A series of lights flashed from along the top of the command module, followed by a whistle. Within a short time, the bald men with the bands around their heads started to arrive. When each one reached the back of the module, Daniel could hear a door slide open, then close. Curious, he thought.

The bikers drank and laughed deep into the night. At one point someone broke out a radio and they played some CDs. Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, ACDC and Kiss sent Daniel into a fitful sleep. His dreams were haunted by images of Carmen and Rosie in the overseer’s holding tanks, sucking from straws and becoming mindless drones.

“Good morning sunshine!” Stan the Man woke him with a kick to the boot. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Daniel saw a can of opened fresh peaches by his foot. After he slurped them down and drank every drop of the juice, he stared up at the crew’s leader.

The lights around the command module started flashing and then came another whistle. This was followed by the sound of the rear door sliding open. Twelve of the bald, banded men came out and headed in different directions.

“Don’t worry about them. They never bother us.” Stan the Man saw his gaze.

“I’m not,” Daniel replied.

“You’re in Dat.” Stan grinned at him, changing the subject. “You ready to join up?”

“What makes you think that I would betray my own race?” Daniel asked.

“Oh. I guess that either I didn’t make myself clear last night, or you are just a real backwater mid-western Michigan dumbass.” Stan the Man’s grin faded abruptly. “So let me lay this out even more clearly for you in the language of dumbass. They took our entire country, no the entire planet, in less than two days. The Army, Navy, Airforce, and yes, even your precious Marine Corps all annihilated on the first day. So, if you are holding out some romantic great hope for the human race, there is a 0.0% chance for a comeback. Game freaking over. Time to pull up your big-boy pants and make some man-sized decisions here. We are in this for us. That is it. The crew is all you have now. I am not going to make this offer again. I promise you Dat, I will leave you locked to that concrete pad for the next thirty days and then blast you back to your life as an apple picking love slave.”

“Okay. Okay, I get it.” Daniel frowned, thinking that he wasn’t left with too many options here. “I’m in.”

“Uncuff him Horndog,” Stan the Man ordered.

The sturdy man came over and freed Daniel, saying, “What a shame. Your loss.”

The five bikers lined up, waiting for Daniel to approach, causing him to say, “Let me guess, the typical gang beat in?”

“No Dat, nothing like that. We can’t afford any serious injuries or the overseers take you. Just walk up to each one of us and we get one punch to your face. If you stay on your feet, you get some deep respect, although nobody has made it to the last man without going down,” Stan explained.

“Sounds easy enough, getting hit by a bunch of pansies like you,” Daniel said, smirking sarcastically.

“Well, we could sex you in like Horndog requested.” Stan the Man laughed.

“I’d rather get punched in the nuts,” Daniel retorted.

“Let’s do this. I’ll give you the first ‘love tap’, followed by my big black friend Tiny. If you survive the two of us, then it’s all downhill. Hambone injured his wrist. Scooter is getting older and Horndog hits like a girl.” Stan the Man grinned and hauled off and slugged Daniel right square in the jaw, knocking him backwards. The man hit hard, but Daniel had been hit harder.

After rubbing his jaw, he walked up to Tiny, who pulled his massive black arm back and released. The blow was incredible, sending Daniel staggering backwards. He nearly lost consciousness, but managed to stop himself from falling by bending over and grabbing his knees.

“Damn,” Daniel said, spitting out blood.

“Damn right!” Stan the Man bellowed out. “That boy can hit! Now finish it Dat.”

Daniel rose unsteadily up and approached Hambone. The red-headed man punched him in the mouth with his uninjured left hand. Although it was hard, it was bearable. Daniel was glad that the man hadn’t been able to use his dominant right hand.

Next came Scooter. The chunky Mexican man spit through his bushy moustache onto his hands and rubbed them together. He punched Daniel hard in the nose, breaking it and sending blood spraying all over his face. It hurt, but it didn’t threaten to drop him like the slug that he had taken from Tiny.

Daniel walked up to Horndog, who scowled, “You asked for it.”

