Alas, Babylon

The truck slowed. So did the car. Again, this proved nothing except caution.

Randy turned to Sam Hazzard and Bill McGovern. “This fellow behind us is either an i

“Herding us?” Bill said.

“Herding us into the gun of some pal up front.” They hit a smoother strip of road and Randy could see two men in the car. He thought the back was empty but he couldn’t be sure. “Two of them. Both men.”

They rode on, silently. This was entirely different from a patrol in war when you went out in fear and despite your fear, hoping you would find no trouble. His only fear was that they might miss them, exhaust their gas in futile cruising, and lose their one best chance to wipe them out. This was a personal matter and a matter of survival. It was like having a nest of coral snakes under the house. You had to go in after them and kill them or certainly one day they would kill a child or your dog. In a matter such as this, the importance of your own life diminished. So he prayed that the men behind were highwaymen.

In a minute or two he knew that they were, because the opposite end of the narrow, covered bridge was blocked. They were being herded into a cul-de-sac and the tactical situation was changed and their plan useless. There would be no field of fire from the side ports of the truck. The fight would have to be made entirely from front and rear. He said, “Keep going. “They had to drive right into it. If they stopped short of the bridge and jumped out to make their fight at a distance then the highwaymen could shoot and run. They had to get in close.

Malachai kept going.

“Sam, you and Bill take the ones in back,” Randy said. “I’ll help Malachai in front. Forget the sides.”

The Admiral and Bill crawled to the rear. Randy crouched behind Malachai’s back. He checked the carbine. It was ready. He shifted an extra clip to his shirt pocket where it would be handiest.

The block at the opposite end of the bridge was their Model-A, its boxy profile unmistakable. A man waited at each bumper. You could ram the car but you could not ram the men so this tactic would do no good. Randy recognized them from Dan’s description. The one with gorilla arms and the submachine gun stood at the front. The gun was a Thompson. The man with the bat was on the other side. He carried a holstered pistol, too, but from the way he hefted the bat, like a hitter eager to step to the plate, the bat was his weapon. Four men, then, instead of three. And no woman. Understandable. The perso

The wheels hit the first planks of the bridge and Malachai slowed.

Randy saw the muzzle of the Thompson rise. This was the one he had to get. He pushed the butt of the carbine into Bill McGovern’s ribs. He said, “Let them come right up to you. Let ‘em come right in with us if they want. We’ve got troubles up front.”

Bill nodded. The rhythmic timpani beat of tires on planks stopped. They were twenty feet from the Model-A. The man with the bat advanced toward the left side of the truck. The Tommy gu

The man with the bat was three feet from Malachai and five feet from the carbine’s muzzle. If he looked into the truck cab Randy would have to shoot him and in that case the Tommy gu

The man whacked his bat viciously against the door. “What you got in there, boy?”

“I ain’t got nuthin, boss.” Malachai whined. From the set of his right shoulder Randy knew Malachai had his right hand on the .45, but he was acting dumb and talking dumb, which was the way to do.

The Tommy gu

The man with the bat said, “Step down, you black bastard!”

Randy knew that the man couldn’t use the bat while Malachai stayed in the truck and he prayed Malachai would wait him out. He watched the gu

The gu

Malachai cringed and cried, “Please, boss!” The fear in his voice was real.

The man with the bat put his hand on the door handle. At the instant he turned it, Malachai uncoiled, hurling himself through the door and on him, pistol clubbed.

The gu

He had not even heard the shotguns but when Randy crawled over into the front seat and got out, looking for another target, the battle was over. Close behind the truck two figures lay, their arms and legs twisted in death’s awkward signature. The Admiral stood over the man who had held the bat, his shotgun a foot from his head. Malachai was curled up as if in sleep, his head against the left front tire. It had lasted not more than seven seconds.

Malachai choked and groaned and Randy dropped to his knees beside him and straightened him and lifted his head. Malachai choked again and Randy turned Malachai’s head so the blood could run out of his mouth and not down his windpipe. He tore open Malachai’s shirt. There was a hole large as a dime just under the solar plexus. In this round well, dark blood rose and ebbed rhythmically, a small, ominous tide.

The Admiral said, “Shall I get rid of this scum?”

Randy said, “Just a minute.” He picked up the bat and forced himself to think ahead. First, Malachai. Get Malachai home in a hurry so Dan could do something if there was anything to be done. Dan didn’t have his tools, or much eyesight. He might make do with one eye if he had the tools these men had stolen. Randy ran to the Model-A. It was empty. The doctor’s bag wasn’t there.

He walked back to the truck where Sam Hazzard stood over their captive. One side of the man’s face was scraped raw. Malachai’s plunge had carried the long-jawed, twisted-mouth face along the bridge planking. “Where’s the doctor’s bag?”

The man said nothing. Randy saw his right hand moving. He still had a holstered weapon. Randy tapped him on the nose with the bat. “Keep your hand still.” The Admiral leaned over, unbuckled the holster, and took the weapon. A .38 police special. “Talk,” Randy said.

The man said, “I don’t know nuthin’.”

Randy tapped his face with the bat, harder. The man screamed. Randy said, “Where’s the black bag?”

The man said, “She took it. Rumdum took it.” “Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She goofed off with somebody last night maybe it was this morning-I don’t know-goofed off with some bastard with a bottle.”

Randy called, “Bill! Where’s Bill?”

Bill McGovern was on the other side of the truck. He said, “I’m here, Randy.”

“Bill, go look in that car and see if you can find Dan’s bag. And be sure those two back there are good and dead.”

Malachai choked again. Randy tried to ease him over on his side but he began to bleed more from the stomach wound so he had to let him be.

Sam Hazzard said, “I don’t think this one’s doing us any good. He’s just holding us up. I think we should convoke a military tribunal right now and pass sentence. I vote he be executed.”