015

Chapter Fifteen

Early on the fifteenth morning, a small dotted line of a barren coast appears on the horizon. High in the command tour, staring into nothing through another sleepless night, the captain spots the promising black filament rising up from the skyline. With a flicker of hope, he springs to life. Heading to the slew of charts spread out on the table in the center of the room, his fingers and eyes flash back and forth to help establish their location. After five minutes he finally come to the conclusion that they have arrived a couple miles south of Washington D.C. The events of the past two weeks has left the captain feeling empty and unmotivated to travel the planned course. He just wants to get to Boston, drop off Saul and Johan back home and sail off the face of this god forsaken planet. He prays they don't even have to stop in D.C. for fear of another fatal incident.

Since the armageddon, Valentino had travelled much of the world. He had sailed down around Australia and into the wild outback populated with blood thirsty Aborigines and mutated dingos. He had set anchor in Japan and walked among the giant, burnt out metropolis of Tokyo. The sands of Egypt had also touched his bare feet and let him explore the unsealed tombs of long forgotten pharaohs. Even into the ancient Mayan and Aztec temples, full of Voodoo practicing tribals. All continents had been explored and all foes and creatures had been met and vanquished, but yet the thought of D.C. still terrified him. The numerous stories of the horrors within the capital of the once mighty USA. Stories of marauding bands of mutated psychos who would kidnap, rape, torture, kill and eat men, women and children alike. Or another tale a brave explorer once told him of a clan of harlots who preyed on the sexual desires and appetites of unsuspecting man. They would hypnotize them by having sex in a random establishment and then convince them they had many other friends that craved a man of their caliber only to lead him back to a dirty, urine soaked den filled with vile, disease ridden women who would then sexually abuse, kill and rob the poor slob just for sport.

As the rising sun beings to illuminate the impending coastline, the crew slowly begin to stir. The sadness still hanging around from Gaahl's death is quickly evaporated at the sight of land. In a flash, the entire crew swarms to the command tower asking for answers. Johan is determined to find out where they are and how far Boston is.

"Okay, okay. Settle down so I can fill you all in. Okay, so I have come to the conclusion that we are only a couple miles south of D.C. I've never been into the capital's ruins but I assure you I have heard some terrible stories. We will have to proceed with utmost caution. Im not even sure what ports are still opened or where friendlies are bunkered down. If nothing is yielded to us we will promptly leave and continue on to Boston. Any questions?"

"What are we going to encounter?" Alieana asks first.

"Well, Im not sure exactly. Like I said, I've never explored the city. I've merely heard stories, but most them are surely false..."

"Well, lets get off this tub," Fergus bellows merrily and strides off to equip himself and the rest of the crew follow suit. Once all geared up for the worst, the crew gathers on the deck and watch the shore inch closer. They travel at an angle in order to move inland but also creep closer to the city which is just now peaking up over the hills. A high cluster of cryptic skyscrapers a couple hundred yards inland fortified by low swampy marshes. Many pillars of smoke climb from the ruins signaling ample life. Would that life be good or evil? The sight of the once familiar city leaves a large lump in both Saul and Johan's stomach. Building that were once brilliant and proud are now dark and ominous filled with large holes. Docks begin to jut out into the still water as the city grows still closer and larger. Random, unnatural movements play games with the captain's mind and stokes his growing paranoia.

"What is 'at?" Iasan points his chubby finger down the coastline. As his stomach lurches, the captain sprints to the bow and squints out onto the ebbing tide before him. Humming in there direction is a small vessel equipped with a loud outboard motor.

"Ready yourself," the captain's voice is more serious then ever before and filled with icy cold emotion. Alieana runs to her sister and the other young ones.

"Come on, come on take cover."

"Are they a threat?" Saul asks as he readies his Kalashnikov, the captain turns and moves his hands to be ready to draw.

"Who goes there?" A voice booms from the tiny fishing vessel approaching Valhalla's Wake.

"We-" as the captain speaks, a loud crack fills the air followed by the whistle of a fast moving projectile. Heads whip around in alarm as the ship shakes and a burning explosion rips through the air. In a flash, Son bolts to the command tower, sprints up the stairs and into the crows nest housing the hulking .50 caliber. He calmly aims down the barrel and places the metal crosshairs on the attacking vessel. Inside the small hull, two men fumble about trying to ready another RPG. Son squeezes the trigger and the oily machine gun roars into action. A barrage of hot .50 caliber lead flies into the ship sending pieces of steel, geysers of water and fountains of flesh into the air. The two assailants sink into a bloody pool as the hole-riddled hull sinks into the green water.

