The bikers rode back to their shed and after Stan disappeared into the command module, their crates arrived. The group replaced the batteries in their walkie-talkies and radio. They partied with loud music and Frosty Dogs until the wee hours of the morning.

Everybody seemed pleased with Dat, now that he had blasted two separate bounties, and kept slapping him on the back. Everyone except Horndog, who just sat brooding and glaring at Daniel from across the fire.

The crew stayed in Ashland for another two days resting, eating, and partying. Then they jumped back on Interstate 5 and continued southbound. They were only on the interstate for a couple of minutes before Stan the Man led them onto Route 66, where they continued riding south. They drove slow, dodging abandoned burnt out cars and campers. Apparently, the overlords didn’t need to keep a lane open on 66.

Five minutes later they passed by a campground with about fifteen motor homes parked in it, that looked like they had been empty for years. The other bikers looked at each other and laughed. Obviously, something had occurred there.

Another five minutes and a beautiful lake opened up to their east. A slanted sign identified it as Emigrant Lake Reservoir. Stan drove them into the parking lot of a beach area, where they parked their bikes.

“Some of you ladies are starting to smell real foul. Thought maybe it was bath time.” Stan grinned at the others while stripping down to his underwear. “Dat, you take first watch since we can’t take our weapons in.  I’ll send someone up to relieve you in a bit.”

It didn’t escape Daniels mind that he could take them all out here and now. He knew that his luck was going to run out eventually, and he would be forced into a bad situation. Still, he needed the protection that the bounty hunters offered from the overseers, at least until they got closer to Alcatraz. Then he could make a play against them.  

The other gang members all stripped down to their underwear and got into the lake. They swam about and splashed each other, but Daniel wasn’t paying attention to that. He had gone up onto a small sand berm to watch them when he saw a tiny wisp of smoke.

The smoke was rising from a small fire pit with ashes in it, just on the opposite side of the berm. Daniel causally walked over to it and began slowly kicking sand over it. He needed to get to California before they raped any women or blasted any innocent survivors like Carmen or Rosie. He wasn’t down for that.

After about a half hour, Stan sent Horndog over to relieve him, who said, “You know, Stan ain’t always going to be around to protect you, Princess. One day it’s going to be just you and me, then I am going to make you pay for taking away my sweet piece. One day.”

“I’d be lying to you if I told you that I wasn’t looking forward to that day.” Daniel winked at him, before he walked down the beach to the shoreline. The water was cold and refreshing, but he didn’t really enjoy his swim because he could feel the creepy perverted eyes of Horndog on him.

Tiny was still in the water, floating like a giant whale, while Daniel asked, “What was up with that campground that we passed through? Seemed to excite you guys.”

“It happened in the early days before I got patched in,” Tiny advised, then continued, “Seems that a few years ago, Stan, Scooter, Horndog, and some others raided a group of thirty plus survivors camping there. They blasted six or seven of them and rode off. Someone in the camp fired a rifle at them as they left and hit a fella called Snoopy in the back.”

“Killed him?” Dat asked.

“Not at first. I guess they took him to this very beach where he spent the night in agony. He was dead by morning,” the obese black man said.

“Oh man. What happened next?” Daniel asked.

“A shit show. Stan led the group back that very morning. They left their batons behind and went in and killed every single one of the campers. The last ten of them tried to surrender. Stan put them on their knees, and he walked down the line and shot each one of them in the back of the head. Used that Baretta 9mm that he always carries,” Tiny revealed, standing up.

“I’m glad I wasn’t part of that,” Daniel stated truthfully.

“Me too. The bodies are still over there in those campers. Just goes to show you what happens when you screw with Stan the Man.” Tiny shrugged and began making his way back up to the beach.

The bikers spent the next couple of nights on the beach, enjoying roaring fires. They did a lot of swimming. By noon the third day, they were back on the road, making their way back to Interstate 5. Thirty minutes later, they passed a sign that read ‘Welcome to California’, with three faded yellow flowers on it. Daniel was elated. He was getting closer to home.

A short time later, Stan led them off the highway and onto some dirt roads. They pulled into an odd-looking town. A sign identified it as Hilt, California, a historical ghost town. Daniel figured that it must have been some type of tourist trap in the past.