The stocky man balled up his right hand and lowered it down to his side. Without warning, he threw an uppercut straight into Daniel’s groin. The intense pain was immediate, knocking the marine to his knees in front of the laughing man. Daniel balled up his own fist and sent a rock-hard punch into Horndog’s nuts, dropping the surprised man beside him.

“That’s not allowed,” Horndog barely managed to whisper.

“Not quite how you expected that to go down,” Daniel groaned back.

“You got what you deserved Horndog.” Stan shook his head. “You know the rules. Punches only to the face. If Dat hadn’t properly responded to that shameful offense, well we would all have been questioning his manhood.”

The standing bikers helped both of the fallen men to their feet. Hambone had Daniel tilt his head back, and then with a sickening crack, popped his broken nose back into place. It took the two men a moment to recover from the assault on their groins, but once they did, Stan the Man handed out beers from one of the crates that the overseers had delivered.

A blue glow was coming from the box, causing a white frosty mist to rise from the opening under the raised lid. Daniel waved his hand over the top and felt an intense coolness coming from inside the box. Somehow, the blue light was keeping the beer cold.

“To Dat, the newest member of the Dirty Down and Dead!” Stan toasted, and after the six of them took a chug, Daniel froze.

“I guess we should have asked if you knew how to ride a chopper, before we patched you in,” Tiny laughed.

“I rode a custom FXDR 114 soft tail before the world ended,” Dat answered.

“Sweet.” Scooter sighed. “What color?”

“She was three different shades of orange. Man, I miss that bike,” he admitted.

“I miss her and I never even saw her.” Tiny chuckled.

For the next week, they basically partied. They ate, drank, and slept in hammocks and fold-up cots. They didn’t bother setting guards and weren’t bothered by anyone. The beer flowed freely, and most of the bikers smoked.

Whenever he asked when they were going to head out, the bikers simply replied that Stan was the man with the plan.  Daniel did learn a few new things from his new companions.  Tiny would eat anything, Horndog would bang anything, and Scooter didn’t seem to care much about anything. Hambone was just quiet.

Stan the Man was a tougher read. He was always watching everyone. Always thinking and studying. He came off as a wiseass, but Daniel sensed that he was hiding a darkness under the lighter persona. He seemed like he might be the most dangerous man in the group.

Stan the Man and Scooter were the only two pre-war members of the Dirt Down and Dead left. They had been involved in a lot of petty narcotics activity and ran some strippers in a club outside of LA.  Hambone, Horndog, and Tiny had all been patched in after the overseers had enlisted the group as bounty hunters.

Daniel also learned that the bald men with the metal headbands were their fellow citizens. Tiny told him that they were called seekers. The overseers had completely wiped their minds and reprogrammed them with the single task of gathering materials. According to Tiny, that is what the overseers were here for. Our resources.

They used the seekers to collect various things like metal, wood, and plastic. The seekers would send various materials through different colored power circles. Nobody knew where any of it went. The seekers were basically harmless unless you got in their personal space or impeded their single-minded mission. Then they would attack with an incredible ferocity.

The seekers slept in the modules located in various towns and cities.  The larger the city, the more seekers there were. Tiny had heard that most of San Diego was already gone. It was just a rumor though, because they had never gone that far south.

By the end of the week, Dat was getting along quite well with Tiny and Scooter. Hambone didn’t speak, unless it was absolutely necessary. Stan the Man continued to crack wise every so often. Horndog was another story. He seethed with hate every time that he looked at Dat. It seemed like the man could hold onto a grudge.

On the morning of the seventh day, Stan announced, “Lock it up. Time to roll.”

Scooter handed Daniel a leather Down Dirty and Dead vest with three bullet holes in the back, saying, “I’m sure that you will have better luck than the previous owner bato.”

“Where are we heading?” Daniel asked.

“We are slowly making our way back to California. Checking old hotspots and hangouts all along the way. If we are lucky, we will pick off a couple of bounties before we get there. If not, we will certainly find someone once we get to the bigger Californian cities. Some of the clans still survive.” Scooter grinned, his broken yellow teeth peeking out from behind his bushy moustache.

Tiny rolled out an Indian Scout motorcycle, well mostly. It had a few imported parts. It had been Indian red and white, although it was now colored mostly in brown rust. Beggars can’t be choosers, he thought.