Son breaths a sigh of relief and relaxes a little bit. As he does, the captain's voice rings out. Bolting back to attention, Son scans his surrounding to see half an army grimy bandits crawling across the marshes around the city. In their hands they clutch anything from crude weapons to shiny machine guns. Shots ring out from the deck below as the captain commences fire with double fisted pistol work.

In the next second, a war breaks out with hot lead and screams ripping apart the once still and peaceful morning. Saul strafes to the railing for cover and peppers the impending mob with his bucking AK. With his long Dragunov resting on the railing, Johan slowly and systematically picks off the most dangerous looking foes. .50 caliber shells rain down from the tower and enemies drop as the earth is torn up around them in large brown plumes. Alieana, Torri, Faux, and Raul huddle together beneath the tower trying to keep away from the battle.

As Baron bounds across the deck to find cover, a hot shell connects with the dark skin of his forehead. He drops instantly as his life force flees from his body as if a light switch has ben flipped. Iasan hobbles about with his .44 Magnum raised. It barks with each mammoth shot, belching forth flame. With the attackers dropping like flies, one final assailant drops to his knee and fires off one last RPG attack. In the next second, a burst of fire from the captain's .45's fells the attacker.

The warhead tipped projectile hurdles in the direction of the high command tower causing Son to stumble for the latter. As he drops into the control room, the missile collides with steel sending forth an explosion of molten metal. The electric controls spark and instantly begin to blaze. The burly Vietnamese man is instantly incinerated. The captain bellows out in rage as his new first mate is cut down and his beloved ship is ruined. The engine dies out causing Anjelo to run about fretting over the sudden silence.

The remaining crew recompose themselves and peer around the bloodstained marshland to take in what had just happened. Smoke climbs from the tower and Baron's blood runs across the slick floor.

"Goddamnit! My f*****g ship!"

"Sweetie," Orabella holsters her pistol and embraces her devastated husband.

"What are we gonna do?"

"Babe, we've come through so much together. I know you will see us through this as well."

"They'll be swarming again I'm sure, we need to get out of here."

So with the boat pushes crudely up onto the sand, they file one by one down the rungs of the latter. They hop over the shallow green water and onto the hard mud bordering the shore. The captain begins to walk down the beach with a blank stare set on the far distance. His face is marked with a sad, blank expression of a defeated man. The rest of the crew follow behind in complete silence. His entire identity has been lost . He is no longer "captain" as he has no ship to command, both of his mates have been killed within a month of each other, and he is stranded in a hostile land where murder, rape, and sociopathic tendencies are the norm. The remaining life line to his sanity is his loyal and beautiful wife and thunderstruck little brother.

As the mud turns to whispy sea grass, loud menacing roars echo from all around. The captain whips his head around and his eyes fall upon a flat road fifty yards ahead which promptly runs into the menacing city. From within the rubble appears three small black dots. As they grow larger, the rumbles become louder. Valentino embraces his wife and huddles in the grass trying to stay out of sight.

"Quick, they'll see you!"

"Where do we hide?" Alieana looks around for something large to shelter them behind.

"Just get down!"

The group scrambles about into the shrubs trying as hard as possible not to be seen. With the roaring monsters of steel right above them, the loud noises cease and silence is upon them once more. Peaking up above the grass, Saul sees three figures dressed almost completely in black. They sit perched on menacing black and chrome motorcycles. Leather jackets and tattered blue jeans are the common theme along with tattoos, dark sunglasses, and plastic glock .45's that rest on their hips.

"Holy f**k, what happened here?" One of the men looks at the giant wreckage of Valhalla's Wake and the strewn bloody bodies.

"You two, search the area. All of them can't of died," the one seaming to be the leader orders and the other two quickly spring into action. With their pistols drawn, they sweep the thin grass. Getting ever more paranoid, the captain draws his own .45 and prepares to be discovered.

Peering through the grass, the approaching man is clearly visible. His long black hair is pulled back into a pony tail revealing a face of a man in his late thirties to early forties. A black leather vest covers a shoddy white-t protruding arms displaying flames, skulls and a nude dancing woman. A single silver chain dangles from his blue jeans above jet black motorcycle boots.

Now within a few feet, the captain sits up and places his sights directly on the biker's bearded face. With striking speed, the man also gets a bead on the captains frantic face.