“We gonna try this again, bato?  We just had a bounty,” Scooter asked Stan.

“Let’s just try to get a look. If it appears to have softened up any, then we will camp nearby and try to bag a bounty in a few weeks,” Stan answered, climbing off his hog. “Dat, come with me.”

Daniel followed the biker leader through the woods for about an hour, then across a waist high ditch. Once they reached the other side, they began to crawl through some thick brush, until they reached a chain link fence. Stan pulled out his binoculars and took a long hard look. Then he handed them to Daniel.

Daniel found himself looking into a fortified compound. There was eight-foot fencing all around, lined with barbed wire rolls at the top. Four ten-foot towers stood on each corner, with an armed man in each one. There was another man on foot patrol with a German sheppard attack dog.

There were three wooden cabin-like structures and an equal number of tents. Under one of the tents, Daniel could see about twenty people eating at a long picnic table. It appeared that they had a roasted pig. Then Daniel noticed the barn at the opposite side of them. There were pens along it with cows, chickens, and pigs.

“Survivalists,” Stan said, while they crawled back across the ditch. “We have never scored a bounty here. I have been checking this place, on and off, for the past two years. I’ve been hoping that someone else would soften them up, or maybe they would have some internal issues. Anything that would allow me to pick one off.”

“They don’t look soft to me,” Daniel answered.

“No. Not this time.” he laughed while they walked back to the ghost town of Hilt.

The bikers spent the night in one of the wooden structures, foregoing a fire, so as not to alert the survivalists. If they had heard the motorcycles coming in, the preppers never came to investigate the noise. Early the next morning, they headed back out to Interstate 5. In fifteen minutes, they reached a town called Hornbrook.

It had been a city of less than a thousand people, but due to some wild fruit groves that were doing extremely well, it was known to be a hub for survivors. Daniel climbed off his Indian motorcycle and saw some clothes on the ground, as well as packs. He pulled off his overseers’ baton and snatched up a brassier with the end, holding it up for the guys to see.

“If we are the last men standing, then who bountied this lady?” he asked.

“There is another one over here.” Hambone pointed at another pile of personal items.

“Look! Bikes,” Horndog exclaimed, walking over to two Schwinn mountain bikes hidden in a bush.

“Overseers?” Tiny guessed.

“Maybe. But they aren’t usually in small towns like this. They hang out in the bigger cities. Let’s keep our eyes open and stay together,” Stan the Man ordered.

The group went through the packs, but found nothing of use, so began checking the town. The buildings were empty, but the bikers did find fairly fresh dirt bike tracks on a well-worn dirt path that led into a large pear grove.

The gang hid their bikes inside a nearby gas station and followed the tracks down the trail for the rest of the day. Once it started getting dark, they moved just far enough off the dirt path so that they could hear any dirt bikes using the path.

They spent two more days in the pear grove camp, listening for the bikes and eating pears, but they never came back. When it started to rain, the bikers walked back to town and retrieved their motorcycles. They rode fifteen miles further south, arriving in Yreka, California.

Stan the Man led them straight into the Yreka Junction shopping mall, where they parked and checked out what used to be a grocery store. Once they cleared it, they walked their bikes inside, and parked them in an aisle. Stan sent Hambone and Horndog into the other stores to make sure that they were empty. Daniel found the grocery store to be quite interesting.

It was obvious that the mall had been used as a hideout for survivors. Somebody had brought an old metal fire ring into the store and several fires had been made in one of the aisles. There were old pop up tents and sleeping bags, as well as suitcases and clothes strewn about in various locations.

“This was another good one in the beginning,” Scooter said. “Several different groups were set up in this place. We used to bounty a lot from here in the first year or two.”

“Problem was that too many bounty hunters knew about this place,” Horndog added.

After the mall was deemed clear, the bikers built a fire in the ring. They were sitting around it, eating canned corn, when they heard a familiar sound. Harleys. From the sounds of it, there were several. And they were approaching fast!

“Bounty Hunters! To the roof boys,” Stan the Man said, leading them towards a roof accessible ladder in a backroom.

