Nolan's Ark Page 16

  “I’m just in time for the election,” Nolan said. “I wonder who I’ll vote for.”

  Despite the bikers’ best efforts the crowd scattered. Those who didn’t run up side streets jumped through the jagged frame of broken windows, taking shelter in vandalized stores. They ran into office buildings and anything else that hinted of a way out. Some dove into the backseats of abandoned cars and kept their heads down. Everyone seemed to sense something big was coming, and it wasn’t just Goliath.

  There were cars on the street jerking left and right, the drivers working hard to find an opening that would let them out. Voices yelled back and forth. Information was exchanged about the quickest route out of town.

  The wailing shriek of tires was a constant soundtrack to the chaos.

  Jaws was moving up ahead. Its fat wheels were rolling but the road ahead was clogged with people and cars. The retreat, if that’s what it was, would have to wait for the path to clear if it wanted to pick up real speed.

  Rage was boxed in.

  Nolan was grinning. His thick, callused fingers strangled the steering wheel.

  “Hey Nolan!” Axel yelled. He was in the back with the others. “Bad news. We’ve got company man. You might want to take a look at what’s chasing us.”

  Nolan glanced at the rear mirror. There was a swarm of bikers gathering at Goliath’s rear and left side. They caught up quickly, attaching themselves to the silver MBT like a gang of suckerfish to a Great White shark.

  “Oh shit,” Eagle Boy cried out. “My nerves can’t take much more of this. We should never have got on this damn bus. We were supposed to be trying to get away from trouble, not running straight towards it.”

  Axel and the Retaliators hurried down to the driver’s cabin.

  “What the hell do we do Nolan?” Cowboy Samurai asked, his haunted face leaning over the cabin door. “They’ve got us surrounded. What do we do?”

  Nolan checked the mirror again. The bikers were slowing down, most of them falling back towards Goliath’s rear end. This maneuver was executed gracefully and almost beautifully, like a flock of birds dancing in mid-air. It was as if a signal had been given to convene at the rear.

  On a clear stretch of road Nolan would have hit the gas and started bumping them off their bikes. He didn’t have a clear stretch of road. Another option was to shoot them but the street was still too busy, especially with women and children. The guns would have to wait.

  He watched them in the mirror.

  “They’re going for the ladder,” he said.

  “What ladder?” Typhoon asked.

  “There’s a ladder at the back of Goliath,” Nolan said. It’s used for quick and easy transportation to the roof and I’ll bet my life that’s what they’re thinking about right now. Getting onto the roof. That’s their Plan A.”

  “Well that’s no biggie,” Cowboy Samurai said. It was the first time Nolan had seen the man look hopeful about a dangerous situation. “They can’t get in from the roof can they? As long as we stay inside Goliath they can’t touch us, right?”

  “Not quite Cowboy,” Nolan said. “There’s a sunroof up there, just like there was in Kong. All the MBTs have a sunroof. And to tell you folks the truth I don’t know if it’s open or closed. And if it is closed I don’t know if it’s locked. I wasn’t exactly paying attention when I put Diesel upstairs earlier.”

  “You mean they can get in?” Cowboy Samurai asked.

  “If it’s open?” Nolan said. “Sure they can get in. All they have to do is pull.”

  There was a faint thump at the back of Goliath. Then a shrill metallic clang followed by another hefty thwack. Nolan checked the rear mirror and saw the shadowy outline of a riderless Harley lying on the ground, its gleaming chrome gas tank fading into the night.

  “They’re dropping their bikes,” Nolan said. “It’s on. They’re going for the roof.”

  There were more thuds at the back. One-two-three, they just kept on coming.

  “Oh shit!” Cowboy Samurai said, hands clamped over his Stetson. “That’s it, we’re fucked. Stop the bus Nolan – we can at least make a run for it.”

  Nolan glanced over his shoulder at Viking Chick. As usual she’d wrapped the cloak tight around her body to conceal the bump. Her worried eyes skipped back and forth between Nolan and the roof.

  “What do we do?” she whispered.

  Nolan gestured to Eagle Boy. “Can you drive?”

  “Sure,” Eagle Boy said. “I can drive anything.”