"Don't you f*****g move!" the biker hollers drawing his two friends attention.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Me? Who the hell are you. You come off that boat?"

"So what if we did?"

"We? There's more of you? Boys, keep searching."

"Drop the gun," the captain breaths deep.

"You're outnumbered here guido."

"Well you sure as hell aint taking me alive. Not with the stories I've heard."

"Boy, you really don't know who we are."

"Im sure I don't want to."

"We're about the best people you could have stumbled upon here," the biker chuckles.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're the closest thing to law in this damn city."

"Bullshit," the captain maintains his aim.

"Boss! We got some more!" another one of the bikers walks towards them with Saul, Alieana, Torri, and Faux standing before him, hands in the air.

"Cap, just drop your gun," Saul begs.

"Im not letting my guard down."

"How can we get you to cooperate?"

"Make me believe you really are the law in these parts."

"You see this patch?" the biker points to a patch on his left pectoral that reads Deagle. "And this one?" he points to his right pectoral and a patch that reads Lieutenant.

"Yeah, so?"

"We're the Valkyrie Motorcycle Club outta Blacksburg Virginia."

"Oh, great a biker gang."

"I said M.C."

"Oh, excuse me for confusing the two."

"Babe, stop trying to insult these men," Orabella's whisper filters out from the grass where she is still hidden. She then stands and looks the muscular biker in the eye.

"Let me handle this."

"The way you're handling it, you're asking for a bullet in the head. I believe these guys, if they were violent, they would just killed us and moved on."

"Thank you darlin'."

The third biker finds the remaining crew and they are rounded up. All excluding the captain who still stubbornly sits in the grass.

"Might as well do what they ask son," Iasan grumbles.

"Son of a b***h."

Slowly the captain lowers his pistol and re-holsters it. Wearing a look of disgust, he stands and puts his hands in the air. The large biker also does the same and places his plastic glock back in its scabbard.

"Where the hell did yall come from?"

"All over, I don't feel safe here..."

"As well ya shouldn't," the lead biker chuckles.

"Who are you people?"

"Like i told you, we're the Valkyrie Motorcycle Club. Im Deagle, that there is Igor, and he's Ripper," Deagle points to his two buddies. The first one, Igor, is smaller then Deagle and RIpper wearing the same black vest and blue jean outfit. His sinewy arms are both sleeved with tattoos and his chin is tipped with a thin blonde goatee. A shiny bald head gives him the impression of being older then his true age. Ripper is of average height but has shoulders wide as two men. His bare arms are decorated with black and white tombstones, honoring everyone of his fallen loved ones.

"Igor, head back to the graveyard and bring along a transport." With full discipline, Igor jogs to his bike, fires it up and screams back in the direction they came from. The captain wearily looks back to Deagle.

"Are you the leader?"

"Nah, just for this team. The president is back in the graveyard, he goes by Ulysses Lee or The General as most call him. But enough about that, who the all are all yall?"

"Im Captain Valentino Ferrari, captain of the fine vessel Valhalla's Wake. She is my wife Orabella, he is my brother Anjelo and we hail from the shores of Italy. He would be my now oldest friend and IRA nurse, Iasan Leech," the captain motions to the portly old Iasan. " The big fellow is Fergus O'Flaherty along with Alieana and Torri Reed of the Scottish Highlands. Faux and Raul Davies of Britain with Regan from some s**t hole island. And those two are Johan Kristmas and Saul Odadjian, they hail from non other then Boston Mass."

"Well holy all s**t," Deagle looks dumbfounded. "We be headed there in a week or two. Yall thinkin' about heading back."

"Yes!" Johan bullies forward. "When do you leave?"

"Probably in about a week. We got some business there. Where you boys been?"

"I want to come along."

"You aint been there since the attacks? I'm damn confused, The General will have some things to ask yall."

"What is your business in Boston?" Saul now steps forward.

"The General got a friend up there. Needs some muscle to help with a little uprising problem."

"Uprising?"

"Some cuckoo queen raised a whole damned army of murderers, psychos and rapists and she's trying to become queen of the wastes. The head honcho up there, think his name is Mick Victor, needs the ole M.C. army to come and put em back in place."

"We want to join that army," Johan cuts back in.

"Friend, I have interest in joining no army," the captain bluntly pronounces.

"Saul?"

"I do need some closure," he glances at Alieana.

"You know I'm here by you no matter what."