“How do we know that they are bounty hunters?” Daniel asked.

“Nobody rides hogs but hunters,” Tiny said, huffing at their pace.

“People learned quickly in the beginning to stay out of motorized vehicles. The overseers can track them. They collected the bodies up like cordwood in the numerous traffic jams. Was easy pickin’s for them,” Scooter added.

“So, only hunters can get around on bikes or in cars. Everyone else gets blasted.” Stan the Man finished the explanation as they reached the roof.

Once they made their way to the edge where the front parking lot was, they could see five bikers standing next to their bikes. Their jacket patches identified them as the Jackals. There was a skinny short black dude, two Mexicans that looked of medium build with bushy moustaches, and a rough looking white woman with half her head shaved and the other half in corn rows. She had to be around forty and had a muscular frame.  

The obvious leader was an athletic, tall, bald white man with no facial hair. He wore black mirrored sunglasses and held a shotgun with one hand, casually resting against the top of his shoulder. He just stood there, staring up at them.

Daniel sharply noted that besides the leader’s shotgun, the woman carried an AR-15, one of the Mexicans had some type of hunting rifle with a scope. The other Mexican carried another shotgun. The skinny black man had a M-16. If any of them twitched, it would be a blood bath, on both sides.

“Holy crap, that’s Deacon and his crew,” Horndog exclaimed, but Stan the Man held up his hand to silence him.

“If any one of them so much as moves for a gun, you all start shooting and don’t stop until they are all dead,” Stan ordered, then turned his attention to the Jackals and yelled, “I heard that you all bought the farm up in Seattle.”

“The rumors of our demise have been greatly exaggerated. Those cannibals thought that they had an easy meal, but we proved them wrong,” the one called Deacon looked up and said.

“I knew that you were too ugly to die, Deacon,” Stan fired back.

“I have unfinished business on this planet,” Deacon advised, pulling his sunglasses off and intensely staring straight at Stan the Man.

“Don’t we all,” Stan answered.

“What day are you on?” Deacon said.

“We have almost three weeks before we need to bounty again, you?” the Dirty Down and Dead leader said.

“We are on day twenty-eight. Got a couple of cyclists last time. We’re getting a bit desperate. I had to blast one of my own a couple months ago. Kid that went by the name Marlboro. Dumbass didn’t even smoke.” Deacon frowned. “We were even considering attacking those heavily armed preppers west of Hilt. That is until we watched you boys roll into town from the cameras in the command module.

“Yeah, I can see that you are one man down. Don’t suppose that you are willing to trade short sticks, like back in the old days?” Stan offered, causing Scooter to slap Daniel on the back and laugh.

“Nah. I think that we both know that this isn’t going to go down like that. Besides, I don’t think Paco would go willingly,” Deacon said, causing the Mexican with the hunting rifle to smile, revealing that his three top teeth were gold.

“Yeah, I bet his brother Marcos ain’t gonna be down with that either,” Stan said, causing the Mexican with the shotgun to shake his head no.

“We would take the female.” Stan shot off one of his big grins, but when the Jackals remained silent, he continued, “It’s been a while for me and the boys since we enjoyed the pleasures of a woman’s company. I’m sure that she would fit right in.”

“Wouldn’t work. If it was your entire crew against her, I would bet that she would be the last man standing,” he answered with a smirk.

“So, you have no one to barter with,” Stan said, his smile fading away.

“Afraid not. I guess you now understand my unfortunate predicament. I see that you have a couple of newbies of your own,” Deacon acknowledged.

“Yes, the red head is called Hambone. That tall pretty-boy is Dat,” Stan advised, then added, “I see that you still have Cappy there, but who is the female?”

“She calls herself Saber, although you don’t want to rattle her. She is one tough cookie. We picked her up near Medford,” the bald man answered.

“The past is the past,” Stan said. “Why don’t you let things lay.”

“I’ll give that some thought, Stan the Man. Some real deep thought,” he replied, then turned to his crew and said, “Mount up!”

The Dirty Down and Dead members stared at the Jackals until they rode out of sight.

“Horndog, take that sniper rifle from Daniel and take first watch up here. I’ll send Tiny up to relieve you in two hours. Stay awake. They will be back,” Stan ordered.