  “I need you to take the wheel,” Nolan said. “All you have to do is follow Jaws. Nice and easy bird shit, hold her steady. Don’t let that bus out of your sight and try not to kill anyone on the road. They’re running around like headless chickens out there.”

  “Got it,” Eagle Boy said. “And Nolan for Christ’s sake, my name’s not bird shit it’s…”

  “Later,” Nolan said, standing up. “C’mon, take the wheel.”

  Nolan tapped the brake, bringing Goliath to a steady halt. He could feel those hairy biker bastards on the roof. Fortunately they could only climb the ladder one man at a time, which would slow them down a little, but when they had enough bodies on board that’s when they’d go for the sunroof.

  Eagle Boy and Nolan quickly swapped places.

  “Just treat it like a regular car,” Nolan said, watching as Eagle Boy got to grips with Goliath. They started moving again at a crawl. “Good man. Keep your foot on the gas and let the machinery do the rest.”

  Yep,” Eagle Boy said, his giant bird wings flattened out against the seat. He pushed the beak cap skywards, allowing him a better view of the road. “Got it.”

  Nolan glanced towards the roof. They didn’t have long.

  “What about this weapons dash?” Eagle Boy asked.

  Nolan shook his head. “Hopefully you won’t need to figure that out. Either way I don’t have time to explain.”

  “I’ve driven tanks before as research,” Eagle Boy said. “I reckon I can do this.”

  “Just drive for now man,” Nolan said.

  “Okay.”

  He turned towards Axel and the rest of the Retaliators, all huddled in the aisle like children in the middle of a fire drill, waiting for instructions from an adult on what to do next.

  “Just stay here and sit it out,” Nolan said. Then he pointed at Typhoon. “Except you ninja. I need you to come with me.”

  Typhoon looked like he’d swallowed a wasp. “Me?”

  “Yeah you,” Nolan said. “I’m going on the roof and I need someone to lock the sunroof door behind me. Pull the twin bolts, top and bottom, and secure Goliath. No one’s getting in here after that? Not without your say so. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” Typhoon said.

  Nolan hurried towards the stairs but Axel cut him off in midstride.

  “You’re taking them on alone?” the boy said, looking outraged. “Uh-uh Nolan. I’m coming with you man. Strength in numbers. Now I might be a skinny little kid but I’m fast and I’ve seen all your UFC fights.”

  Nolan smiled and tapped Axel on the shoulder.

  “Axel,” he said. “I need you to do something important for me down here. Your job is to take care of Viking Chick? For the love of God little man, don’t let anything happen to her or the bump. You hear me?”

  Axel’s mouth moved as if to speak but nothing came out. No words, no sound.

  “Can you do that for me?” Nolan said. “Take care of her?”

  Axel sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Good boy.”

  Nolan signaled to Typhoon. “Let’s go man.”

  They hurried to the upper deck. The second floor apartment on Goliath had the same retro décor as downstairs, plus the same number of bedrooms and a bathroom. There was a prop wardrobe beside the top of the stairs and that was Nolan’s first stop. He ran over and pulled the double doors open. His eyes roamed across a variety of gruesome weapons – a steel chain, a dagger and a Taser of some kind. But it was the spiked baseball bat hanging off the back of the door that he reached for. He’d used this weapon in Goliath many times. It was light and fast and best of all, those were real razor sharp spikes attached to its wooden head.

  A barrage of footsteps thundered across the roof.

  “They’re coming,” Typhoon said. “Nolan they’re heading for the sunroof now.”

  Nolan pulled out the H&K pistol tucked into his waist. Another souvenir from Kong and one that was about to prove useful.

  “Lock the door after me,” he said, running over to the ladder. “Slide the bolts and you’re safe.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nolan tucked the bat under his arm, taking care to avoid the spiked head. With his spare hand he gripped the wooden rungs of the ladder and climbed quickly up to the roof.

  He trained the H&K barrel on the sunroof.

  The sunroof door was closed the bolts weren’t fastened. Those bastards could have gotten in if they’d been a touch quicker on the ladder.

  Footsteps came closer.

  Nolan could hear them now, whispering in low urgent voices. How many were up there? Nolan had visions of a small biker army waiting on the other side of the roof. Fucking pirates.