"Lets just get back to the graveyard, I can hear Igor returning with reinforcements and a transport." And just as he says it, another serenade of roaring engines scream from the distance. Once again, black dots appear on the pavement and hurdle in their direction. Between two of them cruises a large bulky type of truck, almost like a big rig with a bunker bolted to the flatbed. As they become clearer it is evident that the transport is being escorted by two men on bikes, one of which is Igor again.

"We'll be fully safe in no time."

As Igor pulls up, he cuts his engine. The large transport is in fact an old Mac tractor trailer truck. The grill however has been equipped with a vicious looking steel cage that protrudes menacing sharp spikes. The storage container on the flat bed is standard sheet metal with steel reinforcements securing it. Perched atop the metal box is a turret that fires incendiary .50 caliber rounds. The engine rumbles with a masculine power synonymous with true American muscle. Finally, the tires are large and deep black around spiked rims. The driver is an older man probably in his sixties, he however doesn't wear the leather of the Valkyrie MC.

"Open her up Chip," Deagle moves around to the large storage container. With a flick of a switch located under the dash, the garage door at the rear of the container rises with loud squeaks and clinks. The interior is much different from the outside. Instead of crude steel and improvised spray paint, the inside walls are clean and look thoroughly bulletproof. Benches run parallel bolted to opposite walls giving the impression of an old time military caravan. Six large fuel barrels are also strapped and stacked in the foremost area. The turret's controls are a small command pad bolted into the wall with an infrared screen and joystick, very Nintendo 64.

"Up and in, shouldn't take but five minutes."

Johan climbs up inside first followed by Saul and the rest of them. With another flick of the switch, the door clunks shut and motorcycle engines roar into life. The large steel behemoth lurches and they soon feel themselves hurdling over the crack and pothole riddled pavement. The ride isn't fun but thankfully not very long.

As the homemade garage door rises once more, they look out upon a brightly lit, round complex filled with a few dozen beastly metal bikes. A large two story garage sits at the head of the area that is securely enclosed by steel reinforced concrete walls standing atleast ten feet high. Off to one side is a small cemetery filled with over thirty gravestones. With Deagle, Igor, Ripper, and the fourth biker parking their machines in their respective lots, Johan and the others hop down onto fairly smooth concrete which is stained with oil, gasoline, and other liquids necessary for the smooth function of so many intricate machines.

"Alright partners, Ill take yall up to the Mausoleum and let cha meet The General and Joker."

"Joker?" the captain asks.

"He's The General's right hand man, body guard, vice president. Dangerous sonofabitch."

"Oh, great."

They follow the confident Deagle into the four door garage. Arch and tig welders line the walls along with Craftsman tool boxes, heaps of scrap metal, and worn out leather jumpsuits used for welding. Through a back door, they find themselves climbing a steep flight of stairs that leads them into a dimly lit room with a conference table in the center. At the head of the table sits a strikingly young man with shiny blonde hair and a smooth baby face. He wear the common Valkyrie leather and patches reading Lee and President on each pectoral. In the closest seat to his right sits a provoking looking man with sleek dark brown hair. As he looks upon the new arrivals, they notice his face is covered with scars. His pale cheeks are marked with the distinct scarring known as a Glasgow smile or Chelsea grin. His eyes are masked by jet black sunglasses and a black turtleneck grips his neck and arms leading to black leather gloves. His black leather belt is home to a tricked out .45 Kimber pistol that has been completely blacked out resting in a custom built speed holster. V. President and Joker are inscribed upon his patches. Head to toe, the man is completely blacked out.

"Lieutenant, who are our visitors?"

"Found them in the marsh, crazies wrecked their ship. They want passage to Boston with us."

"Boston? Crazy s**t going on up there. Y'all must have a good reason to head on up to that hell hole."

"Trust me, we do," Johan is dead serious.

"Okay, tell me then, why should I bring you on? What benefit do I reap by taking you in?"

"Im willing to do anything. Fight, kill, work, cook, I just need to get back home," Johan's eyes once again are filled with pure animal determination.

"Glad to hear it. You all will come along?"

"Not I," the captain looks arrogant.

"Then why have you come?"

"I...I...I..."

"We are a community, a brotherhood. We accept anyone willing to contribute to the group. If you expect to stay here and benefit from my protection then you must pull you're weight. Surely you understand."

"Where else do I have to go?"

"My point," the clever young face of The General toys with the slightly embarrassed captain.