Stan the Man eyed him for a second, then tossed him his pack and his Mossberg shotgun. His pouch with the remaining thirteen rounds were still attached to his pack. Daniel was glad to have her back, as he had grown quite fond of the weapon.

“If you are still harboring vengeful notions, remember that your street sweeper only holds two rounds. By the time you get it reloaded, whoever you leave standing will drop you quick.” Stan the Man grinned broadly at him.

They mounted their bikes, and although it took Daniel several tries, he finally got the Indian Scout to fire up. Then they were off. It felt good to be back on the open road with the wind blowing through his hair. He had entered Eugene, Oregon as a prisoner and he was leaving as a member of the Down Dirty and Dead motorcycle gang. It didn’t mean much to him.

While they sped south down Interstate 5, only one thought permeated his mind. The label on the beer that they had been drinking all week was Frosty Dog. These bikers had set the trap at the barn that had injured Rosie.

It had all been a set-up. They probably set several traps, and instead of monitoring them all, had simply waited at the health center to see who would show up. Daniel finished off his Frosty Dog and threw it against an abandoned car in the slow lane, thinking that he was going to kill every single one of these assholes.

They didn’t ride long before they stopped in a couple of nearby small towns, checking houses that had been known to be used by survivors in the past. Nothing looked disturbed in those locations, appearing as if they hadn’t been entered in months. 

They spent the night in one of the houses. The bikers tried to pick houses that still had usable mattresses that they could lay their bedrolls on. Also, they always stayed in two story places, so that they could take turns watching with binoculars from one of the upstairs windows. The group was always on the hunt for bounties.

Most nights, there was no supply shed, command module, or concrete pad. Daniel was fine with that, because the bikers seemed to hang out at the shed locations longer, slowing their progress south. The gang spent over a week, checking areas both east and west of Interstate 5.

The morning of the eighth day, Stan the Man said, “Slim pickins boys. These areas here used to be full of bounties. I think it’s time we head for Medford.” This caused the others to grin at Daniel and chuckle amongst themselves. Obviously, Medford meant that something was in store for him.

They rode for just over two hours, when Stan led them down an offramp into Medford, Oregon. They rode passed several outbuildings along the edge of town, finally coming to a stop next to another storage shed. Much like the last site, there was a command module nearby and an eye bolted concrete pad here. Daniel was glad that he wouldn’t be sleeping chained to that tonight.

The bikers got off their motorcycles and stretched. Stan went over to the storage shed and taking another key from his neck chain, opened it. Several of the men grabbed gas cans and they began filling their bikes.

“We always feed the bikes first, before we feed ourselves.” Stan grinned at Daniel, then explained, “Just in case we have to roll out in a hurry.”

Next, they got a fire going and after warming up some cans of soup, ate. After the food was gone, a crate of the Frosty Dogs came out. They were very cold, and Daniel once again saw that a blue light inside of the box was chilling the contents. The overseers were years ahead of them on technology.

“Why didn’t you go into the overseers’ module once we got here?” he asked Stan later that evening

“I only have to check in after we have captured a bounty. That way they know where to send our reward.” He smiled then half-jokingly, said, “You shouldn’t be concerned with such things. Curiosity killed the Dat. Besides, you have more pressing concerns.”

“Like?” he asked.

“We stopped here in Medford for a reason.” Stan the Man grinned even bigger. “So, what do you know about explosives?”

“Plenty,” Daniel answered.

“Good, cause that is going to come in real handy,” Stan said, pointing at a two story house down the road and atop a hill, then added, “See that place up there?”

Daniel saw the decrepit white house with its peeling paint and boarded up windows. There appeared to be barbed wire fencing around it and iron gates even closer in. “Yes. I see it,” he simply stated.

“Well, there is a crazy old combat vet living up there. Has the place wired from front to back with all kinds of nasty stuff that goes boom. We have tried to get in several times. He took out my buddy Roadkill with his sniper rifle the first time we tried. Another time, Porky got his legs blown off by a boobytrap. Every other time we’ve tried, we have nearly lost people. So, don’t think that this is going to be a cake walk. Now that I got my own marine corps veteran, I want another crack at that old fart up there,” Stan explained.