  He took a deep breath. Squeezed the H&K grip and then placed his finger over the trigger.

  A click.

  Somebody pulled the door open.

  A fat, leering face appeared in the gap, inches away from the barrel of Nolan’s pistol. It was the face of a greasy-haired biker with a shit-eating grin, his gappy teeth on display. Nolan could even smell the man’s breath and it smelled like the wrong end of a sewer rat.

  The smug grin vanished when the biker saw the H&K in Nolan’s hand.

  “Hi,” Nolan said.

  He squeezed the trigger and there was a l
oud cracking noise. The greaser fell backwards with a shriek. There was an explosion of male voices on the roof – pissed, confused and very loud. But he’d rattled them. Nolan took advantage of that split second of confusion to barge his way onto Goliath’s roof, which he did in record time.

  “Shut the door,” he called out behind him. “Now.” He flipped the lid back over, certain that Typhoon would double bolt it from the inside.

  Nolan straightened up and loosened his arms to get the blood flowing. He walked towards them, H&K in one hand and the spiked bat in the other. There were about fifteen greasers standing on the roof, momentarily stunned by the sudden, brutal death of their brother.

  “Sorry about that,” Nolan said, glancing at the fresh stiff spread-eagled on the roof. He hadn’t had much of a face in life but at least he’d had a face. Not so much now.

  Nolan assessed what was in front of him. There were some big, ugly guys up there on the roof and first impressions told him they were capable with their fists. Swollen, tanned muscles bulged out of sleeveless denims. Mean, pitiless faces glared at Nolan. There were a few switchblades on display too, a handful of pistols and one double barrel shotgun.

  Behind the slow-moving Goliath, Nolan saw a trail of toppled Harleys, like white foam lagging behind a speedboat.

  “The Grim Lords,” Nolan said, reading the club name off their patches. “That’s not bad.”

  “President Rage wants to talk to you,” one of the bikers said, speaking through clenched teeth. The speaker was a squat guy who reminded Nolan of a chunkier, meaner-looking version of Willie Nelson. Braids, headband and all. “That’s the only reason you’re not dead now.”

  “So you guys work for Rage now?” Nolan said. “What the hell happened to the Grim Lords I wonder? Were you guys always so easy to buy and sell?”

  “Watch your mouth mister,” Willie Nelson said. “Just because we have to take you in alive don’t mean we can’t take you in fucked up.”

  “Never thought I’d see the day a legit MC like the Grim Lords would sell out to a crooked politician,” Nolan said in a taunting voice. “What happened boys? Did you get scared tonight?”

  He laughed as hard as he could.

  A curly haired greaser charged at Nolan like an angry bull. He had a switchblade in hand, sharp and gleaming, ready to cut.

  “Sammy!” Willie Nelson cried out. “Stop! We need him al…”

  But Sammy didn’t stop.

  Nolan fired the H&K, taking out Sammy and three other Lords. Boom, down they went. All three in the blink of an eye.

  Willie Nelson’s eyes bulged in horror as he stared down at his dead buddies. “What the fuck are…?”

  Nolan tucked the pistol back into the waist of his jeans. “Let’s not waste precious time on a gunfight,” he said. “After what I just did, shooting’s far too good for me right? You boys should really carve me up a little first.”

  He wrapped both hands around the handle of the spiked bat.

  “Here I am.”

  Nolan had no intention of killing too many of these road pirates. They were going to take him straight to Rage after all. Express delivery. And they wouldn’t kill him, not even after what he’d done to their buddies. They had their orders to take him to Rage. Nolan hoped they’d stick to them.

  “C’mon,” he said.

  A shaven-headed Lord charged at Nolan with a dagger. The brute was strong but clumsy. Nolan neatly sidestepped the attack. The man thrust the dagger at Nolan’s heart but Nolan kept his distance then moved in and threw a spear tip of an elbow, rattling the man’s brain cells and sending them into orbit.

  Nolan dispatched a few more of the Grim Lords with equal precision. Hard rights to the chin, a flying knee – he was having fun out there. And all the while he hoped that the Lords wouldn’t switch tactics, say what the hell and shoot him.

