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Date Posted: 09:56:30 07/23/99 Fri
Author: Maveric
Subject: Here we go...

Here is the second installment of the Badlands. Also I'm reposting the first installment with spelling and grammatical corrections, so if you read the first part already, just scroll down to chapter 2.

The Badlands
by Maveric

***
West Texas-
The Badlands
August 10, 1974

Chapter 1

The shadows were long in the early morning. A brilliant red and orange sun began its climb into the sky. This was one of the few times of day that the desert wasn't at either of its temperature extremes. That's what the world was like these days. Everything and everyone were an extreme. The early silence was cleaved by the sound of a supercharged, oversized engine. The mass of metal cut the air as it went. A white Dover Circlet surged down route 114 west. The pristine vehicle was broken up only by the custom paint job of red flames that covered the front of the car and a few rust spots from want of maintenance.

Behind the wheel, the driver gripped the wheel loosely. He surveyed the road from behind a pair of dark glasses. The car blasted past a road sign that noted he was approaching Whiteface. "Why?" the driver thought to himself. "What the hell made me come out here and play cowboy? Then again, it's not like there's anything back home for me." He floored the gas and shifted gears.

The gas crisis had hit harder than anyone expected, even the predicted worst case scenarios. In recent months there had been a huge upswing in crime nationwide. To counter this tide of violence, many people felt the need to take up arms and the result was widespread vigilantism. �Autovigilantes' as they were becoming known as, took the law into their own hands and drove fast cars armed with military and mercenary weapons and technology.

Red Michaels felt the need to be a part of this movement. The only problem is that he didn't know it yet. Red was a writer, though not a very successful one. Not once in his 28-year-old life had anything of his been published. That's why he thought he was out west, to clear his head and write about the movement. He never once thought he'd end up as one of its heroes. He packed his things up in a sack one night, got behind the wheel of his �70 Dover and just started to drive west.

He was headed to the Bar-D. He got word in Lubbock that it was a hot spot of Auto activity in the area. The AM radio cranked out smooth funk and Red was almost hypnotized by the rhythm. He had been driving almost nonstop for days and it was taking its toll on him. He almost missed the fact that his fuel gauge was at empty. Half asleep and guided mostly by instinct he pulled into an All-Nite Gas for Cash. He hopped out and stood in the cool dirt lot that was out front of the gas station. His legs were stiff and he was a little off balance. He put the handle into the gas tank and began to pump the gas.

Meanwhile, over the next hill, headed down the 114 and toward the Gas for Cash from the other direction were two heavily armed vehicles. One, a Cavera, was rigged up with twin 50 caliber machine guns mounted over the front tires and a device that dropped slicks of oil from a special tank in the trunk. The other, was a smaller, more manoeuvrable �32 Coup. It had a FireRite turret and a large 20mm cannon that could pierce the armour of some pretty tough military hardware, let alone an automobile. Both were cruising, doing an easy 90mph and they gunned their engines as they breasted the top of the hill. Both drivers grinned and exchanged remarks over their CB. "Let do these suckas!"

Red stepped into the interior of the gas station. He walked over to a rack and picked up a bag of chips. "Breakfast" Red thought wearily. Reaching into his pocket, he handed the cash for the chips and the gas to the attendant. The attendant, an old guy who looked a little worn around the edges from too many late desert nights, seemed a little on edge. He quickly shoved the money into the register and looked up and down the road as if expecting something. Red leaned on a shelf while he tried to open the bag with his teeth. "Oh! ..." the old guy said under his breath. Out of the corner of one eye, Red saw the old guy suddenly get down behind the counter and heard him say, in a barely audible tone "Get down."

Then he heard it. The sound of two huge engines gun simultaneously. Red turned around slowly to see the vehicles racing toward the station. Then to his horror, their machine guns started blazing and were bright in the dim sunlight. The sound was so loud that he could barely hear himself utter two words before the place started going to pieces. "Oh Shit..."

