked down behind the table I kicked over. I could've sworn I felt the wind of a bullet go by my ear.
"Fire," Andy cried.
Big Simon's men were now firing everywhere as they retreated back out the bar door. They were also looking for cover. We fired shots out the door and windows. Doug sat frozen in the back of the bar, lying on the ground. Simon’s men knew they were in a prone position and scurried off, the gunfire abating as we were all vulnerable.
"They can't be far," I said, poking my head above the table to look around.
My intuition was proven correct as a hand reached around the doorway corner, firing a shot into the bar. The wooden table I was crouching under shattered as the bullet slammed into it. It was not going to be much protection from their gunfire—about as useful as the Covert’s Rapid Molecular Displacement system.
“Is there any way out of here besides the front door?” I asked Ralphy, as quietly as I could, retreating back towards the bar at the back of the room. Andy and Martina were lying flat in front of me, while Doug was lying with his back to the bar, making strange whining noises.
“No, no way but the front.”
“Don’t they have building safety codes around here?” Andy quipped.
“Great, you pick now to turn into a comedian,” I said. “Ralphy, there’s no way out back?”
“No!”
“On the roof?”
“No, well maybe.”
“What do you mean, ‘well maybe’?”
“Well maybe you can get out there. This was a three story building. The third floor collapsed on the second. The stairs are over there, but I never really bothered going up there. I didn’t want to move things around and collapse it on my bar.”
“Definitely no safety codes here,” Andy said.
“Shut up!” Martina said, "Just stay down."
"They're gone," Andy said, the only one daring to stand up, "They don't wanna get hit either. They're probably waiting for us to try and leave."
"Just stay down Stoneman and keep your gun ready," Martina said.
“I’m going to try it,” I said.
“I’ll go with you,” Martina said.
“No way,” Dan said. “We’ll go out in force. There are seven of us wid guns. They gonna get the first one or two, then we’ll have em.”
“Okay Dan,” I said, “you first.”
“I was tinkin more of the coward in de back.” Dan pointed to Doug.
“Yeah, okay Dan, we’ll make that Plan B. I’m going to try my idea.”
“You’re gonna go--”
“Shhh… Danny boy,” I said. “We don’t need to announce our strategy.”
The hand reached around the corner where the door was and shot again.
Andy dropped to the ground and said: "Eat this you bastards!" He returned fire out the door.
"Oooh," Dan moaned.
This time the bullet caught the big-mouthed Dan in the shoulder. He screamed in pain and fired several rounds into the cement wall of the front of the bar. There was no time to lose, I headed for the stairs in back of the bar, or should I say, what was left of the stairs. Dan was making quite a commotion of it. The dufus made a spectacular diversion. That was fine with me. He was expendable.
"You goddamn--" he yelled in pain as he walked towards the door.
"He's lost it," Andy said, looking at Dan recklessly stumbling towards the bar entrance, firing the whole time.
"No boss," one of his henchmen yelled, but still kept himself in the back of the bar.
"Move!" Martina yelled as she pushed us towards the back; even Doug reacted slowly. "Come on Lloyd, you too!"
The stairs were jammed with blocks of cement. It was no wonder that Ralphy never bothered trying to go upstairs. There was a crack between two giant cement pieces. I stretched my left arm straight up through the crack and felt up through the hole. Climbing up on some rubble on the ground, I managed to reach high enough to get a grip on the floor of the second story. I pulled myself up, but it was too hard with one hand. The passage was tight and I dropped my backpack. I held my rifle tightly in my right hand.
I managed to get my right arm through and through my gun up. I pulled myself up, scraping my chest and back on the rough-edged cement pieces.
"Damn," I said, trying to keep my voice low.
"Just keep moving," Martina said from just below.
There was no time for pain or minor wounds, so when my head popped up to the second floor, I knew I would pass.
It was not so much that the passage was tight, but the hole was full of rough, unforgiving edges. Despite the painful squeeze, I got my arms through and was able to drag my body up. I picked up my rifle. My shirt was ripped and I was bleeding. I crept over to the wall facing the side of the building. There was an alleyway on the side. The outside walls on the second floor were barely standing, plenty of room to look out. I negotiated around the rubble and looked down over the alleyway, down to the balding head of the goon.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he was saying, looking in different directions.
He was walking towards me. He was looking all around, but not up; and he was walking right underneath me.