"We all are here to survive, I assure you," Johan draws the heat from the captain.

"Well, then I welcome you. I am Ulysses Lee also known as The General," the handsome leader strolls from his seat and shakes Johan's hand. It seams odd that someone so young and fresh would lead this powerful army of bikers. His boyish good looks and devilish charm are that of a budding Hollywood actor not an M.C. tough guy president.

"We appreciate it."

"And this fine fellow is my V.P. and most trusted friend and colleague, Kiril Hundley but we just call him Joker."

"Why they call ya that boyo?" Iasan grumbles.

"You remember the old comics of Batman and The Joker with his scars?" The General explains.

"How'd yer get them battle scars?"

"You don't want to know friend," The General answers Iasan for his friend.

"Christ, do yer even talk?"

"No, in fact he doesn't. He's got no tongue." As The General explains, Joker opens his mouth and displays the obvious vacancy where his tongue should be. Shivers simultaneously run up all of their spines.

"I, I 'pologize," Iasan steps back and shuts up.

"He's the best damn shot you're sure to find in this shithole though."

"When are we headed to Boston?" Johan cuts to the chase.

"Well we have one more transport to build and bike tune-ups to do. After that we begin the caravan north. What is so urgent for you?"

"I haven't been home since the attacks. I need to find loved one."

"Oh, well I'll tell you right now. There aren't many survivors, you have my father's war buddy Mick Victor's sanctuary within the walls of Fenway Park and thats about it. If they're alive, they'll be there."

"What exactly are you needed so badly up there for?"

"Times have taken a turn for the worst in Beantown. I guess some crazy calling herself a queen has assembled an army to conquer the wastes. Old Mick wants us to come in and muscle her out. But we'll fill you in later when our tribunal gets underway. Meanwhile, I want Deagle to show you around and introduce you to the boys. Also, head on up to get some grub."

"You got it. Follow me."

Deagle obeys and leads the group back down the stairs, through the garage and into the bright pavilion. They walk across the lot as Deagle introduces them to random members of the club. Each member greats them with a great deal of friendliness and hospitality. Their tour of the settlement ends when they come to a small mess hall smelling strongly like a kitchen. A few bikers sit in the corner sipping on beer and munching on popcorn. The heat inside is sweltering from the intense work of the ovens. Deagle shows them to an empty table and struts off into the kitchen. The captain, still wearing his smug expression, looks at Johan.

"What the hell did you get us into?"

"Don't start with me."

"Look what you're crazy expedition got us into. I knew there was a reason I never travelled into the capital. We're all going to end up dead."

"Give it a rest!" Fergus cuts in.

"And you, was your cheap p***y worth Gaahl's death?" Regan shutters at the sudden and unexpected insult.

"You know damn well she needed savin'," Fergus' hand smashes down on the table. Deagle soon reenters with a surprised look at all the commotion and tension. Fergus' face has turned bright red with rage at the captain's spiteful look. The tension is cut when Orabella takes firm hold of her husbands arm.

"I have had enough of how you've been lately. You're not the same man I married."

"I'll just leave then. Lets go Anjelo."

The captain rises and strides for the door with Anjelo close behind him. With pride and purpose, he crosses the cement pavilion to a large gate that is the entrance. Two sentries block his path.

"You sure you want to do that?"

"Get out of my damn way!"

"As you wish."

The sentry removes a large padlock and allows the enraged captain and his emotionless little brother to pass. They saunter off into the dying day and disappear amongst the ramshackle sprawl of derelict structures.

Back in the small mess hall, Orabella has her face buried deep in her hands at the disappointment over her husband's rage. A glaze of hidden tears fill her emotional eyes. Torri sits close by her side in an attempt to offer comfort for her closest mother figure. Deagle clears his throat, rolls his eyes and leaves to go back about his usual business.

"What the hell," Saul huffs and puts his arm around Alieana as Orabella looks back up to compose herself.

"Let's just eat. I'm sure he's just blowing off some steam."

"But where's the food?" Fergus looks around awkwardly.

"Yer know it's here, can smell it," Iasan's eyes flit around the room eager for some food. Hungry herself, Alieana stands up from the table.

"I'll see what the deal is." She turns to the rear of the hall and heads for the doors Deagle had recently vanished into. The strong smells only grow bolder as the kitchen edges closer. Two swinging sheets of wood work as the kitchen door. As Alieana pushes one of the sides open, a thick cloud of pungent air hits her full on. Aromas of fresh bread, baking biscuits, broiling beef, and boiling pasta and eggs cause her empty stomach to feel even more void of food. From deep inside the kitchen, the presence of someone is undeniable. Alieana clears her throat.