  Eventually however, it was time to reel it in. They would shoot him if he kept this up and besides, Nolan knew he couldn’t stand in front of Rage at full strength. He was going to have to suck up a little damage.

  He lowered his hands, faking exhaustion.

  Someone clubbed Nolan on the back of the head with a pistol butt. Nolan winced, then spun around. But he didn’t throw anything back. He took a hard shot to the jaw from a lanky, wild-eyed biker with a handlebar mustache. The man’s blows were flimsy but he was fast with whip-like arms that were never in the same place for more than a second. Another shot to the ribs and Nolan went down.

  “Take that you motherfucker,” the lanky greaser said.

  They rushed at Nolan while he was down, unleashing a barrage of vicious kicks to the body. They cursed, calling him every name under the sun. Every syllable of every insult was accompanied by a kick. Nolan lay there, covering up on the ground. Every blow was more painful than the last but he didn’t try to get back to his feet. For a while he thought the Grim Lords had abandoned their orders to bring him back alive and were actually going to beat him to death.

  Finally the attack stopped.

  Nolan groaned in agony and fell onto his back. Looking up he saw the Grim Lords standing over him like messengers from the underworld who’d come to collect his soul. Their beetroot red faces spewed fury and exhaustion. And of course hatred.

  Someone kicked him on the ribs. One last shot for the road.

  Nolan winced but he ate the blow, imagining all the while that his body was a giant sponge.

  “This motherfucker killed Benji,” Willie Nelson said. “He killed Lonnie, Hammer Joe, Sammy and Doug. What do you think boys? He shot them like a dog. I say to hell with Rage and let’s dispatch our own form of justice on this mother. What do you say? The Grim Lords answer to no one.”

  Shot them like a dog, Nolan thought. Poor choice of words.

  “Don’t kill him Jem,” another Lord said. This guy’s voice was comparatively calmer than Willie Nelson’s voice. “Eddie calls the shots and Eddie says Rage wants this killer alive. We off him and we’re in deep shit.”

  Willie Nelson made a fierce, hissing noise. “Well what about the people inside the bus?” he said. “Are we going after them or what?”

  He leered at Nolan with batshit crazy eyes.

  “We’re gonna kill your friends motherfucker. Gonna make you watch too when I eat them up one by one.”

  Willie Nelson rubbed his belly hard.

  A pause.

  “They’ve locked the door,” a voice in the distance said. “Sunroof’s locked from the inside. That thing’s solid. Can’t get in, not from up here.”

  “Don’t worry about them now,” the man who’d stopped Willie Nelson said. “We’ll come back for the bus and for them – this silver baby’s ours for the taking – it belongs to the Grim Lords. As for now, we deliver this guy to Rage because we’re men of our word. Right?”

  Willie Nelson backed off, a cloud of hate pouring off his head like steam. Slowly he began to nod.

  “Muscles,” he said. “Pick him up will you? We don’t want to keep the Prez waiting.”

  Chapter 14

  A battered and bleeding Nolan was escorted from Goliath to Jaws.

  On his way Nolan was forced to watch Goliath come under attack from the Grim Lords. Those who weren’t escorting Nolan to Jaws had turned into feral men with firearms – they surrounded the MBT, shooting at the glass, slamming their hands against the door and using their switchblades to slash the tires. Nolan didn’t know if they were genuinely trying to disable Goliath or whether they were doing what they were doing to intimidate Axel and the Retaliators into surrendering.

  As Nolan was dragged towards Jaws he heard Goliath’s engine fire into life at his back. Moments later the silver MBT was in the midst of a hasty reverse, a wounded animal fleeing the attack of the mad bikers.

  “Go,” Nolan said under his breath.

  Goliath raced towards the nearest side street, forcing a few remaining stragglers to dive out of the way. The Grim Lords who’d laid siege to Goliath jumped onto their Harleys and followed their prey, zooming off Hollywood Boulevard at a high speed. Tires squealed and sparks flew against a dark backdrop.

  Nolan was thinking about Diesel lying in the upper deck bedroom. He was at least thankful that Axel and Viking Chick were there with him. They’d take care of him, do what was right.

  “Get in there you big bastard,” one of the Lords snapped.