Cooper slammed home the fresh magazine and shouted at Dranko, “Evade!” Cooper racked the bolt to chamber a round as Dranko jerked the wheel hard, and to the right.
The biker’s rifle spat red-orange flame and the round passed just behind Cooper, shattering the rear window. He felt the sting of more glass burying itself in the back of his head and his shoulders. The bullet continued on its angle, passing just in front of Dranko’s face and smashing through the driver’s side window.
Cooper ignored his painful wounds and pulled the trigger to send a hail of fire toward the biker marksman. He burned half the magazine stitching the doorway frame. He couldn’t tell if he hit the rifleman, but the long, slender, black rifle disappeared back into the bar. For good measure, he emptied the rest of the magazine by spraying a long burst across the front of the bar.
As the pickup raced away, a few dispirited pistol shots rang back at them, but none came close to the truck. Cooper kept an eye on the bar as it receded in the distance. Thankfully, there was no pursuit.
“Must have thought we were easy pickings; the M-16 showed them otherwise,” he mused.
Dranko gave him a frantic look, the first time he had time to avert his eyes from the road, “You need medical.”
“Do I?” Cooper asked in disbelief. He brought his hand to the side of his head and flinched in pain as he found a glass shard and pulled it out. The hand returned, covered in blood. “I guess you’re right.” He suddenly became woozy and forced himself to breathe deeply.
“I hate the sight of my own blood!” Cooper complained.
Dranko gained the distance of several city blocks and then turned into a parking lot and rounded his way behind a burned out mechanic’s shop. He looked furtively around to ensure its relative safety and then grabbed a first aid kit from underneath the seat. He made Cooper turn around, facing rearward, so he could get a better look at his wounds.
“OK, luckily, it’s all superficial wounds. Lots of blood, but it won’t kill you. Here, take these,” Dranko said handing him several painkillers. Cooper gulped them down with the water bottle that Dranko provided. Instantly, he was very thirsty and he drained the bottle in seconds.
“Keep an eye out. This is gonna hurt, brother,” Dranko reported as he fetched metal tweezers from the first-aid kit. Dranko quickly, and expertly, went to work. He removed shards of glass that covered Cooper’s head on the right side and rear. His shoulder had, luckily, only been grazed. He knew he had to work quickly, because the blood flow increased as he removed each piece. Cooper’s ear had been sliced nearly in half and the lobe clung loosely to the ear, hanging by a scant piece of skin.
“Your ear will need stitches later,” Dranko told him as he pulled out the last shard. He doused the wound in antiseptic and Cooper cursed Dranko’s mother for birthing such a bastard of a son. Dranko ignored him and applied direct pressure with a bandage. Then, he began wrapping his head in layer after layer of gauze to fasten the bandage. When he finished with that, he employed two large bandages to cover the shallower shoulder wounds. These had bled only slightly and already stopped.
Dranko’s brow was bathed in sweat as he finished, “You’re all set now. As good as new.”
Cooper pivoted his head back and forth, “I guess so. Still works. Let’s go.” He turned his body slowly back to facing the front and reloaded both weapons with fresh magazines.
“You don’t miss a beat do you?” Dranko said as he put the truck in drive and began rolling forward, back toward Hawthorne.
“I’m on a clock because Jake is. I don’t have time for something as small as pain,” Cooper said firmly, his eyes already scanning their path forward. His grip was tight on the FAL with his right hand as he worked the bolt and chambered a round with his left.
Chapter 27
The rest of their drive was uneventful until they neared the Hawthorne bridge, which crossed the Willamette River into downtown. A half mile away, they ran headlong into a gaggle of cars, bicycles, and people that formed a chaotic mishmash of a traffic jam. The air was filled with the blaring of horns, the cries of children in distress, and shouts of anger as people jostled for position leading to the bridge.
“Looks like some scene from an overseas disaster,” Dranko muttered.
“Overseas? Have you forgotten Katrina?” Cooper countered.
Dranko blew out harshly and his lips fluttered in disdain, “Either way, it’s a damn shame. Look at them. Desperate. Some already hungry. Clamoring for someone else to save them.”
A wry grin crept onto Cooper’s face, “Look Dranko, not everyone can be as smart and well prepared as you.” He elbowed his friend in the side as he talked.
Dranko crossed his arms, unimpressed, “Look, we’re not even two weeks into this crisis. I can understand looking for medical help, but look at the number of damned people in line clearly looking for food. Damn sheeple is all they are, unprepared for even a short-term disruption in their lives.”
Cooper merely nodded to placate Dranko’s temper, “You’re right. People ought to have had a few weeks of supplies on hand. That hardly matters now.”
Dranko jumped the GMC partially onto the sidewalk and killed the engine. From a distance they could see an Army armored personnel carrier barricading the bridge. A soldier in camouflage fatigues stood vigil, lazily sweeping a .30 caliber machine gun from left to right, the barrel trained just over the heads of the swirling mash of people. The soldier’s Kevlar helmet and darkened goggles gave him a sinister look. Next to the armored vehicle, a half dozen other soldiers formed a semi-circle, M16s at the ready, behind shiny coils of barbed wire. A dozen yards behind it, a tent was set up as the apparent command post.
They watched for a few minutes, appraising the situation. They saw the occasional civilian brought into the tent as others left. More frequently, soldiers moved in and out with rapid speed.
“What now, boss?” asked Dranko.
“I’m not waiting in that line,” Cooper said, gesturing to a line that ran a hundred yards long. “We’re going to see someone on the double-quick, just follow my lead.”
He jumped from the pickup, shouldered the FAL, and began briskly walking toward the line. Dranko grabbed the M16, slung it onto his back, and fell in a half step behind, “This should be fun, brother,” he grumbled.
Cooper turned back towards him, whispering as they walked, “Here’s the plan, I’m the leader of the Mt. Tabor Militia and we have important news for the Major. Your job is to announce me as we get to the line.”
A wry grin crept onto Dranko’s face, “I like it. What’s your job?”
“Act like an important SOB,” Cooper winked at him before straightening his shoulders and picking up his pace as they neared the end of the line.
Dranko took up the siren song of authority, “Make room, Captain of the Mount Tabor Militia coming through. Make room, he has an urgent report for the Major!”
Cooper intentionally bumped a few people here and there to lend a greater sense of urgency. Dranko continued the mantra over and over. A few people cried out in protest, but they ignored them and kept hustling forward, to the front of the line. Halfway to the front, a young man with a clump of oily red hair and outfitted in camouflage stepped out of the line to bar their way.
“Wait in line like the rest of us!”
Cooper didn’t hesitate, but closed the distance, shot his leg out and swept the man’s legs out from underneath him. He collapsed with an “Umph.” As Dranko stepped over him, he grabbed the butt of his holstered pistol so he could see it and whispered to the man, “I’d stay down if I were you.”