"Umm, hello?"

"Oh, hey, sorry. Who is it?"

"We were just hoping to get some food."

"Just take some, just like the rest of them."

"Okay..." Alieana looks around uncertainly to find something to take back to her friends. The disembodied voice from inside the kitchen soon emerges and identifies herself as a rather young woman with a slightly sad face and dark-reddish chestnut hair. She greats Alieana with a slight smile due to the fact she isn't one of the bikers. 

"Have I ever met you?"

"Umm no, I'm Alieana Reed. And you are?"

"Im Karen Court. I cook for all these slobs."

"Oh, well Deagle brought us here to get something to eat."

"There's more of you?"

"Yes, me and nine others."

"More food to cook..." Karen's voice trails off as she moves back to tend her food.

"We don't want to be an imposition really."

"No, no. It's fine, it'll be nice to cook for someone else for a change. You can go back out and I'll bring some food out for you. Okay?"

"Or I could help." Alieana politely suggests with a friendly smile.

"Oh, umm, I'd really appreciate that. You can take out the biscuits and check if they are done," she tosses Alieana two thick oven mitts. Moving to the large brick oven housing a large tray of bulky biscuits, Alieana opens the door, reaches inside and cautiously removes the scalding pan. With a toothpick in hand, she pokes the thin wooden spike into the hot dough. As she draws it back out, a smooth toothpick shows that they are in fact, done.

"These look unbelievable."

"Oh, well, thank you," a flattered smile crosses Karen's face.

"So, how did you end up here?"

"Who me? Well, I've always been in the M.C. life. Even before the attacks, it's in my blood."

"Do you have family in the club?"

"Well, you could say that," Karen pauses. "I'm sure you met The General?"

"Yes?"

"Well, he's my half brother. Our father, Bryant, used to be the president. He and Kiril founded the club long before the attacks as a brotherhood for those that didn't belong in normal everyday society, Ex-cons, veterans, sociopaths. Well Ulysses' mother was queen of the club which made him heir to the throne. My mother was just a club trick that my father fucked on a run and knocked up. So since a young age I was kinda shunned, but my father still felt an obligation to protect me. But hey, the food is ready, I'll tell you the rest of this soap opera after we eat."

With the fresh biscuits dumped into a large metal dish, Karen hands them to Alieana along with a bucket of hard boiled eggs. She comes close behind carrying a plater of deep red beef cutlets and a pitcher of rich, frothy milk.

The entire group sheds a simultaneous grin at the copious amounts of food walking towards them. Alieana places down the buttery biscuits and bucket of eggs to take her seat back in Saul's arms. Karen serves her platter of beef and pitcher of milk and turns to head back to her domain when Alieana stops her.

"Would you like to join us?"

"Oh, well I really have some work to do."

"Nonsense, we have that story to finish."

"Oh well, thank you."

"Everyone this is Karen, our fine chef."

So with a fresh tickle in her belly, Karen sits down at the table with the group of hungry new arrivals. The first true feeling of friendship, a feeling she hasn't felt since high school. As usual, Fergus starts the feast by mowing on the largest, fluffiest biscuit in the bowl. They all fill their plates with piles of food and eat in a silence still in effect from the captain's awkward exit. Halfway through the meal, Alieana looks at Karen and starts up a conversation.

"Tell me more about yourself Karen or about the club."

"Well, as I was saying, me and Ulysses are half siblings so when our father died, Ulysses naturally took over as president."

"Why didn't Joker?" Johan asks.

"He never plans on taking the president's seat. He isn't a commander, mostly due to the fact that he can't talk. He is content being second fiddle and number one gun man."

"My kinda man," Fergus slurs through a mouthful of steak.

"How old is The General up there?" Saul asks with intrigue.

"He's only twenty-four, I fear the burden may kill him someday."

"He sure looked like a wee lad," Iasan cuts in.

"He's strong though. I'm confident he'll see us through this upcoming mission. He always does."

"Have you heard anything about Boston?" Johan asks.

"Not too much, just what the M.C. knows. They've hit hard times and survivors are scarce. But the ones that do live have Mick Victor to thank mostly. He is an old war friend of my father's. I guess he became a successful detective and cop after his tour was up. Now he runs a great wasteland shelter out of Fenway Park."

