Chapter 4

Hep, Scroat and Pan were at the grocery store. Hep had commented earlier, with only a little bit of annoyance, that it was ironic that he’d received hundreds of self-replenishing sacrifices, and yet he still needed to go to the grocery store for most of the staples of daily life.

Pushing the shopping cart back to the bikes, the three heard a voice behind them say, “Repent, the kingdom of God is at hand.” They turned around to see a smiling, scrawny guy wearing a red tracksuit and horn-rimmed glasses. Before they could reply, a non-descript white van with no rear windows screeched up and the side doors swung open. A group of eager, track-suited thugs jumped out and grabbed Hep, Scroat and Pan. Hep shook off the two who had grabbed him with ease, then pulled three others off of Scroat, who was struggling and cursing wildly.

Hep and Scroat turned to help Pan, but he had already been pulled into the van. The van spun it’s tires and several shoppers leapt out of the way as it careened its way out of the parking lot onto the road.

Their groceries had been scattered across the parking lot anyway, so Hep and Scroat ran straight to their bikes and roared off in the general direction the van had gone. They swerved through traffic, ignoring stop signs and traffic lights in their pursuit of the van.

Soon Hep spotted the van again. Within seconds, he and Scroat were directly behind the van. It lead them out into the desert, making no attempt to shake them. The van did not, however, stop. Soon it turned off of the highway onto a dirt road. The driver even used his turn signals.

In their desire to help Pan, it didn’t occur to Hep and Scroat that the van might be leading them somewhere they didn’t want to go.

The van turned off of the dirt road onto a gravel driveway. Hep and Scroat followed. Scroat had to slow down in the loose gravel, as his bike was set up for riding on pavement, not off-road. Hep kept rolling at the same speed (kicking up a ton of gravel which would have pissed Scroat off to no end in other situations), focused on the van.

Soon the van came to a gate in a high fence topped with barbed wire. The gate opened to let the van in. Hep saw the armed guards running to the gate and slammed on his brakes. He heard gunshots as he turned the handlebars hard to one side and grabbed as much throttle as he could. The trike’s motor screamed, and the fat rear tires sprayed gravel in a semi-circle as Hep whipped the machine around and started riding the other way.

Scroat saw Hep coming, and made his own u-turn. A bullet hit one of Scroat’s mirrors as he rode away, shattering the glass.

“Holy Fuck!” Scroat yelled, and screwed on the throttle, loose gravel be damned. He and Hep reached the dirt road and barely slowed down to make the turn. Scroat’s rear wheel lost traction and he turned into the skid to try and keep the bike from falling. He made it through the slide and, realizing he hadn’t crashed, yelled “Wahoo!”

They rode back to the highway, and turned towards home. After a few miles they reached a stop sign, and Hep and Scroat both turned around to see if anyone was following them. The road behind them was empty, so they paused for a minute.

“What the fuck just happened?” Scroat asked.

Before Hep could answer they heard the whack-whack-whack of a helicopter. Turning back to look behind them again, they saw the source of the sound, flying low over the road and approaching quickly.

“Fuck!” Scroat yelled. They turned to face the road again, and took off as quickly as they could. Hep knew they couldn’t actually outrun a helicopter, and he searched his memory for a place they could try and lose the helicopter, or throw it off their path.

Hep had a thought, and hoped it would work. They soon approached another dirt road on the right, and he braked hard and took the turn. Scroat followed, hoping that Hep knew what he was doing.

The helicopter followed them easily, staying just slightly behind them. The dirt road led to an abandoned farm with a rotting house and a steel barn. The big door on the barn was open, and Hep and Scroat rode straight into the barn, where they stopped. Hep dismounted and went to the door of the barn. He gave the helicopter a cheery wave, then pulled the door shut.

“What the fuck now, dipshit?” Scroat yelled. “We’re trapped in a barn for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, that’s what they think too,” Hep said. “Check this out.”