"If you say so," I muttered to myself as I jumped from above--directly on top of the goon.
Like a ton of bricks I landed with a knee to his shoulders and back. He collapsed to the ground, making a nice soft landing for me; but not quite as soft for him. He let out a loud “oof”, but was crushed to the ground by the impact.
“Are you okay Mikey?” another goon's voice said. They'd spread out and the other one probably heard the sounds of when I made my jump.
From another direction, I heard a shot ring out and then a man cry in pain.
The cry came from the building right across the street. The road was narrow, but it might as well have been as vast as a great river, knowing how vulnerable I would be when I scurried out from behind the secure wall. It was too tempting. I started to hear the wounded goon moaning across the street. He was pre-occupied, panicking with his injury. I could hear others talking. They were farther down, in a more distant building among the row of houses across the street. Someone from inside the bar fired again.
I bolted across the street as quickly as I could. The shot from the bar was the perfect diversion. I made it across the street without anyone firing at me. With my momentum, I kicked in the makeshift door where I heard the moaning of the injured goon. He cried out in surprise as I stormed in. He was lying on the ground, one
arm flowing blood and the other holding it. With me breaking in, his eyes looked around the room for his weapon. I noticed it was lying on the ground a few feet out of his grasp. He spotted it about the same time as me and lunged towards it. I was quicker, putting out my foot to kick it away. His hand grasped at the spot where the gun had been, finding nothing but dust and pebbles in his clenched fist. He looked up at my gun barrel, then down at his empty hand.
“Let’s be very quiet and I won’t blow your head off,” I whispered.
He nodded his head. It sounded like he had two cohorts over in the next building. They were talking to each other, talking heatedly to each other. Looking out the front window, I could see there was a huge calibre barrel sticking out the front window of the building next door. It looked like one of the anti-aircraft guns that I had seen in the terrorists’ supply.
There was a door connecting the building I was in and the one next door. The door was slightly ajar, opening towards our side.
“Are you okay?” a voice whispered towards us from the other building.
I froze for a second, hearing how close they were. I looked down at the injured goon. His eyes were darting between my gun barrel and my eyes. I picked up the gun on the floor, never wavering from pointing my gun at the man in front of me; and then I signalled with my free hand to get his friends to come over. The injured one was complied.
“I’m injured, get over here.”
As one of the goons opened the door, I kicked it right back in his face, catching the hapless bum’s head between the door and the cement wall. The injured one got up and ran into the street. The goon caught in the door fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I rushed into the room to find a shocked man about to fire with his bazooka. Seeing me, he tried to pull the gun into the building, but the barrel banged clumsily on the side of the building. It was not the best arm for quick, close-range battles. He would've been easy to knock off, staring at me dumbly with wide eyes, but I hesitated. He also ran into the street, leaving his deadly bazooka lying on the ground.
The other one managed to run through the door that had knocked him out moments earlier. The three of them found themselves disarmed, open, and vulnerable in the street. The next thing I knew the three started beating a hasty retreat down the road. I looked around the corner just in time to see them heading around the corner; the two healthier ones labouring with the wounded one in between. I waited a minute or so, listening for sounds, but all I could hear was grunting and groaning from Dan inside the bar.
“They’re gone,” I announced before walking out into the street.
As I looked into the bar, Dan’s cohorts were looking at each other, wondering what to do with their wounded leader. Martina stood in the middle of the bar, with the others rising from their hiding positions.
“Who took the shot?” I said.
“Twas I,” said Martina.
“Good shot! You hit one. I saw two goons carrying a third one down the street. They’re gone now.”
“Let’s not hang around here. Who knows how many there waiting to come outa the woodwork,” Andy said.
"You should see what those maniacs were going to use to shoot at this bar," I said.
"What was it?" Ralphy asked.
"Aw, forget it," I said, "You probably don't want to know. Hey, Ralphy, so where do these guys hang out?”
“Everyone knows that, at the top of the hill. There are still some mansions standing,” Ralphy looked around.
I looked at the bald dark man in the corner of the bar. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine. Thank you for asking.” He was rising to his feet, wiping dirt off his pants. Looking at him, he seemed out of place, not quite primitive enough to survive this vicious world.
“Let’s get out of here!” Martina announced and we went out, our guns still ready.
As we passed out the door, Dan, prone on the ground, groaned. “What about me?”
We looked at each other for a second and Martina said:
“Take it like a man.”