"That must be so eerie. I grew up watching games in that park. My dad's dad watched games in Fenway." Saul says in awe.

"It's a miracle she still stands," Johan says back.

"Must be a hundred-fifty years old by now."

"Mhm."

"Sorry, I never did catch all your names."

"Oh of course, I'm Saul Odadjian.

"Johan Kristmas."

"Oh, I'm Torri Reed and this is Faux Davies."

"Fergus O'Flaherty my dear."

"I'm Regan."

"Raul Davies!"

"I be Iasan Leech just another crazy ole codger."

"My husband Valentino and his brother Anjelo have run off to clear their minds, they should be back sometime."

"Oh I see, well it's great to meet you all. Did you enjoy the meal?

"Yes of course," Fergus belches. "You wouldn't to have an ice cold draft wouldya?"

"Not here. Ask Deagle."

"Will do," and Fergus bounds to the door with the spritely Regan in tow on a mission to find some kind of alcoholic salvation. After a brief pause of silence, Alieana asks another question.

"Umm, where are we going to sleep?"

"Sorry, I have no idea. I'm sure Ulysses or one of his cronies will be figuring that out."

As the words are spoken, the mess hall doors opens once more. This time, the visitor is, once again, the powerful Deagle. His face wears his usual intrigued but annoyed expression. He glances over the group.

"Where'd the big man go?"

"He went to find some alcohol," Johan sighs.

"Well, find him. The General would like your presence at our next tribunal in twenty minutes above the garage."

"We'll be there," Johan replies and Deagle once again lumbers out of the mess hall.

"Alright, lets go find the big man," Saul stands, takes Alieana's hand and they head for the door when Alieana turns to Karen again.

"I can come back and help you clean up if you would like."

"Oh, no need my dear. Im sure you are exhausted."

"But I-"

"Really I'm fine."

"Hey buddy, lets go find Fergus. What do ya say?"

"Come on!" with Torri and Faux close behind him, Raul bolts out the door.

"Argh, wadya say boyo?" Iasan looks at Johan.

"Might as well."

They bid ado to the melancholy face of Karen and follow their allies out into the brilliantly lit club complex.

They don't have to look far to find Fergus as he is perched on a small bench in the garage surrounded by club members and Regan's bubble butt placed in his lap. An ice cold Budweiser can is dwarfed in his right hand while his left is wrapped around his ladies waist and placed on her inner thigh. Two of the bikers present are Igor and Ripper whom they had already met. Saul greats the jovial Fergus with a pat on the shoulder.

"Hey Ferg, they want us to be part of their next tribunal."

"Is 'at right? Whens 'at?"

"Oh, about fifteen minutes."

"Hot damn, time to go hot lips," Fergus chugs the rest of his brew, crushes the can like a piece of paper, scoops Regan off his lap effortlessly and looks ready for action once more.

"Let's head on upstairs."

They climb the steps one by one with Johan taking the lead. Stepping into the formally empty conference hall, they are greeted by The General, Joker, Deagle and some other unknown faces. The General is at his usual position with Joker to his left. To his right sits an older looking man with thinning gray hair and a slight belly over a once athletic body. His face is serious and clean while his patches read Sergeant at Arms and Hollowpoint. Next in line is a much younger man with steely cold eyes. He is shorter then everyone else and his face is half scarred from what looks like a bad burn, Secretary and Molotov are etched upon his jacket's patches. Deagle sits next to Joker with still his same expression. Oddly, one out of place man sits at the other end of the table directly across from the president. He is much older, probably mid to late seventies with a puckered face and thin strands of hair. The General stands to great them with his charming persona.

"Welcome, you may all take a seat as I only need one of you to join the discussion. Someone who can speak for the whole of you."

"Go," Saul nudges Johan.

"I have too many opinions about what we are doing. I pick you."

"As do I," Alieana smiles.

"Here here," Fergus bellows.

"Aye," Iasan also agrees and The General nods.

"Take the seat next to Deagle and I'll introduce you to my closest advisors."

Saul takes his seat next to the swarthy Deagle as the rest of his friends fade into the background. Lee begins the proceedings by smacking a steel gavel onto the sturdy conference table.

"Okay, we'll begin with introductions. Everyone, this is Saul, he and his friends join us for our expedition into Boston. I'm sure you met everyone else in passing. Saul and crew, I want you to meet my loyal Sergeant, Roland Hollows," the older athletic man, "and my secretary and best friend, Maynard Molson," the young burn victim. They both great Saul with simple nods.