He walked over to one of the many piles of junk on the floor and grabbed the rope handle of a crate on the bottom of the pile. They could still hear the helicopter hovering outside, but it didn’t sound like it was going to land. Hep pulled the handle, and the entire pile of old newspapers, soda and milk crates and other stuff shifted with him. An opening appeared in the floor.

“Well? Get in,” Hep said. Scroat gave Hep a suspicious look, then climbed down into the opening in the floor. Hep followed him, then pulled the sliding door over them shut again.
Hep flicked a switch in the dark, and they were able to see the space they were in for the first time. There were several cots, a sink and a toilet behind a shower curtain, as well as a hot plate with two burners. Hep expected that one could live in that room for a long time as long as there was a sufficient supply of food. There were also several head-sized openings in the ceiling.

Scroat poked his head into one of the openings and said, “Hey, I can see into the barn from here.”

Soon they heard the helicopter move away, and not long after that they heard other vehicles arrive outside. Hep turned off the lights again, and he and Scroat waited in the dark. The barn door opened with a shriek and a boom, and they heard the footsteps of several people stomping in the area over them.

A small amount of light was visible through each of the holes in the ceiling, and Hep and Scroat both moved to look out and see what was happening.

They saw eight or nine people wearing track suits looking around the barn with flashlights. Two of them were inspecting Hep and Scroat’s motorcycles.

One of the people searching for them stopped just in front of Hep, and scanned his flashlight over the debris in the area. Hep’s breath caught when the flashlight passed over the hole he was peering out and paused.

He waiting, certain he’d been spotted. Hep tried to come up with another plan that didn’t involve abandoning the bikes. He was pretty sure he and Scroat could fight off the eight guys in the barn, but he didn’t know how many were waiting outside.

The flashlight moved on, just as Hep’s panic had reached its unbearable peak. He tried not to exhale too loudly.

After about an hour, the men in the barn apparently gave up and left. Hep and Scroat heard a couple cars start, and drive away. Hep heard Scroat move to another of the holes in the ceiling.

“Hey, I can see the area in front of the big barn door. No one is out there.” Scroat whispered to Hep. He and Hep went to all of the holes then, looking to see if anyone had stayed behind to wait for them to try and leave the barn.

“I don’t see anybody, do you?” Scroat said.

“Nope,” Hep said.

He turned on the lights, and they both squinted as their eyes adjusted to the new brightness. Hep pulled the door overhead open again, and they both crawled out into the barn.

Scroat went over to the main barn door, still open, and peered out around one edge.

“There’s no one out there,” he said.

Hep and Scroat looked at each other.

“They’re idiots,” Hep said, and smiled. He went over to the bikes and sat down on a convenient milk crate. Scroat joined him.

“So what the hell is this place, Hep?” Scroat asked.

“I think illegal immigrants use it as a rest area on their way through the desert now,” Hep said. “It was also used in the past to run guns and drugs. It’s versatile.” He smiled.

They waited until dark, and then rolled the bikes outside. They rode quickly up the dirt road, hoping they’d blow past anyone out there waiting for them. They turned on to the main highway and rode home, wondering if anyone would be there to meet them.

Hep and Scroat stopped a short distance from their house, and walked on foot until they could see their home. It looked like they were alone, thankfully, so they hiked back to their motorcycles and rode the rest of the way to their house.

Inside, Scroat asked Hep, “Well, now what do we do?”

Hep looked at Scroat and said, “Now we try to find some help and get Pan the hell out of that place.”

“Who are we going to get to help us?” Scroat asked. “The A-Team?”

“I think I know exactly who can help us,” Hep said. He sat down at the kitchen table.

“What a fucked up day,” Hep said. “I need a beer.”

There was a thud outside, and then a bottle of beer crashed through the kitchen window. It landed on gently on the table in front of Hep. He looked at the new hole where the window used to be, then back at the beer.

“Fuck,” he said. “I really gotta watch what I say.”