Red really had no idea what he was in for.
***

Chapter 2
***
For a few split seconds Red just stood there. It was just all happening too fast for him to take it in. One minuet he's buying gas, the next he's caught in some punk's crosshairs. It wasn't until the rack of potato chips beside him exploded with gunfire that he snapped out of it and managed to dive for cover. Laying as flat as he could on the floor, Red looked around for a way out. He was in luck. There was a rear exit to the place. Red's mind raced to come up with a plan on how to get out of this in one piece.

He had only one chance. He had picked up a .357 Magnum when he was passing through Lubbock. Just in case he ran into trouble. It wouldn't be much against a vehicle that was more like a mini tank than a car, but it was all he had. Unfortunately for Red, the gun in question was sitting under the seat of his car, and those two creepers weren't exactly going to let him stroll out and get it. "Im gonna to need some kind of diversion. Otherwise, I won't make it over there ali--."

Before he could finish the thought, Red saw that the old attendant was up to something behind the counter. Red managed to crawl over to see what the old guy was doing. He had a CB radio and was talking to someone. Red couldn't make out what he was saying over the engines and gunfire, but he hoped he was calling for help. Beside him was his old shotgun with shells spread on the floor and a few other things the old guy kept under the counter. What caught Red's attention was an old wooden box that was still under the counter. The lid was ajar and he could see what the box contained. "These are just what I needed" Red said out loud. The old box held about a half-dozen WWII-era grenades. Apparently the guy was an old war vet that had brought back some souvenirs. They all looked in good condition. Before the station owner could say anything, still clutching the box; Red made a break for the back door.

Red slammed the old screen door behind him and took a second to get his bearings. "I'm only gonna get one shot at this. I hope to hell these things still work" he said, holding one up to the light. Suddenly he noticed it was too quiet. He leaned his head around the corner of the building. The shots had indeed stopped and now he could hear one of the bandits shouting something to the station owner, who was probably still behind the counter with the CB. "It didn't have to be this way old man! If you had just paid for our protection, we wouldn't be wasting our ammo on your sorry ass." The driver of the Coup then chimed in. "This is Raider Vandals's territory! You don't screw us around!"

This was his chance and Red knew it. Keeping his head low, he ran along a long wall of old tires and stayed out of sight. Now he had less than 15 feet between him and his ride. He took the pin out of one of the grenades and held onto the spoon hard. He took a breath and peeked over the top of the tires. Both cars were facing the building, which was now in a shambles. Neither of the drivers took notice of Red. The Cavera was closest to him so he picked it to be his best target. Just as Red lobbed the grenade into the air, the old attendant finally responded to the creepers' threats. "Go to hell you punk bastards!" As he said this, the two bandits snickered and put their fingers to their triggers, ready to start firing on him again.

The grenade sailed through the air quietly and landed on the seat right next to the startled Cavera driver. All at once he let out a panicked yelp and fumbled at the door handle. Exiting the car, he fell flat on his face in the dirt. Then he managed to get to his feet and started to run. A huge Ka-Boom sounded followed by a whoosh of flame as the Cavera exploded in a ball of fire, all the ammunition strapped to the roof adding to the explosive force. The shock wave from this knocked the running creeper on his face again and he managed to scramble into the passenger seat of his buddy's ride.

While this was happening, Red made a mad dash for his Circlet. Fortunately, it hadn't been damaged in the raid. He hopped behind the wheel, turned the keys and the massive engine roared to life. "Maybe if I draw them away from the gas station, I can loose them in the desert." Red's foot stomped the accelerator and his tires squealed and burned as he shot out of the Gas for Cash parking lot. Alerted by the squealing and seeing him fly past in the rear view mirror, the now very pissed gang members took off in hot pursuit. They knew Red had thrown the grenade and tried to kill them. Now they wanted him dead for it.
***

Like I said before, all comments and suggestions on where to take the story are welcome.

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Replies:

Cool, keep it coming!!! n/t -- Paladin, 13:58:58 07/25/99 Sun
very cool (NT) -- SHIFFS, 08:28:28 07/25/99 Sun