“So, you want me to go in?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“We are on the clock. We are coming up on three weeks without a bounty, so maybe we can capture this old coot and hold him for a bit.” Stan gave him a hard stare. “It’s like I told you Dat. You have the short end of the stick. It’s in your best interest to reset the bounty clock every thirty days.”

“Understood,” he nodded.

“Now that I have my own soldier boy, I thought that we might have a real shot to take down the old man. Do you think you can do it?” Stan asked.

“Let me spend a couple of days checking it out,” Daniel requested. “Once I have done a good reconnaissance, I’ll have a better idea of what I’m up against.”

“That’s my boy!” Stan the Man was grinning again.

The crew spent the next three days eating and drinking, while Daniel made several trips to the nearby house on the hill. He always went on foot, and used a set of binoculars that he borrowed from Stan. One of the other bikers always accompanied him.

During his reconnaissance, he never saw any movement in or around the run-down house. He did notice two dead seekers on the compound. One looked to have been shot, while the second was caught up in some barbed wire with its legs blown off. He also noted a front and back door.

 That night at camp he called Stan over and said, “I can get in.”

“Well, all right then. We will go in tomorrow morning.” He slapped Daniel on the back.

“No, if we do this, we do it my way,” Daniel answered.

“Meaning?” Stan was now suspicious.

“Meaning that I have a plan,” Daniel said.

Stan the Man gathered the others around and said, “Dat here thinks that he can get into the house on the hill. Let’s have a listen to what he’s got.”

“Okay, this place is a virtual fortress. The outer barbed wire fence is rigged with high HE while the inner iron barred fence has hand grenade traps all over it.” Daniel started.

“What’s HE?” Tiny interrupted.

“High explosives, dumbass,” Stan answered for Daniel.

“Yes. Some set-off by trip wires, others by movement, and I would guess even some pressure devices. Who knows what other nasty surprises he has up there on that hill. That is why I am going in there alone,” he stated.

“Alone? I don’t think so,” Horndog interjected.

“Dat doesn’t need one of us knuckleheads fumbling around in there, bumping into things, or him, and kaploowie! Mission over. Unless you’re volunteering to lead him in Horndog?” Stan laughed at the man. “I seem to remember you running and screaming from a grenade the last time that we tried this place.”

“I see your point. I’m fond of my arms and legs right where they are.” The big hillbilly grinned sheepishly.

“Exactly. So, I go it alone,” Daniel said, then added, “I will sleep during the day tomorrow and go in tomorrow night.”

“Old coot has a rifle,” Scooter advised. “Darkness might keep you from getting shot.”

“Maybe. But, I am going to need some stuff,” he advised.

“What kinda stuff?” Stan the Man questioned.

“A small flashlight, preferably with a red light. Any kind of transparent red plastic to cover the lens will do. A flat head screwdriver. Some small metal pins about an inch or two long. Ladies bobby pins would work. A knife with at least a six-inch blade. Also, something round and heavy that I can toss, but I need to be able to tie a rope around it. And, finally, and most important, a pair of bolt cutters. The big ones like they used to use on lockers in school. That way I can use them on the barbed wire also.”

“That’s quite the shopping list Dat.” Stan grinned at him. “Would you like anything else? Maybe a number three at McDonalds?”

“If you want me to get in there and get the old man out, then that is what I am going to need.” Daniel met his steely gaze, adding, “Besides, I was always a Taco Bell man myself.”

“Dang…now I want a Nacho Bell Grande,” Tiny groaned. “You guys suck.”

“Taco Bell isn’t Mexican food. Back in the day, I could take you to some places that would make your taste buds do the lambada.” Scooter licked his lips, wetting his moustache, and rubbed his large belly with both hands. “The next day you would fart until sundown, batos.”

“Can we focus here?” Stan the Man ended the food fantasy. “Alright Dat, we are gonna do this your way. Tomorrow we will go out and find your tinker toys while you sleep. Then when it gets dark, you will earn your keep and go in and get that bounty.”