"We appreciate it," Saul nods along.

"And this is Neil Rice, he owns and operates the big rigs we'll be using for transports. You'd be wise to talk to him as those transports will be what you and you're own shall travel in."

"Ye sir."

"Okay, now that introductions are out of the way, we need to discuss your responsibilities to this club and what talents you have to make use of. How can you help us Mr. Odadjian?"

"Well, Johan and I are scientists by trade and are familiar with mechanical workings. But over the last six weeks we've become capable fighters as well. Never thought I would be saying that..."

"What of the rest?"

"Well, Alieana has some basic nurse training to go along with a nurturing maternal instinct. Iasan was an IRA field surgeon I believe."

"Aye boyo!"

"Fergus, well he's just a lean mean killing machine. I don't know Regan but she's young and energetic as is Torri, Faux and Raul. Honestly, we will do what has to be done. We understand that there's work to be done and weight has to be pulled around here for us to be welcomed and we embrace that. Just give the order, we're here survive so we're here to serve."

"I like your attitude," Hollowpoint nods his head with great approval and appreciation at Saul's level of respect.

"As do I," The General agrees.

"I wanna take you boys out a scav mission. I need to see what you're really made of," Hollowpoint suggests.

"Okay, Hollowpoint, take Molotov and Igor and show Johan, Saul, and Ferg the ropes and bring me back some good old American steel. Take the skidder and the old dump truck. Any of your boys know how to run those machine?"

"Sure sure, I can drive a dump truck and I'm sure Johan can handle the skidder."

"What of me?" Fergus cuts in.

"Stick to what you're good at. Killin' s**t," Deagle chuckles sarcastically.

"Lock 'n load yer bloody f***s!"

"It's set then. You three will head out tomorrow. As for the ladies and children, I'm sure Karen would love some help down in the mess hall, that poor sister of mine is worked to the bone."

"Where are we bunking?"

"Saul my friends, you will take up cots in the garage. Because I'm sure you don't want to share a barracks with a bunch of smelling, cussing bikers," The General chuckles while giving his associates joking looks. Hollowpoint chuckles and finshes the orders.

"There's a stack of folding cots down there. Just pull one out and crash."

"Okay, meeting adjourned," The General smacks the steel gavel down at which Deagle, Molotov, and Hollowpoint stand and exit. Neil Rice, the old truck runner, shuffles to Ulysses, shakes his hand and also exits.

"All is set friend?" The General acknowledges Joker, who nods and stands. With a serious nod, he snuffs his nose and strolls out an odd back door.

"Rest well, president," Saul nods as he is ready to leave.

"Bah, don't call me president, call me Lee alright?"

"Sure."

"Now goodnight. Get outta my sight."

So without another word, Saul rejoins Alieana and the large group migrates back to the lower level. In a fatigued daze, they pull out cots for each of them and fall like flies to the flame. Fergus is out first as usual accompanied by his bear-like snoring. As they all drift off one by one, the only ones left awake are the tortured souls of Torri and Orabella. The Italian beauty's mind even more poked by the absence of her husband and Torri's tormentors are as present as ever. After an hour of tossing, Orabella leaves her cot and silently slips into the muggy night air. SIlhouetted by the moon, she can observe two sentries standing watch over the only entrance and exit. She strolls to the high standing wall and gains the attention of the guards with a soft, cough.

"Umm, sorry to bother you but did a dark skinned man and simple boy leave here?"

"Well hello darlin', they went storming outta here probably... five hours ago."

"Oh my god, no..."

"I warned the fella it wasn't a good idea but he wasn't having it."

"Well I need to find them."

"I sure as s**t aint goin' out there and I'd advise you not to either."

"I-I-I-"

"Go back to bed peach, he looked a capable man. There's nothing you can do now but pray."

"But-"

"Go back to bed, I got a gate to watch."

So with an even larger butterfly in her belly, Orabella sadly walks back to the garage to see Torri's serious face looking up at her through the gloom of night.

"Are they dead?"

"No, of course not. Valentino can survive on his own. Now stop this talk and let's get some sleep."

Orabella leads the young and beautiful Torri back to her cot and kisses her forehead to say goodnight. As the young girl settles in, the sad, sure to be widow, also takes her cot and falls asleep with cold tears running across her cheeks.

Author's Note

Suggestions?