“Dat is short stick. He should have first watch,” Horndog complained.

“You have first watch, asshole. I have a different job for Dat,” their leader answered moodily.

They went down below, where Stan ordered the others to set barrel fires throughout the parking lots. Then he pulled out several hand grenades from his saddle bags and began handing them to Daniel.

“Geez Stan, how many of them do you have in there?” Daniel asked

“Well, there were twenty-seven in the crate and now there is none in the crate, so if my math is correct, that means that I have . . . twenty-seven.”

“What do you want me to do with these?” Daniel asked.

“I want you to take eight of these and set boobytraps on all of the entrances. Can you do that for me Dat?” Stan asked. Daniel saw a hint of fear on the man’s face for the first time since they had met.

“Sure, I’m certain that I can find some wire around here,” he answered.  

“Good. Get to it. Leave these front doors into the market for last, that way we can get all of our people inside,” Stan the Man advised.

“On it, boss,” Daniel answered and headed off.

It took him just over two hours to set them all. When he returned to the fire, Horndog was curled up and lightly snoring in one of the sleeping bags. Hambone was taking his turn on the roof. Stan, Tiny, and Scooter were by the fire.

Tiny began to sing, only his voice didn’t match his body. It was high and sweet.

“Oh man, you are really good.” Daniel smiled.

“I was a communications major, could handle any of the electronics shit, really. But music was my thing. I wrote and sang a song called Girl Got That Love under the name Big Man Tiny. It had just charted on the Billboard Top 100. I was on my way. Fast cars, big houses, and bigger women. Then these alien bastards came two days after I charted and took it all away.”

“Sing it for us, bato,” Scooter requested.

“Nah, you guys don’t want to hear it again.” The big man looked embarrassed.

“I haven’t heard it Tiny, but I would like to,” Dat asked.

Tiny cleared his throat and sang through his R&B love ballad. It was hauntingly beautiful. The big guy did have talent. They all sat quiet for a few moments, thinking about the man’s poor luck.

“What is the deal between the Jackals and the Dirty Down and Dead? Seems like there is some bad blood here.” Daniel broke the silence by changing the topic.  

“We have history,” Stan the Man said. “You can be sure that they are coming back tonight, or at the very least tomorrow.”

“To bounty us?” Daniel questioned.

“No, this isn’t about that. They are coming for blood,” Stan answered, letting out a long sigh.

“They hate Stan. They want to kill him,” Scooter stated.  

“Make no mistake, they will go through you guys to get to me. Even bounty one of you if they get the chance,” Stan warned from the shadows, then walked off, mumbling that he was going to check the perimeter.

“Anybody want to fill me in?” Daniel questioned.

Scooter took on the task of filling in the missing pieces. “We used to ride with those batos, back in the day. First, we would hunt together, then we would party together. Things got darker when bounties became scarce. We started eyeballing each other with paranoia and fighting over any solo bounty that we came across.”

“I came a short time after all of this happened.” Tiny broke into the conversation.

“So, one particularly bad month we reached day twenty-eight. Stan the Man was going to have to blast one of us very soon. Everybody is nervous. Jittery and on edge. Then he does it. Stan the Man snuck into the lead Jackal’s tent and blasts him.

“But Deacon is still here,” Daniel pointed out.

“Deacon’s brother, Snake, was running the crew back then. You would have thought they were twins if you stood ‘em side by side. I think that there was just a year between them. Anyways, Stan took out Snake, and our gang raced away into the night. They have hated us ever since. They chased us from town to town, state to state. We had a couple of shoot-outs. People died on both sides.”

“What a waste of people,” Daniel said.

“You bet. We weren’t killing for bounties. This was a feud.” Scooter chuckled. “The first engagement, we took out another one of them.  The second time we met up, they got one of us. Finally, we set a trap for them and killed half of Deacon’s crew. They fled north to the Seattle area. Next thing that we heard was that they were taken out by the Seattle Clan. Chopped up into little Jackal burgers and eaten.”

“I guess the Jackals can’t let the death of their leader lay,” Daniel said.

“No. Deacon is going to come for Stan the Man,” Tiny said.